Maybe This Time, page 20
Alyssa gave thanks to Duncan for training James so well, for warning her that dishonorable men would attack at night. And thanks to her Maker for blessing them with the light from a full moon that made slipping silently from tree to tree much easier.
Even in the semidarkness, the raiders were easy to see. They dressed like the English and were more noisy than a pack of hungry wolves just starting to feast. Innes’s men wore plaids—though the scum wore not their own, but the colors of the MacMillian. Wondering where they’d gotten them worried her spine with shivers.
An owl’s call caught her attention. All of the men coming over the wall were now inside. The women must move quickly, before the attackers spread out. Alyssa gave the responding signal and moved.
“Innes,” one of the raiders called out in an elevated whisper. “The ground is sticky!”
Alyssa let out a war cry. Honey rained from the trees onto the men. Instantly, there was confusion. The men twisted and jerked about, their shouted curses filling the brisk night air.
The women dropped from the trees and ran for the gate to the upper bailey.
Alyssa waited the agreed time, then screamed at the top of her lungs. “Celwyn! Margar!” Then she called out to Tam’s wife. “Cellina! Now!”
Hearing the swarm of bees, Alyssa turned and whistled. Goose bumps prickled her flesh. God, she hated bugs, but for the bees, she must feel grateful. She glanced at the men fighting Celwyn’s bees, swatting and swinging wildly. Celwyn had said that bee stings could be painful, and, considering the screaming going on, Celwyn was right. But Alyssa denied the men even a pang of pity. They were attackers and deserved their due.
Streak nudged Alyssa’s side, and, mounting, she shouted, “Patrick?”
“We’ve got them on the run to the loch, my lady. Kathleen will return Margar to the keep.”
Margar wasn’t too happy with the idea of mounting a horse, but she didn’t complain overly much. Alyssa was grateful for that.
At her side, Alyssa warned, “You know this is just the beginning.”
“Aye,” Margar agreed, cackling. “But ‘tis a fine one. Bee stings can be very painful, child.”
“Especially so many of them,” Kathleen added.
Alyssa nodded and rode hell-bent-for-leather toward the loch.
Duncan’s creed crossed her mind. “Flaunt not your abilities. Being physically inferior, surprise is your strongest defense.”
Well, Celwyn’s bees had indeed been a surprise. When she’d suggested the idea, Alyssa and the male warriors had thought Angus’s wife crazed. But the idea had more merit than any other—and less risk of injury—so Alyssa agreed. And once their wives gave them a good talking-to, the men weren’t overly opposed. The bees had been effective in immobilizing the attackers—and in sending them running for the cold numbing waters of the loch.
Alyssa smiled and bent low against Streak’s neck. No doubt what waited for them at the loch would come as a surprise, too.
As Alyssa dismounted, she heard the first splashes—and the first order to fire. Strategically positioned, the women let loose on the raiders and Innes’s men with a barrage of arrows.
In no time the men were crying retreat.
BACK INSIDE the upper bailey, Alyssa gave Streak her head and turned her own thoughts to the uncertain future. How many attacks would there be before Kevan returned? Against how many attacks could the women defend? And at what cost?
Nearing the stables, Alyssa felt a stone clip her shoulder. She cried out and unintentionally jerked back on the reins. Streak reared, and, unprepared, Alyssa found herself fighting to keep her seat. She looked in the direction the stone had come. “Innes.”
His expression was ink black. “Aye, my lady. ‘Tis your betrothed.”
Betrothed? Had he gone mad? “Leave my husband’s land, Innes. Else suffer his wrath.”
“The Buchannan is gone.”
Alyssa heart almost stopped. “Gone?”
“Gone.”
The last time she’d been told that, she’d assumed gone meant dead. She’d not assume again.
“Where, Innes? Where is my husband?”
“He is dead.”
“Nay!” Kevan couldn’t be dead. She would know it. She would feel it in her heart. “You lie.”
“I killed him.”
Sword in hand, Alyssa dismounted and let out a war cry that echoed through the upper bailey and bounced off the stable walls.
Innes drew his sword, stood ready for her assault.
From the first clash of metal, the fight was fierce. Innes might be crazed, but that had not affected his skill with the sword. She used all of her abilities, concentrated on nothing other than the battle. Still, though she could match, she could not exceed his skill.
“Enough!” Innes yelled, backing away from her.
Confused, wary, Alyssa let him retreat. Easing her dagger from her belt, she concealed it in her palm.
“Your husband is dead, Lady Alyssa. Do you wed me, or do you die?”
Alyssa pushed aside the pain wrenching her heart and gave her fury free reign. “I die.”
“So be it.”
Before he could advance, Alyssa charged. Knocked off balance, he lost his footing and the dagger aimed at his heart sliced an angry streak across his cheek. He screamed, his eyes growing wild.
Alyssa whistled and Streak came running. She was on her mare before Innes stood and raised his own dagger. “Oh God!” she cried, digging in her heels and flattening herself against Streak’s neck.
But the dagger didn’t come. Alyssa looked back to see Innes straddling the upper bailey wall.
“We are not done, my lady.” he shouted. “You will die.”
Twelve
“I DON’T KNOW how Innes got inside the upper bailey, Margar.” Alyssa paced back and forth before the fireplace in the hall. “I only know that he did.”
“That wall was heavily guarded, child. He couldn’t have just—just appeared outta thin air.”
“Patrick,” Alyssa said, looking at the young man sitting at the table closest to her. “Don’t get sotted on that ale. We’ve got to find the breach.”
“‘Tis still dark. They’ll not be attacking again till morn.”
Alyssa glared at him. “And did they attack in the light of day this time?”
“Nay,” Patrick said, red creeping up his neck. He pushed the goblet of ale away from him.
“My lady?”
Alyssa turned to see the pretty little blonde who’d returned with Margar to the keep. She looked scared out of her wits. Not knowing the young woman well, Alyssa raised a questioning brow to Margar.
“Kathleen,” Margar whispered so only she could hear. “She’s to wed Collin come summer.”
Kathleen dipped her head, and Alyssa asked, “What is it, Kathleen?”
“I know how Innes might have gotten into the upper bailey.”
“Well, speak up, child,” Margar snapped.
Alyssa silenced Margar by placing her hand on the old woman’s forearm. In a soft voice, she said, “Go on, Kathleen.”
“In the back of the stable there’s a small door. It leads through the wall.”
Margar cackled and her blue eyes gleamed. “Aye, Alyssa. She speaks the truth. ‘Tis where all the lovers go to be alone—’afore the vows, so to speak.”
“Patrick, round up the men,” Alyssa said. “Celwyn, Cellina, come.”
When the women were gathered, Alyssa smiled. “Remember what you were telling me earlier about the brooms?”
“Aye,” both answered in unison.
“Well, I think we’ve a need for just such a weapon.”
AT THE STABLE, Alyssa turned to Celwyn and Cellina, and whispered, “Are you ready?”
The women nodded. Forcing a grin, Alyssa started a gossipy round of chatter and entered the stable. “Aye, Kathleen will wed Collin come summer.”
“She’ll have his bairn in her belly long before then, is my guess,” Cellina said. “Not that I blame her. That Collin’s a charmer, and fine-looking, too.”
“He is that,” Celwyn said a little breathlessly. “Eyes as blue as a summer sky.” She paused to shake the dust from her broom. “Course, he’s no better-looking than my Angus. A finer man ain’t been born.” She gave the stable floor a swipe, raising a cloud of dirt.
Working her way to the back of the stable, Alyssa spotted the little door Kathleen said tunneled through the bailey wall. Sure enough, it was slightly ajar, its leather hinges cut. And large footprints were clear in the dust, their toes pointing into the stable. Her eyes narrowed and she gave the floor a good sweep, forcing dirt into the tunnel. “This floor is pitiful. I’ll have the stablemaster’s head for this.” She turned, but kept one eye on the little door. “Come look at this mess back here. A whole corner of wet straw, stinking to high heaven!”
The other two women ambled over.
“A mess, it surely is,” Celwyn said, slipping Alyssa her dagger.
Alyssa nodded and eased the weapon into her belt.
“Oh, aye,” Cellina agreed. “We’ll help you here, then do the rest, my lady.”
Soon the women had the entire back stalls filled with a cloud of choking dust. Their plaids had been raised to cover their noses and mouths. Alyssa whispered, “Do you—”
Through the little door, sounds of coughing and sputtering erupted. Then Alyssa heard the first clash of metal. “They fight!” she told the women. “Quick, help me get this log in front of the door!”
The door blocked, the women ran outside and grabbed their bows. Engaged with their swords, the warriors fought the raiders. A few had already been subdued, and were being tied with lengths of rope and ordered to sit along the inner, upper bailey wall. Climbing to the top of the wall, Alyssa warned the women. “Get a clear aim, and keep your head down!”
Cellina and Celwyn positioned themselves and raised their bows.
Just as she was drawing her bow, Alyssa heard Innes’s voice coming from around the corner of the stable. He sounded out of breath, and his voice came from inside the upper bailey!
Turning, she climbed down the wall and crept toward the sound. When she could make out his words, she stopped.
“Were you asleep?” Innes asked.
“No,” someone sounding like an Englishman said. “I saw them. But they was women, and they wasn’t armed. Carryin’ brooms, is all. I can’t kill no woman bent on sweepin’.”
“Fool! Who do you think shoots those arrows now? Some of the Buchannan’s black-faced sheep?”
Alyssa readied her bow and stepped away from the corner of the stable. A fist to her jaw sent her sprawling.
She scrambled, but her plaid was caught. She looked and saw a foot clamping it to the ground. Following that leg upward, she saw Innes’s scowling face.
“Aye, ‘tis my lady. Kill the rest, but not this one. I want to kill her myself—later.”
The look on his face was openly carnal. She was terrified, but she glared up at him and thrust out her chin. If he would just step a wee bit closer—
A war cry that set her heart to singing ripped through the upper bailey.
She screamed, “Kevan!”
Innes moved.
Alyssa aimed a strong kick to his groin. She missed, catching his abdomen, but he doubled over long enough for her to draw Celwyn’s dagger. When he jerked upright, she let the weapon fly.
Innes crumpled to the ground.
Not daring to stop to make sure he was dead, Alyssa ran toward the sound of Kevan’s voice, screaming his name. She heard the thunder of Beautiful’s hooves, and heard him call her. “Alyssa!”
And then she saw him. Her heart skipped, then pounded in her chest, and tears washed down her face. Running, she mumbled over and over again. “Thank God. He’s alive. He’s . . . alive!”
He scooped her onto Beautiful’s back and clutched her to him. “Alyssa! Are you all right, love?”
His arms trembled and she collapsed against his chest. “Kevan,” she sobbed. “He said you were dead!”
“Angus!” he shouted back at the smith just passing the gate into the upper bailey. “Take my woman to the keep.”
“Nay,” Alyssa whispered. “Cellina and Celwyn are at the stable.”
“Oh, God,” he mumbled, then turned back to his men. “Come!”
When they arrived back at the stable, Kevan was prepared for a grim scene. He was not prepared for what he found.
Lined along the inner, upper bailey wall, tied with rope and gagged, sat the raiders and Innes’s men. Stripped bare, their faces, hands, and feet were branded with dye.
“They look injured. Damned if they don’t look bee stung, too,” Tam said, grinning.
“They are,” Alyssa told him.
“Celwyn’s bees?”
“Aye,” Alyssa said, watching Patrick come closer to Kevan.
“Innes?” Kevan asked Patrick.
“He’s dead.” Patrick looked up at Kevan, his expression worried. “I know you wanted to kill him yourself, but somebody put a dagger in his heart. I wish I could say it was me. He touched my lady, laird. I wanted to kill him.”
“Alyssa?” Kevan asked softly. “Did he hurt you, love?”
“Nay. He touched my plaid’s all. I kicked him, Kevan. The only skin the man met with was the underside of my foot.” She looked down at Patrick. “‘Twas Celwyn’s dagger what killed Innes, though I threw it. Fear not, your laird is pleased with you. As is your lady.”
Smiling, Patrick looked up at her. “What should we do with them?”
Kevan looked to the prisoners. “I say we beat a little sense into them, then see where their loyalty stands.”
“Cellina?” Tam spurred his horse forward. “What are you doing here?”
Cellina slung her bow to her back. “Defending the keep, Tam—with Celwyn.”
“Celwyn?” Angus said, wide-eyed. “Fighting like a man?”
Angus’s wife stepped from the stable out into the open, her bow in her hand. “Hello, love,” she said to Angus. “‘Tis a fine night, is it not?”
Alyssa, Cellina, and Celwyn, exchanged an understanding look and burst into laughter. Tam and Angus slid worried glances at Kevan.
“Don’t look at me. They’re your wives.” He nodded toward Alyssa. “I’ve got my own troubles to deal with.”
“Kevan.” Alyssa admonished him. “We did protect your keep. You’d think a body would be grateful.”
“Aye, Alyssa,” Celwyn agreed. “You’d think a body would be grateful.”
Tam frowned at Cellina. “Well, aren’t you going to agree?”
“Do I need to?” Cellina asked softly. “This is our home, Tam. Yours and mine.”
Kevan turned his horse toward the keep. “Well, my lady, it looks like the days of men riding lord over their women are numbered.”
“Aye,” Alyssa said, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “It does at that.”
IN THEIR BED later that night, a satiated Alyssa cuddled to her husband’s side. “How did you get back to the keep so soon?”
“The white-haired man. I saw him in my mind and he warned me to turn around. On the way back, we met Silas.”
She worried her lip with her teeth, her insides rattling. “I’ve a need to say something to you.”
He brushed her hair back from her face. “What is it, love?”
“When Innes told me you were dead, I thought I’d died, too. I—I—don’t know how to say it, Kevan.”
He cupped her face with his hands. His expression so tender, so loving, tears welled in her eyes.
“Say, I love you, Kevan,” he instructed her.
She smiled up at him. “Is that what this is I feel?”
“I hope so.” He smiled back at her. “‘Tis only right. I am your husband.”
“You are arrogant.”
“That, too.”
“So?”
“So?”
“So don’t you have a need to say something to me?”
“Nay, I think not.” His eyes twinkled mischief.
“Kevan,” she warned.
“I love you. There, is that what you wanted?”
“Aye.”
“You’re frowning. Don’t you want me to love you?”
“Aye, I do,” she assured him. “It’s just that I’m confused. How do I know if this is love I feel? I mean, I care for you. If that is love, then, aye, I love you.”
Kevan held his smile. She had progressed. She cared, but she had not yet learned the true meaning of love. She felt it. That was evident in her actions. But she didn’t recognize what she was feeling. Her pride. Her pride had not yet fallen to free her.
“Is this caring of yours different for me than what you feel for Duncan?” he asked.
“In ways, aye.”
“Then mayhap it is love,” he said softly.
His lips covered hers and Alyssa felt her insides glow. Memories flashed through her mind of another place, another time. A dark tunnel. Light. A crystal platform. A magnificent giant. An alien bird and barbarians. A silver-veined cave. Sleeping in this man’s arms. Dazed, she broke their kiss. “Prophe . . .
The Prophet smiled through the tears sliding down his cheeks. “Angel.”
Thirteen
ALYSSA SCOOTED to her side of the bed. “Damn you, Prophet!” Alyssa swore at him. “If you weren’t dead already, I’d kill you.”
Prophet frowned at her. “It is of no consequence.”
“Spanking me like a child. Do you know what would happen to you if you pulled a stunt like that in the twentieth century?”
The Prophet shrugged a massive shoulder. “It is of no consequence,” he repeated.
“Is that all you can say? It is of no consequence? Why you—you—” she stammered, seeking just the right word.
“I am whatever I need be, Angel. I did much less to you than any other man would have done to a disrespectful wife in this time. Besides, you asked me to. Remember—your honor?”
“You sorry, low down, rotten—”
“Husband?” he suggested, lifting one brow. “Was your marriage to me that horrible?”
