Page 24 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

“I want you to,” Mildrede assured her, and then ran one finger over the brooch. “’Twas my mother’s. She received it from a lord she found injured in the woods and helped as a young woman. He had no money on him and gave her the brooch as a thank-you. She gave it to me when I married.”

“Then I definitely cannot take it from you, Mildrede,” Elysande said firmly.

“Well.” Mildrede frowned briefly. “You could borrow it, then. Once you’ve warned the king and he’s taken care of that de Buci bastard and his friends, you can come back for a nice visit, tell me of all your adventures and return the pin. I’d like that I would. To see that you were all right and learn how you’re faring.”

Elysande smiled at the suggestion, obviously touched by it, but then frowned. “But what if de Buci captures and kills me? The pin would be lost forever. Nay, I cannot.”

Rory saw the way Mildrede paled at those words, and fully understood her response. He felt a little weak and sick at the suggestion himself. More so by the way Elysande said it so cavalierly, as if it was a good possibility and one she was not only aware of, but had accepted.

“De Buci will not have ye,” he said firmly. “Me men and I will keep ye safe. Me whole clan will once we reach Scotland, and I’ve brothers and a sister with their own clans and armies all across Scotland that will help. Between them and the Sinclairs, we will get ye through this alive, lass. And warn yer king too.”

Mildrede seemed to start breathing again then, and even cast a smile his way. “There, you see? He and his men will keep you alive. So you can borrow this.”

“Aye, we will,” Rory said firmly. Taking the pin, he used it to fasten the plaid around her neck, saying, “But only for a short while. We’ll go out at once, purchase a much less expensive brooch for her to use, find our lunch at one o’ the inns and then return yours when we get back.”

When Mildrede opened her mouth as if to protest, he added gently, “’Tis a lovely piece and might draw notice, which is the last thing we want until this ordeal is over. Something less expensive would serve us better.”

“Oh, aye. I suppose it might,” the alewife relented.

“And I promise I will see Lady Elysande here myself for a visit once this is all over.”

She rallied at that, and gave him another smile. “Well, that’s fine, then.”

Nodding, Rory took Elysande’s arm and urged her toward the door. “Then we’ll be off and let ye get about yer business.”

“Aye,” Mildrede said. “But make sure you’re back for the sup. I sent my Albert out to find some meat so I could make you a fine stew tonight. Nothing fancy mind, but a hearty pottage to fill yer bellies and build up yer strength for the trials ahead.”

“We shall look forward to it,” Elysande assured her as Rory whisked her out of the kitchen. He was moving her so quickly now they were several steps into the ale room before she got her head turned forward again, and then she drew to an abrupt halt as her gaze settled on Tom and Simon in their new finery.

Chapter 7

“M’lady?” Tom said uncomfortably when Elysande merely gaped at them.

“Are you displeased, m’lady?” Simon added, glancing from her to Tom and back, and then he asked almost hopefully, “Should we change back into our own—”

“Nay!” she blurted, starting forward again and smiling now. “You look like Scots, and that is what we wanted.”

And it was true. They did look like Scots. Just a little shorter and a little less brawny than the real Scots they traveled with, Elysande thought as her gaze slid over them. Tom and Simon had looked much larger in their hauberks, chain mail and padded tunics. Now they didn’t seem very threatening at all. At least not next to the Buchanans, each of whom were a couple inches to half a foot taller, and most definitely wider with much larger upper arms. Even Rory, who was supposed to be renowned for his healing rather than his sword work, had huge upper arms. But Tom and Simon were two of her father’s youngest men. It was why they’d been away delivering a message when de Buci arrived and hadn’t returned home until after the slaughter was over. Still, it was shocking to her to see how much smaller they appeared in the Scottish gear.

“Ye look lovely in yer arisaidh, Lady Elysande,” Conn said in his quiet voice. “Like a true Scots lass.”

Elysande flushed with pleasure at the compliment until she recalled the damage on one side of her face and that she couldn’t possibly look lovely. The man was just being kind. Taking it in the manner it had been intended, she smiled at the man, drew the sides of her plaid skirts out a bit and quickly dipped into a curtsy.

Popping back up, she smiled widely and tried to mimic their Scottish accents. “Thank ye, kind sir. ’Tis pleased I am to be a Scottish lass.”

The horror on the Buchanan men’s faces told her they were no more impressed than Rory had been with the effort. Rolling her eyes, Elysande spun on her heel and headed for the door. She pulled the top of the plaid over her head, drawing it across the damaged side of her face as she went, adding in that accent they so abhorred, “Come alon’, then, laddies. Apparently, we’re off to the shops again and then on to find our noonin’ meal somewhere.”

“Ye’ll have them weeping do ye keep that up, lass,” Rory said with amusement as he appeared at her side to open the door for her.

“’Tis nae tha’ bad,” she protested as they left the alehouse.

“Aye. ’Tis,” he assured her with a grin as he took her arm.

Elysande merely gave an annoyed sniff and kept walking.

“Why are we heading back to the shops?” Alick asked as he and the other men moved out around them.

“Lady Elysande needs a pin fer her arisaidh,” Rory answered.

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