Highland Heartbreakers
Page 71
She hoped she was right as Fynn and David lifted the bag of bones onto the reluctant donkey and quickly secured it with rope. If she hadn’t known what was inside she’d have believed the beast’s burden was a corpse—which she supposed it was, in a way.
*
Ewan and Walter encountered Mungo part way down the central staircase. He’d slung Robbie over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The bairn’s feet were unbound, but it was impossible to know if his hands were tied. He made no sound and Ewan worried he might already be dead, though there was no blood in evidence on the dagger Mungo gripped. That didn’t mean he hadn’t strangled the boy.
“Robert Gilbertson,” Walter said sternly, evidently plagued by the same uncertainty, “I’m proud o’ ye. We’ll soon have ye safe, do ye hear me?”
“Aye, Daddy,” came the brave reply.
Walter exhaled. “Let my son go,” he hissed. “Take me instead.”
Mungo scoffed. “Nay, the lad’s smaller. Ye’re too much of a handful.”
“Fyking coward,” Walter mumbled under his breath.
“Get out o’ my way,” Mungo shouted, waving the dagger, “if ye dinna want me to harm the bairn.”
“We’ve few options in this narrow stairwell,” Ewan muttered to Walter. “Let’s wait until we get to the courtyard.”
Walter gritted his teeth, but nodded his agreement. They felt their way backwards towards the steps to the outside, never taking their eyes off Mungo and his precious burden.
*
A terrible hush fell over the crowd when Ewan and Walter came out of the tower without Robbie.
Heather sobbed in Shona’s arms, but she shrieked her son’s name when Mungo emerged carrying the boy like a sack of grain.
“I’m all right, Mamie,” the lad shouted, eliciting compliments about his bravery from bystanders.
The scowling giant paused, scanning the scene. Shona hoped his gaze didn’t linger overlong on the corpse lashed to the donkey. The animal stomped and brayed, clearly uncomfortable with its burden.
“I asked for a horse, nay a donkey,” Mungo protested, but didn’t pursue the matter when no one replied.
He inched his way towards the beasts, keeping a wary eye on Ewan and Walter. “Everybody move away,” he yelled.
Heather gripped Shona’s arm as the crowd slowly obeyed. When Mungo got close to the roan, Robbie began to squirm and kick.
“I told him of Ailig’s burial,” his mother whispered. “He kens that’s nay the body.”
She shrieked when Mungo swatted the lad’s bottom with the knife-wielding hand.
“Be still,” the giant growled, but Robbie kept on kicking.
Shona glanced across at Ewan who had taken advantage of the distraction to edge closer.
Evidently rattled by the boy’s sudden resistance, Mungo paid scant attention to the corpse, took the reins of the donkey and mounted the roan, then drew Robbie down into his lap. “If ye try to hunt me, I’ll make sure the boy suffers,” he threatened.
Walter growled.
Heather wailed.
Anger threatened to choke Shona.
Ewan’s gaze darted here and there, searching for a means to stop the brute leaving. He rolled his eyes heavenward when Ruadh sauntered into the courtyard.
The Pack
Ewan groaned. It was doubtful the hound’s presence would help matters. Mungo hardly seemed to notice, too busy looping the rope binding Robbie’s hands to the pommel. The lad kept on squirming, forcing his captor to clench the dagger between his teeth to free up his hands. However, the blade still posed a danger.
Ewan’s heart sank further when Ruadh trotted over to the corpse and began sniffing the shroud.
“Come away,” Shona cajoled, patting her thigh.
“Geroff,” Mungo shouted at the hound, then took the dagger from his mouth and swore, spitting blood.
Ewan cursed, even more determined not to be bested by a complete idiot. “Leave the dog be,” he shouted to Shona when a spark of an idea flickered. Ruadh was a deerhound after all.
As he hoped, the dog sank his teeth into a corner of the shroud and pulled, putting more effort into it when his prize refused to budge. His whining, or mayhap the smell, attracted the attention of several other dogs who joined the fray, trying to pull the corpse from the donkey.
Soon they were snapping at each other. The donkey brayed and kicked, alarming the roan. Mungo’s face reddened considerably as he strove to control his mount and screamed for it all to stop. In his confusion he dropped the reins of the donkey. The braying beast bucked around the courtyard in a futile attempt to dislodge its unwelcome burden. The dogs were relentless in their pursuit. Most dodged the hooves successfully, others yelped and fell by the wayside when they weren’t so lucky.
“We mayhap tied it too well,” Fynn mumbled to Ewan.
“The uproar is clearly unsettling Mungo.”
“Ye’d be unsettled too if ’twas yer brother about to be eaten by dogs,” his kinsman replied.
Ewan conceded he wouldn’t wish that fate on Colin, much as he disliked the man.
Mungo eventually caught up to the frenzied donkey, but when he leaned over to grab hold of the reins, Robbie shoved him hard and he fell to the ground. Then the brave lad dug his heels into the roan’s flanks and yelled, “Siuthad.” The beast responded and trotted away from the melee. Walter ran after him. The donkey took off towards the stables, the pack snapping at its bucking hind legs. The bag of bones was, by now, dragging on the ground.
Ewan ran to Mungo before he had a chance to get to his feet. He grasped the wretch’s shoulders and turned him over. Lifeless eyes stared into nothingness. Blood trickled from a twisted mouth. The fool had impaled himself on his own dagger.
Ewan went down on one knee and closed the unseeing eyes.
Shona came to embrace him as he got to his feet. She stared at the dead man. “This was inevitable I suppose, and perhaps for the best.” She kissed his cheek and whispered, “Thank ye.”
The warmth of her body pressed against him calmed the fear and dread that had coursed through him since he’d seen Robbie dangling from the tower. “I’m nay the hero,” he replied. “Robbie saved himself, with help from yon hound.”
“But ye knew Ruadh would provide a distraction,” she insisted.
Resounding cheers drowned out his protestations when Walter returned to the courtyard carrying Robbie. The smiling boy waved shyly to the admiring crowd as his weeping mother threw her arms around him.
*
The cheers gradually died down. A peculiar silence settled on the courtyard. Shona recognized many capable clansmen, young and old, who gazed about, as if none quite knew what to do now that the threat had been dealt with.
Even Walter seemed content to simply cling to his wife and bairn.
It was Ewan who took charge. Within minutes he’d sent Fynn back to his labors, dispatched servants to prepare chambers for the Gilbertsons, organized a work crew to begin restoring the burned-out cottages, appointed a burial detail to take care of Mungo’s body, and set off for the stables with David to sort out the dog and bone issue.
Soon only Shona and Mrs. Macgill remained in the strangely quiet courtyard.
“Mayhap they’re not a bad lot after all, yon Mackinlochs,” Moira’s mother conceded before flouncing off.
Heart bursting with pride, Shona looked up to the top of the tower. “Dinna fash, Daddy, the clan’s in good hands,” she whispered before hurrying off to see to the provision of a bath for the Gilbertsons.
*
Ewan was pleased with the progress being made on the various tasks that needed to be dealt with. He didn’t deserve credit for saving Robbie and ridding the clan of the threat to the lairdship, but there was no doubt many of the MacCarrons he came into contact with as the afternoon progressed treated him with greater respect.
Once he and David had pacified Ruadh and his pals with a few choice bones, he sent his kinsman back to Fynn with the remainder of the carcass.
They’d made some progress when the Gilbertsons made their way down the hill from the castle. The trio had clearly bathed and changed clothes. Heather shyly tucked strands of wet hair behind her ears. Ewan was fairly sure he’d seen the gown she wore on the floor of Shona’s chamber on the terrible day he’d discovered Mungo’s treachery. Walter wore trews and a shirt, but no plaid. Robbie squirmed out of his mother’s grip and headed for the ruin.
“He’ll nay stay clean long,” Walter lamented, peering inside his cottage.
“Neither will ye if ye go in there,” Ewan replied.
“But it’s my responsibility,” his friend pointed out.
Ewan showed his blackened hands and beckoned him away from the grime. “Nobody expects ye to help with this now, and it’s my wedding day on the morrow. Soon enough ye can help with the rebuilding.”
Walter clenched his jaw. “Aye, about the wedding. Since yer kinsman is getting wed the same day, I had thought to offer myself as yer second, but the laundresses are overwhelmed. They reckon it will be days before my only plaid can be cleaned and repaired.” He nodded to the ruin. “The rest of our raiment went up in smoke.”
Ewan was humbled. “I’d offer ye my hand, but it’s a mite dirty. I can think of no one I’d rather have as my second, Brother. And I ken where there’s a spare MacCarron plaid that a good friend once lent me.”
Walter offered his hand. “’Twill be my honor, and naught wrong with a wee bit o’dirt to seal a deal.”
Ewan proudly accepted the gesture, but Walter grimaced when Robbie ran by seconds later, his bright eyes two white circles in a mucky face. “Now all we have to worry about is keeping yon bairn clean.”
Heather hurried after her son. “Impossible,” she remarked.
Two Weddings
The next day, Ewan stood before the minister in the chapel, but all his attention was on the smiling woman whose warm hand he held. His gaze wandered up her slender arm, tightly clad in fabric that exploded in a puffy riot at her shoulder. Strangely, it drew the eye to the décolletage that provided a tantalizing glimpse of pouting breasts he hoped soon to be suckling.
The fitted bodice clung to her shapely figure then flared into copious skirts that seemed to float as she walked.
He couldn’t have named the fabric used to fashion her luxurious gown, but the vibrant reds and golds matched the fire burning in his heart.
He thanked whatever force of nature had deterred him from offering marriage to Kathleen.
At the risk of offending Shona’s clan, he’d decided to wear a Mackinloch plaid. He was marrying a MacCarron and would strive to heal the deep divisions between their clans, but Mackinloch blood ran in his veins and they would have to accept that. His bride and her uncle supported his decision.
The significance of Walter’s stalwart presence at his side wasn’t lost on anyone. Only he and Ewan knew the history of the plaid he wore.
Fynn and Jeannie also stood before the minister. Ewan could scarce believe this was the same rough and ready farmer who’d accompanied him from Roigh. A casual visitor might have mistaken him for a proud Macintyre laird. The smiling woman responsible for the transformation looked radiant in a green gown. To Ewan’s eye it was nearly identical to Shona’s, except it revealed less of her bosom—as was perhaps fitting. Fynn was likely pleased since his bride had kept her girlish figure despite her appetite.
Another unforeseen miracle was David’s presence as Fynn’s second. Two men who’d set out with little in common, not even mutual respect, had forged a unique bond.
The minister cleared his throat. Ewan nodded his readiness to repeat vows he was contentedly certain he would keep.
He looked into the green depths and saw his own soul. “I, Ewan Mackinloch…take thou, Shona MacCarron…to my espoused wife…as the law of the Holy Kirk requires…and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
His bride tightened her grip on his hand, took a deep breath and repeated her vows. “I, the said Shona MacCarron…take ye, Ewan Mackinloch…to my espoused husband…as the law of the Holy Kirk requires…and thereto I plight to thee my troth.”
The sincerity in her steady gaze told of vows honestly spoken. Ewan had an urge to strut about the church like a rooster. His wife loved him despite the foolish trick he’d set in motion to avoid marrying her. She’d seen strengths in him he hadn’t seen in himself. Of course, she’d conspired to trick him as well. He chuckled inwardly, grateful the Fates had persevered to bring two reluctant soul mates together.
*
Shona flounced out of the chapel like the Queen o’ All Scots. She was regally dressed—after all a lass only got married once, so what was the point in scrimping on a gown—and the king of her heart was her escort.
The brief physical liaison they’d shared still evoked tingles in unmentionable places and promised a marriage bed filled with sublime delights.
The most wonderful day of her life might never have happened if her scheme to avoid marrying a Mackinloch had worked. Fortunately, the Fates had thwarted the plan and she’d shared the ceremony with her beloved aunt, thus doubling her happiness.
All that remained now was the banquet, about which she had mixed feelings. The castle was agog, but the excitement had more to do with the venison than the happy event. Fynn had confidently taken Jeannie to wife without blinking an eye, but questions about the roasting of the stag seemed to render him a nervous wreck with a stammer to rival David’s.
Those fortunate to sample the pies served at David and Moira’s wedding plagued others with tales of the mouth-watering treat in store.
Able to walk now with the aid of two arm crutches and the ever-faithful Donald, Kendric led the wedding procession into the hall and took his rightful place at the head table. Beaming, he gestured Ewan and Shona to sit to his right, and Fynn and Jeannie to his left.
Folk applauded as they took their places, but the cheering rose to a crescendo when Walter led in Ruadh and ushered him to a blanket in front of the head table. Everyone acknowledged the dog had earned the right to the first morsels of venison.
He sat regally, tongue lolling.
“Look at him,” she whispered to Ewan, “eyeing his court as if he’s King of the Castle.”
They both chuckled when he yawned, evidently bored when the minister appealed to everyone to bow their heads and thank God for His goodness.
Instead, the hound looked with anticipation to the kitchens as servants emerged bearing serving trays.
Every head followed Ruadh’s lead and not the minister’s.
“He isna the only one salivating,” Ewan pointed out as they sat.
Though Shona’s chair was four removed from Fynn’s, she sensed his nervousness. Jeannie leaned forward to exchange an exasperated glance with her niece.
Seated at a table with his new bride’s family, David fixed his worried gaze on the servants as they delivered trenchers of meat and vegetables to the head table and one to Ruadh.
The dog got to his feet and made short work of the treat, then wagged his tail, lapping up the loud cheering.
Fynn and David unclenched their jaws.
“Seems Ruadh approves,” Kendric shouted over the din. “The festivities can begin.”
*
Ewan savored the venison, but particularly enjoyed feeding his new bride the best morsels from his trencher. It took resolve not to lick the juices from her tempting lips and kiss her senseless. He suspected the crowd half-expected him to do so. A hush fell over the gathering every time he leaned towards her.
He’d readied himself for some antagonism among Shona’s clan. After all, he was a Mackinloch and had jus
t played a role in the deaths of MacCarron kinsmen. There were a few scowling faces, mostly among the more elderly folk but, all in all, he was confident the majority favored the marriage, if grudgingly.
He deemed it fortuitous that much of the attention had shifted to Fynn whose culinary triumph had made him famous. The majority of the raucous toasts were offered to him and his helper, and to the dog. Opinion was unanimous it was the best venison anyone had ever tasted. The man responsible steadfastly refused to reveal his secrets.
“There’s a lesson to be learned here,” Ewan whispered to Shona.
She turned to listen. The happy smile, the wide-eyed innocence, the blush spreading across her breasts caused him to lose track of what he planned to say next. His cock ruled his thoughts.
“A lesson,” she prompted, eyeing him curiously.
“Er…aye. The way to a clan’s heart is through its belly.”
She nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t seem to appreciate the witticism. He took a quick swig of the wine to hide his disappointment.
The blackberry wine was excellent, rich and fruity, but he didn’t intend to over-imbibe and was glad Shona took only the occasional sip.
Kendric, however, drank heartily. Jeannie and Shona both cautioned him softly that laudanum and wine could be a potent mix. He waved away their warnings. “If a mon canna celebrate the wedding of his niece and sister on the same day…”
A fit of hiccups followed, causing Jeannie to slap him heartily on the back.
He belched, then continued. “Anyway, I sipped only a wee dram o’ dwale today so I didna have to worry about the laud’num.”
Shona gasped, but Ewan gently restrained her when she tried to get out of her seat. “Leave him be. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“But dwale,” she protested. “He’s determined to stick with old ways and doesna realize it can be more dangerous than laudanum. Cook has had more to worry about than how much henbane he put in the dwale.”
He patted her hand. “He’ll suffer for it on the morrow, but I’ll warrant his worst affliction will be a pounding headache.”