Page 19 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

Elysande didn’t comment. She didn’t know if he was right or not. Not knowing was the only reason she herself was alive. Had Lady de Buci’s letter arrived before Lord de Buci had shown up, and had they handed it over, she was quite sure he would have immediately killed them all anyway. He wouldn’t have been able to risk anyone who knew about the letter carrying word of it to the king.

“So the letter to Sinclair has the other letters inside it?” Rory asked suddenly.

Elysande’s mouth curved into a half smile. “Actually, it has three messages inside it. The original letter Lady de Buci opened, Lady de Buci’s letter to my mother about it and my mother’s letter to the king about Lady de Buci’s letter and the other.”

“Ye have them somewhere safe?” he asked.

“Aye,” she assured him, but didn’t tell him that the bulky scroll was in a small sack that Betty had quickly sewn into the lining of her skirts.

“So ye need to get news to the king ere the attempt is made on his life,” he said slowly.

Elysande nodded unhappily. “The plan is set for late December, before the New Year. Even if we are not snowed in somewhere until spring, ‘better than two weeks’ from here to Sinclair means most like another five weeks for a messenger to get all the way down to court to warn him.” Pausing, she shook her head and then fretted, “I do not know why Mother did not think of that when she insisted I travel to Sinclair first.”

“Has she been home since she traveled to England to marry yer father?” Rory asked.

“To Scotland?” she asked. Quite sure that’s what he meant, but she found it odd to think of Scotland as her mother’s home. Their home had been Kynardersley her entire life.

“Aye. Has she traveled back and forth to Scotland at all since her marriage?”

“Not that I know of,” she said slowly, scanning her mind for any mention of such a trip, and then she added, “Definitely not since I was born.”

“Then she probably just did no’ recall how long a journey ’twas to get from one place to the other,” Rory reasoned, then pointed out gently, “And she was verra ill at the time she made these plans. It is no’ surprising that a few details may have been fuzzy fer her, or slipped her mind altogether.”

“Aye.” Elysande nodded agreement. That made perfect sense. “But it does cause problems. I must get Mother’s message to the king ere the end of December. Mayhap I should not go to Sinclair at all. Mayhap Tom, Simon and I should head to court to give the king Mother’s message.”

“Nay,” Rory said at once. “Ye could ride right into de Buci, or he could ha’e men watching the roads fer ye.” He shook his head. “Nay. Yer mother sent ye to me to see ye safe to Sinclair, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “But I’ll think on a way to deliver her message to the king that will get it there faster,” he assured her, standing and moving toward the ladder. Pausing there, he looked thoughtful and murmured, “Perhaps if we had the messenger travel by sea part of the way.”

Elysande’s eyes widened slightly at the suggestion. Traveling by sea would be much quicker, she was sure. The idea at least gave her new hope that they might accomplish the task in time, after all, something she’d begun to seriously doubt when she’d learned how long it would take to reach Sinclair.

“Anyway, that’s enough talk fer now. Ye need yer rest. We all do if we hope to leave tomorrow if we’re able,” Rory said as he began to descend the ladder. “You go ahead and get settled. I’m just going to fetch the men and let them ken they can join us now.”

Elysande waited until he was out of sight, and then moved to the edge of the loft to watch him walk out of the stable. She couldn’t help noticing how the light from the torches caught the red in his hair. Most of the time his hair just looked a rich, dark brown but there was actually red among the brown.

And wasn’t she pathetic for even noticing? Elysande thought with disgust. She was acting like she’d never seen a handsome man before when there were plenty of fine-looking men at Kynardersley. Or there had been, she corrected herself solemnly. They were all dead now.

Suddenly wearied by the realization, Elysande turned to survey the loft. The fur she’d slept on the night before was lying in a corner with the bags that held her clothes. Tom and Simon had obviously put them up here earlier, probably when they’d tended the horses with the other men, though Elysande had been here and hadn’t noticed at the time. She’d probably been too busy watching Rory brush down his mount, she admitted to herself. She did find her eye drawn to him more and more the longer she knew him, which made her feel rather guilty. Her father had been murdered and her mother too, along with every man under them except for Tom and Simon. She should be grieving too much to notice that any man was attractive. Shouldn’t she?

Elysande didn’t know. She’d never been through anything like this before. And where was the numbness that had claimed her directly after those horrible events? It had cloaked her for the journey to Monmouth, and even for the beginning of her journey with the Buchanans, but it had been fading ever since she’d told Rory and Alick and their men what had happened at Kynardersley. It was as if talking about it had stolen the protective numbness from her. Or perhaps it was the tears she’d shed on her horse. Whatever the case, she missed that numbness. Elysande didn’t know how she should behave or feel, or what was appropriate. She felt like she should be numb still over such a great loss. Instead, she was feeling attraction for a complete stranger and it felt wrong.

Elysande fretted over all of that as she spread some hay around and then fetched and unrolled the fur in the middle of the loft. She then gathered her cloak around her and eased herself down to lay on the bed she’d made, resting on her good side and using one of the sacks of clothing as a pillow. It was surprisingly comfortable, and actually warmer than she’d expected. It would be warmer still when the men arrived, she thought, and as if drawn by her thoughts, she heard the stable door open and the soft murmur of the men’s voices as they entered.

Their soft speech died off as they neared the back of the stables. Elysande supposed they were being quiet in case she was sleeping. The possibility made her close her eyes and feign sleep. Confused as she was, she didn’t feel like talking anyway. So she lay still and breathed steadily as she listened to the quiet movements around her as the men climbed up into the loft one after another and bedded down.

Elysande felt someone bump against her hands where they rested in front of her before moving away, and was sure she recognized Rory’s scent. But she could hear the others settling in around her. Someone was at her back, someone by her feet, someone above her head again, just like last night, and she guessed they were all taking up the same positions they had then, surrounding her protectively. It made her feel safe, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Tom and Simon had survived to bring her to the Buchanans.

Chapter 6

Rory woke slowly, his mind reluctant to leave the warm comfort of sleep, but his body telling him there was something missing. It was the warm weight of Elysande curled into his body, he realized. Rory had woken up in the middle of the night to find himself in the same position he’d been in when he woke the first morning of this journey—on his back with Elysande’s head on his shoulder and her body half on him, her arm and leg thrown over him with abandon. He’d lain there for the longest time trying to decide what to do about it, but in the end he’d just settled back, enjoying the heat from her body and inhaling her scent and wondering what it would be like to wake up every morning like this, with this woman in his arms.

Oddly enough, he’d quite liked the idea and that had kept him awake for hours as he’d pondered why that would be. He didn’t really know the woman and at the moment she wasn’t much to look at with half her face battered and bruised. Of course, the other half of her face was mostly undamaged and attractive enough, and the one eye that wasn’t swollen closed was large and a lovely gray blue. But his attraction definitely wasn’t lust based. Most of the time she had that veil covering her face so he couldn’t see her at all. Nay, it was definitely something other than her looks he was attracted to.

She did feel good in his arms, soft and warm . . . and she smelled good too. But he admired her for her courage. She was so damned brave, and showed a quiet strength that was truly impressive. Elysande had lost everything. Most women would have been weeping and wailing over what had happened to them, but not Elysande. If she cried, she did it silently behind her veil. And while he knew that her every movement, and even just sitting a horse, must cause her agony, the woman never complained. She’d kept up with the men despite the grueling pace he’d set and ridden until she was tumbling from the mount rather than beg them to slow down or stop for rest. And her composure when she’d told them what had happened . . . The pain and horror of all she’d witnessed had been there in her eyes, but she’d remained strong, never giving in to hysterics.

Then there was the most telling moment of all for him. When it had been suggested that her mother’s maid, Betty, might have given up her mother’s plans to de Buci under duress, Elysande hadn’t been angry at the betrayal. She’d been worried about the maid and angry at herself for not taking better care of her, for not insisting she accompany them.

Aye, she was brave, and strong, and he admired her greatly. If he were in the market for a wife, she would definitely be one worth considering. He wasn’t, of course. At least, Rory didn’t think he wanted a wife yet. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so annoyed by his family’s efforts to find him a bride. Still, Elysande was quite a woman, and any man would consider himself lucky to have a wife he not only enjoyed holding in his arms, but could depend upon through life’s trials.

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