Page 6 of Lady and the Scot

"Now, to the matter at hand," Liam McNeil got everyone's attention. “We must join forces in order to ensure the peace to our region is regained."

When the lairds departed to go inside, Breena kneeled next to the man whose arm she'd already bandaged. He seemed to be well enough to move and she motioned for men to come forward and carry him to one of the tents where he could sleep and recover.

"You should wash up and get some rest," Gisella told her, her brows drawn together. "I assure you this is a rarity. Our region has lived in peace for a very long time."

"Do not worry yourself with me. I am fine. I will go rest momentarily."

"Thank ye for helping with the men. You are a good healer." The woman patted her shoulder and moved away when someone called for her.

Breena picked up a wooden bucket and went toward the courtyard's entryway. She moved to a well and began pulling at the rope all the while looking across to the top of the high walls. Men patrolled scanning the area below. To her left and right, men congregated in small groups; anxiety floated in the air.

She walked to the side of the keep and continued close to the wall with her still empty bucket in hand. Trembling she fought to keep from making any noise. Breathing became hard, her chest heaving from the effort. If Robertson learned of her attempt to escape, she shuddered to think how he'd respond.

No one followed, thankfully a few steps further, there were low growing bushes, which would keep the men from above the keep from seeing her clearly. If she were discovered, she'd claim to be gathering healing herbs. Just to make her story believable, Breena bent and nipped some sprigs of a plant known for pain and put the greenery into her bucket. Her feet sunk into the soft grass and the overwhelming desire to collapse came over her. What had her life become?

She was raised in the best of circumstances. Both her parents were titled. Growing up with her sister and brothers, she'd never wanted for anything. They'd been pampered, but she rarely was shown any type of affection by her parents. Her father's attention was exclusively for his sons, her mothers for her younger sister. Upon reaching adolescence, her mother sent her off to live with an aunt and uncle for several years, claiming not to be strong enough to deal with her unruly ways. It was true. She had been rebellious, a desperate attempt to get her parents’ notice.

Her restlessness gave fruition to finding a purpose. Satisfaction at helping fulfilled her when she focused on learning the art of healing. For the last few years, she'd dedicated her time to learning to care for the wounded. Her clan was constantly involved in clan border fights.

Out with the wounded, she was appreciated and treated with respect once her intuition for healing was realized.

In the distance she heard a guard whistle and she bent again and picked at a plain grass. She took some and put it in the bucket. No one came after her. The man must have been getting another one's attention for something else.

She admired the men who gave their life to protect the laird and his family, always had a high regard for guards. At ten and six, she'd fallen in love with a warrior, they'd been lovers for a while. But he could not stand up for her before her father. Any acknowledgement of their involvement would result in his lashing or worse, so they'd kept it secret. Then one day he was gone. Later she learned one of her brothers had discovered their relationship and had sent him away.

How she hated the power men had over her. How she detested her cruel family's ways.

Just a year earlier, she'd overheard her parents argue. It seemed her mother had a lover before they'd married and she'd been the result. Understanding dawned that day and it also made it clear why neither of them ever cared for her. Upon Robertson's request for her hand in marriage both had quickly agreed. The farther away she lived, the easier it would be to forget she existed.

An hour later she heaved a breath of relief. She'd done it. Gotten away. The woods she rushed through grew thicker and darker and she fought to keep her skirts from snagging on low branches. Thankfully, she'd changed into a serviceable frock to help with the injured, so the dark color as well as the narrow skirting helped.

With everything that happened at the keep, as well as the meeting of the lairds, she hoped it would be late before Robertson sent for her. If Ita noticed her missing first, she was sure the maid would announce it to the ladies of the house first.

The McNeil's wife and daughter seemed kind. Both gave the impression of being content. But she doubted they'd hold Robertson back from punishing her. Although they seemed to have a different life. Totally different than what she faced with Robertson.

She'd noticed warm looks between Grisella and the McNeil. If not love, they cared for one another a great deal. Perhaps the woman would wait before reporting to Robertson of her disappearance. Then again with the attacks, they'd no doubt send out men to search for her immediately.

Breena moved faster, she needed to be as far as possible, find a place to hide before the guardsmen came searching.

At the sounds of horses, Breena gasped, dove into the vegetation, and lay stomach down onto the rich peat covered ground. She peered through the thickness. A large group of men on horseback appeared on a thin trail. They rode in flanks of two, about twenty men in all. They spoke in low grunts, their attention forward. "We strike and flee toward the west today. Have to keep them guessing where we make our camp." A large man with long hair spoke. "Don't leave any injured behind. If you canna ride, you die."

They did not spot her as they rode past, their attention seeming to be on getting to their destination.

Breena let out a breath at the site of their retreating backs. Interesting, she could have sworn two of the men were Robertson's guardsmen. Could it be possible he was behind the attacks? But why would he bring destruction to Moriag?

Of course, he had very little land of his own, although wealthy, perhaps he wanted a larger region to rule over and being that Moriag was a peaceful region, he expected it an easy place to overtake.

Breena considered returning and warning the other lairds, but it was too risky now. She'd be caught by the men who went towards Moriag.

For now she'd find shelter and do her best to find a way to warn them in the morning.

A small cottage came into view. With trepidation she went to the front door and pushed it open. It was empty. No one seemed to live there, the few things kept there seemed to not have been used recently. Closing the door swiftly behind her, she went to the fireplace and began to pile wood for warmth. With a flint and kindling, the fire came to life, at once warming the cottage. Exhausted from the trek and the emotions she'd managed to keep controlled, Breena collapsed onto the floor.

Tears flowed and she allowed sadness at what her life had become free rein.

Chapter Four

Now that it was no longer necessary to maintain a brave front, Elsbeth McNeil leaned against a wall and let out a breath. Her entire body continued to shake after seeing so many injuries and blood.