by Mary McCall
Mildread's eyes clouded with fear.
"Bertie made me promise not to tell his father ‘twas you who turned him over. But heed me, Mildread, for your life depends on it. Bertie is my son. If you ever again harm him in any way, I will rip out your cursed hair, use it to bind your wrists, throw you into a rotten bog and let the Good Lord's earth snuff the breath from your body. Do you understand, or shall I bloody well demonstrate?"
Mildread nodded curtly.
Hope released the lash and went to Bertie. His cheeks were tear-streaked, and one reddened eye was swelling shut. She gently prodded his lip and eye, assuring herself that the injuries would not need cutting to release the blood seeping under his skin. Then she grinned and lightly knuckled his chin. “Zounds, Bertie! ‘Twill be a shiner for sure. Mayhap this nice woman will get you some cold soaks to take out the sting. Then later you can show it off."
"Aye, milady. I'll see to it. I was going to the laird's chamber with a tray from Jeannie so you could break your fast. ‘Tis on the table if you want it."
"My thanks.” Hope smiled at the kindly middle-aged woman. “You must be Freya. Bertie told me—"
"The MacPherson delays my wedding and installs this common whore in my place!” Mildread shouted, her claws curling at her sides.
Hope stiffened, and her smile tensed. Of course everyone thought her a whore. Nothing she could say would change their opinions. She was half Norman and had just spent five nights in the chieftain's bed. With head held high, she faced her antagonist. “The name is Lady Hope, and you are mistaken if you think me common."
She walked to the table and regally inclined her head to Bowyn. She tore a chunk from the loaf on the tray and picked up an apple. Then she headed toward the front door as grandly as a chatelaine. Upon reaching the portal, she turned back and narrowed her eyes at Mildread. The harpy couldn't be trusted. “Bertie, stay away from that woman. Let Freya tend your face. You,” she ordered Bowyn, “will protect him until I return."
"Aye, milady. Where do you go?” Bowyn asked, concern heavy in his tone.
"To bathe at the falls.” Hope looked at Mildread and added spitefully, “Tell The MacPherson he is welcome to join me if he returns afore I do."
Sweeping out of the keep, Hope released a melodious call, attracting the attention of several clansmen who eyed her contemptuously. Muttering to herself about cantankerous Highlanders and taking a bite from the bread, she descended the steps. She looked up with a smile when pounding hooves approached. Diable halted in front of her, snorting. She hugged his neck. “'Tis good to see you too, my beauty. Come eat your treat."
The stunned clansmen watched the savage horse that had sent Alan to his bed calmly eat an apple from Hope's hand while she consumed her bread. After finishing her repast, she kissed the stallion's nose. He kissed her cheek and then pawed the earth.
"Nay, my friend. I'm too tired for a run. Let me up easy, and we'll have a nice canter."
Stretching out his forelegs, the horse lowered his back so she could slip astride with minimal effort, then raised back to his full height. She grabbed a handful of mane and nudged Diable with her knees. The pair headed down the mountain.
* * * *
The clansmen stared with grudging admiration after the beauty who could so easily tame the beast.
* * * *
Darach caught up to his chieftain in the southwest forest and gave him the news that Mildread was at the keep hitting Bertie. With fury throbbing in his jaw, Leonce raced home with Aonghus in hot pursuit.
The scene that greeted Leonce as he strode into the hall did nothing to appease his ire. Bertie sat on a table, tilting his head back. Freya hovered over him, laying wet cloths on his face. Bowyn stood with his arms crossed and hands fisted, frowning at the pair.
"What goes on here, Bowyn?” Leonce demanded, approaching the group.
"'Twas a visit from your betrothed, Chief. Seems she isn't too fond of your bastard son.” Bowyn gestured toward Bertie.
Bertie straightened his head, and the rag fell from his face. “She called me no-good and filthy too, Papa, so you got to go chew her cursed rump."
Leonce took Bertie's head in his hands and examined the injury. His voice became frigidly calm, and he felt his cheek scar tingle. “Mildread did this?"
"Isn't it great?” Bertie grinned smugly. “Mam says I'm going to have a shiner, and I can show it off after the sting goes away."
"Then lean back and let me put the cloth on, or ‘twill still be stinging on the morrow.” Freya pushed the boy's head back and replaced the cool rag over the swollen eye. “Mildread came with her dander up wanting to see you, Chief, and started hitting on him."
"Where is she?"
"Edgar arrived shortly behind her and took her home,” Bowyn replied. “She had slipped his net. From what I gather, ‘twas Mildread who gave Bertie to the Norman. Edgar said he'll be giving a full accounting to The MacDougall, but doubts if it will help. The man dotes on your betrothed."
"She is no longer my betrothed,” Leonce ground out, tempted to knock his commander into the next year.
Bowyn grinned. “I figured that when you made the other claim. Just wanted to hear you say the words. The tides of relief washing through me are damn near euphoric."
"He's leaving out the best part,” Bertie called through the cloth. “Mam wrapped her whip around Mildread's cursed throat and told the crone that she'd toss her in a bog if she hurts me anymore.” Bertie straightened, and the rag fell again. “What's the difference betwixt a whore and a common whore? Mildread says Mam's a whore, but she's not, is she?"
"Nay!” The tic pulsated savagely in Leonce's cheek.
"I didn't bloody well think so. Mam only told Mildread that she wasn't common and didn't say anything about the whore part.” Bertie let Freya tilt his head back and replace the cloth.
Leonce raked his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his rage before checking on Hope. “I cannot believe the lass had the strength to get out of bed. Is she resting now?"
"She went out to...” Bowyn paled. “Saint Columba! She went to the falls."
Aonghus swore and rushed toward the door. “Then she is outside the boundaries of the traps with that murdering rogue, lad. We'd best find her fast."
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Chapter Eight
* * * *
"Zounds! ‘Tis cold! ‘Tis cold! ‘Tis cursed bloody cold!” Hope came out of the water shivering. She looked at the ocean-blue pool with the gentle currents at the base of the gusty waterfall and wondered how a scene so breathtaking could make her think of hell freezing over.
Diable sat on his haunches, guarding her, and favored her plight with whinnying laughter. Hope stepped onto the lush, grassy bank surrounding the water's edge and glared at her friend's wit. Her father had acquired the carbon-black stallion as a yearling four springs past and with constant abuse had turned him into a savage. Diable escaped a year later and wreaked havoc about the Nevilles's holding, so the baron hunted him. Hope saved him from a festering arrow wound. Diable thanked her by becoming her loyal protector, friend and confidant.
Having combed her hair free of tangles while in the water, she held out her five-foot-long mane and wrung out the water on Diable's nose. He snorted and shook his head, then gave her his it-was-so-funny neigh. She grinned at his jest, sat down cross-legged beside him, and began the arduous chore of fashioning a long braid. She took a deep breath and let the crisp, clean aroma of the woods, wildflowers and water soothe her.
"Know what, Diable? I'm weak and weary. What think you if I beg The Lion to let me stay a few days to regain my strength?"
Hope nodded at the neighed response. “You're right. I did send Harry for Cassie, but we do not know how far he had to go, or how long it will take him to find her once he gets there. ‘Tis the truth; if I had to ride you farther than The MacPherson's front door, I would bloody well fall from fatigue."
Diable nudged her shoulder and snorted.
"Aye, we could stay here, but Harry thinks I'm there. And ‘twas nice sleeping on a soft mattress and having The Lion rub my back."
Rising up to all fours, Diable pawed the earth, tossed his head and snorted. Then he paced and grumbled.
"But you know they wouldn't let you inside. How about one night? Please, Diable?"
He snorted with a sigh and dipped his head, appearing every inch the put-upon male.
"My thanks, my beauty.” Hope tied off the end of her long braid with a leather string and struggled to rise. Diable moved beside her and lowered his head, allowing her to hug his neck. He pulled her up, and she kissed his cheek. “You are the best friend a girl could have."
Hope pulled on her gown and slipped the comb into her pocket. She grimaced as the belt settled over the fur-padded wound. After checking the security of her whip and dirk, she walked to the water's edge, picked up the soap, and put it into her pocket. Dizziness assailed her in a spiraling rush. She wavered and lifted her fingers to her brow. Diable rushed to her side.
"'Tis all right. I just need a nap. Let's go back."
Diable again lowered himself, assisting her ascent. They started down the forest trail and soon entered the purple-strewn meadow. Hope looked toward the keep and halted Diable, staring slack-jawed at the sight before her. “Zounds! He is turning the whole bloody mountain into a fortress."
The wall of the outer curtain rose at least thirty-five feet, stretched all the way across the meadow, and disappeared from view into the forest on either side. It was broken only at the opening next to the fore building that guarded the main trail up to the keep. A portcullis could drop to seal off access to the mountain. Drum towers had been erected about forty yards apart along the wall, and current construction of battlements along the catwalk was in progress. The dwellings and keep were hidden from view within the trees beyond. The MacPherson must have had every man not raiding the borders working on the fortifications for this much progress to occur in just two years.
Hope knew exactly why he was raising such an impenetrable defense. Fear shuddered through her. The Lion would kill her if he found out what she had done.
The wind wafted a calming fragrance beneath her nostrils. A vision of her mother before that woman's break with reality flitted through her mind. Hope heard her mother's soft burr in her head. Whenever I was afraid, I would roll in the heather. ‘Tis the truth, my Angelaspera. The wonderful fragrance has magic powers and frightens ghoulies away.
Joy bubbled through her. She had made it. She was in the Highlands and smack in the middle of a field of heather. “Let me down, Diable. I'm going to roll the ghoulies away.” After dismounting, she turned to him. “Go graze a while, my friend. I'm of a mind to linger."
Diable trotted back into the woods. She sank down upon her knees, knowing her friend would return when she called him. Resting her hands on her thighs, she leaned forward and inhaled deeply. Then she leaned back and allowed the soothing aroma to ease her weariness.
The muscles bunched in her neck. Hope glanced about. Two men rode toward her, wearing plaids she didn't recognize. She pushed up from the ground. A cramp twisted inside her right thigh at the spot where her father had kicked her, and a strangled cry broke from her lips.
Her mind channeled all efforts away from flight toward relief of the torture, and she massaged her leg. Just as the knot began to release, a man's voice penetrated her brain.
"Hold my reins, Davey. I'll be picking this flower."
"Only if you promise to share, Fletcher. I wouldn't mind tasting the nectar from that blossom myself."
Two big hands drew her into a demanding embrace. She struggled against the giant with waning strength. He caught her wrists, immobilizing her arms behind her back. A wave of nausea washed over her from the noxious fumes of the brew he had consumed.
She kicked at her captor. “Let me go, you cursed hulk!"
"Nay, cailen. Not until we've shared a few moments of bliss."
Full, ruddy lips lowered toward hers. Hope turned her head, receiving the assault on her cheek. Mayhap a bluff would scare him off. “Know you not where you are, pig? The MacPherson will bloody well rip out your heart for this."
The man frowned, and his face split into a wide grin. “I think not. The MacPherson would never allow any woman of his to dress in rags."
He shifted his embrace, taking both her wrists in one hand. Her arm pressed against her wound, and she closed her eyes against the pain. Despair taunted her, filling her head with thunder. Another big hand grasped the back of her head, forcing her face toward his.
"Hold, Fletcher!” his companion shouted. “Trouble is coming."
"Unhand her, Fletcher Gordon!"
Relief surged through Hope at the angry command. She opened her eyes and gloated at the big lummox holding her.
"Stay out of this, MacPherson. You can have her when we're done.” Fletcher didn't take his eyes off her face.
She realized the thunder was the sound of pounding hooves once they halted. A thud resounded as two big feet hit the ground.
"Get your damn hands off my wife!"
Surprise widened Hope's eyes before she could hide it from her assailant.
Fletcher frowned. “Is it true, cailen? Is The MacPherson your husband?"
Zounds! Why did The Lion not just pull the cursed sot off her? She looked toward Leonce. He stood braced for battle. His tawny mane flowed wildly behind him. Fury pulsated in his cheek as his palm hovered over the grip of his sword. Bloody rot! The Lion would kill the fool if he didn't release her, and that didn't seem likely unless she agreed. What was she in the middle of?
She met Leonce's gaze. Amber eyes captured hers with a fierce intensity, commanding her to heed his will.
"She is taking too long, MacPh—"
"The MacPherson is my husband,” she said in a mystified voice.
Abruptly freed from the embrace, Hope stumbled backward and grimaced as she caught her balance upon her sore thigh.
Fletcher faced Leonce and braced his stance, though he grinned. “I think I've been duped into witnessing, MacPherson, so I'll offer felicitations on your marriage. No offense intended toward you or your lady."
After a tension-filled moment, Leonce nodded once. “You will leave my land now and thank the Almighty I do not cut out your heart."
Fletcher gained his mount and continued with his companion on their journey.
Noticing for the first time Aonghus and Bowyn astride their mounts, Hope's cheeks burned. She glanced toward Leonce and then looked away. Zounds! This was probably the kind of situation he expected his enemy's daughter to court. She owed him for getting her out of it too. Might as well get the humiliation over with, but she wasn't going to look at him while she did.
"My thanks, MacPherson, for saving me. I do not usually get caught, but I'm exhausted. I got a cursed cramp and couldn't run. I sent Diable off because of the heather, so he wasn't here to guard me. I have never rolled away the ghoulies...Are you turning the mountain into a fortress? ‘Tis an—"
Leonce cut off her ramblings by grasping her chin and pressing his lips against hers. A tingle shot down to the pit of her stomach.
She jerked back, staring at him in confusion. “Why did you do that?"
"To seal the marriage. ‘Twas your wedding kiss."
Confusion turned into worry. “'Tis a poor jest!"
"I'm not jesting."
She shook her head and stepped back. “You must be. I'll not wed you."
Irritation furrowed his brow. “You just did."
"I bloody well didn't mean to!” she wailed, moving farther away.
With twinkles dancing in his eyes, Aonghus nudged his mount forward. “The lad said you were his, lass, and you agreed. That makes you married. ‘Tis the way of things here."
"Nay!” Hope shook her head and retreated farther. “We had no priest."
"Don't need one.” Bowyn grinned. “Not enough of them to go around, so the Church allows two Christian witnesses to va
lidate the pledge. Aonghus and I both heard you agree. Welcome to the clan, Lady MacPherson."
Hope looked from the two grinning men on horseback to Leonce. Horror rippled through her. She didn't want to die today, but she had vowed to take her own life before allowing any man control over her.
She rested her hand on the hilt of her dirk and glanced about. Finding no escape, she gripped the weapon and returned her gaze to her adversary. The Highlander stood a head taller than her. He was all brawn too. She could never survive a punch from his massive fists. The man was too bloody big!
Rot! She was giving him the pleasure of seeing her fear. Hope spun around, hugged her waist, and ordered her frenzied mind back under her control.
An hour. She would give herself one hour before she did the deed. After all, he had been nice to her, had even helped her. She would rethink her vow and decide later whether to keep it or not.
* * * *
Leonce couldn't imagine what was going through Hope's mind, but she appeared terrified. A desire to comfort her warred with his offended pride that she should resist the honor he bestowed upon her. The woman wore rags and lived in a damn cave. She should be shouting with joy and throwing herself at him in gratitude. Then again, he was a stranger, and she hadn't received the best of treatment from men.
Comfort won the battle. Leonce stepped toward her and stopped as Hope's shoulders straightened. She faced him with her hands clasped loosely in front of her and with the most serene expression he'd ever seen upon her face.
"I suppose you'll give me no choice but to believe this jest is true."
That statement was a damn insult. Leonce stared at her in icy silence.
"My mother died when I was young, and I was not raised to be a noble chieftain's wife. I would appreciate it if you would tell me what you expect of me so I do not anger you and give you reason to beat me."
Leonce narrowed his eyes at the affront. “Do you deliberately provoke me?"
"Nay, I just..."
