The Scot's Pursuit - Keira Montclair Page 0,79

word English.

Branwen said, “I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sure you are,” Emmalin said. “But I’m so glad they saved you from that awful dungeon. You may sleep in the chamber Alick used the other night. No one will be there.”

“My thanks. I’ll go now. I don’t wish to miss their return.”

She made her way to the chamber, as exhausted as she’d said, but her heart told her she couldn’t rest just yet. She’d wash up long enough to allow the army of warriors to move ahead.

But then she’d ride directly behind them.

She was going to put an arrow in Arnald Denton’s black heart herself.

Chapter Twenty-Five

They neared Lorn, and Alick’s heart began to pound so hard he swore everyone could hear it. Something was wrong, he knew it. That strange feeling he’d had at MacLintock Castle had only grown more powerful. The bulk of their warriors were riding well behind them, because they didn’t wish to reveal their strength.

“I don’t like this,” Dyna whispered.

A line of a dozen horses came out of nowhere, blocking their passage across the road. Only ten warriors from the Grant army were visible, so Alick understood the smile on the face of the bastard across from him—the smile of victory.

Only it wasn’t really victory because the poor fools had no idea that hundreds of warriors waited only for Jamie or Alex Grant’s war whoop.

Grandsire moved forward, Uncle Jamie on one side and Da on the other. He waited for the leader of the group to speak. Alick looked at each of the men carefully, and to his surprise, he didn’t recognize any of them.

“Where’s my daughter?” Grandsire asked.

“You agree to have your warriors fight for us, and then you’ll see your daughter.” One of the horses in the middle pranced a wee bit, probably for show, but Midnight’s grandson, the one Grandpapa rode at present, snorted at the horse, as if daring it to do more.

“You’ll not get my warriors until you return my daughter to me.” He lifted his chin and moved forward one horse length, letting his horse do as he wished.

“Your warriors will follow us and fight, or you’ll never see the woman again,” the man in the middle bellowed at Grandsire, his horse stepping closer, too. “There’s no negotiating in this. You have two minutes to decide.”

“Or?” his father asked.

“Or Kyla Grant is dead. We’ll deliver her head to you.” The man wore no plaid, nor did any of the others.

They didn’t even appear to be Thane warriors, so who was the driving force behind these fools? Many of the men they’d seen had been English, and the first group they’d fought had appeared to be entirely English, but the group protecting his mother had contained many Thane warriors. Was Thane behind all of this or was it the new King Edward?

Alick backed up slowly, moving to the periphery of the gathering. Something wasn’t right. Did they not have his mother? Had she been left somewhere?

Could she be dying?

Then Grandsire did something unexpected. Alex shouted, “You want the Grant warriors, you’ll have them.” Then he let out the loudest Grant war whoop Alick had ever heard, swinging his sword overhead and going straight for the leader. He cut him down in a flash, before the others could even think of moving.

The mass of Grant warriors emerged from the forest, swords raised, some bearing their bows. An entire force of English guards came out of the forest behind the enemy. They’d both used the same tactic, but the Grants outnumbered the English.

But Alick didn’t intend to see this fight through. Nay, he had elsewhere to be. He rode away from the group, heading into the forest, and Els followed closely behind him. “What the hell, Alick? Where are you off to?”

He turned his horse sideways and said, “My mother is not here. I can feel it. I’m going after her. Go back and help. If I find her, she’ll have only one or two people to protect her, and I can surely handle the bastards. Come along in half an hour to check, if you will, and bring a few others.”

“Godspeed,” Els said. He returned to the battle, calling over his shoulder, “Though I think you’re wrong.”

Alick couldn’t explain it, but it made him think of that moment at the Ramsay festival, when he was just a laddie. He’d known something was wrong, that his mother wasn’t well, but he hadn’t known where to find her. His grandmother had shown him the way.

Feeling slightly foolish, he