‘Do you have a looking glass?’ she asked the woman. Her skin was easily marked by bruises or bumps and Lilidh wondered how badly she must look after the last days of rough handling by the one who brought her here and his cronies.
‘I don’t, my lady,’ Beathas said. ‘I will see if Tyra has one in her chambers that you could use.’
‘Tyra?’ An unfamiliar name, but then she had not kept track of Rob’s clan in years.
‘Symon’s sister,’ Beathas explained. A hesitation in her reply spoke of much information not to be shared.
‘Never you mind, then,’ Lilidh said. ‘I do not wish you to be drawn into this.’
‘Did he hurt you, dearie?’
The question was slipped in quietly, but confused Lilidh for she did not know if Beathas referred to Symon or Rob. Whichever it was, she had no intention or desire to speak of such things, for it would bring up other personal matters.
‘Leave it be, Beathas. I know that I am prisoner and enemy and do not expect to be treated otherwise while here,’ she said with far more confidence than she felt.
It was the truth, though, and an attitude she feared she must accept to get through this ordeal. If things had deteriorated so much that Rob’s clan thought kidnapping her and shaming her father was the correct course of action, then she could not be certain of anything—least of all how she would indeed be treated. As laird and chief, Rob would have to appease his clan elders and those whose backing he needed to remain on the high chair. Forcing her to his bed, beating her or shaming her could all be part of it.
A shiver racked her then. She was a woman alone—no guards, no family, no husband—with no one to watch over her and protect her. Had her father received word yet about her kidnapping? Had Rob or that rogue Symon sent demands? If no one was left alive from her travelling group, who would take the news to her father or to the MacGregors?
The tears surprised her then, coming without warning at the thought of her friends and family lying dead by the road after the attack. Poor Isla! Her faithful maid had been with her for years, first as her nurse, then companion as she grew older and did not need a nurse. Accompanying her on her marriage journey to Iain’s clan gave Lilidh comfort, as her mother had said it would. Any number of cousins could have come with her, but her mother had advised only Isla until Lilidh had settled in.
Now, she was responsible for the woman’s death and the death of others who had simply carried out their orders.
Leaning her head down, she let the tears flow. Her body rocked slightly on its own as sorrow filled her heart and soul at the loss of so many. The healer’s gentle touch on her shoulder surprised her.
‘Here now,’ Beathas whispered. ‘All will be well.’
The woman wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and tucked it tightly. She moved quietly around the chamber, straightening the bed and cleaning as she went. Every so often a soft tsking would be heard, but the woman did not ask her any other questions. Lilidh gathered her emotions under control and let the temporary sadness and tears go. For now.
For now she needed to be strong. To be the daughter of the MacLerie and the widow of the proud MacGregor chieftain. To survive this coming ordeal she must keep her wits and find out what Rob’s plans were—especially with her. And she must find ways to influence Rob’s decisions, if possible, too.
For years she’d observed her uncle negotiating and watched her father be both the Beast and the wise leader. This was the time to use everything she’d learned to save herself, her honour and possibly save the man she’d wanted to marry all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, she loosened the blanket and pushed it down. She must be ready to face him on his return.
‘I would like to wash, if that’s permitted,’ she said quietly without looking at Beathas. Without a word, Beathas went to the door, opened it and whispered to whoever stood guard there.
‘Some hot water will be here for you soon. And something warm to drink as well, lass.’
Lilidh sat in the quiet, waiting for those things and trying to see a pattern in what Symon had said while taunting her and in what Rob had said in the hall, snatches of which came drifting back to her now as she thought about it. For certain, she’d been taken because of her father, though little had been said about her connection to Iain and the MacGregors. Only muffled curses and a few words had been directed at her after they’d tied, gagged and hooded her and brought her here.
She thought that Symon might have initiated this action in trying to force Rob’s hand. If she’d been coherent and uninjured during her taking, she might have learned more. Now, as a loud knock startled her from her thoughts, she would have to wait.
Beathas answered it, opening the door widely to allow entrance to whoever waited. A large wooden tub was rolled in and placed to one side of the chamber. Men followed, carrying buckets of steaming water. A woman entered with a pile of linens and handed them to Beathas. Lilidh watched out the corner of her eye, having no desire to meet what she was sure would be the curious gazes of these Mathesons.
Once the room had emptied and Beathas had arranged things as she wanted them to be, Lilidh pushed herself out of the chair and stood. She could not stop the groan of pain as her body fought her efforts to move. A warm cup was pressed into her hands before she knew it.
‘Betony tea. To soothe the hurts and ease your moving around.’
Deciding she could not sort things out and accomplish anything until she was recovered, Lilidh sipped from the cup and discovered the tea was sweetened and flavourful. She drank a bit and then handed it back to Beathas.
‘I will finish it after I wash,’ she said, limping to the side of the tub. Reaching down, she swirled her fingers in the water and found it to be steaming hot—perfect for a long soak. ‘I can see to this myself.’
The expected argument from the old woman did not happen. Beathas moved a short stool close to the tub and placed the drying linens and a small bowl of soap on it.
‘Summon me if you wish help with your hair,’ Beathas said as she walked to the door. ‘Have a care for the wound.’
If there had been a way to lock or bar the door, Lilidh would have. Seeing none, she steadied herself and dropped the blanket from her shoulders. She gathered up the length of the shift she wore and pulled it over her head, dropping it to the floor where it would remain dry. Shaking her head, she glanced around the chamber for her gown and did not see it. Had Beathas taken it?
No matter, she thought, grasping the side of the tub and easing her stronger leg over the side. Once on the bottom of it, she pulled her bad leg into the water. Using the sides of the tub, she slid slowly down until she sat. It was large enough for her to stretch out her legs and she moaned as the hot water surrounded her tight muscles and the scars. Other than walking, a hot bath did much to loosen the tightness when the cramping came upon her. After the last several days, this was nigh to heaven, so she leaned back and let the heat seep into her.
Though used to Isla’s gentle ministrations during her baths, Lilidh managed to scrub the dirt from her legs and arms and even wash her hair, though she thought she might spill more water from the tub than she left in it. Once done, she soaked in the water until it lost its heat. Having a care not to slip, she climbed from the water, wrapped her hair in a cloth and then used another to dry off the rest of her. She’d just claimed the warm, woolen blanket again, clutching it around the once again worn shift, when the door opened.
‘The laird has called for your presence down in the hall,’ Beathas said. She placed the bundle of clothing she carried on the bed and reached up to help with Lilidh’s hair. ‘I will plait it for you for now. He was clear that you not delay.’
From the frown on Beathas’s face and her lack of encouragement, Lilidh knew this could not be a good thing. Feeling more revived from the bath, she allowed Beathas to help her dress in the plain gown, stockings and shoes she’d brought. Once done, she tried to fortify herself for whatever would come. When the door opened and R
ob’s man stood waiting with a rope, Lilidh was not certain she would ever be ready.
Chapter Six
Symon strode through the hall towards the tower where his and Tyra’s chambers were. Climbing the stairs and reaching her rooms, he knocked and lifted the latch without waiting for a response. Angered at the path his plans had taken, he would not be left standing in the corridor waiting like some fool. His sister glared at him, but said nothing. With a nod of his head, the two maids helping her dress fled. Tyra turned back to her looking glass and arranged a ribbon that drooped loosely down her cheek.
Women! Damn them all!
Symon crossed the chamber in a few strides and yanked the ribbon free, causing several locks of Tyra’s hair to fall as well. He tossed the ribbon in her face and crossed his arms. Instead of looking fearful or giving him the respect he deserved from her, she just smiled, selected another strip of material from her collections and wove her hair back in place. All without a word to him! Just when his fist itched to teach her her rightful place, she spoke.
‘So what is my betrothed’s new mistress like, Symon?’
‘Mistress? Give her not some title as exalted as mistress, Tyra. She is nothing but a MacLerie whore warming his bed.’
‘Only that, then?’ she replied. Symon’s own brow twitched as Tyra raised one of hers in question. ‘Only a woman in his bed?’
‘You know the way of things, Sister. He will use her until her father gives in to our demands and then she will be gone from here.’
‘Was that your plan? When you brought her here?’ Her voice was so calm it gave him pause. Instead of screaming at him as her usual custom would be, she had not raised her voice or seemed angered by what he’d done.
‘My plan was to keep her as my captive, in my bed, until her father paid for her release,’ Symon admitted.
The sight of Lilidh MacLerie riding along the forest road had aroused him. He’d planned on claiming her body and using it as he wished when she was his to command. Then her daring actions, fighting his men and trying to protect the old woman, heated his blood and his lust for her almost overpowered him. Oh, aye, she would be good for some bold bedplay. Even now his body readied to take hers. Only his sister’s cough brought his attention back to their conversation.
‘Now she is Rob’s plaything to bed and use. I am not happy about this, Symon.’ Tyra stood, smoothing her gown down as she stepped closer to him. Leaning in, she whispered to him, ‘Take her back, Symon. Get her out of his bed.’
Symon almost took a step back at the vehemence in her tone. Almost. But he was the man here and, though Tyra was his elder sister, he would not take orders from a woman.
‘You will listen to me, Tyra,’ he commanded in a low voice. There was no need for servants and the like to overhear this conversation. ‘She is a temporary stone in the path here. A means to an end. Once we have the gold from the MacLerie, she will be gone and we will be richer. And I will be able to take the chieftain’s chair from the bastard. Our plans will all see success.’ She made to step around him, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.
‘I will be laird here, so you had better watch your step and do as I tell you to do. I will not be as pliable as that whoreson Rob is when it comes to giving you your way if you disobey me in this.’
Something flickered in her eyes for a moment before she masked it. Something he could not identify. Something dead.
‘But, of course, Brother,’ she replied, bowing her head. ‘I value your guidance in all things.’
He huffed out a breath and released her. As long as she realised that she was beholden to him for her position, things would work out. Symon lifted the latch and pulled on the door before glancing back at Tyra. Her expression was one of humility and obedience, but that was not what he’d seen there before.
Not at all.
Tyra kept her gaze blank until Symon left her chambers and then her anger filled her. Clenching her fists, she searched for something, anything, to throw and break. The need to smash something into the floor or wall grew uncontrollable and she finally spied just the thing—her looking glass.
A present from her stepfather, Symon’s father, she took the heavy metal object with both hands and flung it to the floor, sending pieces off in different directions across the chamber. The larger reflecting piece skidded satisfyingly on the rough wood until it slammed into the wall.
Tyra seethed with rage. Men always controlled her life. Her father, then her stepfather, her brother and now the newly made laird who had agreed to take her as wife. Agreed, aye, after having to be convinced by the worthless elders! Yet now he felt no shame or hesitation in sleeping with another woman before all of them. No explanation to her, no words to soften the blow to her pride. She was simply expected to accept this treatment as her place in life and be grateful for it.
Grateful was not something that she did easily or well.
Damn that fool Symon! This move had cost much and confounded her own plans. If he had only left well enough alone and let those elders who agreed with him push Rob out, all would have been well and her future would have been as she’d desired. Now, Rob was exerting his own pressures on the elders and the rest and the MacKenzies seemed less and less appealing as allies in the face of the MacLerie’s forces.
Damn him!
The sound of footsteps approaching her door alerted her that she had to regain control of herself. Men might not know how to control themselves, but Tyra would not her plans fail because of excessive emotions. Letting out her breath, she forced her face to relax and cleared her mind of thoughts, until she could allow a smile to alight on her mouth.
‘I misjudged its weight,’ she said apologetically as she turned to face her serving woman. The woman went scurrying around the bedchamber, gathering up the scattered pieces of metal.
‘Oh, my lady,’ Margaret whispered, holding out the broken looking glass. ‘’Tis the one that your stepfather gave you on the anniversary of your birth!’
‘Mayhap the smith can repair it? Would you take it to him and ask him?’ she said, smiling at the maid.
‘Oh, aye, my lady,’ Margaret said, ever trying to please her mistress since she and the others expected her to be the woman who would rule over this household very soon.
Tyra waited for her to leave before sitting down before the table that used to hold the looking glass. She smoothed her hair back and tugged on the sleeves of the gown. She must appear in the hall soon and act as though everything in her life pleased her. As though she was not bothered at all by her betrothed bedding another woman while the entire clan knew. As though she was happy at the thought of becoming lady here. As though this was her perfect life and would be her perfect future.
She had learned long ago how to bide her time; it was a lesson hard-learned and not forgotten. Not then and not now. Everything these fools planned would be for naught and in the end she would rule over the household of her beloved—Gavin MacKenzie, the heir to the vast MacKenzie lands and wealth.
And they would learn that they should never have underestimated her.
Lairig Dubh
Jocelyn did not like it one bit.
Something was going on and no one would tell her what it was. Rurik, usually the one to spill any news first, simply watched her silently. Duncan, the clan’s negotiator, came and went from Connor’s meetings without meeting her gaze.
Oh, aye, something bad was afoot in the clan MacLerie.
Connor had sent a servant to summon her back from the village, but upon her arrival at Lairig Dubh, he’d kept her waiting. Her patience, non-existent when she was worrying over her family, wore through at that moment and she climbed to her feet, put her basket on the table and prepared to find out the truth.
‘Jocelyn,’ Connor said quietly, opening his door to her. ‘Come. We must speak.’
All her bluster left her at the look on his face. Bad? This was not bad—this was a disaster of some kind. Jocelyn attempted to smooth her breathing and not lose control
as she tried to remember where each of their children was. Where each of Connor’s kin was. Where every person she cared about was at that moment. Yet, none of that helped in this tense moment.
Connor took her hand and escorted her into his private chamber as the others left. He led her to a chair, but she shook off his hold and his attempt.
‘Just tell me, Connor.’ Steeling her heart and nerves, she waited for the news.
‘Lilidh has been …’ Connor paused, searching for a word while her heart stopped. Dead? Was her daughter dead? She clasped her hands together and held her breath. ‘Kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped? She is alive?’ Jocelyn sank on to the chair then, unable to keep her legs steady. ‘Who did this?’
‘Rob Matheson.’
She shook her head. Rob? No, not him. ‘That cannot be. You fostered Rob. He was the son of your friend, your ally. He loved …’ She paused before saying the rest because she knew it would simply inflame Connor’s temper.
‘All of that is in the past now,’ he growled, turning away from her. ‘One of the men escorting her home survived and made his way here, reporting on what had happened. But first he followed the men who took her and they took her to the Matheson keep.’
‘None of this makes sense, Connor,’ she said, twisting her hands in her lap as she thought of her eldest child. ‘Why would he take her? He is betrothed to someone else, so marriage is not his aim. He has no quarrel with you.’
Her words drifted off as she realised that there was no peace between her husband and his foster son. The division between them might have begun because of Lilidh, but recent changes could be blamed on the Mathesons negotiating with their common adversaries, the MacKenzies.
At the Highlander's Mercy Page 5
