The Highlander’s Lost Bride (The Highlands Warring Clan Mactaggarts Book 2)

by Anne Morrison

  Margaret had just enough time to be pleased by her plan, and then she realized that the men were walking right toward her.

  I need to keep them away from the cottage. I can lead them through the trees and lose them, giving John and his family plenty of time to get away.

  Margaret moved backward through the trees, keeping up her occasional ghostly calls. The moon had set, and the light from the stars would only do so much for her. The men who were after her were skilled with surviving in the forests and the darkened glens, and she would have to keep all her wits about her.

  She had grown up in the mountains, not the forests, but she knew to move slowly and steadily to make as little noise as possible. She stayed as close to the trees as she could to make sure that they did not see her shape moving through the places with more light.

  All the time, she called out in her mournful voice about a man who had left her and the treasure that she had meant to be his. She kept Aidan's knife tucked in her belt, and when she needed some bravery, she touched the hilt gently.

  Aidan, as angry as you are with me, I wish you were here right now. I wish to Heaven you were here.

  Once she almost backed straight into one of the men looking for her. They had split up, which made her anxious, and the only reason that she had not walked straight into his path was because she had heard his step at the very last moment. It had been enough to allow Margaret to press herself against a tree, holding her breath until he had gone

  She was leading them away from the cottages, however, and that was the only thing that mattered.

  Perhaps I should climb a tree. I would be a little safer there, even if they did find me.

  There was one old oak that seemed made for the purpose, and she could see that the limbs were sturdy enough for her to climb and find a stable perch. She had just put her foot against the trunk to lever herself up when she heard an agonized shout in the distance.

  She had not been expecting it, and she cried out at precisely the wrong time.

  Suddenly, there was a man striding toward her from too short a distance away, and even in the faint light, she could see the terrible grin on his face.

  "Ha, I knew you weren't a ghost, and I knew it didn't matter. Come here to me, little mad girl. We can have some sport before the dawn comes..."

  Her stomach turned over at what he meant, and then he was on top of her, his hand closing over her shoulder and pressing her back against the tree.

  Somewhere in the back of her head came her father's voice. “If you must strike, strike hard, and understand that you must be the one to survive. Once you have decided to use a weapon, the only thing that matters is that you live. Do not stay your hand for any reason."

  Her field of vision was covered with the large man's bulk, her nose was full of his stench, and the next thing she knew was that he was forcing her head back, smashing his lips against hers.

  Margaret could feel the impulse to simply go limp and to freeze. She wanted to push away from all this in her mind, but she knew that she would be lost if she did such a thing. Instead, she waited until his full weight was pressed against her, and then she pulled Aidan's sword from her belt.

  There was just enough clearance for her to prick the man in the leg, and when he pulled back with a bellow of pain and a curse, she was able to bury the blade in his chest, twisting it hard even as she felt ill.

  Everything was happening too fast and too slow at once. She could see her attacker in lightning-clear detail, and everything else was blurry. He staggered back, bellowing like a stuck boar, and then he lunged at her.

  Margaret's breath was coming hard in her lungs, and it felt as if she were moving through mire. She stumbled back, tripped, and then the man was on top of her.

  Almost as quickly, he was pulled off her, thrust away, and she finally had the ability to run. Instead, she was grabbed again, this time hauled against a man's chest.

  She screamed, not caring who heard her.

  "No! Stop, I won't, I won't!"

  "Meggie, Meggie, darling, don't, don't, it's all right, it's me."

  Her body understood before her mind did. Suddenly Margaret found herself sagging with relief. She looked up because she had to be sure, and it was Aidan's face above her.

  ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

  chapter 25

  ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

  When he had heard Margaret's voice calling through the trees, Aidan felt as if his heart stopped. She couldn't be doing something so very dangerous, so terribly foolish, but when he heard the call again, he moved faster.

  Of course, she would, especially if there were people in danger. That meant there were three soldiers wandering in the woods, looking for Margaret, and he knew with grim certainty what they would do if they found her.

  He had come across the first soldier almost by accident, and the man had just managed to get his sword and shield up when Aidan ran him through without a single regret. He might not have wanted to risk Margaret to kill a few marauders, but now that he was apparently dragged in anyway, it did not bother him in the least.

  Every time he heard Margaret's call, he felt a simultaneous stab of relief and fear. It meant that she was still alive. It meant that the men, two of them now, were still looking for her.

  She was still for a short while, which made the panic rise up ferociously in his body, but then he heard a scuffle that led to him tearing through the woods. When he came upon the scene by the oak tree, Margaret pressed against the trunk, a man looming over her, he wanted to howl with fury. Then the man had toppled, and it took Aidan a moment to realize that Margaret, his sweet Meggie, had stabbed the man.

  Good, brilliant girl. Oh, my darling girl.

  She fought when he put his arms around her, her eyes gleaming even in the low light, and then recognition flooded through her face. She wrapped her arms around him tight.

  "Oh, Aidan," she whispered. "Aidan, I am sorry, but I couldn't..."

  "No. We can talk about this later. Right now, we must finish the work you started."

  He wanted more than anything to leave her some place safe, but there was no safety to be found, not while there was still one man lurking in the darkness.

  Margaret understood how it had to be.

  "We need to make him come to us."

  "And how will...?" Aidan trailed off. "No. Under no circumstances."

  Aidan didn’t like the glassiness in Margaret's eyes, as if she was too much in her body and not enough in it at the same time. He had seen it happen to young men in their first battles, and if they weren't carefully looked after, they might find themselves killed while staring at the sky.

  "We need to do this," she said, her voice as cold as steel. “You said I started this and that we need to finish it. Well, now let me finish it."

  In the end, there was nothing to do but agree, and that was how Margaret led him back to the cottages. They were empty now, and Aidan winced at the wreck the marauders had made of them. They had once been tidy places, he could see, but now everything was spoiled. Worse, it looked like the food had been ruined as well.

  He waited inside the cottage as Margaret stood outside it, between the house and the fire.

  The minutes dragged out, and he was almost ready to tell Margaret that it was no use, that the third man had probably fled, when he heard a heavy step outside.

  "Well, were you the wench doing all the shouting? You led me and my friends on a merry chase."

  "I don't know about any shouting," Margaret replied in an accent thicker than his own, "but I needed a place to stay, and I found this cottage and this fire. Do they belong to you?"

  "Yes, lass, they do. And are you hoping to stay warm in this cold night?"

  "I don't know what you mean, but, yes. I fear I will freeze in this wind."

  Aidan gritted his teeth at hearing Margaret's innocent voice, no matter how false, luring this man in, bringing him closer and closer.

  "Ah, well, you will not free
ze. Only come in with me."

  Aidan was beginning to worry about how he might be able to avoid striking Margaret when the two came in, but then he heard her voice again.

  "Oh, but it is so dark. Are you sure this is your home and not some deserted haunt?"

  "Of course, it is my cottage. Didn't I build up the walls and that good roof? Come here, lass, I will show you how they will keep you warm."

  "You go in first. I am afraid of the darkness," Margaret replied.

  Aidan grinned savagely to himself. His girl was a clever one.

  The man made some kind of superior sound about the fears and megrims of young girls, and he entered the cottage with an exaggerated swagger.

  "You see? Nothing to be afraid of-"

  His words cut off abruptly when he saw Aidan rising out of the darkness, his sword swinging in a bright silver arc.

  Nothing to be afraid of, indeed.

  Aidan dispatched the man with a single blow, and, stepping around the growing pool of blood, he came outside with a grin.

  "Brilliant, brilliant girl," he said, aware that his blood was still running hot from fight and the stress. Later, he could scold her, but right then he only wanted to be close with her.

  Instead of looking triumphant, however, Margaret was shaking like a leaf. When he went to hold her, she all but collapsed in his arms.

  "Margaret? Meggie, darling, it's all right."

  "I killed that man," she said through chattering teeth. "I killed him..."

  "And I killed two more, and I would have killed the third if you had not beaten me to it. They were men who needed killing, Margaret, that I promise you."

  Margaret nodded, and he knew she would understand, later if not sooner. Right now, however, all she could do was hang on to him, and silently, he held her close, offering her what comfort he could.

  ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

  chapter 26

  ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

  After what she had been through, Margaret would have thought that she would be ready to drop. However, instead, she was wound through with a kind of terrible energy. She had a dread of lying down and seeing what dreams could come and find her, so instead, she went to help Aidan. He was stripping the body of the man he had killed in the cottage and then dragging it out to the edge of the clearing. There were bodies, hastily covered, in the second hut, and Margaret told herself that she would not be sorry for the deaths she had caused. One of the bodies under the cloth was far shorter than she was, only a child, though she didn't dare lift the cloth herself to find out.

  John came back cautiously, and when Margaret and Aidan assured him that it was safe, he went and came back with a small young woman and two little boys. The woman, his daughter-in-law, walked with a limp and a terrible darkness in her eyes. Margaret's heart broke for her and her children.

  Aidan and John spoke of burying, both their neighbors and the marauders, and Margaret encouraged the little boys to eat some of the food that Aidan had in his bag. They were sweet boys, but silent and with some of the shock in their gaze that Margaret could feel at the edge of her own. When she had them settled with some food, Margaret went to the young woman, Catherine.

  Catherine paced the edge of the clearing, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and she only paused for a moment at Margaret's approach.

  "Your boys are eating. You should, too. We do not have much, but you must be starving."

  "I feel like I'll never be hungry again," Catherine said, her voice as hollow as a fallen log. "They didn't see."

  Margaret blinked in confusion. "They... the men?"

  "My boys. They didn't see. They said... they said they would do it right in front of them, so I went around the back after they did for my father-in-law. They said..."

  The horror of what Catherine was saying hit Margaret like a ton of bricks, and with a soft cry, she took Catherine in her arms. It felt like hugging a bundle of sticks at first, Catherine's back as stiff as steel.

  "It's all right," Margaret whispered. "It is all right. You are safe now. They are dead. My man and I saw to that. you are safe now."

  Finally, Catherine felt a little softer in her arms, and then she melted like ice, one long sob escaping her throat before she buried her face in Margaret's shoulder. She was small, barely out of her teens herself, and she clung to her hard, willing some of her own strength to flow into the shaking woman.

  Soon enough, however, she pulled away from Margaret, rubbing at her eyes with her palms. There was a numbness to her still, and Margaret had no idea how long it might last.

  "I don't know what I will tell my man. He is away with Longshanks' army still."

  "You needn't tell him anything," Margaret said. "Not until you want to."

  "Things are seldom so simple," Catherine said darkly. "I won't have to tell him aught if we don't have enough food to last through the winter."

  As John and Aidan buried the bodies, they went to go look, and Margaret realized that Catherine was right. The stores that both families had put away were spoiled, eaten, or burned for spite, and Margaret felt a dull hate rise up in her soul for the dead men. No, she would not mourn them or remember them.

  Catherine looked at the pitifully small amount of food that was left.

  "That's all," she said, her voice dull as a winter morning. "We're dead."

  "Have you no relatives or people to go to?"

  "Not that will take us all in. Not that will forgive Aberlin for fighting with the English."

  Margaret stared.

  "I thought you were English?"

  Catherine offered her a slight smile. "No more than you are, lass. But no one could tell Aberlin anything, and the English offered him more money."

  "So, off he went," Margaret said.

  Catherine nodded.

  "He was ashamed of what we had. He thought he could better provide for me and the boys and give his father a good rest with money soldiering for the English."

  Margaret winced, because the story was likely all too common along the border, and while some people would be indifferent, others would be even more decisive on who they belonged to.

  "Let me speak to Aidan."

  John had finally collapsed into an exhausted slumber under a tree, and Aidan was finishing up one of the graves. She waited until he was done, and she offered him her hand.

  "I am sorry."

  "You should be," he said, his voice curt, but not as angry as she feared it might be. "When I woke, and you were gone, I was afraid you were already dead."

  "I might have been without you. Thank you for saving me."

  Aidan wiped his hands on a rag, giving her a cautious eye.

  "Now that's far humbler than I expect from Lady Margaret Barton. What do you want?"

  "I do mean it. I am sorry for any pain I have caused you and for dragging you into this."

  To her surprise, he shrugged.

  "It might have been worse, and I have done nothing I am sorry for. Some men need killing, and those three certainly belong in that brotherhood. But that is not all you want to say."

  Margaret took a deep breath.

  "Please let Catherine and John and the children come with us."

  Aidan stared at her as if she had gone mad.

  "Why in the world would I do that?"

  "Because they'll starve here. Because we are perhaps three or four weeks away from the first blizzards. Because we cannot save them only to condemn them to a slower death."

  Aidan looked as if he was wavering.

  Margaret took a deep breath.

  "There's more."

  "Of course, there is."

  "John's son, Catherine's husband, Aberlin. He fought for the English. He's with the army still."

  Aidan's eyes went hard.

  "And you want me to give shelter to the family of a man who might have killed my men while on campaign?"

  Margaret refused to look away.

  "I am asking you to give shelter to a family w
ho has never lifted a weapon against you, who has suffered far beyond what anyone should be expected to suffer. They can come find Aberlin when spring comes. Only if we leave them, Aidan, you know they will surely die."

  ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

  chapter 27

  ><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

  Aidan looked down at Margaret, standing there like the final banner remaining on the field after a failed charge. She had been through a horror herself last night, for all that she was being strong about it. Still, she was steady, and he knew that while she might not have managed it for herself, she would always manage it for someone who needed her.

  Even as he watched, however, something in her cracked. She wasn't tearful, but her calm broke apart, and he saw the pain underneath. Blindly, she reached for him, almost tripping into his arms.

  "Please, Aidan," she said, her voice broken. "Haven't they suffered enough?"

  "Aye, by any measure of it," he said with a sigh. "All right. They can come with us, and I'll find a place for them, either at Doone Castle or among the crofters. Next spring, I will send them back, and then they can look after themselves. Will that suit?"

  Margaret nodded, clinging to him, and for a brief moment, there was no one in the world besides the two of them. The sun was rising, there was a chill to the air that told them it wouldn't be long before the frost overcame all, and Aidan knew in his heart that there was very little Margaret could ask of him that he would not give her.

  I love her. An ache filled his heart. I love this girl, no matter where she spent the last eight years, no matter why she left or why she's returning.

  The realization felt both earth-shattering and as plain as water. A part of him had always known.

  Before he could say anything to betray himself, however, she was pulling away.

  "I will tell Catherine, and we can be packed soon, I think. There is not much in the cottage that isn't spoiled, and I do not think she will want many memories of this place."