Read Online Amanda Forester by The Highland Bride's Choice - Free Book Online Page B

know we will be saved and death cannot separate us from our loved ones forever.”
    “I suppose it is a comfort.” Elyne did not look too pleased with the concession. “Trouble is, I am living here in this world. I can have faith, but bad things may still happen. What I want is the assurance that no ill will come to us.”
    “We are not given that promise, I fear, though I wish faith meant I could get what I want.” Tavish stared at his boots. “We may no’ get what we will, but we are assured that whatever happens, the Lord will use it for our benefit.”
    “I’d rather faith meant I could be assured o’ the outcome.”
    Tavish stepped closer, his eyes wide and serious in the dim light of the hut. “Sometimes the Lord does no’ give us what we expect or even what we want, but something wholly different. Mayhap the Lord has different plans for us than what we expect.”
    “Who kens the future but the Lord?”
    “Elyne.” Tavish paused for a moment as if searching for the right words. “Would ye be willing to change yer plans? Would ye be open to seeing a different path?”
    Tingles shot up her spine. What plans did he mean? Was he possibly speaking of her engagement to Grigor? “I… I am not sure.” Elyne wished she knew which path he spoke of.
    A loud blast of a horn got their attention.
    Tavish’s eyes shuttered. “Someone is at our front door.”

Nine
    Tavish reached out and took her hand. The openness in his eyes was gone, replaced with the dancing merriment of one who relishes a challenge. They both ran from the hermit’s hut back into the castle through the back gate toward the front of the castle.
    “I’ve been thinking, how are ye going to fool them into thinking ye are not a Scot?” asked Elyne through ragged breaths as she ran. “Surely yer accent alone canna fool them.”
    “Aye, I’ve been thinking on that. I thought to speak French and thus to be English nobility.”
    “But yer plaid.”
    Tavish stopped short, looking down at his bright garment. “Och. Aye.”
    “Here, take my cloak.” Elyne stripped it off in an instant. “It should cover ye.”
    “Thank ye.” Tavish wrapped the cloak around him. It was woefully too short but hopefully no one would notice with him standing on the ramparts.
    Elyne followed Tavish up the stone steps to the walk on top of the castle wall. “Do ye speak French?”
    “ Un peu .” He gave her a wink.
    She hoped he spoke more than a little if they were to succeed in this farce. A quelling sight awaited her from atop the castle walk. Several mounted English lords stood before the gate, draped in rich, colorful fabrics, their horses pawing the ground, swirling the morning mist. Behind them stood a garrison of soldiers in rough formation, their ranks disappearing into the fog, so it appeared their number went on forever.
    “Faith not by sight,” she whispered to herself. “Faith not by sight.”
    “Hail to the castle!” shouted the English herald. “Open the gates that my lords may enter!”
    “No, my lords,” shouted down Tavish in broken French that made Elyne cringe. “We are sickness.”
    “We have sickness in the castle,” hissed Elyne in his ear.
    “We have sickness in the castle,” shouted Tavish down to the men then turned to Elyne. “Do ye speak French?” he asked Elyne in a whisper.
    “Aye.”
    “Good, because mine is rather poor,” he admitted in an undertone.
    “I hear that,” replied Elyne in kind. She glanced nervously at the stuffed soldiers Tavish had placed along the wall walk, hoping they would be convincing to the English. If their ruse were discovered, it would not go well for them. The wind picked up and the fake soldiers began to rattle and shake. Elyne hoped it would not be noticed.
    “What sickness? Where is the lord of this castle?” The English lord switched easily to speaking French.
    Tavish glanced at Elyne and she translated quickly for him alone to hear, standing at his side.
    “He is gone,”