Chapter Twenty

Waiting beside a cart harnessed to two shaggy ponies, Brother Gideon raised a hand as Tamsin approached. He indicated the blue sky and scudding clouds overhead. "A bit cool and windy, but a fine day for an outing. We can leave as soon as you are ready. Ah, and here is Brother Allan."

"Your kinsmen have not yet returned," Tamsin told Gideon, as Brother Allan stepped forward to take the bags she carried and set them inside the cart. "I am concerned. Today is the fourth day since they left."

"Liam said if they were not back by now, he would meet us at a certain place in the forest."

"Good. Then we will not go straight through to Selkirk?"

"Too far in that vasty place, my lady. It will take a day or two by horse and longer on foot to reach Selkirk along the forest paths. Ready?" He held out a hand to assist her into the cart bed to sit on hay covered in a length of wool. She noticed that the cart contained several wooden kegs.

"Are we taking these to market?"

"Should we be stopped along the way, we can say we are out delivering our heather ale. We can give it to the forest folk, come to that." Gideon climbed up to the plank seat to take the reins, while Allan leaped into the cart to sit against a bale opposite Tamsin.

"Did you both promise Sir William that you would keep watch over me?" she asked. "He feared I might take a cart and set out on my own. I did plan to wait for him. But if we will meet him further on, I am anxious to go."

Gideon tapped the reins and the cart rolled through the gate and over the earthen track to head east and away from Holyoak and its crescent-shaped Loch. As they crossed the moorland toward the forest, dark treetops were just visible in the distance, softened in the mist that had yet to dissolve in the sunlight.

Tamsin shivered in the breeze, grateful to be moving at last. Yet she could not shake the worry that there had been no sign or word from Liam. Had he and his kinsmen found her cousin and come away safely?

Thinking of Liam, his blue eyes so aware, his concern for her sincere, she drew a breath. Though they were handfasted now, she felt wary. He had a keen interest in the book she would fetch in Selkirk, and she was unsure what he would do once she had it. Whether he wanted to obey King Edward's orders or give the writings to Bruce, she would refuse. Kisses, caresses, and promises aside, her sense of caution and determination to protect Thomas's legacy had renewed in Liam's absence.

A strong breeze blew the hood of her cloak back and fluttered through her hair, loosening tendrils along her braid. She felt that instant of freedom like a sip of water for the soul. The confinement of the abbey slipped away behind her with every turn of the wheels.

"Brother Gideon, perhaps you should slow down, we have a lady in the cart," Allan said. "You do seem in a hurry."

"Just keeping a brisk pace should we see anyone we would rather not meet, lad."

"I do not mind a fast pace." Tamsin turned her face to the breeze.

Vast acres of winter-brown grasses streamed past. The trees were turning bare in coppices and woodlands, leaves rustic and golden, some fallen to the ground, while tall pines swathed in dark green thrust into the blue sky. Until now, she had hardly noticed autumn nearing its end as winter approached. The bright, cool, clear morning gave her a sense of promise and hope. She would protect Thomas's writings and find her siblings, and soon they would all be together. For now, it was all she dared hope. As for Liam, she did not yet know, in her heart or her intuition, if their handfasting could endure.

"Apologies, my lady," Gideon called over his shoulder as the cart bounced through another rut. "The drover's track through here is rough after the storms of late."

"Nor are you used to driving, Brother," Allan said. "You prefer to take a horse over the moorlands when we travel and let others guide the cart." He smiled at Tamsin. "Knights disdain riding in carts. Brother Gideon has not lost that."

"I may gain humility, but I will always dislike carts," Gideon admitted.

Tamsin laughed. "Knight? So it is Sir Gideon, then?"

"I was an avowed knight before I came to Holyoak. I would give that up with monastic vows."

"Will you, then?" She saw him shrug; aye or nay, she was not sure.

"The English come too close to the abbey at times," Allan said, "so we are fortunate to have a warrior-knight with us. The abbot has not pressed him to make a decision."

"Because I did not come to Holyoak to find God, but to heal from injuries," Gideon said. "But Heaven dragged me there, so I must consider that message."

Tamsin frowned. The more she learned about Brother Gideon, her friend before she ever met his brother, the more she simply wanted him to be happy. But she sensed he would not be content as a monk.

They rode in easy silence, and soon the abbey enclosure, the blue loch, and the stream flowing through the meadow became specks and gleams behind them. Ahead, the forest loomed dark and dense, larger now. Scudding clouds above, clean wind, and the cart's motion lured Tamsin into a near-doze.

Something changed then in the air, in the peace of the journey. She opened her eyes. Allan seemed asleep, while Gideon drove steadily onward.

She glimpsed something from the corner of her eye. Gray spirals drifted upward to join the high white clouds. "Is that smoke?" she asked. "Near the abbey?"

Allan stirred, Gideon too. "Fire!" Allan called. "Is it Holyoak?"

Behind them, Tamsin watched the spirals of smoke darken, thicken skyward.

"It must be at the abbey," Gideon said. "But there is too much smoke for a bonfire. We had nothing planned that I heard about."

"Look there," Allan said. "Who is that?"

Now Tamsin saw men on horseback coming fast along the drover's track. "Liam and the others?" she asked, but even as she spoke, she realized these riders were burly men in full armor, riding heavy and intently after them. And some wore red and gold.

The riders sank behind the rim of a hillock, reappearing again to come onward, crossing a stretch of open moorland now.

Fire,she remembered then. Fire in the abbey, she had told Liam. Her heart sank.

She set a hand to her throat with a deep gasp. Fire at Holyoak, and men attacking—please, it could not be, she prayed. Liam knew, and she had warned Gideon too. But her warning had not stopped it. She gripped the side of the cart and watched the pursuing riders, the smoke curling into the sky, while the wheels bumped roughly over the track.

Gideon urged the ponies faster, and the stodgy pair moved into a clumsy canter. "Hey! Go, you beasts, move! Allan, take the reins," he directed. "Climb over. Take the lady into Ettrick Forest fast as you can go."

"Where are you going?" Tamsin asked as Allan scrambled forward.

"Back to Holyoak." Gideon leaped down from the moving vehicle, rolling with the fall, rising to his feet. "Brother, hurry!"

As he ran diagonally toward a band of pine trees, Tamsin realized he meant to cut back to the abbey through the grove. The riders came onward, perhaps not seeing the monk, ever relentless in catching the vehicle.

"Allan, who are they? Why would they fire the abbey?" Tamsin asked, frantic.

"English soldiers! I do not know why they would attack Holyoak or chase us." He hurried the ponies onward. "We are a monk and a woman. Perhaps they are hellbent elsewhere and will pass us."

She knew they would not. "They are after me! I brought trouble to all of you."

"We could reach the shelter of the forest if these beasts would hurry. Hi, go!"

Now the riders were closer. Four, Tamsin saw, recognizing none of them. They were not Dalrinnie's men. If they wanted her—and if they had fired the abbey—Sir Malise was behind it. If anyone was harmed, it would be her fault. In leaving Dalrinnie, she had brought disaster to Holyoak. No vision or warning would change that.

The cart rumbled and bucked as Allan urged the ponies over the turf. Holding on desperately, Tamsin saw the pursuers riding fiercely. God be thanked, Gideon had escaped notice. Glancing toward the tree ridge, she glimpsed a dark form moving between the trees.

But he turned back toward the track. Carrying a long tree limb, he tucked it horizontally as he ran, as if it were a jousting pole and he a horseless knight.

Angling across the meadow, he cut behind the riders, running like a fury over the earthen track, pounding after them unseen. Ducking, he thrust the long, thick branch between the rear legs of the last horse. It stumbled, keeping its footing but falling behind. Circling and neighing, it rose on hind legs until the knight in the saddle tipped and fought for control.

Swiftly Gideon whacked the branch upward to unseat the rider and throw him hard to the ground. Tamsin cried out, watching Gideon wield the limb like a club, a single blow sprawling the knight on the grass. Catching up the man's sword, Gideon grabbed the horse's reins and leaped astride, tunic loose, bare legs tight against the animal's sides.

"Allan!" she cried. "Gideon! Look!"

"God's bones!" he burst out just as Gideon rode after the knights still following the racing cart. Allan shouted to the ponies and snapped the reins to coax them to a canter that had the cart careening and bumping. Tamsin clung to the side, jounced hard against the wood. Kegs thunked about; one slammed into her and she shoved it away.

More riders appeared behind Gideon, one in Edward's colors, another with a dark cloak flying out. The monk on horseback would be hemmed in and taken down.

"Gideon!" she screamed. "Gideon!"

The first group of men rode nearer, horses thundering, steel flashing as one knight pulled a sword and bellowed for Allan to stop. But the lad urged the ponies onward while Tamsin clung desperately in the cart bed. Men shouted and reached out to grab at the planking, but she reeled away. One knight surged toward the sweating ponies, reaching for a halter but missing it.

Despite shouts for him to stop, Allan was half standing now, calling to the exhausted ponies, whip in hand, cracking it wildly in the air. Another knight stretched an arm toward Tamsin, but she rolled away to slam into a hay bale, pushing it toward him in an awkward but effective move.

Two horses rode tightly against the cart and a third rider edged forward, grabbing at Tamsin. He snatched the edge of her cloak as she frantically scrambled away. He launched nearly out of his saddle to snatch a fistful of her gown and drag her nearer.

Screaming, kicking, she felt his hard grip on her ankle as he pulled her toward him across straw and wooden planking. The thunder of the horses, the shouts, the cart bumping hard and fast over the track sent her careening. Somehow, she held on to the side of the cart despite the man's fierce pull.

Behind him, the muscled bulk of another horse shoved against the assailant's horse, throwing the rider off balance, so that he released his hold on Tamsin and went sliding and yelling to the ground. The cart rolled onward as the remaining knight, dark cloak flapping, reached for her. Tamsin resisted, gasping, sobbing, furious and fighting.

He leaned forward, knocked her hands away, and grabbed her arm. His unrelenting grip pulled her toward him.