Highlander’s Devious Ally (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance)

by Adamina Young

  “Beautiful,” she said, with a sigh of misery. “I am tired of this Jock. Do what you like with me. Force me to wash if it pleases you. I will obey you in everything henceforth, but you will never own me. All you will have is a walking corpse—a piece of dead flesh.”

  Jock was just about to order one of his men to strip Ailith naked when Father Baxter tapped him on the shoulder. “M'Laird, I have another appointment in Kinlochan in two hours,” he said urgently. “Please let us make haste.”

  Jock hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Go and bring in two men to be witnesses,” he ordered. “Anyone will do.” Then he took Ailith’s hand and they knelt down in the straw.

  14

  The Ambush

  That was when all hell broke loose. Earlier that morning Lyall and his men had approached the cottage on horseback at first light, then Lyall had led an advance party to disable and tie up the guards.

  They were all lying sleeping by the stone wall at the side of the house where the horse trough was. Lyall filled up his water bottle and gave them a rude awakening, pouring copious amounts of ice cold water over them.

  Lyall and some of his men stood over them with a sword pointed at each of their necks as they spluttered and wiped their eyes. They were still drunk from the night before, and were looking up at the seven men standing in front of them with naked fear in their wide eyes.

  “If any of you gives us away,” Lyall hissed, “I will kill you, then I will go after your families, and make no mistake, gentlemen, I mean what I say. I will be listening, and if either of you say one word to betray us you will be to die. Do you understand?”

  The men nodded, their eyes wide with fear, and as Lyall looked into their terrified eyes he felt only contempt. These cowards had held the woman he loved captive, most likely in dreadful conditions, and now they were going to suffer for it, as well as their loathsome master. He would never have touched their families of course, but he had always found that in battle terrified men were cooperative men, and though he hated to use such tactics, he would have done that and much more for Ailith.

  They crept around to the back of the cottage and concealed themselves amongst the trees, then waited in dead silence. Lyall was looking forward to seeing his sweetheart again, but at the same time dreading it, because he knew that he would find that she had been kept in deplorable conditions, although how bad he did not yet know.

  Presently, Findlay joined them, and Lyall could see that his eyes were glittering with hate and anger, his jaw clenched, and his gaze fixed on the house as if he could break the stones with his stare. “You have no idea how much I am looking forward to this,” he whispered savagely. “I have thought of nothing else for six years.”

  “I think I do,” Lyall replied grimly. “But I all I want to know is if Ailie is well. If she is dead I will slit Jock McCauley’s throat.”

  “Here they come,” Lyall hissed as he watched the party of horsemen and the Laird McCauley approaching. Jock, resplendent in his best clan finery, looked gleeful and delighted with himself. Beside him was a young, handsome man who wore the costly garments of a priest underneath his cloak. Findlay was sure that he had seen him before somewhere, but could not quite place him for the moment. There were six armed guards around him, but they were laughing and joking amongst themselves instead of keeping an eye on their surroundings.

  In his eagerness to reach his bride, Jock spurred Sheba faster and reached the cottage before his guards. He took the key from one of the ones who were there already and went in, closely followed by the priest.

  Suddenly Jock’s men were surrounded by iron and leather-clad men, all armed to the teeth with swords, daggers, and spears. The surprise was so unexpected that Jock’s horsemen had no time to react, and for a few moments there was chaos as swords clashed with swords, horses neighed and reared up in panic, knocking their riders from their saddles in their blind panic. Other soldiers were wounded by Lyall’s swordsmen, and those who got away were picked off by eagle-eyed archers. It was a rout, and what Jock had expected to be a triumphant encounter with his submissive, broken bride had become an utter nightmare.

  For a while the defenders put up some resistance, but they were outnumbered, and no match for Lyall’s disciplined garrison. In three minutes it was all over, and the ground was littered with the groaning bodies of the wounded and the dead.

  None had been ready for the shock of the ambush, and when it was over, all of three minutes later, most of Jock’s men were lying in the mud moaning or not moving at all.

  Inside the cottage where Findlay had run in the first minute of the ambush, Jock had been floored by a mighty swipe from his right fist on the left side of his face, and had hit the ground with an audible thump. Then Findlay hauled Jock up from the ground and gave him another swinging punch on the jaw with his right fist. All the brute strength of his arm and shoulder was behind it, and Ailith heard a crack as Findlay threw him back on the ground.

  “That was for my brother, you gutless swine,” he growled, “although I would like to do a lot more, like torturing you on the rack.” Then he aimed a kick into Jock’s stomach, and he squealed like a stuck pig, writhing on the floor in agony until one of Lyall’s guards hauled him up and bound his hands so tightly behind his back that he screamed in pain. Findlay smiled with sadistic satisfaction.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked, deceptively softly.

  “Yes,” Jock replied, with tears of pain in his eyes.

  “Excellent,” Findlay replied savagely. “By the way, you have not remarked on my personality change, M'Laird. Do you like the new me?”

  “I liked the old one better,” Jock replied, scowling. That remark earned him another blow to his stomach.

  “What a pity,” Findlay replied in a silky tone as he bent down to take a vicious tug at Jock’s hair. “Because you are never going to see him again. And by the way, I am taking back my brother’s horse. I have lost count of the number of kicks you have given me over the years but I will give you back as many of them as I can; after all, fair exchange is no robbery. Starting with this one.” He swung his leg back and with his booted foot he kicked Jock hard in the shin.

  Jock let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Get used to it,” Findlay advised him, dusting off his hands. “There are a lot more where that came from.”

  Lyall rushed into the cottage, where Ailith was standing in the middle of a filthy room that was covered in mud, cobwebs, and dust and smelled of mold.

  Immediately he was incensed. How could Jock keep Ailie in a place like this? As he entered, a rat scurried across the floor and disappeared into a crack in the wall.

  Ailith fell into his arms, bursting into fresh tears as she did so, and she held onto him with her remaining strength, leaning on his solid, hard body, safe at last. She realized one thing in that moment; Lyall was her home and her refuge, and as long as she had him to hold onto and shelter under, she would never need anyone else.

  Lyall sighed with relief and love as he tightened his arms around her. “You are safe now Ailie, and you will be safe forever. Forgive me for allowing this to happen to you, but I have come to take you home.”

  “Lyall, it was not your fault,” she whispered, “Jock—he fooled me completely. I thought he was a good man, even when he was unpleasant to me...I never thought he would do this.”

  Lyall bent his head down to kiss her but she turned her head away. “No, Lyall—I stink,” she said, disgusted. “They gave me no water to wash.”

  Indeed, she was filthy. Her hair was lank and greasy, her face and body covered in mud from the hole she had been digging. She had torn strips of fabric from her brown dress to bandage her bleeding hands, and it hung in rags from her body. She had lost weight on her starvation diet, and he could feel her ribs beginning to protrude a little.

  Lyall was seething inside, but he bit down his anger. “You smell of all the perfumes of Arabia to me,” he murmured, leaning his forehead on hers. “Now will you give me a kiss, or will I
have to steal one from you?”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, “I am so dirty.” But his only answer was to press his lips to hers, gently but firmly. The feel of his mouth on hers was heavenly, but she was weak from hunger, pain, and exhaustion. With a small sigh, safe in his strong and protective embrace, she gave herself up to unconsciousness.

  Lyall, feeling her go limp, lifted her into his arms, then he listened to her heart. It was still beating strongly, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He put her down gently on the thin mattress and went to find Findlay.

  “Ailie has fainted,” he said urgently. “Can you go to Kinlochan and get Mistress Kennie, the wise woman?”

  “Of course. I know her well!” Findlay replied, looking concerned. “Is she all right? It may just be the stress of all this that has taken its toll on her. I will lend her my horse Tammy.”

  “What will you ride?” Lyall asked, knowing the answer already. He wanted Findlay to take the swiftest horse.

  “Sheba, of course,” Findlay replied, “now and forever. I will be back soon.”

  While he was away, Lyall cradled Ailith’s head in her lap and looked around himself. Ailith had tried to sweep the floor as best she could with her bare hands, but it was clear that the whole cottage needed to be scrubbed spotless from floor to ceiling. He wondered what she had been eating; now he could see a crust of bread on a plate, a half-eaten bowl of porridge, and a half-full pitcher of water. There was no soap or washing water anywhere. It seemed clear that Ailith had been receiving a very meager amount of food and had done her best to divide it up throughout the day.

  Oh, my God, he thought, what has he done to you, my precious? Then he caught sight of her hands. Ailith had torn strips from her dress to bandage them.

  Lyall looked down at the lovely face that had become so dear to him and felt a furious surge of anger inside himself, and he knew that if Jock caused Ailith’s death he would not be responsible for the consequences. His rage was like a living thing; if for once he let it loose it would destroy whatever got in his path.

  He was desperately anxious; her face was so pale, and she was so still. He checked the pulse at her neck again but it was still reassuringly strong, and he cradled her against him, wishing he could take her fatigue and pain away from her and feel it on her behalf.

  She stirred, then turned her head this way and that for a few moments before looking into his eyes.

  “Lyall,” she frowned, confused for a moment. “I thought...I thought I might never see you again.”

  Lyall smiled at her, enormously relieved. “You passed out,” he told her softly. “Thank God you are awake, my darling. I thought it was something dire.” He sighed with relief and kissed her once then hugged her close.

  “What was he feeding you, Ailie?” His tone was one of barely controlled fury. “Because it looks as though he was starving you.”

  “Hardly anything,” she admitted. “Half a loaf of bread, a plate of porridge, and water.”

  “I am going to tear him apart limb from limb,” Lyall’s voice was throbbing with fury.

  Ailith looked at his face, his brows drawn down in a ferocious frown, his teeth clenched. He was as tense as a bowstring and she could almost feel the waves of hatred emanating from him.

  “Be still,” she whispered.

  “Is there anything you need?” he asked tenderly. “Water? Food?”

  She smiled weakly and closed her eyes again. “Just you, sweetheart,” she whispered.

  15

  Getting Well

  Annie Kennie was not a very feminine woman. She was tall, fair, muscular, and quite masculine, with light brown hair that had the first streaks of gray in it, and bright blue eyes. She was dressed in a masculine fashion too, with hose instead of a kirtle and brown leather boots up to her knees. She had ridden Findlay’s horse with great confidence and skill, and he was very impressed with her, although a little uncomfortable with her straightforward manner.

  When she walked into the cottage she screwed up her face at the smell, but said nothing. She knelt down beside her patient at once, then smiled at her and stroked her hair back from her face. Her voice was surprisingly soft and lilting as she said, “My name is Annie, and I am here tae help ye. Findlay telts me ye fainted.”

  “Yes, I do not know what happened,” she replied, shrugging. “I was talking to Lyall and suddenly I could no longer stand up, then everything went black. When I woke up I was here in his lap.”

  “A nice place tae be,” Annie remarked, laughing. “Whit have they been feedin’ ye?”

  “Bread, porridge, and water,” Lyall answered bitterly. “She has been starved for the last week.”

  “Ye arenae feverish?” Annie asked, feeling Ailith’s forehead.

  “No,” Ailith shook her head.

  “Yer friend telt me whit happened,” Annie said. “Ye’re probably no’ very hungry because yer stomach has shrunk, but ye must eat. Here is a wee bit chicken broth. I heated it an’ wrapped it in blankets so it should still be quite warm.” She took out a flask then removed the stopper, poured the broth into a bowl and watched Ailith drink the first few mouthfuls with Lyall’s help. “As soon as ye’re finished we will go back tae the castle and I will help ye bathe an’ clean your hauns right, hen.”

  “Thank you,” Ailith smiled, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. She yawned, and Lyall took the bowl from her and began to feed her with a spoon, just like a child.

  “When we get back to the castle,” he said gently, “I am going to be with you all day. I have been so worried, Ailie. I thought someone might have killed you. I thought you might have had an accident and been unable to call for help. It is the first time in my life I have felt completely helpless, but now I want to know how you are feeling. Are you a little better?”

  She nodded. “Much, much better now that you are here, sweetheart,” she replied. “Except that I am filthy. I cannot wait to bathe.”

  “I cannot wait to kiss you again,” he whispered. He gave her the last spoonful of broth, then did just that, and for the first time since her capture and imprisonment she felt a stirring of joy within her. It was a very gentle kiss, but when she emerged from it she was breathless, and she saw the same light shining in his eyes that she knew was in her own.

  “I am going to lie on my bed and go to sleep with you in my arms, and you need never worry about Jock or any other man, for you are under my protection now.” He stood up, then bent down to pick her up, but she shook her head.

  “I can walk,” she told him, smiling. He frowned at her then led her outside, where she saw Findlay in his new guise as himself. She gazed at him for a moment before she spoke. “Finn, is that you?”

  He turned and smiled at her, then came to kiss her hand, frowning as he saw the bandages. “How are you, Mistress Ailith?” he asked, looking concerned.

  “I am well,” she replied, “but tired and dirty. But you are...different.”

  “I left Daft Finn behind,” he replied. “And we will never see him again. But I will tell you about it later”—he looked across at Jock—“after we dispose of this piece of filth. Goodbye, Mistress.” He turned and walked away, and at that moment, Ailith thought of Fenella.

  Ailith sank into the bath with a huge sigh of relief, letting the water lap over her skin, which was ingrained with dirt. Annie gently rubbed her with a soft sponge and a piece of pumice for her feet, and washed her lank greasy hair with soft soap, massaging her scalp as she did so. When Ailith was dried off and rubbed with oil, her hair was brushed and she was dressed in a clean nightgown. Annie cleansed and applied salve to her hands, then wrapped them in clean, soft bandages.

  After a cup of valerian tea, Annie put Ailith to bed with a hot stone at her feet, and she went to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. When Lyall came to look in on her a little while later, she was lying with her face pillowed on her hands, her bright hair spread out over the pillow like a banner. He kissed her forehead, then, as he had promised, he lay down be
side her on top of the coverlet and put an arm over her, then slowly drifted into slumber.

  When Ailith awoke a few hours later, she felt the sweet soft warmth and the musky scent of another human animal behind her. She turned to see Lyall lying on the bed with his eyes closed, breathing softly in his sleep. His hair was endearingly tousled, with long strands lying across his face, and a day’s worth of stubble had grown on his firm jaw. His eyelashes were long for a man, shadowing his high cheekbones under their thick arching brows. As she brushed a strand of hair away from the corner of his mouth he woke up and gave her a sleepy smile.

  “How are you feeling?” he murmured.

  “Much better,” she replied, “and waking up like this is heavenly.”

  “Indeed it is!” he agreed, laughing. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not yet,” she whispered. “Oh, God, Lyall, I cannot tell you how much I missed you!”

  He wanted to hug her, but the bed clothes got in the way, so he slipped underneath them so that their bodies were pressed close together from chest to knee.

  “I missed you too sweetheart,” he sighed. “All I could think about was how he was treating you, and it was even worse than I feared. He will suffer for it, I promise you. And I have sent for your father and mother. I think we need to talk to them, and they will have to come for the wedding anyway.”

  “I don’t relish the thought of talking to my father,” she said, shivering. “This nonsense about the curse is what started all these problems in the beginning. I will find it hard to be civil to him.” She was scowling fiercely.