Her Highland Protector (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 2)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Hie here!” the lead hunter called. “The hounds have a scent!”

  Irmengarde started sobbing. Her horse was tiring, and she knew she could not expect the poor creature, valiant as she was, to be able to outrun horses that had not already walked all day through wet woodlands. She clung on with her knees and tried to persuade her horse to a last effort.

  “Come on lass. Come on…”

  A hissing sound made her horse rear in alarm. Irmengarde clung on, but her horse plunged and reared again, and she realized that the sound had been a crossbow, and that the owner of the crossbow was on horseback, and had planted himself in the road in front of her.

  She screamed as she took in the bearded face, the auburn hair, the muscled bulk.

  It was Clovis.

  He found her.

  TO THE FORTRESS

  “I thought to find you here,” Clovis said.

  Irmengarde stared at him, shocked beyond belief. She was too afraid to move from where she sat, too afraid to think. All she could do was stare, hypnotized, as if she saw a serpent slither across the leaf mold, inches from her feet.

  “Clovis…leave me be,” she said. Her voice was trembling and she tried to make her words come back, but they had flown from her, leaving her mutely helpless.

  “Why should I?” he asked, a smile playing across his face. His eyes were like steel. “I think I have a right to know what anybody on my lands is doing, at any time. Or are you trespassing, then, eh?” he inquired.

  “I live here,” she hissed. “I have every right…”

  “To defy me? To leave your home without my permission? I don’t think so.”

  “Clovis, please,” Irmengarde whispered. She shifted in the saddle, hearing the hunters come to a halt around them. She prayed they would have some respect for her dignity, and not crowd around them to hear the private exchange of words. They seemed, for the moment, to be leaving them in peace. She could see some distant shadows of horsemen, and heard one calming down the hounds.

  “Why should I show any form of pity?” he challenged. “I have every right to drag you back and keep you under lock and key. More so, were I to I catch that pitiable scoundrel of a horse boy…” His eyes glittered.

  “How dare you?” she whispered. She felt panic mix with rage. How dare he speak in such a way about Brogan? She could take his insults to her, but he should leave Brogan out of it! He had done nothing…

  “You take me for a fool,” he hissed. “I know the wretch disappeared the same day as you. And you and he will pay the full price for making a fool of me. Even in this barbaric country, there are laws about it.”

  Irmengarde tensed. She wished his guards were closer, so that they could hear the things he said about their homeland. How could any Scots who worked for them, continue in their loyalty?

  “You think we are lawless, then?”

  “I am the law in these parts!” he shouted. “And I will not have my wife defy me! Harris, take her off that horse.”

  Irmengarde wheeled round as a big Scotsman, grimly silent, reached for her. She had never liked him. A grim-faced ex-soldier, he had the same blank, cruel gaze as Clovis. He was also unfailingly loyal to him. She rounded on him, anger for a moment outweighing her fear.

  “This is a disgrace!” she spat. She glared at Clovis. “You allow another man to lay hands on me?”

  “I don’t know if I am the first to allow it,” he said tightly.

  Irmengarde’s cheeks flamed. “You insult me!” she shouted. “You! Get your hands off me,” she added, feeling Harris grip her knee. “Or I swear I will use my whip.”

  Clovis laughed as Harris, face implacable, turned to him. He frowned, as if unsure of what to do, who to obey.

  “Get yourself off the horse, then,” Clovis said. “And ride behind me. We have a long way back to the fortress.”

  Irmengarde looked around wildly. She had no choice but to do as he said. All the same, she wanted, desperately, to leave some sort of sign, should anybody search for her. She jumped down. As she did, she reached for her horse’s reins.

  “Go back home,” she hissed to the creature. Hating herself, she gave her a stinging slap on the rump, making her neigh in alarm and then head, bolting, down the path.

  Clovis, stared at her, his face a picture of alarm as the horse raced straight at him, jinked hastily out of the path and then rounded on Irmengarde.

  “You are a feckless, faithless woman!” he roared at her. “You…”

  She covered her ears, not wishing to bear witness to the torrent of hateful words that poured from him like venom. She bit her lip and made herself focus on the images in the more recent past, images of love and tenderness. Brogan’s eyes, looking at her with such gentle admiration her soul softened and she wanted to melt inside.

  “Get on the horse,” Harris said to her. She turned as he reached for her shoulder and gazed at him. The rage in her face must have been obvious, for he took a step back, shamefaced.

  “I will slow you,” Irmengarde warned, as Clovis reached a hand to help her up.

  “I’m not risking your escape,” he said. “Not again.”

  Irmengarde felt her skin creep with loathing as she swung into the saddle. Fortunately, she was seated behind Clovis, not before him. She knew she had as little chance of escaping, but at least she didn’t have to feel his arms around her. She swallowed the vomit that rose in her throat and tried not to choke.

  “Men!” Clovis gave the order. “We’re off.”

  Ten riders heeded his command. Forty hooves rumbled over the leaf mold, and the troop of guards massed around them. Irmengarde closed her eyes and held onto the saddle and hoped she might fall off. She risked being crushed under the hooves of the other hunt horses.

  Do I care about that? Actually, yes I do.

  She did not see death as her only escape, nor did she see Clovis as worthy of that. She had so much to live for.

  Even if I never see Brogan again.

  The thought surprised her – that she would think of him first as a reason for living. Her connection to him had been instant, their interaction sincere. She had never, if she was honest about it, felt so much love directed at her in her life.

  For the memory alone, she would carry on.

  The rain held off that night, but it was cold. Shivering in her cloak, Irmengarde prayed, fitfully, that she would fall off, or that the horse would bolt and give her a chance to wrest the reins from Clovis. More, even than that, she wished he would simply fall asleep, or fall off.

  He was solid, though, and strong. She knew he wouldn’t. They rode on through the night.

  In the morning, her eyes aching with lack of sleep, her calf muscles so tight she’d stopped feeling pain and felt only exhausted as, head swimming, they reached the castle.

  “Alert the guards,” Clovis ordered. “Let them know who’s here.”

  Irmengarde felt him shift, turning towards her.

  “We still haven’t caught your feckless servant yet.” He smiled, a grin that chilled her blood.

  “I don’t see why you think his disappearance is connected to mine,” she said carefully.

  He laughed. “You think I’m stupid? I have eyes.”

  “How can you believe that of me?” she demanded, as the other guards held back, letting them go first through the gate. “That I would desert you and break my vows?”

  “Like I say, I have eyes, wife,” he repeated. Then he chuckled. “And I am no fool.”

  Irmengarde bit back a retort. She didn’t need to anger him. She waited until they were at the steps and then tried to dismount.

  “Not so fast. I will dismount first,” he said. “I’m not risking your escape.”

  Irmengarde closed her eyes. Oddly, the feeling that filled her wasn’t fear, but one of weary annoyance. How did he think she could escape, when they were surrounded by hand-picked guardsmen, all of them dedicated to preventing that? That was Clovis all over, more set on how he appeared than on any sense behi
nd it.

  “As you wish,” she sighed. She saw his eyes light up at even that much of a proof of her submission. Her skin crawled again. She realized that she had given him the opportunity to break her utterly – something he had clearly been wanting to do for many years now.

  “I do wish it, wife,” he said tightly. She jumped to the ground, wincing as her ankle gave out and swaying upright, trying not to fall. She would not give him the satisfaction of letting him see her broken.

  “Men – take my wife to the east tower.”

  Irmengarde closed her eyes. She was surprised how much her fear was secondary to her scorn. Self-importance and a desire to make a show took away even his chance to be a good villain.

  “I will walk unhampered,” she said, raising a hand as Harris reached for her wrist. To her surprise, he stepped back.

  Her back straight, she walked up the steps into the fortress she had so longed to escape.

  In the tower, she was taken to the turret room. A settee and a fireplace were in there, and a chest of old blankets. At least, she thought, as the guards took themselves off, she would not freeze. The fire had been lit in the grate and the warmth called to her frozen, cramped muscles.

  “I will send to Bishop Brownley,” her husband said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “I will make you answer to your crimes.”

  “You have no proof of any of them,” she said insistently.

  “You think I need proof? Brownley is all too happy to take my word over yours. A few cartloads of wool to his abbey, a few lifts in tax on traffic to the chapel, and he’ll be all too happy to do whatever I wish.”

  “I rather wonder at your bothering to capture me,” she said wearily. “Why didn’t you just bribe him to excommunicate me?”

  He laughed. “I hadn’t considered that. A good idea. But not as satisfactory as seeing you pay for the insult you have done to me.”

  Irmengarde said nothing. She just covered her face in her hands. She was tired. It was no wonder that she couldn’t even summon any fear.

  She heard him whisper some insult under his breath as his boots scraped on the threshold. Then, he was finally gone.

  Irmengarde leaned on the wooden chair as she heard the big key turn in the lock. She was alone.

  Oddly, it’s nicer up here. At least I don’t need to risk seeing Clovis.

  It was a remarkable discovery. The whole fortress had been a prison for her, for all these months. A less frightening one came: she had always had to think of what he might say, what he might do. Now, with a sturdy door between herself and Clovis, his threat was limited.

  For the moment, at least.

  Irmengarde leaned on the settee and closed her eyes, feeling a desperate need for sleep. She was bone weary. She could feel a sort of heat spreading through her, and thought that if Mrs. McNeal did not attend her, she might catch a fever and fall dangerously ill. She wondered if Clovis would allow the healer to visit her.

  As she crouched down on the stone before the fireplace, she had a sudden vivid image of Brogan, the way he’d looked at her during the dance. His eyes had studied her appreciatively, in a way Clovis never had. She shivered, recalling how good it had felt to have somebody look at her like that.

  “At least if I die of this fever, I’ll remember that,” she said to herself. She wrapped her arms around herself, starting to shiver convulsively. When she heard footsteps heading to the door, she made herself stand up, discounting the ache in her head and the way her vision blurred. She faced the guard who stood there, a pail in his hand.

  “Please,” she said. “Fetch the healer.”

  The guard looked at her and she sensed his hesitancy. Should he obey her, and help to save her, or obey whatever instructions Clovis had given to him? He nodded reluctantly.

  “I’ll fetch her, milady.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  When the door next opened, she heard a friendly, familiar voice.

  “Och, lass! You’re looking in a bad way,” her confidante murmured. “Sit up. Drink this. It’s tea of catnip…it’ll lower the fever, so it will. And wrap this around you…it’s a proper blanket. You need to sweat it all away.”

  “Thank you,” Irmengarde whispered. She focused on her face, trying to make herself see it clearly. It seemed to her as if there were two of her, the two images floating, disconnected, before her strained vision.

  “Och, lass. You’re a mess,” her friend said, not bothering to hide the truth of it. “Whist. Come and sit down on the settee and put that over ye. There ye are. Now, we should get some broth intae ye. Heaven knows when ye ate aught.”

  “Yesterday,” Irmengarde whispered. She felt her vision blurring and it seemed to her as if she was not in this room, but somewhere else. In a cottage, dancing with a man who looked at her with eyes of tenderness, and care.

  “Brogan,” she whispered.

  “Aye. I’d keep from saying that where anyone can listen in,” her friend whispered. “I’ll stay here awhile. You’re no’ in your right mind, lass. It’s the fever.”

  Irmengarde nodded and reached for the hand that gripped her fingers. She was dimly aware of the turret where she lay, but the other reality seemed as real – a darkened field where there was only Brogan.

  It was two days before the fever broke. Irmengarde woke to feel a cool hand pressed to her head. She heard Mrs. McNeal’s level, gentle voice.

  “Whist, lass. How do you fare this morning..?”

  She tried to open one eye. Her eyelids felt heavy and stuck down. She rubbed them and looked about the room, memory returning to her.

  “I’m…imprisoned, yes?”

  “Aye,” Mrs. McNeal chuckled. “I reckon that’s so. And me with you a few days. He would not let me out, or let anything in. We had to ask a lass to fetch and carry for us. By! But he’ll regret this.” Her friend glared.

  “Who..?” Irmengarde whispered.

  “Him as imprisoned you.” Her friend said grimly. “Dinna think we all support him,” she said. “I ken there’s many who would stand with you – you’re well thought of, milady.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her teeth didn’t chatter, which was the first time in an age she’d managed to say something without it.

  “Can you get a message to the abbey?” she whispered.

  “Hush, lass,” her friend said levelly. “I reckon the tansy is going to be growing high in the fields, and the thistles, and...and yes. What?” she slipped in among the reassuring talk about the herbs. Irmengarde realized she was trying to speak so that no listener would guess their plans.

  “Tell him I’m here?”

  “Aye. And the nettles are sprouting green in the hedges, so they are. It’s a fine time to gather them to make a proper wash for cleaning of the skin.”

  “Yes.”

  Still talking happily about her beloved plants, her friend went out through the door, a bundle of sweat-soaked linen under one arm. She left Irmengarde lying on the settee, her mind in turmoil.

  Clovis had seen to it that her life was spared, which only meant one thing: that he was determined to see her framed for something she had never done.

  Which meant he was still looking for Brogan.

  “Be safe,” she whispered. Somehow, her heart didn’t doubt for an instant that Brogan would be – tall, strong and sensible, he seemed most capable of taking care of himself than anybody she could imagine.

  All the same, the desperate need for him to escape, for him to be safe, whatever befell her, tore at her heart.

  “Please, Brogan,” she whispered again. “Wherever you are, be safe.”

  BAD NEWS

  Brogan rode through the woods, feeling desperate. He had seen no sign of Irmengarde. He knew the map had gone missing from his pack, and somehow he had a sense that she would try to reach the only refuge open to her. The abbey.

  “But why then didn’t I see any sign of her?” he asked his horse.

  The horse snorted. He sounded as impatient wit
h Brogan as he felt toward himself. He gripped his sides with his knees and rode on, into the trees.

  The rain had settled in for the last two days. Gray sheets of it that turned the ground underfoot into a slippery trap for the unwary, making it impossible to go fast. He thought back to what he’d managed to glean from Addie.

  “She asked me not tae say, Brogan,” she’d said. “It was her decision to go. I can’t tell ye where…just go east.”

  Taking that information to heart, he’d gone east and kept east, knowing that the only place she was likely to go was to the abbey. It was east of the village, and so he headed back there and met with the monks. They had no news for him.

  “Alas, we’ve seen no sign of Lady Irmengarde.”

  Brogan had not been so deterred, and, when they offered him a place to sleep in the stables, he’d taken it. From there, he set out daily, hoping for any clue of her whereabouts. The first day had proved fruitless. He’d found many horse tracks, churning part of the forest path way to muddy slush. Other than that’s he’d seen nothing. He was starting to fear the worst.

  It was Brother Matthias, in the stables, who brought him the news.

  “Brogan? My son, we’re glad to have your talent here. Can you help us with a matter?”

  Brogan shrugged. “If you wish,” he agreed. “I can do my best.”

  Brother Matthias nodded gravely. “One of our brothers found a horse. The creature was exhausted, and too thin. Skittish, too. We’ve confined her in the storehouse, for fear she’d attack the rest of our animals.”

  Brogan nodded grimly. He’d hoped for news of Irmengarde. Instead, he was being given a task. He shrugged. If nothing else, the task would keep him sane. He nodded.

  “Take me there,” he shrugged.

  He followed the brother – talking earnestly about the possibility the beast had bolted from an area where there was a plague and how they should be careful – into the barn.

  Brogan frowned. The horse was tall and, as the monk had said, gaunt. She had wild eyes and she shied away as Brogan reached for her nose. He frowned as he waited for her to calm down.