Highland Captive

by Mary McCall

  She turned a resigned countenance toward him and met his gaze. “Will you walk with me, Father?"

  "Aye, child.” He crossed the yard to her side. “Which way?"

  "Toward Logan's place.” Alera whisked a strand of hair over her

  shoulder. “I feel uneasy about Marcail and do not wish to be away from her long."

  They walked toward the wooded trail leading to Logan's cottage. The lady didn't seem inclined to speak. Father Cunningham clasped his hands behind his back and decided neutral conversation might help her open up. “Why are you uneasy about Marcail?"

  "I am not sure.” Alera shrugged and a frown puckered her brow. “'Tis just a feeling. She sent Logan with Craig to the coast for maorachs. They will be gone at least another half day. Moreen is with her now, and the twins. But I feel a need to stay near her. I cannot say why."

  They walked on, and Alera resumed her silence. Mayhap mentioning the laird would get the lass talking. “I heard the laird took Megan and has gone after Struan."

  "Aye. He planned to send Kevin, but when Megan heard, she became so excited about seeing her old friend that Duncan decided to go himself and take her along. Spending the day together will be good for them.” She smiled then looked back at the trail. “Will you enjoy preaching of Struan's resurrection?"

  A chuckle slipped from Father's lips. “I am sure Struan will enjoy that more. He'll probably break out a few barrels of whisky for the telling.” He eyed her profile. “'Twas a good thing you did for Megan, milady."

  Her smile faded. “If I was not so selfish, I would have done something sooner. I am sorry we did not catch Isobel. She should not be allowed to get away with her treachery."

  "She'll not get away with it in the end. Though I'm doubting she survived the wilds. In the meantime, Megan is safe."

  They continued walking in silence. Father wracked his brain for something to say. Could the lass's rage have anything to do with her current discontent? “You know this clan is blessed to have you—"

  "Can we speak of men and women, Father?” Alera halted and held her body rigid, her hands fisted at her sides.

  Father stopped and faced her. She refused to meet his gaze and if the lass turned any redder, she would burn to cinders. “Well now, would that be men and women in general, or man and woman as in Laird Duncan Ranald and Lady Alera of Arundrydge? No sense hedging,” he added upon seeing her contrite expression. “Might as well come straight out with it."

  "Duncan wants me to marry him.” She pulled a curl and wrapped the strand so tightly about her index finger the tip turned blue.

  "Aye, and are you still set on returning to England?"

  She shrugged. “I told him I would stay...until he tires of me. But I hope he does not. I rather...like him."

  "Then what is the problem, child?"

  "Duncan wants to marry me.” She jerked her hair and winced.

  'Twas a good thing the Almighty had taken his hair at an early age,

  or he would be pulling it out now. “Aye?"

  "I am not good enough for him.” She bowed her head. “I am wanton. I did not know this until recently. Before, I thought I was a lady.” She ended with a self-castigating snort.

  "What makes you think you're a wanton and not a lady?"

  Her blush intensified and she wrung the folds of her kirtle. “I become rather...wild when Duncan...touches me, and...I enjoy this more than I should. He seems to think ‘tis some kind of gift."

  "And?"

  She raised a baffled gaze. “'Tis not enough?"

  "Lady Alera, am I right that you were untouched when the laird found you?"

  She nodded and looked miserable.

  "Before the laird, did you ever want another man to touch you?"

  "Oh, nay, Father.” She shook her head, sending her curls tumbling back over her shoulders.

  "Are you wanting another man now?"

  "Nay, but I am wanting Duncan. Almost all the time. And I cannot stop thinking about him and how he makes me feel."

  "Lady Alera, you're not wanton."

  "Am I not?” She looked like she didn't believe him.

  "You're in love."

  She released an anguished sigh and bowed her forehead into her palm. “I know. But what if another man comes along and I cannot control my passions? They burn like a demon inside me."

  Father coughed to cover his chuckle. The poor lass was so serious. She was just too distraught to see how ridiculous her worry was. “If you marry the laird, then you should not have a problem."

  "You think not?"

  "My guess is he will keep your passions so busy they'll not rouse for anyone else."

  "But what about him, Father?"

  "What about him?"

  "He does not love me. What if some woman comes along and snares his heart? I do not think I could stand that."

  Father frowned. The entire clan knew the laird had lost his heart to her. He spoke of it often enough. “Has the laird not told you that you're his?"

  "His ownership of me is all he talks about,” she grumbled.

  Father smiled broadly. “Well then, child, you have nothing to fret over."

  "You truly think not?"

  "I am certain. Why do you not marry him tonight?"

  "I need to think on all you said, Father. Thank you for speaking with me."

  "Listen to your heart, child. Sometimes what it says is best not thought on. You know I'm around if you need to speak again, but I caution you not to be thinking much longer."

  "You think Duncan might change his mind?” A panicked edge quivered her tone.

  Father grinned. “Nay. I'm sure he will not. I just hate putting baptisms before weddings is all."

  Alera remembered Duncan's promise to give her bastards, and an icy foreboding swept through her. What if she had children then murdered someone while enraged? She would be executed, and they would grow up without a mother. And she hadn't asked the priest her most important question yet. “There is another matter, Father. Loyalty. I lied to Duncan. Before I can wed him, I must—"

  "Lady Alera!” Moreen ran toward them. “Come quick! Marcail is paining!"

  "Henry, help! Moreen, go for Geddes and bring him to the cottage. I will see you later, Father.” Alera patted the priest's hand. “Nay, wait. Can you help with the twins until Moreen gets back?"

  Father nodded his consent. Alera took off through the woods, bypassing the trail. She reached the cottage, huffing and panting. Throwing open the door, she found Marcail leaning over the table, eyes closed and face contorted with pain.

  Alera rushed over and slipped an arm around her. “By all that's holy, Marcail, what do you think you're doing?"

  "Having a...labor pain.” She released a pent-up breath. “'Tis passed."

  "Why are you out of bed?” Alera asked in a chiding tone.

  "'Twas killing my back,” Marcail complained.

  "Better your back than you. Come and—"

  "Wait, Alera.” Marcail griped Alera's forearm. “I want the crampbark."

  Alera frowned. “Marcail, I do not think—"

  "Just enough to give us time to get a message to Mam. Please. Duncan will not bring her back until late, and I need her here. I'll not last eight hours without it."

  Of course, Marcail wanted her mother. Alera would want hers under these circumstances. “When did the pains start?"

  "An hour ago, and they are well spaced. This is only my second."

  "But this is your third labor. Why did you send Logan to the coast?"

  Marcail bowed her head and rubbed her belly. “In case anything goes wrong. I did not want him to bear the wait."

  Alera fought the urge to choke her cousin. “How long will it take Aunt Hope to get here?"

  "About three and a half hours to get a message there and the same for her to get back."

  Mama's stories from long ago whipped through Alera's mind. The hawks! Aunt Hope had the same curse Alera had and could talk to her friends. “Think you can las
t four hours without the crampbark?"

  "Mayhap, but I want her here with me for this."

  "Let us get you to bed, Marcail. Then you must tell me exactly what Aunt Hope looks like and give me the general direction. I have a friend who can speed a message."

  "Let me tell you while I stand,” Marcail pleaded. “I need a little more time off that cursed mattress."

  "Just a moment. No more,” Alera said in her sternest tone.

  "You are as bossy as Mam."

  "Do you want me to leave when she gets here?"

  "Faith, nay! I have a feeling I'll need all the help the Good Lord sends to survive this."

  Alera cut the cord and wrapped the second tiny baby in swaddling as Moreen wiped Marcail's brow with a cool damp cloth. Thank the Almighty the birthing was uncomplicated and Marcail was all right.

  The babe Edeen held let out a gusty wail. She placed him in the crook of Marcail's arm. “You have a feisty laddie, Marcail."

  "He is so beautiful. My thanks, Edeen.” Marcail gazed at her son.

  "Best be thanking Logan if you know what I mean,” the crusty old cook replied with a wink.

  Alera took the other babe to Marcail. “Your little girl is fragile, and her breath is weak. She will need warmth and many love strokes, but she has a chance if you can get her to suckle. You should name her Leona after your father, so she can fight with a lion's heart."

  "Leona,” Marcail said in an awed tone. “What a beautiful name. But, Alera, tell no one else the name. We can't risk a demon hearing and casting an evil spell upon her before she is baptized. She held the babe against her chest. “My Angel was sickly, too. Mam helped me pull her through. Look, Moreen. My little lioness has Logan's red hair and my Papa's feline eyes."

  Moreen drew confused brows together. “The bairn's eyes are not even opened."

  The outer door clattered shut. Alera walked toward the main room to discover who had entered.

  "Marcail, I'm here!” A woman swept into the room, nearly colliding with Alera. Reaching out a hand, the woman gasped. “Alera, it is you."

  The woman possessed honey-blonde curls and eyes just like Mama's. She pulled Alera into a motherly embrace. This must be her famous Aunt Hope.

  "When Megan said she had an angel with your name, I prayed it was you. We have been so worried since Daryl sent word to Julien. Then when Baran came to me, I knew and was so relieved to know you were safe. Let me see Marcail. Then we can have a comfortable coze.” Hope patted Alera's back, then released her, and went to sit beside Marcail on the edge of the bed. “How are you, baby?"

  "Wonderful.” A tired smile curved Marcail's lips. “Look, Mam. A boy and a girl this time."

  Alera's eyes blurred as she watched her aunt and cousin. Grief for Mama gripped her. She needed to get away and spend time in solitary mourning. “Aunt Hope, since you are here, I will slip out for some fresh air."

  "Alera, thank you,” Marcail called.

  Nodding to her cousin, Alera left. She stepped outside. Duncan rode up with Megan in his lap. He leapt from his mount and set his tired, happy daughter on a stump. “Rest here, faerie sprite. We'll get you to a pallet soon."

  He went to Alera and wrapped his arms around her. She clung to him; the last several hours had exhausted her. He was so big and strong, yet so gentle. He was her strength. She took a deep breath, drawing in his spicy scent. His mere presence soothed her grief for Mama.

  "How is Marcail?” he asked.

  "Mother and bairns are well."

  "There is something we must speak about, Alera. Let's—"

  "Please, Duncan.” She pressed her head against his chest. “I am so tired and a wee bit queasy. I am thinking of taking a nap. Can we talk later?"

  "This truly will not wait. You need to know—"

  Hooves pounded turf. Duncan tensed. Alera looked up at him then cast her gaze upon the trail. Three horses raced into the clearing. The tall warrior with feline eyes and a graying tawny mane matched Mama's description of Uncle Leonce. The couple behind him caused her breath to hitch. She would never forget the tall woman with the moon-white hair, because Aunt Toril was the most beautiful woman Alera had ever seen. And the tall, mean-looking warrior, with the golden mane and heathen-blue eyes, dismounting beside her was definitely mean Uncle Julien.

  "Alera, lass, thank the Almighty it is you,” Julien MacKay said, appearing relieved.

  Alera jerked out of Duncan's embrace and kicked his shin. “You no-good, barbarian! You betrayed me!"

  She took off around the cottage and ran through the trees with no thought but to escape.

  "Alera, get back here.” Damn it all, he should have expected this.

  Duncan dashed around the cottage with Julien right behind him. He caught up with her near the stream as she fell upon her knees and retched into a fern off to the side of the trail.

  While heaves shook her frame, he stepped down to the water and wet the end of his shoulder drape. Venturing near, Duncan dropped down on one knee, slipped an arm around her waist, and pulled her against his side. When the last shudder wracked through her, he gently wiped her mouth and face with his plaid.

  Alera sat back upon her heels, keeping her head bowed and one arm wrapped around her middle. She wiped a hand across her cheek, pushing back a stray curl.

  "Feeling better?” he asked mildly.

  "You said ‘twould be my decision, Duncan. I'll not forgive you if you let him force me,” she whispered in a tone that burned like mid-winter ice.

  "The decision has been taken from both of us."

  Alera rammed her elbow into Duncan's ribs and jerked away. She came to her feet, facing him with hands fisted. “You should have known what would happen when you told him, you pea-brained lout! You could have at least warned me."

  Duncan stood and placed his fists on his hips. “What do you think I was trying to do when I first arrived?"

  "The Ranald did not tell me, lass.” Julien moved closer and crossed his arms over his chest. “He had no way of knowing your Aunt Toril and I were at the MacPhersons."

  Alera spun around, her sapphire eyes cutting. “You look as mean as I remember, Uncle, but you cannot force me. King Henry is my guardian, so you have no say."

  "Aye, I do,” he replied in a deceptively mild manner. “King Henry has no jurisdiction here. Seeing as he failed you, I'll be stepping in as chieftain over your mother's clan. ‘Twill do you no good to argue. If you'll not say the words, then I'll speak them for you."

  "If you say the words,” Alera hissed. “Then you better keep a sharp eye behind you, lest my English arrow pierces your MacKay arse."

  A grin that didn't quite reach Julien's eyes crossed his lips. “And you had best watch your tongue, Alera lass, lest you find my MacKay hand paddling your bare English arse."

  Alera placed her fists on her hips and leaned forward. “Why you no—"

  Duncan circled her waist with an arm from behind and placed his hand over her mouth, cutting off whatever she planned to say. “Alera, you cannot goad him like you do me. Now douse your fire and be reasonable. You already know you're mine, and you would eventually wed me, so— Damn it, Alera! Get your teeth out of my hand, you wee fiend!"

  Alera slammed her heel on his foot, jerked out of his grasp, and turned on him. “How dare you tell me to be reasonable, you randy spawn of a lecherous goat! You have lied to me from the moment we met when you said you would take me home. Like an addled fool, I let myself start trusting you."

  Duncan narrowed his eyes and fought the urge to shake her. “I did

  not lie to you. I brought you home, here to Laidirkin where you belong. We'll not argue this again. Now calm yourself and get ready for a wedding. You're marrying me this afternoon."

  "And if you show up mute, Alera, I'll speak for you,” Julien added.

  "Julien MacKay, stop intimidating that child. You too, Ranald.” Toril marched down the path, her violet eyes flashing. “Alera has just been through a terrible ordeal, helping Marcail birth tho
se twins. She does not need your bullying."

  Toril shook her head and waved an arm dismissing the men. “I swear God must have given all the Highland men one brain to share, and you should not speak unless ‘tis your turn to use it. Alera, come with me."

  Toril slipped a motherly arm around Alera's shoulders and led her away.

  "'Tis shameful for a wife to be addressing her husband that way, Toril,” Julien snapped. “Come back here and apologize."

  "You see what I mean, Alera.” Toril smiled. “'Tis obviously not Julien's turn to use the brain. After all these years, he still acts like he expects me to follow orders.” She squeezed Alera's shoulders. “Let's go back to the cottage. Marcail says she'll not rest until she sees you. Then we will have a nice chat and get to know each other."

  Watching the two women depart, Duncan wiped a frustrated hand over his face, then crossed his arms in front of him. The muscle flexed in his cheek. “I would still rather you did not force her, MacKay."

  "I'll not have to.” Julien grinned, his eyes on the sway of his wife's departing hips. “Toril and Hope will talk her around. Only think. Did the lass give you a reason for not wedding you that made any sense or did she just tell you she had to think on it?"

  "How did you know?” Duncan asked, surprised.

  "The lass takes after her mother in more than looks. Bradana liked to think about things, too. If Papa had not forced her to marry Robert, she would have escaped a dozen times, dragging Alera along with her.” Julien chuckled. “The only thing you need to worry about is where Megan will sleep tonight since I'm sure you'll want her angel to yourself."

  Duncan sighed and massaged the back of his neck. “Somehow, I have a feeling that is the least of my worries."

  Alera arrived at the clearing behind Logan's cottage with Toril. The rear door opened and Leonce MacPherson ducked out. He swept Alera into a mighty embrace, raising her feet from the ground.

  "May Almighty God bless you and keep you for being here for my wee lassie.” He set her down and kissed her cheek. “You're as bonny as Bradana ever was, Alera."