Her eyes shot across the room to see Eideard’s henchman holding on to Duncan’s mother. Emmaline looked horrified and tears dripped down her cheeks.
“What is he doin’ to her?” she gasped.
“He’s got a blade to her back,” said Eideard under his breath, smiling out at the crowd as if everything was fine. “If ye refuse to marry me, I will give him the signal and Duncan’s mathair will die because of ye.”
“Nay! Ye canna do that,” she cried. “Please,” she begged. “Dinna harm her.”
“All ye have to say is I do, and her life will be spared. The choice is yers, Mari. But if ye refuse me, her death will be on yer conscience, no’ mine.”
Mari looked back at Baldair and, this time, she saw the blade in his hand, glimmering in the light of the great hall. Emmaline’s eyes begged for Mari’s help. There was no way she wanted to marry Eideard because she loved Duncan. But if she refused him, an innocent woman would die.
“Ye are wretched, and ye willna get away with this,” she hissed.
“And who is goin’ to stop me?” he asked with a chuckle. “Yer precious Duncan?”
“He’s alive, I ken he is.”
“Ye’d better hope he isna. Because if he comes back to discover his mathair died because of ye, he will never forgive ye. He’ll hate ye forever. Now, what is yer choice?”
Everyone waited as Mari once again looked back at poor Emmaline. Mari’s heart went out to the woman for all the misery she’d had to endure lately. She couldn’t let Duncan’s mother die because of her. The woman didn’t deserve this. But neither did Mari deserve marrying a wretched cur she despised.
Closing her eyes and holding her breath, she spat out the words she never thought she’d be saying to anyone other than Duncan. “I do,” she said, trembling and crying. When she opened her eyes, Eideard was smiling. He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms and kissed her so hard on the mouth that she felt as if he’d bitten her. Then he raised her hand up over her head and looked out at the crowd once more.
“My bride,” he announced. Slowly, the crowd started to clap, although none of them were smiling. “We’ll dance now,” he told her, grabbing her hand so hard he almost broke it as he dragged her out to the middle of the great hall. “And later tonight, after I celebrate our marriage by drinkin’ whisky with my men, I’ll take ye to our weddin’ bed and make ye my wife in every way.”
Mari was so frightened that she couldn’t even respond. What had she done? In trying to save Duncan’s mother, she had doomed herself to a life of being the wife of a man she truly despised and one she would never love. Part of her secretly hoped Duncan was dead now. Because if he wasn’t, how would she ever be able to face him again?
Chapter 3
Duncan and Angus trudged through the snow, having managed to escape by the skin of their teeth. However, they’d had to fight for their lives, and killed two guards who had discovered them on the road. Thankfully, their attackers had horses. Now the journey in this snowstorm wouldn’t be half as bad.
Dressed only in ragged clothes, Duncan had no qualms in taking the cloaks, boots and gloves of the English they’d killed. But he’d drawn the line at wearing their clothes. He’d told his brother they were safer wearing their plaids while traveling back to the Highlands. The last thing they needed was for the Scots to mistake them for bloody Sassenachs and take off their heads before they made it home.
“Blethers, Duncan, we need to stop,” complained Angus, riding close behind him in the dark.
“Ye need to piss again?” grumbled Duncan. “We havena had enough to drink to have to relieve ourselves.”
“Nay, I dinna need to piss. But we need to build a fire before we freeze to death in the cold. Besides, the horses canna keep up this pace in a snowstorm.”
“Mayhap ye’re right,” Duncan agreed. His only thought was on getting back to the Highlands to find out why the hell their ransom hadn’t been paid for their release. He also needed to feel the warmth of Mari in his arms right now as well. He longed for her presence in his life and only hoped she hadn’t taken another husband in his absence. “I just thought ye’d be in a hurry to see Tillie, that’s all.”
“Tillie?” Angus’ head snapped up. “Why would ye say that?”
“Dinna think that I didna notice the way ye come to life around my betrothed’s sister.”
“She’s a widow. No’ to mention she has two wee lassies to care for.”
“Even more reason.” He continued riding. “She needs someone to protect her, and ye’re no’ married.”
“Now wait a moment,” Angus warned his brother. “When I do get married, it’ll be with a virgin who has never shared another man’s bed nor given him bairns. Just like ye have with Mari.”
“I hope I still have that,” Duncan mumbled under his breath.
“Dinna tell me ye’re startin’ to worry that Mari willna want ye.”
“Nay, she’ll want me. But I canna help havin’ a bad feelin’ that somethin’ has happened while we were away. No’ only to our clan but also to Mari. We need to return to the Highlands as quickly as possible.”
“There’s an inn up ahead, in Glasgow. The Horn and Hoof. Let’s stop there for the night and stable the horses. I could go for a hot bowl of pottage, some potent whisky, and a soft, warm bed.”
“Aye, me, too. But unless ye’re a dunderhead, ye’re forgettin’ that all those things take money. That is somethin’ we dinna have,” Duncan reminded him.
Angus’ mouth turned up into a crooked smile. His dark eyes held a mischievous glint as he lifted up a pouch, shaking it in front of him. The sound of clinking coins filled the air. “I may have gotten a wee Christmas present from one of the guards before we left them.”
“Christmas present?” Duncan’s mind filled with thoughts of the holidays and the present he’d wanted to bestow upon Mari. He’d planned on buying her a ring of gold for the wedding. It was to be the forerunner of many more gifts that would follow through the years, given to her just for being his wife. However, right now, the only present he wanted was seeing her again. He longed for Hogmanay because that was the day he would make her his bride.
“Malmuira, make the horse go faster,” said Mari in a hushed voice, hiding beneath the canvas that covered the gypsy’s wagon. “The guards might have noticed and be followin’ us.”
“Haud yer wheesht,” scoffed the old gypsy woman, taking her time as they crossed over the drawbridge and left the castle just after nightfall. “All yer clishmaclaver is what’s goin’ to alert them. Now stay hidden and dinna emerge before I tell ye all is clear.”
“Aye,” mumbled Mari, hiding once again under the tarp of the gypsy’s wagon. Her sister had come up with the idea and it was successful so far. They’d managed to leave the castle without being stopped. She’d sneaked out while Eideard was drinking with his men and before he had a chance to consummate the marriage.
“All right,” said Malmuira after a while. “Ye can come out now.” The wagon stopped and Mari poked her head out, scanning the darkened area, listening for Eideard’s guards chasing after them. There was nothing. She climbed out onto the seat next to the old woman and let out a deep sigh.
“Thankfully, it stopped snowin’, but the night is frigid. I should have brought along another cloak.” Mari pulled her cloak closer, feeling the cold air nipping at her nose.
“Use this blanket,” said Malmuira, pulling the old, colorful cloth around Mari’s shoulders.
“Malmuira, I went to talk to Duncan’s mother before we left but she wasna in her room. I couldna find her anywhere. I hope Eideard didna kill her as he threatened to do.” Mari had told her sister and the gypsy everything that had transpired.
“Did ye ask Eideard about it?”
“He told me she was sent back to her faither’s clan since all she did was cry. It seems Eideard sent her there to mourn. However, it is no’ like her to leave without sayin’ guidbye. And she was the one who asked me to come here to be
with her to begin with. Somethin’ isna right.”
“Hrmph,” said the woman, making Mari realize that the gypsy didn’t believe Eideard’s story.
“What is it?” asked Mari. “Is it a lie?”
“All I ken is that Laria has been tellin’ the alewives that Eideard took her somewhere to keep her out of sight and away from ye.”
“Then he abducted her. I kent it!”
“Mayhap he has, mayhap he hasna.”
“Can ye read yer cards and find out for sure? And also, can ye read the cards and tell me if Duncan is still alive? I have to ken for sure. And if he is alive, I have to explain to him what happened.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll take ye to Duncan.”
“What?” Mari almost fell off her seat. “Did ye see somethin’ in yer cards? Is he still alive? What about his brathair, Angus?”
“No’ so many questions at once,” grumbled Malmuira. “I looked at my cards before we left, and I think I ken where we can find yer lover.”
“He was my betrothed, but no’ my lover,” Mari corrected her, feeling very sad. “We never made love, although now I wish we had.”
The old woman didn’t answer. “We have a ways to go yet, so why dinna ye climb in the back of the wagon and get some sleep.”
“Nay,” said Mari. “I’m too excited and nervous to see Duncan now that I ken he’s alive. I could never sleep now if I tried. I miss him so much.”
“Have it yer way,” said the old woman with a sigh. “But where we’re goin’, I can promise ye that there will be no sleepin’.”
“Where is that?” asked Mari curiously.
“It’s a little tavern and inn called the Horn and Hoof,” the woman told her. “And since it is Christmas Eve and owned by the old coot, Callum MacKeefe, I can guarantee his clan will be makin’ merry from now until Hogmanay.”
“Then that’s exactly where I want to be, because I am tired of bein’ sad,” said Mari, wishing now that she had brought her sister and nieces along as well. Because once Eideard discovered she was gone, there was no telling what he’d do.
Chapter 4
Pushing open the door to the Horn and Hoof, Duncan and Angus were surprised to find the little tavern so crowded. A sea of colorful plaids depicting both Highland and Lowland clans filled the room from not only Highland and Lowland men, but also their women and even some children as well.
The tantalizing scents of clootie dumplings and Christmas pudding filled the air, making Duncan’s stomach growl.
“Food! I smell food,” said Angus excitedly from behind him, blowing into his hands to warm them from the cold.
“I didna ken it would be so crowded,” remarked Duncan, peering into the chaos all around them. He’d been hoping for a quiet, warm bed to rest his head and weary mind. With all these people, they’d be lucky to find a spot in the barn next to a horse to spend the night. “Mayhap we should continue ridin’ or find another place to stay.”
“Mince pies!” Angus’ eyes opened wide as a serving girl walked past with a tray of the palm-sized pies made from meat, fruit and spices. It was customary to eat these during the Yuletide season and make a wish with the first bite. It was considered bad luck to turn one down. “I’ll take those,” said Angus, grabbing the tray from the wench, not even hearing a word that Duncan said. He scooped up two pies in one hand, eagerly bringing them to his mouth.
“Och, they are no’ free!” complained the serving woman. She raised a hand in the air and motioned for the proprietor. Old Callum MacKeefe saw her and came hobbling over as fast as his skinny legs could carry him. “Callum, this man has taken all the mince pies without payin’ for them,” reported the woman.
“We have money,” said Duncan, intervening before there was a brawl over his brother’s rude behavior. “Angus, give them the coins before ye eat everythin’ in sight.”
“Mmmph,” grunted Angus, shifting the tray to one hand, pulling out a few coins and handing them to the woman.
“Did ye call him Angus?” Callum cocked his head, looking first at Angus and then Duncan. “And are ye Duncan? Are ye the MacLean brathairs?”
“Aye, ye ken us, Callum,” said Duncan as Callum eyed their torn and bedraggled clothes and their thin, dirty bodies.
“Nay, it canna be,” said the old man in a high and crackly voice. Callum was the oldest living man in all of Scotland, said to still be alive only because of the potent whisky called Mountain Magic that he brewed and sold.
“It’s us, Callum,” Duncan assured him. “We’re here for a meal and a bath and a place to spend the night. Can ye help us out?”
“Storm, get over here,” shouted Callum, cupping his hands and holding them up to his mouth, calling out for his grandson who was the chieftain of the MacKeefe Clan.
“What is it, Callum?” Storm walked over to join them. He was a big, burly man with long, blond hair that was now graying at the temples. Storm MacKeefe was a legend in the Highlands and known by everyone. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Duncan and Angus.
“These men claim to be Gilmer MacLean’s sons,” snorted Callum. “But ye ken as well as I that it canna be true. Just look at them. They are nothin’ but worthless beggars that I want ye to throw out of here on their arses.”
“What? Nay, that’s no’ true,” protested Angus, swallowing before shoving a third pie into his mouth. He handed one to Duncan, but Duncan shook his head and did not accept it. “Take it, Duncan. It’s bad luck to refuse a mince pie at Yuletide,” he said with a full mouth.
“It’s goin’ to be even worse luck to be thrown out of here for eatin’ up my profits,” spat Callum, now shaking his fist in the air. The old man was a wily one and not to be messed with.
“We’re no’ beggars. Ye ken us,” Duncan tried to explain.
“Everyone kens Duncan and Angus MacLean are dead,” stated Callum. Then when someone called him from the other side of the room, he looked up sharply and made a face. Bagpipe music split the air.
“Nay, no’ the bagpipes. They’re too noisy,” complained Callum, holding his hands over his ears. “Storm, throw these two out of here before I have to do it myself.” He hurried away, talking to himself.
“It really is ye,” said Storm, eyeing Duncan up and down. “I might have mistaken the two of ye if it wasna for Angus’ hearty appetite.” Storm pulled the tray of pies away from Angus and handed it to a serving wench.
“I could use a little Mountain Magic to wash these down,” said Angus, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Storm raised a finger in the air. “Bring Mountain Magic for three to my table,” he instructed a girl, leading the way across the room. He sat down at a table and Angus and Duncan joined him. A serving girl walked over with a bottle of whisky and three tankards. But before she could even put anything down, Angus snatched up the bottle, drinking directly from it. The girl shook her head, put down the drinking vessels and walked away scowling.
“Angus, ye’re actin’ like an animal,” snapped Duncan. “Now stop it.”
Angus watched him over the top of the bottle as he drank. “Och, sorry, Brathair. How rude of me. Here, have some. It’s some of the best whisky I’ve ever tasted.” He handed the bottle to Duncan. In return, Duncan poured a cup for Storm and Angus before pouring one for himself.
“We’re no’ dead, but would have been if we hadna escaped the Sassenachs,” Duncan told Storm after a big chug of whisky. Feeling the burning trail of liquid moving down to his stomach brought him back to life. It tasted like heaven!
“So, ye were taken prisoners even though the rest of yer men in that battle died?” asked Storm.
“Aye, and we havena eaten much in the last three weeks.” Angus eyed a server walking past with a bowl of pottage.
“Leave that here,” Storm instructed. Before the bowl even hit the table, Angus had picked up the spoon and was digging in.
“Mmmm, this is so guid, Brathair. Ye have to try it,” said Angus, sliding the bowl over to
Duncan.
“No’ now,” said Duncan with a wave of his hand. “Storm, have ye any idea why my faither didna pay our ransom? It’s no’ like him to leave us in a Sassenach prison to rot.”
Storm’s face clouded over. “How would ye like some fresh baked bread?” He turned to look for some, but Duncan reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Is there somethin’ ye’re no’ tellin’ me?” he growled. “I need to ken.”
“Duncan, mayhap ye’d like to get some rest and talk about this in the mornin’. After all, it is Christmas Eve.” Storm flashed a forced smile.
“Even more reason to tell me now. I want to be home by Christmas.”
Storm shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, but I heard that yer faither is dead.”
“What?” Angus’ head snapped up and he stopped chewing. “How? Why?”
“Eideard from yer clan told me the news,” Storm explained. “It seems yer faither died while searchin’ for ye two. I believe it was bandits along the road. Now Eideard has taken over as the clan’s chieftain.”
“Nay!” Duncan’s hand slammed down hard on the table, knocking into his tankard, making it wobble. “I dinna believe it. After all, ye thought we were dead, too. Mayhap our da is still alive and Eideard is just mistaken.”
“It all makes sense now,” said Angus, finally slowing down. “If Da is dead and Eideard is chieftain, it is no wonder why our ransom wasna paid.”
“What about Mathair?” asked Duncan. “And Mari Stewart? Please tell me they are no’ dead, too.”
“I’m no’ sure about them,” said Storm. “I only ken what I’ve heard.”
“We’ve got to get home,” Duncan told his brother, jumping to his feet.
“Duncan, why dinna ye stay here for the night and go back in the mornin’,” suggested Storm, standing as well. “Ye need to eat and rest. Ye can face all this and find out more when ye have yer strength back and are thinkin’ with a clear head.”
“Nay, I willna wait,” protested Duncan. “What I need to do is take back control of our clan anon and make sure Mathair and Mari are no’ harmed. If Eideard has hurt them, I will kill him, I swear I will.”
Highland Dove: (New Year's) Page 4
