by Mary Wine
* * *
“Ye likely think yerself clever.”
Helen looked up as Duana came into the sewing cell. The Head of House was pleased with herself and had clearly snuck away during supper so no one would witness whatever she wanted to say.
“I see ye have wasted no time in taking what ye can,” Duana remarked as she looked at the linen Helen was sewing.
“A measure I earned full well in yer kitchen.” Helen stood up to face her. “Every quartering day, ye made me stand there with an empty palm while ye paid out the wages, knowing full well I worked more hours than any other.”
Duana made a little scoffing sound beneath her breath. “Ye were fed. Since yer father does nae serve this clan, that was yer due.”
It wasn’t an uncommon belief. That was the reason clansmen were so loyal to their laird. The service they gave ensured that their families were fed and had a place. Her family was the Grants and she hadn’t had a husband who was a MacPherson, so every mouthful of bread was something she’d had to earn.
“What do ye want, Duana?” Helen suddenly felt very tired. “Are ye truly no’ finished with yer hatred? Ye’ve had over a year to vent yer spleen on me. No matter how justified ye think yerself, bitterness leads to a poor life.”
“So now ye think to preach to me as well?” Duana demanded. “Ye still have many years to live before ye have the experience I have.”
Helen quelled the urge to quarrel with the woman. “That is true.”
Duana wasn’t expecting agreement. She paused, pursing her lips disapprovingly as she decided on her next course of action.
“It is done, Duana.” Helen spoke as controlled as she could. “I am wed to Marcus. We shall have to find a way to live in harmony. Or at least in quiet.”
The Head of House shook her head. “Are ye sure it’s done?”
Helen looked at the woman in confusion. Duana looked behind her before she spoke again. “If ye want to leave, I can arrange an escort for ye.”
Helen stared at her in shock, which pleased the Head of House. “It’s all arranged. There is a pair of lads down at the stable who will take ye away.”
How she would have adored hearing those words once. Was it truly only a few months past?
“Is nae that what ye craved? Escape?” the Head of House continued.
“It was,” Helen agreed. “What a bitch ye are to offer me such a thing now. Ye kept me as yer slave and only now offer me freedom because ye will no’ see me set above ye.”
All effort to be congenial was abandoned as Helen faced off with the woman who had tormented her mercilessly.
“Mind yer tongue,” Duana warned her.
“I will no’,” Helen hissed back.
Duana’s eyes bulged, her lips moving silently like a fresh-caught fish, and then suddenly she dropped to the floor, leaving Helen facing a huge man.
He stood there, pleased with his actions, a bloody sword in his grasp. “I assure ye Helen, ye’ll learn to hold yer tongue with me, or I will cut it out of yer mouth.”
Six
Skene didn’t care for being left behind. He had no wife, and his mother had died several winters past. He liked to ride out with Marcus because he knew the day was coming when he would have other responsibilities and would have to remain at the castle while the younger lads went out to seek adventure.
He sat in the hall, long after the supper had been cleared away and the conversation had died to hushed whispers. Men had unbelted their kilts and lain down for the night. He heard a quick step on the stone floor and looked up. Young Senga Robertson was hurrying along, her eyes on him. He started to smile until he realized her eyes were wide with horror and there was fresh blood on her hands.
“Come quickly…” She reached out for him, unaware her hands were covered in blood. “Oh please, come very quickly.”
Her frantic tone gained plenty of attention. Men who had been doing their best to woo the household maids came out of the shadows as those sleeping awoke and raised their heads. They all instantly recognized the scent of blood.
Skene knew the men were getting to their feet, but he followed Senga as she pulled him down the passageway and back into the darkened areas of the castle.
“Here now, lass.” He pulled her to a stop as he drew his sword. More men caught up to them, and he let Senga lead him to a small cell.
“She is dying,” Senga said as Skene took in Duana.
He put his sword down and dropped to his knees next to the Head of House. She struggled to draw in breath, her clothing soaked with her life’s blood.
“Ye there.” Skene spoke to a younger lad who stood with his sword still drawn. “Wake the castle and the Tanis. Lower the gate, and get the mistress down here to see what can be done. Quickly, man.”
There was immediate action. In a few moments, Skene heard the bells on the walls ringing. The level of light increased as torches kept at the ready for emergencies were lit.
“There is…naught…to do.” Duana’s voice was just a strained whisper. Skene reached for her hand, at a complete loss as to how to comfort a dying woman.
Ailis Robertson came into the room in only a dressing robe, her husband on her heels. “Here now, mistress.”
Ailis knelt down and looked at the wound, but Duana had been run straight through her body. Her firmly laced bodice had kept her alive because it kept the wound from spilling her blood too quickly. She opened her eyes and looked at Ailis.
“Ye…likely think…it…just…of Fate.”
“I think nothing of the sort.” Ailis took Duana’s hand as Skene gratefully relinquished it.
“Who did this?” Bhaic was there on one knee, his expression grim. Duana had lowered her eyelids. He tightened his jaw and reached out to press on the wound. “Duana, I must know.”
The Head of House jumped as pain went through her. But she opened her eyes and looked at Bhaic. “Robert Gunn,” she answered softly. “He…claimed he was…wed…by proxy to…Helen…and took…”
Duana was out of breath. She struggled to draw in more, but there was a rattle in her chest. She looked at Bhaic and then smiled as she appeared to be looking beyond him. “Oh, Willie…” she whispered with a smile on her lips. “It’s been so long…since I saw ye…me sweet husband.”
Suddenly sitting up, Duana reached out to someone only she could see, with a smile that spoke of love. It was so bright, her eyes glittered with it, and in the next moment, her body slumped back into Bhaic’s arms, her chest still as her eyes shut and death took her. He laid her down gently while those watching made the sign of the cross.
“Skene.” Bhaic spoke quietly. “I charge ye with me wife.”
Ailis looked up. Bhaic offered her a hand, helping her gain her feet before he nodded. “I must go. Ye’ll stay in our chambers until I am certain Helen was the only target of Morton’s attack.” He looked past her at Skene. “Take no chances.”
“Aye,” Skene responded.
Bhaic gave his wife a quick kiss before he was out the door and heading toward the hall. He cursed when he arrived at the doors, because the storm was fully on them. Snow came down in plump, wet clumps. Tracks would be filled in quickly as the wind swept snow into drifts, and the horses wouldn’t be happy about venturing out.
But there was no choice. Because there was no way he was going to tell his brother he’d let his wife be taken.
Even though that was exactly what had happened.
* * *
Robert Gunn didn’t share his food with her.
At first, Helen would gladly have refused. Three days later, it was becoming harder to take comfort in her pride because her belly ached and the cold threatened to snap her in half. She tried to eat the snow, but it soon left a ring of blisters on the inside of her mouth.
Robert came and sat near her at last. He considered her as he chewed on
a piece of bread. Her belly rumbled low and long in response. She looked away only to hear him grunt at her efforts to maintain her pride.
“I do nae want a wife,” he declared firmly.
“Excellent.” Helen looked back at him and lifted her bound hands up.
“The Earl of Morton wed us by proxy.”
Helen glared at him in response.
Robert snorted, a hint of a smile raising the corners of his lips. “No argument? I expected one from ye.”
“When it comes to the Earl of Morton and his ideas concerning marriage, there is no sense in pointing out what is logical. The man seems to have no care for anything but his agendas.”
“Aye,” Robert agreed, noting her surprise. “The man forced me to accept his arrangement, sure enough. I’ve no desire to strike a blow at me fellow Highlanders.”
“The MacPhersons will no’ take doing murder inside their castle while they gave ye shelter as anything else.”
Robert Gunn knew what he’d done and was content with his actions. It was horrifying to look into the eyes of a man who felt no remorse. He viewed his choices as ones he’d made for the best reasons. That meant she was at his mercy.
Completely at his mercy.
* * *
Marcus raised his fist, telling his men to pull up.
He turned his head, listening intently as he tried to identify what had gained his attention.
“Marcus!” Kam raised his hand and waved in the air from just over the rise behind them.
“That lad is killing his horse,” Finley growled.
Kam struggled up to them, his horse snorting as it was allowed to stop for a rest. “Trouble at the castle,” Kam got out between the snorts coming from his horse.
Marcus felt a chill go down his spine. “What sort of trouble?”
* * *
The weather broke at last, granting them a clear blue sky and bright sun that made the new snow sparkle. It was magical, unless one’s toes were frozen.
Helen tried to curl hers in an effort to get some warmth into them.
They’d only stopped because the horses were exhausted and the Gunns had decided the remedy was to steal fresh mounts.
Robert tied her to a tree with a wink. “Do nae worry, lass. As soon as we arrive home, I’ll have more time for ye.”
“Why are ye playing the puppet to Morton?”
Robert stopped and considered her as he slid his dagger into a scabbard hanging from his belt. “I gave me word to the man. So I’ll see it through.”
“He is a long way from here, and the MacPhersons are much closer,” she warned him.
She caught a flicker of distaste in his eyes. “And yet, we’ve all felt his reach. Have we no’, mistress? Only a fool would anger him.” Robert sent her a hard look. “Ye did so, and now ye see the man has plenty of resources to strike back at ye.”
“I would have thought a fellow Highlander would no’ have anything to do with Morton’s vengeance.”
Robert leaned down and lowered his voice. “Marcus was in chains for a day. I was rotting in that dungeon for two years. Wedding ye was a price I was willing to pay to be free.”
“I am another man’s wife.”
“With no dowry and the wrath of the regent aimed at him for keeping ye?” Robert shook his head. “With ye gone, his father will make Marcus see reason. As a bastard, he’ll be wise to accept. Just as I was when I took Morton’s offer. Ye”—Robert’s tone took on a stern warning—“will do the same, for I’ll no’ be suffering yer discontent. Ye will no’ be fed unless ye please me.”
He turned and left her, disappearing over the rise. Her chest tightened as she fought against the rope binding her to the tree. She felt the skin on her wrists tearing, but that didn’t deter her. She was fighting for her life, one of her own choosing.
Marcus.
He was her choice. As she worked her wrists back and forth across the rough bark of the tree, she fought back the lash of reality. The MacPhersons would be in better standing with Morton if she were gone. Marcus would also be viewed in a kinder light by his fellow clansmen.
Stop it! she chided herself. Marcus had declared himself to her. All her fretting was an insult to his integrity.
And still, she fought against the tide of her doubts just as surely as she battled to free herself from the rope around her wrists. It felt as if she were trying to change all of the world and make life suit her whims. Of course that was ridiculous. Well, as ridiculous as realizing she needed Marcus as much as her next breath.
She loved him.
For a moment, she leaned back against the tree, exhausted by the admission and nearly smothering beneath the weight of her guilt for having resisted acknowledging it until now.
Now, when it was too late to tell him.
No.
It was more than a word; it was a rejection of all her circumstances. Marcus would never surrender, and neither would she. Helen yanked on her bindings, and one of the coils of rope suddenly gave. It slipped right off her wrist. She gasped and pulled on her arms until one hand popped completely free. She sat stunned for a moment as she looked at the bloody mess her hands had become. Her fingers were so cold that she couldn’t feel them, and she realized that the rope had slipped free because her body was contracting as it tried to conserve warmth.
The new blanket of snow surrounded her. She stared at it for only a moment before she started across it because there was no help for it. Robert might return at any moment. The worn-out horses were clustered under a tree, trying to huddle together and ease their suffering. The Gunn had provided no food for the poor creatures, abandoning them now that they had no more strength to be used.
Helen spoke softly to one, reaching out to run a kind hand along its neck. “Carry me away, and I will find ye a stable.”
She didn’t know if she was trying to convince herself or the horse of that fact, only that she had to concentrate on doing what she could instead of the very real fact that Robert would easily ride her down if he succeeded in stealing a fresh horse.
The animal was reluctant to leave the shelter it had found but it did, beginning to trot down the road they’d come. Helen forced a smile onto her lips, refusing to let doubt into her thoughts. She had to succeed, and what frightened her more than anything was the certain knowledge that Robert Gunn felt just as strongly about making good on his word to keep her.
She would be an unwanted thing for the rest of her days.
* * *
The horse’s strength truly was spent.
Helen felt the poor beast limping as it slowed. She rubbed its neck but accepted that she couldn’t ride it any longer. There was nothing in sight, and it grieved her to know she could not make good on her promise to find it a stable. All she might do was see it to a thicket, where the animal tossed its head at her in farewell.
“Aye, good luck to ye too,” Helen muttered as she surveyed the landscape.
The trail they’d left was plain, making her feel as though her efforts were hopeless. While she stood contemplating her options, she heard the sound of water.
The water wouldn’t show her tracks.
Of course, she might freeze if she got her feet wet.
It was a chance she had to take. So was turning and moving back upstream. She’d find where the river split and take a different route south. It was slow going as she climbed over boulders and trudged through ankle-deep water. She tucked her skirts up high to keep them from the water as she tried to ignore the way her belly hurt.
She had never been so hungry.
But there was nothing to do but go on. She only wished she didn’t know just how alike she and the horse were. At some point, she would have to accept she had no more strength, and then she’d have to wait for her death.
* * *
Helen understood how the horse felt
now.
There was something about a thicket of tree branches that was inviting, sheltering, and really very comforting. She lay down on a patch of fallen leaves that was bare of snow and enjoyed the way it felt warm against her back.
Yes. So nice.
She drew in a deep breath, and then another slower one. She’d been trembling for so long, it felt rather normal. Yet as she stared up into the tangle of dry leaves and bare branches, she felt the tremors leaving her body.
That was much better. In fact, she didn’t feel so very cold any longer. Just tired. So weary. Sleep offered her release and balm for her aches, so she went to it willingly, happily wrapped in its embrace.
* * *
Helen was gone by the time Marcus tracked her to the thicket.
He reached down and felt the ground but there was no warmth left, only the faint indentation from her body. Bhaic was farther down the slope, inspecting the tracks that led away from the spot.
Marcus joined his brother, both of them working their way to the top of a rise. They stayed low to the ground, hugging the earth as they peered over it.
“She never knew how close she was to shelter,” Marcus said bitterly. Below them was the castle of the Earl of Sutherland.
“One can never be sure if the Sutherlands can be trusted,” Bhaic answered.
“Just what we need,” Marcus replied. “Another earl who thinks himself king.”
“Aye,” Bhaic said. “But if Helen is still alive, she’s down there. Someone picked her up.”
Marcus nodded. “I’m going after her.”
“Agreed,” Bhaic said.
“Ye are no’ joining me, Brother.”
“The hell I’m not,” Bhaic argued.
Marcus caught his brother by the bicep. “We can nae allow the Sutherlands to have both of us. Ye must leave me here.”
“So ye can ride up to that castle alone?”
Marcus slowly grinned. “I was no’ thinking of riding up.”
