Beloved Stranger

by Patricia Potter

  “Stay here with Archibald,” Lachlan said. “I am going after her.”

  “No,” Rory said. “It was my mistake.”

  “She’s going to be my wife,” Lachlan said.

  Rory stared at him in astonishment.

  “Aye,” Lachlan said. “Give me your weapons.”

  Still looking stunned, Rory handed him his sword, dagger, and bow and arrow.

  “I have sent for help,” Lachlan said. “Archibald said they mentioned going west along the border.” Then he grabbed the reins of the horse he’d borrowed from the Charlton and dug his heels in the hobbler’s sides.

  KIMBRA woke to stabbing pain in her face and nearly everywhere else. She’d been tied to a saddle and swayed back and forth.

  How long had she been unconscious? Where were they going? What happened to the Armstrong? To Archibald Maclean? Then she remembered the arrow through his back.

  She tried to raise her head enough to see where they were going. Pain ripped through her.

  Audra. Her heart cried for her daughter. She would know her mother was missing by now. Who would look after her? Mother her?

  That agony was worse than any physical one could possibly be.

  She had to stay alive for her daughter. No matter what Cedric did to her, she had to stay alive.

  She did not know how long it was before they stopped. She only knew that the sky was darkening and shadows were getting longer. The ropes holding her to the horse were untied. Her hands and wrists remained so, however. They had already cut deeply into her wrists.

  She was jerked from the horse and landed on the ground. She looked up to see the smile on Cedric’s face.

  “Not so much the lady now,” he said.

  She wanted to spit at him. But now the important thing was to stay alive for Audra’s sake.

  “No words? You always had enough before.”

  Her cap had come loose, and he pulled her to her feet by her hair and dragged her to a tree and tied her to it.

  “Ye will be silent,” he said, “though it should be a long time before anyone knows what happened. If they ever do. Money and a thief gone missing. Yer Scot’s ransom will not be paid. He will think ye took it. Mayhap the Charlton will get tired of waiting and hand him over to the English. All this while ye and I get better acquainted.”

  “The Charlton would not believe it.”

  “Why should he not?”

  “They will find you and hang you.”

  “Ye say that with such viciousness, Kimbra. Ye are in no position to do so.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, even with gentleness, then struck her hard. “I have much to teach ye, and ye will learn quickly.”

  Then he left her and went over to his brother. He said something to Garrick, who then mounted his horse again and rode off.

  “We do not want visitors,” he said, “though I think it will take a day or more before they find that Scot.”

  She wanted to tell him that the Scot lived, that Lachlan’s brother was behind them and probably had found his friend by now. She wanted to remove the smug look from his face.

  Oh, how she wanted to do that.

  Instead she was silent. She hoped Rory Maclean was the man his brother was. She hoped . . .

  She hoped she would see Audra again.

  Cedric looked disappointed at her lack of response. He walked away and unsaddled his hobbler. Then he started back toward her.

  West Along the Border

  The two brothers had apparently thought Archibald dead, but he was a tough old soldier.

  Lachlan galloped in the direction Archibald had indicated, but soon slowed. He slipped down from the horse. The path was clear, but would they have kept to it?

  He led the horse, looking for recent tracks. The way was rocky, but occasionally he saw the imprint of a hoof. Then evidence of a recent passing. The dung was still fresh.

  He speeded his steps. It would be nightfall before long, and he had no torch with him. The sky was clear, though, he could already see the luminous outline of a part moon. He prayed he could see enough to continue.

  The night grew darker. Though the path was visible, the ground was not. He feared they might have taken another path, or route. Just as he was about to despair, he noticed first by smell, then by sight, horse droppings. It was warm.

  He must have gained time on them. They could not travel too quickly with Kimbra along, and if he knew her as well as he thought he did, she would not be a compliant prisoner. The other thought, that Cedric would want to take his pleasure of her, drove him on.

  He heard the snort of a horse and covered his own mount’s mouth. “Quiet,” he whispered, not knowing whether the horse would obey. The animal stomped one hoof, then quieted.

  He tied the reins of the horse to a tree, then advanced on foot. He decided to try the bow and arrow first, but his dagger was in a sheath at his waist.

  Lachlan moved into the woods and circled, all the time listening for any sound not in keeping with the mountains. He finally heard the horse again and moved toward it, hoping his own horse would remain silent.

  Then he saw the figure in the moonlight. Cedric’s brother, Garrick. He was sitting on a boulder overlooking the trail.

  He took his bow off his shoulder and notched an arrow.

  Now!

  His fingers would not let the arrow go. Then as if sensing something, the man turned toward him.

  He ambushed Archibald. He took Kimbra. Lachlan’s hand loosed the arrow. The figure crumpled and fell. He went over to the body and nudged it over with his boot. The arrow had pierced the heart.

  Cedric should be nearby. Lachlan smelled smoke and moved toward it.

  He heard a cry then. A woman’s voice. It struck straight to his heart.

  Be strong, Kimbra. I am coming.

  KIMBRA struggled against the ropes that burned and cut into her wrists and ankles.

  She watched as Cedric built a small fire. When he turned toward her, she lashed out with her bound legs and managed to kick him.

  Even as she did so, she knew it was unwise to madden him any further, but it was more instinctive than not. She would not give up easily.

  She had aimed for his manhood, but he moved just quickly enough that she hit his legs, knocking him down. He cursed, rose, and slapped her, knocking her head against the ground.

  He stood over her and ripped her gown.

  She screamed and tried to kick him again.

  Cedric tore pieces from her gown and used the cloth to tie her bound ankles to one tree, her wrists to another until she was stretched out.

  Nearly naked now, she felt his hungry gaze on her. Her blood pounded, and she shuddered with humiliation. And rage. She could only watch helplessly as he lay his dagger down and unlaced his breeches. She twisted against the bonds, but they only dug deeper into her.

  “At last,” he said. “I will enjoy this, my lady,” he mocked. “I will show you what a real man does.”

  He lowered himself onto her, and she tried to twist away as his rancid odor assaulted her. Waves of revulsion swept over her.

  She heard a shout, and a body hurled itself on him, knocking him away from her. She saw the auburn hair in the light from the fire.

  Lachlan.

  Dear God, he was far from healed. Cedric was strong as an ox.

  Surprise had helped him, stunning Cedric for a moment, but as Lachlan raised a dagger, Cedric deflected the blow and rolled over on him. The dagger tumbled from Lachlan’s hand.

  Both men pummeled each other, though she did not know how Lachlan kept fighting. Then she saw the dagger Cedric had dropped just before assaulting her.

  She fought the bonds. The cloth binding her rope-bound wrists to the tree started to give, and she pulled with all her strength, despite the agony of ropes cutting through her skin. Then suddenly it gave.

  Her hands were still tied together, but she could move. She scrambled for the dagger, grabbed it with her two hands, then cut the ropes on her a
nkles.

  Cedric was over Lachlan, punching him.

  She yelled out to distract him. As Cedric turned toward her, Lachlan used his legs to knock him over. She pushed the dagger toward him. He grabbed it and plunged it into Cedric Charlton.

  Cedric moaned, tried to move, then was still.

  “His brother,” she whispered. “He is out there.”

  “He’s dead,” Lachlan said, his voice and breath coming in rasps. He cut the rest of her bonds, gently taking her hands and staring at the deep cuts. “May he roast in hell.”

  He took off his jack, then his shirt and wrapped her in it.

  She saw then that he was bleeding as well. She did not know whether it was a new wound or the opening up of the one he’d received when he fought the Armstrongs. She thought of him fighting the wolves for Audra and her, and now attacking a man so much superior in strength. Without a thought. Without reservation.

  A noble who was truly noble.

  “You keep getting wounded,” she said.

  “I have never been a good warrior,” he said.

  “Nay,” she said softly. “You are the best kind. One that hates killing but does what’s necessary. You did not fight the Armstrongs, but you moved yourself in front of the Charlton to save his life. That takes far more courage.”

  His breath was still raspy.

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “I let my father die.” He swallowed hard. “We were attacked, and I could not raise my sword against another. He was badly wounded and died a week later. The clan knew . . . or suspected.”

  He stopped then, but she heard the agony in his voice, and she remembered the nightmares he’d had. Now she knew why.

  “Is that why you were at Flodden Field?”

  “Aye. I killed one Maclean laird. I hoped to save the other. And now I do not know if I fought or not.”

  “You did. Your friend Jamie said you fought like a tiger next to the king. You never left his side.”

  “You saw Jamie?”

  “Aye, he kidnapped me.”

  “I thought Cedric . . .”

  “Nay, it was your friends. They were looking for you, and did not trust me not to reveal their whereabouts.”

  Lachlan scowled. “Rory did not tell me that. The Macleans have a bad habit of kidnapping women.”

  She reached for his hand, wrapped her fingers in his. “What do you mean?”

  “Archibald helped kidnap Rory’s wife. He wanted a wife for my brother and thought one lady would be perfect for him. Unfortunately—or fortunately for us—he kidnapped the wrong one. ’Tis a long story, but you will like her.”

  Her fingers stopped moving against his. He seemed to assume she would be going with him. But nothing had really changed, except the danger of Cedric was gone. She was still who she was, and he who he was.

  “Wait,” he said and brought his finger to her lips. She listened, then heard a soft whistle, the sound of a morning bird, but it was not morning.

  Lachlan whistled a similar call.

  Minutes later two men rode into the clearing. She recognized Rory and Jamie immediately as they dismounted. Jamie went over to Cedric. Rory went to his brother and stood over him, then leaned down, offered his hand and helped him up. Then gave him a bear hug.

  “You have nine lives, brother. Thank the saints. We saw the other man on the trail. I did not know you are that good with an arrow.”

  “Archibald?”

  “He should live if there is no infection. When your hobbler ran back to the Armstrongs, Jamie and several other Armstrongs came looking for us. I took one of their horses.”

  Then he looked down at Kimbra, his eyes going over her bloodstained clothing and her torn wrists. “My apologies, mistress. I should have listened more closely to you.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan said. “She saved my life, not once, but twice. Three times now. I do not know how she did it, but she managed to get partly loose from where Cedric had tied her and passed a dagger to me just as Cedric was ready to finish me. Her wrists . . .”

  Jamie came over. “He is dead. The dagger went into his heart. Just as the arrow went into the other scoundrel.” He looked at Lachlan with great admiration. “For someone who doesn’t like to fight, my God, but you are good at it.”

  She noticed the compliment did not make Lachlan smile. If anything, his lips tightened. He was, indeed, a reluctant warrior.

  Rory urged Lachlan to sit, while he and Jamie looked for wood to add to the fire. When the blaze gave more light, he sat next to each of them and silently tended their wounds with such gentleness that she changed her mind about him.

  “Hector?” Lachlan asked.

  “We could find nothing of him.”

  She saw the pain on Lachlan’s face. “Who is Hector?”

  “He was at Flodden Field,” Lachlan said. “He was like a father to me.”

  They were silent for a moment, all of them mourning a friend.

  The grief on both Lachlan’s and Rory’s faces was stark, and she ached for both of them and all the others who had died that day.

  And she knew Rory was most definitely Lachlan’s brother. They both lived—and loved—well.

  LACHLAN spent the rest of the night with his arms around Kimbra. He did not care what the others thought. He had come too close to losing her.

  Rory and Jamie had taken Cedric’s body somewhere. Lachlan did not care where or how, and then they had taken one look at Lachlan and silently retreated out of sight and sound.

  They lay together, both too hurt to do much more than revel in the truth that they were still alive. And together.

  He ached to be inside her again, to send both of them on that incredible journey they had shared just days ago. Just the thought sent heat racing through his body. But they both were too bruised, and she had come so close to being raped.

  He knew only one thing now. He had to persuade her to come with him. He knew what she did not know: that Rory and the others would readily accept her. She had saved his life, not once but several times, and that made her one of theirs. But how to convince her?

  He had never met a woman so stubborn. Unless it was Rory’s wife, Felicia. He smiled at the thought of the two of them together. No man would be safe.

  He tightened his arms around her. He thought she was asleep. He hoped she was. The pain from those wrists must be agonizing. He would not sleep. He wanted to be aware every moment, to feel her next to him, to hear her soft breathing, which came from such a valiant heart.

  If only she would believe in him enough to be his wife.

  Dawn crept through the trees, sprinkling rays from a morning sun. He had evidently dozed off, because he saw her gray eyes looking at him with such tenderness that he thought his heart would burst. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, and she snuggled closer to him.

  Rory was tending the fire. Jamie was nowhere to be seen.

  His brother turned, gazed at him with the somber expression he wore too often since the death of his second wife. Felicia, his third, and their bairns usually brought a smile to his face, but Rory still considered the world cautiously. “Jamie went hunting,” he said. “I found some water. As soon as we get something to eat, we will return to the Armstrongs.”

  “Nay,” Lachlan said. “Kimbra will want to see Audra.”

  “We can send her back.”

  “Like you did the last time? In any event, I gave my word to the Charlton. I do not intend to break it.”

  Rory sighed. Then nodded. “Most of the ransom is still back at the Armstrongs. I found the gold, though, that your Cedric stole. We can take that with us.”

  “Us?”

  “I do not intend to let you out of my sight until we return to Inverleith,” Rory said.

  “But . . .”

  “You think he is honorable. We will have to rely on that,” Rory said.

  Jamie rode in then with two rabbits, and quickly skinned and cooked them. They all ate, then Rory and Jamie saddled the horses.

&
nbsp; They rode east on the trail that had brought them there. Halfway there they met a troop of Charltons, led by Thomas Charlton. They were immediately surrounded.

  The Charlton approached them, his eyes going from one man to another.

  Then he spoke to Kimbra. “Thank God you live. Cedric?”

  “Dead. Both he and his brother.”

  “By whose hand?”

  “Mine,” Lachlan said. “He killed an Armstrong and wounded a man from my clan. He took the ransom money and Kimbra.”

  “Good,” the Charlton said. “It will save me the trouble of doing it.” Then, “The ransom?”

  Rory joined them. “I am Rory Maclean. I have a thousand pounds in gold. The rest is at the Armstrongs and will be delivered as I think it is safe.”

  “Ye question my honor?”

  “I do not know you,” Rory said.

  The Charlton smiled. “Ye can have him back now. I trust him.”

  “I will not leave,” Lachlan said. “Not without Kimbra.” He looked at the Charlton. “I want your permission to wed her.”

  Kimbra had listened to the conversation with dismay. “Should you not ask your brother first?”

  “It does not matter what my brother says. I wish you to marry me, not him.”

  She glanced at Rory, obviously expecting an objection.

  Rory then grabbed the reins of her horse and led her some distance away. Lachlan followed, and she was only too aware of the Charltons looking on curiously.

  “Why do you wish to break my brother’s heart?” Rory asked Kimbra when they stopped.

  Kimbra’s hand trembled on the reins. “How could you, your family . . . want me? I stole the crest. I . . . stole from the dead after . . . the battle. I am English. A reiver. I even went on raids.”

  To her surprise, Rory threw his head back and laughed. “Holy Mother, but you sound like my wife, Felicia. She impersonated Jamie’s betrothed, then dressed up as a lad and got into one scrape after another. But she has a warm heart.” His voice softened. “And so, I suspect, do you.” He paused, and added, “How could we not want the person who saved my brother?”

  “Go away,” Lachlan said. “I can do my own talking.”