by Tarah Scott
The trembling subsided as the former sense of mystery and darkness gave way to the more corporeal reality of light and understanding. Still, her legs remained unsteady even as she rose to dress.
At last, Victoria opened the cottage door and stepped out into the brilliant light of the morning sun. Yet even those golden rays didn’t drive away the chill that had worked its way through her in a slow but steady pulse as the voices had in her dream.
* * *
Jillian already sat upright in bed when Victoria entered the room. Victoria crossed to her, careful not to spill the broth she carried. “Perhaps you can eat just a little?” She smiled with an encouraging lift of the bowl and seated herself next to Jillian.
The girl gave a halfhearted nod and accepted the bowl. Victoria watched the slow progress of the spoon to her swollen lips. Though two spoonfuls were all she took before she lowered the bowl to her lap, Victoria knew fatigue was not the enemy this time. She covered Jillian’s hand with her own.
“You are still worried?” The affirming nod came as no surprise. Victoria was well aware the dark horse that claimed Jillian’s thoughts was the belief that her benefactor’s good graces would be sorely tried by the appearance of her accusers.
May their souls rot in hell, Victoria seethed, not for the first time that morning. Far worse than the bruises were the unseen wounds that would long outlast any physical trauma. Victoria sighed, and Jillian began to cry.
“I am sorry, mistress,” she choked between sobs. “I did not mean to make you angry.”
“I am not angry,” Victoria soothed, but the girl’s tears showed no signs of abating.
“What is this all about?”
Both women looked up at sound of Iain’s deep voice emanating from the doorway.
“I am very glad to see you, my lord,” Victoria said.
His brow rose. “Are you now?”
“Aye. Now that you are here, you may explain to Jillian how you intend to protect her.”
He gave a low, “Hmm,” and studied Victoria before centering his attention to Jillian. “You may begin by explaining yourself.” His command elicited more incoherent sobs.
He winced, but Victoria wasn’t the least sympathetic to his obvious aversion to tears. “Really, sir.” She stood. “You are to reassure her, not send her into more hysterics. There now, Jillian.” Victoria looked back down at her. “You worry about finishing your meal. We will return in a moment.”
Victoria walked to where Iain still stood in the doorway. Waving him out of the room, she followed him, closing the door behind her. “What is amiss this morning?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Victoria realized she wished no honest answer and rushed on. “It is unkind of you to add to her distress. You may consider it an inconvenience to show some tact, but you could at least try. She must wonder—”
“Enough.” Iain held up his hands. “I just want to know what happened.”
“Well, you cannot expect her to place trust in you when you are so gruff.”
“Gruff?” His brow furrowed. “I was merely being direct. Why can she not trust me? She is here, safe in my home.”
“Aye, but ’tis not so easy for a woman to believe.” She frowned at the incredulous expression on his face. An exasperated shake of her head freed several locks of hair from the yellow ribbon that had been their prison. Shoving them aside, she said, “How is she to know you are any better than her persecutors? Do you forget what they did to her?”
“Nay, love,” he answered in a quiet voice. “I can never forget.”
“Good. Keep that in mind when you speak with her. You cannot begin to imagine how it feels to be at the mercy of a man.”
Victoria started to turn, but Iain caught her arm. “Have you ever been beaten in such a manner?”
“Oh no. Never so badly.”
A look straight from the depths of hell claimed his already hardened features. “How badly?” he demanded.
Her cheeks warmed and she looked from where his grip had tightened on her arm down to her feet.
“You know you need never fear such treatment from me?” he said after a moment’s silence.
Victoria looked up at him. Memories of the previous night, rushed forward. “Yes, my lord.”
“No matter what,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard, “I could never handle a woman in that manner. You know that?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Iain placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face upward, saying, “You need not fear me at all.”
But she knew that was a lie.
* * *
Iain remained in the doorway of the modest room and watched as the lass again settled herself next to Jillian. She took the bowl Jillian handed her, placed it on the small table beside the bed, then took Jillian’s hand in hers and smiled. “Are you ready to tell us what happened?”
Jillian glanced at him, and he gave a small nod of encouragement. With a deep breath she began, her voice surprisingly clear. “I had been gone for near a fortnight. I went north to Auchtergaven. ’Tis the largest village for miles, you know.” A blush colored her cheeks. “I went there to find a dress for the wedding.”
“A wedding?” the lass asked.
Jillian nodded. “Jonathan and I were to be married.”
“Who is Jonathan?”
“The man they say I murdered.”
“Christ,” Iain said in unison with the lass’s “Sweet Jesu.”
“I did not kill him,” Jillian put in. “I loved Jonathan.” Her words came in a rush now, and her fingers curled around the lass’s hand. “I cannot remember a time when I did not love him. We grew up together. We always knew we would be together.” There was a long pause and tears filled her dark eyes. “I did not kill him. I tried to save him.”
“What do you mean?” his captive asked.
“When I arrived home, I learned Jonathan had also arrived that day. He had been away hunting. It is a fine time for pheasant, and deer are plentiful this year.” She looked to Iain, and he confirmed the statement with a nod.
“I was looking forward to seeing him. With me gone nearly a fortnight and him leaving before I did, it was nigh to three weeks we were apart.” Another pause and she swiped at a few tears that spilled down her cheeks. “Kevin said Jonathan had been asking for me, but that he did not know where Jonathan had gone.”
“Kevin?” Iain straightened from the doorway.
“Aye,” Jillian said.
“What does he know of this?”
Jillian shrugged. “I do not know.”
“Who is he to you?”
“I know little of him. Jonathan met him, oh…little more than a year ago when he was away to Auchtergaven. Many of us journey there throughout the year for the festivals.”
“He is not from your village?” Iain asked.
“Nay.” Jillian shook her head. “His village is west. I think. I do not remember the place.”
“Never mind,” Iain said. “Go on.”
“I wanted to search for Jonathan, but had found a dress in Auchtergraven and needed to put it away.” She smiled shyly at the lass. “I did not want him to see it. You understand?”
The lass smiled, and Iain thought she did understand.
“Jonathan has a small cottage on the outskirts of the village,” Jillian went on. “It was going to be our place after…” She halted again, but this time there were no tears, just silence.
Iain thought perhaps she had said all she could for the moment, but she went on.
“I opened the door, and had the dress in my arms. I was holding it out so as not to get wrinkled. I did not see him at first. Too busy fussing with that silly dress. I spread it out on the bed all nice so I could admire it when I noticed something sticking out from behind the scullery curtain. When I opened it—” She broke into full tears.
The lass gathered her close and rocked Jillian. Just as Iain decided neither woman was fit to conclude the interview, his captive stroked Jillian’s h
air and said, “Can you manage the rest of the story? I know it is the hardest thing you will ever have to do—”
“Nay,” Jillian pulled from her embrace, the vehemence in her voice clearly the strength she drew on. “The hardest thing was finding him lying there with his own sword through his belly.”
“His own sword?” Iain hadn’t realized he’d said the words out loud until the lass glanced at him, but Jillian seemed oblivious as she said, her voice growing softer, “…and then seeing the tiny rise and fall of his chest, knowing he was still alive, yet not long for this world.
“I tried to pull the sword out.” She said the words so abruptly, Iain could picture the small woman tugging on the sword he knew must have taken both hands to grasp.
“But as I yanked the foul thing from him, his breath gave way for the last time,” her head wagged from side to side as if doing so would shake the memory from her mind, “and all I could do was stand there and watch.” She stilled, seeming to have forgotten their presence. “His eyes were still open. His soul was gone, but his body just lay there, staring at me.” Her voice trailed off, then she whispered, “That’s when I heard them.”
“Heard who?” Victoria prodded.
“The voices.”
The lass gasped.
Iain took a step toward them. “What is it?”
“What do you mean, the voices?” she demanded.
“Jonathan’s friends.” Jillian replied. “They had come to see him. When they saw me standing there with his sword in hand they began to all talk at once.”
The lass visibly relaxed. “So the voices were their outcry when they saw Jonathan lying there?”
“Aye,” Jillian said, “and they began to shout that I had killed him.”
“That you—” the lass’s eyes darkened. “You could no more wield that sword than I could.”
“I tried to tell them that,” Jillian agreed, “but they wouldna’ listen. Instead, they dragged me away.” Jillian gripped her hand. “They did not even close poor Jonathan’s eyes. Just left him there like that. God forgive me, I do not know if he got a proper burial.”
“Jillian,” she began, but the girl cut her off.
“Do you think he went to Tir na nOg?”
His captive cast a puzzled look in his direction.
“The Land of the Ever Young,” he explained. “An ancient custom of the Gaels.”
“He was a good man,” Jillian went on. “I pray God his Imrama na Anam was good.”
Iain smiled to himself at the contradiction in Christian and pagan beliefs. “I feel certain his spiritual journey was as it should have been,” he said.
“Mayhap he will choose to return to the world of the living,” she said, her voice filled with the hope that comes only with youth.
“Aye,” Iain agreed, “he has that choice. But let us not forget, lass, we are still among the living, and I, for one, would like to know who did this to him.”
Jillian’s expression hardened. “Aye, laird. I want to know that most of all.”
“Fine then. Tell us the rest.”
“That is all I know.”
“Not quite all.”
She gave him a puzzled look.
“How is it we came to find you on MacPherson land?”
Jillian flushed. “Well, there was a trial—”
“A trial?” the lass cut in.
“I was brought before the tribunal and they found me guilty of murder. Though, I do not understand how. No witnesses were called but those who found me at Jonathan’s side. I told them there was no time for me to have killed him. I had just arrived, and even Kevin could have said so. But they did not think it necessary to call him.”
“I can well imagine what that man would have said,” his captive said, her tone caustic.
“Lass,” Iain said.
She looked at him, and he shook his head.
“Well,” she said, “what happened after the sham—er, trial?”
“I was sentenced to death.”
“Death?”
“Lass,” Iain growled, “if you cease your interruptions, we may yet learn this story before the evening meal.”
She shot him a scathing look, but refrained from comment.
“You were sentenced to death,” Iain prodded and relaxed against the doorway once more.
“Aye, and would have died if not for—” Jillian clasped the lass’s hand. “You saved me mistress.” Fresh tears hovered on her lashes. “I do not know how to thank you. If Jonathan were here, he would give you anything he had.”
The lass smiled grimly. “It was worth knowing we thwarted your attackers. But it is not I who offer you safety, but Lord MacPherson.”
Iain lifted a brow at the hearing her use his title. So, she was not entirely oblivious to the power his rank held. Do not fool yourself, man. Such things remain a bargaining tool that hold no sway with her. Still, he noted with frustration, she had always known he possessed sufficient power to hold her prisoner indefinitely. It was, he realized, as if the authority he wielded was held against him.
“But as the laird’s wife I should thank you also.”
Iain’s mind snapped to attention at the unexpected statement made by his forthright guest.
His captive straightened. “I am not his wife.”
The surprise Jillian expressed turned into a shrewd glance that moved between them. “Ah,” she nodded, “he willna’ make an honest woman of you, eh?” She gave him an anxious look, clearly realizing the unflattering remark was directed at her savior. “I did not mean anything, Laird. I just—” she stopped, her expression dropping further.
“Never mind,” Iain said. “But I believe you are mistaken.” His attention moved to the lass.
“Oh, aye, she is mistaken,” she said through tight lips. “I am neither wife, nor mistress.”
Jillian cocked her head and gave her a look that as much as said the idea was impossible. “Then who are you? You are English. I cannot imagine what an Englishwoman would be doing in the Highlands.”
“I am a visitor,” she said.
“Visitor?”
“Aye,” she muttered. “Willing or no.”
Jillian frowned. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” The lass looked up at him. “Do you have all the information you need, my lord?”
He studied Jillian for a moment. “You know nothing more about Jonathan’s death?”
The girl winced and her eyes clouded over, but she answered. “Nay, Laird. There is little else to tell. ’Tis a tangle for sure.”
Iain smiled at the simplistic analysis of the situation. “Aye,” he agreed. A tangle for sure, if one could sum up a trained Highland warrior found dead by his own sword, and his future wife, the size of a mite, brought before a hasty tribunal to be found guilty of having run him through with that sword.
“I do not blame all of them.”
“All of who?” the lass asked.
“The men, you know…the ones who…”
“There is no defense for men who abuse women,” his captive said.
“But the grief and all, I do not think Jonathan’s brother knew what he was doing.”
“His brother!” Iain stalked the few steps to the bed.
Jillian’s eyes widened, and the lass came to her feet. “Is something amiss, my lord?”
“What do you mean, you do not blame his brother?”
“J-Jonathan’s brother. He was one of the men. It would be hard to lose a brother, and he did have the devil in his eyes.”
“Your betrothed’s brother—”
“Laird, he did me no harm,” Jillian offered, but the denial came too easily for Iain.
“How did you end up on MacPherson land?”
Jillian swallowed visibly. “They took me from Iona with the intention of carrying out the death sentence.”
“Took you?” Iain frowned. “Why take you from your village?”
She shook her head. “They found me guilty, and after a tal
k amongst themselves, I was placed on a horse with one of the men and we left the village.”
“The council had nothing to say?”
“I did not go before the council. Only David was present.”
“David Robertson, your chieftain?”
“Aye.”
“He was one of the men who took you?”
“Nay. He instructed the other men to deal with me. Though…” she paused.
“What?” the lass urged as she seated herself once again.
“I do think he had the intention to go with the men, but it seemed at the last minute he changed his mind.”
The lass looked to him. “Is it the way of the Scots to take a condemned prisoner away for punishment?”
“I do not know about the Scots,” Iain replied, “but it is not the way of the Highlander.”
“What do they do?” she asked.
“Death by hanging is reserved for such occasions. Usually in the village square.”
She gasped.
“’Tis not so different in England,” Iain said.
“Nay,” she agreed, “but barbaric, nonetheless.”
He shrugged. “No more so than a sword through the heart. Which is what usually brings on such judgment.”
“You are not saying so in this case, my lord,” she objected.
“Nay, lass, I am not saying so. I am simply answering your question. You are no more a fool than I am to think they took this girl for anything but their pleasure.”
She shot to her feet. “My lord!”
Iain grimaced. “For Christ’s sake, do not act as if I agree with them.” He returned his attention to Jillian. “Continue.”
“They took me past the crag near the bottom of Iona. The village is in the mountains, and the crag sits near the bottom.”
Iain nodded. “I know it.”
“We passed that, then continued out of the mountain before stopping. They brought me down from the horse and, instead of doing what I expected, they sat me down on a rock and circled me.” Jillian gave her head a serious shake. “I wondered if it were some workings of the devil. You know, mayhap they were going to try and steal my soul. But they began to talk to me all nice like.
