Margaret thought that she would be sick right then, and some part of her was more than pleased to get the mess all over Harry's shoes, but she managed to still her belly. There was a chance Harry would only refuse to let her clean herself after, and she could not bear that.
As they walked up the ridge to meet Harry's men, she felt that twinge of nausea again, coupled with goosebumps that ran up her arms.
No. It can't be.
She thought back over the weeks that had come before, counted, and counted again. A part of her was almost grateful for the distraction because then she could not hear Harry's triumphant greetings for his men, could barely feel their eyes raking over her.
Harry had been clever enough to leave his own soldiers at home, instead opting to hire mercenaries for this task. Soldiers that Margaret had grown up with might have balked at this treatment of their lord's daughter, but the mercenaries only looked as if they envied Harry's wealth and the woman he had come to claim.
Harry helped her to mount in some strange parody of courtly behavior, and even as lost as she was in her own thoughts, she shuddered to feel his arms around her.
No. Don't think about Harry right now. Focus. Count the days, count the weeks, think of when you were sick, on the other side of the border and...
By the time she was sure, Margaret had to bite her tongue to hide her own panic. She told herself how uncertain things were, how early on it was difficult to be sure. In fact, her own mother would say there was no way at all to be truly sure anyway, not until another month at least had passed.
There was no way to be sure, but somehow, Margaret was. Her nausea, the tenderness of her own body, the lack of her own womanly blood, they all told her one thing, and that thing was that she was bearing a baby.
A child, hers and Aidan's, and at that point, she did weep. A few tears escaped her tightly shut eyelids, streaming down her face, but she refused to make a sound.
There was a joy underneath all the pain, an excitement and a pleasure that she carried in herself a sign of what she and Aidan had shared, but over it all was terror and fury.
How dare Harry take her away from what was hers? How dare he remove Aidan's child from MacTaggart lands?
Before, she had only been afraid, and now she was also angry. Margaret took a deep breath and made herself calm. She even let herself lean back against Harry, because riding propped away from him would sap her strength quickly.
No. Her anger, like her child, was a gift, a sword she could sharpen until she could deal with this threat to her family once and for all.
"There," Harry whispered in her ear. "Not so bad, am I?"
The gloating note in his voice made Margaret's skin crawl. The advantage to riding where she was, however, was that she did not have to look at him. He could not see the chilliness in her gaze even as she nodded.
"No, of course not," she said.
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chapter 41
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Somehow, despite her revelation, despite her fury and her sorrow at what had happened, Margaret slept. For a short while, she allowed her body to think that the man mounted behind her was Aidan and not their worst enemy, and she fell into dreams that, while troubled, were not the nightmares she had feared.
Instead, she heard Aidan calling for her, his voice growing louder and louder. It meant, she was certain, that he was growing closer, and soon this would all be over. No matter how she tried to call to him, however, she could not reach him, and finally, she woke just as Harry pulled his horse to a stop.
It was full morning now, and she stirred restlessly, shocked she had slept so long. They had traveled away from the mountain, toward the dales, and she realized that the company was dismounting at a small town.
"Where are we?" she asked.
Harry didn't even bother to turn his head. Instead, he looked forward down the road toward a squat castle that Margaret didn't recognize, and now she could see that the castle all around her was a roil of activity.
There was something terribly purposeful about the commotion at the castle. From the way the townspeople were staying so quiet and leaving the streets empty, she could tell that there was something usual going on.
"Back country knights, they should know when to come out and greet their betters," Harry muttered, and despite the tenuousness of everything in her world, Margaret was slightly amused to hear the affront in his voice.
As much a monster as he was, Harry was clever enough not to march up to a fortress with a company of armed men. Instead, he sent word, and not long after that, his messenger returned with a man in armor on a tall ghostly roan gelding.
The man who came down to meet them, Margaret saw, was no messenger. He carried himself with a natural air of command, and from the look on his face, he had no time for mercenaries.
"What business do you have here?" he asked shortly. "I know you are not troops from Longshanks here to help."
"No, but I am an English lord," Harry responded. "I was told that there were English soldiers here, holding Leister Castle and that I might expect hospitality and an escort south."
The man on horseback laughed, and something in that laugh told Margaret he was exhausted and out of patience. He was English through and through, but she wondered if there was something else about him, something that made his stake in the normal hostilities a little stranger.
"I can tell you right now that you can expect none of that," the mounted stranger said shortly. "That is Leister Castle above, and we are not holding it any longer, not past noon today."
"What nonsense is this?" Harry demanded.
The man shrugged, entirely unimpressed with his blather.
"It's no nonsense but an order from the king himself. We are summoned to marshal our forces to the West Country, and we are in no way going to escort you or give you any shelter in our band."
Margaret stared at him, the words spilling out of her before she could think of stopping them.
"But there is a peace between England and Scotland on now. Why are you marshalling in the West Country?"
Harry turned to her, his face furious, but the rider shrugged philosophically.
"Today there is peace, tomorrow there may be war. It is not my duty to decide the where and why of this thing, only to go where my king commands me."
Harry glared at the man, never used to being thwarted.
"And who are you that you take your orders straight from the king? I am the Earl of Norwich, and I am fully capable of commanding your troops, just as the king himself is."
For a moment, the mounted rider only stared at Harry, as if he had suddenly started spouting some kind of song in a foreign tongue. For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to laugh, but then he shrugged instead.
"Very well. I suppose I can waste a little more of my time with you. You are the Earl of Norwich? Fine enough. I am Devon Montgomery, lately made Duke of Albemarle. I took and held Leister Castle, I have held it for three years, and now I am ordered to leave it to go to the aid of my king."
Margaret had to quiet a gasp at the man's declaration. It was almost unbelievable, but she could sense no lie in him.
This was the Rock of Leister, who took a castle when all the country said it couldn't be done, took it and held it against the forces of the North. There were those who called him a hero, and more who called him no better than the barbarians he fought, but there were very few who would challenge him on anything resembling a battlefield.
The murmur running around Harry's men told her that they knew of Devon Montgomery's reputation as well, and if Harry were clever, he could feel them slipping out from underneath him.
"Still..."
"Still, it means that we will be gone before the end of the day. It is a long march to the West Country, and I want to give my men a decent opportunity to make camp. You may do what you like. Try to hold the castle if you wish, though I would not recommend it. When the war breaks again, t
he Highlanders will come down on it like a hammer."
Harry's protest was lost when Montgomery wheeled his horse around. As he went, however, Margaret was startled to catch his eye, to see the curiosity on his face even as he left. It must have been strange to see a single woman wandering with the company that Harry had created. Still, he said nothing, and as he made his way back toward the castle, Margaret felt a hope deep inside her drown in sorrow.
"We shall go and stay the night within the walls of Leister Castle," Harry declared. "We can rest, restore our provisions, and then go south tomorrow."
He made it sound like the best situation that could be found, but Margaret was careful of the burning anger inside him. Harry felt dangerous, like a horse that would kick unexpectedly, no matter how carefully he was handled.
As they made their way to the castle, Margaret felt a relief that she would stay in Scotland another night. At the same time, she felt a terrible dread seep over her. She was a possession to be thrown back and forth at Harry's will, and now he would have four stone walls to keep her.
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chapter 42
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Aidan knew he slept at some point, because eventually, he woke up in his own bed. He felt as if a horse had kicked him square in the gut, however, and when his memories came back about what Margaret had said to him, he wished he was still asleep.
At some point, however, Maisie came in and poked at his face until he was awake and could come get food with her, and that pulled him closer to being something like the man he needed to be. He dressed, shaved, and then, finally giving in to Maisie's impatient waiting, followed her to the main hall.
He was in a bleak enough mood, but perhaps it helped a little to see his friends and family who were still recovering from the hedonism of the evening. Some of them, he could tell, had only gotten a few hours of sleep, and in the case of one or two, they probably hadn't been to bed yet.
Reade and Elizabeth were curled next to each other, sharing some food. For a moment, Aidan wondered if he could bear their still newlywed happiness after the night he had had, but Maisie tugged him straight over, climbing right into Elizabeth's lap, hoping for some of her apples.
“Let your aunt eat,” Aidan said automatically.
Elizabeth waved him off.
“We've been sharing food since you went away. She makes sure that I eat instead of forgetting all about it, don't you, poppet?”
Small, blonde, and sweet, Reade's English wife was a surprise in many ways. She had caused one hell of a stir when he had brought her from England with a vengeful and scheming earl on their trail, but somehow, it had worked out. Privately, Aidan would have forgiven her a great deal just for the happiness she had brought his younger brother.
As she fussed over Maisie, Aidan turned to Reade, who was watching him with a curious gaze. His brother always saw more than he should, but he could usually be trusted to keep his mouth shut about it as well.
“I need you to do something for me.”
“I do you a lot of favors, brother, what's one more?”
“Funny. I may need you to take Margaret to her mother's cottage. You know where it is, over on MacKinnon lands, though only just.”
Reade titled his head.
“Is this something I should be asking about?”
“In another few years, perhaps.”
Reade looked curious, but he nodded.
“All right. But I will want that explanation eventually.”
After that, the only thing to do was to find Margaret, but Aidan had been gone from his lands for some time. It felt as if there was always another crofter popping up with a dispute for him to settle, one more issue that he had to handle, one more problem that needed his attention. Of course, if he were being honest with himself, there was very little in him that wanted to go find Margaret to finish off the conversation they had started the night before. The longer he put things off, the longer he could pretend that things were still all right between them.
However, Aidan had not become the man he was by putting things off, and so some time after a hurried dinner, he went looking for her. At first, he thought she was just staying in some out of the way corner, perhaps avoiding him just as much as he was avoiding her. Then, as he searched and the shadows grew longer before finally being overtaken by darkness entirely, he realized the truth. She was nowhere to be found.
With the help of Reade and some other men, he searched for her through much of the night, venturing into the commons and into the village. He would have gone into the mountains and the forests as well, but Reade held him back.
“There's no way to keep track of each other once we go into the dark,” Reade said. “And I would rather have one lost than two.”
For a moment, Aidan thought he would actually strike his brother, but then common sense reasserted itself. Reade was right, and Aidan passed a restless night pacing on the parapet, the cold wind blowing past him with a fierce shriek. He couldn't take his mind away from where Margaret might be, whether she was hurt or lost. Had she tried to run away from him? Given their last conversation, it was entirely possible. Was she afraid of him? The thought of her actively fearing him made him feel sick.
By the time dawn broke over the castle, he was in a foul mood, kept awake and moving by nothing more than fear and the intense need to see Margaret. Every spring, lambs were lost in the forest, and sometimes, even human children disappeared into the crags, never to be seen again. He refused to think that the last time he saw Margaret might be when she had turned away from him so finally, that he might only see her face pale and still in death if he ever got to see her again at all.
It was light enough that a search party might do some good, but before he could get it organized, Devon Montgomery came to call.
* * *
Devon Montgomery was never going to be one of Aidan's favorite people. They had almost come to an all-out battle earlier in the year over Elizabeth, before Reade had stepped in to settle things. Now they were family, and whether that bond would last past the rumbling of new war to the south was an open question. However, they were still at peace, so when he appeared at the gate, Aidan suffered him to enter so long as he did it without his men, who were camped on the rise.
“We are moving to the West Country on Edward's orders,” Devon said, “And don't ask me what that means because I do not know, and I would not tell you if I did. I only came to say goodbye to Elizabeth before I left.”
Aidan had to admit that some part of him twitched at that, at letting Longshanks's soldier, and a good one at that, pass through, but he told himself again that Devon was bound to them through blood now.
Elizabeth greeted her cousin with pleasure, and for all that they had never known each other well, there was something warming about seeing them so close. It appeased Aidan at least, and he would have turned away but Devon stopped him.
“I wanted to see Elizabeth, and I also wanted to warn you.”
“I'm not afraid to meet you in battle, if that's what you're after...”
“Nor I you. But no. Hopefully, there will be no need for either of us to test our claims. But I did want you to know that practically the moment my men and I left Leister, an earl by the name of Norwich came in. I doubt he'll stay long, but he has mercenaries with him, and I have no idea under the eye of Heaven what he's doing. I thought it best to tell you because he's not there for Edward's needs.”
The name Norwich rang a bell in Aidan's head, making him freeze. He had an image of a pompous English lord, and the name, Harry Stratham.
“Was there a woman with him?” Aidan demanded, and Elizabeth and Reade looked at him startled. There was a fury in his voice that made the other three wary, but Devon only nodded.
“Yes, Mounted up behind up. Red hair.”
“That was all Aidan needed. He turned on his heel, shouting for the assembling of the fighting men of Clan MacTaggart, and despite the dire natu
re of the situation, hope opened like a book in his chest.
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chapter 43
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Margaret was slightly surprised when Harry wanted to stop at Leister Castle at all. It had been more a barracks than a residence for years, and Montgomery's men had hardly left it in good shape. Then she realized from the mumbling of the men he had hired that he probably didn't dare push them harder. They had expected ease and an escort back to England. Now they were getting neither, and if he had tried to get them to do another march without rest, they might have revolted, or worse, abandoned him.
Instead, they entered the castle and set about doing what they could to rest for a short while. Harry brusquely put her into one of the small sitting rooms on the second floor. The lock turned from the outside, and when she found herself locked in, Margaret wanted to scream.
It could be worse. It could be much worse. He might have decided to put me in the cellar.
She was hungry, sore, tired, and now she knew that she was also pregnant. She cupped her still-flat belly, touching it gently and wondering if it was true, that she was truly nurturing a small life inside her. Her mother would have said it would take longer to be sure, but she was, and she tried to imagine what the baby would look like. Dark like Aidan or red-haired like her? Would it be a boy or a girl, timid or bold? The possibilities made her dizzy, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was already in love with her son or daughter. She would do whatever she could to give them an easier life than she had had, and that meant getting away from Harry.
Margaret knew with a chill that Harry would never let her keep the baby. If he were feeling kind, he might simply let someone far away adopt the baby, making sure that it grew up with no knowledge of who its parents were or how they missed it.
If he were feeling unkind...
The Highlander’s Lost Bride (The Highlands Warring Scottish Romance) (A Medieval Historical Romance Book) Page 19
