“T’was there all the time, Giorsal.”
“I ken that now, but my eyes were long turned inward, seeing only my disappointment and that the choice wasnae my own.”
Aimil hugged her sister. “I am verra happy for you. Aye, and for Iain. He is a good man. A lot of his roughness is only shyness.”
“Aye, I see that now. ‘Tis to my shame that my wee sister saw it before I did. Now, tell me of ye and the Black Parlan.”
“Are ye going to insist upon it?” Aimil discovered that she really did wish to discuss Parlan with her sister.
“Aye, verra firmly. He hasnae hurt ye, has he?”
“Nay, he hasnae. He wanted Elfking and gave me a choice. If I came to his bed, he wouldnae take my horse. I have shocked you.”
“A bit.” She shook her head. “To do thus for a horse. ‘Tis not a thing I can understand, but I am little surprised that ye did it.”
“Weel, I think the rogue tricked me, but it matters little. I will shock ye more by saying I enjoy being in his bed, that I didnae put myself there for Elfking alone. I tried but I could-nae feel guilty or ashamed. All I could think on was that I am to be wed to Rory Fergueson.”
“So why not take pleasure while ye can, where ye can.”
“Aye. I grasped it with both hands. Of course, Parlan says I willnae wed Rory though he doesnae say why he is so against it or how he could stop the marriage.”
“If he does, ye must tell me. ‘Tis sore eager I would be to hear it. He is such a big man,” she added, frowning.
“Oh, aye, he is,” Aimil agreed meaningfully, then giggled when Giorsal gasped and blushed.
“Wretched, wretched girl. I didnae mean that.” She frowned. “I cannae fault ye for what ye do but tread warily, Aimil. The Black Parlan looks to be a man to make a lass lose her head. Ye cannae have any more than ye have right now and to long for more will bring ye naught but pain.”
“I ken that weel, Giorsal. Dinnae fash yourself.” Aimil wished she could put more confidence into her words.
“Ye said ye think he tricked you. How so?”
“He has been wooing Elfking, winning the stallion’s favor. He doesnae even try to hide it, the rogue.”
“But he said he wouldnae take your horse. I cannae believe he is a man who would break his word. That is one thing he has never been accused of.”
“He isnae. He said he wouldnae steal my horse. He never promised not to try and coax Elfking into his stables. Sneaky man. I suspicioned what was afoot fairly quickly, but I kenned it for sure this morn. I feared Papa didnae care about my honor when he said my ransom must wait, but Parlan said the man had cared. He said Papa had made him swear not to hurt me which Parlan did so Papa’s suspicions were lulled. A sneaky man is Parlan MacGuin and fair proud of it he is too.”
Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, Giorsal said, “He doesnae sound the bloodthirsty beast he is rumored to be.”
“Och, he isnae.” She told Giorsal the tale of her near escape. “He does have a sore hot temper though ‘tis mostly roar and stomp.”
For the remainder of their walk, Giorsal prompted Aimil to talk of Parlan. Aimil left her sister, thinking that she had eased all of Giorsal’s qualms but, in truth, she had increased them. When leaving for their camp, Giorsal found herself alone with Parlan for a brief moment. She glared up at the large man clearly startling him with her ferocity.
“Dinnae ye hurt Aimil,” she hissed.
“As I told your father—“ he began.
“I ken what ye told Papa, ye sneaky man. Dinnae play that game with me. I am little concerned with her virtue or her body. ‘Tis her heart that I speak of, and if ye leave a bruise there, ‘tis fair sorry ye will be, Parlan MacGuin.”
“What was that all about?” Lagan asked as the Mengue party left.
“The lady’s motherly instincts have been roused by the plight of her wee sister. She has warned me nae to hurt Aimil.”
“Och, ye would never hurt a woman.”
“She wasnae meaning in body but in heart. She fears I may win the lass’s love with my charming manner.”
Lagan chuckled as they headed back into the hall, but then he grew serious. “And what if ye did?”
“Did what?” Parlan asked absently, his mind on bed and Aimil’s lithe body.
“Win her love. Ye have had many a lass’s heart tossed at your feet. Aimil Mengue might do the same.”
“Nay, Aimil will never toss her heart at my feet for me to kick about as I please. She would place it in my hands and expect fair treatment.”
“And what if she does just that?”
“If I marry her, t’would be a verra good thing, would it not? A marriage goes smoother if the lass gives her heart with her vows.”
“Still thinking on marrying her, are ye?”
“Aye. As I have said, I am of an age to wed, to get on with the business of a family, and she still looks the best choice.” He grinned at Lagan as he started toward his chambers. “That would do to soothe Giorsal MacVern’s ruffled feathers.”
Giorsal was still fretting over the state of Aimil’s heart when Iain entered their tent and prepared for bed. She briefly contemplated the possibility that Parlan meant to wed Aimil but decided that that was the last thing that would happen. Parlan MacGuin did not look like a man who would choose marriage over the freedom of a bachelor.
As Iain undressed, he watched his wife pace the tent until his curiosity became too strong to contain. “What has ye in such a state, loving?”
“They are lovers, Iain.”
“Aye, ye had already guessed that. I thought ye had decided not to let it wear upon your mind.”
“Aye, I had but that was before I had discovered how she feels about the man. If she doesnae love him now, she is verra close to it.”
“Ah.” Iain removed his shirt to wash up.
“Ah? Ah? Is that all ye have to say about it?” she exclaimed even as she fetched him a cloth to dry off with.
“Sweeting, ye cannae do anything about it. There is no directing the heart. It will go where it pleases.”
Giorsal lay down, burying her face in her arms. “She will be sore hurt and she will still have to wed Rory Fergueson.”
“Aye.” He lay down on his side and rubbed his hand soothingly over her back. “Still, the lass will have kenned the sweetness of love and carry some verra fine memories. I think if ye set the problem before her she wouldnae alter the direction she has chosen to walk. She is a practical lass and she willnae let herself forget she is tied to Rory. ‘Tis possible she is trying for all she can get before she must wed.”
“‘Tis what she said.” Giorsal turned her head to look at her husband. “She also said that Parlan says she willnae wed Rory Fergueson.”
“Oh? Does he say how he hopes to stop the wedding or why?”
“Nay, he willnae give her reasons for wanting it stopped nor say how he will stop it. He just says she willnae wed Rory, that he willnae let it happen.”
“Weel, for all the trouble he has caused us, I respect the man. I think that if anyone can stop it, he can and I think too that if he willnae say why, he has a verra good reason for that as weel.”
Parlan felt the reason he kept silent about his dislike for Rory Fergueson was justified later that night when Aimil woke from a nightmare, trembling with fear. Reluctantly she told him what had caused her terror, and Fergueson had played a major role in her dreams. To tell her all he knew of the man her father had promised her to would only add to the fear she already had of Fergueson. If she knew the truth about Fergueson, she would probably never sleep peacefully again.
“I wonder if it started with that chill I felt?” she mused as she clung to Parlan’s solid warmth.
“What chill, little one?” He fought down a rising passion for he knew it was a time to soothe not to seduce.
“At the meal’s end, I felt a chill seep through me, go straight to the bone. Such strange thoughts entered my head.”
Holding h
er tighter he asked, “What thoughts, Aimil? Come, talking of them could ease your fears.”
“I kept thinking that some foreboding shadow had briefly blocked my sun. So too did I think that something evil had reached out to touch me with its cruel, icy fingers.” She shivered and pressed her face against his chest. “I cannae shake the feeling that something bad awaits me, that out there is something or someone who seeks to hurt me. I saw my mother in my dreams.”
“Aye?” He tried to shake the feeling that she was suffering some premonition and had not merely had a bad dream.
Aimil nodded. “She was all bloody, Parlan, and she was pointing at Rory. I cannae think why I should dream such a thing.”
“There isnae any explaining a night’s terror, lass. Ye are safe here. Think only on that. I willnae let harm come to ye and I mean to keep ye out of Rory Fergueson’s hands. Remember that. He willnae get ye. I mean to stop that marriage.”
She peeked up at his face. “Why are ye so set against this marriage? I am naught to ye.” She found that it hurt to admit to it.
“Weel”—he kissed her forehead—“I wouldnae say naught. Dinnae ask me to explain, lass. Just trust me. Trust me.”
Snuggling up to him, she sighed sleepily and closed her eyes. “I do that, Parlan. Aye, I trust ye.”
He smiled down at her and wondered why her words should make him burst with pride and happiness.
Chapter Eight
“Ye cannae mean it?”
“Aye, I do. I am staying here.”
Lachlan scowled at his eldest son’s determined face. This was something he had not foreseen. Leith had always been close to Aimil. It was evident that that feeling still existed, was now driving him to remain in the enemy’s camp. Lachlan could see no reason for it, however.
“The lass will come to no harm. I have the Black Parlan’s word on it.”
“So have I but stay I will. She may have need of someone who isnae a MacGuin at some time, and I mean to be here if she does.”
“‘Tis good of ye to think on her needs, but the Black Parlan may have an objection or twa.”
“He wouldnae send a sick lad out into nature’s cruelty.” Leith lay back in his bed, looking suitably frail.
“Ye do that verra weel,” Lachlan drawled, pulling a grin from Leith, “but I wouldnae hope on it fooling the Black Parlan.”
The Mengue heir’s performance did not fool Parlan for a moment, but he let Leith think that it had. He understood Leith’s motives and had no objections to the youth’s staying. That Leith might still wish to kill him did not trouble him at all. Leith would not stoop to murder but demand a fair fight, face to face with witnesses. Parlan even suspected that Leith was not so hot upon avenging his sister’s honor as he had been, although he made no attempt to guess the youth’s reasons for his change of heart.
Leith was relieved that he could stay. He suspected that to hurt Parlan MacGuin would be to hurt Aimil. If nothing else, she was far too happy for a woman who was supposedly being used and plunged into shame, even for one who had chosen such a course. So too did he sense something in her looks and actions when Parlan was around. He dared not guess at Parlan’s feelings except that the man did not treat Aimil as if she were naught but a convenience for the relief of his lusts. The whole matter needed a great deal more observation which was one of the main reasons he wished to stay at Dubhglenn.
“Weel, ye got your way. Ye are staying. I dinnae believe ye really fooled him though,” Lachlan said after Parlan had left them alone again.
“It matters not. As ye say, I got what I wanted.”
“If ye are thinking to slip free with Aimil and save me coin, I wouldnae hope too strongly for success.”
“I wouldnae. He keeps a subtle but close and effective guard.”
“Ye arenae thinking on killing him, are ye?”
“Why should I be?” Leith briefly feared that his father had guessed what was between Aimil and Parlan which could lead to more trouble than any of them needed at the moment.
“I dinnae ken. Ye may have a reason or twa or think ye do. Dinnae try it.”
“‘Tis not without some skill I am.”
“Och, I ken it. Ye are a fine swordsmon. Unless luck rides with ye, however, I dinnae think ye would win in a fight with him.”
“Thank ye for your confidence in me.”
“Dinnae get stiff on me. ‘Tis a wise man who kens his opponent’s skill, whether it be equal, more or less.”
“And ye feel that Parlan’s skill is greater than mine.”
“Aye, ‘tis. I think, or so rumor tells me, ‘tis the best in the kingdom. He also has nine years on ye, more strength and more practice. Ye think hard on the worth of your grievance before ye take up sword against him. It should be nothing less than something ye are willing to die for.”
“Fair enough.” Leith finally recognized that his father was not belittling his skill merely recognizing the greatness of Parlan’s.
“Weel, I think ye are mad to stay, but Aimil will most like be pleased.”
When Aimil heard that Leith was remaining at Dubhglenn, she was ecstatic. As soon as her father had left, she raced to Leith’s chambers. He laughed and scolded as she smothered him with grateful kisses. She felt there would come a time when she had need of someone who was not a MacGuin. Even though he was voluntarily staying in the midst of the enemy camp, so to speak, she had no fears for his safety.
“Ye are still a prisoner in a way.”
“I ken it. They will watch me closely and never arm me for I may, nay, must try to take ye from here when the chance for it comes.”
“Aye. Parlan will think on what he would do if he were ye and act accordingly.”
“Have ye never wondered why we have seen naught of the man ye are to wed?”
“Nay, not much. Did our father give any reason for Rory’s absence?”
“Nary a one. They have told him of each move, but he fails to journey here. It would seem your betrothed is loath to face the Black Parlan.”
“Parlan hates him. He would like to see him dead. I am certain of it. Rory mayhaps kens that and he has always been fond of his own skin.”
“Ye feel sure Parlan hates Rory, verra sure?”
“Aye. ‘Tis there to hear in the way he speaks the man’s name. I dinnae ken why though. Do ye?”
Leith shook his head. He hated to lie to Aimil but he did not want to reveal to her just how black Rory was. At the moment she only objected to the marriage intended for her. He did not wish to give her reason to be terrified. So too he still hoped to stop the wedding, and there was no sense in frightening her over a thing that was not to be. Neither could he tell her that to stop the marriage was one reason he lingered at Dubhglenn. Meeting her smile, he silently hoped Parlan could prevent it as he had stated he would.
Leith’s ransom had been easier for Lachlan to get than Parlan had hoped. He now feared that the time he needed to end the marriage plans for Aimil was not to be given to him. Rory continued to be careful and a careful man took time to catch. Frowning over that problem, Parlan let Lagan into his chambers.
“Artair’s back.”
“Where?”
“In his chambers readying himself to dine.”
“Hoping to slip past me and avoid my anger.”
“Still angry with him?”
“Nay. S’truth, I am more weary of him and his ways.”
“That may be for the best. A man with his ways cannae be shouted or coaxed out of them. He can only pull himself out.”
“So ye think I should leave him in his mire and let him crawl out on his own, if and when he has a mind to.”
“Aye, though it sounds hard, he being your brother and only near kin. Howbeit, ye cannae tell how such a one thinks. If ye coddle them, they may think ye are weak and flaunt their vices. If ye scold and bellow, they may grow to resent ye, even hate ye. Seems to me that the safest course to follow is to leave him be. He kens weel that ye disapprove. Leave it at that. Then
he can only blame himself for what he is.”
“Or blame me for not caring...”
Lagan grimaced. “Aye, there is that chance. Sometimes such ones blame others no matter what.”
“Weel, ‘tis a thought. I havenae got anywhere with him with any other ploy. He wallows in drink and tempts the pox at every turn.” Parlan suddenly smiled slightly. “Will he be surprised to see how the wee lad he caught has changed! Now why do ye frown?”
“Artair caught the pair.”
“Aye,” Parlan murmured, then asked carefully, “what matter that?”
“They were his booty. He may feel he has a right to the enjoying of it.”
“Then he will be quickly enlightened. In fact, let us search him out and see that he is told how matters stand here before he even meets Aimil.”
Aimil made her way to the hall from the lower floor’s privies, glad that Lagan was not about. He was a nice man, but it got tiresome to have him forever at her heels, infringing upon her privacy. As she neared the end of a dim hallway, she came face to face with the man who had captured her and Leith. Suddenly she found herself wishing that Lagan was dogging her heels. Artair made her very nervous.
“Weel, where have ye come from, me pretty? Now, dinnae run away. Why the lad’s clothes?”
To her dismay, Artair was not as drunk as she had first thought. He nimbly caught her when she tried to dash past him. With equal agility, he pinned her against the wall in such a way that she feared it would be impossible to use the means of defense Leith had taught her. She wondered if Artair had met with the trick before.
She noted that he was much akin to Parlan in looks, being tall, darkly handsome and well-built but that was his only resemblance. Aimil was amazed at how clearly his features were stamped with his weaknesses. Even as she thought on that, she frantically sought a way out of her dilemma, finally grabbing at the one thing she felt sure would work to stop him.
Highland Captive Page 10
