When one man was still puling on the floor and the other sent staggering back, Aidan ran out of the chapel. Something in his heart tore at the idea of leaving Margaret, but there was nothing to be done now, not when the call was going to go up and send every Englishman in the castle after him.
He stepped out into the bailey and growled with frustration. There was another guard headed toward him, torch in hand.
"You said you'd come back to finish dicing after you'd done your rounds, Gunther," the man said, and then Aidan was nearly on top of him, swinging his sword wide.
Aidan was a deadly fighter when he wanted to be, but he was also the Laird of Clan MacTaggart and a follower of Robert the Bruce. He had sworn to follow Scotland's true king in word and in deed, and Robert wanted peace.
Aidan dealt the startled man a ringing blow on the side of his head with the flat of his sword, and he was just thinking that he might get away with it after all when he felt someone coming up behind him. It was the man he had pushed back in the chapel, coming up on him with a grim purpose, and Aidan snarled.
"He's a Highlander, an assassin!" came a wheezing cry from the chapel, the man who had tried to kick him. "Help! Help! An assassin is in the castle!"
I should have killed him, Aidan thought with disgust. If I'd killed him, he wouldn't be shouting his head off now.
The two able-bodied men circled him like wolves, testing his defenses with jabs of their own swords. Aidan parried them away, moving, always trying to move toward the bailey door and the freedom of the forest. He had left his horse hobbled in the copse close by. If he could just get to the horse...
Then more men streamed into the bailey, taking in the scene and coming to the aid of their fellows. Aidan might have been able to defeat two guards and make his escape, but even a skilled fighter like him was no match for a half dozen, especially not those armed with long pikes.
"Drop your sword," one of the men cried, and after a long moment where a part of Aidan howled at doing so in front of the English, he did as he was told.
There was a commotion among the guards, and Aidan realized with some dark humor that they were unorganized, unskilled, and probably untrained. They didn't want to get too close to him, but neither could they leave him. It was almost a relief when a man dressed in rich dark clothes showed up. He was perhaps Aidan's age or a bit younger, with the blond hair and blue eyes of a pure Lowlander. There was something unpleasant about the set of his jaw, however, and there was a bandage around one hand.
"What is the meaning of all this?" the English lord demanded. "Why are all of you brawling out here at this time of night?"
"We found an assassin," said the man who had tried to kick Aidan, currying favor. "He were hidden in the chapel, an assassin from the North."
Definitely should have killed him when I had the chance, Aidan thought angrily.
"An assassin, bring him here, let us see."
The men started to reach for Aidan, but Aidan shrugged them off, walking to the lord on his own two feet.
"No assassin," he said. "Just a man passing through who needed a place to sleep."
The lord's eyes grew no warmer.
"A Highlander at least. Trash thrown up by the war, and you thought to come in here like some sneak thief? You are playing a very stupid game, Northerner."
Aidan resisted the urge to spit on the man's shoes. He knew what the English lord wanted. He wanted Aidan to beg for mercy, for compassion that would let him get out of this situation in one piece. It would have been the wiser thing to do to be sure, but Aidan wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do it.
"On your knees, Highlander," the earl said with a snarl.
"Oh? Because you are so tired of looking up, Englishman?"
Aidan spoke without thinking. The man wasn't that much shorter than he was, but he could see that he had obviously struck a nerve. Another soldier, eager to gain his lord's favor, struck Aidan from behind, and Aidan felt his temper flare up. They could kill him, or they could let him go; there was no need for this sad attempt at humiliating him.
Aidan staggered but kept his feet, spinning around to strike the man in the head with a hard thrown elbow.
"Heaven above us, a Highlander beast. He should be hung as an outlaw..."
That was the lord speaking, and Aidan wanted to growl that if the lord thought he could get a noose around his neck, he was welcome to try.
His sword was on the ground just a few paces behind him. If he could reach it, these soft Englishmen would learn very quickly that they didn't have some sad road tramp to bully.
Then a high and frightened cry cut across the bailey, and every man there froze.
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chapter 5
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For several long moments, Margaret was frozen by terror. She was afraid that she was going to watch the only man she had ever loved butchered in front of her eyes and not be able to do anything. Then she saw Aidan lash out at the men who had attacked him, and she readjusted that idea. It was far more likely that Aidan would kill someone than find himself killed, and she darted down the stairs.
When she got down to the bailey, she saw that Harry had appeared, his hand bandaged and likely out of sorts from what she had done.
Her natural caution told her to hang back. Harry could be unpredictable, and he might be just as likely to lash out at her as anything else. Then she saw him draw closer to Aidan, and she knew that the English lord meant Aidan no good.
There was only one clear thought in Margaret's mind.
I have to protect Aidan.
When she heard Harry speak about hanging, her belly turned over, and she lurched out of the shadows with a sharp cry.
For a single moment, all eyes in the bailey were on her, and Margaret knew that she had to make the most of it. Her only leverage came in this moment; after, she might find herself shunted aside and helpless as all of her sex were meant to be.
"Harry? Harry, what is going on?" she cried out, her voice fluttering like the wings of a wounded bird. She had never called the man by his name before, and she saw his eyes widen at it.
"Nothing, Margaret, nothing at all. Just a matter of a vagrant hiding in the chapel."
She came closer to Harry, not daring to look at Aidan. If she did, she was afraid that the flames between them would spring up again, Harry would know, and everything would be lost.
"Oh, how terrible! I heard the clatter of swords from my room, and I was so afraid..."
Thank goodness the men were Harry's. The guards who had previously warded Maras Castle would never have believed it of her, nor would they have believed when she stumbled, either.
For a moment, she thought she was going to land on her face, but then to her relief, Harry was there to catch her in her fall.
"You must not be upset, Margaret. See how skilled my men are and how safely they have kept us?"
No, I saw Aidan ready to kill those men, and I saw you too slow to do anything about it, she thought viciously, but she kept her face composed into a mask of maidenly fear. Her dark red hair had started to come out of its plaits, making it harder to see, but Harry seemed enchanted.
"Oh, but it's so terrible," she cried. "Did you truly say you were going to hang him, Harry? Are we to have a hanging here?"
"Ah, well..."
Margaret opened her eyes wide, letting them fill with tears as she tried to think of something, anything she could do.
"You must not hang him, Harry! His ghost will stay and haunt us forever, never giving us a moment of sleep. Please, Harry!"
She was no more afraid of ghosts than she was of apples, but it didn't matter. She had once heard one of the kitchen girls say that there was nothing a pompous man liked better than a frightened woman, and it turned out that that little bit of wisdom was right.
As she sobbed helplessly, she could see Harry's superior and condescending look. He put her back on her feet, patting her back as i
f she were an upset five-year-old. She suddenly felt very good about stabbing him in the hand earlier. He probably thought it was just girlish high spirits, and that this might give him an opening to bring her around.
"Oh, don't take on so, poor little darling," Harry cooed.
She hid a shiver when he stroked her hair, running his fingers through the loosened strands as if it was the mane of a horse he happened to own.
"B-but... but if you kill him... ghosts..."
"Poor little sweetheart. No. I don't suppose he needs to die." Harry turned to the other men, nodding at them in what he probably thought was a magnanimous gesture.
"Lock him up in the dungeon for the night. In the morning, give him a flogging and send him on his way."
Harry turned away from his men who were now engaged in the rather dicey business of herding Aidan away, his arm still around Margaret. It was the first time he had ever touched her without her shuddering away. He probably thought it was admirable progress.
"Are you frightened, Margaret? You must know that I will always protect you, no matter what the world might bring."
She nodded weakly, and though it went against all of her instincts, she did not pull away from him. Instead, she leaned against him heavily as if afraid she might falter without his support.
"I should not be so frightened, but I find I cannot stop shaking," she murmured. "Please, I think I must return to my rooms..."
"Of course. I will accompany you there."
That was the last thing she wanted, but she nodded as if she were grateful. At least being so obviously shaken as she was gave her an excuse to keep her mouth shut as they made their way to her room, but before he let her go, Harry stopped her at the door.
"You'll note that I have been passing kind and generous enough not to bring up your ridiculous behavior earlier tonight."
"Oh. That is..."
"It is more than you should ever expect from a gentleman, Margaret. I hope you know that. Most lords take what they want by force. I am not like that."
"No, of course not."
No, instead he would use his clumsy brand of seduction, and when that failed, then he would use force.
"But time is running out, my darling. I am the lord here, and no matter how kind I have been before this, eventually, there will be questions. A young woman like you cannot continue to live here as if she were the pampered natural daughter of the lord. No. She needs a place."
Margaret swallowed.
"I know that," she murmured. "But please. I am so very tired, and I am like to faint on my feet. We can talk about this—"
"Tomorrow," Harry said, as if agreeing to something she had suggested. "We shall talk about this tomorrow, and there will be no more needles, no more protests, will there, Margaret?"
There was a hard edge to his words, and she knew exactly what he meant. It meant there would be no more saying no to him.
Tonight, he had seen her weak, or at least, he thought he had seen her weak. That meant that even a poor general like Harry could figure out that it was the time to strike.
She nodded as if relieved.
"Yes, my lord," she said, bowing her head. She would rather drive a dagger into her own heart before she submitted to him, but he didn't have to know that.
"Ah, but that is a good girl," Harry said with pleasure.
She thought he would leave her then, but then his hand caught her face roughly by the chin, making her look up.
The kiss was foul, sending a wave of revulsion through her so strong that she didn't think she would ever forget the feeling. This time, she couldn't turn away or drive her foot down on his. She couldn't run away.
In the back of her mind, she knew that she should pretend to enjoy it, but instead, all she could do was stand stock still and hope that Harry took her hesitation and frozen revulsion for maidenly reserve.
He pulled away from her, a pleased look on his features. How strange it was that a man widely thought to be as handsome as Harry could stir nothing but disgust and panic in her heart.
"I think we shall do very well together, Margaret," he purred. "I have so very much to teach you."
He walked away, and Margaret closed the door behind her, her heart racing. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor, her entire frame shaking from what had happened, what had almost happened to her, what might happen to Aidan. She had saved him from a hanging, but the idea of him being tied and whipped like a dog in the field made her feel ill.
I have to move. I cannot hesitate. There is simply no time for that.
She checked her door to make sure that it was still locked and then checked it again. It felt as if at any moment, Harry would come back through it, his hands rough and crude on her body.
She reached for a leather bag that was large enough to hold everything she needed, and she started to stuff her belongings in to it, along with the letter for her mother and the jewels. She winced a little at the fine dresses that were all she had now. She dressed like an English noblewoman now, and she could all too easily imagine sticking out like a sore thumb as they went north, where thick wool and coarse linen were the rule rather than the exception even among the ruling families.
The thought of the North was enough to send a ray of hope into her, lighting up a part of her that had been dark for so long. She could go north. She could go home.
But first, she had to get herself and Aidan out of Maras Castle, and unless she could do that, her hopes might as well be ash and dust on the doorstep.
She changed into her plainest gown, of dark blue wool, braiding her hair tight up into braids that crowned her head.
Despite the danger, despite the doom that waited both of them if they failed in their bid for escape, Margaret felt as if something in her had been set free. Whatever came next, she and Aidan would face it together.
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chapter 6
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Aidan paced in his cell like a wolf in a cage. They didn't have a guard on him, because who in the hell needed to guard a man in a cell with inch-thick bars? In the back of his mind, he thought it shoddy of the English lord and his men, poor security and worse discipline, but the rage that coursed through him had nothing to do with that.
He was angry about being caught or beaten. He wasn't even relieved to avoid being hung or furious about being whipped in the morning. Instead, his fury was focused on a slender young woman with a fall of deep red hair, and he was afraid of what he might do if she appeared in front of him.
She should have been humiliated to act like that. She's a strong lass of good blood, at least on one side. I've seen her give boys who were harassing her a solid thump from her staff and send them off crying to their friends. How could she falter and simper like that, acting as if she didn't have a brain in her head?
A nasty voice in his own head jeered at him. Would he have cared as much if she hadn't been hanging on to the English lordling as if he were the only thing in the world? Would be as furious if she hadn't looked up at the Englishman as if she would melt like spring ice for him?
Aidan wondered furiously if she was trying to make the man her lover. Was she trying to leave Maras Castle to make him jealous? He had always known how very clever she was, and he wouldn't have put it past her.
He concentrated on the rage, because it was better than the clawing emptiness that opened inside him at the thought of Meggie with a man like Harry. With, in fact, any man at all.
He was pacing in his cell, measuring the distance from wall to wall and back again, and so very lost in his own thoughts that Margaret was almost to the bars before he noticed.
"Meggie!"
"Shush, Aidan. The guards are lazy, but they are not deaf."
She looked as still and stern as a statue in the dimness of the dungeon. The only light came from a window high up on the wall, and the moon turned everything to an untrustworthy silver.
"What are you doing here?" A
idan growled. "I had thought you were off having your feelings soothed by your English lord."
Her eyes went wide, and for a moment, he thought she would forget about her own caution to shout at him. Then she clamped her jaw shut and glared.
"I was packing," she said. "I had thought that you might reconsider our bargain."
"Our bargain?"
She looked as if she wanted to stamp her foot in fury.
"Yes, our bargain! You will take me back to Scotland. You will take me back to MacKinnon lands, take me home."
Aidan looked around the cell wryly.
"If your English lord is a man of his word, I'll be out of here and on my way north in the morning regardless."
Margaret's jaw dropped.
"Did you not listen to him? They are not going to turn you away with a curse and a kick. He is going to have you flogged."
Aidan shrugged.
"I have had worse pain in battle. And perhaps I would rather walk out of here with scars on my back than be beholden to you, Meggie."
Her cheeks flushed with color, and she took a step toward his cell. Out of habit, he measured the distance between them, between himself and the bars, between her and the bars, between her and himself. It barely seemed real. Meggie had gone to live in another world eight years ago, and yet here she was again, and getting closer.
"You cannot be so proud that you would rather be whipped than... than..."
"Than submit to whatever scheme or plan you might have in mind? I may be."
"No," she said, and there was a desperation in her voice that shocked him. "No. You must leave. You must..."
In her distress, she had come close to the bars, just close enough that Aidan could lunge forward, his arm shooting between the iron bars to fist in her cloak and drag her forward.
She just barely managed to stifle a yelp, and then they were face to face, the iron the only thing that separated them. He had dragged her half off her feet, and she reached up to cling to the bars for support. She was clever enough not to struggle; she obviously remembered how strong he was.
The Highlander’s Lost Bride (The Highlands Warring Clan Mactaggarts Book 2) Page 3
