The Highland Wife. Lyn Stone
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of course. He smiled to himself, recalling the looks of awe—and sometimes fright—when he dealt with animals. Wild or tame, they loved him. He could coax them to do nearly anything he wished. Only he knew the secret was in caring about them, in showing no fear and banishing their fear of him. They sensed his respect and it calmed them, made a wild beastie as tractable as the laziest hound.
As he mulled that over, Rob unsaddled the horses and brushed them down with tufts of grass, examining their legs for scratches and their hooves for stones. All three nuzzled him in turn, thanking him for the attention.
His familiars, some accused. Strange word, to have such sinister meaning and yet be so descriptive of how he actually felt about most animals. He liked them more than people at times, for they were also hampered when it came to communicating what they truly needed. He made the effort to understand them and they returned the courtesy. It was that simple.
Also, his ability to see at night astounded many who knew him. For Rob, it seemed as natural as seeing in the day. God had given him that ability, he was certain. It proved quite valuable at times, and would later this night when they must rise and travel again with only the meager light of the moon. A gift.
He could sometimes divine exactly what others were thinking. This, however, was no real gift at all. He merely watched people more closely than most bothered to do. Or perhaps sounds distracted them so that they could not.
Expressions, arms closed about the chest, fists clenched, trembles of fear or rage not quite masked by a pretense of calm, shifting eyes. Those gave true thoughts away.
He could spot a liar before he opened his mouth to speak. And a plotting mind stood no chance of concealing itself. There was an air of intensity, of reckoning, so apparent as to be written in ink across the forehead.
Rob straightened from his task and looked at Mairi. She now sat upon the blanket, her elbows resting on her drawn-up knees, one finger absently twirling a strand of hair that had escaped her shining braid at the temple. Such a pensive, faraway look she wore.
Child’s play to see inside that mind, Rob thought with a wry twist of his mouth. Mairi was forming a plan of some sort. She either thought to escape him and return to Craigmuir to avenge her sire, or she meant to cajole her new husband into promising he would do the deed for her.
Powerless at the moment, she obviously hadn’t quite decided as yet which she would do. And so, he must watch her and keep her from acting on the first option, should she choose that one.
Mayhaps soon he would tell her he had already elected to return and set matters to rights if Ranald did not come after them and seal his fate. Rob smiled. He was not above allowing her to ply her charms first to convince him that he should accede to her wishes. He might have a bit of the devil in him, after all, to consider such a thing.
Andy soon summoned them to partake of the bread, cheese and cold meats he had packed before they left Craigmuir. They sat near the weak blaze and passed a wineskin among them.
If Mairi minded the silent meal, she did not say so. Rob suspected her exhaustion prevented her caring one way or the other.
“Sleep now,” he told her when she had finished eating. Obediently, she gave them good-night and retired to her blanket. Rob wrapped himself in his cloak and sat against a nearby tree. Andy moved to the shadows beyond the fire to keep first watch, as was his duty.
Rob had not meant to sleep until he could claim a place close enough to Mairi that he might be awakened should she attempt to leave in the night. However, he awoke with a start several hours later when the pale moon had tracked high overhead.
A sense of impending threat made his skin tingle. He rose quickly and hurried toward the horses.
What is it? Andy signed as he approached from across the clearing, an arrow already nocked in his bow.
Danger, Rob indicated. Wait here. Keep close watch.
At Andy’s obedient nod, Rob quietly saddled his horse and led him into the trees. He mounted quickly and retraced their earlier path for nearly an hour. At intervals, he would stop, sniff the air in all directions for wood smoke. When he smelled it finally, he let the scent lead him where it would.
The enemy camp had bedded for the night. Rob counted four sleeping bodies, rolled in blankets around the glowing coals. Another man had been set to guard duty, but had fallen asleep.
Five corresponded with the number of mounts. Rob took the time to lead the horses well away from the camp and tether them near his own.
Could one of these men be the cousin, Ranald? Rob hoped so. Then it would end here.
Unthinkable to slay sleeping men, he decided. And there was the slight chance these were not sent by the new laird of Craigmuir.
“Ho, the camp!” he shouted. “MacBain is here!”
He laughed aloud at their sudden confusion. Two tangled so helplessly in their wraps, they could not gain their feet.
The wakened guard rushed him, sword drawn. Rob dispatched him cleanly and kicked him off the blade. The advantage of surprise worked quite well.
A second man managed a nearly lethal thrust before Rob cut him down. He handily caught the next one with the backswing of his blade. The fourth laggard, mouth open and eyes wide with sheer terror as he looked back, took to the woods on the opposite side of the clearing and disappeared.
Rob trapped the last of the clumsy group still fighting his way out of his blanket. The oaf smelled of strong drink. A sharp rap on the head stopped his struggles.
Ranald MacInness must have combed the Highlands for the worst trained warriors available. Rob imagined his lowliest cotters armed with sticks could have held their own against these dullards.
A pitiful excuse for a fight, Rob thought as he bound his captive. He thought about chasing down the man who had escaped, but decided not to bother. That one was on foot and would require at least two days to make Craigmuir.
Besides, Mairi’s cousin needed to receive the message his minion would carry. What the MacBain claimed remained his own, and Mairi belonged to none other. Could Ranald resist such a taunt? Rob thought not. He would come after Mairi himself next time, but now would be at least three or four days behind them.
Satisfied that he had taken care of the problem for the duration of their journey to Baincroft, Rob hauled the bound man toward the horses, threw him aloft and tied him on.
He meant to have answers of this one. Rob would soon know the number and sort of men Mairi’s cousin commanded and whether he would pursue her all the way to the Midlothian.
The information he would gain should assist him in eventually deposing the treacherous cousin. He hoped Mairi would feel her father partly avenged by this night’s work.
“It’s Lord Rob!” Wee Andy called, waving his arm and hurrying around the fire to where Mairi stood. “You see? I told you he’d be back soon!”
She pulled her blanket closer against the night’s chill. “Who is that?” she asked, pointing at the body draped across the shaggy, unfamiliar mount her husband towed into camp.
“Your cousin’s man,” MacBain answered as he reined up before the fire. He dismounted and stretched, obviously weary.
“He only sent one?” she asked in disbelief.
“Five,” he said calmly, and turned away to drag his captive off the horse.
“Five? Where are the others? What happened? And how did ye know they—”
“My lady, please,” Wee Andy interrupted, stepping between her and MacBain. “There’s naught to be worried about. Leave off a moment and let’s see what we’ve got here, eh?”
Mairi blew out a breath of exasperation and desisted, though she could hardly contain herself.
With anxious eyes, she scanned the darkness of the tree line, wondering if at any moment the other four would emerge to wage