The footsteps outside had an odd thumping sound, the shouting drowned out by the baying of the dogs following.
It was pandemonium; chaos that Nicholas used to his advantage.
When the door opened, he swung the pole at the man entering.
The rod collided solidly with a face and blood spattered both Nicholas and the newcomer, who staggered, losing the crutch tucked under one arm, a hand to the nose that was now spurting blood like a gusher.
“God damn Highlander, ye’ve broke my fuckin’ nose,” Rory Drummond roared, stumbling off kilter into the wall and then back toward Nicholas. Nicholas grimly swung the pole again and Rory caught it in midair. He flung it aside and then jerked Nicholas toward him. They both went down in a flurry of blood, dogs and screaming women.
Nicholas could hardly breathe normally, with a giant of a Scot on his chest he couldn’t breathe at all. It would be an inglorious end, well matched to his cowardice, he decided, in avoiding his father’s demands.
Rory caught hold of Nicholas’s hair and slammed his head against the stone floor, a growling, furious man bent on revenge. A pair of hands saved Nicholas from a certain concussion, lifting Rory forcefully off from Nicholas, while the Scot complained, spitting blood.
Nicholas was heaved to his feet. Someone else shooed out the maids who had accompanied Rory into the room.
“Shut up all of ye!” William shouted. His voice quieted even the dogs. They dropped to the floor at the command.
Rory collapsed into a bench which creaked alarmingly at his weight. Another massive Scot shoved Nicholas against the door by the throat, clearly another brother. This one had to be Mary’s elder by only a year or two, with the same white blond hair. Malcolm, if he remembered her naming them.
He was nearly Nicholas’s equal in height, but the smallest Drummond in the room.
William looked at Rory and then at Nicholas, and then with a curl of a lip, at the curtain pole lying at Nicholas’s feet.
“Bloody hell, Rory, he’s half yer size and he’s felled ye with a curtain rod.”
Rory didn’t answer and instead laid his head back and pinched his nose, which was still gushing blood. He held up a hand, and then finally lifted his head and spat out a wad of blood on the floor.”Fucking Highlander, ye will pay handily for that!”
Nicholas could only lift a brow in response. Rory and he went back a long ways, to Stirling in fact, a friendly rivalry most often demonstrated in rather violent terms. Malcolm looked at him curiously and then at Rory. “Nah, this can’t be yer Nicholas. Ye said he was dangerous, a man to be feared.” Malcolm looked at the pole and then at Nicholas again. “Or maybe he is,” he decided.
Rory grinned wolfishly. “Aye, I told ye he was when ye said Mary found him at Bannockburn.” Rory laughed and then shook his head, serious suddenly when he looked at Nicholas. “Still running are ye, Nicky?”
Malcolm shifted his hold to Nicholas’s chest, not much better but it did allow Nicholas to swallow. “Aye,” he said hoarsely.
“A fucking blood bath, Bannockburn, ah but a good one, aye?” Rory leaned back and rubbed his bandaged leg. “I fell there too, but was taken in by a wee banshee.” He chuckled and wiped a massive hand over his mouth. “Her kisses are like the finest wine, mind ye, but a hellcat when told she can’t do something. Lucky for me, she’s the one that fought the damn surgeons about taking my leg.”
“You’ve not fallen for a woman?” Nicholas protested, shocked.
“Aye, a slatternly camp follower no doubt,” Mary said, coming into the room warily. She looked around at the men inside with a sniff and then, more intently, at Rory. Her brows drew together severely and Nicholas was amused to see Rory blanch.
“She ain’t such a lass,” Rory argued.. “She one of the noblest ladies I’ve ever met.”
Mary stared at him in amusement. “And that is saying what? I know the kind of women ye frequent.”
William coughed and caught Mary’s arm. “She is noble, Mary, but I fear a bit in trouble these days thanks to our good boy Rory here.”
“I did’na know she was noble then,” Rory complained defensively, but he smiled as he said it. Nicholas sighed. The lass had snared the Scot, no doubt of it.
“Maelcolm Beg is on his way home,” William said, speaking of the Laird of Drymen. “Ye’ll be dealing with Da when he arrives.”
Rory snorted rudely, blowing blood. “Take the devil,” he complained. “He’s taken credit for what Malcolm done at Bannockburn.”
William smiled modestly. “Not true. He has explained that Mal invented the caltrops; they did a fine job on the English did they not?”
Nicholas looked at Malcolm in surprise. “That was your idea? The weapon decimated the English cavalry!”
Mary looked at them in confusion. “What are caltrops?”
Malcolm grinned at Mary from over his shoulder. “Those strange knee high cross pieces ye asked me about nigh a month ago. We buried them in the field before the battle and they were enough to trip up a few horses, cleaving a few English on the way down.” He chuckled in glee.
“And the Thane of Drymen has been awarded for such glorious work,” William added. “He’s been given lands in Perth by Robert himself, if ye haven’t heard.”
Rory looked at Malcolm speculatively and then at Nicholas. “Leave us; I would have a word with our Highlander.”
Malcolm stared at Nicholas for a moment and then stepped back. Nicholas nearly slid down the door but managed to catch himself before doing so. Mary opened her mouth to argue but when Rory pointed at the door, she snorted and stalked out behind Malcolm. William took a moment longer, glancing between the two men and then with a nod at Rory left as well, closing the door quietly behind him.
Rory touched his nose gingerly. “I’ll repay this as I said,” he promised.
“I’ve no doubt.” Nicholas agreed.
“So, in bit of trouble, lad? Family’s on the way and here ye are stuck and wounded.”
“I’ll be gone, trust me.”
“Ye cannot run forever, man.”
Nicholas could and probably would. Defying Donald Mackay would take as long.
“I’ve got a proposition for ye.”
“You’re in as enough trouble of your own, defiling a noble lass,” Nicholas shook his head, “no matter how pretty, was foolish.”
“Aye, but I’m thinking she’s worth it,” Rory replied.
The man had been hit one too many times over the head.
“It’s not a bad way to go, lad.”
“You are mad!” Nicholas declared.
“Aye, so I am. To prove it, here is my plan. Ye cannot avoid yer Da forever or his plans for hookin’ ye up with some lass ye don’t want.”
“Aye,” Nicholas snarled. “So what?”
“Well, the best way to rout that idea is to choose yer own lass first.”
Nicholas sniffed and then looked at Rory warily.
“Aye, ye know what I mean. Moreover, it solves our Mary’s problem just as well. She’s avoided marrying anyone Maelcolm Beg has offered, has had the man wrapped around her finger for some time. But unbeknownst to the lass, Da’s made an offer to wed her off and it’s been accepted.”
“Mary doesn’t know?” Nicholas found the thought irritating.
“Not yet, we haven’t had the heart to tell her. The man’s nigh sixty if he’s a day.”
“Good lord,” Nicholas said with feeling.
“Aye, a bit of revenge I think, from Da. But it ties us in with another feudal clan, all for the family duty and all that, which ye know only too well.”
Nicholas only growled.
“So,” Rory continued, rising to stand unsteadily in front of Nicholas. “If ye were to harry off with my sister, harming her not, mind ye,” Rory added with a stern look. “She’d be compromised, forced to marry you, and avoid the nasty old get Da wants for her.”
Nicholas couldn’t fault Rory’s in
sane plan.
“And, to top it off, binding with a Mackay is not all bad.” Rory stopped to stare intently at Nicholas. “My pay back, Nicholas Mackay, ye’ll compromise my lass without breaking her heart. She’ll be furious at ye, surely and ye can then leave and we’ll set her up in these new lands Da has accepted. you ,” Rory continued, “can run off to yer Donald and declare ye wed already, flying off to who the hell cares where to finish off yer life.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. “And if the lady disagrees?”
“Ah, she brought ye home didn’t she? She’s taken with ye if I didn’t know better.” Rory ruffled Nicholas’s hair and got a kick in the knee that took him to the floor. The big man laughed up at Nicholas. “She’ll accept ye lad. Ye got a pretty face, not bad for the likin’ and trust me, such a deal is not all bad for ye either.”
“I’ll think on it,” Nicholas said and bent down to haul Rory to his knee, nearly winded as much as the Scot in the process. They finally got Rory to his feet, crutch tucked safely under his arm again.
“Don’t be thinking too long. Ye can take her to Perth, meet me there and I’ll see things set right.”
“Why?” Nicholas asked, gripping the door after Rory flung it open. The Scot thumped through it and then turned on his crutch to face Nicholas.
“Because ye fight like a dog, ye’ve taken blows I cry at without a whimper and I seen the look ye gave my sister.” Rory smiled dangerously. “But as I said, hurt her, Highlander and I’ll see ye dead.”
Nicholas watched the man stump down the hall in bemusement. How in the hell could one kidnap and compromise a lady without hurting her?
Damned if he knew how.
Chapter 5
Mary was in the garden below Nicholas’s window, dressed in a surprisingly shabby and shapeless green dress. She crossed into the enclosed space from a gate in the back wall, had looked furtively around and was now making her way toward some doorway beneath his window.
He had no idea of the lay of the manor but the garden looked like a good location for what he had in mind.
He opened the shutters further to look out. A rope would have been handy, but Rory was not going to do any more than offer the plan he had, everything else would be up to Nicholas. He’d surprised himself by considering the idea, not that he had many options at this point. Leaving, however, was not going to be easy. Clan raids were common even in Drymen and the manor had an intimidatingly tall wall surrounding it. Within the confines of the enclosure lay numerous buildings, most of which Nicholas couldn’t see but knew were there: kitchens, stables, animal pens and the like, as well as the small barn below him near the garden. He’d noted the horses a few days before, led along a narrow path just outside the low garden fence. That meant transportation was at hand and Mary wasn’t too far away. He only had to get out of his room, grab her and ride off through the Drummond’s heavily guarded gates.
It was highly unlikely they were going to let Nicholas walk out without a fight.
Which, he noted dryly, made his plan considerably lacking in logic, but Nicholas didn’t feel like being logical at this point. His father Donald would be arriving soon and the quicker Nicholas left the more distance between them.
Nicholas shut the window. Today was the third day he’d noted Mary in the garden. Whatever she was doing, she was regular about it. If he was leaving, it was going to have to be tonight.
Collapsed lung or not.
He moved about the room gathering what little might be handy. It wasn’t much. He pulled on his shirt, wincing at the pain of lifting his arms, the stitches still tight on his ribs. He slid the leather tunic he’d gotten from the Hospitalier over his shirt, grunting as the heavy weight settled over his shoulders. He laced it at the sides, growling as his fingers felt clumsy and then pulled on his boots. They’d been his finest purchase in Italy. Smooth, lightweight leather that ran up to his knee, they had kept his feet warm in the throes of winter and dry in the flooding of spring. A bit worn now at the toe and heel, with a few nice scratches from swords brought too low and they looked like he’d had them forever. He patted the leather affectionately. That left little more to gather. He tucked an eating knife into his boot, hardly sharp enough to cut the meat they’d given him, it still might be useful as a pry bar or something of the sort. He would have liked to have found Mary’s little cache of his things, but had already noted she’d taken them from the room for safe keeping from the servants.
As if any of them would challenge the Drummond’s fairness in that way. The family was well liked, the servants seemed happy and content. Rory had spoken fondly of them all at times, leaving Nicholas a bit wistful and homesick. He’d put off those feelings, determined to stay his course, but time and destiny had brought him back.
For more than he had ever bargained for.
Nicholas opened the window again, pushing the panes wide. A short leap would put him on an adjoining roof, a treacherous slide if he didn’t make a quick grab for the roofing tiles, but would have him hanging not too far off another lower roof, one he might be able to jump from if he was careful. The roof was slate, but he had little choice, as long as he didn’t wait too long and the dew settled.
Mary would be coming back soon as well, slipping through the garden back to wherever she’d been, but with a basket he was sure held food. Was she caring for another clandestine prisoner? The thought irritated Nicholas to no end. He heaved a deep sigh and pushed off from the window ledge.
**
Mary’s stomach growled at the warm aroma of baked bread coming from the basket under her arm, reminding her she had missed lunch and dinner as well. William would be annoyed that she hadn’t told him of the bairns, but Tessa was particular about who she let near her and the big Scot always made the dog nervous. The runt of the litter and Mary’s favorite, Tessa had had troubles birthing her puppies. Unable to stand by and not do something, Mary had taken to aiding the sheepdog, kneeling in the dirt at her side and then feeding the exhausted mother by hand. Rory would not understand her devotion to the dog, nor would Malcolm. But Tessa appreciated it, Mary knew she did.
“Ah, pet, look what I’ve brought ye, some nice morsels from cook’s lamb stew. Da would be annoyed to be giving ye the best part, but I think ye deserve something for all that effort.” She handed the pieces to the dog, watching her eat with a flush of pleasure. Tessa returned to the one puppy that had survived and began to clean her while the tiny creature struggled to find a teat.
“What’s it like to be a mother, pet?” Mary wondered, knowing someday she’d have her own family, but yet fearing that day as well. Maelcolm Beg had been generous to allow Mary to reject many of his proposed suitors, but she knew the day would come when her father would no longer allow his affection for her to rule his decisions. And just who would he choose? Would he even consider Mary’s feelings on the issue or would clan politics be the only important factor in his decision? She had a feeling she was far less important than clan workings and allies.
Now a man like Nicholas Mackay might have taken her notice, but she doubted Maelcolm Beg would even consider a Highlander like Mackay. Even though the Drummonds lived on the very border of the Highlands, they were not like the lot that lived on the northern edges of Scotland, where the land and men were still wild. The Mackay stronghold sat near the sea and Mary shivered, picturing Nicholas as a wild Pict, or perhaps a bit of Viking.
It was doubtful she’d ever be lucky enough to gain a man that handsome, and should be thankful not to be dealt with such a passionate and violent breed like the Mackays.
Besides, it didn’t matter what Mary wanted, Mary had to take what was given her.
It was not fair, perhaps, but the way things were.
Feeling annoyed, she crawled out from beneath the hayrack and stretched. Climbing up onto a small ladder, she looked over the wall to view the land around the manor. The moon had risen just above the horizon, looming large over the forest of trees a short distance
across the moat surrounding the keep. She looked at the wood nervously, crossing herself and then cursing for being superstitious. The wood was nothing but trees, although it could and had hidden a few raiding Scots at times. Being outside the safety of Drymen was not wise at night. Leaving a ladder against the wall was not good either so Mary climbed down. She would return it to the shed so the servant leaving it behind would not have Rory shouting his head off.
Mary reached out to grasp the ladder and then gasped when a hand clamped hard over her mouth.
She screamed, or tried to, the sound muffled too much to be of any use. Her attacker jerked her against his chest to drag her backwards behind the barn. Forced into the shadow of the barn, she couldn't see and fought him using her nails and teeth. She felt some satisfaction when he cursed after she bit his hand but then gasped when he shoved her against the side of the barn. Mary spun quickly, hoping frantically for a chance to escape. She slammed her hands forward in an attempt to push him aside, but the man didn’t move, merely grunted at the impact. Filled with panic, still unable to see who it was, she tried to slide along the wall but he blocked her move with his arm, finally moving out of the shadow that had hidden his face. She looked up to find Nicholas Mackay staring back at her, his expression one of amusement, nursing his hand where she’d bitten him.
“Bloody hell,” he growled and planted both hands on either side of her head. “I didn’t think you were such a wild cat, wee Mary.”
She snatched her hands free of his chest, all her breath lost in shock. She couldn't move for a moment, unable to breathe, unable to believe who had accosted her. She shivered when he stepped in close. “W-what are you doing Nicholas?” She cursed the tremble in her voice. Drummond's did not panic, should not feel this sudden burst of heat at his closeness.
“Fleeing.”
She blinked up at him, trying to see his expression in the moonlight. His dark hair seemed to draw in the light, with only faint reflections over his brow where the strands hung over one eye. She swallowed and tried to sound annoyed. “Running away? So Rory was right. Ye are in trouble.”
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 4
