by Lynsay Sands
"Nothing," Dougall said abruptly.
It was Conran who said, "He did no' ha'e to. She's dead too."
Murine's eyes widened. "How--?"
"A fall," Dougall said abruptly.
"From the bell tower," Conran added helpfully and nodded when she gaped at him.
Murine shook her head slowly, absorbing all of this, and then frowned and asked, "But if Fenella and Lady Tilda are both dead, why is Saidh still at MacDonnell?"
"She lives there now," Geordie explained.
"She married Greer. The new MacDonnell laird," Alick added helpfully.
Murine hadn't needed the added explanation. She'd met the new laird of MacDonnell, Allen's cousin Greer, when they'd stopped at MacDonnell. Truth be told, while she was surprised at this news, she wasn't as surprised as she might have been had she not seen the two together. Murine had sensed something strange and powerful between the two at the time. She'd even mentioned it to Saidh and warned her to take care. It seemed she needn't have bothered. Things had worked out for the pair. At least, she hoped they had, Murine thought and asked, "Is she happy?"
"Disgustingly so," Alick assured her with a smile.
"They are perfect together," Geordie added, grinning widely.
"Aye, they are," Conran agreed with a small smile of his own.
Dougall merely nodded in agreement.
"Well, that is wonderful. I am happy fer her," Murine said, and she was. She was very pleased that her friend had found a husband and was so happy with him. She was also a bit envious. Murine didn't want to be, but she was and couldn't help it. Her situation was so dire . . .
"Where were ye headed on yer cow?" Dougall asked suddenly, bringing up the subject she'd been happy to avoid last night in her need to relieve herself. With her fainting, they'd never returned to that question. Until now, and Murine wasn't too pleased to have it crop up again. She was rather embarrassed at having to admit the truth, but there was really nothing else to do, so she admitted, "I planned to ride to Buchanan to see Saidh. Not to stay for long," she added quickly lest they think she'd planned to just move in and settle them with her burden. "I thought mayhap if Saidh and I, and mayhap even Joan and Edith, put our heads together we might figure a way out of the mess me life has become."
When the men were silent, she added, "There is the church, o' course. I could take the veil. But I ne'er imagined that would be me future. I was betrothed, me future settled. I was supposed to marry and ha'e children and . . ." She let her words trail off helplessly. All her hopes and expectations for the future were crumbling around her and Murine just didn't know what to do or where to turn.
"Ye're saying ye were betrothed then?" Dougall asked when she fell silent.
"Oh, aye," Murine smiled crookedly. "To a fine young man. He was ever so handsome and good."
"What happened?" Conran asked curiously.
"He died on the way to collect me some three years ago," Murine said, lowering her head unhappily. That had actually been the first of all the tragedies to strike and knock her life off the course she'd always expected it to take. Waving her depressing thoughts away, she went on, "Anyway, I may yet ha'e to take the veil, but I am hoping Saidh and the others can help me find another solution. Mayhap a nice old laird who would no' mind a bride with no dower, or--"
Geordie took a step closer and then said, "Ye could--"
"If ye plan to feed her as ye mentioned, ye'd best get to hunting, else we'll be camping here again tonight," Dougall interrupted sharply.
Geordie scowled at him briefly for interrupting whatever he'd been about to suggest, but Dougall's expression was cold and grim and held a wealth of warning. After a moment the man turned to Murine and said, "He's right, I suppose. I'll catch a fine pheasant or hare fer ye to feast on and we'll talk of this while ye eat."
"I'll help him hunt," Conran decided. "If we catch three or four pheasants we can clean and cook them all up and eat in the saddle at nooning to make up fer the time we're losing here."
When Dougall nodded approval, Conran slipped off after Geordie. Dougall then turned his gaze to Alick and said, "We'll need more wood fer the fire to cook the meat."
Alick hesitated, but then nodded and moved off, leaving Murine alone with Dougall. He watched until all the men had left camp, then turned to peer at Murine.
"We'll ride to Buchanan to drop off yer cow and the horses yer brother did no' buy, then escort ye on to MacDonnell so ye can see Saidh," he assured her solemnly. "If the two o' ye then want to continue on to Sinclair to include Lady Joan, and stop to collect Edith on the way, we'll see to that too."
"Thank ye," Murine breathed with relief and just barely refrained from hugging him for the generosity and kindness he was showing in his willingness to help her. She had hoped they would see her to Buchanan, but she hadn't even allowed herself to hope that he would offer to take her to MacDonnell and then on to Sinclair. Dougall was a good man, she thought and beamed a smile at him as just the possibility of talking to Saidh shifted a great weight of worry from her shoulders.
Surely Saidh could help her come up with a solution to her problem? And if she couldn't, then with Joan and Edith's help they definitely would think of some way to keep her safe from her brother's clutches. Something that did not include giving up her life to God and never having the children she'd always imagined would fill her life.
"Rest now," Dougall suggested gruffly. "'Twill be a while ere the boys return with their catch and then it still has to be cooked."
Murine smiled at him widely and shifted to lie down by the remains of last night's fire. She didn't close her eyes at once and go to sleep, though; instead she watched him putter around the camp gathering twigs to start a new fire with. Saidh had spoken often about her brothers, claiming they were, every one of them, fine men with good heads on their shoulders and true hearts. Murine was much relieved to find it so. Dougall was a good man.
His brothers were, too, of course, she added quickly in her thoughts. But it was Dougall she found herself most often looking to. She would have liked a husband like him. In fact, Murine began to think he would be a husband any woman would be happy with. Unfortunately, he wasn't in the market for a wife just now, she reminded herself, recalling his words in her brother's great hall.
Sighing, she closed her eyes to rest.
Chapter 4
Dougall came awake with a start and opened his eyes to find all three of his brothers staring back at him. Geordie was glowering, Alick looked like someone had stolen his pudding, and Conran was grinning like a fool. Scowling at the trio, Dougall arched an eyebrow. "What's about?"
"Nothing," Conran assured him solemnly, and then grinned wider and added, "I was just commenting to Geordie and Alick on how sweet the pair o' ye look cuddled up like ye are."
Dougall stilled at the words. Anger tried to flicker to life somewhere low in his belly at the teasing, but confusion was making that impossible.
"What the de'il are ye talking about?" he demanded in a growl, and then followed Conran's gaze down to see that Murine sat beside him. Really, she was almost on top of him, cuddled against his side, one leg thrown over both of his where they lay stretched out before him. One of her little fisted hands rested low on his stomach, and her head nestled on his chest. Her mouth was open and she was drooling all over his tartan.
Worse yet, in his sleep he'd curled his arm around her back and his hand was curved around the outside of her breast, his fingers resting across the globe as if it was his to touch. As he noted that, his fingers tightened instinctively and Murine moaned and then closed her mouth and shifted against him. She next frowned and began to make smacking sounds that suggested her mouth was either dry or was filled with an unpleasant taste. Perhaps both, he thought distractedly as he felt her nipple pebble under his fingers through the cloth of her gown. His cock twitched in response and began to harden just as she opened her eyes to peer sleepily up at him.
Dougall stared into the clear sky blue of her eyes a
nd thought that a man could easily get lost in their cerulean depths.
A loud throat clearing from Conran brought Dougall back to their situation, and he quickly released Murine and straightened, allowing his arm to drop away.
Still half asleep, Murine was slower to stir, but did straighten after a moment and peer about trying to get her bearings. The moment she was off his chest, Dougall crossed his arms and scowled at Conran, who was still grinning like a fool.
"Is the food done?" he demanded impatiently. That was what they'd been waiting for when his lack of sleep had caught up to him and he'd dozed off leaning against the log by the fire. The men had returned to camp by then, Geordie with three plump pheasants, Conran with two rabbits, and Alick with wood and a third rabbit he'd managed to scare up. Their arrival had woken Murine from her rest and she'd sat up to congratulate them on their fine catch.
Dougall had watched idly, stifling yawns as the men had cleaned and skewered the birds and beasts to set over the fire. They'd all then settled in to wait for them to cook, the men talking quietly. Murine had started out seated on the log beside him, but then had shifted to settle on the grass so that she could lean back against the log. Tired after his restless night, he'd thought it a good idea and had shifted to sit on the ground next to her . . . and that's the last thing Dougall recalled, except that Murine had begun to nod off beside him just before his own eyes had begun to droop. He had no recollection of how they'd ended up cuddled together with his arm around her. That must have happened after he'd fallen asleep, Dougall decided.
"Aye. It should be ready now, I'd think," Conran announced, still looking damned amused.
Dougall glowered at the man, and then turned that expression on Murine and ordered, "Eat."
Much to his satisfaction, she didn't have to be told twice, but shifted closer to the fire as Conran removed the skewered pheasant from the flames and offered it to her. His satisfaction began to fade though when he saw how tiny a serving of meat she took. Before he could comment, however, Conran said kindly, "Ye'd best take more than that, lass."
"Oh no. This is enough fer me," she assured him with a smile.
Conran stared at her with bemusement for a minute, and then shook his head. "Nonsense, ye've no eaten since yester morn. Take more."
"Oh, nay, I . . ." Murine let her voice trail away in resignation as Conran piled more meat on the scrap of cloth she'd been given to use for a trencher. It had been Geordie's idea. After starting the fire, he'd retrieved the cloth from his bag and given it to her to use when the food was ready. It was just a clean spare bit of linen, yet Murine had reacted as if she'd been presented with the finest jewels, beaming with pleasure and thanking him profusely for his thoughtfulness.
Her reaction had made Dougall angry. Little things like that were telling, and what that had told him was that wee, brave Murine was not used to even the smallest consideration. It made him wonder about her past and what life had been like for her before her father had died and her brother had gained guardianship over her.
"Dougall?"
Drawn from his thoughts, he saw that Conran had turned the skewer his way, offering him food. Dougall shook his head. He wasn't much for eating in the mornings. None of them was. Usually they'd have risen, taken care of personal matters, and mounted up to head out. They might have an apple or something else in the saddle mid-morning, but none of them tended to eat first thing, so he wasn't surprised when Conran next offered the meat to Geordie and Alick and they both refused. Bypassing the chance to eat as well, Conran set the skewer to the side of the fire before resettling himself. They all then simply sat to watch Murine eat.
She was very slow about it, pinching off the tiniest bit of meat and then ducking her head as she popped it in her mouth. It seemed to take forever for her to finish the small serving she'd accepted.
Dougall wasn't surprised when the moment she did, Alick immediately took a skewer and offered it to her, saying, "Rabbit?"
"Oh, nay, thank ye," she said, softening the refusal with a smile as she finished the last bite of the small bit of food she'd taken.
"Some more pheasant then?" Geordie suggested, lifting it to offer to her with an encouraging smile.
"It was lovely, but nay. Thank ye," she murmured, neatly folding the used linen.
"Would ye prefer an apple then?" Alick suggested, tugging one from the bag that dangled from his belt. "I've one left. Ye can ha'e it."
"Thank ye, that's verra sweet," Murine's smile was beginning to look a bit forced. "But I've had me fill."
All three men stared at her blankly and then turned to Dougall as if he had the answer to some puzzle that confounded them.
He remained silent for a moment, considering all that Saidh had told them of Murine and what he'd seen so far and then said quietly, "I'm thinking mayhap 'tis no' a tincture ye need so much as to eat more, m'lady. Ye ha'e no' eaten enough to fill a bird and that after going a full day and night without. 'Tis no wonder ye tend to faint."
Murine blinked in surprise at the suggestion, apparently never having considered it before, and then she straightened her shoulders and turned back to glance at the meat cooling at the side of the fire. "Mayhap I will ha'e a bit more then."
Dougall nodded with satisfaction, but didn't stay to see how much she would have. Instead, he stood and left her with his brothers while he went to find a spot to relieve himself.
Once she had finished this serving, they would have to head out. Everything but the meat was packed away and ready to go, so they would just have to stow the meat in the cloth bag they carried for that purpose and they could be on their way. He'd already decided that Murine would be riding with him again today. And it was not just because he did not want to have to explain to Saidh how they'd let her friend and savior die on the journey to Buchanan. He wouldn't see that happen to her either. Despite knowing she was brave enough to take on a murderer on her own, and flee her brother on her ridiculous cow, there was just something about the lass that brought out the protective side of him. The problem was it appeared to be doing the same with his brothers, at least it was with Geordie and Alick. Conran didn't seem quite as affected, but their two younger brothers appeared to be very taken with Murine . . . which was a shame, because if the situation called for it and one of them had to marry her to save her from her brother, Dougall didn't think he could stand to see her with one of his brothers. He was coming around to the knowledge that he might want her for himself.
"So, m'lady, tell us . . . how did yer mother end up first married to an English laird, and then to the Carmichael?"
Dougall glanced down at the top of Murine's head in front of him as she turned to peer at Conran, who rode beside them. Much to his relief, the question distracted her and she stopped shifting about in front of him. Despite her protests, he had made her ride with him again today. It had seemed the sensible thing to do. The way the woman constantly lost consciousness at the least upset, Dougall hadn't been willing to risk her toppling off that damned cow of hers should a squirrel run across her path. With the way things had been going, one of his brothers' horses would have trampled her under their hooves before they realized she'd fallen.
They had set out only moments ago, and yet Dougall was already regretting that decision. Riding with the woman awake was an entirely different prospect than riding with her asleep in his lap. Asleep, she'd snuggled up to him, warm and soft as a cuddly kitten. Awake, she had so far sat as stiff as a plank and constantly shifted about against him as if she couldn't find a comfortable spot. It was making it damned uncomfortable for him. There was nothing like a woman's body bouncing about against a man's groin to make sure he didn't relax and enjoy the ride.
"Well, I gather me mother's father and Lord Danvries's father were friends when younger and arranged the betrothal shortly after me mother was born. They were married when she was still quite young, fourteen I think."
"Aye, 'tis young." Conran nodded, and then added, "But I've heard o' younger lasses b
eing married off and 'tis legal at twelve."
Murine merely nodded.
"Was her marriage to Danvries a happy one?" Geordie asked curiously, and Dougall scowled as he noted that his brother had crowded his horse up on his left to better hear. His mood was not improved when Murine shifted in front of him to turn to peer at him. He would not mind except that every time she moved, her sweet bottom rubbed against his--
"Mother ne'er spoke o' her first husband," Murine admitted quietly. "But Old Megs said Lord Danvries was a cruel, spoiled boy who treated me ma most shabbily."
"Old Megs?" Alick asked from behind them and Murine shifted again, this time turning sideways in his lap and clasping his shoulders to lift herself up enough to see behind them and smile at the other man.
Dougall ground his teeth together and tried to ignore how sweet her scent was, and the fact that she was climbing him like a tree . . . or a lover.
"She was me mother's lady's maid," Murine explained. "She went with Mother when she married Danvries and then returned to Scotland with her when she married me father."
"Ah. She would ken then," Conran said and Murine moved about again to peer at the man and nod.
"So she was married to the Englishman, had Montrose . . . and then what happened?" Geordie asked and Murine began to shift again even as Alick added, "Aye, how did she end up married to the Carmichael?"
Dougall clenched his hands on the reins as she moved about in his lap to peer at the other two men.
"Actually, she had two sons by Danvries. Montrose was the younger son. We had an older brother named William too, but he died shortly after me betrothed three years ago."
Dougall frowned at this news. To his mind, this Old Megs's description of the father as cruel and spoiled and treating her mother most shabbily, could also be applied as descriptions to Montrose Danvries and his treatment of Murine. He doubted the other brother had been any better. Apples rarely fell far from the tree they spawned from. Still, the bodies were beginning to add up. Her mother, her father, and her betrothed as well as her half brother in three years? 'Twas a lot of death in one family.
