Perfect Strangers (The Scots)

Gabrielle grunted softly, derisively. The man was a distant relative. A dirty, murdering scoundrel, if her family's stories could be believed. She'd been taught from the cradle that the link between families was as fragile as it was unfortunate, a humiliating indiscretion to be ignored and admitted to only when cornered. It simply wasn't in their nature for a Carelton to acknowledge any Maxwell as his kin.

Still, the truth remained that they were blood relations.

The irony of finding herself being dragged out of Bracklenaer by a Douglas, who was trying valiantly to get her away from the "enemy" Maxwell, was not lost on Gabrielle.

The mystery of where they were heading was soon solved. Like any good Border castle, Bracklenaer had more than one exit. The one Ella led them to was through an overtly masculine bedchamber. Rather, more precisely, into a dank, musty-smelling tunnel concealed behind one of the wide oak bookcases flanking the chamber's inner wall.

The sound of voices and footsteps receded as Ella eased the passage door shut behind them. The noise was replaced by the rhythmic plink, plink, plink of water dripping in some hidden puddle. The end of Ella's scabbard occasionally grazed the wall. Small, unseen claws scratching against the cold stone floor.

Rats? Gabrielle wondered, and grimaced. She swallowed back a cough, ignoring the way her fingers shook as they tightened around Mairghread's. Her other hand did not so much as flinch; so careful was she not to alter her grip on Ella's hand, not wanting the younger girl to sense her weakness.

Silently, the trio inched their way through the tunnel. The cool, damp air felt clammy against Gabrielle's fever-heated skin. By the time they reached the opposite end, and the faint trace of silvery moonlight that slanted in through the narrow opening, her breathing was swift and shallow, her nerves frayed.

At some undefinable point, the voices had started again. They were even louder now. So was the distinct clashing of swords.

"Where are we?" Gabrielle asked when Ella came to a stop. She'd spoken in a whisper, yet the cavernous depths of the tunnel snatched her words, tossed them repeatedly off hard stone, making her voice echo and sound louder than it actually was.

"Do ye remember when ye rode to Bracklenaer?" Ella asked.

Not a pleasant memory, that, and recalling it now scratched at a sore spot within Gabrielle. At the time she'd thought to be arriving at Gaelside, the men accompanying her that of her future husband, Colin Douglas. Being reminded of The Black Douglas's duplicity rubbed her raw. Her voice, slightly nasal from her cold, went hard as stone. "'Tis not something I'll soon forget."

"That's as it should be," Ella replied, her voice edged with pride. "Bracklenaer is a breathtaking sight at first glance. E'en at second and third and... Ooch! ye've gotten me sidetracked. Where was I? Ah, aye, in front of the main gate, across the road, there be a thick patch of trees and bramble and rocks leading into the woods. Do ye remember seeing that as well?"

Gabrielle thought for a second, then nodded. "I think so."

"'Tis where this tunnel empties out, where we be now."

"Where do we go from here?"

It was Mairghread, behind her, who answered. "As soon as the way be clear, deep into the woods where the Maxwell cannot follow."

"You run away and hide?" Gabrielle didn't mean to sound demeaning, she was merely surprised. What she meant, however, turned out not to matter. From the way Ella's slender back stiffened and Mairghread's bony hand tightened painfully around hers it was obvious that was exactly the way they'd taken her words. If she could have bitten the statement back, she would have, but it was too late now. God's blood, she'd just insulted the two women who were trying to keep her safe! She wouldn't blame them if they fled into the woods and left her here to fend for herself. That would teach her to talk before thinking in the future.

"Since ye be Sassenach," Ella said oh so calmly and coldly, "and dinny ken the way of things, I'll forgive yer ignorance. This time. Be thankful ye dinny say that to me cousin, lass. Connor isn't so patient or so generous."

"I know. I've heard the ballad."

"Which one?" Mairghread cackled softly.

Ella glared the old woman into silence.

The end of the girl's scabbard rasped against the craggy stone as she peeked through the opening. The nearest voices had begun to dwindle. "Och! Margie, 'Tis Wllie O' Nill's Tom out there banging swords with Gilby."

"Nay, it can't be. He's a mere bairn," Mairghread said.

"At fifteen summers, he'd not like hearing ye call him that, I'll wager. 'Tis his first time riding, methinks, and he's not a ver good fighter. Gilby is going easy on him."

"Fifteen already, is he? Och! but still so young."

"Ye forget, Margie, Connor was o'er a year younger when he went on his first night raid."

"Yer cousin be a fine muckle different, lass."

"Ye dinny need to be telling me—Och! that's got to hurt."

"What happened?" Mairghread asked, excited.

"Gilby just nipped the bairn's shoulder."