The Maiden Switch

by Allie Borne

  “I have no interest in the lass or the lad.” Ian grumbled, irritated that he was reduced to catering to these Murrays. “Now, can we be on our way?”

  “Aye. Aiden, take Ian on the most direct route. Once ye have done so, return to the keep and tell Thane Murray what it is that I have done. Tell him that I will be in the place that only he and I ken. He will know where to come and fetch us.”

  Aiden nodded and cantered off in the direction of the border, Ian hot on his trail. Andrew sighed and looked down at the bundle in his arms. Mary slept. Her skin had an unhealthy, grayish pallor. Yet, her chest rose and fell evenly and her pulse was strong. She would live. Holding her closer against his chest, he turned his mare towards the West and rode out at a trot.

  Chapter 6-The Competition

  “Nooo!” Merianne woke in a cold sweat. Bryan was awake and leaning over her raggedly breathing form in an instant.

  “What is it, Gra? Did ye have a bad dream?”

  “Aye,” Meri sat up in the large, four poster bed, and attempted to rise. Bryan stayed her with his hand. She turned to him and explained. “Something is not right, with Mary. Our plans are not progressing as we might like.”

  “Twas a nightmare, Ceisdein. Remember, Sweetheart, you and I met with Andrew this afternoon and he assured us that she was in good health. He delivered yer warnings and was assured of her treatment.”

  “There was something he held back. I ken he spoke with you later. What is it that he did not tell me, Bryan? I must know.”

  Bryan sighed and held his wife against his chest, sinking back onto the pillow, he forced her too to lie back down. “Philip Cumyn is an infamous negotiator. He realizes he is cornered. He did no’ appreciate Sir Andrew’s threats, so he made one of his own.”

  “Which was?” Merianne pressed.

  “If he wins the competition, then he will make Mary serve as his companion,” Bryan admitted, softly. Merianne looked up at her husband, blankly. It was clear that she did not understand his meaning.

  “He told Andrew that she would be serving him...in bed,” Bryan explained.

  “What?!” Merianne sat up, more upset than she had been upon waking.

  “That vile, loathsome man plans to put his hands on Mary? Unacceptable! I will sever his member tomorrow. If you lose, I will take him on myself. He will touch her over my dead body!”

  Bryan’s chest grew cold at the thought. “Ye will go nowhere near the mon. Tis jest what he wants, to get within grabbing distance of thee, Merianne. Ye will no’ play into his intimidation tactics. Besides, have ye nay faith in yer husband? I will, o’ course, win the competition and free yer companion.”

  “Oh, of course you will, Bryan. I suppose I have nothing to worry over. Yet, I do fret that he will bring a weapon and hurt you. That was part of what my dream was about, that and I saw Mary in some kind of sack. I think she was suffocating. I know that it is before dawn, Bryan, but I do not think I can rest any longer.”

  “Your husband needs his rest, if he is to be at his best tomorrow, Mo Creidh. Will ye no’ lie with me awhile, My Love, so that I might rest easily, knowing ye are safe in my arms?”

  “Aye, I will lie with you.” Merianne sighed. Curling her body beneath Bryan’s shadow, she willed herself to breath deeply and steadily, mimicking the sleep that would never come.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sir Andrew approached the remote hunting cabin. He had had just enough time to update Bryan and Merianne of Mary’s well being before loading up supplies and coming here. He had chosen not to tell Redland of what he had arranged with Ian. The Laird would not have approved of Andrew’s risking the lass’s life on a hunch. Thinking back now, he was certain he had done the right thing.

  Andrew could not have, in good conscience, allowed Mary to remain under that rotter’s roof for another moment. She had been neglected, and the scum had threatened to abuse her, were he to claim victory in the competition. Philip Cumyn was not a man to trust in a fight. He never fought fair and he would not have on the morrow.

  Andrew pulled Mary’s slumped form closer and swung his right leg about, to slide with his bundle from his mount. How full he had felt, since seeing her chest rise, hearing her heart beat. How could he have left her to suffer?

  Tomorrow, there would be hell to pay. The Cumyns would cry foul. Lord Redland would honestly claim no knowledge of Mary’s whereabouts. Blood would be spilt.

  “Three men are dead, thanks to that bastard,” Sir Andrew murmured to himself as he nudged open the cabin door with his foot. “He and his ilk deserve to have their throats slit. Better a few men die in honest battle, then dozens, strewn out over the next few years.”

  “Mmmmm,” Mary moaned, coming to and feeling a screeching, searing, flame licking at the edges of her brain.

  Andrew carried her quickly to the small cot in the corner of the one room cottage. Resting her gently against the brightly checked quilt, he knelt to press his fingers to her wrist once more. Her pulse beat rapidly, but regularly. Her eyelids fluttered and she rolled onto her side.

  “Oh,” she murmured in obvious discomfort.

  Andrew crossed to the bucket he had placed at the head of the bed and pulled out a ladle full of fresh water. Cupping her head in his hand, Andrew brought the ladle to Mary’s parched lips.

  “Here, drink this. Ye’ll feel better,” Andrew crooned near Mary’s ear. Mary’s eyes fluttered and opened part way, just enough to see the ladle before her and drink eagerly. As Andrew lay her head back upon the pillow, Mary felt exhausted. How had she come to be here, in this rustic place?

  Andrew seemed to read her thoughts. “I’ve brought thee to my hunting cabin. Tis remote and no one but Lord Redland, Arthur, and I ever come here. No one else knows of the place. Ye will be safe here.”

  Mary relaxed into the pillow and, smiling, fell into a deep sleep. Andrew situated himself on the floor beside her cot. Leaning against the wall, he took the opportunity to examine his rescued damsel. Mary’s thick, blonde hair curved slightly at her temples, causing a stray lock to curl against her ivory cheek.

  He thought of how she had felt in his arms. He looked at how well she was proportioned and shook his head to stop the pathetic nature of his ramblings. So what if she was his ideal image of beauty? In truth he knew her not. He had not an inkling if she was a woman whom he could admire or trust, much less love.

  He had rashly acted to save her because he trusted his judgement in reading people. He did not second guess that. Sir Andrew was certain that Philip had no intention to honor his contract with Bryan. He should trust himself to know what he liked, what he wanted in a woman, too.

  Sitting, his head tilted back and to the side, contemplating the possibilities and possible repercussions of his actions. Soon, Andrew too fell asleep. When he awoke, the dawn had long since lit the sky, its pastel light giving over to a bright white sun. Rising stiffly, Sir Andrew limped to the door to see about his horse.

  Like a fool, he had forgotten to tether his horse’s reigns. If he were lucky, Simon would have stayed nearby, in the safety of the copse of trees surrounding the cottage. Cursing, Andrew turned for a brief moment to assure himself that Mary still slept before he jogged out of the cabin and after the hoof prints in the mud.

  A half mile later, Andrew caught up with Simon in a favored patch of clover. Not even bothering to speak a word to his not-so-trusty steed, Andrew mounted the wayward horse and jammed his heel in its flank. Tethered securely to a felled oak near the front of the cottage, Simon commenced grazing happily.

  Andrew made a bee line for the front door. Opening the door quietly, Sir Andrew was jolted by the realization that Mary sat upright in her cot. “I-I stepped outside to secure my horse. How fare thee?”

  “Better, thank you.”

  “Will ye have some more water?” Andrew dipped the ladle again into the bucket and offered it up to Mary, who took the wooden handle and sipped gingerly from the bowl’s edge. Handing it back, Mary looked expectantly at her savior.<
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  Andrew felt the need to fill the silence with speech. “Had I known that Ian Cumyn would resort to shoving ye in a sack and strapping ye to his horse, I would never have bribed him into absconding with ye.”

  Again, the silence stretched between them. Lengthening, its silver threads wove a complex pattern between the two immobile figures. Mary was so overcome by gratitude and awe that she could not speak. If she were to open her mouth at this very moment, a torrential downpour of tears would follow.

  She preferred to sit here, on this cot, very still, so as not to disturb the moment. She preferred to look at this man and imagine he had rescued her, not for his brother, not for his clan’s well-being, but for her own self. Were she to speak, these thoughts would be evident. Mary knew herself too well. She could play act, a bit, but in the end, her true self would show out. She would blush, she would lean in to hear his speech a bit too eagerly, she would smile a bit too wide and a bit too often.

  Better to just sit still, unmoving, and allow him to tell her the crushing truth of the matter afore she shamed herself in such a way.

  “I worry that ye might have bumped yer head,” Sir Andrew offered. “Can you see clearly?” Mary nodded, still blinded by his golden face.

  “If ye don’t mind, I would like to look at yer eyes,” Sir Andrew continued.

  At Mary’s nod, he approached the cot. Standing mere inches from her person, Sir Andrew bent down and drew his face closely to hers. He was relieved to note that her eyes moved inward, to maintain their focus and back out again when he stepped away. If he moved left, so did her eyes, right, they followed.

  Her pupils were large, as would be expected in the dim light of the cabin, not the tiny pin pricks of a person whose body had been damaged from trauma. Just the same, he would feel better if she would move around a bit, and respond clearly to his questions.

  “Are you feeling up to standing?”

  Mary shook her head. She would not humiliate herself by stumbling about on shaky legs. Mary was accustomed to a poise and polish that had escaped her of late. Lack of food and security had robbed her of her grace.

  Sir Andrew drew a stool from the tiny table at the other side of the cabin and brought it to rest a couple of feet from the cot. “It seems ye have lost yer voice, Miss Luke.”

  After another long pause, Mary realized that Andrew intended to wait until she responded. She would have to formulate words that would satisfy his concern. “Nay, Sir. I can speak,” she stated softly.

  “Is it painful for ye to do so?”

  Again, Mary shook her head. “I prefer not to speak just now, as I feel that I am not myself. I need...time.”

  Sir Andrew nodded, seeming to understand what Mary meant. “Not a problem. I have enough words for the two of us and then some. I have brought ye some breakfast. Unfortunately, as ye have been eating very little, ye must no’ eat too much at once. This will be difficult for ye, as once ye begin eating, ye will wish to continue.”

  Mary’s stomach rolled and tightened at the mention of food. She was simultaneously desperate to eat and sick at the thought of chewing and swallowing. Andrew brought her a plate of bread and cheese. Twas the most beautiful meal she had ever seen.

  Mary’s eyes watered, even as she was nearly overcome with the smell of the cheese. With shaking hands, Mary picked up a small piece of the bread and placed it into her mouth. Chewing was energy consuming but the moment the bread hit her stomach, Mary grew ravenous. Immediately, a sliver of cheese and bread quickly made their way into her mouth. She chewed only as much as was necessary to make room for the next piece before she swallowed. All too soon the seven tiny pieces had disappeared.

  Mary looked up at Andrew with a hopeful longing in her face and his heart tugged. “I am sorry but ye must wait awhile before eating again. If no’, yer food will no’ stay where it belongs.”

  Mary was hungry and this man telling her she could not eat, after all she had been through made her cranky. Lying back down, Mary stretched herself out and turned her back on Sir Andrew.

  Andrew chuckled despite himself. She was adorable when she was angry, he decided. He would take a pouting woman over a screeching one any day.

  Andrew used the opportunity to unpack his saddle bag and sweep out the month’s worth of dust from the floor. Then, returning to his chair by the bed, he decided to offer Mary some idea of what their plan would be.

  “By now, Aiden Fraser has left Ian Cumyn at the border of our lands and is making his way back to the Murray keep. Lord Redland will know by the end of the day that thou art safe.

  Tomorrow is to be the competition. Tis my hope that Philip Cumyn will show up with hands empty and accusations on his lips. Tis my hope that he talks his way into his own noose, Miss Luke. The man has murdered three men and mistreated ye vilely.”

  Mary rolled over in her cot and looked searchingly into Sir Andrew’s pale blue gaze. “Will there be blood shed on my account?”

  “Hardly. There will be blood shed because the Cumyn Thane is a murderer and a usurper. It would be best if another took his place. He is a menace to his people and to his neighbors. A message must be sent that slaying men and abducting maidens will not be tolerated.”

  “The best way to do this is to wait until he is drawn from his keep. I believe that Bryan has had this intention all along. He would never say so, however, and risk sabotaging his plans.”

  “Do ye mean to say that Lord Redland means to kill Phillip Cumyn?” Mary asked, propping herself up on the cot.

  “Aye, I believe so. If he can do so in a competition, he will avoid unnecessary blood shed.”

  “And what if Sir Phillip has thought of the same strategy? Why would the Cumyn Laird even bother to come tomorrow, knowing he has nothing with which to bargain?”

  Sir Andrew thought about this obvious flaw in his plan, and had to agree. Twas essential that Philip expose himself if his tyranny was to be thwarted.

  “We must come up with a plan to draw him out, then.”

  Mary’s mind raced. She knew what it was to feel the icy spike of terror at the edge of Sir Philip’s knife. She had heard the gurgling cries as Ian and his Laird had slit the throats of the men who had been her traveling companions. She wished the man to be dead, to be gone from this planet. Yet, Mary had no wish to involve herself or those she cared about in destroying the menace.

  “Can we not think of a way to have him destroy himself? He is a greedy, grasping man. Certainly, his actions can be predictably self serving.”

  “Aye,” Sir Andrew agreed, “but how?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Sir Philip was in a true fury. Ian was missing. Marching down to the bed chamber of where he had locked in Miss Luke, Philip turned the key in the lock and flung open the door. Gone-She was gone.

  “Aaaargh!” Philip screamed out in frustration. He had been so close to destroying Redland. So close to making a play for power. Without Redland, he would be the dominate power. No one else would dare thwart his wishes. Ian would pay.

  The old gate keeper watched Thane Cumyn advance towards his post. William shivered. No light reflected in his Laird’s eyes. They reminded William of two chips of coal stuck clumsily in a puffy, bearded face. The man was the devil’s get, fer certain.

  Ian will pay, Sir Phillip repeated to himself, and so will any one who gets in my way.

  “Laird!” the gate keeper greeted.

  “Did ye allow Ian to pass through these gates last night, Keeper?”

  “I stopped him, Laird, but then he said he was on yer business and seeing as how he had a sack with him, well, I thought it was important, and I let him pass.”

  Roaring in frustration, Philip grasped the tiny man by his shirt front and threw him agains the wooden gate. The elderly Cumyn crumpled to the ground, agasp in pain.

  Walking away, towards his stable, Philip fumed. Where would Ian go? To Redland? He doubted it. He would hardly turn himself over to the witch of a lady there. Then where? Perhaps he planned on ransoming h
er...Sir Andrew! That’s it. Like a fool, he had provided Sir Andrew with the perfect opportunity for Ian to arrange the sale of Philip’s own little morsel.

  He would take his horse out and see if he could track the traitor. If he were lucky, the buffoon would spill his secrets before he spilled his guts.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What are ye telling me, Aiden?” Redland whispered menacingly to the huntsman. “Sir Andrew has rescued Miss Luke and taken her somewhere safe.” Aiden repeated, beginning to shake in his boots.

  “Oh!” Merianne clapped her hands together in delight. “She is safe!”

  Redland held up his hand to still his wife. “And now, Aiden, how do ye suppose I will deal with Thane Cumyn?”

  “I-I do no’ ken, my Laird. I-I was asked to help and I did so. If I have obeyed in error, I beseech yer forgiveness.”

  Redland was furious. His impetuous brother had acted without his knowledge, endangering the welfare of the clan for the well being of an individual yet again. Was he cursed to be surrounded by softhearted fools?

  He could feel Philip slipping from his grasp as certainly as the slippery eel that he was. “Where did he take her, Aiden?”

  “Sir Andrew said that ye would know where he would go.” Aiden responded pitiably.

  Surprisingly, Bryan did know where his brother must have gone...to the hunting cabin by the ridge. Philip would certainly not locate them there. Likely, Philip would be consumed with vengeance and track Ian first. He would need to ride out immediately if he was to recover Miss Luke and his brother before Phillip’s hunting party ran across them.

  “It seems the field of battle has changed,” he told Aiden.

  “Gather up Arthur, Sir Robert, Steven and a few others. Tell them to meet me in the stables in half an hour’s time.”

  “Nay,” Merianne breathed, realizing the very dangerous game that was about to be played. “Nay, Bryan. Let Sir Andrew stay put. We can fetch him in a few days, once the competition has been forfeit.”

  “Out of the question. Thou hast seen fer thyself how the Cumyn clan operates. Left to their own devices, yer companion and my brother will die. Philip may no’ be many things, but a tracker, he is. Let us hope he tracks Ian first.”