Marriage 03: The Marriage Contract

by Cathy Maxwell

  Home. She remembered the first time she’d heard him call Kelwin that. Now she knew home was by his side, wherever he was.

  Aidan clicked the horses and they were off. Anne snuggled against him, loving the wild freedom of the North Sea and the rugged country that was becoming a part of her soul.

  Before they caught sight of Kelwin’s turret tower, Fang’s son Thomas hailed them from his guard post. He slid down the knoll to the road. “’Tis good to see you, laird. We’ve been watching and waiting.”

  “Come along,” Aidan told him.

  Thomas clambered up to the top of the coach and they drove him the rest of the way down to the castle. As they approached the gates, Thomas started shouting, “The laird is back!”

  Hugh, his mother, Kathleen, Fang, and Bonnie Mowat were all waiting in the courtyard when they arrived. Soon others came from all corners of the estate to welcome home the laird.

  Aidan halted the horses and jumped down. He was immediately surrounded by his people. They clapped him on the back and begged for news of his adventures. The dogs came running up, barking and adding to the general welcoming confusion.

  “Wait.” Aidan held up his hands for quiet. “Let me help my wife down.”

  “Your wife?” Kathleen Keith challenged in a carrying voice.

  Aidan faced her. “Yes, my wife!” he said, in a tone loud enough to rival hers. He put his hands around Anne’s waist and swung her to the ground. “My beautiful, valiant wife.”

  Everyone began cheering. Anne’s glance went from one happy face to another. She blinked back tears. This was her family.

  “Thomas,” Aidan said, “take the coach up to the stables. Fang and Hugh, I must talk to you. Where’s Deacon?”

  “Where he should be,” Fang said.

  “Safe?”

  “Aye.”

  Aidan nodded. “Let us go inside. The rest of you, go about your business. All is safe. You need have no fears.” Clasping Anne’s hand, he took a step toward the house when a shout went up.

  Davey and his friends had been on the tower wall, waiting for Aidan. They now shouted there was another rider approaching. An English soldier.

  A hush fell over the crowd. Aidan strode to the front so he would be the first to confront this uninvited visitor. His clansmen took their places behind him, the men first, the women behind them, the children shushed and ordered into the castle. Anne worked her way to the front to stand beside her husband.

  Seconds later, Major Lambert tore into the courtyard. He sharply reined his mount, causing the horse to skid on the smooth, aged stones. He jumped off.

  He was hatless and wigless. His eyes burned with anger. “Tiebauld.” He spat on the ground toward Aidan.

  Aidan didn’t move. “What is it you want, Lambert?”

  “Do you mean what is it I want besides your head up on a pike beside Deacon Gunn’s?”

  A murmur ran among the women. The men stood stoic and proud, but jaws tightened and their fists clenched in preparation for a fight.

  “I had Gunn,” Lambert continued, “but you did something. I know you did.”

  Aidan said, “Give it up, man. It is done between us.”

  “Not yet,” Lambert denied. “It is not done yet. I demand satisfaction.” He began to unbutton his uniform. “Are you gentleman enough to give it to me?”

  “I’m the one with the title,” Aidan said quietly.

  They were the right words to inflame Lambert’s outrage.

  For a moment, Anne could have sworn the major had gone mad. He hissed through his teeth, he was so furious. Fang’s two oldest sons, standing close to her, laughed nervously.

  The laughter died when Lambert grasped the hilt of his sword and pulled it from its scabbard, the sound of metal razoring metal omniously cutting the air. He held the sword in front of him. “You’ve ruined me, Tiebauld. You, an unimportant Scottish nobody whose family boasts one of the greatest traitors to the Crown in the last hundred years.”

  Hugh and Fang started toward Lambert, but Aidan held up a hand, staying them. “This is between the two of us. You’ll not harm him.” He con

  fronted the former officer. “What is it you want, Lam

  bert?”

  “Satisfaction, Tiebauld. I demand satisfaction.”

  “And you will have it.” Aidan looked to Hugh. “Go fetch my sword from its case in the great hall. The rest of you, move back.” The others did as he’d com-manded—save for Anne.

  “Aidan, don’t do this,” she pleaded. “He is not sane.”

  He ran his thumb lightly across her bottom lip. “Would you have me run? Now, here, it will be all right. Help me remove my jacket.”

  She was tempted to tell him no. But she couldn’t. She reached up and helped him pull one arm out—

  Fang shouted a warning a second before Lambert charged both of them. Aidan whirled both of them around. Anne felt the sword blade whisk right by her before Aidan pushed her to safety.

  Major Lambert stumbled when he missed skewering one of them, but he pivoted, ready to attack again.

  This time, Aidan was ready for him. He wrapped his jacket around his arm to use as a shield. His eyes glittered like shards of glass. “Come, Lambert. I accept the challenge.”

  “To the death,” Lambert growled.

  Aidan’s answer was to laugh, the sound bold and challenging.

  Chapter 17

  Aidan’s laughter enraged Major Lambert. He charged again. Aidan neatly side-stepped him.

  Fang had helped Anne to her feet. She started forward, ready to intervene, but Fang’s grasp on her arm tightened.

  “There is bad blood between them and has been for years,” Fang said. “You can’t stop it now, my lady.”

  “But they’ll kill each other,” she protested.

  “Aye, and a grand fight it will be.” Fang wasn’t the only one relishing the battle. His sons, neighbors, and even the women watched avidly. Anne wondered if the whole world had gone mad.

  Hugh burst into the circle forming around the two combatants. “Your sword, Tiebauld!” He tossed the weapon in Aidan’s direction.

  Lambert moved to intercept the sword, but Aidan was quicker. He caught it neatly in one hand and faced his opponent.

  307

  The major’s mood changed dramatically, now that Aidan was armed. The two men circled each other. “I remember you as an indifferent swordsman,” Lambert taunted. He jabbed out. Aidan feinted. Steel met steel. The sound grated against Anne’s strained nerves.

  Lambert attacked, swiping the air viciously. He moved forward, each stride forcing Aidan backward.

  “Come on, man,” Fang said under his breath. “Cut the bastard to ribbons.”

  His words shocked Anne—and yet she too was frustrated. Aidan must not lose to Lambert.

  Suddenly her husband parried. His sword ran along his opponent’s and the two men were upon each other where Aidan’s superior strength could be used to advantage. But the major jumped back, disengaging.

  Aidan grinned. “Not so easy, is it?”

  “Child’s play,” Lambert answered, but he breathed heavily. He thrust and the fight was on.

  Anne had once witnessed a demonstration of swordplay performed by several gentlemen who touted the art of fencing as a skill. The fight between Aidan and the major held none of the structure or finesse dictated by the Manual of Arms. It was a battle of brutal strength and cunning. Lambert was obviously the more experienced swordsman, but Aidan’s natural athleticism gave him an advantage.

  However, Aidan had been without sleep. Anne prayed his strength would hold out.

  They hacked away at each other, grunting at the exertion each time their swords clashed. Sweat beaded their brows. The air rang with the clang of vibrating metal.

  Then Aidan stumbled over a loose stone in the courtyard. Losing his balance, he hit the ground heavily, becoming an easy target for his opponent. Lambert brought his arm down, the blade aimed at Aidan’s chest. The sharp-edged blade sli
ced the material of his shirt. Blood appeared. Lambert pulled back his arm to spear Aidan’s heart.

  Again Anne had to be restrained lest she jump into the fray. She couldn’t bear to watch; she couldn’t turn away.

  Aidan rolled an instant before the major’s sword point dived into the ground right where he’d been. Lambert’s sword tip got caught between the smooth cobbles. Before he could pull it out, Aidan whipped his sword around, and even at such an awkward angle, struck the major’s sword with so much force the handle went flying from Lambert’s hand. His sword flipped one end over the other to clatter on the courtyard stones.

  Lambert held his hands out to show he was unarmed.

  It was over. Aidan rose to his feet. “Satisfied?”

  “No.” He nodded to indicate his sword.

  To Anne’s astonishment, Aidan shrugged and let him pick it up. She searched the faces around her. Did anyone else think this a ridiculous form of generosity?

  No, they were all involved in the battle.

  Worse, Aidan read her mind. He gave her an apologetic smile before he was forced to pay attention to Lambert’s renewed attack.

  For another quarter hour the men fought. They were both slowing down. Dueling was hard business.

  Lambert’s sword whacked Aidan’s blade against the courtyard’s stone wall. To everyone’s surprise, the steel broke and Aidan found himself holding the hilt and little more than four inches of blade.

  Aidan held out his arms as Lambert had done earlier to show he was unarmed, but instead of retreating the major lunged straight for Aidan’s chest. Her husband swore, dodging in time, but Lambert had seen that trick before. He swiveled, ready to strike the death blow.

  Aidan ducked, coming up under Lambert’s arm and plunging the stump of his blade into the man’s side.

  It happened so quickly, it took everyone a moment to realize what had transpired.

  Aidan stepped back, a look of horror crossed his face. “Lambert, I didn’t—” His voice broke off. He drew out his blade. Blood poured from the major’s wound.

  The officer stared at the puncture as if surprised he’d been injured. Slowly, he tilted his head to Aidan. “You have beat me.”

  “Lambert—” Aidan started, but the officer’s knees buckled. Aidan caught him before he hit the ground. Lambert tried to push him away, but Aidan would have none of it. He lay his adversary on the cold, hard stones and removed his own shirt to attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

  Fang released Anne’s arms. She ran to her husband to see what she could do to help.

  Aidan whispered to Lambert, “I didn’t mean to kill you,” he whispered.

  “I wanted to see you bloody dead,” the major sneered.

  The unbridled hate shook Anne, as it apparently did her husband. “Why?” he asked. “What did I ever do to you?”

  Lambert coughed and blood ran in a rivulet from the corner of his mouth. “I know you are a traitor,” he said with difficulty.

  “It wasn’t worth your life,” Aidan answered sadly.

  The major’s eyes met his. “Tell me…I was right…I knew…” He coughed again and added, “Honor.”

  He died.

  Anne placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. He released his breath with a shudder. “I didn’t want to kill him, Anne.”

  She nodded. She knew. “It could not have ended any other way,” she said softly.

  Aidan lowered the body to the ground. He started to rake his hand through his hair and then stopped when he saw the blood staining his palm, his fingers. He rose to his feet. “He was right, you know.”

  “I know.” She put her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder. “But I am glad he is the one on the ground and not you.”

  “Aye, Anne, but his death is on my conscience.”

  “Aidan—”

  “Bloody good fight!” Deacon’s voice echoed off the stone walls in the silence of the duel’s aftermath. He stood on the path leading to the stables. Now, he made his way to them. The sun chose that moment to come out from behind a cloud, highlighting his brash red hair. “You bested him, Tiebauld. It wasn’t pretty, but God, man, it was neatly done.”

  “What are you doing out here?” Aidan asked. “You are supposed to be in hiding.”

  “I had to watch the fight.” He kicked the bottom of Lambert’s boot with his toe. “One Englishman dead. Soon there will be others,” he vowed to the clansman crowded in the courtyard.

  “Do you want to know of your brother?” Aidan asked coldly.

  Deacon grinned with his customary cocksureness. “I assumed because you were here and Lambert was deadly angry with you, Robbie is free. Am I right?”

  Aidan’s hand found Anne’s. He clasped it tightly. “Yes.”

  “Where is he?” Deacon asked. “We have plans to make. The time has come to strike.”

  “The English think Robbie is dead,” Aidan answered.

  The news startled Deacon as it did the others. The men moved closer to hear the tale.

  Deacon burst out laughing. “Dead? How did you manage that, Tiebauld? It must be quite a story.”

  A frown formed between Aidan’s eyes. “It is.” He paused and scrutinized the people around him. Anne tried to see what he saw. There were all the familiar faces of those who had become like family to her. The children had come outside. They hovered close to their parents, occasionally sneaking a brave peek at the major’s body. They would never forget this day as long as memory served.

  Aidan had become a legend.

  Anne could see it in his people’s expressions. They expected him to make everything right, to protect and guide them.

  She felt the weight he carried upon his shoulders. It had become her burden, too.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” Aidan said. “But what I say must not leave these walls. Robbie Gunn is

  alive. However, he’s in bad shape. When it grows dark,

  Hugh and Thomas will fetch him.”

  Fang spoke up. “Tell us the tale.”

  “I will,” Aidan promised. “But first, come into the hall and help yourself to ale. There is something I must do.” He nodded to two of the shepherd lads. “Take the major’s body to the chapel. We shall send word to the English he is here.”

  “Why not throw him over the cliff and say good riddance?” Deacon asked. “Let them worry over where he’s gone. Mayhap they will think he’s deserted.”

  Her husband physically recoiled from his suggestion. “We’re not animals. We”—he amended the word—“I owe the man a proper burial.”

  Still holding Anne’s hand, he started for the castle. The others fell into step behind him, chattering with excitement. They felt free to discuss the duel now. Each had seen it from a different perspective and wanted to share his or her thoughts.

  Deacon bragged that the swordfight had been an omen—and the young men around him agreed. They declared the English would be vanquished just as Aidan had defeated the better trained officer.

  Only Anne and Aidan were quiet.

  She wondered what her husband was thinking. She could not judge his mood. He released her hand when they entered the great hall. Norval met Aidan at the door with a fresh shirt.

  “It was a grand fight, Laird,” he said with new respect. “I’ve never seen the like.”

  Aidan didn’t answer, but threw the shirt over his head and tucked it in.

  Meanwhile, his clansmen filled the room. Some moved straight for the keg. Others gathered in groups, laughing and talking, the atmosphere festive.

  However, Aidan did not join them. He grabbed a wall torch from its sconce and lit it off the fire in the hearth.

  “Here’s ale for you, Tiebauld,” Deacon said, offering a foaming tankard. “And here is our first toast. To Laird Tiebauld of Clan Dunblack. He has returned the clan to its proud former glory!”

  His words were quickly hailed and seconded, but Aidan didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, he started for the side door leading to th
e kitchen walkway, the flaming torch held high in one hand.

  “Where are you going, Tiebauld?” Deacon asked, each fist holding a full tankard.

  “To destroy the gunpowder,” Aidan answered, and walked out the door.

  It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did, Deacon was the first to react. “Are you mad, Tiebauld? You can’t do it!” he shouted, but there was no answer. Aidan had already left.

  With a strong oath, Deacon tossed aside the tankards. He started after Aidan, slowing his step

  long enough to look at Anne. “It’s your fault,” he told her. “From the moment I clapped eyes on you, I knew you would do what you could to destroy him.” He raced out of the room after her husband.

  Everyone else stood rooted in stunned silence, except for Anne. She understood. She knew what Aidan was about to do and she would help him.

  Lifting her skirts, she ran after the two men, only steps behind Deacon. The others followed.

  Aidan made his way along the rocky path, heading for the cave. The torch’s flames danced and flapped in the strong wind off the water.

  As he skirted the edge of the beach, Deacon caught up with him. He grabbed Aidan’s arm and swung him around. Anne was not far behind. She stopped. Up above her, along the cliff path were all the oth-ers—Fang, Hugh, the clan.

  “Tiebauld, what is the matter with you?” Deacon shouted.

  Aidan wanted him to understand. “War isn’t the answer. It will destroy us all.”

  “We are already being destroyed,” Deacon retorted. “The Clearances are costing people their homes. Taxes and laws eat away at us. If we, the highlanders”—he thumped his chest for emphasis—“are to survive, we must fight back.”

  “You can’t win, Deacon, not this way.”

  “Of course we can win!” Deacon shouted, gesturing wildly. “Look at what you’ve done! You singlehandedly walked into an armed English camp and rescued Robbie. If you can do that, Tiebauld, then with an army of loyal Scotsmen behind you, you can defeat the English. You can run them all the way back to London just as the great Donner Black did! It’s in your blood.”

  “Deacon, England is the strongest country in the world. She will crush us, just as she did at Culloden. But this time, her vengeance will be a hundred times more terrible than it was in ’45. There will be nothing left.”