“Aye.” His cousin gave a curt nod. “At the pub. Slurring Gretna’s good name to any and all who’ll listen.”
“Bastard.” Attention shifting to the town farther down in the glen, Ian walked the wall to the point where it joined the barbican. His gut told him to march down there and silence the man with a good beating, but common sense forbade it. At least for now.
Legally, Neal was still Gretna’s husband. Even though he’d disappeared for nearly six years, Ian felt sure many in the village would say Neal still had a claim on her. The hypocritical arse worms would also think if Gretna was a good Christian woman, she’d welcome back the worthless cur with open arms. After all, death hadn’t parted them, and neither had divorce—yet. He glanced at Sutherland. “What are the rumors so far? I’m sure the gossips have outdone themselves.”
“Mixed lot.” Sutherland propped against the parapet, squinting at the crowd below. “Few tolerate or look kindly on Master Neal. They know him for the lying cheat he is. He owes several people money. But he’s a wily one, I’ll give him that. The conniving bastard has already convinced many Gretna shouldha paid off his debts when she thought him dead. He’s called her a lying, adulterous Jezebel.” He shot a concerned scowl at Ian. “But I dinna think that’s the worst of the rumors he’s stirred.”
“Divorce papers and a wedding in the keep’s chapel will steal the thunder from those rumblings, and I can cover the bastard’s debts, if that’s what it takes to be rid of him.” Ian fixed his glare on the town, wishing he could clear the place of any who dared treat Gretna so disrespectfully. “Ye said that’s not the worst of it? Out with it, man. I would hear all of it.”
“He’s feeding the witch accusations. Swears he belongs to a group from Inverness. Some kind of witch hunters. Even brought some of them with him. Spied them myself—dressed all in black with crimson cloaks. Neal is fueling those rumors fierce.” Sutherland fisted his hands atop the crenel. “I even overheard one old cow say that Neal swore he’d been dead all this time, and Gretna raised him from the grave.” Sutherland barked out a humorless laugh. “He even went so far as to describe his time in heaven.” Sutherland shook his head. “As if that son of a bitch would ever make it past St. Peter.”
“Perhaps I should send him back. Then there would nay be a need to go to Edinburgh.”
“Just dinna leave any witnesses. Ye canna swing a cat in that village without hittin’ one of his kin. They may not like him, but blood is blood. There are also some who still consider the MacCoinnichs as conquerors of the Neal clan rather than saviors. The man’s found every dissenter and united them, but I’m damned if I can tell ye his next move.” A dissatisfied silence simmered between them. His cousin finally jerked a thumb westward. “If ye’re nay too weary from last night’s celebrations, Alexander asked that we check on the lads tending one of the smaller herds close to the loch. They shouldha brought them back to the glen for wintering by now.” Sutherland looked in that direction. “There’s been no word from the runner sent to tell them of Catriona’s gathering either.”
“When was the messenger sent?” Ian asked. The weather had been mild. The man shouldn’t have experienced any trouble.
“Several days before we arrived. Long enough for him and the other three herders to get a dozen or so of our best breeding stock home in time to raise a glass at last night’s feast. They’re not that far from here.” Sutherland shook his head as he scratched the beginnings of a beard. “I’ve never understood their taking the broodmares out like sheep or cattle to forage through different glens, but old man Aberfeldy swears that makes the bloodline stronger.”
Aberfeldy was brother to the late Murtagh Aberfeldy, the original stable master integral in developing the highly sought-after breed. MacCoinnich warhorses had become known as the best in all of Scotland and made the clan one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the Highlands.
Ian spotted Gretna as she emerged from the side garden with an overflowing basket of herbs hanging from her arm. His spirits immediately lifted. His precious Gretna. As soon as she left his embrace, he needed her back in his arms. And she loved him. He smiled. Damned, if he didn’t love her, too, and wasn’t quite sure how or when that had happened.
An anxiousness followed the realization, a worrisome urgency. The rumors of witchery Sutherland reported could be dangerous, especially if Colin Neal kept stoking them. Gretna needed to stay within the walls of the keep until all this was settled. Ian made up his mind then and there. He’d not allow fate to rob him a third time. With a wave, he caught her eye and motioned for her to join them.
Gretna’s smile both eased, then tightened the knot in his chest. The day was brighter with her in it, but that alone reminded him how dark it would be if anything happened to her. Damned, if he’d not felt such a mess of feelings since Janet. How the hell had Gretna and her sons managed to pry their way into his soul?
“Have ye ever seen so many?” she asked as she tiptoed to look over the outside of the wall, then turned and looked back down at the inner bailey. “We’ve never had such a turnout before.” She shook her head. “Poor souls in the kitchen. Cook’s beside herself and shouting orders like a warrior in the heat of battle.”
“Aye,” Sutherland agreed. “She threw a pot at me yesterday just for speaking to one of her scullery maids.” He pushed away from the wall, took hold of Ian’s shoulder, and gave him a friendly shake. “I’ll meet ye in front of the stable. Within the hour, aye?”
“Aye.” A heaviness blanketed Ian. He dreaded sharing Sutherland’s news with Gretna. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
Sutherland nodded his farewell to Gretna. “M’lady.”
“Sutherland,” she dismissed with a leery tone, then shifted the short handle of her basket from the crook of one elbow to the other. “Ye’re off to somewhere today?” she asked as Sutherland strode away.
“Alexander asked Sutherland and me to check on one of the smaller herds that has yet to return to the glen for the winter.” He offered his arm. “Walk with me, aye?”
Her smile disappeared as she took his arm. “No word from any of the men? Several always guard the stock whilst moving them.”
“Not a word from them nor the messenger sent to tell them of the celebration and fetch them back sooner.” He pulled in a deep breath and hissed it out, delaying the news he really needed to share. “Graham must stay here to oversee this crowd. A gathering this size always brings problems of its own.” He shook his head and patted her hand. “Sutherland and I can handle the task. Probably just a matter of a few horses separated from the herd and needing to be found before they pen them up close to the mountain. If it turns out evil’s afoot…reivers or such, we’ll return to fetch enough guards to quash it.”
“If ye feel it a simple task, then why are ye so ill at ease?” She cocked her head and gave him a look that called him a liar. “A wife has the right to know what’s troubling her husband.” She waited for his answer. “Ye listened to my woes last night.” A rosy blush accentuated the fire in her eyes. “And chased them away quite nicely, as I recall.”
His man parts roared to attention, ready to take over the conversation. “Shame on ye, wife. Ye do me a great disservice.” He hugged her closer, purposely brushing his fingertips against the side of her breast in the process. “Teasing me with such suggestions when I canna properly respond.”
She stopped walking and backed up against one of the parapet’s tall merlons, pulling him with her. “Shall I grant ye a kiss as a promise for more later? Will that do for my penance?”
“Aye, that’ll do…for now.” He leaned into her, pressing against her softness as he poured all his own heat and wanting into the kiss. He didn’t give a damn who saw them. Let them watch and hate him for what he’d claimed as his own.
When he drew back, the sight of her plump, kiss-reddened lips made him need her even more.
“Now, tell me yer troubles,” she whispered, one hand cradling the side of his face. “All of them.”
He stepped back, wishing he didn’t have to sully the moment. “Sutherland reports Neal has taken up a post in the pub to besmirch yer name to all who’ll listen.”
She looked away, eyes narrowing, and mouth tightening into a hard line. “I am not surprised.” Her gaze falling to the basket, she pinched off the tip of a leafy sprout, rubbed it between her fingers, and brought it to her nose. The refreshing, minty scent reached him as well. She turned aside, resting her basket in a crenel, and picking through its contents. “Several in the village dinna like me. I’m sure he’ll find them and unite them to his cause—whatever that cause may be.” She continued idly crushing leaves, staining her fingers green, as she stared out over the parapet in the town’s direction. “My former husband was always a vengeful man. I’m sure he feels he owes me a great deal of misery.”
“He’s feeding the accusations of witchery. Giving them strength.” Of all the rumors, those worried him most. Many an innocent soul had been brutalized and killed because of such. “Sutherland has discovered a group of witch hunters have accompanied him from Inverness. They’re feeding the crowd with tales of the horrors they’ve committed in the name of God and country.”
She blew out a bitter huff. “I dinna understand what I ever did to deserve such treatment from this ungrateful lot. I help them. Heal them. Bring their bairns into the world and ease the pain of their dying while they’re headed to the grave. Old Elena said I was the best she’d ever trained.” With a sad shake of her head, she tossed the bruised, tattered herbs to the wind. “And for all that, they call me witch and threaten me.”
“Dinna go to the village anymore, aye?” He leaned around in front of her and forced her to look him in the eyes. “I dinna care who’s birthing, dying, or ailing. I dinna wish ye to leave the safety of these walls until I get this matter settled. The boys stay here, too. There’s not a need for them to go down there either.”
“They willna hurt me. Alexander silenced their hateful mutterings before. I’m certain he’ll do so again.” Her chin lifted to its familiar stubborn tilt as she turned aside. “I willna give them the satisfaction of making me cower. I willna bow to them. Not ever.”
He took hold of her arm and pulled her back. He had to make her understand. “Magnus’s mother felt the same. She was a renowned healer. A white lady. She refused to heed the danger of such rumors and ended up slowly crushed to death beneath a plank laden with stones. They piled them on her. One by one. Until they squeezed out the last of her air and silenced her screams forever.”
Unshed tears made Gretna’s eyes a more vibrant shade of blue. She looked away, but he forced her to look back at him. “I willna allow that to happen to ye. Stay inside the walls, Gretna. For yer sake. For the boys’ sake. But most of all, for mine.”
All defiance left her. Her lips parted as she searched his face with tenderness in her eyes. “For yer sake?”
“Aye.” He eased out a breath. “For mine. I told ye last night I loved ye. It scares me something fierce—the thought of losing ye. I love ye, lass, and I dinna say that lightly.”
“Neither do I, my love,” she whispered. “Ye’ve captured my heart, too.”
“So, ye’ll stay inside the walls, aye?”
She squeezed his forearms and failed at a brave smile. “Ye know as well as I that Alexander and Catriona would never allow any harm to come to me.”
“And yet I hear a quiver of doubt in yer voice. I hear yer worry.” He leveled his gaze with hers. “Promise me ye will stay within these walls until I settle the matter of Neal and this talk of witchery. Swear it, wife, for my precious wife ye are, and I refuse to bury another.” He swallowed hard, forcing the words past the fearsome knot in his throat. “As I said before, I canna bear another such loss. I beg ye, mo ghràdh, swear it for me and the life we might share if given half the chance.”
Tears breaking free, she framed his face between her hands. “I swear it, husband. The boys and I shall stay within these walls until ye tell us ’tis safe to leave them.”
He covered her hands with his, then pressed a kiss into each of her palms. “All is good then.” He took her hands and clutched them to his chest. With a relieved smile, he forced a laugh. “I go now to seek strayed horses.” Reluctantly, he released her and eased away. “If aught goes awry, seek Graham or Magnus’s help until I return, aye?”
“Aye.” She rushed and pulled him into a kiss that made him groan. As she eased a step back, she brushed the tears from her cheeks and locked a fierce glare upon him. “Back by morning. No later, ye ken? Dinna make me have Graham and Magnus fetch ye.”
“Aye, m’lady.” After a formal bow, he strode away, wishing he didn’t have to leave her. She still amazed him. He’d known her for almost ten years, but in the past few days, she’d taken hold of him with a ferocity he’d never expected.
He found Sutherland waiting with the horses in front of the stable. As he launched himself up into the saddle, he scanned the top of the wall, needing one last sight of her before he left. There she stood. Right where he’d left her. One hand lifted in farewell, the other holding tight to the shawl around her shoulders. He gave her a slow nod, then forced himself to look away. “I’ve orders to return by morning,” he said before thinking.
Sutherland just laughed and shook his head as they rode out of the keep.
Ian smiled. His cousin was a man of his word. He’d promised no more teasing, and to his credit, he had kept his vow.
They headed for the western pass leading toward Loch Linnhe. A tolerably cool day and the wind at their backs, Ian watched the sky as they traveled. This time of year, a storm could blow in at any time. A wise man always kept an eye out for any possible shelter were it to be needed.
Late in the day, as they worked their way down an incline leading into a shallow valley, movement farther down the way caught Ian’s attention. Four horses. Two with riders and two with some sort of bundles tied across their backs. He recognized the shape of those bundles. They were bodies wrapped in MacCoinnich plaids. One of the riders hunched forward as though injured. The other man, the one in the lead, sat tall in the saddle, the butt of his musket propped atop his thigh, ready to take aim and fire.
“Two dead, one wounded,” Sutherland observed as the men approached.
“And not a MacCoinnich horse to be seen other than those they’re riding.” Ian looked around, scanning their surroundings. “Reivers, I’m sure. Thievin’ bastards.”
“He canna ride much farther,” the man with the musket said as soon as they reached them. He shoved his weapon in its holster and slumped forward. “He’s lost too much blood. I dinna ken if he’ll last ’til morning.”
Ian feared the same. Blood dripped from the wounded man’s boot, and his entire left side was soaked dark red. As soon as his horse halted, he slipped out of the saddle and hit the ground. Ian could tell without checking the man was dead.
The lone rider remaining shook his head. “Leaves behind a wife and five weans. God rest his soul.”
Sutherland glanced to the west, then pointed toward a rocky rise. “Dark soon and cloudin’ up. A bit a’shelter over yon. Might as well make camp for tonight.”
Ian dismounted. “Help me wrap him and get him back over his horse. We’ll return the three of them to their families tomorrow.”
The remaining herder clambered out of the saddle and lent a hand with the somber task. Once they had their clansman secured across his horse, they walked the animals to the spot Sutherland had chosen. It didn’t take long to make camp.
“What happened?” Ian asked as they sat around the fire, sharing a much-needed dram.
Rannoch MacNeilage took a deep draw from the bottle and shook his head as he stared into the fire. “Never seen nothing like it. They came from every direction and blocked all the passes. ’Twas as though they knew the land. Rose up out of the verra earth itself. They attacked smoother than any damned army, Highland or otherwise. Had all the horses herded up and away right before our
very eyes.”
“How many?” Sutherland asked.
Rannoch twitched a shoulder. “Eight. Maybe more.” He shrugged and heaved out a weary breath. “Couldha been a dozen, and the more we shot, the harder they came.” He shook his head again. “I’ve never failed my chieftain before. Never in all the years I’ve been watching over the horses. Reivers dinna usually trouble us this time of year.”
Ian held out the bottle, the man needed another drink badly.
He waved it away and leaned against the wall of boulders at their backs. “Nay. I’ve failed my chief. I dinna deserve as much as I’ve already drunk.”
“Ye did all ye could, man,” Ian reassured, looking at Sutherland to confirm the belief as well.
“Aye,” Sutherland hurried to agree, holding out an oatcake to go along with the drink. “Four against a dozen or more is poor odds indeed. I’m surprised they allowed ye to live.”
The man touched the side of his head. Blood encrusted his hair. It had dried in a trail down his forehead and cheek, attesting to the blow he’d taken. “I dinna ken why I’m alive either. They probably thought me dead after one of their horses kicked me down, then stomped me for good measure when I ran out of lead.” He held his ribs as he scooted to a more comfortable position against the rock. “We managed to send at least three of the thieving bastards to their Maker.”
“Did they wear any colors?” Ian realized it was a weak hope to identify the clan responsible for the reiving. But any clue could help them recover the stock.
“Nay.” Rannoch winced as he bit into the oatcake. Spitting out the bite, he reached into his mouth and yanked a broken tooth the rest of the way out. “Damnation. Bastards cost me another tooth.” He spit again, then closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. “Dressed all in black. Coats. Trews. Boots. Not a one wore plaid.”
The Dreamer Page 12
