Tamed by the Barbarian

by June Francis

  ‘That was foolish,’ he said, his eyes cold. ‘Give that piece to me!’

  Cicely clenched her fingers on the parchment. ‘Certainly not. Now get out of here!’

  ‘You are in no position to give me orders. Your kinsmen have agreed to my becoming your husband. I’ll have the banns called in the week,’ he said with a laugh.

  Cicely’s distaste showed in her face. ‘I would rather die,’ she said scornfully, and before they could prevent her, she ran from the hall.

  ‘Follow her, man, and see where she goes,’ snapped Master Husthwaite. ‘Do not let her leave this house.’

  Instantly one of the brothers went after her.

  Realising that it was unlikely she would manage to reach the kitchen and escape that way, Cicely slipped through the door at the bottom of her staircase. She locked and bolted the door and fled up the steps. Once inside her bedchamber she bolted that door and sank on to her bed. Her heart was racing and it was a minute or so before it steadied its beat. Only then did she glance at the strip of parchment and knew for certain Husthwaite had lied. She would have recognised her father’s signature anywhere and this one was definitely a forgery.

  She slipped the parchment beneath her pillow and prayed that what the man had said about Matt was also false. A sob rose in her throat, but she forced it down. Now was not the time for tears. She had to escape, find Jack and tell him what had happened. If only Mackillin or—or Diccon was here, then they would deal with her enemies. As it was, she was going to have to cope with this herself.

  She went over to her window and opened a shutter. She could smell damp air and hoped it did not forecast rain. She hoisted herself up on to the sill and gazed down at the ground. There was a chance she could get down if only she had a rope. She thought for a moment, her eyes scanning the path that led to the village and the distant fells.

  Moving away from the window, she went over to the door and opened it. She could hear banging. They must be trying to knock the door down. A smile eased her mouth. The wood was extremely thick. Even with an axe it would take them several hours to break through. She closed her chamber door and locked it and sat on her bed and thought some more as shadows began to fill her room.

  She rose and took the sheets from her bed and knotted them together. Then she donned her sheepskin bags and put on her cloak, a hat and gloves. She pocketed her tinder box, a candle, her dagger and took coin from a small tin in the chest. She returned to the window and gazed out over the darkening landscape, but could see no one, so she tied one end of her improvised rope to the bedpost and then fed the other end through the opening. Taking a deep breath, she tested the rope was secure before climbing on to the window ledge. For a moment she sat there, praying that the knot would not come apart. Then she took a deep breath and was about to lower herself off the ledge when she heard a familiar voice enquire, ‘Where are you going to, my pretty lass?’

  Her heart jerked excitedly within her breast and she almost fell off the sill. ‘Mackillin!’ she cried.

  ‘Aye! Get back inside your chamber and take your rope with you. I’m coming up.’

  ‘B-but how c-can you with-without a-a rope?’ she stammered, trying to make out his face in the twilight.

  ‘I have a rope—remember that time in the snow? I’ll toss the end up to you. Attach it to the bed with a good strong knot. You can tie a decent knot, can’t you?’

  ‘Of a surety I can,’ she retorted in an indignant whisper. ‘Father taught me.’ She wondered how Mackillin came to be there when he was supposed to be in Kingston-on-Hull, but did not ask. ‘What’s wrong with my rope?’ she demanded. ‘I went to a great deal of trouble tying the sheets together.’

  He shook his head at her. ‘It won’t take my weight and I’ve no intention of crashing to the ground.’

  ‘Why can’t I come down to you?’

  ‘Because the front door is bolted and I want to get inside and surprise the curs.’

  She clung to her rope, blinking down at him. ‘You know who’s in the hall?’

  ‘I guess Master Husthwaite and two of your kinsmen who managed to slip away before we could stop them. Now stop blathering and be ready to catch my rope.’

  She did as he said, thinking that if her heart had not already reacted positively to the sound of his voice, then it would have done so when she saw him smiling up at her so confidently. He threw up the rope, but it took her several attempts to catch it. Removing her gloves, she set about securing the rope to the leg of her bed. Once she had done that, she informed him of it.

  He pulled hard on the rope and she heard the fibres stretch, but the knot held. For added safety she drew part of the rope about her hand, concerned that the rough stone of the sill might saw through the fibres.

  When he began to swarm up the rope, his weight was such that her arm was almost pulled from its socket and the bed moved. Determinedly, she hung on until he was through the window and only then did the burning ache in her shoulder ease. She could hear Mackillin’s rapid breathing as he loomed over her. Her own breath seemed to match his as he slipped the rope from about her hand. Before she realised what he was about his fingers grazed her skin. She winced as his fingertips explored the weal made by the rope.

  ‘Fool,’ he muttered, licking the abrasion and sending shimmers of sensation along her nerve ends.

  ‘Don’t do that! It’s naught to worry about.’ She realised she wanted him to take her in his arms so she could weep on his chest and blurt out her fears, but that would never do.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Have you salve? You must anoint it so the broken skin doesn’t putrefy.’ His voice was deep with concern.

  ‘I will later,’ she assured him, tugging her hand free. ‘Tell me, how did you know those men were downstairs? Master Husthwaite said that Matt never reached Kingston-on-Hull.’

  ‘He speaks false.’ Mackillin moved away to haul up his rope.

  She felt weak with relief. ‘Thank God!’

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Now light me a candle.’

  She did so, fixing it in a holder and watching him close the shutters before facing her. The flickering flame cast shadows over the planes of his rugged features, darkening the hollows beneath his cheekbones. She felt such a hunger for him that, without realising she was doing it, she licked her lips.

  He stared at her and swallowed, wanting to kiss her so badly that he had to look away. He placed the rope on the chest. ‘Sit down.’

  She hesitated before sinking on to the bed. ‘Why are you not on your way to Scotland?’

  Mackillin sat beside her. His instincts were still telling him to draw her into his arms and comfort her with such lovemaking that all fears would be forgotten in bodily delights, but that was out of the question. Not only because of all the reasons he had already voiced to himself, but also because he did not know how long the twins would obey him and stay in the village.

  ‘When Robbie caught sight of your kinsmen and Matt at the house of the shipping agent, I knew I had to change my plans.’

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ said Cicely, facing him and placing a hand on his surcoat. ‘So where is Matt now—and have you seen Jack?’

  ‘Aye. They’re both safe.’ He covered her hand with his, intending to remove it and put it on her lap, but instead he stroked the soft swelling at the base of her thumb with his own and drew circles on her palm with a tip of a finger. ‘Your father’s shipping agent is not to be trusted. He played not only your father false, but Matt, too.’

  ‘But why?’ she asked, knowing she should tug her hand free, but was so enjoying his gentle caress.

  ‘Your kinsmen apparently promised him a greater percentage of income on the goods he handled if he helped them by informing them of your father’s movements.’

  ‘But how did Husthwaite and my father’s cousins come to know each other?’

  ‘I don’t know. But somehow they all became acquainted and plotted to take over the business and this manor.’

 
; Cicely gulped and squeezed Mackillin’s hand. ‘If it were not for you, then Jack would be dead…and Matt, too. Where are they?’

  ‘In the village. I’ll explain the rest later. Suffice for you to know that we rescued Matt and met Jack and Tom in Knaresborough. We’d planned to confront Husthwaite at his house. Instead, his servant told us that he had come here with two of your kinsmen.’

  She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again there was such warmth in their depths that Mackillin guessed that if he kissed her now then she would respond.

  ‘I don’t know how to repay you,’ she said.

  He could think of a way, but knew that now was not the time for dalliance. He released her hand and stood up. ‘I’m sorry to tell you that most of your servants were killed when Matt was captured.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she cried, distressed not only with the thought of their sacrificing their lives for her brother, but she pitied their wives and children.

  ‘Don’t ask me why they didn’t kill Matt, too. Maybe they wanted a bargaining tool if their plan went wrong. Which reminds me, it’s time to deal with our enemies below.’ He went over to the door.

  She picked up the candle and followed him. ‘Are you completely alone, then?’ she whispered.

  ‘The twins would have come, but Jack’s arm would fail him in a fight and Matt sustained a small wound in the skirmish. I deemed it wiser that they stayed behind. I brought Robbie. He is keeping an eye on the back of the house and the stables if our enemies should try to escape.’

  Mackillin eased back the bolt and opened the door.

  All was quiet.

  Cicely supposed she had to accept that Mackillin knew what he was doing, but she was not going to allow him to face their enemies alone, so was at his heels as he made his way soft-footedly down the winding staircase.

  When they reached the bottom, she whispered, ‘Let me go first.’ He glanced over his shoulder and his expression told her exactly what he thought of that suggestion. ‘Consider, Mackillin, that my appearance will be of no surprise to whoever is there,’ she added. ‘He will be off guard and you’ll have the advantage.’

  Mackillin’s lips curled into a smile. ‘Your idea has merit.’

  She felt a glow inside her. ‘Of course it has. I’m no fool.’

  Another bend in the stairway and the door was in front of them. A panel had splintered, but the axe had not broken through yet. She descended to the door and Mackillin concealed himself behind it. She turned the key, eased back the bolt and opened the door. Instantly one of her Milburn kin pushed himself away from the wall and came towards her with a lantern. He seized her wrist and dragged her away from the door. They were only a little way along the passage when Mackillin struck and the man fell as if pole-axed.

  ‘Is he dead?’ asked Cicely, bending over him.

  Mackillin felt the man’s pulse and shook his head. ‘He’ll no stir for a while, though.’ She caught the glint of light reflecting off steel as he straightened and stared at her. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he only touched her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘You stay here,’ he said, before heading for the hall.

  Cicely wasted no time before following Mackillin. She did not consider Master Husthwaite much of a fighting man, but she remembered his use of a whip on her horse and feared he might pick up something heavy and hurl it at Mackillin whilst he fought her other kinsman. If she could do naught else, she could keep her eye on their so-called new man-of-business and try to thwart any such attempt.

  She entered the hall a few moments after Mackillin and was in time to see her kinsman start up from the table. She could not make out what he said, but presumed it was a warning to Master Husthwaite, who had his back to them. The latter staggered to his feet and it was clear to see that he’d been imbibing freely of her father’s wine. He blinked rapidly as if he could not believe his eyes when he saw Mackillin and clung to the table.

  Her kinsman drew his sword and, with a fearsome yell, charged towards them. Mackillin went forward to meet him. Her heart was in her mouth, but then she remembered what Jack had said about Mackillin being skilled with a blade; even so she thought it would be useful to have a weapon of her own. She rushed over to the fireplace and reached for the poker. As she picked it up something whizzed past her cheek and shattered on the hearth. Realising it was one of the precious Venetian drinking vessels her father had brought from that city eighteen months ago, she was furious. Only Husthwaite could be responsible and she was not going to let him get away with it.

  She flew at him with the poker. The breath whistled out of him as she caught him in the stomach with its point and he doubled over. Darting behind him, she hit him across the back and he sank on to the floor. Despite the temptation to place her foot on his neck and perform a victory dance, she made do with standing over him with her weapon at the ready should he attempt to rise. She risked a glance in Mackillin’s direction and saw that there was blood on his cheek, but his opponent was in a worse condition. He had been wounded in the arm and blood soaked his sleeve, trickling between his fingers. His grasp on the weapon’s hilt must have been slippery with blood, but he still attempted to stab Mackillin through the heart. It was her kinsman’s last mistake. Mackillin drove his sword under his guard and finished him off.

  As he slumped to the floor, Husthwaite attempted to rise, but Cicely threatened him with the poker. He lunged towards her, but she whacked him on the shoulder. Then Mackillin was beside her and the man sank back. She glanced at his lordship as he wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve. He grinned. ‘I’m glad you’re on my side, lass.’

  She smiled. Reaching up, she touched Mackillin’s cut cheek and felt a muscle quiver beneath her fingers. ‘I’m sorry my kinsman wounded you,’ she said with concern. ‘I’ll tenditlater.’

  He grasped her wrist. ‘It’s but a scratch. Think instead about what we should do with Husthwaite and the man in the passage.’

  ‘Perhaps we could tie them up with your rope and lock them in the laundry room until we can take them to the sheriff,’ she suggested.

  Husthwaite started up. ‘You had no right to attack me,’ he snarled. ‘I came here on legitimate business.’

  ‘I have every right,’ said Cicely, her eyes flashing blue fire. ‘The signature on that so-called will of my father’s is a forgery. You thought to get your filthy hands on my dowry as well as assist my kinsmen to cheat my brothers of their inheritance. You will be punished for that.’

  Husthwaite let out a string of curses, but Mackillin cut him short with a blow to the jaw that knocked him out.

  ‘Well, that finished that conversation,’ said Cicely, a twinkle in her eyes.

  ‘He insulted you,’ he murmured. ‘Now let’s see how your kinsman in the passage does.’

  They found him stirring and Cicely ran upstairs to her bedchamber for Mackillin’s rope. When she returned, the man was sullen and bloody of face and she presumed he had fought Mackillin whilst she was upstairs. He struggled as he was tied up, but was overcome and placed in the laundry room. When they returned to the hall, to their dismay there was no sign of Husthwaite.

  ‘I should not have left him alone,’ said Mackillin, annoyed with himself. ‘But if he’s made for the stable then hopefully Robbie will have dealt with him. I’ll go and see.’ He smiled down at her. ‘In the meantime, lass, a hot drink wouldn’t go amiss.’

  She agreed, so hurried to the kitchen where she found Cook slumped in a chair. At first she thought he was dead, but he proved to be only unconscious. She opened the kitchen door and looked outside. It was as dark as pitch and the wind blew rain into her face, but above the sound of the storm she thought she heard the sound of hoof beats.

  She called out and a few moments later Mackillin appeared, looking grim-faced. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘He surprised Robbie and knocked him out. The cur’s escaped. Although he’s a wily devil and could have set the horse free to deceive us and be hid
ing. It’s turning into a filthy night and he might not be prepared to risk the journey to Knaresborough. I’ll check the outhouses.’

  ‘I’ll fetch a lantern,’ said Cicely, hurrying back into the kitchen.

  He took the light from her and told her to lock the door behind her. A sound from the kitchen drew her attention and she realised that Cook was coming round.

  She went over to him. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Just a sore head, mistress,’ he said, gingerly feeling the lump on his head. ‘I’ve no notion why they hit me.’

  ‘Probably so you could not help me. Mackillin has killed one of my kinsmen and another is locked in the laundry room. Unfortunately, Husthwaite managed to escape, but his lordship is checking the outhouses in case he is lurking there.’

  Cook’s face lit up. ‘His lordship is here. That’s good.’ Then his expression changed. ‘But he’ll be hungry and those rogues ate yours and Master Jack’s supper.’

  Cicely wished she had Husthwaite at her mercy so she could have given him another whack with the poker for eating the food she could have shared with Mackillin. They would have to make do with bread, cheese, eggs and apples. At least she would be able to make Mackillin a hot drink.

  By the time his lordship returned, half carrying Robbie, she had mulled wine and set the table with the simplest of fare. As she watched him lay Robbie on a cushioned settle, she said, ‘I presume you saw no sign of Husthwaite?’

  Mackillin shook his head.

  He looked wet and weary and she suggested that he sit down and eat supper. ‘You should get out of those damp clothes as soon as possible or you’ll catch a chill,’ she said solicitously.

  He emptied the vessel of mulled wine thirstily before saying, ‘I’ve been wetter than this, lass, and survived, but I appreciate what you say.’ He reached for bread and cheese, thinking that he was enjoying her fussing over him.