by Mary McCall
This time would be different—much more difficult. The summers were shorter here. Soon a chilling fall and freezing winter would claim the land. There would be no passageway with a warm chamber. No kitchen to provide meals. No easy access to stables where she could pilfer grain and hay for her friends. Above all, there could be no flagrant risks. The safety of her child would depend upon caution.
She would go to the Grampians and hunt deer, bears, wolves and beavers for pelts. She needed to stock up a large quantity of wood for fires and pilfer some grain and hay. Better raid away a cow or goat too. Her body would need the milk to nourish the babe.
The plaid strip that bordered her sleeve wavered before her gaze. She no longer had a right to wear it. Hope stood and doffed the garment, letting it fall to the floor. She went to the chest Leonce had given her after they wed. Rummaging through the contents, she found her mother's three ragged gowns, which she had mended, and her old belt. They would serve her again.
She packed the few possessions she brought on her journey from England into her old pouch. Then she pulled from the chest the clothes Leonce gave her on their wedding day. She folded them and placed them atop the bed. Upon the neat stack, she laid the badge of The MacKay and the two dried heather sprigs that made up her wedding bouquet.
A moment later she grabbed one of the flowers. ‘Twas the first gift Leonce bestowed on her, and that memory she would keep.
Hope curled up on Leonce's side of the bed. She couldn't leave before darkness fell. Until then she would savor the feeling of security she had found here and breathe in the scent of her lion, who she would never see again.
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Chapter Thirty-Eight
* * * *
Four days passed before Leonce caught up to The MacKay at his holding. He rode out alone on this mission, and that man would soon feel the bite of Justice.
As Leonce tracked his prey, he decided Hope was too naive. While she had wronged him, a master of debauchery had seduced her. She probably hadn't realized what was happening. He would take her back when he returned home, for he knew in his heart that she was innocent of betrayal.
The MacKay was a different matter. Not only did a long-standing feud exist between their clans, but he had tainted the most precious treasure of The MacPherson. Only death would satisfy vengeance.
Arriving at the front of the keep, he sneered at The MacKay's lack of defenses. Justice was firmly in Leonce's grip before his feet hit the ground.
Several MacKays advanced, pulling their weapons.
"Hold, MacKays! You'll not fight The MacPherson today. Our chieftain will not permit it,” a tall blond warrior ordered from the landing.
"The man is ready to kill, Julien. Bloodlust fires his eyes,” one of the warriors shouted.
Leonce looked up at the blond giant. “'Tis poor judgment on your chieftain's part, Julien. I plan to kill him."
The MacKay stepped out onto the front landing beside his son. Concern etched into his features. “Is Angelaspera well? She said she could get back safely."
Leonce got his first glimpse of his lifelong enemy and was momentarily arrested by the anxious sapphire eyes. “God's bones! You're her father!"
"You didn't know?” The MacKay asked, surprised. “When I heard you were here, I thought she must have told you despite my warning. She laughed and said you would share her joy at having my blood inside her rather than that buggerin’ baron."
"I must return to her.” Leonce turned and whistled for his mount.
"What did you do, man?” The MacKay began descending the steps.
"She is safe, but I must get back.” Leonce leapt on his stallion and looked at The MacKay. “She was right. I'm glad ‘tis your blood in her, rather than the bastard we thought—even if you are a MacKay."
Leonce nudged his mount into a gallop. Oh God, what had he done? Hope tried to explain, but his mind had been set. He had turned his rage on her, something he promised he would never do. Worst of all, he had cast her aside and scorned her love, devaluing her in a way the baron never had. Her radiant face when she spoke of wanting to share her news flashed across his mind. Could he ever make it up to her? Would she let him try?
He went without sleep and stopped only long enough for the benefit of his weary steed. Late in the afternoon on the seventh day after his departure, Leonce entered the meadow below his keep. The gloominess of the mountain mocked him. Before arriving at the door, he knew in his heart she had fled. Guilt stabbed at his chest. He had driven her away.
Aonghus met him on the landing. “How is The MacKay, lad?"
"He's her father.” Leonce looked at Aonghus, not even trying to mask his misery. “How long has she been gone?"
"The lass slipped out during the night after you left. ‘Tis not a game this time. She left a message for you in your chamber."
Leonce rushed through the keep, ignoring the pitying glances of those he passed. Entering his chamber, he saw the stack on the bed. He tenderly caressed the dried heather sprig. Her message was clear. Not only was she no longer a MacPherson, The MacKay didn't mean enough to replace her loss. He lifted the gown and inhaled the sweet fragrance that was hers alone.
Aonghus appeared in the doorway. “The only things she took are those she brought with her."
"Did you check with the Frasers and the MacDougalls?"
Aonghus moved to the foot of the bed and placed a hand on Leonce's shoulder. “Didn't have to, though they're out searching with our own clan. I followed her tracks myself until I lost them. The lass has entered the Grampians. She must either be hunting furs for winter or taking a long way back to England."
"She would never return there.” Leonce trembled as her words flashed through his mind: “I'm not really a cursed heathen. I would die if I didn't have a kitchen to raid and a warm chamber to keep me from the cold."
"I don't know that we'll find her.” The elder shook his head sadly. “She always bragged that no one could unless she wanted them to."
Leonce straightened, and his voice burned with conviction. “I will find her. Hope won't survive late fall in the wilds of the Highlands. She'll freeze to death afore winter. I'll not rest until she is back here with me where she belongs."
So the lion began prowling the hills and mountains in search of his mate. Just as easily as he found a sign of her presence, the lioness eluded her king, seeking safer grounds outside his realm.
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Chapter Thirty-Nine
* * * *
Two moons passed. The babe grew in Hope's belly. She decided no child of hers would suffer the deprivation of her existence. While she'd be giving up her reason for living, she knew in her broken heart that Leonce would love the child despite her actions. As the Good Lord painted summer's greenery with fall's red, orange and gold, Hope left the mountains in search of a safe dwelling closer to the MacPherson holding. She wouldn't return there until the birthing drew near, around the end of the year.
She settled into the cave where Courageous had taken her after the slaughter. A boulder embedded in the earth before the entrance helped block inclement weather. The cavern was also large enough to accommodate her friends, who now included a Fraser goat named Matilda.
Hope strung a sturdy vine across the back wall and hung the many pelts from her kills, so they could dry for tanning. She gathered fallen limbs and twigs. With nothing more than a dirk, she couldn't gather larger wood. Her movements became slow and clumsy, and fatigue plagued her. Longing for Leonce grew overwhelming. By mid-fall's chill a month later, she missed the warmth of his embrace even more. Seeking his presence, Hope visited the cave where they had made love. She spent the night, crying on the old worn pallet with only her heather sprig for company.
She awoke the next morning, her senses alert. Someone approached. Arising from the pallet as quickly as seven moons of pregnancy allowed, she dashed from the cave and sought a hiding place in the surrounding woods.
Leonce cam
e into view and entered the cave. Tears blurred her eyes. She fought the urge to throw herself upon him and beg him to love her again. Self-control could be found only in distance, so she fled. Halfway back to her cave dwelling, she realized she had forgotten her heather.
* * * *
Longing for Hope drove Leonce to their cave, desperate to feel close to her in this place of fond memories. Sitting on the pallet with his back to the wall, he closed his eyes and groaned. “Ah, Hope! Does your scent linger, or does the yearning in my heart make it seem so real?"
His nostril's flared, picking up another scent—a recent fire. He opened his eyes and glanced about the cave. The ashes in the fire bed weren't settled. Something on the pallet caught his eye—a dried heather sprig that matched the one he carried. Lifting the fragile flower, he felt the moisture of Hope's tears on the pallet. “My Angelaspera, did you sense me coming and leave because you fear me or because you hate me?"
Leonce found hope in the fact that she had returned to the area. As he stood, he pulled a green ribbon from the waistband of his plaid and placed the strip on the pallet next to the heather. “Bring my heart back to me, Hope. ‘Tis still beating in yours."
* * * *
Two days later Hope sewed up the short, jagged tusk wound in her right inner thigh with jabbing motions. How dare that cursed brute lure her when he hunted her at the same time!
She was so excited after finding the green ribbon that she considered returning. Her happy state brought her peril, for her extra sense failed. The beast charged before she drew her dirk. Just as she plunged her blade into the neck of the cursed swine, she tripped over a trap, and a tusk gouged her thigh. The boar would have won if Diable hadn't brought his hooves down upon the beast's back and snapped its spine.
Her babe must sense her pain and anger, for he hadn't quit thrashing since the game ended. Cutting the thread after the last stitch, Hope tried calming herself for the sake of the babe. She narrowed her eyes, and she made plans. She would leave Leonce a message he would never forget.
Hope tied a poultice over the wound and tossed off her ruined gown. She cleansed the blood from her body the best she could without jumping into the freezing water. Then she put on another gown and called Diable. The pair set off. She would drop her memory of this day on The MacPherson's front doorstep.
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Chapter Forty
* * * *
After leaving the green ribbon for Hope, Leonce began each morning in anticipation. He descended the stairs, intent upon another prowl, and overheard Aonghus speaking to Freya.
"Keep the chief inside until I get rid of it. And for heaven's sake, stop your wailing, or he'll know something is wrong."
"What am I not to see?” Leonce asked, walking toward them.
Aonghus and Freya started and turned toward him. Then Aonghus moved to block the front door. “Now, lad, ‘tis—"
"Stand aside, Aonghus."
"Aye, Chief.” The elder's shoulders slumped, and he stepped away. Freya sobbed as Leonce opened the door. A group of warriors circled about and stared at something at the foot of the steps. Leonce proceeded down, and they opened their ranks, allowing him a view of the gruesome sight.
On the ground lay a broken-backed boar in a pool of blood. A tattered gown stained with blood hooked over one reddened tusk and draped across a closed trap. In stark contrast to the light frock, a black ribbon was unfurled over the gown. A small bundle of blood-soaked heather tied together with the green ribbon rested under a wound in the boar's neck.
Shaking with emotion, Leonce grabbed the gown and threw back his head. “Hope!"
'Twas not the roar of his battle cry, but a release of anguish from a lion responsible for a wounded mate.
Aonghus placed a hand on Leonce's shoulder. “We must have missed the trap when we collected them last spring. The lass must be well, though. She couldn't have gotten the beast here if she was fatally wounded."
Leonce mounted the steps, still holding the gown. Halfway up, he halted. “Aonghus, call in the clan and notify The Fraser and The MacDougall. The search is over."
"But, lad—"
"I'm not Baron Nevilles. I'll not have her thinking she's hunted.” Leonce ascended the steps, entered the keep, and went straight to his chamber. His chest felt so tight he could barely take in a breath. The first snow would fall in the next few weeks, but he couldn't bring himself to search more. He could only pray the Good Lord's angels would either warm her or convince her to come home.
* * * *
Two weeks later, time ceased for Hope. The boar wound healed, and the stitches were out. But a few days after the attack, a frigid rain drenched the earth. A chill seeped into her bones. She found herself increasingly fatigued and hungry, unable to gain speed and endurance to hunt.
As the first snow fell, she huddled before a fire with Diable behind her, sharing his warmth. Drowsy from hunger and the damp heat, she dozed. Awaking sometime later, she didn't realize the fire had died because one burned inside her. Too tired to open her eyes, she tossed aside the pelts that cloaked her and then felt frozen a few hours later. Her strength failed as she tried to spark a new flame. Then everything went black.
Sometime later she awoke. Diable's hot breath blew on her cheek, and Harry sat perched upon her arm. Her swollen throat throbbed, and a strange heaviness weighted her chest, robbing her of air. Icy coldness crept through her limbs, numbing her senses. At a weak kick inside her belly, she prayed: “Good Lord, please save my babe."
She had waited too long. She should have gone back to the clan before the snow fell. Zounds! Would Leonce help her now? ‘Twas a cursed awful message she left him. But for her babe—for their babe—she would beg him now.
Unable to rise, even to her hands and knees, Hope struggled around on her belly and crawled on her side across the cave toward her belt where it lay near a mountain of pelts by the wall. Exhaustion defeated her by the time she clutched the handle of her whip. She lost consciousness, her fingers entwined in the red ribbon.
* * * *
Though the angels weren't apparent, Hope's friends were no cursed fools. Harry grasped the ribbon with his beak and pulled, only to have the entire whip come along. Diable placed a hoof on the handle. After several more tugs, Harry freed the strip. Securing the prize in a claw, Harry flew into the frozen dusk. Diable pulled a pelt over his beauty. Then he kissed her cheek and followed his winged friend on a quest for a savior.
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Chapter Forty-One
* * * *
Mourning settled upon Clan MacPherson with the falling of the first snow. They grieved the loss of the young lady who brought them so much joy, only to leave too soon. The Clan noticed that, after halting the search, Leonce quit eating and spoke only to snap out harsh orders. He spent most of his time in his chamber, they presumed in solitary grief.
Aonghus sat before the great hearth, nursing a whisky and staring into the flames. For all his years, he knew of nothing he could say or do to ease the young chieftain's torment. With sorrow filling his mind, he didn't notice Bertie's approach until the lad leaned morosely against the arm of his chair.
"I miss her bloody much.” His big brown eyes glistened.
Aonghus placed a comforting arm around Bertie's shoulders. “Aye, lad. I miss her too."
Bertie sniffed and wiped an arm across his face. “I heard Freya say she's dead, but I don't wish her to be."
"Well, her name is Hope. Mayhap we should have some for her and not believe her dead till we know for sure."
"Papa was cursed mad that day, and then she left. Do you think he truly wants her back?"
"I've no doubt he wants her back, lad. The only—” The elder broke off at a thunderous banging on the keep's door.
"What the hell!” Aonghus shouted, jumping from his chair. He rushed toward the door as the board broke and the portal slammed open.
Diable charged into the hall, shaking his head, whinnying
and stomping. Aonghus stared at as a frosty looking Harry soared inside and released a shrieking caw. He dropped the red ribbon on Aonghus's head, then flew across the room and perched near the hearth.
Leonce bound down the steps with sword in hand. “Good God! Diable!"
The stallion turned toward Leonce and tossed his head, snorting and neighing in an urgent fashion.
"'Tis a red ribbon, lad!” Aonghus waved the strip above his head. “You bundle up. I'll be grabbing blankets and aught else I can think of. You'd best hurry. There may not be much time!"
* * * *
Leonce was already up the stairs and in his chamber before Aonghus finished speaking. He donned his outdoor garb and raced back to the hall. Freya and a number of clansmen awaited him. He vaulted astride Diable and was handed a mountain of blankets, pelts and a winter rush torch.
"God be with you, Chief, and bring you and our lady safely home,” Freya called.
The doors were thrown open. Diable raced into the night, carrying Leonce to his beauty, who needed help that a horse just couldn't give. They left Harry behind, perched on the arm of a chair, eating dried oats from Bertie's outstretched palm.
With sure steps and a swift, steady pace, Diable took Leonce on the treacherous journey down the mountain, through the meadow and into the forest of the southwest hill. As the steed picked his way over the icy turf, Leonce realized Hope was in the cave where she had said sad memories lingered. He harnessed his impulse to hasten Diable. The steed traveled as fast as safety permitted, and Leonce wouldn't risk injury to Hope's trusted friend.
By the time they entered the cave, his torch burned at half flame. He didn't see Hope. A depleted stack of small branches stood near the far wall. The fire bed of ash without even an ember scared him, and the wet chill of the cave taunted him. A frost-covered goat lay on a pile of furs and watched him warily.
Diable nudged Leonce's back. He walked to the pelts and pulled them aside, feeling the dampness of the furs in their heavy weight. He grabbed one of the animal skins and met resistance, then discovered it was wrapped around a foot and leg. He tossed aside the pelt above it and found Hope lying on her side with her knees drawn up and her shoulders bent low.
