by Mary McCall
"'Tis what I asked. ‘Tis the truth, the old bat had a problem with cleanliness. She never let us have enough water for a whole bath except once a month, and one of the sisters told me that we had to keep our clothes on. You ever hear anything so asinine, Lion?” She twisted and looked up at him.
Leonce frowned. “Are you saying she whipped you because you took your clothes off on bath day?"
"Nay.” She shook her head and leaned back against his chest. “I got there the day after bath day, so I had a whole month to go. By the fourth day, I was so cursed hot and sticky that I jumped the priory wall and bathed in a nearby stream. Figured long as I was there, might as well eat a few fish.” Her eyes narrowed. “That rotten crone did not whip me either. I grabbed that lash from her hands and had it around her throat afore she could blink. I tied her to a rafter and told her that her penance would be not sitting until somebody found her. I left her room and told everyone the prioress wanted to remain alone in silent meditation for the rest of the day. Then I went back to the cave. ‘Twas too cursed cold sleeping without Diable anyway."
Leonce burst into laughter along with everyone else. “You have too passionate a nature to stay closed away in a priory, wife."
She twisted and smiled up at him, whispering, “Promise you'll not add more days to my week because of my feet, else I might become forgetful and think I'm married to a monk."
He kissed her nose. “Are you ready for your bath, Lady Soot?"
"I want a promise from you first."
"I promise I'll teach you a way I can keep you off your feet."
Hope blushed bright red under the soot. “Glad of that, but ‘tis not the promise."
"Ask me."
"When you face Baron Nevilles, you must promise me that you'll remember three things. He has no honor, so you must not let yours interfere. Justice belongs in the Highlands. And the last thing I wish you to keep in the forefront of your mind is the object of the game."
Leonce nodded once. “'Tis a chieftain's promise."
"What is the object, Papa?” Bertie asked.
A predatory fire sizzled through Leonce. “To win."
Every warrior in the hall braced his stance. Hands caressed weapons.
"When do we leave?” Bowyn called from the doorway.
"Aye, lad. Have you picked the time?” Aonghus asked in a fiery tone.
Hope glared at the crowd. “You're bloody well not going anywhere!"
"That is not for you to decide, wife.” Leonce tightened his arm about her waist.
"It bloody well is!” Hope squirmed in his lap. “'Tis my game, and this is the best part!"
"You gave me the game when you brought back Justice."
"Nay! I only let you play. You'll be shortening the best part of my revenge against that buggerin’ boar if you kill him now."
Her words reminded Leonce of old Elda's secret recipe. He grinned. “'Tis good torture for the evil baron from his daughter. I'll allow you another month. Then we are after him, and the game will be finished."
"But the bait is out, and he'll not come till spring. Why not wait?"
"How do you know ‘twill be in the spring and not afore the end of the summer, Lady MacPherson?” Malcolm asked.
Hope turned towards the king. “Well, Sire, for all that Baron Nevilles is evil and cunning, he is also superstitious. And his lazy, slothful favorite does not want him near here, so will tell him that he can only win if he fights the seventh octave after the winter solstice or some such nonsense."
Malcolm raised a puzzled brow. “Why does his favorite not want him here?"
"Jealousy, Sire."
Leonce frowned, considering what she had labeled the baron's twisted nature. “Why would his favorite be jealous of the baron coming after you?"
"Zounds, Lion!” Hope exclaimed. “Do you not know the reason for that cursed massacre?"
Hope twisted on Leonce's lap and gaped at him. He shook his head in reply to her question. Hope looked as though she'd die of embarrassment rather than tell the reason before an audience. She turned back around, bowed her head, and clasped her hands in her lap. “My feet have soaked long enough. I wish to go to our chamber now."
"Finish it,” he ordered, with a gritty edge to his voice.
"Please, Leonce. I have an urgent need to tend, and I can tell you after."
"Nay, wife,” he said in a tone as chilling as the raw north wind. “The clan has a right to know the reason for the slaughter."
"Aye,” a warrior called. “'Twas my brother with the hazel eyes and red hair."
"And my father with the gray beard,” another clansman added.
Clansmen on all sides called out, demanding an answer.
Leonce slipped his fingers under her chin and brought her face around. “Your chieftain demands an answer. What was the reason?"
"'Twas you, Leonce,” Hope answered in a shaky voice. “Baron Nevilles lusted after you."
The tic jumped in his cheek. “What!"
She cringed, pulled her feet from the bucket, and tried fleeing his wrath. Leonce tightened his hold about her waist and slammed her back against his chest. “Let go of me, MacPherson. I'll bloody well—"
"Never lie to your chief!” he said, over enunciating each word in a menacing manner.
Leonce lifted Hope and swung her in the air as she started to fall forward, looking as if she was just about to pass out. She landed hard, half facing Leonce with her dripping blue-and-red feet hanging over the chair arm.
"The truth now, Hope, and look at me."
Hope breathed in and looked up. “'Twas the truth, I swear. The night I was leaving to follow Cassie, I sneaked into the donjon for food. Percy and my cursed father were arguing. You had accompanied your father and brothers to London. The baron saw you and decided he wanted to...I do not know what happened. Something was said about the Norman king being furious about the insult. William doubled his share of the baron's holding and banned him from court for two years. Percy yelled at him for looking at foreign flesh when he could have Percy anytime he wanted, then told him he should lay low until the scandal died. But the baron raged and said he was coming to kill you.
"And his rage was terrible when he found you gone after the ambush. He searched for you for three days. Then Harry flew over. Percy told him ‘twas a bad omen and they should leave. My cursed father wanted to stay and keep looking. Percy told him that when Harry flew over he had a vision of the baron's victory over The Lion, and ‘twas in a different place and season. They finally left. Every time my cursed father spoke of returning, I had Harry circle the holding so he would see the bad omen. ‘Twas there that Harry went a few days after we wed. I planned to send him every month until winter so I could keep the baron on edge. ‘Twas part of the game, and I...I wish your prayer had been answered, and I was not seeing you now. You're terrifying when you're enraged."
"Keep Harry here,” he ordered in a seething voice.
"Could be a cursed problem with that order,” Hope said tentatively.
His nostrils flared. “You'll not disobey me."
"Now I'll not, but...when...when...as we..."
"Spit it out!"
"As we rode back to the keep, I signaled to Harry. He's already left."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Thirty-One
* * * *
Leonce nudged his stallion through the overgrown forest trail. Anticipation goaded him to hurry home, but he would arrive soon enough. He wouldn't risk injury to his mount on the rugged descent. Only a meadow, a hill and another meadow to go. He would be there by mid-afternoon.
The MacPhersons had raided the Crawfords. Leonce grinned. Those prissy Lowlanders probably hadn't stopped trembling. Once finished, his rage dwindled back to low-burning embers. Now the lion could return to his pride and seek out his mate. Ah, but his lioness would purr tonight, and the lusty drawing in his loins would be relieved.
He grimaced, remembering the fury that had seized him after he lowe
red Hope onto their bed. She gazed up at him through shame-filled eyes and said, “I'm so sorry I fell asleep, Leonce."
His gentle wife accepted all of the blame for a slaughter in which she had taken no part. Nay, ‘twas not true. She had experienced an agonizing role—innocent victim.
He wanted to assure her that his wrath was for her father, but that meekly uttered apology...God's teeth, she sounded as if she didn't expected forgiveness, even for a crime she didn't commit. Love and loyalty were so alien to Hope that she, who could give them in abundance, didn't expect them in return. The very man who should have nurtured and protected her had done more than beat her. He had made her feel unworthy. Leonce realized that was the main reason for her games. Hope needed to win not just to know she could survive, but also to know she had value.
The protective instincts of the lion had surged. Had the baron been present, Leonce would have killed him. And damn if he hadn't just promised her another month for her game. With the urge to kill so strong, he escaped his chamber, sparing Hope the terrifying depths of his rage.
Malcolm rode out with him. Even his liege recognized her value. Leonce grinned, recalling the king's parting words: “Never think of Nevilles when you look at her. She is a Highlander through and through. I can see it in her eyes. And if I ever march against William, I'll be taking her with me so she can send his bleeding gullet back where it belongs."
Leonce's musings carried him to the meadow in front of his keep. Ian and Aonghus converged upon him from different directions. They met near the center of the field.
Ian jerked his mount to a halt. “Leonce, when are you going to do the Highlands the favor of taming your damned wife?"
"What happened?” Leonce asked as the other MacPherson raiders reined in behind him.
"She is raiding on the Frasers,” Ian spat, calming his jittery roan.
"She what!"
Ian favored him with a tight smile. “'Tis poor raiding to be sure, but she has half of the Frasers wanting us to feud. Cass has the other half on her side, so the clan is fighting each other."
"Chief! Chief! Lad, she is gone!” Aonghus called, drawing rein and struggling for breath.
"So I gather,” Leonce said dryly. “How long?"
"Four days now.” Aonghus scratched his grizzled head and squinted at Leonce. “Said since you wouldn't forgive her for falling asleep, she was leaving to start a new clan made up of MacPherson castoffs. They're called MacFurys."
Ian grunted. “'Tis the name she gave me too. She came to see Cass afore the two weeks were up. When I told her nay, your wife stood on her mount's bare back, put her hands on her hips, and said, ‘Well then, Fraser, I guess your clan and mine are bloody well feuding.’ I told her I would have to hear that from her chieftain, and she informed me ‘twould not be necessary because she is a MacFury now. They have a chieftess, and that is her."
"Did you say a chieftess?” Leonce asked, appalled.
"Aye. And if I want to settle this, I have to let her see Cass.” Ian raked his fingers through his hair. “I cannot back down. I'm still sore at myself for changing the punishment from one month to two weeks because Cass cried."
Leonce sighed. “I have left Hope on her own too much since she arrived. She'll settle in after I take her in hand."
"May have a problem there, lad,” Aonghus said. “The MacFurys are feuding with the MacPhersons too. Raided us afore they left. Took Melba."
"Davey's bitch?"
"Aye. The lass tended that bad horse bite to her rump, and the ole’ dog has loved the lass ever since. Just as they were riding off, she called out, and Melba went running. Told Davey they were taking her because they would be raiding sheep, and if they ended up with a whole flock, they would need the best sheepdog."
Leonce wiped a hand over his face. “Just how many MacFurys are there?"
"Two. Bertie saw her leaving and threw a fit. The lass didn't want to take him, but Bertie cried and said he would follow her. She gave in. I'm just glad Courageous wasn't around. He would have gone too."
"Do you know where the MacFurys are living?” Leonce gritted out as his blood ran hot.
"Nay, she lost us fast, and do not look so angry,” Aonghus said defensively. “We have clan out looking. The lass said she hid from her cursed father for eight years and we wouldn't find her unless she wanted to be caught. ‘Tis a part of her game."
"My wife thinks raiding is a game!” Muscles tensed and veins bulged throughout Leonce's body. All the astonished raiders gasped at her folly.
"Aye.” Aonghus tightened his reins to calm his mount. “She told Freya that since she wasn't allowed to play bait games, and you were mad at her, she was making up a new game. Says there is another kind of beast that prowls these hills. The game is called Highlander."
Ian raised his eyes to heaven. “God save Scotland from your wife, Leonce. What is this game about, Aonghus?"
"Feuding and raiding. So far she has gotten two sheep, a pig, a goat, a chicken and Melba. The lass rides up in the light of day, and I think they are giving her the stock, lad—thinking she is their Lady MacPherson and not knowing she is a raiding MacFury.” Aonghus shook his head. “Also raided the kitchen the night afore last. Made off with two wineskins, six apples, two loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese and a pot of brose. Told Jeannie just because they were cursed heathens didn't mean they were only supposed to eat wild game."
Leonce raked his fingers through his long mane, tempted to pull it out. “Are you going to tell me what she took from the Frasers, Ian?"
"Aye, and I'm wanting to tell you.” Ian's eyes flashed with irritation. “A lambkin, a ewe, two chickens, a sow, Logan's favorite Clydesdale and a sack of grain. She told Logan's wife that if she was raiding away his bloody horse, she couldn't let the bloody creature starve to death. Logan is the one pushing hardest for the feud. I've heard your wife talk, but Logan hasn't. He thinks the animal is injured."
Leonce stared at Ian, loose-jawed.
"Your woman, Leonce, rides up on that black beast with that killer bird on her shoulder, wearing nothing but a plaid—in a man's fashion."
"She what!"
"According to Chieftess MacFury, the only clan not allowed to see her legs is the MacPhersons. She also mixed up some war paint. She tells my people she is a raiding MacFury, and their chieftain knows what he has to do to get their stock back. They are so shocked by the sight of her along with that brazen audacity, she's able to grab what she wants and leave. She has some kind of gift with animals too. If any of them resist, she just smiles and speaks in their ears. The damned things follow her."
Leonce decided if he heard one more outrageous act, his cheek would explode from the throbbing tic.
"Do not be too angry with the lass,” Aonghus pleaded. “When she came for Jamie's goat, she tended a cut on his arm."
Leonce glowered. “'Tis just too ludicrous, Aonghus. How can you not find her with all that stock and a damned Clydesdale?"
"Do not blame Aonghus,” Ian countered. “Frasers are out looking too. She has a way of vanishing in the forest. I got near her one time. She said, ‘Protect me, Diable,’ and that demon beast turned into a raving maniac."
Pounding hooves approached. Leonce glanced across the meadow. The MacDougall rode toward him, and Leonce groaned. “What did she take, MacDougall?"
"A piglet,” the old chieftain said, coming to a halt. “Said ‘twas too far back to take anything bigger. What is she supposed to be doing?"
Aonghus snorted. “The lass is playing a game and says there is only one rule, which I told her was ridiculous because raiding has no rules."
"What is the rule?"
"No traps, lad."
Leonce stilled. “Did you say no traps?"
"Aye.” Aonghus cocked his head and peered at Leonce.
Leonce threw back his head, and his whole body shook from the force of his laughter.
"This is no cause for mirth, MacPherson.” The MacDougall scowled. “My clan wants to know if yo
u have restarted the feud."
"MacDougall is right,” Ian agreed. “You cannot let her keep playing this game. I cannot put the Frasers off much longer."
"Aye, lad. ‘Tis serious. What are you going to do?"
"Go on the prowl,” Leonce whispered, then raised an amused gaze. “Do not fash. You'll get your stock back. My lady isn't playing Highlander."
"Then she is faking it pretty well,” Ian said sarcastically.
"Oh nay, Ian. This is part of a bigger game. ‘Tis called lion-bait."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Thirty-Two
* * * *
Hope sat on a limb of a mountainside tree, watching the men. A grin tickled along her lips. “The bait is cast, Lion. Catch me if you can."
Harry warbled beside her. She stroked his neck. “Aye, my fierce warrior, ‘tis time. Guide our chief to me."
The eagle soared toward Leonce. Hope descended the tree and leapt astride Diable from a lower branch.
The race was on.
When she slowed Diable in the early dusk, Leonce pursued faster than expected. Hope dismounted and patted Diable's neck. “My thanks, friend. Hide quickly."
Snagging a limb with her whip, Hope dashed up a tree with a long, foliage-covered branch overhanging the trail and hid in the greenery. “Do I smell a cursed MacPherson on MacFury land?"
"Aye, you do, MacFury. The MacPherson is provoked and coming to end this feud."
About twenty yards separated them from the sound of his voice. “We are heathen Highlanders up here, MacPherson. We may bloody well roast you next to a Fraser pig and eat you for supper."
"Then The MacPherson would win, because The MacFury will choke on this cursed rump."
Hope grinned. Thank the Good Lord, Leonce was playing. He came into view, casting a vigilant gaze about. Hope silently snorted. Her prey didn't have the good sense to look up. As he passed beneath her, she sprang from her perch and slammed into his right shoulder. He fell to the side of his mount with Hope on top of him. His stomach hit the ground with a thud, knocking the breath from him, and his mount skittered away.
