Highland Treasure

by Mary McCall

  Hope smiled and allowed Leonce the privilege of reassuring his eldest while she enjoyed the security of belonging to a loving family.

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  Chapter Fifty-Three

  * * * *

  A few weeks later, Hope presented Bertie with his own whip and gave him his first instructions. As the lesson progressed, many warriors found reasons to linger in the hall.

  "Nay, Bertie. You're not keeping a firm grip on release.” Hope rechecked his hold on the handle. “The whip must become an extension of your arm so your mind controls it. Try again, but hold fast to the handle."

  Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Bertie peered at the cracked flagon sitting atop a bale of hay. He cast his arm forward. A few wisps of straw scattered, but the flagon remained mockingly in place. “Zounds, cursed and bloody rot! I'll never get it!"

  "'Twas much better,” Hope said. “You only missed by a short distance."

  Bowyn sat, tilting his chair upon its back legs, holding a mug of ale. “Do not fret, Bertie. ‘Tis a weak weapon only good for torture. No great use to a warrior."

  Hope's lash snapped and caught a front leg of Bowyn's chair. Then she yanked. The chair fell backward, and Bowyn toppled to the floor. Ale drenched his face and chest.

  "'Tis a weapon of skill and cunning, Bertie. ‘Tis useful on hulking warriors who are too cursed daft to respect it.” Hope raised a superior brow to Bowyn, who stood and righted his chair. “My thanks for helping demonstrate one of the many strategies in which a whip might prove useful. Want to come at me with a sword so I can demonstrate another?"

  "Nay, milady.” A sheepish flush stained Bowyn's face. “I'll not belittle the weapon again."

  "Think you could teach me too, wife?” Leonce asked from the sidelines.

  "I can only teach one student at a time. ‘Twill have to be when Bertie is proficient with the basics. Might be mid-spring afore you can have a lesson."

  "My son will not be so slow,” Leonce declared.

  Bertie's chest puffed with pride over his father's compliment. “Part of my lessons have to wait till we can be outside."

  Hope tossed Leonce an impish grin. “The most fun of all the basics is learning how to use a lash for limb-swinging."

  Leonce rolled his eyes. “As soon as Bertie learns the other basics, you'll start teaching me, so I can be present for his first limb-swinging lesson."

  "You going to turn into a heathen MacFury and come raiding with us, Papa?” Bertie asked eagerly.

  "Nay, but I'll not underestimate again the prowess of those heathens for moving about above the earth.” He grinned wryly at Hope.

  "What was that, lad? Did The MacFury get the best of you too?” Aonghus asked in a vindicated tone.

  "Nay, Aonghus!” Hope answered. “My lion is too good to let a heathen upstart take advantage."

  Leonce turned amused eyes toward his champion. “Does my lioness protect the lion's pride?"

  "Aye, Chief.” She nodded. “Both of them."

  Cardinal Brodie stepped forward and touched the soft, worn leather whip in Hope's hand. “'Tis an interesting choice of weapons, Lady MacPherson. I'm wondering how you became so proficient?"

  She shrugged. “From having one used on me."

  "What!” The cardinal's eyes filled with umbrage.

  "'Twas more a matter of observing Baron Nevilles. He favored a ferula when he beat me. He had better mastery over the leather-covered stick.” Hope's tone became bitterly mocking. “Breaking my skin would lower my value, and his whip control was cursed poor."

  "Your father beat you with a ferula?” the cardinal asked, appalled.

  "He never did!” Hope's eyes flamed. “My father is a great Highlander who spent half his life searching for my mother and me. He never would have beaten me. The baron would be dead now if The MacKay knew who he was. ‘Tis my game, so I did not tell him a name."

  "Hope, calm down.” Leonce draped an arm around her shoulders. “Cardinal Brodie just questions you. He does not mean insult."

  "I had no idea.” Cardinal Brodie peered at her. “Why, you're Marcail's daughter. I'm surprised I did not see the resemblance afore."

  "You knew my mother?” she asked, surprised.

  The cardinal nodded sadly. “I performed that ill-fated wedding afore my appointment to Rome. Praise the Lord one good thing came of it."

  "Will you tell me about it?” Hope pleaded. “The wedding, I mean, and the reason for the feud? No one seems to know why we're warring."

  "Mayhap the cardinal will tell you another time.” Leonce tightened his arm around her shoulder.

  Hearing the gentle rebuke in his tone, Hope decided he resented her curiosity about her father. “All right. Bertie, put up your whip. You can practice with your bow while I feed the babes, and then come upstairs for time with your brothers."

  "Ah, Mam.” Bertie pouted. “I'm wanting more time with my whip."

  "You heard your mother,” Leonce admonished. “Put up the whip now, or you'll go a week with no lessons."

  "Zounds!” Bertie rushed to the wall by the stairs where two pegs had been placed under Justice, low enough to hold his weapons. After coiling his lash, he placed it on one of the pegs and took down his bow and quiver of arrows. “Want to watch me one time afore you go up, Mam?"

  "Aye.” Hope smiled. “Show me what you can do."

  The adults moved back. Bertie took his place, twenty paces from the bale of hay with a black circle painted on one side and the flagon still sitting on top. Bracing his stance and taking aim, he released his arrow and knocked the pitcher to the ground. “Zounds, cursed and bloody rot!"

  Hope went over to Bertie and whispered in his ear. The boy's face assumed a bloodthirsty scrunch. Returning to Leonce, she turned and nodded once at the boy. The next arrow hit center target.

  Bertie's face lit up. “I bloody well hit my mark!"

  The warriors cheered, and he pulled out another arrow.

  "What did you tell Bertie, Hope?"

  Impish sapphire eyes played with amber orbs. “I told him if he hit his mark, you would let him join the hunt come spring."

  "You what?” he bellowed, drawing all eyes. Seeing their audience, he lowered his voice. “You know he is too young."

  Hope reached up, flipped his hair behind his shoulder, and petted his cheek. “I told him to pretend ‘twas the evil baron. You should consider taking him."

  "I'll think about it."

  "While you do, keep cheering your son. I'll go feed the babes."

  He caught her hand and pulled her close, whispering, “I would rather watch you feed the bairns."

  "You do that all the time, and ‘tis cursed bad.” Hope blushed. “Sometimes I wish ‘twas you and not our sons being sated. Time is moving cursed slow."

  "Aye, love, and ‘tis putting me in dire agony,” he said huskily.

  Hope felt the hunger within her as she flashed her eyes at him. “I can fix that."

  "Forget that offer, and go feed our sons. I'll stay and watch the sport. And ‘tis best not to complain to me when your cuddling is torture to me, not to mention your wiggling rump against my loin during story hour."

  Hope sighed and shook her head. “Three more weeks. I hope I make it. I have been wanting to jump on you, and ‘tis too cursed cold for raiding.” She petted his chest and left.

  * * * *

  As she ascended the stairs, Leonce muttered, “Ah, wife, you're wrong. ‘Tis never too cold for raiding."

  He watched Bertie for about a quarter of an hour and then approached his seconds. “Aonghus, Bowyn, prepare yourselves. We're going raiding."

  "In this cursed weather, lad?” Aonghus looked at him as if he had just announced they were moving to England. “The blizzard just started."

  Leonce peered down his nose at the elder. “Do you grow soft now that you have a warm woman to lie with, Aonghus?"

  "'Tis an insult, Chief.” The elder scowled.

  Leonce grinned. “Then get ready.
We leave at first light."

  "How many men?” Bowyn asked, resigned.

  "Just the three of us."

  "Who do we raid, lad?"

  A clan far enough away to freeze my groin until it can be safely thawed. “You'll know soon enough. Plan on a week."

  Leonce headed up the stairs, and the pair stared after him.

  * * * *

  "The lad has gone daft, Bowyn.” Aonghus scratched his grizzled jaw. “We'll have to keep a close eye on him."

  Bowyn grunted. “Nay, Aonghus, not daft. The chief is just plain randy."

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  Chapter Fifty-Four

  * * * *

  Eight days later Hope bundled up in a heavy plaid and ventured outside to visit Diable. The longer Leonce stayed away, the more frantic she felt. She thought time with her beauty might calm her. Diable's masterful snorts and stomps intermingled with the whining whinnies of another horse. Hope increased her pace, wanting to save the daft creature that dared trespass within her proud friend's domain.

  She stopped at the entrance to the shelter and stared in surprise. A well-pointed black mare huddled between Diable and the wall of the keep. Her beauty wasn't opposed to the presence of the palfrey either. He was bloody well wooing her.

  Leonce stood back from adding wood to the fire. “Her name is Raven. ‘Tis my wish that she'll help Diable get over his jealousy where you're concerned."

  Hope glanced up, surprised to see her husband, and smiled. “She is wonderful, Leonce. Though now I'm doubting he'll want my paltry offering."

  At the sound of Hope's voice, Diable rushed over to his first love and kissed her cheek.

  "Ah, my beauty, you have a fine lady now.” She held out one of the apples she carried, and Diable nibbled on the treat. “You'll soon be a proud papa, for you'll sire a magnificent colt on Raven. You're to care for her well, and not too many nips."

  Raven moved alongside Diable as Hope held out the second apple. The stallion nudged her hand, offering the treat to the mare, who devoured it greedily. “'Tis good you share with her, Diable. We'll find Matilda a new home so you two can be alone."

  "I'll do that later.” Leonce joined her. “Go into the hall, and I'll bring you your birthing gifts."

  She frowned and clasped his arm. “Our babes are all the birthing gifts I need. You worried me sick. Come in and warm yourself."

  He took her face in his gloved hands and kissed her lips. “Nay, love. Go in, and I'll be there soon."

  She tossed him a happy grin. “I am glad you're home, Lion. Do not take too long."

  Hope hurried into the keep. “Freya,” she called. “Our men are back. Let's heat water and prepare baths."

  "Aye, milady.” Freya went off, enlisting help from some warriors and women lounging after their nooning meal.

  Bertie leapt from his seat by the hearth and ran to Hope. “Where is Papa?"

  Hope cupped his face in her hands. “He'll be here in a moment. Go get goblets so we can serve lamb's wool to warm him and Aonghus and Bowyn."

  With everyone doing her bidding, Hope went to the hearth and stirred the floating apples atop simmering cider, a concoction known as lamb's wool. The front door clattered shut. She turned, and the smile froze on her face. Aonghus ushered Leonce and Bowyn inside. The latter two men lugged huge bundles over their shoulders. They stopped in front of her and set their burdens on the floor, and it was then that Hope saw the bundles had feet.

  "Your birthing gifts, wife.” Leonce grinned. “I hope you appreciate what we went through to get them."

  Leonce and Bowyn unwrapped her presents. Tears sprang from Hope's eyes. Her angry father and a man who she presumed must be her brother stood before her.

  The MacKay's eyes landed on Hope, and his ire vanished, replaced by surprised joy. Leonce cut the bindings on The MacKay's wrists, enabling the captive to pull the gag from his mouth and engulf his daughter in a mighty embrace. “Ah, my Angelaspera. I never thought to see you again."

  "Me too, Father.” Hope looked over his shoulder at her husband. “My thanks, Leonce. ‘Tis a wonderful birthing gift."

  The MacKay pulled back and looked at her. “Did you say birthing gift, daughter?"

  "Aye. ‘Tis just over four weeks now. After I've met my brother and you are warmed, I'll bring the babes down so you can meet them."

  "Them?” He raised astonished brows.

  "She gave me twin sons.” Leonce pulled Hope around to face the other man. “This is Julien, your brother."

  Hope drew her brother into her arms. “'Tis happy I am to finally meet you, Julien."

  "Aye, Angelaspera.” Julien stooped to return her embrace. “And ‘tis glad I am you've a husband daft enough to allow it."

  "My lion is not daft!” Hope shoved backward.

  "He is not deaf either, love.” Leonce chuckled. “Best be careful with jests, Julien. My lioness has sharp claws."

  Hope launched herself at Leonce, and he caught her in his arms. “You keep putting so much joy into my heart it overflows,” she gasped.

  A whip snapped. “'Tis a cursed MacKay! Stay back, Mam. I'll not let him harm you."

  "Nay, Bertie. ‘Tis all right. The MacKay is my father."

  "Well cursed and rot! I want to show Papa how good my aim is getting.” Bertie moped over to them, pushing out a petulant lip.

  Leonce chuckled and ruffled the lad's curls. “You can show me later. Meet The MacKay and his son."

  "So you're Bertie.” The MacKay leaned down, looking the lad in the eyes. “I'll be thanking you for the great service you did by leading Angelaspera to the Highlands, away from that scoundrel who abused her."

  "I didn't lead her away from Baron Nevilles. Harry did. You want to meet him?” Bertie rubbed his nose with a finger.

  A venomous glitter entered The MacKay's eyes.

  "Forget it, MacKay,” Leonce ordered in an iron tone.

  Bertie looked up surprised. “You do not want him to meet Harry, Papa?"

  "'Tis all right for him to meet Harry. He knows what I mean."

  "Marcail was my wife, and Angelaspera is my daughter. ‘Tis my right,” The MacKay replied, his tone just as hard.

  Leonce nodded once, acknowledging The MacKay's claim. “Aye. You're welcome to ride with us. I'll send for you afore we leave."

  The two men stared at each other. The MacKay nodded once. “'Tis agreed. I'll await your summons."

  Bertie latched onto the MacKay's hand. “Come meet Harry. He is Mam's friend. He is smart and bloody strong.” The MacKay let Bertie tug him to the other end of the hearth. “Do you know he picked up a whole bairn and saved it while my mam killed a wolf?"

  "Careful,” Hope called. “Harry will not take it well if you wake him."

  "We'll not, Mam.” Bertie stopped with The MacKay in front of the eagle perched upon the mantel. “That is Harry."

  "'Tis a fierce hunter, daughter. He is your eagle?” He stared proudly at Hope.

  "Nay. Harry is my friend. He is forever saving me from disasters. Bertie, bring me those goblets, and we will serve the lamb's wool. After our travelers have had warm baths, you can show your father how you have improved with your whip and give him his surprise."

  * * * *

  Hope soon had all the men installed in warm chambers with hot baths.

  As Leonce lowered into the steamy water, Hope placed linens near the fire to warm for his drying. Artair whimpered. She changed him and sat in a chair near the tub, holding the babe to her breast. “You're a good chieftain."

  "You're my most precious treasure.” Leonce eyed her from beneath hooded lids. “You know the feud is not over, don't you? ‘Tis just a temporary truce."

  "Must it be temporary? My father does not even know the reason for it.” She kissed the top of Artair's head and then returned her gaze to Leonce.

  "'Tis an old feud that goes back three generations. Whatever the cause, it must have been great for the warring to continue so long."

  "But if ne
ither of you knows—"

  "Let's not speak of it, Hope. I would rather not argue with you over something we cannot change."

  She sighed. “I do not like it, but I'll try to be content with the time you've gifted me."

  "What is my surprise?"

  "Your what?"

  "My surprise. You said Bertie could give it to me later."

  She threw him an impish grin. “Then you'll have to wait till later to find out. Do you need more hot water?"

  His eyes swept over her, head to toe. “I would rather have your hot body."

  "We still need to wait a few weeks more. Think you can stop me from going too far?” she asked hopefully.

  Leonce groaned. “Best get the hot water after you finish with Artair. I must be growing soft, for ‘tis too cold to go raiding again."

  Hope snorted. “This heathen could say, ‘I told you so.’”

  "Aye, but she would never say so to her chieftain."

  Her eyes sparkled. “'Twould not be to her chieftain that she said it. ‘Twould be to her lusty husband."

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  Chapter Fifty-Five

  * * * *

  A festive spirit infused the hall as Hope and The MacKay enjoyed their reunion. She also delighted in Julien's company. The glow on their lady's face so inspired the other MacPhersons that they tolerated their enemy's presence and joined in the celebration.

  Near the end of the meal, Cardinal Brodie leaned back in his chair, thumped his chest, and emitted an echoing belch. Casting a sparkling gaze toward the two chieftains seated on opposite sides of Hope, he smiled. “It does my sacerdotal heart good to see these two clans united. Always thought your ancestors feuded over the most idiotic cause in the hills."

  Conversation ceased. All the clansmen looked toward the two chieftains. Tension radiated around the head table as Leonce and The MacKay stilled.

  Hope turned purposeful eyes upon the cardinal. “You know the reason for this cursed feud, Your Eminence?"

  Leonce set his goblet down with a bang. “Hope, the cause makes no difference."

  She scowled, picked up her goblet, and slammed it upon the table, mimicking his action. “To you it makes no difference. To me, ‘tis bloody important."