Mary shivered violently at the threat. Has she made things worse? She did not care. Nicholas was alive, even if angry. She could deal with his anger. He would understand at some point that she had to intercede. Loving him was all she had, the Highlands held nothing for her without the man holding her with such impotent fury.
Macleod took another step but then stopped again. He did not look back. “My sword?”
“Confiscated as payment,” Donald Mackay replied. “Ye have men alive.”
Macleod jerked his head, jaw set in anger. “Remember my words, Mackay.”
Torquil disappeared into the darkness, his men melting within the shadows until only the Mackays stood on the hillside.
Donald sheathed his sword. He held out a hand toward Mary. “I suggest ye come with me, lass.”
“She will do no such thing.” Nicholas whistled sharply. A moment later hooves clattered against rock and Nichols’s horse appeared with a whinny of recognition. He trotted up to the Highlander, snuffling into Nicholas’s shoulder.
Mary said nothing more. She allowed Nicholas to lift her onto the horse’s back. Nicholas pulled himself up behind her, grunting faintly at the effort and then wrapped a solid arm around her waist. He made the horse shift with the pressure of his knees, but then paused to look down at his father. “I will meet you at home.”
Wesley frowned at Mary, standing out of the way. Even wounded, the crofter had come to the call of his chieftain to fight, doing what he could. Mary could not fault his bravery, or his condemnation. She looked away, biting her lip.
Sebastian caught hold of the horse’s halter. “Nicholas, a moment…”
“Leave go, Sebastian,” Nicholas stared at his brother until he nodded and stepped back.
The horse sprang forward when Nicholas kicked it, moving quickly down the path toward Varrich.
***
Hugh paced the small confines of the milking shed, his gaze moving at times to the window that looked down the steep descent from Varrich to the woods below. Beyond the forest lay the sliver of water of the kyle, and beyond, in his mind’s eye, the hamlet of Tongue and the Sutherland peaks to the east. He moved to the door and stood looking out, hands braced on the solid frame beside him. Varrich was quiet today. Nicholas had gone up to the hills followed discreetly by Donald after Bastian had returned in a fit of worry over Macleod.
Sebastian would not say just how he’d learned that Macleod was prowling, but intuition and familiarity with the workings of clan feuds had sent his father after Nicholas to warn him.
Not that it would do any good, Hugh thought morosely. Nicholas would more than likely rely on his skill as a warrior to sense any danger. But Macleod was elusive, bent on serious revenge.
Hugh could not fault his ire, for any man losing a son would mourn the loss. Nicholas, however, was innocent of the deed if by all accounts things had happened as he’d said. Proving that to Macleod was a challenge none had felt worth taking. Of course, it hadn’t mattered when Nicholas was gone, but now that he was back, things had begun to heat up.
This was the reason Hugh decided his hackles were up. He’d begun the usual chores after Donald had left but had stopped time and again to look south to the heights of Ben Loyal.
He didn’t like being left behind, but someone had to mind the house. Bastian had gathered Rory and the two had set out after Donald. Hugh had put men on the high parapets above the keep. They would note any movement coming from the hills.
Ann appeared at the door of the keep, a large basket on her hip. Hugh left the shed to hurry to her side, reaching up to aid her steps as she descended the stair. “Ye are feeling well?” Hugh asked, noting his mother’s pale color, her eyes too bright.
“Aye, I am well enough,” Ann insisted with a soft smile for Hugh. She pressed her fingers against his cheek. “Have ye had any sight of them at all?”
Hugh shook his head.
“Branwen has left,” Ann said. “She should not be about alone.”
Hugh frowned at his mother. “She cannot sit still. I would as soon have her release her ire on her horse than with me.”
Ann tucked her hand beneath his arm. “Ye have been a true husband for all these years, Hugh.”
“Aye,” Hugh agreed. He had stayed true to Branwen even when she despised him. He had made a vow he intended to keep; no matter the woman was not what he thought. But he kept those thoughts to himself and smiled at Ann.
She was not fooled. He could see it in her eyes. “Ye’ll meet a lass one day, Hugh that will make yer eyes sparkle again.”
“I’ve a lass already, Mother.”
Ann nodded sagely. “So ye do. But ye are not happy.”
He accompanied her to the garden, opening the gate to allow her inside. “Do not hesitate to call me.”
Ann stopped and turned around. She looked at him and then at the hills where Hugh had watched for signs of Donald or Nicholas. “They’ve been gone awhile.”
“It takes a few days to reach Ben Loyal, ye know that.”
“Aye, and only a moment to die,” she said softly.
“He’ll be safe enough. Nicholas has more lives than a cat,” Hugh replied.
Ann crossed herself. She looked at Hugh again, her gaze inquisitive. “So have ye any idea of where Bastian went?”
Hugh forced a smile. Ann would be horrified to know Bastian had gone into Macleod country. He was not about to let that slip, nor cause his mother any further worry. He left her question unanswered and stepped away from the gate. “I have chores, Mother. I will come for ye in an hour.”
He returned to the barn, but the hair still stood on his neck, a cold chill lingered down his spine.
Chapter 18
The ride was the longest of Mary’s life. They did not speak at all. The wind had picked up and seemed to moan through the hills, a wild response to the fear aching deep inside her breast. Nicholas held her firmly, yet felt distant, apart from her even though they touched at hip and thigh, his arms around her waist.
They reached Varrich before the others, riding into the compound silent but for the clip clop of the horse’s hooves against the stones. Nicholas dismounted and then held out his arms. She looked at him briefly and hesitated but then slid down, avoiding his gaze.
His eyes were icy, even in the dimness of the courtyard, his touch burning against her skin.
She walked willingly with him, pulled once more by the wrist into the keep.
Ann was up, sitting in a seat near the fire with Fiona. She rose when Nicholas flung open the door, her smile fading when she saw them. “Dear god in heaven, Nicholas!” She reached out but paused, drawing back when Nicholas walked past her.
“What happened? Have ye been fighting?” Fiona grasped Ann gently by the arms when Ann would have followed behind them, her gaze filled with concern.
“Nicholas? Mary?” Ann pushed Fiona aside and hurried in stand in front of the stairs, blocking their way.
Mary sent Ann a weak smile. Fiona stepped forward as well, but Nicholas held out a hand.
“Nicholas, talk to me.” Ann clearly expected an answer this time, her voice commanding.
He lifted his chin. “No.”
“Ye will not hurt her.”
Nicholas turned slowly to look at Mary and she shivered uncontrollably. “I’d never hurt her, ye ken, Mother? It is Mary who’s done the wounding.” He continued up the stair pulling Mary along while she stared at his back, her heart frozen in horror.
When they reached his room, Nicholas opened the door and flung her inside. Then he shut the door quietly, in such a controlled manner she knew he wanted to tear it apart.
“I didn’t mean to hurt ye, Nicholas.”
He crossed to the window and stood looking out. His fingers were white where he gripped the sill, his back stiff. The Macleod’s had torn his shirt; bloodied it with their knives. It hung in tatters around his shoulders. Even bruised and angry, the sight of him made her he
art beat faster, nearly faint with the strength of her feelings toward him. She knew he would be difficult; his mind bent only on his fury, yet she could not help but feel pleased that he was alive. He had survived. Filthy, battered, yes, but he was alive.
Mary knew she didn’t look much better. She wanted nothing more than to go to him, to tend his wounds in both heart and body, yet she feared his rejection, knew it was too soon.
Voices announced the arrival of the others. Footsteps hurried down the hall, but then retreated, Rory’s voice pitched too low to understand his words.
Mary knew she had to say something. “I couldn’t let ye kill him. Not like that, in a rage,” she explained.
“Did you think I was so angry I’d not know what I was doing?”
“Ye might have considered other options, Nicholas, if yer heart wasn’t so intent on revenge.”
“Aye, like breaking his neck,” Nicholas growled. “All he deserves is death for what he did.”
Mary took a step forward. “Please, I don’t want to fight.”
Nicholas turned around to face her. His expression chilled her, his emotions held tightly in check except for the ferocity that glittered in his gaze. “A choice ye've already expressed to all,” he grated out between clenched teeth. “Don’t leave this room unless I say otherwise.” He strode to the door and flung it open.
“Ye can’t mean to keep me in here!” Mary stared at him, aghast, her heart thundering in her chest.
Nicholas didn’t look at her, but stood at the door, gripping it with one hand. Panic made her move forward several steps.
Nicholas turned his head and she stopped abruptly. “I can and I will.” He said nothing more, but the look in his eyes said enough. She would do as he commanded. There was no other choice.
The door slammed shut. The ensuing silence was overwhelming.
Mary could only stare at the door in shock.
***
Donald and Sebastian arrived at the keep to find Hugh waiting, standing in the shadows of Varrich. Deeming it wiser not to follow Nicholas too closely, Bastian had rode some distance behind along with Rory who had complained good naturedly most of the way at being shut out of the dealings between Nicholas and his sister. They all understood Nicholas’s fury if not why Mary had become so adamant or why she had interfered in the first place. Rory could not answer those questions either, resorting only to shaking his shaggy head of blond hair in despair.
Expressions between them had ranged between despair and bemusement. Seeing Hugh and his concern, Bastian knew there were serious questions needing answers. Hugh stepped out of the shadows after Donald and Bastian dismounted.
“He has gone inside then?” Donald asked with a nod at the door to Varrich.
“Aye,” Hugh agreed. He folded his arms over his chest, frowning at the closed door. “Not in the best of moods, I ken.”
With a rude snort, Rory led the horses into the stables beneath Varrich.
Bastian sighed and leaned on the stair railing. “He is lucky to have returned. Macleod was there as I expected.”
Hugh looked relieved and then frowned, brows drawing in as he looked at Sebastian. “So he’s dead?”
Donald shook his head. “No.”
“Macleod trespasses on Mackay land and, by the look of both Nicholas and Mary, had some interaction and ye say he’s not dead?” His eyes widening in alarm, Hugh lifted his fingers against his brow. “God’s blood, how did he manage that?”
Donald smiled grimly and looked upward to the windows above them. “It was Mary that gave him leave.”
“Mary?” Hugh looked at the window in disbelief. “What has she done?”
“She interfered rather badly,” Bastian growled. “Nicholas is in a bit of a fury. It would be best to leave him alone for a bit.”
“And Mary?”
Bastian sighed and rubbed his jaw. They were all angry at her interference, but Bastian also felt an unsettling amount of concern for the woman. He shook off the thought. Nicholas was in his rights to be angry.
“We’ll see what he decides,” Donald said as Rory appeared from the keep’s stables. He clasped Hugh’s shoulder and made his way inside.
Rory bounded up the stairs, nodding at the two men. “I can’t say anything, she is my sister,” he complained. He paused at the door and peered inside. “Maybe Fiona can explain why Mary behaved so, but I doubt I’ll understand either way. Women have an odd way of thinkin’ in my mind.” He shrugged and went inside, shutting the door behind him.
Hugh looked at Sebastian. “How bad is it really?”
Bastian sat on the steps, Hugh followed suit and leaned back against the step behind them. He waited as Sebastian formulated his answer. “Who can know, Hugh? Nicky loves the woman even if he has not declared it openly. ‘Tis like a knife wound to his heart to have her meddle as she did, but he’ll not’ die from it, I expect. She is a bonny lass. He’ll come around.”
Hugh sighed faintly. “He draws trouble like flies to a dead cow.” He grinned at the analogy, pushing Bastian as he rose from the step. “So how long will the lad be angry?”
Sebastian pulled Hugh to his feet. “That’s a good question. Depends on what Mary does I suppose.” He threw an arm around Hugh’s shoulders. “Now, if it were Branwen, I’d say Nicholas was in for a long spell. But Mary’s not like that. I don’t think it will be all that bad.”
Hugh stiffened at the mention of his wife. “Branwen and Mary are very different.”
Sebastian nodded, catching Hugh when his brother meant to turn away. “We’ve all seen the pain in your gaze, lad. When are ye going to send her on her way, Hugh? If ye don’t, I will. She is not good for ye, never has been. Stop being proud and let her go.”
Hugh pulled his arm free, if gently, from Sebastian’s grasp. “I can’t, Bastian. I’ve made my vows before God. I’ll not break them.” He went inside leaving Sebastian alone on the steps.
“Bloody stubborn Highlander,” Bastian muttered. “She’ll ruin ye lad. We’ve got to get ye to see it.”
***
Nicholas stared at the fire, sitting relatively alone in the hall among the sleeping men lying on the floor as well as a number of servants who had moved their pallets as far from him as they could. He could not sleep, would not return to his room where Mary remained alone, away from everyone, including himself. He glowered at the flames as if their flickering light were the brunt of his ire, wishing they could answer for him the conundrum of his actions. He had shut her away fearing his anger would push him past his code of honor, a code she had unwittingly broken herself. He couldn’t decide what to do, the desire to be near her fought with his anger at what she had done. She deserved some kind of punishment but what that was other than being locked away had not yet come to him. Someone pounded on the door. Nicholas ignored it, remaining aloof by the fire. Will, one of the servants, appeared beside him and then retreated on quiet feet to answer the door.
Curious suddenly, Nicholas watched Will hurry up the steps. He heard Rory come out of his room. The conversation was too low for Nicholas to hear, but Rory’s call to Fiona had Nicholas up off the bench.
A moment later, Rory rushed down the stairs with Fiona in tow, Will a step behind.
Rory stopped when he saw Nicholas. “Tis the woman, Peg.”
Will wrung his hands. “They said to hurry, my lord. Ben rode in like the devil himself, crying that his wife lay bleeding to death. The herbs, he said, something about the herbs, asking for Lady Fiona. Mary said to ask for Fiona.”
“How far is it?” Fiona asked from the table where she was stuffing lengths of cloth into a bag.
Nicholas laced his tunic, ignoring the blood and torn sleeves. “A good ride back the way we were. Ben’s riding back now?”
Will nodded.
“Rory, go saddle two horses, any more will give us trouble. We’ll take a shortcut, but it will be tough in the dark.”
Rory hurried out the door.
“What do you need, Fiona?”
She looked at him intently. “I don’t know what happened between you and Mary. Whatever she did, ye must believe there was good purpose behind it.”
Nicholas inhaled to control his temper. “That is not what I asked you.”
Fiona frowned and picked up her bag. “I will need hot water, a knife which I have, my herbs and such. I don’t know what is happening but it sounds like she’s hemorrhaging. Ye know what bleeding inside can do.”
Nicholas nodded. “Let’s go then if you are ready.”
He guided her through the door and down the steps to where Rory was finishing with the horses. They mounted and wheeled around to fly down the road with Nicholas leading the way. A league from the castle he took a narrow path that veered off from the road, nothing more than a cow path undulating over the moonlight terrain. The trail was narrow, only room for one horse, weaving between narrow rocks and hills.
When they reached Ben’s small cottage, they could hear Peg screaming.
Fiona slid off the horse before Rory could dismount, dragging her bag with her as Nicholas opened the door. A single candle burned beside Peg, the shadows not quite hiding the large red stain on the bed beneath her, while Ben tried to hold her down.
“She’s bleeding like someone’s stuck her with a blade!” Ben cried, nearly hysterical. He stood back and pressed his hand to his head, clearly unsure what to do.
Fiona shoved Nicholas at Ben. “Get him out of here, now. He’ll be no help at all.”
Ben shook his head. He fought with Nicholas, resisting the attempt to draw him away. “Nay, I’m not leaving,” he bellowed as he tried to evade the hold Nicholas had on his arms.
Nicholas dragged Ben outside and pushed him down on the bench beside the door. Ben burst into tears, hunched over his knees. Nicholas rested a hand on the man’s shoulder for a moment before going back inside and shutting the door. Rory was pacing, his hand in his hair while Fiona knelt beside Peg. She looked up when Nicholas stopped beside the bed.
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 19
