‘Jenny is coming with us, isn’t she?’ Nairna asked.
Bram shook his head. ‘Not yet. Perhaps later, once I’ve seen how Glen Arrin has fared.’
‘What about escorts?’ She couldn’t imagine that he intended to travel alone with her, not with all the unrest in the Highlands.
‘It would only attract the attention of Cairnross and his men, if they’re still looking,’ her father pointed out. He exchanged a look with Bram. ‘And after what happened with Harkirk’s men yesterday, we want nothing that will draw notice.’
Nairna didn’t like it. It was dangerous, especially in enemy territory. Bram sensed her uneasiness and he touched the hilt of a claymore Nairna hadn’t seen before. It was strapped to his back, hidden behind a cloak of dark wool. ‘We’ll be safe enough.’
He helped her climb into the back of the wagon, among the goods. And as the wagon rumbled along the road outside the gates, Nairna prayed it would be true.
The foothills rose higher as they continued further north-west, transforming into mountains. The gleaming silver of the loch brushed the stony banks, contrasting against the vast green expanse of grass. The trees grew sparser and rain spattered against the wool of her hood.
Nairna was used to the rain, but today it took on a more ghostly atmosphere with the clouds skimming the edges of the mountains.
The MacKinloch clan dwelled a two-day journey on horseback through the valley. Nairna had only been there once, and after Bram was believed dead, she’d chosen to stay with her family instead of living among strangers.
She studied Bram from her position in the wagon, noticing the lowered shoulders, the heaviness in his posture. He kept his gaze fixed upon the horizon, watching for enemies. Exhaustion weighted him down and she wondered what she could do to help ease him.
After another hour, she moved to the front of the wagon and sat beside him. His apprehensions about the journey were evident from the set of his jaw and the cast of his face.
‘You haven’t seen your family since you were taken captive?’ she ventured, breaking the silence. Though she already knew the answer, she’d hoped to get him talking.
Bram only shook his head once.
She tried again. ‘Will your other brothers be glad to see you?’ He gave a shrug as if he didn’t know the answer.
By the saints, this was going to be a long journey if he didn’t speak a word. ‘Did you leave your voice back at Ballaloch? Or are you planning to ignore me?’
Bram slowed the horses and turned to look at her. Unrest brewed in his eyes, along with unspoken frustration. ‘They didn’t try to free us, Nairna. My brother and I were locked away for years. Not a single person from my family came to look for us. And I don’t know why.’
The vehemence in his voice made her regret pushing him. ‘They sent word to my father that you were killed in the siege.’ She touched his sleeve, hoping his own family hadn’t truly meant to abandon him. ‘I suppose no one knew the truth. I’m sorry.’
Her words did little to ease his black mood. Bram increased the pace of their horse again, the wagon bumping along the path.
The afternoon drew closer to evening, and the mist lifted just enough to see the path that lay ahead. Tucked near the side of a hill with a steep ditch on all sides lay the motte defended by Robert Fitzroy, Baron of Harkirk.
She reached for Bram’s hand, fear rising up in her throat. ‘The men who tried to kill you yesterday … they came from Harkirk’s fortress. There.’ She pointed to the structure.
Though it had once been nothing but a wooden garrison, from the looks of it Harkirk had begun transforming the enclosure into a more permanent structure with a tower. Knowing that her father’s coins had gone into the construction irritated her further.
He squeezed her hand once, then released it. His eyes studied the fortress. ‘How long has this been here?’
‘They built the first garrison five years ago. It’s changed since then.’ Unfortunately, it had grown larger, as if Harkirk intended to build a castle.
‘I thought the land was part of your father’s holdings.’
‘Not anymore.’ Not since Hamish had made the peace agreement with the English. ‘Lord Harkirk governs it now. He claims it’s for our protection.’
Bram unsheathed the claymore from his back and set it at his feet. The weapon was a gift from her father.
From tip to hilt it stood as high as Nairna’s chest, and wielding the two-handed sword required strength. She wondered if he was capable of defending them with it.
Though he kept his hands upon the reins, there was a visible shift in his demeanour. His face grew distant, his eyes searching the horizon.
When they started to pass beyond the outskirts of the fortress, two soldiers rode forwards to intercept them.
Nairna’s heart sank. She’d hoped they could make it past without being noticed. Though she tried to push back the fear rising up inside, her nerves were raw. She couldn’t stop thinking about the soldiers who had captured Bram, intending to murder him.
As the soldiers drew closer, Bram kept the wagon at a steady pace.
‘Should we ride faster?’ she ventured.
But there came no reply. He was staring straight ahead, as if caught in a trance. ‘Bram?’ she asked again.
‘There are only two of them. And if they threaten you, they answer to me.’ The flat emotionless tone frightened her as much as the soldiers, for she suspected he would kill without any remorse. Nairna prayed it wouldn’t be necessary.
She risked a glance behind at the mounted soldiers. They wore chainmail armour and both carried spears. Lower-ranking soldiers, she realised. Likely sent to question them.
Bram maintained their pace and as the men came closer, her nerves wound tighter. The men surrounded them, keeping an even pace with the wagon. One sent her a slow smile that made her skin crawl.
Bram hadn’t moved, not wavering from his course. If it weren’t for his tight knuckles, she’d have wondered if he had even noticed the soldiers. His gaze remained focused upon the road ahead of them.
‘Aren’t you going to stop?’ one taunted her. ‘Lord Harkirk would want to offer his … hospitality.’
Nairna gave no reply, for it would only goad them on. She moved closer to Bram, not making eye contact with the soldiers. Silently, she prayed that the men would leave them alone. But instead, they continued riding, one on each side of the wagon.
‘I’d like a piece of the woman,’ came the voice of the other soldier. He smirked and Nairna shrank away.
At that, Bram raised up the claymore. His arm muscles strained as he pointed it at the soldier who had threatened her. In his other hand, he held a dirk.
Nairna took the reins from him and held her breath, for she hadn’t known he possessed the strength to hold the weight of the claymore with only one hand.
‘If you touch her, I’ll remove your hand.’ He sent them a dark smile. ‘Or your head. And I’ll enjoy doing it.’
The soldiers eyed one another, as if they weren’t certain whether he would follow through with the threat. In the end, they fell back.
‘Go on your way.’
Bram never tore his gaze from the men until they were far in the distance. The interaction had affected him somehow, the shadow of his past crossing over his face. Every muscle in his body was taut, like a tightly strung bow, before he lowered the claymore and dirk, taking