Highland Captive

by Mary McCall

  "You cannot throw something you cannot lift, milady,” Geddes replied as if instructing a child. “Besides, women do not master weapons. ‘Tis a man's duty to protect women, so they have no need to learn."

  Alera narrowed her eyes and settled her fists on her hips, obviously preparing to spar words. A cheer went up among the warriors. She looked toward the archers. The smuggest expression Duncan had ever seen crossed her face.

  He leaned the axe against the keep, turned, and saw Kevin slap Egan's shoulder. The young warrior pulled another arrow from his quiver. Scanning the range, Duncan noticed Egan had hit the periphery of his target.

  "Alera, what did you say to Egan?"

  "I said would you please hand me that battle-axe off the wall.” She grabbed her braid and wrapped the end around a finger. A sure sign the lass was nervous about something.

  He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at her. “What else?"

  She shrugged and turned her interest to some sight beyond his left shoulder. “Why would you think I said aught else to the lad?"

  Duncan gripped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Can you explain how he walked into the keep a bumbling incompetent and came out well on his way to being a marksman?"

  "I am a mere woman, Duncan. Surely you do not think I would presume to tell one of your warriors his balance and posture were wrong?"

  Duncan raised a brow. The lass obviously realized what she had said. A guilty flush covered her cheeks.

  She jerked her chin from his hand. “He is left-handed, Duncan. He was standing like a right-hander. All I did was tell him to lead with the opposite foot."

  "Is that all?"

  She refused to look at him and was coiling her entire braid around her forearm. “Maybe I mentioned to turn only his head and keep his shoulders steady."

  "And?"

  She slung her arms upward in an exasperated gesture. “Welladay! I might have also suggested that he not bend his bow arm."

  "You are not to interfere with training."

  "But they were making fun of the poor lad. I could not stand to see him so embarrassed when ‘twas so easy to solve his problem."

  He leaned into her face. “Part of a warrior's training is learning to solve his own problems. If Egan does not learn that, he may not live to see the end of his first battle."

  Duncan turned toward the field.

  "You would probably let a bairn play with fire, so he would learn ‘twas hot,” was mumbled behind him. Geddes’ jaw nearly hit the ground.

  She should know he wouldn't tolerate such impudence. Duncan turned to face her, placed his fists on his hips, and glared. “Would you care to repeat that?"

  Alera bowed her head in what he assumed was supposed to be a submissive pose and tried to appear contrite. The lass failed. “I said I will not interfere again, and I apologize for disrupting the training of your warriors."

  Duncan nudged up her chin and read the irritation in her eyes. “Why are you apologizing when you do not mean it?"

  "'Twas one of Mama's lessons. ‘Tis a woman's duty to apologize to pig-headed men when they are wrong so peace may be maintained. And I do not wish you to confine me to the keep."

  "At least you're honest about that.” He turned away.

  She grabbed his arm and tugged until he turned back. “I truly do not see what is so wrong with what I told Egan. I am sure he learned another valuable lesson today as well."

  "Kevin!” Duncan bellowed without taking his eyes off Alera. He was glad she had enough sense to fidget.

  "Aye, laird?"

  "Bring young Egan to me."

  Alera reached up and caressed her fingers across his brow. “Please calm yourself. Your fierce frown might frighten the poor lad."

  "That poor lad is a warrior. He is not on a leading string. Nor does he need coddling.” He clenched his jaw as he forced himself not to wrap his fingers around her throat. The notion seemed appealing at the moment.

  She stroked his cheek. “Then would you quit frowning for me?"

  Duncan sighed. Now he wanted to kiss her. This caressing was probably another of her mama's lessons. “Alera—"

  "I truly did not intend to anger you.” Her hand came down to rest on his chest. “Please say you forgive me."

  Damn it all, how could he stay angry with her when she cast those bonny blues upon him?

  Kevin and Egan ascended the steps to the landing and halted beside their laird.

  Duncan turned away from Alera and faced the men. She moved over to stand on his opposite side. He clasped his hands behind his back and frowned at the young warrior. “Egan, who is your trainer?"

  "You, laird, and Kevin,” he answered without hesitation.

  "Is Lady Ranald your trainer?"

  Alera snorted. “I am not Lady Ranald. I am—"

  "Nay, laird. Your lady is not my trainer."

  "She said you learned a valuable lesson today. Would you tell Kevin and me what that was?"

  Egan glanced at Alera, who shrugged. Then he looked back at Duncan and squared his shoulders. “I learned four valuable lessons today, laird."

  Duncan raised a brow.

  "I learned the proper stance for loosing my arrows, which your lady told me. I also learned I may need to perform other skills opposite from warriors who are right-handed, which she did not tell me."

  "And your third lesson?” Duncan asked.

  "I learned our clan is fortunate to have a Lady Ranald with the ability to best Lady MacPherson in the archery contest at this year's harvest festival.” He cast a besotted gaze at Alera.

  "I am sorry, Egan, but I am not Lady Ranald, and I cannot compete,” Alera said in a sincere tone.

  Egan frowned. “But you said you never miss."

  "Aye.” Alera nodded. “But because I never miss, Papa forbade me entering competitions when I was fourteen. Warriors tend to get upset when they lose to me. I am ever a dutiful daughter, so I cannot compete."

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “And what was your final lesson?"

  "A good warrior must be broadminded and never pass up an opportunity to learn—even if the lesson comes from the most bonny of all women."

  "Why, thank you, Egan. What a lovely thing to say.” Alera smiled at the young warrior who blushed and gazed at her through adoring eyes.

  Duncan scowled. “Damn it, Alera, stop smiling at Egan. Kevin, take him back to the range and make him practice until he hits the target dead-center."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Fourteen

  The time was almost right. She would flee Laidirkin just as soon as Aunt Hope arrived to take care of Marcail. Duncan had left with Geddes and a few other warriors to hunt with a neighboring laird. Then he would pick up Struan and Lady MacPherson in three days and bring them home.

  Moreen had the keep in hand. Marcail rested well. Megan and the twins napped. God was growing the kitchen garden. Alera found herself completely free of duties for the first time in days.

  "Henry, we are going hunting, too.” Alera grabbed a bow, quiver, and game pouch that Duncan had given her. Then she headed down the stairs.

  Kevin slammed into the keep. “Milady!"

  "I am here,” she replied from the bottom step.

  He faced her, his face masked with anger. “We need you."

  Colin and Auggie carried a bruised and bleeding clansman into the keep. Alera didn't recognize him, so badly was he battered. His injuries must be severe indeed for he did not so much as groan.

  "What happened?” She rushed to the table where they laid him. Several clansmen entered the hall and stood about, glowering at the sight of their kin.

  "The damned MacTavishes raided,” Colin answered. “Took Glen's sheep and left him in a heap in the meadow."

  Alera handed her bow and quiver to Parlan then rolled back her sleeves. “Where is Moreen? She will wish to be with her brother, and I need her help."

  Kevin nodded to Egan. “See to it. The lass is in the kitchen."

&n
bsp; Glen remained still as Alera probed and prodded. The demon festered in her belly. She clenched her jaw and moderated her breathing so she could master her raging beast. She didn't know who these MacTavishes were, but they deserved her wrath. She took a deep breath and cast her furious gaze upon Kevin.

  "Glen has three cracked ribs. Three cuts that need stitching. They are on his forehead, chest, and left arm. He also has a knot the size of an egg on his head. ‘Tis probably why he will not wake. I cannot tell how bad his head is injured until he does.” A wave of lightheadedness washed over her. She drew in a deep breath. Why was the sight of Glen's wounds making her faint and queasy? She never had such a problem in the past, and she had tended many injuries. “Turn him over please, so I can check his back."

  After Alera examined Glen's back, the men turned him face up again. Moreen rushed inside, her eyes brimming. “Oh, milady, please tell me he will be well."

  "You cannot cry now, Moreen. We haven't time.” Alera took the housekeeper by her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Glen is badly pummeled, and I need your help. Go to Marcail, get her medicinals, and bring them here. Then get me some strong thread and a needle."

  Moreen left and Alera turned to Colin. “I need three bowls, a bucket of fresh stream water, a flagon of whisky, and some cloth for cleansing and bandaging. Please see to this."

  Colin left to do her bidding, and Alera turned to Egan. “Start a fire in the hearth please."

  Egan nodded and set about building the fire.

  The demon rankled. Alera turned toward Kevin and gritted out, “Who are these MacTavishes?"

  "A clan on the second mountain to the east,” he answered. “We've feuded over boundaries with them well over a decade."

  She fisted her hands at her side. “Was Glen on Ranald land or disputed land when he was attacked?"

  "Ranald land,” Auggie answered, his gruff burr charged with ire.

  "Then why are you still here?” She scowled at the clansmen. “You must strike back."

  "We're waiting for the laird,” Kevin replied.

  "You should not wait. Go now,” she ordered.

  Kevin shook his head. “Milady, all due respect, but—"

  "My papa is a great warrior who trains other great warriors. I have learned many lessons from him. One is nobody,” she slammed her fist on the table beside Glen, “and I mean nobody comes on our land and pushes us around. Another is do not spank a dog tomorrow for today's bad act."

  "I agree with the first part, milady. But we do not spank dogs.” Parlan frowned. “We're warriors."

  "What does spanking dogs got to do with the MacTavishes?” Auggie asked, scratching his head.

  "I do not think spanking MacTavish's dog would be getting even,” Egan called from the hearth.

  "Aye,” Leith agreed. “We ought to at least get the sheep back. I suppose we could take a dog or two."

  "But if we take the dogs, will the lady spank them?” Parlan asked.

  Alera rolled her eyes. “Forget the dogs. You must go now and take

  revenge."

  "We wait for the laird,” Kevin said.

  "I do not think the laird will be letting you spank MacTavish dogs,” Parlan said.

  "You must at least get Glen's sheep back,” Alera persisted, while her mind formulated plans for her demon's satisfaction.

  "We wait.” Kevin's tone was emphatic.

  Moreen returned with the medicinals, and Colin came back with the other supplies. Alera spent the next few hours tending Glen while the angry clansmen watched her every move. Glen roused briefly as Alera cut the last thread on his forehead. She lightly caressed his cheek. “You are safe at Laidirkin, Glen. Try not to move too much or speak. You need rest. With your head injury, ‘tis not safe to give you whisky or a pain brew now. If you are well enough on the morrow, you can have one then.” She turned to Kevin. “Be careful when you move him. I do not wish to have stitches break and need to take a needle to him again now that he's awake."

  Moreen made up a pallet for her brother by the hearth, and the clansmen moved him there. After giving Moreen instructions regarding Glen's care, Alera went to Duncan's chamber to battle her demon.

  "Three days is too long to delay retaliation, Henry,” she ranted as she paced. “The MacTavishes are snakes and cannot be allowed to get away with this foul deed."

  Alera scoffed. “Of course I know this is not my clan or my fight. But I do love Duncan, and I care for his people, even if I cannot stay. I may even come back after I find Papa.

  "I know they will not let me go to the MacTavishes...if they see me.” Alera snapped her fingers as excitement thrilled through her. “I have it, Henry. This will be almost like playing Highlander—only better."

  She walked toward Lessa's chest. “Now let us see what I have to work with. I shall need lots and lots of white."

  Duncan entered his chamber. Moonlight streamed across the bed. He gazed down at his woman, who slept with an arm draped over his daughter. Alera looked so beautiful, so innocent. She was such a passionate and managing lass that he sometimes forgot how young she was.

  He carefully lifted her arm and pulled her away from Megan. He picked up Alera and cradled her against his chest.

  She snuggled against him. “Sleepy, Henry. Why are you not guarding the sheep?"

  Duncan grunted. The lass was asleep and speaking English to her angel. “And just where are the sheep?"

  "You know.” Her arms slid around his neck, and her face nuzzled his neck. “Smell as good as my Duncan."

  "I am your Duncan."

  "You know my secret. I am in love...my Duncan. But I cannot tell him.” She sounded so sad.

  He halted as joy surged through him. He had waited so long for her to say the words, and he hadn't realized until that moment how much he needed to hear them from her lips. “Why can you not tell him?"

  "I must leave. Do my duty.” Her head lulled against his shoulder.

  Duncan sighed. What damn duty did she speak of? He gazed at her drawn face and shook his head. She appeared exhausted, probably was if what he suspected was true. “What am I going to do with you, lass?"

  He carried Alera down to the hall where his clansmen waited along with his friend Brendan Sutherland and several of his clan's warriors. Duncan set Alera in his chair at the long table and kept a hand on her shoulder. “Alera, wake up."

  She grumbled, jerked her shoulder from his grasp, and began falling. Duncan caught her and shook her shoulder.

  "What!” she bellowed.

  He fought to keep his lips from quirking. “I said wake up."

  "I am awake,” she snapped, keeping her eyes closed. “Now leave me so I can go back to sleep."

  A few of his clansmen chuckled, and he glared them to silence. Then he leaned down and whispered, “You're not in bed, lass."

  She blinked then tensed. Her gaze darted about the hall. She straightened, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands, and her brows tugged with worry. “What is wrong? Has Glen taken a fever?"

  "Glen is fine. We're here for a judgment.” Duncan crossed his arms over his chest and glowered down at her.

  "Whose?” she asked, surprised.

  "Yours.” He tried to look as mean as possible. If he didn't scare some sense into his woman, she would get herself killed. “Where are they?"

  "Where are who?” She appeared thoroughly confused as she wiped a hand across her cheek to whisk back a strand of hair that had escaped her braid. The gesture was purely feminine and totally distracting.

  Duncan gritted his teeth. “The sheep."

  "Sheep,” she squeaked and fidgeted. A fine pink blush spread through her complexion. “What sheep?"

  "Alera, I doubt I've ever seen a guiltier face on a body in my life."

  She cast her gaze about. Her eyes widened, landing on Brendan. “Who is he?"

  "Answer me,” Duncan demanded. “Where are the sheep?"

  "I am a lady, Laird Ranald.” She lifted her chin and glared at him. �
��'Tis rude to speak to me in such a tone at any time, but more so in front of guests. ‘Tis also rude not to warn me he was coming, so I could have Moreen prepare."

  "Damn it, Alera—"

  She looked back at Brendan. “'Tis rude to stare, though I suspect you cannot help yourself. Being a barbarian, your manners are surely as bad as Duncan's. You look mean, too. What is your name?"

  Brendan spread his lips in a seldom seen smile, revealing pearly white teeth in a rugged bronzed face.

  Duncan scowled. “Bren, quit encouraging her. Alera, you—"

  "So your name is Bren,” Alera interrupted. “Well, Bren, I am in need of an escort away from here in a few days. If I allow you this privilege, you will probably have to fight Duncan. He seems to think he owns me."

  Laughter lurked in Brendan's cobalt eyes. “I now realize how angry Alexander must have been when he ordered me to take an English wife, Duncan. Do you know if all of the lassies are daft or just this one?"

  Egan drew his sword. “Them be fighting words, Sutherland. Lady Ranald is not daft."

  "Egan, put up your sword.” Duncan wiped an exasperated hand across his face. “She is acting daft, so ‘twas an honest mistake."

  "I am not Lady Ranald and—” Alera gasped and turned her gaze back to Brendan. “Did you say you must marry an English woman?"

  Brendan narrowed his eyes then nodded.

  "Welladay! Hurry up and go to England. I wish you to marry Faith before she runs away to join a convent. Chris may not arrive in time to save her from herself."

  The tall blond warrior clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head while he eyed Alera with suspicion. “Who is this Faith you speak of?"

  "Lady Faith of Hawkhurst. She is my sister—not by blood but by choice. Her parents are dead, and her brother treats her poorly. You must hurry though, or she will be a nun."

  "Is this Faith you speak of as bonny as you, milady?” a dark-headed warrior beside Brendan asked.

  "Faith is magnificent and quite puts me to shame,” Alera replied sincerely. “You will not know from looking at her, but do not believe your eyes when you mee—"

  Duncan pulled Alera around to force her back to the subject. “Where are Glen's sheep?"