Another Man's Bride

by Ariel MacArran

  A light of understanding, or perhaps recognition, dawned on Colyne’s face. His lips went white.

  He released her suddenly and stepped back.

  “Please, Colyne.” Tears came to her eyes at the way he looked at her. “Please go after them.”

  His face was ashen, but he nodded.

  He raised his voice, shouting hoarsely for the lads to join him.

  The men were taken by surprise. A sharp word from the chieftain set them racing to send up the call to their fellows throughout the castle. The clansmen hurried to saddle the horses, tying on swords and finding shields.

  It seemed an eternity to Isabella before the men were assembled, the horses ready, the gate opened.

  Colyne was poised to mount his charger when the guard gave a shout.

  Isabella looked toward the gate to see a lone horseman riding back.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  Even from where she stood she could see the blood matted in Angus’s hair, and he was slumped over the horse’s neck as if barely holding on.

  “Get him down, lads!” Colyne called.

  Hands both swift and gentle lifted their kinsman down.

  Angus looked barely conscious. His eyes rolled in his head.

  “What’s happened?” Colyne demanded, holding his face so the man had to look at him.

  “Colyne,” Angus croaked. “Caitrina, the English woman—”

  Colyne nodded encouragement, waiting till Angus could speak again.

  “At the well—MacLaulachs…took them…”

  “Jamie?” Malcolm asked, his usually booming voice shaking.

  Angus shook his head. “Dinna see. Took the women. Jamie and I—tried. They left me—”

  “Mount up,” Colyne said to his men. “Isabella, do what ye can for Angus.”

  Isabella’s eyes went wide. “I do not know the healing arts as your sister does.”

  “Morag can help you, she canna do it alone with her eyes sae bad but she taught Caitrina a bit. William may be of use to ye as well, he should know battlefield medicine.”

  Isabella watched the men, now ready to fight, ride through the archway to the bridge. It was only then that she remembered Colyne’s arm, how Caitrina had asked him not to ride today, and she felt her stomach clench.

  How could he hope to fight if he should not even ride?

  They returned to the castle at dusk.

  Isabella came at a run to the courtyard as soon as she heard the shouts from the tower guards. Colyne’s eyebrows were drawn downward, his expression grim.

  Isabella made a silent count of their number as they rode in. All the men were back—but without Katherine, Caitrina, or Jamie.

  “What happened?” Isabella demanded as soon as he had dismounted.

  “They’ve crossed to MacLaulach land,” Colyne said shortly, tossing his reins to young Dougal. “And taken our folk with them. There’s nae ridin’ onto their land without more men. We’d be lucky to ride out again at all.”

  “What are you going to do?” Isabella asked, following after him into the castle.

  “Send to our allies and raise enough men to destroy the damned lot of them. The MacLaulachs took me folk and I’ll leave none of theirs living.”

  “Kat is there,” Isabella cried, appalled. “And Caitrina and Jamie! You cannot attack!”

  He ignored her.

  “Wait, please, listen to me!” Isabella caught his arm at the entrance to the great hall and he flinched. Feeling something wet and warm on her palm, she pulled her hand away. “You are bleeding.”

  He shrugged it off. “Leave it.”

  “You should have it cleaned and bound at least.”

  “I dinna need ye to tend me!”

  “Send for Alisoun to do it then,” she said tartly. “But you will hear me out. You cannot lead a force against the MacLaulachs with our people there.”

  “They took me sister!” he half shouted. “And Malcolm’s boy and yer Katherine!”

  “Do you want revenge or do you want them back?”

  “They’re like as not already dead!”

  “And if they are, I will hand over every jewel, every garment, every bit of wealth at my disposal to raze MacLaulach land.”

  That stopped him. “Ye will?”

  “I will see every last MacLaulach is wiped out,” she replied. “If our people are dead. If they are captives, you must bargain for them.”

  “They hate us! Why would they nae hurt the ones we love?”

  “You hate the king. And Douglas.”

  “’Tis nae the same,” he retorted. “I’ll nae hurt ye, I never would!”

  “You cannot attack with our folk at the heart of it, surrounded by your enemy, and win!”

  “Aye, I can! An’ I’ll have the MacLaulach’s head rottin’ on a pike over the walls of this castle!”

  “Because your pride is more important than Caitrina!”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Have a care what ye say now, lady.”

  “I think you went too far into their land. You wanted to push them back and you did not think they were a threat. You were wrong and you do not want to admit it.”

  “I was wrong?” he demanded, furious. “I am to blame that the MacLaulachs are cowards enough to take two women at prayer?”

  “Think of what matters now!”

  “What matters is seein’ the MacLaulachs dead! I dinna even ken if our folk are still alive! And ye dinna want to know what the lasses can expect if they are.”

  “I know enough of war to know it is never kind to women. But if there is a chance we can bring them back safely then we must try.”

  “We havena’ enough lads here. I need more men!”

  “No, just one to carry the message that you wish to treat for their release.”

  “Ye think they’d hear him out?” His mirthless laugh echoed in the dim outer hall. “Likely they’ll hang him like a dog before he draws breath to speak!”

  “Think on it, Colyne! If a rider came alone from the court offering to treat for me, would you hear the man out?”

  His expression was wary. “Aye.”

  “And if hundreds of the king’s men stood ready to attack, but they sent a rider, how well would you receive that man? Would you hear him? Or would the army around you make you less willing to treat?”

  He threw his arm in the direction of the MacLaulach lands. “They’ve insulted us and taken our kin! We canna let it go unavenged.”

  “Revenge or Caitrina, what will you have?”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. “If yer wrong—“

  The men of the court did not only dance and flatter the king, they also led armies and negotiated treaties. She knew this was the correct course to take.

  “Kat is there,” she said, her voice tight. “You do not have to tell me what I will suffer if I am wrong.”

  He shifted his stance. “If I send out the call I can raise a few hundred men.”

  “How long?” she countered. “A fortnight before they are gathered and you could lead them? While Caitrina and Katherine and Jamie are captive and the MacLaulach raises his own allies to fight yours?”

  His mouth was a drawn tight line. “Tell me what yer thinking.”

  Malcolm was sent to treat with the MacLaulachs. He was tired, having ridden with the rest, but with Jamie in danger he would not let another go. He had fought in France, was a fierce opponent still, and he knew every branch and hill of the land.

  Sir William would have gone willingly, alone and unarmed. None could question now if his duty to the queen was higher than his affection for Katherine, but after months with the Highlanders he still did not speak their language well enough to negotiate. He was discouraged when Colyne chose against him. William insisted on gaining Colyne’s promise that he could ride in the party to rescue Katherine should the ransom offer be rebuffed.

  To Isabella’s surprise Colyne agreed, and Sir William, shaking with the strength of his emotion, genuinely thanked him. Si
r William asked for the return of his sword and gravely took a vow not to use it against any MacKimzie for the duration of his captivity. Sir William withdrew to clean and sharpen his sword should it be called to Katherine’s service.

  Dinner was a somber meal. There was little talk, no music or mirth. At the end of the meal, Colyne directed all that did not need to remain awake to their beds. If they rode to war then he would need them rested.

  Isabella ate little and withdrew to see how Angus fared. With the help of Caitrina’s precious books and Morag and William assisting, Isabella cleaned and sewed the cut on Angus’s head and bandaged it. Isabella chewed the inside of her cheek as she worked. She flinched at the force needed to pierce the skin with the curved needle but Angus was a willing and grateful patient and her stitches were neatly done. The concentration needed for the task conquered any squeamishness, but her mouth was raw by the time she was finished.

  Isabella touched the inside of her sore cheek with her tongue and flinched. I must mind not to do that.

  Still, she was almost giddy with the accomplishment and proud of how well she had managed.

  Once she had checked on her patient she gathered fresh bandages, a cup, and a bottle of the strong spirits Caitrina used for cleaning wounds.

  She found Colyne in his chamber, gazing absently into the flames.

  She had never been in his rooms before and the space was quite larger than the one she occupied. This room was furnished with curtained bed, trunks which doubled as storage, and a few chairs. There was a room beyond as well that the lady of the house would have used as a sitting or working room in times past. The wooden floor held a few precious carpets and the walls a few hangings, but it lacked any of the soft touches that Caitrina’s room contained. These chambers were comfortable but had a distinctly masculine feel to them.

  His mistress either had not the opportunity or the inclination to make some claim to the space.

  Is Alisoun within as well?

  Isabella paused next to the heavy oak door, shy to enter lest he not be alone. “MacKimzie?”

  Isabella glanced to the room beyond but no smug, pretty face appeared at the sound her voice.

  Colyne’s face was drawn. “Aye?”

  “I must tend to your arm.”

  He glanced at the bandages and cloths with disinterest. “’Tis nae sae bad. Leave it.”

  Confident now he was alone, Isabella entered. “Your arm needs tending and the sooner you let me start, the sooner I shall be finished.”

  He gave a humorless smile. “Ye sound like Caitrina.”

  “I hope she will instruct me in the healing arts when she returns.” Isabella indicated a chair beside the fire and gave him a meaningful nod.

  He made no move to sit.

  She met him look for look.

  “Methinks ye’ve already been learnin’ from her.” He sighed, reaching for the clasp that held his mantle. “Have yer way then.”

  For her to tend his arm he was going to have to remove his mantle and tunic, which would leave him with—

  Nothing.

  He caught her look of consternation and a quick, knowing grin lit his face.

  “I—perhaps you …” she stammered, her face hot.

  “I dinna have anythin’ ye havena seen—or touched.”

  She stepped back quickly. “I will fetch Sir William to tend you.”

  He laughed. It had been so long since she had heard that laugh…

  “Hold, lass! If ye canna bear to look at me, turn around.”

  Isabella hesitated, but turned her back. “Tell me when I can look.”

  “Ye can look anytime ye want,” he replied from behind her. “Or touch for that matter.”

  After using her so appallingly, did he really think he could charm her again?

  She turned her head to speak, sharp words at the ready. He was out of the plaid and already pulling the tunic over his head. The firelight illuminated his body, showing every flat plain and smooth curve of his torso, hips, and thighs.

  And he was not jesting about inviting her to touch.

  She turned back quickly before the shirt cleared his head.

  “All right, lass,” he said from behind her. “Ye can turn now without offendin’ yer eyes.”

  She tried to steady her breath. True to his word, he was seated before the fireplace, waiting for her. The plaid was around him but the tunic laid aside to leave his arm and shoulder bare.

  Some of Caitrina’s stitching had pulled loose and the wound was red and inflamed.

  Truth to tell, she was not sure how to proceed.

  She probed gently. The wound felt hot under her fingers. “Does it hurt?”

  “O’course it hurts! Do ye think me such a demon that I dinna feel pain?”

  “I do not know how Caitrina makes her sleeping draught,” she said, now doubly determined to learn the Scotswoman’s art.

  “I wouldna’ drink it even if ye did. I canna sleep sae deeply or sae long tonight.”

  She frowned, trying to think what Caitrina might do. “I think I should clean it first.”

  She remembered how it pained him yesterday. She held a cloth to catch the excess, took a deep breath, and poured the spirits over the wound. He made sound like a strangled gasp. His hand gripped the chair arm so hard his knuckles went white. Perspiration shone on his forehead.

  “Best give me some to drink before ye do any more.”

  She had bitten the inside of her cheek again. “Let me finish first. Then you are free to drink whatever is left.”

  Gritting his teeth, he held steady while she poured and dabbed with the clean cloth. She handed over the cup and he downed the contents quickly.

  Isabella was willing to sew his arm again but it seemed to her sewing was unnecessary. She spread some of Caitrina’s healing salve on it and wrapped it instead, hoping she was making the right choice.

  “I think that will do,” she said, looking over her handiwork. “I can see why Caitrina did not want you to ride today. You were lucky not to have torn the lot open.”

  He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Aye, me luck continues to hold.”

  “Can I do anything else for you?” Isabella shifted her feet. Now her work was completed, she was acutely aware they were alone in his rooms. “Do you need help to dress?”

  “I can manage well enough.” He held up the cup. “I’ll have me more o’ this though.”

  She allowed him a few moments of privacy to dress, lingering as she refilled the cup.

  He took the cup she brought to him, but did not drink. He sat and nodded toward the other chair.

  “Sit, lass.”

  Isabella hesitated. Tending his wound was one thing. Sitting with him alone in his chamber was another. And she was not sure which of them she trusted less.

  “I think I shall retire, my lord.”

  “I turned it over and over in me head.” He speared her with a look. “There was nae way ye could have known the MacLaulach men were there.”

  Isabella felt herself go cold.

  “Ye can stand or sit as ye like. But ye’ll nae be leavin’ this room till I know the truth of it and bid ye go.”

  She sank into the chair, the smooth wood of the arms under her palms.

  “If ye knew beforehand the MacLaulachs would be there, waiting at the well, ye never would have let yer Katherine go.”

  She spread her hands. “My lord, to be certain you mistook my words, I merely—”

  “There’s nae point in spinnin’ lies for me,” he warned sharply. “I will have the truth of it, ye ken.”

  She swallowed hard.

  “Ye dinna know before,” he continued. “Ye knew when it were happening. How, then? How could ye know what ye couldna’?”

  She turned her face to the fire, watching the flames leap and twist.

  After a time, he spoke again quietly. “I knew a lass, about yer age, years ago, who knew things she couldna know. I fought with her troops, French and Scottish, for King Charles
. I followed her banner and she spoke to us of her saints. I saw her captured. Later she was sold to the English, young as she was and a maiden too.

  “Many of the French and the Scots called her holy. But there were many, even among her own folk, who feared her. The English called her heretic and witch and in the end all her visions did her naught. The English burned her.”

  Isabella clasped her hands to hide their shaking.

  He tilted his head. “Ye seem verra afeared.”

  Her lips felt stiff. “I have nothing to fear.”

  “Look at me.” She did and his gaze burned her. “Should ye fear Jehanne’s fate for yerself?”

  Isabella made a small choked sound.

  “Ye had a sending, did ye? Tha’s how ye knew the MacLaulachs took our folk.” He searched her face and he nodded once, almost imperceptivity. “Ah, now tha’s the truth of it.”

  “You cannot denounce me,” she whispered. “If you do, there will be no ransom.”

  “Nae,” he said softly. “I will nae denounce ye.”

  Tears blurred her sight at his gentle tone.

  “Ye had a vision, then. ’Twas the first?”

  Her lips parted but she could not speak.

  His eyes widened. “It’s nae, is it?” he breathed. “Ye’ve had sendings before.”

  She was trembling badly now. To be so exposed before anyone was terrifying; before Colyne MacKimzie it was nigh unbearable. Still, there was a part of her that crumbled with relief that he knew.

  “How long?” he asked. “Since ye were a wee lass?”

  She dropped her gaze to the faded carpet under her feet. “Yes.”

  “Yer Katherine knows then. Ye’ve nae told a soul save Katherine?”

  “Would you, if you had seen Jehanne led to the stake?” she asked hoarsely. “If you had seen what happened?” She felt the bile rise in her throat at the memory. “I never knew such horror as when they burnt her. I thought they must do it because they were men of God and would know evil. I thought they would see such in me.”

  “Do ye fear for yer soul?” he asked gently.

  “I was not afraid as a child.” She shrugged helplessly, tears stinging her eyes. “I thought everyone could do what I did. And when I discovered they could not, Kat loved me nonetheless. I knew it must be secret.” Isabella wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “My own uncle, Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, presided over Jehanne’s trial and he bid them condemn her. They were afraid, you know. The men who put Jehanne to death. They feared God’s punishment, yet still they burned her.”