by Mary McCall
She flounced off in huff.
"Damn it, Alera, get back here."
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Nineteen
Hearing rapidly gaining footsteps behind her, Alera scrambled up a tree and waited for Duncan to pass below. He looked damn mad when he went by. Too bad for him because she was damn madder.
She climbed back down and stomped toward Laidirkin, muttering every unladylike curse that came to mind. How could she have been such a fool? She never should have opened her heart to Duncan. The barbarian didn't know what love was.
And why in perdition was she walking toward Laidirkin? She should let him simmer for a while. She needed to retrieve her bow and dagger, anyway. Why, she would do a spot of hunting and show him how capable she was. She might even go as far as Arundrydge and spend the rest of the summer there.
Alera retraced her steps and retrieved her weapons. She turned about to set off on her hunt. A wave of dizziness whirled her world. She grasped a nearby tree to keep from falling and raised a hand to her brow. A moan broke from her lips as bile rose in her throat. She sank to the ground until the unpleasantness passed.
She was sick of these spells. One might think her an old woman or... with child. She placed a hand on her belly and wonderment dazed her. Could it truly be? Aye, a babe was the only thing that could explain her queasiness and fatigue of late. She was going to have Duncan's baby. Joy thrilled through her. She should find him and tell him.
Nay, she was mad at him right now. But she had to tell someone. Marcail!
"Oh, Henry, I hope I am not just wishing too hard."
Alera ambled over to Logan's cottage. An old Norman lullaby hummed from her lips. With a dreamy smile on her face, she stepped inside the cottage and sat at the table. She didn't greet Hope or Toril as she leaned her chin onto her palm and sighed.
"Hello, Alera. How was the hunt?” Toril asked.
"I am fine,” she replied in a vague manner.
Hope exchanged a concerned glance with Toril and crossed the room
to sit beside her niece.
"Alera?” Hope asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Alera started, looked at her aunts, then brushed a hand across her cheek, pushing back a curl. “How late is it?"
"Almost the nooning. Marcail is napping.” Toril sat on the chair on Alera's other side. “Are you all right?"
Alera didn't reply, just gazed off into space. Toril and Hope looked at each other as their worry increased.
"What is wrong, Alera?” Hope placed a motherly arm about her shoulders.
"Aye, Alera. You're so pale.” Toril frowned and took hold of one of her niece's hands.
"Try to guess.” Alera wiped a hand over her face. “I am almost better... for now."
"What is that supposed to mean?” Toril asked.
An impish grin graced Alera's lips. “I spend most mornings tossing up. I am tired all the time. I get dizzy if I move too fast. Yesterday I fainted for the first time in my life, except of course for when Duncan makes love to me. And the sight of wounds makes me gag."
Hope smiled and pushed an errant curl behind Alera's ear. “Are you wanting a boy or a girl?"
"I will be happy with either as long as the bairn is healthy. I cannot believe I am going to be a mother.” Alera shook her head and smiled again.
"Wait a moment,” Toril said. “I want to get back to this fainting. Did you say every time you and Duncan..."
"Aye.” Alera nodded. “Every time."
Toril turned a rueful look upon Hope. “I do believe I am jealous."
"Me, too.” Hope chuckled and patted her niece's shoulder. “Duncan will be a proud papa."
Alera snorted. “Do you not think he is already arrogant enough?"
"Be warned,” Toril cautioned. “Men become overprotective when they find out. Duncan will expect you to sit in front of the hearth and sew until you deliver."
A mutinous expression covered Alera's face. “I do not sew."
"Then you better find something else to pass idle hours. Julien always restricted me to the keep, and Leonce kept Hope in his sight most of the time."
"Toril is right.” Hope shook her head over the foibles of men. “Men do not handle the expecting time well."
"Then I will wait to tell him.” Alera sat up straighter and lifted her chin.
"When you tell him, act like you just discovered it,” Toril recommended.
"Aye,” Hope agreed. “'Tis the truth, men get a bit ornery if they hear
it from someone else or think you have kept it a secret."
"I will pretend ignorance and let him tell me.” Alera nodded, liking her idea. “Aye, he should not figure it out for a few more months."
Toril chuckled. “It will not work, Alera."
"Why not?"
"Are you happy about the bairn?” Toril asked.
"Aye.” A whimsical smile settled across her mouth.
"You see it, Hope?"
"Aye. Toril's right. It will not work.” Hope patted Alera's shoulder. “You have the glow."
"Well, damn it all!” Alera slammed a fist on the table. “I will not be confined!"
Hope and Toril chuckled.
Alera gave them a sheepish look. “I am acting daft. Will you keep my secret? I want to save the news for Duncan's birthday celebration."
"We will keep your secret,” Toril promised.
"Speak for yourself.” Hope gave her niece a sly grin. “My silence has a condition."
Alera arched a brow. “What is this condition?"
"I'm wanting to learn how to juggle flaming torches."
"Aunt Hope, if you keep my secret, I will throw in lessons with daggers, too, though Uncle Leonce may never forgive me.” Alera stood and hugged both her aunts. “I best go find Megan. I promised her we would spend the afternoon together. I will return to visit with Marcail later."
"You do know Hope and I are about to make a wager,” Toril called out the door.
"Over what?” Alera called back.
"How long it will take Duncan to figure out you're fruitful."
The time for obedience training was at hand. Duncan strode into the keep ready to give Alera a blistering scold for running away from him. ‘Twas almost dusk, and she'd had plenty of time to cool down so she could tell him why she had run off. She had better have a good excuse, too. He was damn sick of her scoffing every time he told her how much she meant to him.
Duncan ascended the stairs with a smile quirking his lips as he contemplated the resolution this scene was likely to have. Provoking Alera tended to lead to the most pleasurable reconciliations.
As he nudged open the door, the sound of Megan's sobs tugged his heart. He found her lying in a ball under the bed.
"Faerie Sprite?” He pulled her into his arms. “What causes these tears?"
Megan threw her arms around his neck and nestled her head on his shoulder. “I am sad."
"Tell me what has you sad so I can fix it."
"Mam forgot me.” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “She promised to spend the afternoon with me, but she did not come."
Duncan frowned. It wasn't like Alera to make a promise to Megan and not keep it. “Something very urgent must have come up, or she would have come to you. Let's go look for her. Would you like that?"
Megan nodded, and they left on their search. Inquiries at the kitchen, Logan's cottage, the stables, the range, everywhere they looked turned up no sign of Alera. A cold knot of dread twisted in Duncan's gut. No one had seen her since she had visited her aunts before the nooning, and she had told them she was on her way to Megan.
Duncan entrusted his daughter to Toril's care. With Leonce and Julien, he headed for the stable, picking up Geddes and Kevin on the way. Darkness would soon be upon them, and he intended to rally the clan and expand the search.
As they rounded the keep, thundering hooves welled up the mountain along with the light of a hundred torches. Recognizing the Sutherland colors, Duncan halted.
"Bren,” he called. “We are over here and preparing to search for Alera."
Brendan arrived at his side, reining his black stallion to a halt. Worry furrowed his brow. “Alera is missing, too?"
"Who else?” Duncan asked.
"My sister. Heather's tracks led us onto your land, but we lost them crossing the stream. We've not been able to pick them up again. Have you seen any sign of her?"
"Nay, but we'll join you in the search. Tell your clan to be on the lookout for Alera as well."
Brendan nodded and turned to speak to the warrior at his side.
"Geddes, alert the clan,” Duncan ordered. “We leave at once."
"Aye, laird.” Geddes rushed to sound the alarm.
"Bren, come with us to the stables and tell me anything you can while we get our mounts,” Duncan said.
"Julien and I are riding with you,” Leonce said. “If we have not found them by morn, I'll rally the MacPhersons to join the search."
"Laird! Laird!” Struan hobbled toward the group, clutching his head. He wavered and Kevin caught him before he fell. Blood oozed from a gash on the elder's forehead. “'Twas the Gilmores!” He paused, panting heavily. “They took our lady!"
Rage burned inside Duncan. The Gilmores would die for this offense, and if Alera was harmed, their deaths would be painful and slow.
"Did you see any sign of my sister, Struan?” Brendan asked.
"They whacked me good, Laird Sutherland, but seems to me I might have seen your plaid.” The elder teetered.
Duncan grabbed the elder and steadied him. “Kevin, tell the warriors
to wear paint."
She had died and gone to Purgatory.
That was the only explanation Alera could think of to account for her pounding head and jolting world. Her cheek brushed against slick wet hair. She realized she lay face down across someone's lap riding at breakneck speed along a forest trail. Who had her and why? And how had they caught her without setting off her sense—of being stalked?
The view of rapidly moving hooves as they flew past hundreds of saplings and shrubs sent her senses reeling. That added to the smell of sweaty horse and leather brought on an onslaught of nausea. She gritted her teeth and swallowed.
Henry, help her. She was too weak to fight it. A shudder surged through her as vomit purged from her body.
"Damnation!” A heavy hand slammed against her bottom, and the horse came to an abrupt stop. “Hold, Iver. The lass is tossing up."
Alera found herself roughly tossed from the mount. She landed on her feet then fell to her knees and continued retching. Fire burned in her belly and sides as her muscles coiled and uncoiled, spiraling molten bile from her stomach. As her shudders ceased, she groaned and placed a hand against her pounding head while wrapping her opposite arm around her sore midriff. She tried to make sense of what was happening to her.
Two men, wearing plaids she didn't recognize, were arguing. One loomed over her, and the other remained on horseback. He held a small figure draped in familiar colors, but Alera couldn't think of where she'd seen the plaid.
"You're taking this one the rest of the way, Iver,” the man standing over her said. “Hand me the brat."
"You're daft, Roy. I'll be keeping this lass. I have no wish for the wench to lose whatever is left on me."
Well, hell. These men had stolen her. Damn it, Duncan would gloat as he said I-told-you-so for not wearing his plaid. And who did these men think they were to steal her, anyway? She was Lady Ranald. She ought to pluck their hearts out for daring to touch her.
Oh Lord, did she have a weapon? Aye, she could feel her dagger secured to her thigh.
Rage churned in her gut, and she fought it. She had to stay calm and control her demon fury. Not only did she not have the strength to fight these brutes and get the child away, but she refused to risk her baby's life. Duncan would surely come after her. He had proven steadfast in that regard. She loved him, and she would place her trust in him to save her. Even if he was a barbarian brute who didn't know what love was.
She would give him hell if he didn't hurry, too.
Squinting up at the stocky warrior looming over her, she swallowed
hard. “I shall be all right in a moment. ‘Twould help if I may sit upright rather than face down. Pressure on my stomach will make it happen again."
"There you see, Roy,” Iver called from his mount. “The lass be done for the present. Let's move on. I'll not be happy until we reach Gilmore land.” He kicked his horse and took off.
Roy glowered at her. “Just do not try anything. You'll not escape and ‘twill go hard on you if you try."
Alera stiffened. “I should think it obvious I am in no condition to flee anywhere.” She stood and faced the man, wondering if she could win his support. “Besides, I have learned I am not good at escaping. ‘Tis not like I have not tried to flee The Ranald."
"Do not look to me to be your savior. I only deliver you to my father."
"Why does he want me?” Alera asked, hoping she could ferret out a little information, so she could help Duncan help her when the time came.
"My laird wants you to bait The Ranald, and his woman wants you dead.” Roy grabbed his mount's reins.
"Who is his woman that she wants me dead?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.
Roy glowered through beady eyes then spit on the ground. “You talk too much. If you cannot hold your tongue, I'll tap you again to shut you up."
He grabbed her around the waist and tossed her roughly onto the horse. Then he mounted behind her and kicked his steed into a gallop.
A caw screeched overhead. Thank the Almighty her friends had spotted her. They could take her direction to Duncan.
They caught up to Iver and rode in silence for what seemed like hours. Alera studied the passing trail, looking for landmarks should she need to find her own way back.
Dusk had settled by the time Roy drew his horse to a stop. They were at a large longhouse that was surrounded by several other shacks and huts. Iver carried the sleeping child into the dwelling. Roy dismounted then grabbed Alera from the horse. She wavered and grabbed his arm as her legs sought to buckle. Thick fingers sank into the tender flesh of her upper arms as Roy hauled her into the building.
"Quit your ranting,” a tall gray-haired man wearing a laird's badge bellowed. “So they got the wrong brat. From Iver's description, I am certain they got the right whore."
"The bitch was merely to be a treat. ‘Twas The Ranald's daughter I wanted the most."
Apprehension crept along Alera's spine at the venom she recognized in Isobel's voice. The viper wanted to finish what she had started and kill Megan. Did this Gilmore have spies on Ranald land? How else would the crone know Megan lived? Duncan would rage over this. Alera fisted her hands at her sides, fighting the fury festering within her. She couldn't afford
to let her demon escape. She had to remain in complete control.
"You forget yourself,” the laird gritted out. “'Tis The Ranald who I want most. Remember your place."
Isobel sneered. “And what do you propose to do about the other brat. The Sutherland is not the forgiving sort."
"I'll worry about The Sutherland when the time comes. As for the other brat, my men can have her when the fighting is done."
Alera realized they were speaking of Duncan's friend Brendan. She glanced toward the young child on the ground by Iver's feet. No wonder the plaid seemed familiar. The girl was a Sutherland. She also hadn't released so much as a whimper. Was the child unconscious or afraid?
Knowing snakes, Isobel would probably want to strike Alera as soon as she came into view. She needed to stall for time until Duncan arrived. Henry, help! Thinking was such a chore when dread pounded through her.
A notion came to her. Aye, Henry, what a good plan!
She clutched at Roy's arm. As he turned toward her, she fell against his chest in a swoon.
"Damnation!” Roy cried as he caught her. “This wench is sick, Fat
her. First, she tossed up on me mount and now she faints."
The Gilmore laird turned his glare on his son. “Bring her here, so we can see her,” he ordered then turned to Isobel. “Is it her?"
"Aye,” Isobel replied, smugness in her tone. “I'll see the skin flayed from her back when she wakes. But not now. I want her to feel the pain."
"You're a mean woman,” the laird said in a tone indicating he liked that flaw.
Isobel favored him with a sultry grin. “That is why we get along so well."
They both laughed, and fear coiled in Alera's gut.
"Roy, put the brat and whore in the pantry,” The Gilmore commanded. “We will deal with them later. And tell the clan to stand ready. I expect a visit from both The Ranald and The Sutherland come morning.” He took Isobel by the hand. “Come wench. Let's see how truly mean you can be."
The door closed with a bang and panic jabbed at Alera, sending her heart on a gallop. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. She would be calm, damn it. These confines could not be allowed to daunt her wits. Duncan would arrive soon and set her free of this tiny space.
Wiping at the perspiration beading on her forehead, she glanced about the pantry. Silent and dank, the small narrow room stood off at the end of the longhouse. In the dim light of the low-burning taper Roy had left, she could make out sacks of grain and kegs, along with a work counter against the wall opposite her. The door looked solid, but the hinges brought relief. They had secured the door with leather fastenings and not metal.
Muffled whimpers broke the silence, coming from the young girl who Iver had left on the floor by the sacks. Alera rose on shaky legs, went to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Be at ease, child. I promise I'll not let them harm you."
"I am so scared.” The girl finally raised her head.
Alera caressed her cheek, trying not to show surprise. “How old are you?"
"I'll be eight next month."
Alera thought she might get sick all over again. This was naught but a babe and that Gilmore beast planned to give her to his men. “You are part of clan Sutherland?"
