“I do have one wee question ere ye begin your play,” he murmured.
“Weel?” Hugh pressed when Ewan said no more.
“I confess I am a wee bit curious as to what has stirred this hatred ye and Helena have for me. Except for the land ye wrongly believe was stolen from ye, Hugh, I cannae recall any particular sin I may have commited against either of ye.”
“Scarglas should have been mine!” yelled Hugh. “Your mad father slithered into his cousin’s good graces and took it from me. I should have been the one to inherit it, nay you. I should have been its laird, nay you. From the moment ye were born, the child of that fool Fingal and the old laird’s daughter, we lost all chance of getting this land. Ye were the old laird’s grandson. It didnae matter what Fingal was or what we did to him, ye are the rightful heir in the eyes of the king, the church, and the law. It wasnae to be borne.”
“Ye dinnae need these lands. Ye are laird of your own.”
“Miserable, useless stretches of rocky moor. With these lands added to mine, I could have been a verra powerful laird.” He glanced in the direction of Scarglas keep. “Tis a much finer keep, as weel. One more worthy of a mon like me. I could have been a respected, wealthy mon if I had that keep.”
It still did not make much sense to Ewan. Hugh seemed to think he had become heir to Scarglas out of pure malice, and had robbed him of some glorious future that only existed in his mind, at least in part. Ewan still had the feeling that there was more to it, more twists to Hugh’s thinking that probably made sense only to him. At some point in his life, Hugh had decided that the loss of Scarglas was the reason for everything that had gone wrong in his life, and since Ewan was the heir, he had to suffer. The fact that Ewan had bred a son upon Hugh’s lover when he had been unable to had undoubtedly strengthened that strange reasoning and sense of grievance.
“And ye, Helena?” he asked.
“Ye killed my family,” she replied. “My mother and sister.”
“Nay, I didnae.”
“Nay by your own hand, mayhap, but ’twas your clan who did the deed. They were slaughtered during one of your raids. My father found their savaged bodies and, in his grief, hanged himself. I lost everyone because of the MacFingals.” She smiled at Hugh. “I was utterly lost and alone until I found Hugh.”
“My men dinnae kill women.”
“Ye MacFingals were raiding Hugh’s lands. Your men were seen near my home. Ye just insult me with your denials. Who else could have done it?”
Your father, Ewan thought, but said nothing, just stared at her. Instinct told him that a part of Helena knew that, but rather than face that gruesome truth, she blamed his clan, thus him. It had been their ill luck to be close at hand on that dark day.
It was almost funny in some grim, twisted way. He had done no real harm to either of these people. He would be tortured and murdered for wrongs he had never commited, for crimes and hurts only their twisted reasoning could possibly have blamed upon him. He was their demon, the one they had chosen to bear the blame for their own faults, pains, and losses. For years he had been trying to reason with people who lacked all reason.
“Enough talk,” drawled Hugh as he stepped nearer to Ewan, his dagger in his hand. “Tis but a waste of time.”
“Killing me willnae gain ye Scarglas,” Ewan said.
“True, but it will make me verra happy.”
“Ye said I could go first, Hugh,” Helena said, a slight whine in her voice. “Tis why I brought my whip. If ye start carving on him, he will be all bloody and senseless ere I can pay him back for touching me.”
“Ye touched me,” Ewan murmured. “I wasnae spitting out my secrets fast enough for ye, so ye crawled into my bed and tried to seduce them out of me. Ye can cease acting as if ye are some virtuous lass debauched by a filthy MacFingal. Twas quite the other way around.”
And now she was not beautiful at all, Ewan thought, as he watched her face twist into ugliness with hate and fury. Now one could clearly see what was in her heart. It had probably not been wise to say what he had, but he was weary of being called a vile seducer by this whore.
“Let me make him pay for that, Hugh,” she hissed. “Let me make him bleed.”
“I will stop ye if ye go too far, my love,” Hugh said as he stepped back. “I will let ye have your vengeance, but not at the cost of my own. Turn him round,” he ordered his men.
And so it begins, Ewan thought as, despite his struggles, he was finally turned so that Helena could wield her whip upon his back. He prayed he had the fortitude to endure it without giving them the pleasure of seeing his pain. The longer he could endure, the more the slight chance of rescue grew as well. Someone would soon notice that he had been gone longer than ever before, that he had gone away alone. Gregor knew he would be here, something the Grays were obviously unaware of. As Helena’s whip seared across his back, he gritted his teeth against a cry and began to pray that someone came looking for him soon.
“I want ye to kill them both,” Fiona said as she stared at her husband, naked and bleeding, yet still attempting to struggle as the men turned him around upon their strange scaffold so that he was facing Hugh Gray.
“Tis what we intend to do,” said Gregor.
“We could do it slowly,” murmured Sigimor, watching her closely. “Give them a wee taste of what they deal out to your mon.”
“Ah, how ye tempt me, Sigimor,” she said, taking a deep breath to control the fury that had ripped through her at the sight of her husband. “But nay. E’en if it is weel-deserved justice in a way, we willnae act as they do.”
“As ye wish. Ready?”
Fiona tugged her bodice down just a little and ran her fingers through her hair to make it look more tousled. “Aye, I think so. How do I look?”
“Delicious.”
“Ye cannae see any of my daggers?”
“Nary a one.”
“Then I am ready.”
“Be verra careful, Fiona,” said Gregor. “If ye e’en think they are about to grab ye, hurt ye, run. I have seen ye run and ye ought to be able to keep free of their grasp, at least until we can turn their attention away from ye.”
“Agreed.”
Fiona was glad of the rage that heated her blood, for it burned away her fear as she picked up her basket and started toward the Grays. Although everyone thought her plan a good one, she knew it could all go horribly wrong. None of them could be sure just how much the Grays may have heard about her. If they knew too much, she would be quickly recognized and that could put her in even more danger.
“Uncle Robbie,” she sang out as she skipped toward the cottage. “Hallooo! I have brought ye cakes.” She stumbled to a halt and looked at the Grays as if she had only just noticed them. “Oh, my, my, my. I hadnae realized Uncle Robbie was having guests. I would have brought more cakes.”
Ewan blinked. That could not possibly be Fiona he saw standing there. His pain had made him delirious.
Then he looked at Hugh and his men, at their lusty expressions, and realized that it was indeed his wife standing there. His wife looking so sweetly confused, her beautiful hair swirling around her slender body, and her bodice pulled so low that he could see the slightest hint of her nipples. One deep breath or wriggle and her breasts would be bouncing about in front of everyone’s eyes. When he was free, he was going to find out who had allowed her to do this and kill them—slowly.
Then she looked at him, and for one brief moment he saw rage and pain in her eyes before they turned somewhat cloudy. Her face held an expression of simple curiosity, not a glimmer of recognition to be seen. In fact, considering she was staring at a bloodied, naked man, her expression was so sweet and calm, one would have to wonder if she was in possession of all her wits. He idly wondered how many knives she had tucked away upon her person.
“Who the hell are ye?” demanded Hugh.
The way Hugh was staring at Fiona’s breasts made Ewan hope someone would come and kill the man soon. After a quick look around a
t the lust-filled expressions on the faces of Hugh’s men, Ewan nearly told his wife to go home. Then he saw Helena’s face. The woman looked from Hugh to Fiona and back again. The way her expression hardened and her grip tightened upon her bloodied whip made Ewan feel that she was the one who had to be watched closely.
He kept his gaze fixed upon Helena as Fiona played her game. If nothing else, it kept him from looking for the men he hoped were coming. Impetuous though she was, Fiona would never attempt to rescue him on her own. She was too intelligent for that and, he realized, too well versed in the ways of battle. Ewan struggled not to give in to his pain, to do his best to watch the Grays for any sign of a threat to Fiona or that one of the fools might suddenly remember that he ought to be keeping a guard.
“Why, I am Old Robbie’s niece,” Fiona replied, smiling at Hugh. “I oftimes come to see the mon and his sweet wife.”
“He doesnae have any kin,” snapped Helena.
“Weel, I am nay blood kin, but we still consider each other family.”
“This is wrong, Hugh,” Helena said, moving next to him and grabbing his arm, scowling when he barely looked at her but kept his gaze fixed upon Fiona’s lithe body. “Send this skinny bitch away or kill her.”
“Oh, how unkind!” cried Fiona.
Ewan watched as every man’s gaze followed her hand when she pressed it against her bosom. If rescue did not come quickly, they would fall upon her like a pack of slathering wolves. Or a jealous Helena would attack her. Then Ewan almost smiled. Helena would be making a very grave mistake, perhaps even a deadly one, if she did that.
“But I forgive ye,” Fiona said, “for I suspect those spots are verra uncomfortable and make ye ill humored.”
“Spots?! I havenae any spots,” said Helena, even as she ran her hand over her face.
“Oh, pardon. It must have been a shadow or two. My mistake.” Fiona glanced at Ewan. “Ye really should put some clothes on this poor mon. Tis nay right for ladies to be subjected to such a sight. To see so much manliness displayed can sorely upset our delicate sensibilities.”
“Ye are an idiot.”
“Shut your mouth, Helena,” said Hugh. “And ye, wench,” he said to Fiona, “what do ye do here?”
“I wait,” replied Fiona.
“For what?”
“For ye to die.”
Hugh was not the only one surprised by the abrupt change in Fiona’s voice. Ewan did not think he had ever heard a woman sound so hard, so cold and threatening. He tensed as she began to ever so slightly back up toward him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of red hair and nearly smiled. All he had to worry about now was that his brave little wife did not get injured in the battle that was about to begin.
“Ye are mad. Surely ye cannae think that one wee lass like ye could do me any harm.”
“Weel, aye, I could, but I believe I will let someone else do it.”
“Who?”
“Me,” said Sigimor, and he grinned when Hugh whirled around to face him.
Fiona moved to stand close to Ewan as the battle began. She put her basket down and armed herself, a dagger in each hand. She wished she could reach his bonds and get him down, but not only were they up too high, she could not afford to take her attention from the Grays.
“I will beat ye when I am free and healed from these injuries,” Ewan said.
“Ye may try,” Fiona said. “It will be a quick battle.”
“Verra quick.” Then he saw Helena turn to glare at Fiona, as if she had only just realized the trick that had been played upon them. “Ware, lass.”
Fiona tensed as Helena approached. The woman had obviously been in the midst of the battle. Fiona now recalled hearing that whip crack a few times. Since Helena no longer carried it, she had to assume that one of Ewan’s men had taken it away. She was sorry they had not killed the woman when they had done so. Helena did, however, now hold a large, sharp knife.
“Ye are the one he married, arenae ye,” hissed Helena.
“Aye, I have that honor,” Fiona replied.
“Honor? To marry him? I suppose ye couldnae get anyone else since ye are marred.”
“And ye are an idiot.”
“I am going to kill ye,” Helena said, “and then I am going to cut this pig up into small ugly pieces. Ye had best run, ye wee fool, as I am the one who gave him many of those scars.”
“I ken it, but I will be merciful and nay make ye suffer when I kill ye.”
Ewan cursed his bonds when Helena attacked Fiona. An instant later he calmed and watched his wife with admiration. Her skill was easy to see, her grace in battle a wonder to watch. It took several moments for Helena to realize she was just being toyed with, that the smaller woman could have killed her already if she had chosen to. For a brief moment, fear flickered in her expression, but then she glared at Fiona.
“I will take ye with me,” Helena snapped, silently acknowledging that she would be losing this battle.
“Nay, ye will go alone.”
A moment later it was done, Fiona calmly cleaning her blade upon the dead woman’s skirts. She was just standing up to look at Ewan when the last of the Grays fell. He knew a brief pang of disappointment when he realized he had not seen Hugh die.
“Sigimor made him sweat,” Fiona said.
“Ye can read my thoughts, can ye?”
“Nay, after what he did to ye, it took no great gift to ken what ye would think.”
Gregor and Sigimor untied him. He collapsed to his knees, his legs too weak to hold him. It did not take any urging for him to rest his head in Fiona’s lap. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of her scent as she began to gently clean his wounds. All around him, he could hear the sounds of his men removing the bodies of the Grays.
“Oh, Ewan,” whispered Fiona as she gently bathed the blood from his ravaged back, “I wish we could kill them all again. Your poor fine back.”
“Twill heal,” he said. “Helena didnae have the strength in her arm to do me as badly as a mon would have.”
“I am nay sorry I killed her.”
“Good. Ye shouldnae be. Ah, lass, ye took too great a risk just to save my battered hide.”
“I had no choice.”
He wanted to ask her what she meant, but his brother Gregor arrived with a blanket and his breeches. Fiona helped him sit up, and Gregor carefully tugged his breeches onto his rapidly weakening body. Trying to understand the meaning behind the tone of Fiona’s voice when she had spoken would have to wait until he had his senses back. The wealth of emotion he had heard could be no more than was natural for a woman after such an ordeal. Or it could mean she felt a great deal for him, he thought happily. Later, when he was clear-headed, he would think it out all very carefully.
“Can ye sit a horse?” Gregor asked him.
“Nay without being tied there or held very securely,” Ewan answered. “How did ye ken what was happening?”
“I had realized ye had left without me and followed. Found Sigimor already here. He had followed ye, too, although he ne’er said why,” Gregor said and frowned at Sigimor as that man stood next to Fiona. “Why were ye there?”
“Thought he was acting odd,” replied Sigimor. “Thought he might have himself a leman and decided to find out if I was going to have to pound some sense into him.”
Fiona giggled, both at Sigimor’s calmly spoken threat and in relief that she was not the only one who had wondered if Ewan was sneaking away to visit a woman. “Ewan is going to need to be held firmly if he is to stay on a horse all the way back to Scarglas, and care must be taken with his back.”
“I will do it. He can sit up behind me, put his arms round my waist and we will tie his wrists together to hold him like that if he swoons.”
“I ne’er swoon,” muttered Ewan, but Sigimor just smiled.
Sigimor winced as he helped Ewan to his feet and caught a glimpse of his back. “That woman loved her whip. Just what did ye do to make her hate ye so much?”
&nb
sp; “She blamed me for the death of her mother and sister,” replied Ewan, leaning heavily on Sigimor as the man walked him to the horses Simon was just bringing into the clearing. “From the tale she told, I believe her father was mad and killed the women, then killed himself. I could tell that Helena suspected it, but the MacFingals were raiding the Grays that day and so she decided to blame us instead.”
“And Hugh wanted Scarglas.”
“Aye, but he, too, had gotten everything all tangled up in his mind until I became his demon to slay.” Seeing that Fiona was a few steps behind them speaking with Simon, Ewan asked Sigimor, “What about the people in the cottage? By God’s mercy, Hugh forgot about them.”
“Ye mean the old couple and your son?”
“Oh, curse it, Fiona has seen the boy.”
“Aye, he and the old couple are at Scarglas. Ye should have told her.”
“It had only been three days since I had learned about him myself. I was trying to think of the best way to tell Fiona.”
“Weel, while ye are recovering, ye will have time to think of the best way to soothe her temper.”
“She was angry, was she?” Fiona grimaced at the look Sigimor gave him, a look that clearly told him that was a stupid question. “Aye, of course she was. Tis hard for a lass to accept her husband’s bastard.”
“Oh, she wasnae angry that ye had bred a bastard. Her brother Diarmot has five. And Fiona has the good sense to understand it was e’er ye met her, that she was still just a wee lass herself, nay a woman yet. Nay, she was angry that ye hadnae told her. Mayhap hurt a wee bit, as weel.”
“I dinnae suppose ye ken of a way a mon can grovel without looking as if he is doing so.” He sighed when Sigimor just laughed.
By the time they got him settled on the horse, his arms tied around Sigimor, Ewan knew he was soon going to make himself a liar and swoon. He looked down at Fiona when she paused by the horse and stroked his thigh with a trembling hand. Ewan knew he was not imagining the emotion in her expression. There was far more there than the concern of a dutiful wife.
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