Highland Sword Page 9

  “Absolutely not,” Morrigan assured her. “I was learning how to fight with a dirk, and he was showing me a few defensive moves. I hit him very much by accident with the butt of the handle. Everyone gets hurt in the training yard at one time or another.”

  “That’s exactly what he said. He took full blame for it, of course. Said it was entirely his own fault.”

  “It wasn’t entirely his fault,” Morrigan retorted. “I mean, I did actually strike him. But it was not to hurt him or blind him.”

  She didn’t know why Aidan was continuing to do this to her. Being so blasted nice. Two days had passed, and she continued to think of him. They’d stood so close, his hand holding hers, and she’d seen the look in his grey eyes as he studied every flaw in her face. It was disconcerting.

  She’d tried to avoid him since. He needed no stitches, but from what she’d heard from others, his eye looked quite bad.

  “Well, you two will have plenty of time tomorrow to decide whose fault it was,” Isabella told her.

  “Is he coming too?” She didn’t want to be happy at this news, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Aidan Grant is going to visit his clients in the Inverness jail. So I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Don’t hurt him, and come back in one piece yourself.”

  * * *

  The sky in the east had barely begun to lighten from diamond-studded black when Morrigan stood in the courtyard, running her hand over the shoulder of her mount. As the others prepared to leave, she thought again of the conversation with Isabella. She was determined to honor her promise.

  More Mackintosh fighters than the last time were accompanying the group going to the port city. She wondered if these trips were for the purpose of bringing back weapons. The rumors of an imminent attack by British forces from Fort George or Fort William were no worse than before. But with Cinaed gone, not every item of news reached her family’s ears.

  The excitement in the castle and the village was focused more on the upcoming celebration of Samhain, only a fortnight away. The festival, marking the end of the harvest season, was the time for taking stock of the clan’s supplies of food, grain, and livestock before the winter cold set in. This was Morrigan’s first autumn in the Highlands. She’d been hearing that the festivities at Dalmigavie were legendary. Eating and drinking, music and dancing. And of course, games of skill. Lachlan, Cinaed, and Niall were expected to return before then. Looking at the line of carts now, Morrigan thought it was quite possible they were simply conveying supplies for the holiday.

  Morrigan spotted Aidan speaking with Searc near the castle gate. She led her horse to a safe place at the rear of the column. Carrying a torch, Blair strode along the line until he found her. As usual, he needed to check on her before their departure. He was still approaching when he launched into his well-rehearsed speech.

  “Ye know how this goes, lassie. No riding off. No shortcuts. No lagging behind. No unexpected stops. Ye stay with the rest of us. Yer but a wee link in this great chain. Are ye listening?”

  “I’ve sworn all of this to Isabella and to Searc.”

  “And now ye’ll swear it to me.”

  “Again?”

  “Aye. Again.”

  “I swear,” she huffed.

  “And when we reach Inverness, two of the men come with ye when ye go to Barn Hill. No abandoning them.”

  “No abandoning them,” Morrigan repeated. She would, however, leave them outside. She wasn’t about to have these brutes frightening a house full of old women.

  “Searc sent a message. Said if ye run across any new barristers while we’re in town, yer to leave them with their faces unmarked and with the use of both eyes, if ye please.”

  Smirking as he turned away, Blair moved past her to the men at the very end of the line. In the flickering torchlight, she saw him gesture toward her as he gave them instructions. No doubt the Highlander was putting every deuced eye on her.

  She sighed. She’d have to prove herself and earn their trust all over again.

  Morrigan knew they were only showing concern for her. What happened the last time she was in town could have turned out a great deal worse if Aidan hadn’t been the one in that alley. When she thought back over that day, Morrigan knew that running into a couple of armed dragoons or a gang of drunken locals would have meant serious trouble. As angry as she’d been, next time she had to think first, act smarter, and be more aware of her surroundings.

  The carts and riders wound their way through the narrow lanes of the village. Smoke from cooking fires already hung in the crisp dawn air. As they reached the end of the harvested fields where the lane disappeared into the forest, Morrigan became aware of a rider who’d left the caravan and sat waiting astride his mount.

  Even from a distance in the greying dawn, it was not difficult distinguishing Aidan Grant from everyone else. In his tall hat and city attire, he was better dressed than any of the Mackintosh men, including Searc.

  Morrigan had no choice. She had nowhere to go. There was no avoiding him. As she drew closer, she noted his relaxed manner and the easy way he soothed the spirited beast he was riding. He exchanged jibes with the carters as they passed, and the sound of laughter reached her. Aidan made his life in the cities, but he was completely comfortable and at home here amongst these rugged men.

  He tipped his hat when she reached him.

  “Your eye,” she murmured, forgoing polite greetings.

  If she’d thought it had looked bad before, his eye was far worse today. Added to the lingering bruise along his cheekbone, the cut above it was red and badly swollen.

  “I can’t believe how much damage I’ve done to your face. I’m so very sorry.”

  “No apology necessary,” he said good-naturedly, nudging his horse and falling in beside her. “It looks worse than it feels.”

  “Your brother must be enjoying this immensely. He does seem to take great pleasure in embellishing these mishaps you suffer at my hand.”

  No one actually saw her hit Aidan in the eye. That wasn’t stopping Sebastian, however. From the stories he was circulating, one would think he was standing right beside them and watching every jab and parry.

  “Indeed. He’s the devil when he has an audience.” The forest closed around them, and in the dim light, she could barely see his face. “But I don’t really mind these wee bumps and scratches. In fact, I am grateful for them.”

  “Grateful? How?” Morrigan had thought he was simply being generous so she wouldn’t feel bad. “I’ve heard some of your brother’s stories.”

  “Sebastian sees these bruises as a lesson. He’s always been concerned that I’m too reckless for my own good. That’s why he’s forever watching over me.”

  “Are you reckless?”

  “I’m not, but I do believe I have luck on my side. I’m not tremendously worried about anything terrible happening to me.”

  “You’re tempting fate, saying such things. Asking for trouble.”

  Aidan didn’t respond, and they rode along in companionable silence. She peered ahead at the line of carts and riders. The sun had begun to filter through the foliage above. The road was descending steadily, and occasional glimpses of the gleaming river appeared alongside them.

  Morrigan felt at ease riding along with him like this. If she could make herself forget the few moments in the training yard when he held on to her hand, or the night in the library when he’d teased her and stared at her like she was some ballroom beauty, then she was certain he’d join the ranks of men like Blair and Cinaed and Niall and Searc. Whenever she was in their company, she had no need to pretend to be something she was not.

  At a bend in the road, he turned his attention back to her, serious and unsmiling. “Five Grants went off to fight in the war against Napoleon,” he said, his voice low and somber. “At the Battle of Quatre Bras, our father died along with our eldest brother during a charge by French lancers. The second oldest,
Noah, was dead as well before nightfall. Sebastian lost his arm when a cannonball ripped through our ranks. I walked away without a scratch that day and the final battle two days later at Waterloo.”

  Morrigan knew from the harsh tone, the hardened look on Aidan’s face was hiding long-held feelings of mourning and guilt. She felt his sadness. They were living in Edinburgh when the news came of Napoleon’s defeat. She recalled the days of celebration afterwards, before an understanding of the price of victory began to sink in for a wounded and hungry nation.

  “Your brother told me he would not have lived if not for your heroism. You carried him to safety.”

  He shrugged as if it were nothing. “Sebastian lost an arm. I was unscathed.”

  Morrigan looked at him and considered all he’d been through, during the war and since then. Guilt was a sickness. It ate away at people, directing their lives. Morrigan had felt it in her own life. She saw it in her father. Archibald Drummond felt a deep-seated guilt that he tried to bury within himself. But it affected him. So many of the decisions he’d made in life were influenced by that guilt.

  Morrigan brushed aside her own memories. “And thanks to me, you’re no longer unmarked by battle.”

  He smiled, slowly shaking off his seriousness.

  “And your brother owes me his gratitude as well,” she continued, “for you now realize how valuable it is to have him at your side, keeping you safe.”

  “I enjoy Sebastian’s company, but I need no bodyguard.”

  “Obviously you need more cuts and bruises. I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “Is that a promise, Miss Drummond?” He laughed, and the sound of it pleased her.

  “You’ll find me in the training yard most mornings.”

  “And I’ll be working in the library most nights.”

  She knew and she was tempted to find an excuse and go there. But each time sanity prevailed. “Your mind is finely tuned, sir. It’s your body’s conditioning that needs work.”

  “There was nothing wrong with my health until I met you.”

  “Well, your brother serves a purpose and so do I. I’ll promise to be a constant reminder that you’re not invincible.”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “Your offer is very generous. And that reminds me, I have a gift for you.”

  “A gift?” Morrigan eyed him warily. She was unaccustomed to receiving gifts from strangers. While she was curious, she also didn’t want him making any assumptions about their relationship.

  He reached into his coat and pulled out something rolled in a piece of sacking. As soon as she saw the shape, Morrigan knew what it was.

  She removed the weapon. “Returning my own sgian dubh to me isn’t a gift.”

  “It is if I intended to keep it.”

  “You couldn’t keep it. You knew it belonged to me.”

  “Any court would consider it to be ‘spoils of war.’”

  “Spoils of war?” she snorted. “We barely scuffled. You only took possession of it because I forgot to pick it up.”

  “You didn’t forget to pick up your dagger. I wouldn’t let you. Do you remember?”

  “Oh, I remember,” she replied. “And my offer stands about meeting in the training yard.”

  He laughed. Morrigan replaced the knife in her boot with her trusted one. She wrapped the other in the sacking and tucked it away. When she looked up, he was watching her.

  “Tell me, how often do you draw that weapon?”

  “Every time I train with Blair.”

  “Aside from our meeting, have you ever drawn it for your own protection?”

  “Of course. Dozens of times.”

  “Dozens?” he scoffed. “How many times?”

  “I have no real need for protection from the folk at Dalmigavie Castle.”

  “I was just wondering if you could actually use your sgian dubh to stab someone.”

  “You came quite close to becoming the most recent of my many victims. You must have known I’d use it on you. Were you afraid?”

  Their horses came close together, and her knee bumped again his.

  The charming smile was back on his lips. “Afraid? Of you?”

  Afraid. Her feelings for Aidan Grant were beginning to confuse her. She wanted some distance from him, but at the same time she enjoyed having him near. She was attracted and yet still afraid. Not afraid. Cautious.

  “That would be wise, I think.”

  They rode along in silence for a while. Up ahead, one of the carters began to sing a Highland song, and others joined in on the chorus. These men had a shared past. They were together through troubles and celebrations. Clan folk were family. She’d never known such camaraderie before arriving at Dalmigavie.

  “Do you know any Gaelic?” Aidan asked when the song finished.

  “None. I know some German, but that’s all.”

  “Have you any knowledge of French?”

  She shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

  “Searc told me you’re visiting a Catholic house outside of Inverness. I heard a number of French nuns live there. A wee bit of their language might come in handy.”

  Morrigan wasn’t surprised that Searc would tell him where she was going. “And I hear you’re going to the jail to visit the Chattan brothers.”

  “You heard correctly.” He paused a moment before continuing. “The jail is by the old bridge, not too far from your destination.”

  Apparently, he intended to keep her company right into Inverness.

  “I’m going with you to Barn Hill.”

  She looked askance at him. “No. What for?”

  “Our intrepid leader up there told me to accompany you.”

  Morrigan glared toward the head of the line, where she could see Searc’s tall hat bobbing along.

  “So, you’re now in Searc’s employ?”

  “In a manner of speaking. He’s the one who engaged me—through the Chattans’ solicitor—to represent the brothers in court. Also, he’s been using me and Sebastian as legal advisors, of sorts. So, I suppose I am.”

  There was no point in asking what kind of advice Searc might need. Morrigan knew he was involved in a multitude of ventures that straddled the legal line. “Thankfully, Mr. Grant, I have no need of your company or the skills of your profession.”

  “I have no doubt of it. However, our host told me to go to ensure that you continue to have no need of my services. I believe he considers it preventive.”

  Convincing Searc and Isabella to allow her to come today had gone more easily than she expected. Morrigan should have guessed the two of them would hatch a plan to keep an eye on her.

  “I am speaking to a few nuns. A simple interview. I cannot see why I need your assistance. What kind of trouble could I possibly get into, going there alone?”

  “I suspect you’ll have no trouble at all. Unfortunately Searc thinks differently.” He lowered his voice, speaking confidentially. “He also told me about the caricatures and about your quite astute observations. I believe he was impressed, and I don’t think that is easily accomplished.”

  “I didn’t come to any conclusions by myself. I had help.”

  “By the choice of the books you were selecting off the shelves, I should have guessed.”

  “It wasn’t the books, but my family. The women who are like my sisters.”

  “Your humility is admirable.”

  “One of my many qualities,” Morrigan said wryly. “But about coming with me. Blair has arranged for two Mackintosh men to come and stand guard over me like a pair of mastiffs. If you want to stand with them while I go in and speak with those women, you’re welcome to do so.”

  “Searc might think you need physical protection, but no one knows the fallacy of that better than I. However, you might have some use for my social and diplomatic skills.”

  Morrigan doubted it. “And your humility is beyond admirable, Mr. Grant.”

  Aidan bowed, smiling at her barb. “Tell me, then. How do you plan to approach the
m?”

  “I’ll show them one of the etchings and ask them amiably if they know who the artist might be.”

  “Amiably sounds like the right approach, but the rest is wrong.”

  “What objection do you have?”

  He frowned. “Why should they answer truthfully? They don’t know you. Why should they answer at all? You have no connection with Barn Hill. You’re not a Catholic. And you don’t reside anywhere near them. Nor do you have a child or a family who might be interested in moving there. In short, they have no reason to trust you. I foresee failure in your quest.”

  Morrigan would have liked to disagree but she couldn’t. He was right. Because of their faith, these women had surely been harassed for years. If she were in their position, she wouldn’t trust a stranger either. She stole a glance at him and understood why Aidan had an excellent reputation as a barrister.

  He wasn’t finished. “What if the artist still resides there? Approached by a stranger, they’ll see it as their duty to protect her and themselves in the bargain.” He shook his head doubtfully. “I think you’ll have a difficult time even getting in the door. And if you do, you’ll need to explain your visit in a manner that doesn’t arouse their concern.”

  “I don’t mean her or them any harm. I’ll say curiosity brought me to their door.”

  “Curiosity over what?”

  “The etchings.”

  “We’ve already established that doesn’t work.” His statement was final, like a judge addressing a jury. “You’ll have only one chance at this. They might speak to you today, but if they have any suspicion of your motives, you’ll be dismissed out of hand.”

  He was a man with two sides to him, Morrigan thought. Agreeable and good-natured. Then there was this other side. Strong-minded. Strong-willed. Unequivocal in his pronouncements. Dismissive of weak argument or approach. Very much the successful barrister.

  “Very well. How would you go about it? How would you convince them to tell us what they know?”

  “You’ll see. You’ll be with me.” He tipped his hat to her and spurred his horse, trotting ahead past riders and carts, leaving her agape.

  Morrigan couldn’t believe it. The rogue had decided his company was essential for her today. And then she’d been dismissed.