by Mary McCall
"My worst nightmare went away,” she said in a surprised voice.
"The one about your mother's murder?"
"Nay, I gave that to The MacDougall. The one where I am in the middle of the battlefield surrounded by mutilated bodies and covered in their blood. They rise up and tell me ‘twas my fault for falling asleep, so I should never be allowed to wake up. I flee them and find a river and try to wash off the blood, but it coats thicker and thicker on my skin. I realize I am bathing in a river of blood. Then all the dead bodies come up out of the river. They push me down under, and I cannot breathe."
Hope sighed, rose up, and traced the muscles in his shoulder with her finger. “I'm glad it stopped. ‘Twas getting longer and longer every time. I was afraid if I had it again, I would drown and not wake up."
He tucked a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. “The nightmare went away because you told me about the slaughter of my clansmen and why it happened. ‘Tis one of the reasons I made you finish the tale."
"There were other reasons?"
He frowned sternly. “The clan had a right to hear, and you tried to disobey me in front of them and our king."
She blushed. “I did not mean to disobey you. I was embarrassed and wanted to go to our chamber so I could tell just you and let you tell them. After you went away, I thought you hated me.” She turned accusing eyes on him. “Then I got cursed mad. You bloody well knew you had my heart and should have forgiven me so my heart wouldn't break. That is when I decided to make up a new game."
"I didn't forgive you for falling asleep, because the slaughter was not your fault. MacPherson blood is on your father's hands. Never has it been on yours."
"But you were enraged and didn't speak to me."
"'Twas raging toward your father for all he did to you and the MacPhersons. ‘Tis a rage that has burned low for a while. That tale sparked flames. I did not wish you to see me and fear I would harm you."
"I figured out part of that the morning after I cast my first bait with Freya, and can we never refer to him as my father again? Even though I know ‘tis a sin, I hate Baron Nevilles and would rather think of myself as Marcail's bastard than his cursed daughter."
"Aye, we'll never honor him with the title again.” He tipped up her chin and favored her with a stern frown. “If you knew I wasn't raging at you, then why did you play the game?"
"You need to ask after last night, Lion?” she gloated.
He grinned. “Nay."
"You want to get the cursed rebuking over with?"
"Aye."
Hope pushed up to a sitting position astride his waist, then frowned down at him and lowered her pitch. “The MacPherson is a wee bit miffed because The Fraser saw The MacFury's knees."
"He is bloody well miffed, and you were showing some fruit along with those knees all over the Fraser holding."
"'Tis not the truth! I tied my plaid at the waist and laced the sides. Did not take the laces out until my lion started prowling. Then ‘twas all right.” She grabbed one of his wrists and placed his palm over a firm lobe. Leaning forward, she touched her forehead to his and favored him with a saucy grin. “'Tis his fruit."
"Cannot explain away the knees."
"Can!” She sat back up. “Was not till The Fraser started closing in that I thought of it. So shocked him that he fell from his mount. Then he went running into the forest with his rosy rump peeking beneath his flapping plaid—all because he was afraid of sweet, gentle Diable."
"That beast could have killed him.” Damn, how was he supposed to scowl with such appetizing fruit displayed for his pleasure?
"Not unless I asked. I told my beauty to protect me. He bucked and reared a mite. If I had told him to kill, he would have taken off after The Fraser and not come back till ‘twas finished. ‘Tis the truth; this game was more fun because no one got hurt."
"When The Fraser's time ends, you'll not see his lady for another month."
"Ah, bloody rot, Leonce, we were apart for two years. Can you not do something else, like take away my whip?"
"Nay, wife. My mind is set. You'll think twice afore you play Highlander again.” He managed to draw his brows together and frown.
Hope pushed out a sulky lip, pouted a moment, and flashed him a devilish grin. “Might bloody well think about this a second time. Even if you hadn't played, ‘twas fun to see the looks on the Frasers's faces when they saw me coming. They just stood there staring with their chins on the ground while I told them I was raiding. And they never once tried to stop me.” Happy laughter burst from her lips. “'Twas so funny, Leonce. I wish you had been there. I walked off with a bloody Clydesdale without any interference. I couldn't resist, so I waved good-bye as I rode away."
Shaking his head, Leonce smiled. “What am I going to do with you?"
She suddenly became serious and leaned down, holding his face between her hands. “Always love me, Leonce, and protect our heart, for I have given you mine, and it beats in yours.” Her hand moved over his heart. “You are my reason for living. If you cast out my heart, I will die. For what I have given, I do not want back, and no one can live without a heart."
"Ah, my Angelaspera, how could I not love and cherish you forever?” He hugged her close, his voice thick with emotion. “You are my own, my most precious treasure."
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Chapter Thirty-Four
* * * *
Aonghus stood by the hearth in the hall and watched Hope make crooked stitches in another seam. What should he do? The lass couldn't go on like this.
On the day of their return, the young chief rode off to join their clansmen, who had set out across the Grampians to assist one of their allies defending against a Norman invasion. Before ascending the hill to the keep, she watched Leonce vanish from sight and then sat upon her mount, staring at the forest trail where he disappeared.
At first Aonghus thought the lad had rebuked the lass and given her a well-deserved punishment. As she continued staring, intense longing entered her eyes. He decided she just hated seeing the lad go off again. Over the last three weeks her behavior had changed drastically. She no longer told stories. Her head remained bowed. Bertie complained because she wouldn't play. Most of her time was spent inside the keep, mending and cleaning. She only left if someone were sick or injured. Since her return, she hadn't ridden Diable. Not a single “bloody well” crossed her lips, and she rarely spoke. Food certainly didn't appeal to her, and her flesh withered. From what Freya said, the lass had spent all her nights crying up until the last one, because this was the first morning the linens were not soaked.
Today was bad. Aye, today the lass scared him. She had lost the yearning look. Emptiness filled her eyes. Her expression seemed a dormant mass of pale flesh over bones. Her movements appeared limp, as if all vitality had drained from her being.
Aonghus watched her prick her finger with a needle. Not only did the lass not flinch, her only response was to stare through a vacant gaze at the blood welling up from the tiny wound.
Aonghus pushed away from the hearth. Almighty God, she's lost her spirit! The lass is completely broken!
Freya came and stood beside him, wringing her hands in a cloth. “She cannot go on like this, Aonghus. What are we to do?"
"I doubt there is anything we can do."
"But I cannot stand watching her."
"We may not be able to do anything, but hopefully the chieftain can.” Aonghus looked across the hall at some clansmen who watched their lady with worried frowns. “Darach, join us, lad."
"You wanted me?” the young warrior asked as he approached.
"Aye, lad. Take the swiftest mount. Find The MacPherson. Tell him that his wife still breathes, but the MacFury is dead."
* * * *
Turf sprayed in a brown shower into the gloomy air, marking the thunderous passage of the white steed racing up the mountain. Members of Clan MacPherson raised thankful eyes to heaven. Their chieftain was home and would see to their lady.
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Arriving at the keep, Leonce leapt from his mount and took the steps four at a time up to the landing where Aonghus waited.
"Where is she?” he asked without stopping.
"Heard you were here and slipped out to the kitchen to hurry dinner.” Aonghus followed Leonce into the hall and halted next to him beside the high table. “The lass should be back soon. I know you're chieftain, and I've no right to ask, but what did you do to her?"
Leonce raked his fingers through his hair. “Nothing much. I only told her that she couldn't see her friend for another month."
"Aye, so the lass said. ‘Twas when I started truly fashing."
"'Tis no great punishment."
"True, lad, but you didn't tell anyone. With the lass so sad, I sent for her friend to cheer her. When Lady Fraser arrived, the lass went to your chamber and barred the door. Said she wasn't to see her friend and wouldn't come out until she saw the lady ride away.” Aonghus shook his head. “Didn't even try to spend time with her afore telling me."
Hope entered the hall, followed by Freya. They deposited linens and the lavabo, filled with fresh herbal water, on the ablution table. Hope approached slowly and stopped an arm's length away, her head bowed and arms limp at her sides. Leonce took a step toward her. She took one back.
"Welcome home, Chief. If you wish to wash, your dinner will be here soon."
Her voice held no melody. Before she could retreat again, he grabbed her arms and pulled her into his embrace. God's teeth, the woman was bones! He nudged up her chin and gazed upon her pale face and vacant eyes. “Hope? Wife, where have you gone?"
"I am here,” she replied flatly, her gaze on his chin.
Women brought in trenchers and placed them about the tables.
"Would it please my chieftain to dine later?” she asked.
"Nay, we'll dine now. You'll take your place beside me."
As soon as he released her, she bowed her head, walked to the table, and stood behind her chair.
Leonce completed his ablutions and joined her. “Why do you stand, Hope?"
"I was awaiting my chieftain,” she replied to her clasped hands.
"Then you keep him waiting.” He spoke more sharply than he intended and wiped a hand over his face. God help him, what was wrong with the lass? Hope sat. Leonce picked up the chair with her in it and moved the seat nearer his. As the meal progressed, his thigh occasionally brushed hers. She sat with her head bowed and hands folded in her lap. Freya and the warriors gave Hope worried looks.
"Eat your food, Hope,” he ordered. “You've lost too much flesh."
She took a single pea from the trencher and put it in her mouth. After the longest time, she swallowed. Her next bite was slightly bigger and took just as long going down. At least she was eating. Mayhap ‘twould help if he directed attention elsewhere. Leonce spoke to Aonghus and the clansmen about the Norman threat the Highlanders had successfully routed.
As the conversation progressed, Hope frequently dabbed her lips with a napkin. Leonce thanked the Almighty the juices offended her sense of cleanliness. He'd wondered if she had any feeling left.
She eventually wiped her mouth and placed the linen on the table. “May I be excused? I've an urgent need."
She had eaten less than a fourth of the food from her trencher, but ‘twas a better start than if she hadn't been eating at all. Leonce nodded. Hope just sat there with her head bowed. “If you were looking at your chieftain as you should, you would have seen his nod of permission."
She rose, walked to the rear door, and exited the keep rather than going to their chamber.
"How long has she been like this?"
"This bad? About a week. ‘Twas why I sent Darach for you.” Aonghus gestured toward Hope's napkin with his goblet. “The food is either in the linen or the lass has gone to make herself toss up."
Leonce picked up the napkin. Several tiny bites fell out. “When did—"
A shrill scream from behind the keep curled his toes. He bounded from his chair and ran out the rear door. Hope walked slowly down the trail toward him with an expressionless face and bowed head. Damn it all, she had just scared away his dotage. “What the hell happened?"
She halted and explained to his boots, “A mouse startled me. I would retire to our chamber now."
The scar jumped in his cheek. His wife, who could down a wolf with one stroke of her blade, said she screamed because of a mouse! “You may go. I'll join you soon."
Hope hesitated, then dipped her head lower and entered the keep.
"God's bones, Aonghus!” Leonce jerked his fingers through his hair. “Why did you not send for me sooner?"
"I'll be apologizing, lad. I didn't know how bad the lass was until she stuck herself with a needle and showed not the least reaction."
Bertie tugged on Leonce's plaid. “Is Mam going to get better? I don't like her this way."
"Aye, Bertie. I'll not allow this to go on."
Entering their chamber, he found Hope staring out the window. He walked up behind her, slipped his arms around her waist, and pulled her against him. She stiffened and went limp. He kissed her neck and ran his hands in caressing strokes over her thin body. She offered no response.
Leonce rested his chin on top of her head. “I do not know what caused this change in you. I don't like it. You're in there somewhere, Hope. I'll not allow you to seclude yourself away from me. You'll suffocate my heart, which beats in yours, if you don't come back.” Leonce moved his mouth beside her ear. “Talk to me. Tell me what I must do to get my Angelaspera back. I cannot live without her."
Small tremors moved through Hope until she erupted into gut-wrenching sobs. She raised her hands to her face, catching the tears that stormed forth.
Leonce tightened his embrace. “Talk to me, love. Tell me what has put sorrow where my heart should find joy."
Turning in his arms, she clutched at his plaid. “Oh, Leonce, please help me! I've tried so hard, but every time your thigh touched mine, I wanted to jump on you. I had to leave and scream. I do not want to be a proper noble lady like Mama. I want to be a heathen and play!"
God help him, he hadn't thought of this. Her only example of a lady was a battered woman emotionally maimed by years of abuse. Hope was trying to become like her mother. His heart lurched as he realized how close she had come to succeeding. “I would rather have my game-playing heathen than see you so lifeless."
"But a chieftain needs a proper wife.” She sniffed.
"Ah, love.” He gently rocked her side to side. “Being proper means a little restraint now and then. Proper does not mean you can never play or be happy. If I wanted that, I would have broken my word and beaten you the first time you sassed me after bringing home the rogue boar."
Hope looked up. “But my mother—"
"Your mother was a woman unjustly sentenced to life with a devil who beat the spirit out of her. Don't turn into her. I would rather you had no restraint than see you broken. Be my Angelaspera, and be happy."
"But I'll embarrass you again like I did with our king."
"You did not embarrass me."
"I did. I was terrible, and I couldn't control myself."
"You worried me when I thought you would go for the kill and later when you could not calm down. But embarrass me?” He nudged up her chin and gazed lovingly into her eyes. “Nay, Hope. You showed our king your loyalty and courage. You made me proud. Malcolm even gave you a great compliment."
Her eyes widened. “He did?"
"Aye.” He dried her tears with his plaid. “He said when he looked at you, he saw a true Scot. Our king does not give out higher praise than that."
She bowed her head again. “But what if I had killed him?"
"Then, Lady MacPherson"—he nudged her face back up—"we would not be having this conversation, because we would both be dead."
"He would have killed you too...over something I had done?” She appeared horror-stricken.
A mock frown furrowed his brow. “They
would bloody well have to go through me to get to my lioness.” He clasped her head with both hands, kissed her forehead, and embraced her again. “Now tell this lion what he must do to make his mate happy and put the sparkle back into her bonnie blue eyes."
"The lion could satisfy both her appetites, for the lioness suddenly finds herself starving and lusting.” Sparkles appeared behind the dewy sheen in her eyes. “After he is through with that, he could ride over to the Frasers and watch the dumb looks on their faces when she takes back that Clydesdale."
"Ah, Hope. I'm so glad I caught you.” Leonce chuckled and held her close. “We will take your requests one at a time. What think you of me urgently feeding you, slowly loving you, and tomorrow we will cut short your last week and you can visit your friend? After that we can spend the rest of the day playing some of your games."
So it passed. The next morning, along with the cock's crow, Clan MacPherson awoke to the sweet strains of a melodious call, followed by a thunderous response. The sight of their chieftain mounted behind his lady upon the savage black stallion, charging down the mountain path, heartened the clan. The song of their lady's laughter filled the air, and the birds joined the refrain. The gloom lifted, and the sun shone brighter. ‘Twas as they suspected. Their chief was home, and now their lady was back too.
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Chapter Thirty-Five
* * * *
Over the ensuing days, Leonce made changes in Hope's routine. After seeing what her mending did to a few minor seam repairs, he decreed she could use a needle only on flesh. She would distribute any other sewing to Freya and the clanswomen. Cleanliness and orderliness subsisted within Hope's nature, probably because many of her favorite games were played in water, and she couldn't afford to misplace her precious possessions while living in the wild. Leonce left managing the keep and meal planning in her hands with instructions to let Freya guide her and come to him if she experienced problems.
Having grown up with tales from her mother before that woman's break, Hope loved stories. She had made up many for entertainment during lonely times in her cave. She told Leonce that whenever a jongleur visited, she would slip through the passages to a small alcove, push back a panel, and enjoy the world created by the minstrel's songs. The evening story went back on her list of duties, thrilling Bertie and the warriors.
