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Chapter 8
“What is she doin’ here?” snarled Brohain. “We should have killed her three years ago when I wanted to the first time.”
“No one is harmin’ a hair on this lass’s head,” warned Alastair. “She is under my protection until we get back to the Highlands.”
“The Highlands?” asked Earc. “We need to fight against Richard and his troops. I’ve heard from a traveler on the road that Richard’s army passed through this area days ago and are movin’ up the coast at a good clip. They even have ships with more troops at every port.”
“We’ll head north, but I’m no’ stoppin’ until we reach the Highlands. This lass is goin’ to be a trade to the Grants for the release of my faither.”
“Why would they want her? She’s a stinkin’ Sassenach,” spat Rhodric.
“I am no’,” protested Fia, raising her chin proudly. “I am a Scot.”
“Half-Scot, or did ye forget?” Alastair reminded her. “Yer faither might think he’s a Scot, but he is nothin’ more than the bastard of the late English king and the king’s English mistress.”
“Ye willna get away with this,” cried Fia.
“On the contrary, ye have nothin’ to say about it,” Alastair told her. “And it will work like a charm. I do believe my luck is changin’.”
“I trusted ye, Alastair MacPherson! I helped ye, and now ye are treatin’ me like a prisoner? How could ye? I thought our kiss meant somethin’.”
“Ye kissed her?” Earc asked in disgust.
“Never mind,” growled Alastair. “Now, let’s get goin’ before the English decide to follow us. I am in no condition for a fight.” His hand went to his wounded side again before he took off toward the border holding tightly to Fia to make sure she wouldn’t fall . . . or try to escape.
* * *
They rode all day,making it over the border, stopping for the night on the banks of the River Tweed.
“We’ll camp here,” Alastair called out, halting his men. In the distance toward the coast, smoke could be seen billowing up into the air. Fia listened closely. She was sure she could hear the sounds of shouting and fighting way off in the distance.
“Somethin’s burnin’,” said Fia. Alastair reached out for her and lifted her from the horse.
“That is the land burnin’,” he told her.
“Richard must be pillagin’ and burnin’ his way up the coast.”
“Nay, lass. The Scots set those fires.”
“Why would the Scots burn their own land? That makes no sense.” Fia studied the smoke in the distance, thinking about the safety of her family.
“They are burnin’ the land to starve out the English to make them leave Scotland,” Niven explained.
“That’s right,” added Alastair. “If our enemy canna find food, the troops willna stay and fight.”
“How close are we to West Lothian?” asked Fia.
Alastair studied her face as he answered. “Not far. Why?”
“That’s where my family lives. I want to see them.”
“Ye said ye are a Gordon. Clan Gordon is in the Highlands.”
“Yes, but no’ all of them. There is a small sept of the Gordon Clan in the Lowlands. That is where my family resides. Can we pass through to make sure they are safe?”
“Nay, we canna do such a daft thing. I dinna trust ye willna try to escape. Dinna ye understand?” spat Alastair. “My clan has been feudin’ with the Grants for years. Yer clan has betrayed us by makin’ an alliance with the enemy. The Grants captured my faither and have taken him prisoner in their dungeon.”
“I’m sorry about that, but I assure ye my family has nothin’ to do with it,” Fia protested. “Ye canna hold it against them.”
