Page 40 of Awoken
Eventually, the land grew too rough and stony, the undergrowth too thick, to continue on horseback. They dismounted, and Ross led his horse after them, following the outlaws in silence now.
They walked for a long while, pushing through bracken and brambles, traveling through a press of trees so dense that they blocked out the sky. The land gradually grew rougher and steeper still, and Leanna realized that they were hard against the feet of the mountains now—a wild, lonely place where men rarely ventured.
The perfect spot to hide.
Emerging from between two prickly spruce, Leanna finally stepped out into a clearing—and there before her spread the outlaw camp.
It was a shock, stepping out of the cool silence of the forest and into a bustling village. A wall of noise hit Leanna: the rise and fall of voices, the clang and hiss of iron being forged, the bleat of goats, and the squawk of fowl.
One glance told her that these folk had lived here a while. Squat huts nestled amongst the trees like large brown toadstools, smoke rising from their sod roofs. This wasn’t just a male environment. Women and children moved about the clearing before the trees, while a mountain stream trickled by.
As they approached, one of the women glanced up from where she was washing clothes in the stream, her gaze widening when she spied the other outlaws and their captives. The woman wasn’t dressed in a kirtle, but in braies and a leather vest—a sight that disconcerted Leanna. The outlaw woman’s pretty features tightened, and she rose to her feet, leaving the pile of sodden washing upon the stone where she’d been scrubbing it.
“Who’s this?” she asked, moving toward them.
“We have guests, Fenella,” Craeg greeted her. “Go and ready a hut for them.”
The woman’s gaze narrowed, and her hands went to her hips. She was a comely woman who looked to be in her early thirties, with a wild mane of dark-gold hair. “What have ye gone and done, Craeg?”
The outlaw leader snorted a laugh. “Nothing. These two are fleeing Duncan MacKinnon … so I thought we could offer them some hospitality.”
The woman, Fenella, went still at this, her gaze sweeping from Craeg to Ross and Leanna. Her blue eyes turned hard, suspicious. “Why would ye bring them here?”
“It’s the safest corner of these lands, Fen.”
The woman’s expression darkened further. “It won’t be, if ye let strangers know where we’re hiding.”
Craeg waved away her comment. “Worry not … these two have good reason to remain hidden.” He motioned to Leanna. “Meet my brother’s bride-to-be … Lady Leanna of Sleat. It appears she doesn’t want to wed him.”
His introduction didn’t thaw Fenella’s eyes. If anything, her gaze grew colder. “And who’s this?” she asked, pointing to Leanna’s companion.
Craeg grinned. “Meet Ross Campbell … the Captain of The Dunan Guard and MacKinnon’s right-hand.”
These words caused the outlaw woman to draw in a sharp breath. Likewise, around her folk turned to stare. Mutters and whispered comments followed.
The fine hair on the back of Leanna’s neck prickled. Those gazes weren’t friendly.
“Stop glaring, Fen.” A huge man with thick red hair stepped up next to the outlaw leader. A longbow and quiver hung from his back. “Campbell has left MacKinnon’s employment.” The fire-haired outlaw glanced at Ross then, a thoughtful expression upon his face. “He might be able to give us some helpful details regarding his former master.”
Next to Leanna, Ross frowned. Such things hadn’t been discussed.
“Even so, ye shouldn’t have brought them here, Gunn,” Fenella scolded. “Have the pair of ye lost yer wits?”
“Listen to yer man,” Craeg spoke up. He was still smiling although Leanna glimpsed a flicker of irritation in his gaze. “Go on … get our guests’ lodgings ready for them.”
Fenella clamped her mouth shut, yet her blue eyes still gleamed with annoyance. This time though, she didn’t argue. Instead, she turned on her heel and stalked off to do his bidding.
Craeg turned to Leanna and Ross. “Apologies for the frosty welcome … folk here are wary of outsiders.”
“For good reason,” the red-haired outlaw added. “Bringing the wrong person into our midst could spell our doom.”
Craeg raised a dark eyebrow, a silent gesture that told the outlaw he was well aware of that. “Come … I’ll show ye where to tether yer horse,” he said to Ross. “And after that the pair of ye can join me for an ale in my hut.”
Carr Broderick rode into Dunan just as the last rays of sun burnished the wooded hills surrounding the broch. His horse was lathered, and the priest he’d brought from Talasgair was pinch-faced with exhaustion, yet they’d made good time.
Hooves clattering on the cobbles, the two horses entered the bailey and headed toward the stable complex against the western walls.
Carr drew up his mount before the stables and swung down from the saddle, throwing the reins to a lad who’d emerged to greet him. Usually, he liked to see to his horse himself—and this courser definitely deserved a generous nosebag of oats—but the clan-chief would be waiting.
