Fairy Tale

by Jillian Hunter

  Marsali trudged down the grassy incline to the burn. She could hear Duncan’s deep rich voice rising above the water gurgling over stones and a joyful warmth washed over her, much like the satisfying sweetness of watching Bride nurse her newborn son. Her feelings for the chieftain threatened to resurface: the yearning, the anger, the fascination. What an emotional void he would create when he left.

  How lovely, she thought. He’s telling the children a story. Who would have believed the powerful chieftain capable of such tender behavior? And look at the children gathered round him, wide-eyed and unmoving, hanging on his every word. Why, it was a scene to bring tears to her eyes. She sniffed, deeply touched, moody and emotionally fragile.

  “I’ll tolerate no drunkenness among the ranks,” the chieftain was announcing in a gruff voice. “Any soldier who disobeys will be lashed to the gun wheel and flogged with the cat.”

  Marsali gasped, halting in her tracks. He wasn’t telling them a story—he was threatening them with corporal punishment! The children weren’t standing voluntarily in that rigid circle—he had tied them to the tree with Bride’s clothesline! Warping their wee innocent minds with the harsh images of army discipline.

  Hiking up her skirts, she pelted down the incline. “And just what do you think you’re doing, Duncan MacElgin? Who gave you permission to corrupt my nieces and nephews?”

  Duncan turned his head, taking a moment to admire her shapely brown legs as she barreled toward him. “Would you like me to tie you up too?”

  “No! Dinna stop the game, my lord,” Gordie begged him, his young boy’s voice breaking the spell.

  “He’ll be giving you nightmares for months,” Marsali said angrily as she marched up to the tree to untie the children.

  “But we like being tied up,” Gemma said with a shy smile. “It’s fun.”

  Duncan leaned back on his elbow, chuckling at Marsali’s efforts to undo his knots. Her tangled curls covered her flushed face. The agitated rhythm of her breathing thrust her breasts out against her dress. God, he wanted her, and last night had only made it worse.

  “What happens after we’re flogged senseless, my lord?” Gordie demanded, shying away from Marsali in irritation. “What if we still haven’t learned our lesson?”

  “Well, depending on how much blood you’ve lost, and if you’re still conscious…”

  Marsali paled. “Don’t you dare say another word, my lord.”

  “We might just leave you standing there a little longer to let the suffering soak in.”

  Marsali thrust her hand to her mouth, then recovered and began tugging at the knots in frustration; somehow, for all her struggling, she only managed to tie them all the tighter.

  “It’s all right, Auntie Marsali,” Keith said in an undertone. “He took us prisoner.”

  “Aye,” she said, “the barbarian, tying up helpless bairns.”

  “But we like it,” Keith explained in a patient whisper. “It’s only a game, after all.”

  Marsali dug her heels into the ground, her face turning purple with exertion as she grunted. “Aye… you’ll be tied to this… damn… tree forever, by the look of… it.”

  Duncan rolled onto his back, remembering how sweet and ripe for seduction she had been last night in his arms. Then a startled “O-o-o-oh!” broke his train of thought, and he sat up to see Marsali come flying backward through the air. Before he could roll out of her path, she went tumbling over his shoulders.

  His world went black, an explosion of delectable if conflicting sensations. Her skirts impeded his vision; the scent of her skin unleashed a sea of dangerous impulses in his blood. He grabbed her around the knees. She pounded on his back, laughing and cursing him for tying those damned knots in the first place. Obviously she had forgotten about the children.

  He’d forgotten about them too. Then Marsali gave him a warning nudge. Sighing, he plunked her to the ground.

  “My knots aren’t meant to come undone,” he said with a lazy smile. “That’s the whole point. I keep what I take.”

  The children, not realizing he was waging an entirely different kind of tactical assault on their young aunt, attacked without warning. Gordie and the other boys jumped on his shoulders. The twins pounced on his feet. Wee Claire bombarded him with old acorns. Gemma tickled him.

  “Shall we tie him up, Auntie Marsali?” Keith asked breathlessly, helping Dara to unravel the line from the tree.

  Marsali backed away slowly, her heart heavy with poignant awareness as she watched Duncan gently wrestle the boisterous children, who pummeled and pounded him without mercy. It was almost impossible to reconcile this playful giant with the arbitrary chieftain who had only last night broken her heart.

  “Tie him up,” she said with forced cheerfulness, wishing that a simple rope were all that she needed to bind him to her.

  Because she loved him.

  Because she could not bear it if he left.

  Chapter

  26

  Marsali could not believe she’d let the clan talk her into a midnight raid. The men had waylaid her as she was returning from Bride’s cottage to the moor. Save us from the Sassenachs, lass, they had begged her. ’Tis time to take action, they’d insisted. She had ignored her instincts, not wanting to disappoint them, determined to take a stand to defend their homes.

  Now she thought she might be sick to her stomach. Her nerves were tangled into knots of anxiety. It was one thing to order a Sassenach officer to strip naked on the moor on a breezy summer day. It was quite another to attack a stout British fortress teaming with fully dressed soldiers. In the middle of the night.

  Especially when you were basically unarmed and commanding the sorrowful, untrained troops of Clan MacElgin. And you had no idea what the hell you were doing.

  “Right.” She released a terse breath and maneuvered her horse to the front lines. “Lachlan, you remember what you’re supposed to do?”

  “Aye, lass.” He smothered a yawn. “I supervise the others in pushing the supply wagons off the cliffs.”

  “And all of you understand that there’s to be no violence?”

  The dozen or so heads nodded in agreement. Ailis and Alan snorted, rollicking among the herbage of the sparse garden that lay outside the fortress. Marsali could only pray that the crashing of waves against the cliffs would muffle their furtive movements.

  “Right.”

  “You’ve already said that, Marsali,” Effie reminded her quietly.

  “I dinna see why ye’re so edgy, lass,” Owen added. “If we get caught, ye can always use yer magic to save us.”

  Marsali looked up at the dark bulky fortress. “Aye, and that’s what’s worrying me.” She sniffed around her in displeasure. “Good heavens, Lachlan, what is that odor coming from your saddlebags?”

  “It’s me hard-boiled eggs, lass.”

  “I thought we’d agreed to bring no weapons.”

  “They’re not for throwing, Marsali, they’re for eating. I canna be pushing heavy weapons into the sea on an empty stomach.”

  She swallowed dryly, raising her hand to give the signal to disperse. “Right.”

  “Three times now,” Effie murmured. “That’s ill luck fer certain—I have a bad feeling about this. We should have asked the chieftain to help us.”

  “Mind your tongue and keep those damned pigs in line, Effie,” Marsali said. “If the chieftain had wanted to help us, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?”

  She slowly lowered her hand and slid to the ground, suppressing a shiver as her troops melted into the mist like ghosties. She had a bad feeling about this one too, but it couldn’t be as bad as standing by while the English blew up homes and hills. Could it?

  Marsali was never going to ignore a bad feeling again. The attack had gone sour from the start.

  Owen began the streak of rotten luck by running a cart over Johnnie’s foot and breaking his big toe, which had caused such a row between them that the sentries on the watchtower had interrupted their d
ice game to investigate.

  No sooner had the soldiers returned to their game than Lachlan crammed three hard-boiled eggs into his mouth, choked, and erupted into a coughing fit. At this point Marsali seriously thought about calling off the operation. But in the excitement of saving Lachlan’s life, Effie’s pigs—hating to hear anyone argue—had sauntered off for a midnight stroll.

  Effie burst into hysterics. “Oh, my God. They’ve gone into the kitchens! Look, that’s Alan’s wee bonnet outside the door. The Sassenachs are going to eat my puir piggies. Oh, my God! Help me! Do something!”

  “Pigs are meant to be eaten, Effie,” Owen said, which of course wasn’t the most comforting comment to make under the circumstances.

  They were crouched, the five of them, under one of the tarps covering the supply wagons, which they’d rolled, one painstaking inch at a time, across the courtyard. The other clansmen were stationed at the gate and on the cliffs.

  Johnnie lowered his spyglass, his weathered face grim. “We’ll have to rescue them.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan agreed. “The twins are a MacElgin tradition.” He glanced up expectantly at Marsali. “Well, what shall we do, lass?”

  She patted Effie absentmindedly on the back. “We’ll need a diversion.”

  “I could go back to the castle and fetch Cook and the scullery maids for reinforcements,” Owen suggested.

  Marsali shook her head. “There isn’t time. Ailis and Alan could end up as breakfast sausages before then—er, sorry, Effie.”

  “We could light a fire,” Johnnie said, pointing toward the fortress. “Look at the pile of wood over there under that window.”

  Marsali bit her lip, wishing suddenly that she had asked for Duncan’s help. But she hadn’t, and he would have refused to intervene anyway, so the whole thing was neither here nor there, and as usual the responsibility had landed like a bomb in her lap.

  “Right,” she said, her small jaw tersely set. “Effie and I will chase down the twins while Johnnie and Owen light the fire. Lachlan, you’ll stand guard outside the kitchen.”

  It was a simple plan. At this time of night it should have worked, and it probably would have—except for the fact that Major Darling’s personal quarters lay behind the window overlooking the woodpile. And an annoying case of heartburn had just gotten him out of bed.

  Duncan stared down at the letters on his desk. One was a personal invitation from Prince Eugene of Savoy to inspect his Royal Horsemen. Another was from the British War Office, stating that the dukedom was definitely in the offing and a trip to London was strongly suggested. There was even one from Sarah, hinting that her marriage was a mistake. She missed Duncan. Was he ever coming back to England?

  The long-awaited words wavered in the candlelight; they dared him to react.

  He glanced up at the window, dark amusement playing across his face.

  He wasn’t thinking about wars, or horses, or duchies, or lost loves. He was thinking about her. Haunted by her. He had come to crave the peace and laughter he enjoyed only in her company. Yes, he actually looked forward to whatever trouble she had brewed up in her cauldron of good causes. That was the true magic of Marsali: her ability to turn the most mundane daily event into an adventure with her mischievous spirit. He had witnessed so much violence in his life that her sweetness was a balm to his soul.

  He threw down his pen. Time was running out to make a decision about her future. It would have been unfair to keep her from Jamie MacFay if she’d really wanted to marry the fool.

  And Duncan hadn’t exactly helped matters by trying to seduce her last night. God, he could hear Andrew Hay cursing from his burial cairn. He could hear—

  Footsteps. Soft, furtive, right outside his door.

  He rose from the desk, hoping to see Marsali’s bright face peeping around the door as it opened. If she asked to play “dolls” again, he wouldn’t yell his head off. He would agree. He would enjoy the short time they had left together. Pray God they would come to a mutually satisfying decision about her future.

  “Abercrombie.”

  Disappointment sharpened Duncan’s voice as the man crept into the circle of candlelight. Like one of the castle rats, he usually only appeared at night, and then it was to scurry back and forth to his chamber on whatever covert missions of madness occupied his mind.

  “What do you want?”

  Abercrombie’s eyes danced with glee. “They’ve been arrested, my lord.”

  “Who has been arrested?” Duncan asked as dread sank its talons into his composure. Because he knew. And Abercrombie knew he knew.

  “The witch and her coven, my lord. Major Darling has taken them into custody.”

  “Where?” Duncan asked, wondering why the hell he hadn’t made his life easier by clapping the bloody lot of them in the dungeon the first day he’d arrived.

  “At the fortress, my lord,” Abercrombie said excitedly. He trailed Duncan around the room. “They tried to set it on fire. The fortress. ’Twas almost an act of war. Can you imagine?”

  “The fortress,” Duncan repeated, his face white. He stared accusingly at the tall figure in a dressing gown who had just squeezed through the door behind Abercrombie. “Did you know anything about Marsali trying to torch the British barracks, Edwina?”

  Edwina recoiled in horror, her rag curls quivering. “She didn’t. Dear God.”

  “I tried to warn you, my lord,” Abercrombie began. “I told you…”

  He subsided into terrified silence as Duncan began to advance on him with his arm outstretched, his face a study in black fury.

  “Dinna hit me, my lord. I had nothing to do with it. Dinna—”

  Duncan reached over Abercrombie’s cowering head to remove the scarlet coat and coekaded hat he’d slung on a medieval crest mounted on the wall. He would have to play the part of General MacElgin tonight to avert a charge of treason.

  “I’ll get your sword,” Edwina said, “and I’m coming with you.”

  Duncan swung around, his hat shadowing the harsh planes of his face. “No. I can manage alone.”

  “I’m not coming for your sake, Duncan,” Edwina said with a stern frown. “I’m helping Marsali. Someone has to protect her from you.”

  They were trapped.

  British soldiers had backed them up against the high stone wall of the courtyard. Major Darling was yelling orders while he tucked his nightshirt into his hastily donned trousers. Effie’s porkers were running loose in the confusion, giving shrill squeals of distress.

  Johnnie threw out his arms to shield Marsali and Effie from the gunfire they expected to shatter the eerie spell of predawn silence. The soldiers inched cautiously closer. “That’s the end of us,” Effie lamented in a loud whisper.

  “Aye, and all fer yer pigs, which are goin’ to end up getting eaten anyway,” Owen couldn’t resist complaining.

  Marsali peered over Johnnie’s shoulder, through the mist at the line of muskets leveled at her cornered battalion. “We can’t just stand here and get shot,” she said stoutly. “We have to do something.”

  “Get off my toe, Marsali.” Johnnie grimaced as she crept around him. “And stay put so that if they shoot us, I’ll be the one to go first.”

  “Be careful, men!” Major Darling shouted, looking more absurd than alarming with a bayonet protruding from his armpit. “They could be armed and dangerous.”

  “We aren’t armed,” Marsali shouted back. “Except for Lachlan’s hard-boiled eggs, and those are for eating.”

  “Aye,” Effie chimed in. “We aren’t dangerous either.”

  “Except to ourselves,” Johnnie muttered as he found himself staring down the barrel of a musket.

  Suddenly a young soldier came pelting across the courtyard. “We’ve rounded up the rest of the enemy, sir. They were hiding on the cliffs—at least a hundred of ’em.”

  “Find the ringleader,” Major Darling said in a terse voice.

  “It was me,” Johnnie announced, hobbling forward to bravely face
the major. “I’m the man ye want.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Marsali said. She sidestepped Johnnie, her head held high. “I’m your man.”

  Effie shouldered a position between Marsali and Johnnie. “So am I.”

  “And the other two standing against the wall?” Major Darling asked in a dry voice.

  Owen and Lachlan didn’t answer. Marsali straightened to her full, unintimidating height. “You can let the others go. I’m the one who forced them to come here tonight.”

  The major stared down into her small defiant face. “By God,” he said softly, “you’re MacElgin’s little clanswoman. I warned him what would happen if he didn’t watch you. Do you know what the punishment will be for what you’ve done tonight?”

  Marsali swallowed, the cruel implication in his eyes challenging her courage. “You can let the others go now,” she repeated, feeling Effie snatch her hand for moral support.

  “But I can’t let them go.” The major frowned, looking none too pleased himself at the realization. “In fact, none of you will ever be ‘let go’ again. As traitors to the Crown, you face a very unappealing fate.”

  Marsali could sense her four companions staring at her, waiting in hopeful silence for a solution. The first rays of sunrise had pierced the pewter clouds rolling across the sky. The air grew still. She glanced skyward and saw Eun circling above the distant cliffs. He was too far away to be of any help. Once again she was on her own.

  She knew what she had to do.

  “Stand back,” she told Effie and Johnnie in a low voice.

  Johnnie looked down at her in concern. “Be careful, lass,” he whispered.

  Effie gave her another reassuring squeeze before disengaging their hands. “Good luck, Marsali. You’re the best friend I ever had.”

  She nodded stiffly. She took an enormous breath. She raised her gaze heavenward again. The trembling started in the soles of her feet. It worked its way upward to tickle her palms, coursing into her arms, her shoulders, her scalp, until the ends of her hair lifted. Static cracked from her fingertips.