“Curse his eyes,” Leith hissed after his father had left.
“All is not as it seems,” Parlan said. “The man does care for the girl.”
Leith stared at Parlan as if he had lost all his senses. “How can ye think that after what he has just done? The choice to be made was not the heir over the maid but the maid first for she is most at risk.”
“I saw his face when she first came into his sight. Something else holds him back from revealing his love. There is a reason for the way he acts. I intend to find out what it is. I ken it isnae a simple one. Rest, Leith,” he said as he too left the room.
Parlan found Lagan and Malcolm lurking outside the stables. “Where has the lass fled to?”
“She is inside with that beast of hers,” replied Malcolm. “We werenae sure whether to leave her be.”
“I will see to her. See if our guests have any needs. They intend to leave come the dawn. Also, see that I am left alone with her.”
Aimil knew he was there even before he sat down and took her into his arms. It did not seem strange to seek comfort in the arms of the Black Parlan who was her captor and should have been her enemy. He was a strong solid haven, one that she needed.
Parlan lay back on the straw with her held firmly in his arms. It puzzled him that he should feel such a strong need to ease her pain. Even stranger was that her pain seemed to be his. He was sharing it whether he wanted to or not.
“Ye are fair close to drowning me, lassie,” he grumbled, hoping that he could tease her out of her grief.
“I dinnae cry verra much.” She sniffed loudly as she fought to control her tears. “‘Tis a weak thing to do.”
“Och, weel, ye have a good reason for them. There isnae any faulting ye for this. Are ye afraid to stay here?” he murmured.
“Nay. Not now, that is. That could change if ye start roaring and stomping about,” she said, and smiled against his chest.
Rolling so that she was beneath him, he feigned a glare when he saw her impish, if trembling, grin. She was the first woman to indulge in teasing with him, and it delighted him. He was not sure why but many assumed his nature to be as dark as his visage.
“Roaring and stomping, is it, wench?” he growled, and nuzzled her neck in a way that made her giggle.
Suddenly, she grew serious. “Ye would think that he would fret over the honor of his name. He doesnae seem to worry about what ye might do, which ye have already done, but he doesnae ken that ye have. But he doesnae seem to care that ye might do what ye have already done.”
It was difficult but Parlan managed to keep from laughing. “Am I to understand that great jumble of words?” He did laugh when she frowned, rethought her words and then laughed. “He does care, lass. He had me give my word that I wouldnae hurt ye.”
For a moment she looked at him frowning slightly as she thought over his words then she shook her head. “That was verra sneaky of ye, Parlan MacGuin.”
“Aye, it was.” He grinned when she laughed at his air of immense satisfaction. “Have I hurt you, little one?”
“Nay, not in body though I ought to be sick with shame for becoming your whore.”
“Ye are not my whore. Ye are my lover. Dinnae frown, ‘tisnae the same at all.” He unlaced her jerkin then began on her shirt.
“I dinnae understand how ye can think that but it matters not. If I must lay beneath a man, I would far rather it was ye than Rory.”
He pushed open her shirt, finding the tips of her full, high breasts already taut and calling for his touch. “Ye will never lie beneath Rory Fergueson.”
“I must. I am to be his wife. Oh,” she sighed with pleasure when his mouth latched hungrily onto a breast. “We cannae do this here.”
“Ye are always saying we cannae and I must show ye that we can.” He lifted his head to stare at her. “Ye willnae be wed to Rory.”
“How can ye stop it?”
“I can and I will. Now, hush, and let me show ye what else we can do though ye will say we cannae.”
Chapter Seven
“I cannae believe it,” gasped Giorsal, her gaze fixed with disbelieving accusation upon her father. “How could ye do it?”
“The ransom is high, lass. I cannae pay it all. Not now. ‘Tis necessary to make a choice. My heir takes precedence.”
“But to leave her in that man’s hands for so long. Ye ken what could happen, if not by force then by seduction.”
“Aye, I ken,” Lachlan growled, the long day and trying decisions taking their toll on his patience. “I ken that he will bed her. She is a comely wee lass that many a man has ached for. Mayhaps he will even fill her belly with his bairn. I wonder how fair Rory will like that? There is naught I can do about it, Giorsal. Naught. So leave it be, for sweet Mary’s sake. Leave me be. ‘Tis done and cannae be changed. Aye,” he muttered, his gaze looking distant and unfocused, “it cannae be changed but mayhaps what was to be will be.”
Giorsal left confused and angry. Her father’s claim that his heir was more important in this instance did not ring true. She sought out her husband to complain even though she knew he could do little to change matters. Just as she found him, her attention was suddenly diverted for the Black Parlan himself strode into their camp.
She could only stare in awe at the tall, dark man flanked by four men who would have been equally impressive on their own but were overshadowed by the Black Parlan. Magnificent was a word that sprang quickly to mind. So did large and overpowering and Giorsal felt afraid for her little sister. Such a man could crush the small Aimil with no effort at all. When his obsidian gaze settled upon her, she shivered but not only with fear for Aimil. Even she, so newly awakened to the delights of the marriage bed, felt the man’s sensual draw. Giorsal doubted that, even if her strong-willed, young sister wanted to, Aimil could resist that pull for very long.
Recognizing Iain MacVern from one meeting at court a few years ago, Parlan greeted him with reserved cordiality. He noticed the look that came from the well-rounded blond woman’s eyes but did not respond with his usual calculated flirtation. With Aimil in his bed, he found that he had little interest in other women. He was doubly glad for that when she was introduced as Aimil’s sister Giorsal.
Lachlan appeared even as the pleasantries were ending and Parlan was about to ask for him. “What do ye want now?”
“I have come to invite ye and your family to dine at my table this eve,” Parlan replied quite pleasantly, unperturbed by Lachlan’s crossness.
“Will Aimil be there?” asked Giorsal, thinking that the man’s voice was as dangerous to a woman as his looks.
“Aye. Aimil isnae confined verra tightly. She has free access to all within the walls of Dubhglenn. Do ye join me or nae?”
“Aye, we will be there.” Lachlan then bid Parlan a curt farewell and strode back to his tent.
“The man is oppressed by many worries as ye ken weel,” Iain offered in apology for Lachlan’s rudeness. “He must be excused.”
“For this, aye.” Thinking of Aimil’s pain, Parlan’s expression hardened slightly. “For other things, nay, not until I ken the reasons.”
“What did he mean by that?” Giorsal asked after Parlan had left.
“I cannae be sure. I think he refers to Lachlan’s coldness to his daughter. Aimil may have revealed how it pains her.”
“He should think more on how he could hurt Aimil. She is such a wee lass and he is...he is...”
“Such a great lad?” Iain finished with a grin, which widened when Giorsal blushed.
“‘Tisnae a matter of jest. ‘Tisnae just his size I speak of either, but him. I mean, he is so much a man. Even I kenned it.”
“I noticed,” Iain drawled. “Dinnae scowl. I ken what ye mean but I think ye are as fooled as many by Aimil’s delicacy of looks. Aye, she is a wee lass and comely enough even for the likes of the Black Parlan. She is also made of steel. She can be as tough as Lachlan. The Black Parlan willnae find her bending to his will easily. Nay, nor petting his vanity as so many
women have done.”
Although Parlan enjoyed the way Aimil did not quail before him, at the moment he was viewing her with a distinct lack of amusement. He saw her refusal to dine with her father as pigheadedness. Parlan did not feel that avoiding unpleasantness was the way to solve anything. Despite that, he did admire the way she met his growing annoyance squarely. Too few did.
“Ye will come down, lassie, even if I must drag ye down by the hair and tie ye to a seat.”
Aimil glared at him, unaware that she was doing anything unusual by not cowering before his displeasure. “Ye wouldnae dare.”
“Try me,” he purred.
She did not think that would be a very good idea but refused to go down without a fight. “I cannae sit before my family and act as if naught has changed. That is a lie too large for me to play out. Someone will say something that will set me to blushing and they will ken weel what has happened.”
“Ye worry over naught.” He started out of the door. “Ye best be at that table when the serving begins.”
She stuck her tongue out as the door shut behind him. It was an ill-timed gesture for he quickly reopened the door to look at her again, catching her childish response to his command. Hastily, she drew her face into the lines of sweet innocence, refusing to be embarrassed.
“Ye have ten minutes,” he growled, but lost his stern expression as soon as he was out of her sight. “Little witch,” he murmured, laughing as he started down to the hall where his guests were gathering.
Cross but resigned to her fate, Aimil finished getting ready. She still wore boy’s clothing but she had an extensive wardrobe of them. The red and black outfit she wore suited her very well she decided, smiling faintly over her touch of vanity. Brushing her hair and securing it with a red ribbon, she squared her slim shoulders and started toward the hall. She was determined not to reveal anything to anyone. If her family discovered that she was no longer a maid, it would not be from her. Taking a deep breath in a last effort to strengthen her resolve, she marched into the hall.
“She looks quite elegant,” murmured Iain as Aimil approached them.
Even though she agreed, Giorsal made a scolding noise. “‘Tis not right for her to dress so. There is no need to make a scandal of her.” She moved to greet Aimil, giving her a hug and a kiss. “How fare ye, sister? Is all weel? Ye have come to no harm?”
Pleased with her calm, Aimil smiled. “I am verra fine. I am always watched but not too obtrusively. I have stayed at far worse places.”
“The Black Parlan hasnae hurt ye?”
Meeting her sister’s worried gaze directly and proud of her control, Aimil replied, “Nay, not at all.” She then scowled at Parlan, who met her look with a smile. “Although he is an arrogant, impossible man who thinks far too much of himself,” she said loudly enough for him to hear.
Giorsal’s eyes widened at this daring and widened even more when Parlan stepped closer, kissed Aimil’s hand, and murmured, “Such a tart tongue for such a honied mouth. The sweetness of your face is indeed deceptive, love. Come and sit down.”
Ignoring that the seating might have been arranged, Giorsal hastily took the seat next to Aimil, who was placed upon Parlan’s left and across from their father. There was an air between Aimil and Parlan that disturbed Giorsal. She hoped that by being near them during the meal she could dispel that uneasiness, perhaps see that she had misread matters.
Shrugging, Iain sat at her side across from Lagan who was placed between Lachlan at Parlan’s right and James Broth. “I think ye have mucked about with the seating arrangements, dearling,” he remarked calmly.
“I dinnae care. I intend to watch this pair verra closely. They dinnae act as captor and captive should. She talks to him much as she does to Leith, Calum, or Shane,” Giorsal whispered in awe.
Iain chuckled. “Aye, Aimil always did have spirit. Always faced a man square no matter how he blustered and roared.”
“I think they are lovers already.”
“T’wouldnae surprise me, love. The Black Parlan is weel kenned to have a healthy appetite for a comely lass, and Aimil is that.”
“How can ye be so calm? Ye are her kin through marriage, and I ken weel that ye have always been fond of her.”
“Love, look about you. This is a male household. Aimil is a captive, clear and simple. Mayhaps she already occupies Parlan’s bed, and, if ‘tis so, I sorely feel for her loss of honor, but better that than to be left unprotected. If she is his lover, none will touch her. She could weel be safer in the Black Parlan’s bed than out of it. She shows no signs of being ill-treated, and that is what matters most. Leave it be for now. Her honor, if lost, can be avenged later.”
“Aye,” she agreed but hating it. “Does my father nae see it, or is he holding his tongue because he thinks as ye do?”
For a moment Iain studied Lachlan. “I cannae say. ‘Tis odd but I get the feeling he plays a deep game. Dinnae ask me what though.”
As the meal dragged on, Giorsal began to share her husband’s feeling. Even Lachlan could not ignore the attitude that existed between Parlan and Aimil yet he seemed to be doing just that. Parlan made no attempt to act coolly toward Aimil, to disguise the heat of his glances, and Aimil simply did not know how to.
“And why is Aimil’s husband-to-be not amongst your numbers?” Parlan asked as soon as the covers on the dishes of food were removed and more drink set out.
“He was verra busy,” Lachlan replied offhandedly. “As ye ken weel, there was some recent damage to be repaired.”
“What happens if ye dinnae ransom Aimil by summer’s end, the time set for the wedding?”
“Then t’will be set for another time. The man will wait for his bride. He has waited years, a few added months willnae matter.”
As Rory Fergueson watched his man carry out a young maid who had suffered badly at his hands, Rory thought of Aimil. The way matters were being handled it could be months before she was freed. Thinking of Aimil with the Black Parlan had made his lust even crueler than usual. The young maid would be a long time recovering from her spell in his bed.
“Ye near killed that lass,” groused Geordie, a burly, sourfaced man who was the closest thing Rory had to a friend.
“What care I?” snarled Rory as he flung himself into a chair and snatched at the drink Geordie held out to him.
“Ye will care weel enough if word of how ye treat the lasses reaches Lachlan Mengue’s sharp ears.”
“Do ye think he is deaf to what is already whispered about me?”
“Nay, but ‘tis rumors yet. If ye keep cluttering up Scotland with dead and battered lasses, he may soon have fact.”
“Aye, ye are right. I must tread warily. I lost my head. I must not supply the rumormongers with fact. All I could think on was Aimil in the Black Parlan’s hands.”
Geordie hid a grimace. He had no doubts about how Parlan MacGuin would use such a fair captive. The bride Rory had waited so long for would not come to her marriage bed a virgin. Even though Rory only meant to use the girl for vengeance, he had wanted her to be untouched.
When Rory suddenly demanded another wench, Geordie protested. Rory had spent all his time drinking and wenching since Aimil’s capture. Geordie knew that Rory hung upon the very brink of madness and began to fear that thoughts of the Black Parlan enjoying Aimil would push him over the edge. Only when Rory promised that Geordie could stay to insure that Rory was in control of himself did Geordie fetch a girl. He came back with a lusty wench, buxom and full of avarice, who was quite capable of handling two men.
Rory lay sprawled on the bed, drinking and watching Geordie gain his pleasure even as the whore pleasured Rory. Though his body reacted in all the appropriate ways, his mind was on Aimil. He would have her, share her with Geordie, and humiliate her. He would break her in spirit, mind, and body before he took her life. Thinking on how he would abuse her increased his current pleasure. Aimil Mengue would crawl and beg for an end to her life before he was through with her.
Aimil suddenly shivered. She tried to tell herself that it was cold in the hall, but she knew she lied. The chill had come from deep within her. All she could think, despite her efforts to shake the image, to resist superstitious fancy, was that some dark, foreboding shadow had briefly covered her soul, that some evil had reached out to touch her with its icy fingers. It took all her willpower not to cry out her fear.
“Are ye ailing, Aimil?” Giorsal murmured. “Ye have gone verra white.”
“A goose walked over my grave, ‘tis all.”
“Dinnae say such things.” Giorsal shivered. “Come, let us go for a walk outside, away from all this talk of old battles. ‘Tis most like the tales of blood and death that have turned your humor dark.”
Lagan trailed them as they went out into the bailey. He did not stay on their heels for there were many eyes to watch them besides his own. Giorsal was glad that she and Aimil would be able to talk freely as they strolled arm in arm.
“How fares Jennet? She must be far along with child now.”
“Aye, Aimil. The bairn should make his or her appearance at any time. She fares weel though ‘tis tired she is.” She looked closely at Aimil. “I will ask it again. How fare ye, Aimil? Ye cannae tell me the man’s nae touched ye. I have eyes.”
“Do ye think Papa has seen it?” Aimil asked in sudden panic, not even attempting to deny anything to Giorsal.
“Nay, it seems not. I think I wouldnae have seen aught save that, weel”—Giorsal blushed—“Iain and I are much closer now.”
“Oh? How did this come about?”
“Ye mean ye kenned there was a fault in my marriage?”
“Nay, not a fault, just nae a loving or a close bond.”
“And that is nae a fault?” Giorsal drawled. “I didnae want to wed Iain. I thought him a plain, rough man. I held that feeling since the day we were wed. Now, I didnae deny him or betray him, but I gave him little. T’was after ye were taken. I took a close look at the man ye were going to have to wed and I opened my eyes and looked at my own man. ‘Tis a fool I have been. For all my coolness, the man has never strayed, and for all he is rough, he has never been cruel. Weel, I said a few sweet words and put myself in his bed where I belonged instead of making the man come asking and ‘tis love I have found now.”
Highland Captive Page 9
