Highland Vixen

by Mary Wine

  Bhaic felt his lips twitch at his brother’s daring. “Marcus, the Sutherlands make a good show of supporting the king. Cormac might well put ye back in chains and write to Morton.”

  “Aye,” Marcus agreed. “He might at that.”

  Bhaic shoved his brother when all Marcus did was continue to look down on the castle.

  “Perhaps it might be better to gain Symon’s support in getting Helen back.”

  Marcus turned a hard look on his brother. “Ye’d never have left Ailis. So do nae ask me to do anything of the sort with Helen. She is mine.”

  Bhaic slowly nodded. He clasped his brother’s hand. “I’ll be waiting for ye.” His voice never faltered, but every man among them knew the situation didn’t favor them. Not one bit.

  Marcus didn’t hesitate. He pulled his kilt off, leaving his legs covered in a set of plain trews that protected him during the colder months. He reached up and pulled the fine brooch off his bonnet before trading swords with one of his men for one that had a plainer hilt.

  Indeed, it was deceptive and the Sutherlands wouldn’t take it kindly if they discovered him. Men could be hung for disguising who they were in the Highlands.

  Marcus didn’t give it another thought. At that moment, there was only the need to get Helen back.

  So that was what he was going to do.

  God help the man who stepped into his path.

  * * *

  Helen gasped, her eyes opening wide because it felt as if someone was peeling the skin off her feet.

  “I know, it stings,” someone said softly. “Yet it will keep ye from losing yer toes to the frost.”

  Helen looked at the girl sitting beside her. She was pretty, with golden hair and large, blue eyes. “I am Annella. Ye are at Sutherland Castle.”

  Helen was slumped in a huge chair with a padded seat and back. At her feet, two maids were gently working her stockings free from her toes. The firelight made the ice crystals sparkle. Annella offered her a glass. “This will dull the pain.”

  Helen sniffed the liquid and discovered it was nothing more than whisky. She downed it and gasped as it burned a path to her empty stomach.

  “Who are ye?” Annella asked. “Yer arisaid is plain.”

  So it was. Helen had adopted a brown length of cloth down her back instead of one with clan colors when Marcus dropped her in the MacPherson yard. “I am Helen Grant.”

  “And who is yer father?” Annella asked sweetly.

  Too sweetly, Helen decided. She looked past the girl toward the shadows of the room and heard a grunt. Annella offered her a smile before she stood and walked away.

  “I have nothing to hide,” Helen said.

  The man who emerged from the shadows was just as massive as Marcus. He had the same golden hair and blue eyes as Annella, but there was nothing sweet about him. He was a hardened clansman, and the gold brooch on his bonnet winked at her.

  “Cormac Sutherland?” Helen asked.

  His lips twitched. “So ye know who I am.”

  “No’ really,” she answered as the maids finished and left her feet soaking in a basin of warm water. Helen was avoiding looking down. If she was going to lose any of her toes, she would have to mourn them later, once she’d determined her circumstances. “I know what gold looks like and who is the eldest son of the Earl of Sutherland.”

  Cormac nodded once. “Yet I do nae know who ye are, mistress.”

  “Helen Grant. Me father has a small home that me brothers farm.”

  “I see,” Cormac answered. “No one of any importance, is that what ye would have me believe?”

  Helen made a motion over her clothing. “Do I look as though I come from a family with means?”

  He shook his head but looked at her boots. “Those are fine work.” He swept his eyes over her once again and aimed a hard look at her. “So tell me why yer wrists are bleeding from being bound. If ye are no one of any importance.”

  Helen looked at her wrists. Honestly, she’d forgotten about them, but now that she was warming up, the wounds were throbbing. In fact, the pain felt as though it was traveling up her body in a thick wave that knocked her back into unconsciousness when it hit her head.

  * * *

  “Ye might have let her eat something first,” Annella said to her brother.

  “I need to know if we are bringing someone dangerous into the castle,” Cormac replied. He considered their guest with frustration.

  “Oh aye,” his sister replied. “She appears so very fearsome.”

  “I detest that tone of yers,” Cormac informed her. “What did our aunt teach ye, anyway? How to vex men?”

  “I believe she called it minding me place.” His sister shot him a look full of loathing. “That I might always be pleasing to my lord-and-master husband. According to our dear aunt, that is a woman’s place.”

  “And ye are still angry with Father for sending ye south,” Cormac said. He made a soft sound under his breath before he scooped Helen up and carried her to the bed. The maids hurried in front of him to pull down the bedding. “I need to know more of why she was found out there.”

  “Clearly someone stole her,” Annella answered her brother. “Is nae that what ye forever warn me might happen if I stray from the care of yer men?”

  “If that is so, then ye know I have no’ just been trying to frustrate ye with me warnings.”

  Annella stuck her tongue out at him in response.

  “I hope ye never have reason to know that me warnings are justified, Annella. There are men in this world who differ little from beasts.”

  “A few women as well,” Annella responded. “I met them at court.” She shuddered.

  His sister smiled at him, hugging him before she went on her way, two of his men trailing her. Cormac took a moment outside the chamber door to instruct the guards to ensure that their guest remained inside the chamber until he’d had a chance to learn her story. It had better be a good one, supported by facts he could see for himself, because the times were uncertain, and he would not allow a would-be assassin into his father’s castle.

  She wouldn’t be the first woman used for such a purpose, which meant he wouldn’t be the first man to have to stomach his distaste for hanging a woman.

  But he’d do what had to be done to ensure the safety of the Sutherlands.

  * * *

  Robert stopped and looked at the tracks where they disappeared into the water. He gave a little grunt before he straightened and rejoined his men.

  “How does a hot meal sound, lads?”

  His captain offered him a doubtful look. “At Sutherland, ye mean?”

  “Aye,” Robert confirmed. “Since we no longer have a captive to hide, we can blend in with the merchants going up to the castle. I hear the Sutherlands still keep a lower table for travelers.”

  It was an old tradition that dated back to the Crusades. The last table in the hall would be open to anyone seeking food. Of course, it was not wise to enter the castle of your enemy, but there were advantages to being only a chief of a branch of the Gunn clan. No one would think of taking Robert hostage because the laird could easily replace him instead of paying a ransom.

  “Let’s fill our bellies before making our way north.”

  “And yer wife?” his captain inquired.

  Robert shrugged and looked up the river. “She surprised me, no doubt about it, but she’ll no’ last much longer. No’ with how empty her belly is. Likely better this way. I did nae want a wife, and the wolves will take care of her body.”

  It was harsh, just like life. He admired Helen for taking a hand in her own fate. Fate was a bitch, and all a man might really ask was to die well.

  Helen had achieved that goal. It made him just a bit sorry that he wouldn’t be getting a son from her. Strength had to be bred into offspring. She would have produce
d a fine litter for him, but at least she’d given him a clear idea of what to seek in a bride.

  * * *

  Marcus was in her dreams.

  But in reality, she was stuck inside another castle. Helen awoke at first light and tested her feet. There was still pain, but she was relieved to see that all her toes were pink. She wrinkled her nose when she looked at her stockings. They had dried during the night but were stained with mud and muck and smelled to high heaven.

  There was a rap on the door as she was contemplating them and the necessity of dressing.

  “I’ve brought ye something much nicer to wear,” Annella said as she pushed the door wide, without a care for the fact that Helen was wearing only a chemise and there were three retainers looking in on her.

  Two maids followed their mistress, their arms heavy with clothing. Annella might have been young, but clearly she was experienced in commanding the staff. She pointed at the table, and the maids laid down their burdens. The retainers sent Helen a look that made it clear they’d snap her neck if they heard even a tiny sound of alarm from inside the chamber.

  “Me father wishes to see ye.”

  The door hadn’t fully closed, and now two young men came through, shouldering a tub. They set it down, and a line of other boys began to dump water into it.

  “We’ll have ye fit for him in no time at all,” Annella declared as the last of the boys left after pouring steaming hot water into the tub.

  One of the maids had come right over to Helen and begun to gather up her chemise in order to pull it over her head. The door was barely closed when Helen was stripped bare. She happily climbed into the tub for the shelter it offered, but the maids followed her, scrubbing every inch of her body while their mistress looked on.

  “Out now,” Annella said. “It’s too cold to linger.”

  Helen tried not to shirk, but Annella noticed. “Does no’ yer father’s house have servants who bathe ye?”

  “Nay,” Helen answered as the maids dried her body before one of them offered her a clean chemise.

  “Hmmm,” Annella offered by way of response. “Me mother instructed me on no’ flinching while I was being bathed because there would be gossip that I had something to hide, such as a witch mark.”

  Helen sat down and pulled on stockings that a maid tied securely above her knee with a garter. “Well, me father’s house is modest. There are nae servants to tend to the tasks I can do meself.”

  She stood and had a hip bolster fastened around her. Next came an underskirt of thick wool flannel. She enjoyed the weight of it against her legs while it cut out the chill, and then one of the maids brought over a pleated skirt.

  It had been a long time since she’d worn a bodice and skirt that matched. So long, that she realized clothing wasn’t very important. No, being with the people you loved, that was what mattered.

  She’d never told Marcus she wanted to be his wife. It was a failing she prayed she would receive an opportunity to correct.

  Of course, Fate had never been given to granting her desires.

  * * *

  Cormac Sutherland had learned a great deal from his father.

  The earl considered Helen as she was brought into his private study. Cormac stood off to one side, clearly there to protect his father should the need arise.

  Such was the way life was. A wise person always took precautions against attack. Helen felt a nip of guilt for how hard her thoughts had been toward Marcus. He was only doing what harsh reality had taught men to do in order to defend their own families.

  “Me son claims ye say yer father is a man of no great name,” the earl began.

  “That is true,” Helen answered. She’d lowered herself to the man and stood waiting for him to decide what her fate was. “Although he has more than many. A small plot of land to call his own and a good house.”

  “And ye have brothers?” the earl asked.

  Helen nodded.

  “No man should ask for more than enough and healthy children he is blessed with seeing grow to adulthood. Three sons, aye, that’s a fine thing for a man to have.”

  His eyes glazed over for a moment, making it clear he knew about loss from personal experience.

  “Let me see yer wrists.”

  She’d had her hands clasped behind her back. It took a moment for her to extend them.

  “Closer, me eyesight is no’ what it once was.”

  Cormac moved with her, making sure he was close enough to intercede should she lunge at his father.

  “A man of no great name, and yet”—the earl looked up from the torn mess of her wrists—“someone took ye by force.”

  Helen stepped back.

  “Deciding whether or no’ to trust me with the tale?” the earl deduced.

  “I’d surely be a fool to think ye do nae hold a great deal of power over me.” Marcus would have had something to say about her sharp tongue, and she let out a little scoffing sound.

  “I know that sound,” the earl declared. “There’s a man who’s told ye that ye have spirit.”

  “More than is healthy for me, in his opinion,” Helen confirmed.

  “Who?” Cormac wasn’t willing to let the conversation dissolve into one of pleasantries.

  “Marcus MacPherson.”

  The earl’s eyes narrowed. “Shamus’s bastard? He’d say something like that. Marcus is a fine War Chief, and no mistake, I’d ride beside him. What are ye to him?”

  Helen debated her answer; it might serve as her deliverance or her undoing. The Sutherlands ruled as kings in the north. There was no telling what they’d do with her once they established that she had worth.

  “And who stole ye from him?” Cormac demanded.

  “Robert Gunn.” Helen took the opportunity to shift attention from herself, looking at Cormac in time to see the man’s eyes widen.

  “Bloody hell. The man is inside the hall this very moment.” He cursed before he went toward the door. At the last second, he turned and looked at her. “With me, mistress, and do nae make me drag ye. I will no’ be leaving ye here with me father.”

  “I’m coming with ye,” the earl announced. “I would see what Robert has to say for himself.”

  Fear went through Helen, and she recoiled. It wasn’t a choice; it was pure reaction. “Robert is inside yer castle?”

  Cormac had the door open. “I just said so.”

  “He murdered the MacPherson’s Head of House.”

  She gained a glimpse of Cormac’s rage before the man ran down the passageway. Retainers noticed him and joined the charge. One of them caught her by the bicep and dragged her along. The hall of the Sutherlands was as grand as that of the MacPhersons. Helen only had a moment to note the noble coat of arms displayed above the high ground before Cormac was shouting at men sitting at the end of the hall.

  “Chief Robert Gunn,” Cormac bellowed in a voice laced with authority. “Ye will stand and explain yerself.”

  Everyone in the hall came to a stop. Children were pushed behind adults as Sutherland retainers flooded in from the passageways in response to Cormac’s tone. More than one sword was pulled, and the few beggars who had been breaking bread at the low table scurried away, leaving Robert and his men to face the Sutherland.

  Robert stood and caught sight of her. His lips actually twitched. He faced Cormac.

  “I see ye found me wife,” Robert began.

  “Yer what?” Cormac turned to look at Helen. But he caught sight of someone behind her and his eyes widened.

  “She’s my wife,” Marcus announced. “And I’m going to enjoy choking the life out of ye for taking her, Robert Gunn.”

  The Sutherlands were alarmed to discover Marcus in their midst. There was a scuffle as they moved toward Marcus, and he threw a couple of them off him like puppies. Helen gasped, trying to run toward him, but
the men beside her grabbed her around the waist, lifting her right off her feet as she struggled against their strength. Marcus let out a roar but directed his words toward Cormac.

  “Tell yer men to get their hands off me wife.” Only Marcus would be brash enough to issue an order while standing in the hall of another clan.

  Damned if she didn’t love him all the more for it, while at the same time, fear snaked down her spine because of the very real danger he was in.

  “Hold!”

  It was the earl who spoke, and his people responded to his command instantly, turning to look toward him.

  “I will be the one to decide this matter.” The earl spoke evenly and firmly. “Since ye have both brought it into me hall.”

  The earl didn’t climb up to his high ground. He sat down on a bench nearby and gestured for his men who were holding Helen to release her. She stumbled because they did so very quickly. Their unbreakable grips just opened, and she had to catch herself. The earl pointed to a spot near him. She drew herself up straight and went to it.

  “Now, lass,” the earl began. “Who are ye married to?”

  She felt Marcus watching her. Oh, there were so many others there, but the only one who mattered was Marcus and the fool he’d made of himself by risking his neck to come after her.

  Which warmed her heart and her temper equally.

  “Marcus MacPherson,” she answered clearly.

  The earl swept her from head to toe before he looked past her to Marcus. His men released him but stayed close.

  “The Earl of Morton”—Robert stepped forward, a parchment in his hand—“wed me to her by proxy.”

  “We were already wed, man,” Marcus argued. “And the vows celebrated.”

  “No’ when ye left court, they weren’t,” Robert argued. “That makes her yer slut, no’ yer wife.”

  Marcus let out a warning sound. “When a man and woman speak their vows before a priest, that’s a wedding, lad.”

  “But ye did nae fuck her there.” Robert didn’t hesitate to be blunt. “The earl dissolved the union and wed me to her before ye had her in yer bed. She is my wife and an adulteress.”

  Cormac took the parchment from Robert and read it through. He looked up at his father. “It’s sealed, all right.” He handed it to his father, who took a long moment to read the document.