Page 8 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

Something he could ill afford at any time, but never more so now, when Scotland was still a divided land. Even members of his own clan had questioned the wisdom of Gavin’s decision to support King Robert, for the would-be king was little more than a fugitive in his own kingdom. Yet Gavin had no intention of forsaking his pledge, nor did he intend to suffer the same gruesome death as others who had defiantly sided with Robert against England’s King Edward.

Not content with the mere execution of his enemies, King Edward had captured and then brought to London good men like William Wallace and Simon Fraser. Once there, he had ordered them hung, drawn and quartered and, as a final humiliation, had their heads impaled on spikes on London Bridge.

These barbaric acts had scared some sympathetic to King Robert’s cause, but not Gavin. Instead, it had strengthened his resolve to do all that was necessary to help King Robert break from England’s rule and achieve independence.

Yet how could he expect his people to trust his judgment and follow his lead when he couldn’t control the raids of his bastard half brother? If word of this weakness spread, Lord only knew what other dangers they would be inviting. For in Scotland, if you didn’t hold fast to what was yours, another clan was more than happy to claim it for themselves.

Allowing the determination that burned in his chest to be freely reflected in his face, Gavin stared down at his men.

Duncan, Connor, and Aidan were his cousins, sons of his father’s brother and three of his most experienced, skilled fighters. He was confident of their loyalty, their devotion to him personally, and their regard for the welfare of the clan. A part of him regretted having to speak so harshly, but results were imperative.

Gilroymustbe captured. Soon.

“Intruders have been seen in the south woods, milord!”

Gavin bit back his additional words of reprimand as the young soldier bringing the news hurried into the great hall. Was the opportunity he had been waiting for finally here? Gavin felt his pulse race at the thought of ending this irritating problem once and for all.

“Is it Gilroy?” Gavin asked, his expression eager.

“I dinnae think so.” The young man hung his head, his disappointment obvious. “James saw them and sent me here with the message. There are two women in the party, a lad, a man wearing a priest’s tunic, and six mounted knights. James dinnae get too close, but he said I must tell ye he believes they are English.”

English? On my land?Gavin could feel the muscles in his body tighten, but outwardly he remained calm. Not his half brother, but who could be certain? This could easily be another trick, a diversion created in one place while mischief was accomplished on another front.

“Take some men and ride out to meet these intruders,” Gavin commanded. “That is, if ye think ye are capable of bringing them to me without any difficulties.”

Duncan flushed, Connor fumed, and Aidan grimaced.

“We willnae have any trouble,” Connor shot back.

With a stoic grimace, Gavin lifted a hand and waved off the comment. Clearly annoyed, the three men stomped away. Good. Perhaps the possibility of further humiliation would ensure their success. Reaching for his half-empty tankard of ale, Gavin took a long swallow, then leaned back in his chair.

He eyed a few of the soldiers gambling in the corner, but none would meet his gaze. Not surprising given his current mood. Unperturbed, he lifted his goblet, took another deep swallow, then leaned back in his chair and waited.

Concealed behind the large trunk of a fallen tree, Ewan Gilroy watched through the dense foliage as the McLendon men approached the encampment. When they crested the hill a cry arose from the camp sentry. One of the women moved forward as if to greet the McLendons, a short, broad-shouldered knight at her side. The rest of the men circled the edge of the camp, yet their weapons remained sheathed and they made no outward moves to defend themselves. Ewan wiggled forward on his belly to get a better look, but this closer view confirmed what he had seen.

Curious.

Though in truth, Ewan knew he shouldn’t be surprised. He had been tracking this odd group for four days and nothing they had done made much sense. In the beginning, they had traveled on the public highway, but once they gained a foothold on McLendon land, they had taken to the forest, blatantly trespassing. ’Twas almost as if they were challenging the earl’s authority, as if they wanted to be discovered.

“If we’re fixing to raid the traveler’s camp and take their bounty fer ourselves, we best make a move now or else the McLendons will reach them first.”

Ewan froze, recognizing the voice of Magnus Fraser. Magnus was not part of his regular band of men and more often than not, Ewan had regretted his decision to bring him on these last few raids. Aye, he fought well and hard, but there was an arrogance to the man that was distasteful, an attitude bordering on threatening. With other skilled fighting men available to ride with him, Ewan had come to the conclusion that Magnus was far more trouble than he was worth.

“There’s no need to bother with this lot,” Ewan responded. “The McLendons believe us to be far away. ’Tis foolish to show ourselves fer whatever meager trinkets those travelers carry.”

“I like trinkets.” Magnus cleared his throat and spat on the ground. “We should have gone in at first light, like I said. When there were no McLendons around to see us.”

Ewan avoided Magnus’s stare, knowing he was right. They should have attacked sooner, but something had made him hesitate, hold back. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge nor admit.

He was weary. Of the constant raids, the running and hiding, of not having a true home to call his own.

Lately, they had been even more successful in disrupting the business of the clan, an occurrence that should have given Ewan a sense of triumph. Instead, it left a hollow, almost empty feeling way down in the pit of his gut.

Given a choice, this was not the life he would have chosen for himself. Fugitive, outlaw, thief. It had been hard growing up as Moira Gilroy’s bastard son, especially since his noble father had not laid claim to him until he was on his deathbed, mere minutes before meeting his maker.

By then, it was too late. Though born a daughter of a laird, Moira Gilroy had been cast out by her family when she shamefully revealed her pregnant state. Her lover, the grand and mighty Earl of Kirkland, also turned his back to her plight, refusing to acknowledge the child as his own.

Terrified and alone, Moira had repeatedly pressed for aid and finally the earl relented. His concession provided his former mistress with a crude hut on the outskirts of one of the villages, along with a meager stipend that shrank each year. If not for Ewan’s quickly learned hunting skills as a lad, the two would have perished from starvation years ago.

---