“Get him outside too,” she said, nodding at her husband.
Nicholas looked at Rory, who had turned a nasty shade of green. “Why? He’s killed men. This is nothing.”
Fiona flashed a wry smile. “It’s not the same, especially with a woman. He’s going to faint if ye don’t do something.”
Nicholas shook his head and pulled Rory to the door. The man went willingly, eyes closed. “Go on. Keep Ben outside if you have to sit on him.”
“Aye,” Rory gasped, stumbling out the door.
Nicholas shut the door again. “What do you want me to do?”
“Bring me the hot water on the fire. I have to take the baby now.”
“What about Peg?”
“We can only hope she’s strong enough to survive.”
Fiona bent forward, thankfully blocking Nicholas’s view of Peg while he went to the fireplace and removed the pan of water heating over the fire. He poured some of it into a bowl and then brought it to Fiona. She threw a knife into the bowl and then moved back, holding a tiny bloody bundle in her hands. She held it out to Nicholas.
“Take the baby.”
He stared at it and swallowed.
“Take it, Nicholas. Peg will die if I can’t get her to stop bleeding.”
He held out his hands and Fiona placed the child into his arms. Tiny, hardly bigger than his palms, he carried it gingerly toward the fire. “What should I do?”
“Clean it, wrap it tight and make it cry to clear its lungs.”
He shuddered but knelt on the stone in front of the fire, placing the baby on a blanket. He carefully wiped it clean, smiling faintly as it shivered and then opened eyes of deep blue. The baby was a girl, perfectly formed with blonde lashes. Nicholas wrapped her tightly in the blanket and then stood to look at Fiona, the baby in his arms.
Fiona was bloody from the elbows down, but smiling. She looked up expectantly at Nicholas. “Make her cry.”
He looked at the child, holding her away from him gingerly. “How do I do that?”
Fiona sighed irritably. “Pinch her fool man.”
Nicholas grimaced but gently pinched the baby’s backside. Her brows drew together, tiny lips bowed in irritation. Nicholas smiled at the image but heard Fiona snort. “Nicholas! Cry, she’ll drown if we don’t make sure her lungs are clear…”
He pinched the baby harder and she grew red, and then let out a squall that had him holding her at arm’s length.
“I think I’ve staunched the blood,” Fiona said, wiping her brow with her arm, leaving a long streak of red. “She’s not going to bite you, Nicholas!”
Peg moaned from the bed. “Baby, w-where is my baby?”
Nicholas frowned and moved to the bed. “She’s here, Peg, a beauty.”
Fiona wiped her hands and then pressed one to Peg’s brow. “She’s very weak.” When Nicholas held out the child, Fiona shook her head, her words sharp. “No, she can’t feed her, not yet, not until I know for sure what Branwen gave her.”
The baby seemed to understand and began to cry harder, squirming in the confines of the wrappings. Nicholas stared at the girl nervously.
Fiona smiled grimly and went to the door. “Rory, have ye knowledge of how to make a teat?”
“The babe?” came a weak reply.
“Stupid man, would I be askin’ for one if she were dead?”
“A girl then?” Rory appeared in the doorway, smiling.
“Aye, a girl. We need milk.”
The big scot nodded. “Aye, there’s a goat around back, saw it a moment ago. I’ll get ye fixed up fast.” He looked at Nicholas and then hurried off.
Ben appeared in the doorway, his face white with strain. Nicholas patted the wailing baby, held against his shoulder as the child continued to cry, while Fiona worked calmly to clean Peg. Ben seemed reluctant to enter the house, hovering at the door, eyes wide.
He turned away when Peg screamed again.
“Tis only the afterbirth,” Fiona called out. She lowered her voice to whisper to Nicholas. “We’ll have to bury it.”
When Ben turned back, Fiona had covered Peg with another blanket. Fiona motioned him closer. “We will give her the babe. It will keep her here with us,” she said, tucking the crying child into Peg’s arm. Peg smiled weakly and lifted a hand to the baby’s brow. Ben settled nervously on the bed and touched the child’s head, his hand shaking.
“She lives,” Peg whispered with a smile at her husband.
“Aye,” Fiona agreed. “As will you.”
Chapter 19
Rose arrived at the small hut she called home after dark, stopping at the light glimmering faintly beneath the door, the peat fire a musty odor that permeated the low hills around her. Fog coiled in the low places, while the moon, a bare sliver, gave off little light. She moved silently to the door and put her ear to the panel.
“Where have ye been Rose?”
She whirled around to lean against the door. Johnnie Macleod’s father stood in front of her, the elder version of her husband. He stood with a pipe in hand, his hair a faint thinning ring of white around his head.
“We’ve been worried,” he said, his words at odds with the malevolent gleam in his eyes.
Rose turned back to the door and opened it, slipping inside. The only reason he was worried was he might lose Torquil’s regard if anything happened to Rose, her captor in all but deed. The remains of her father-in-law’s dinner lay on the table, one of several she saw with irritation. Her uncle’s henchman resided at Castle Leod, yet he was often here as well, looking in on her. She had tried to remain apart from the family clan, yet her uncle Torquil seemed to take great pleasure in keeping Rose under his thumb. Bain squirmed his way inside, moving to the hearth to lie down.
Her father-in-law shut the door and sat on a bench near the fire, scowling at the dog. “So, tell me where ye've been?’
“I was out,” Rose replied as she cleared the table of the dishes. She put them in a basket to wash later.
“Torquil was asking of ye,” he remarked slyly.
Rose glanced behind her briefly and then resumed cleaning the table. “Why? He should care less about me.”
“Ah, but ye are property worth much, lass. Ye know he looks to find ye another suitable husband.”
Rose did and disliked it immensely. “I’ll not marry again.”
“Ye will if Torquil says so.”
She had other ideas, but little opportunity to make them happen. She sighed, despair wiping away the pleasure of her meeting with Sebastian Mackay. Bain growled softly from the hearth.
Her father-in-law inhaled on his pipe. “Ye should not be out alone.”
Rose refused to answer or discuss her behavior with the man. He rose abruptly and left the cottage, leaving the door open. Rose turned to face the door, her ankle throbbing, her heart suddenly pounding as voices sounded outside. Harsh voices she knew too well. Unlike the softly spoken Mackay, one voice reverberated with fury, a man bent on releasing that anger.
Rose looked around for a weapon but knew to do so would mean instant death. She swallowed and pointed at Bain to lie still when the dog sat up with a growl.
Though he wasn’t a large man, Torquil Macleod filled the doorway, ducking the low entry to stand inside. Two more Macleod’s followed, and then her father-in-law who smiled spitefully.
Rose swallowed her fear and stared at Torquil. “A late night to be about, Uncle.”
Macleod looked around the room. “Ye would know, aye, lass?”
She shrugged. She couldn’t refute the accusation. But he could not know more.
Torquil could make an educated guess, however. He waved a hand and his men stepped to the sides of the table, blocking Rose in between them. Torquil caught her arm and dragged her closer. “Tell me where ye’ve been, lass.”
She didn’t have to know who told him she’d been gone. “I was out gathering herbs as I do every week as ye know. I fell and tw
isted my ankle so it took me longer to return. ‘Twas nothing unusual, Uncle.” Rose kept to the truth as much as possible, lifting her chin.
Macleod spat, his fury tangible, greater than what her brief absence should spark. Something else was going on, something bad for Rose. She quivered under his scrutiny.
“Ye would not be telling me a lie, now would ye lass?” He lifted his hand to cup her chin. He studied her, his expression forbidding. “Word is that ye were seen on Mackay land just this day past.”
Rose blanched as panic settled in. She had been careful, but not careful enough it seemed. “Since when do ye care if I trespass on the Mackay? I gather herbs that way often enough.”
Torquil’s fingers tightened on her chin. “I have just come from the Mackay,” he said in a low, angry voice.
She felt the blood drain from her face. She knew her eyes reflected her fear, saw it in Macleod’s terrible smile. Had he killed Nicholas then? His anger said not. “W-why?”
“Ye knew why. And the Mackay, they somehow got wind of our coming, ye ken? Like someone told them. We had Mackay in our hands, but the clan came upon us in ambush.” Macleod pulled Rose nearly to his nose, his eyes gleaming with hatred and a need to hurt. Rose struggled in his grasp, terrified.
“It was not me, Uncle!”
Rose lifted her hands to protect her face when Torquil shoved her backwards. She landed against the table, unable to move quickly enough to evade the blow that swiftly followed. He slapped her with his open palm, thankfully not his fist as it would have broken her jaw, but hard enough that it sent Rose to the floor. He dug his fingers into her hair and pulled her back to her feet. Jerked back to look at him, Rose knew she was dead.
Torquil wanted blood. It was in his eyes, in the strength of his hand. Bain barked furiously at her uncle, teeth bared when Torquil held a blade to Rose’s throat.
The dog leaped for Macleod, a snarling furious entity that forced him to drop the knife. Torquil stepped back to draw his sword. Rose shrieked, shoving her uncle aside, while his men leaped back to avoid the snarling animal’s teeth. Her father-in-law stumbled out the door and into the night. Rose tried to follow him out the door but only ran a few steps before Macleod caught her firmly, spinning to slap her again.
“Ye bitch, ye told the Mackay we were after Nicholas. How dare ye defy me! I own you, do ye hear? Ye are Macleod, wench!” Paint exploded between her eyes when he hit her again, doubling her over to drop to her knees. Bain was barking, evading the two Macleod men easily, nipping and snarling at their feet. Swords slashed down ineffectively in the small cottage, damaging what little she had.
Torquil dragged her outside. She landed on the ground, trembling, crawling away from the man intent on her murder. It did not matter if Rose were innocent of his charges. Faced with her father-in-law’s deceitful lies, Torquil only saw what he wanted to see, -- a traitor. And, perhaps, she thought fatefully, she was to blame, yet she could not suppress a flush of pleasure that she had defied him, that Nicholas Mackay still lived.
Pain replaced the pleasure when Torquil kicked her, sending her rolling in the dirt. He stalked after her, hauling Rose back to her feet only to slap her again. Rose screamed, unable to hold back, arms flailing to avoid his blows, but she could not hide from them as Macleod took out his fury on her. Suddenly, Bain burst from the doorway and leaped at the Chieftain, landing on Torquil’s chest to knock him on his back. Rose scrambled to her feet, sobbing at the pain. She limped away from the fray while Macleod’s men tried to pry the dog off her uncle.
Her father-in-law stood in her way, grinning savagely. “Where ye goin’, lass?”
Rose leaned an arm against the side of the hut to hold herself up. Torquil would gain his freedom soon, while Bain probably was dead. She whimpered at the thought and then glared at the man blocking her way. The ax to cut the peat lay at her feet.
She didn’t think further, but picked up the weapon and hurled it.
Shock and disbelief flashed over her father-in-law’s face and then the ax slammed into his forehead, dropping him to his knees. Rose backed away and then glancing once more at the cottage, she fled into the hills.
***
The men had not pursued. Dawn glimmered faintly overhead when Rose dragged herself up a steep embankment, wet from walking in the stream to hide her tracks, her skirt slapping around her ankles. She wedged into a tiny crevice hardly bigger than she was to wait out the dawn.
Her ankle throbbed painfully, her jaw felt swollen from Torquil’s blows while her ribs made breathing difficult. Bain was nowhere to be seen and she envisioned the dog dead. Weeping, Rose drew her skirts closer, folding into the tight niche to rest.
Some time later a snuffling noise woke her, her heart stopping in fear only to find Bain sniffing below her, his whine a glad sound to her ears. She slid down to embrace him tenderly. “Oh Bain, you did get away, lad.” She hugged him again, weeping into his fur. The dog sat patiently until she could stop, now and then licking her gently, eyes wide with concern.
Rose looked at the sky. It was still early, not long past dawn. If she was careful she could continue, if her ankle didn’t get worse and hold her back. She had a slim margin to escape, a chance that would take both courage and ingenuity. Since the Macleod had not pursued her, she surmised either her uncle had spent his anger and had dismissed her as unimportant, or Bain had harmed him enough that his men had taken him on to Castle Leod. Rose pushed herself to her feet. She had things to do.
The crofter hut sat on a low hill with the heights of the mountains behind it. Laundry fluttered on a line rigged outside, yet no one was about that she could see. Rose expected that, creeping low behind the hut. The woman doing laundry would be inside, her husband off to tend the cows with their son. Rose had chosen the family for several reasons: they were close enough for her to reach easily and their son was at an age he was much the same size as Rose.
Dressing as a boy would be safer, disguising her both from Macleod’s men looking for a woman, and from anyone else thinking her easy prey. Feelings of guilt, however, were not easy to overcome as she unpinned a pair of breeches and a tunic, stealing away into the heather with her bounty. Putting the clothes on, she found them surprising comfortable, very different from the heavy skirts and the stiff stays modesty decreed all women had to wear. She left her clothes under a rock, relieved to leave the women’s things behind. She’d at least be able to breathe, giving her that much longer to get as far from Torquil Macleod as she could.
Rose hurried away with Bain leading the way.
She found a small cave, hardly more than an opening beneath an overhang of rock, but one protected by the swaying fronds of summer grass gone to seed. She slid into the enclosure with a sigh, lying on the cool stones beneath. Bain curled up at her side, tail thumping.
Rose hugged the dog. What could she do? To remain near Torquil would mean death or something worse. Killing her father-in-law had probably sealed her fate leaving her with no recourse and little options.
Torquil had figured out Rose had alerted Sebastian.
Sebastian.
Rose closed her eyes, imagining the tall Mackay. He had claimed her as his, vowed his protection by doing so. If she could reach him he would do just that, but she was hurt, her body simply would not move.
Besides she must look awful, she thought, feeling the swollen line of her jaw. Bruised, a black eye and puffy jaw would not entice the Mackay to remember his vow. She could wait, but too long and she’d be starving or dead from a chill. Too soon and Macleod might yet come across her. She decided to wait a few days for the wounds to heal, and then she would search out Sebastian Mackay and pray he would aid her as she hoped.
***
Mary pounded on the door. She kicked it. She opened it twice and looked into the hall only to slam it shut again. She went to the window but the slit was too narrow for her to get through, the window itself in much of the way, and the drop, had she been able to, would
have killed her landing on the rocks below. Besides, leaving by the door or window meant defying Nicholas’s trust. She couldn’t do it. She’d prove to him she was better than that. Still, angry at his arrogance, she cursed him and then sat on the bed and cried.
For all the good it did.
It didn’t make her feel better.
She missed Nicholas. Wanted only to curl into his arms and beg his forgiveness.
Why didn’t the damn Highlander understand? Mary pulled the blanket from the bed and curled up in the seat by the fire. Nicholas couldn’t keep her here forever, a day at the most. She was sure he would reconsider once morning came. Mary stared at the ceiling. What had she done?
The chill in his eyes hurt more than the bruises he’d left on her wrist.
She got up to pace, stepping lightly on the cool stones beneath her feet until she grew too chilled to walk any further. She curled back into the blanket and then threw it off a moment later to stalk to the door to listen.
The keep was far too quiet.
Had they left her?
Mary pounded on the door again. “Bah, men,” she shrieked.
She went back to the bed to curl up in the center of it and finally fell asleep.
***
Nicholas stood near the fire removing his shirt. He had come into his room silently, easing the door open to find Mary asleep, her long blonde hair spread over the pillow. Looking at her was like a dagger into his chest. He was angry. Fury smoldered like an ember in his head, yet looking at her threatened to drown that fury with something else. He turned away from the sight of her, refusing to allow her to soften him. She had betrayed him, interfered where she should not. He ripped the tunic off over his head and threw it into the fire with a faint curse.
Mary’s gasp told him she was awake.
“Tis not my blood, at least not all of it.” Nicholas refused to look at her. He braced his hands against the mantel to stare into the flames. Fury, he needed to remain angry.
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 20
