Highlander's Sword

by Amanda Forester

  When the light started to fade, the entire group moved south and made camp for the night. Aila grate fully accepted the meat provided. At this point, she did not care what was roasting on the stick; she ate raven ously. She met briefly with Warwick and Pitcairn and told them of her kidnap and escape. MacLaren's watchers and the tall French knight, who had gallantly introduced himself as Chaumont, stood nearby. The men listened to her tale without comment, which she appreciated, since explaining why she was out of the castle in the first place was difficult.

  While Aila felt more relaxed to be among her own kin, she noticed Senga was not. The maid appeared nervous throughout the day, and when the men came back to camp, she looked increasingly frightened. Aila did not wish to falsely accuse, but her suspicions about her maid had been raised. Having the day to think on her situation, Aila recalled the courier Senga had spoken to prior to their leaving the convent. Could she have given him a message to take to McNab? When the men gave the women a brief moment alone by the stream to prepare for the night, Aila took seized the opportunity.

  "Are ye working for McNab?" Aila asked, her voice soft.

  Senga looked up at her mistress, clearly surprised, but did not try to hide the truth and nodded.

  "Why?"

  "I'm sorry, m'lady. It was ne'er supposed to be like this, but now I'm afraid no' to do what he says."

  "If ye fear McNab, we can protect ye."

  "Nay, no' him, m'lady."

  "Then whom do ye fear?" Aila asked, her pulse quickening. Did Senga know the identity of the man McNab had mentioned? Was there a traitor within Dundaff? Aila walked closer to Senga, whispering, "Is there one at Dundaff who has betrayed Graham to McNab?"

  Senga nodded, wide-eyed.

  "Tell me who." Aila was unsuccessful in her attempt to keep the edge from her voice.

  Senga shook her head, unsure.

  "I will protect ye." Though Aila knew her present situation did not give her much credence for authority. "But ye must tell me who it is."

  "Come now, that's long enough," called a male voice. Aila's chance to speak with her maid ended abruptly with the return of MacLaren's soldiers.

  Aila and her maid were taken to the edge of the camp where a bedroll had been prepared. Aila expected to sleep there with her maid and hoped to query her more during the night. Instead, Senga was told to stay, and Aila was led on through a maze of men bedding down for the night to the center of camp. MacLaren was waiting for her. To her embarrassment, she real ized he expected her to sleep next to him. Not wanting to create a scene, she gingerly sat on the ground.

  "Here," said MacLaren patting the side of his tartan bedroll.

  "I'd rather sleep wi' my maid," said Aila nervously.

  "Ye'll be safer here."

  Aila doubted that. MacLaren was still wearing his linen tunic, but since his tartan was now being used as his bedroll, she guessed he was wearing nothing beneath the blanket. His shoulder-length hair hung down around his face, and he watched her with cold eyes. "And take off that kirtle. It's covered in filth."

  "'Tis yer fault if it is," Aila snapped, her eyes flashing.

  MacLaren shrugged. "Take it off."

  "Nay." Aila glanced around, saying in a whisper, "Yer men will see me."

  "Turn away now," called MacLaren in a loud voice, and the men obligingly turned their backs on the couple.

  "But ye…" added Aila in a small voice.

  MacLaren gave her a hard look and also turned around. Taking advantage of her privacy, Aila loosed her stays and pulled off the dirty kirtle, something she had wanted to do all day. She kept on the linen chemise and pulled her cloak over her as a blanket. Edging onto a small amount of MacLaren's tartan, she lay down with her back to MacLaren, trying not to think of what part of his body the cloth she lay on had covered during the day.

  MacLaren wrapped his arm around her and drew her to him. She gasped, enveloped by his heat. He pulled her closer, and for a moment, she wanted to sink back into him, feeling his warmth and his strength. Recalling his treatment of her, she pulled away.

  "What are ye doing?" she whispered.

  "Putting my arm around ye… wife." MacLaren gently but firmly pulled her toward him so she was lying on her back beside him. He leaned over her, and slipping his hand under her cloak, he ran it along her side to her thigh and slowly began to pull up her chemise.

  Aila's eyes widened and she tried to stop the upward progression of MacLaren's hand with her nightdress. "Nay. What are ye doing?" asked Aila in a fierce whisper.

  MacLaren sighed. "Yer father offered ye to me in marriage. I accepted. We both took vows before the priest, vows I intend to keep. We both have a respon sibility, ye to yer father, I to my men. Whatever our personal feelings on the matter may be, the marriage must be consummated."

  It was fortunate Aila was already lying down, since the shock of MacLaren's statement would have laid her flat.

  "Here?" squeaked Aila.

  "Here."

  "Now?"

  "Now."

  "Nay! I dinna want to," gasped Aila a little more loudly than she had intended. She could not decide what was worse, that MacLaren wanted to bed her now or that the whole camp would know it.

  "Come, lass, dinna fight me. I'm yer husband." MacLaren drew her closer.

  "But everyone can hear us." Aila was desperate to make him stop.

  "Nay, they are all sleeping. They will no' hear a thing."

  "I can hear you fine." Chaumont's rich voice floated through the darkness. "Perhaps your bride would like a little more privacy for her first time with you." Aila was utterly embarrassed at the Frenchman's words.

  "Aye, Chaumont is right," came another low voice.

  "Nay," came another, "'tis best a wife learns her place. If he wants to bed her now, she shoud'na fight him."

  "A wife should ne'er fight against her husband."

  "Aye," agreed several men.

  "But then a husband should not be giving his wife a reason to fight him on her wedding night," said Chaumont again.

  "That's enough," shouted MacLaren.

  "Lady Aila has always been a good lass. If she's fighting him, I warrant MacLaren's doing something wrong." Aila recognized the voice as belonging to one of her father's men at arms, and she blushed down to her toes.

  "'Tis been a while for our laird. Maybe he's out of practice."

  "My wife likes her shoulders rubbed. Ha' ye tried that?"

  "Ye need to woo her wi' poetry."

  "Poetry? Nay, 'tis kisses a lass likes."

  "Ah, but where should those kisses be placed?"

  "Oh, Lord, take me now," whispered Aila and fervently hoped God would take pity on her and let the ground swallow her whole.

  "As ye wish," said MacLaren and rolled on top of her.

  "Nay, no' ye!" cried Aila and tried to push him away.

  "Dinna hurt the Lady Aila," growled a low voice Aila knew belonged to Warwick.

  "He's no' hurting her, just bedding her."

  "'Tis hardly the place or the time, lad," said Pitcairn.

  "That's enough!" roared MacLaren, standing and pulling Aila up with him. "Get yer cloak." MacLaren quickly wrapped his plaid around him. "Ye want privacy, I'll give ye privacy."

  Aila was half led, half dragged out from the middle of camp and into the thick forest. After a short hike, MacLaren stopped in a small clearing surrounded on two sides by large rock formations. A full moon peeked over the trees. It would have been a pleasant night except for the tall Highlander glaring at her.

  "Will this be acceptable to ye?" MacLaren asked the question like a statement and proceeded to once again remove his plaid and lay it on the ground for them. Before Aila could think of a response, he grabbed her cloak from her, pulled her down onto the plaid with him, and spread her cloak over them like a blanket. They lay there for a while, not touching.

  "I ken ye dinna wish to be married to me," MacLaren began, his voice emotionless. "I ken ye'd rather be wi' another, but we're wed no
w, and we need to fulfill our responsibilities."

  "Ye ken what I feel?" cried Aila, shaking with fear and anger and fatigue. "Ye ken what it is to have yer whole life change in a moment? To have everything ye thought ye understood about yer life to be suddenly, completely different?"

  MacLaren said nothing but made no move to touch her. They lay side by side, watching the moon slowly rise above the tree line.

  "I ne'er meant to hurt ye, Aila." An odd tingle went through her when MacLaren said her name for the first time. "Maybe this marriage is no' what either of us wanted, but the truth is we are married now, and we must make this marriage fully legal. I dinna wish to worrit myself about ye running off to the nunnery or wi' another man. After tonight, I'll leave ye alone for a time, if ye wish it."

  MacLaren rolled onto his side toward her and softly ran his hand down her side and slowly started to pull up her chemise once again.

  "Nay," Aila whispered and tried to push his hand away.

  "It would be easier for ye if ye calm yerself and dinna fight me."

  "Now I understand ye," said Aila sarcastically even as she shook with fear. "This is the part where ye threaten to hurt me if I dinna lie still."

  "What?" MacLaren stopped immediately.

  "We can do it gently or no'. Either way, ye'll enjoy yerself. Is that right? Yer just like McNab."

  "What did he do to ye?" MacLaren's voice was chilling.

  "He tried to… he wanted to… What do ye care?" Aila sputtered, and tears began to run down her face. "Oh, I ken, ye want to know if I may be carrying his child. Well, nay, ye need no' worrit about that. But even if I told ye I was still a maid, ye woud'na believe me. So go ahead, do whatever ye like, I dinna care anymore." Aila turned away from him and sobbed. MacLaren watched helplessly as Aila cried, wondering what he was supposed to do. He had heard the report that Aila had been kidnapped and how she escaped, yet trust came slowly. Her virginity was rather easily proven, and her lack of understanding in these matters only confirmed her innocence. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. He did not know what to do with a crying lass.

  "Did ye go willingly wi' McNab?" he asked, trying to sound gentle.

  "Nay," Aila answered him through her tears.

  "Did he…" MacLaren shifted his position. "Did he try to take yer maidenhood by force?"

  "Aye." Aila sobbed anew.

  MacLaren's anger burned. When he caught McNab, he would make his death slow and painful. "Tell me ev'ry body part o' his that touched ye, and I'll cut it off and make him eat it before I kill the whoreson." Aila stopped crying and turned to him, hiccupping in a way that almost sounded like a laugh.

  "Truly?"

  "Truly, m'lady. I'll kill the bastard any way ye like."

  Aila tried without success to suppress a smile. "'Tis uncharitable to wish another's death."

  "Then I have lived a verra uncharitable life."

  Husband and wife looked at each other for a long moment, married yet still strangers to each other.

  "What are ye going to do wi' me now?" Aila asked quietly.

  MacLaren gave a heavy sigh and rolled onto his back. "I will no' force ye, if that's what ye're asking."

  "Do ye mean that?"

  MacLaren propped back up on his elbow and looked at her. "I swear to ye on the grave o' my father, I will no' force ye to my bed. May my words condemn me on the day o' judgment if I speak ye false."

  "Thank ye," breathed Aila and relaxed into him. MacLaren froze as she cuddled beside him, her head resting on his chest, her knee on his thigh. She was soft and warm, and his body responded instantly. He gritted his teeth and regretted his moment of charity. He had the right to take her, willing or no, but he knew he would not be able to force her. He wanted to touch her auburn hair, to shake it loose from its plait and bury his hand in her mass of curls. Desire pounded through him with every heartbeat, but he kept his hands firmly by his side, not wanting to risk the temptation. She was either completely innocent or a master manipulator—he wished he knew which one.

  "Sorry," Aila murmured and started to move away.

  "Nay," said MacLaren with a sigh, putting his arm around her gently. "Ye're my wife. 'Tis right ye rest yer head on my shoulder and no' on the ground." He should have let her pull away, but he wanted her close; he wanted her very close. "I dinna ken how soon I would regret my oath to ye."

  Aila lifted her head, worry in her eyes, "Are ye going to…"

  "Nay, I'll keep my promise to ye. Besides, a man shoud'na have to force his own wife."

  "I… I'm sorry."

  "Now dinna worrit yerself." MacLaren reached his

  other arm around and soothed her head back on his chest. "Ye're a verra beautiful woman. I'd have to be dead no' to notice." He started playing with her hair, slowly unbraiding it.

  "Beautiful? Do ye mock me, sir?"

  "Nay, 'tis only the truth, as I am sure ye are well aware." MacLaren buried his fingers in her thick hair. He was playing with fire, but despite the warnings his brain kept sending, his body seemed to have a mind of its own.

  "My mother has told me the truth, that I am verra unappealing to men."

  Could this be true? Could Aila somehow not know how attractive she was? Impossible. MacLaren felt her relax and snuggle closer to him, letting out a contented little sigh. He needed her… now.

  MacLaren groaned and pushed her away. "Och, lass, ye're driving me mad. I want ye bad but no' quite enough to roast in hell for ye. Now ye've amused yerself at my expense, and I want something in return."

  "Did I do something wrong?" Aila looked at him, wide-eyed.

  "I want ye to swear to me ye'll tell me the truth, always, no matter what I ask ye."

  "But o' course I'll be honest wi' ye. Ye're my husband."

  "Aye, but ye seem most intent on denying my rights, so I'll have yer word on this. I give ye leave to deny me yer body but ne'er the truth."

  "Ye shame me, sir." Aila's voice shook.

  "Yer word, if ye please."

  "I swear to ye, Sir Padyn MacLaren, that I will always speak to ye the truth. If e'er I speak ye false, I release ye from the promise ye made to me this eve."

  MacLaren smiled. He rather liked this promise. All he needed now was to catch her in a falsehood, and onto her back she'd go. MacLaren reached over to put his arm around her, expecting her to pull away, but she did not. Encouraged, MacLaren tried to think of a question to trip his wife into a lie.

  Nineteen

  AILA LAY NEXT TO PADYN MACLAREN IN THE moonlight, her emotions for this man rising and falling with every breath. She didn't know what to feel when she was with him, but even if she had been given the chance, she wouldn't want to leave.

  "Why did ye go to St. Margaret's yesterday?" MacLaren's voice was calm and his eyes gleamed at Aila.

  Aila took a deep breath. It was time to confess. "I left to ask for an annulment and join the convent. It had always been my mother's wish that I join St. Margaret's, and I have prepared myself to be a nun my whole life. Marrying ye was… verra unexpected. When ye dinna come for me on our wedding night, I feared ye married me only for my inheritance and would treat me wi' cruelty once ye took me away from Dundaff. Forgive me, sir. 'Twas cowardly, I admit."

  "Do ye still fear me?"

  "Nay, well, no' as much."

  "I dinna want ye afeared o' me. I will ne'er treat ye cruel. Do ye trust me?"

  The warmth of MacLaren's body radiated to her, drawing her closer. He had given her his word and was honoring it. It was more than her due and she knew it. In her gut, she trusted him. "Aye, I trust ye. Do ye trust me?"

  That was another question altogether. "Ye must earn my trust, Aila, and ye have already acted in some ways that make trust difficult."

  Aila lowered her eyes. The truth of that statement was undeniable, but still, she would like to have a second chance. She was unaccustomed to being thought of as false, and she disliked the feeling intensely. "I did run to the convent, I admit that. But I was confused. I was t
here only a few hours afore I realized my mistake and went back home. Or at least I was on my way until McNab and his men abducted me."

  "Ye made it to the convent. Ye could have annulled the marriage and joined the sisters. What made ye come back?"

  "I talked to Sister Enid, and she told me to pray." Aila hesitated. Other than Sister Enid, she had never told anyone else about her prayers or the verses. "Sometimes when I pray or listen to God, a particular verse comes to my mind. I believe God may use these verses to speak to me." Aila glanced at MacLaren, wondering if he would laugh at her.