Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  Parlan had known that Janet was pinching at Aimil but he admitted to himself that he had given little thought to the possible content of the woman’s words. Although he knew, to his increasing regret, that there were women in the keep who could rightfully claim to have known him very well indeed, he felt he had made Aimil understand that the women he had bedded in the past meant nothing to him and, if reassurance was needed, he could give it again. He did not, however, want any woman filling Aimil’s head with lies about promises never made or feelings never felt.

  Aimil grimaced as she met his stare. She knew he would press her until she told him everything. She was not sure why it was of any importance to him, why he did not simply say no and leave the matter at that, but he clearly was not going to. Reluctantly, she decided that she might as well tell him the whole of it and save them both a great deal of annoyance.

  “She said that, if I hadnae come along, your heir would have carried Dunmore blood, that her father spoke of such a match and”—she took a deep breath and watched him closely as she finished—“that ye said as much yourself.” Her eyes widened at the curse he spat.

  “And no doubt I whispered these sweet words into her fair ears during some embrace.”

  “Against her skin, she said. “Heated love words against her skin’ to quote her more exactly.” Aimil found the words bitter.

  “And that is when ye came to blows?” He kissed her bruised cheek.

  “Nay. I swear, Parlan, I sorely tried to rein in my temper. I swallowed her insults about me and about Lowlanders. I even swallowed the insults about why ye married me at all. I ken ye were no monk before we wed so I was willing to ignore all talk of what ye had done in the past and with whom but, when she struck me...” Aimil shrugged. “I couldnae stand still for that no matter how strongly I reminded myself that ye wanted no trouble nor upset.”

  “And ye were within your rights, dearling. She had no call to strike ye, none at all.”

  “Weel, I ken that my tongue can be sharp though I did try to temper my words.” She sighed. “I was fair pressed to control my temper too, there isnae any denying it, which is why I was leaving. I kenned that I would hear of lasses ye had bedded but I wasnae ready to hear that there had been more than that with any of them.”

  “There wasnae, especially not with Janet Dunmore. Neither was there any “heated words of love.’ I have never even glimpsed Janet Dunmore’s skin though she has always been eager to show it to me. I have never bedded the fool woman. Not once.”

  “Not even once?” She had never doubted that Parlan had bedded Janet just what feelings had been or had not been involved in the act.

  “Nay. If naught else, I kenned weel that Lord Dunmore would cry for marriage if he discovered it.”

  “And Janet would be sure that he did.”

  “Aye, before we had caught our breath. Aimil”—he caught her face between his hands and kissed her gently—“I was never her lover and I never spoke love words to the silly woman. I have never been betrothed, or even near to it, with any lass.”

  “I kenned that Lord Dunmore would have liked such a mating but I never hinted that I would agree to it. Now, if ye hadnae come along, I may weel have ended wedded to the lass for a man has to wed sometime. I never even hinted that much to her.”

  “I kenned she was pinching at ye but felt it wouldnae help to meddle. I wish I had now for I dinnae want ye worried with these lies. They were lies, Aimil. I swear to that. I am also verra sorry that I didnae realize what sort of insults she would fling at your head.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I hadnae realized that the Highlanders hated the Lowlanders so much.”

  “Not all of us, lass. There are some of us with the wisdom to like or to hate a man according to what sets in his heart not by the place he calls home.” He smiled crookedly and winked. “Though ‘tis a trial to be so fair toward a Sassanach.” His smile grew wider when she laughed softly; then he kissed her again before nimbly getting off the bed. “Enough of that, lass. I have work to do.”

  Before she could gasp out her outraged reply, he was gone. She shook her head, half-smiling over his nonsense then decided to rest until they all had to gather in the hall for a meal. It annoyed her that the incident with Janet should be enough to make her feel so weary, but she decided it was best for the child to heed her body’s urgings to rest. So too would a good rest make it a little easier to face Janet later.

  To Aimil’s surprise, Janet never appeared for the meal. Since she was sure she had not really hurt the woman, Aimil found it difficult to understand Janet’s absence. To her added consternation, Lord Dunmore kept glancing toward her bruised cheek, and scowling. Aimil suspected that the powder and paint she had applied had not hidden the bruising as well as she had hoped. She decided it might be best to avoid the man only to be confronted by him as she started to retire for the night, leaving the men to discuss past glories and their hopes for more in the future.

  “M’lady, I wish ye to accept my most humble apologies.” Lord Dunmore took her hand in his and raised it briefly to his lips.

  A little confused, Aimil asked softly, “For what, m’lord?”

  “For my daughter’s actions this afternoon. T’was inexcuseable.”

  “Oh. Weel, t’was but a wee squabble, m’lord. Dinnae fash yourself.”

  “Ye are too generous.”

  It took her a few more minutes to convince him that she was neither hurt nor deeply offended. As she finally made her way to her chambers, she shook her head. Lord Dunmore clearly wished the alliance to remain firm as much as Parlan did. Even his plainly cherished daughter took second place to it.

  Upon entering her chambers, she found no maid nor had the fire been tended to. It did not really surprise her for such small discourtesies had become common. Dunmore might be the laird, she mused as she lit a candle, but he doesnae rule as completely as he might think he does. She was certain that he would not approve of the lack of courtesy but she was not going to tell him. Aimil felt sure that such tale-bearing would, in the end, only add to her problems.

  She was tending to the fire when Parlan strode in. Glancing briefly at him, she continued to work but cursed to herself. She had hoped to be done before he came. The look upon his face as he strode toward her to take over the chore of the fire told her that he was as furious as she had expected him to be. It was going to take a lot to calm him down.

  “Where are the cursed maids? Ye shouldnae be doing this work. Did ye dismiss them?”

  “Aye.” She had answered too quickly and she knew it so was not surprised when he turned to eye her suspiciously.

  “They were never here, were they?”

  Sighing, she shook her head, seeing no point in lying to him. The laxity and often the absence of any assistance to her was something she had been expecting him to notice. She was surprised, in fact, that it had taken him so long.

  “I will speak to Lord Dunmore in the morning.”

  “I wish ye wouldnae, Parlan.” She shed her robe and climbed into bed, watching as he washed up.

  “They break the rules of common courtesy, loving. I cannae believe Dunmore would order it so.”

  “Oh, nay, I dinnae think he has aught to do with it. I doubt he even kens what games are played.”

  “And the ones who play them should be punished,” he said flatly as he finished undressing. “If only because they could be making a lot of trouble for their laird. ‘Tis also that they shirk the work given them and that shouldnae be tolerated.”

  “Nay, it shouldnae.” When he slid into bed beside her, she quickly cuddled up to him when he reached for her. “Cannae ye ignore it?”

  “Why, lass? Ye cannae like coming into an unreadied bedchamber. Aye, ye can do for yourself but ye shouldnae have to. Dunmore has more than enough lasses to see to your needs. Aye, and since ye are with child, they should tend ye even more vigilantly.”

  “Ye are right in all ye say but, I beg ye, Parlan, leave it be. They must thin
k they have good reason for what they do.”

  “There is no reason, no pardon, for treating a guest of their laird so discourteously.”

  “Nay, ‘tis true enough.” She sighed, wondering how she could explain her feelings to him. “But some of the women might resent me for I keep ye from seeking them out this visit.”

  “Ye kept me from seeking them out the last time, too,” he murmured.

  That delighted her, but she pushed on with her explanation. “So, Parlan, there could weel be jealousy at work here. T’will work itself out in time like the festering splinter it can be. As ye said, no promises were made so they will soon cease to pout and turn their interests elsewhere.” Or so I hope, she added silently.

  “Then there is the fact that I am a Lowlander.” She placed a finger over his lips to silence him when he began to protest. “Nay, dinnae say it. I ken that many a man can be fair but the ill feeling is there. There is no ignoring it. No doubt there has been a Dunmore man or twa who has died at the hands of a Lowlander and the circumstances wouldnae matter much to one who had lost a loved one.”

  “What I am trying to say is that ‘tis best that ye leave it be, that ye let me sort it out upon my own. Bearing tales to the laird will do little else but harden what ill feeling there is. I must push it aside without aid, prove myself if ye will.”

  “Ye are my wife, the mistress of Dubhglenn. That should be enough to settle this matter, to end all troubles.”

  “Not when it may be the verra reason the troubles began. Parlan, abide with me in this. I must settle it myself, win or lose upon my own merit, or, for however long I abide in this land, I willnae be welcome.”

  “For now I will let ye have your way.” He held her close and nuzzled her neck, flicking his tongue over the soft skin at the base of her throat. “And what do ye mean by “however long I abide in this land?’”

  “Weel, I didnae want to speak too firmly of the uncertain future.”

  “Where ye will abide isnae uncertain. ‘Tis with me—forever.”

  As she succumbed to the passion of his kiss, she decided not to quibble since it was what she hoped for anyway.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sighing heavily, Aimil tossed aside her needlework petulantly. She was tired of sitting, tired of doing little or nothing. Glancing at her well-rounded figure with a hint of disgust, she reluctantly admitted that she was, perhaps, a little hindered in what she could do. To her dismay, she did waddle when she walked, but Parlan valiantly managed not to laugh, something he found difficult when he had to help her get out of bed in the mornings.

  Still, she thought crossly as she struggled to stand up, there had to be something she could do that would satisfy the sudden extreme restlessness that had lately afflicted her. Plying her needle was certainly not enough. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted to do and, she mused as she started out of the hall, without Parlan about, she just might be able to accomplish it.

  Partway to the stables she had to fight the impulse to giggle. She had been trying to be secretive, to slip away unseen. The whole idea was ludicrous, and she suddenly saw it that way. She was far too pregnant to move about stealthily. Everyone was keeping a close watch upon her as well, far too close for her to elude it completely. She was the laird’s wife, carrying his first child which was now past due and Rory was still alive, had even been spotted a time or two far too close to her for anyone’s comfort. Finally, chuckling over how she could have ever thought that she could sneak about Dubhglenn, she stepped into the stables and moved toward Elfking.

  “What do ye think ye are doing?”

  Gasping and pressing a hand over her rapidly beating heart, Aimil whirled around. “Artair, dinnae frighten me so.”

  “I didnae mean to.” He eyed her very protuberant belly warily as he stepped closer. “Do ye feel all right?”

  “Aye, I willnae have the bairn here and now, though, if ye scare me so again, t’wouldnae surprise me if I did.”

  “Then I shall be verra careful not to frighten ye again. Now, answer me. What are ye doing?”

  “I intend to go for a wee ride.”

  “Are ye mad?”

  “Aye, with boredom.”

  “Now, Aimil, I ken how ye must feel...”

  “Nay, ye dinnae. Ye could never ken. ‘Tis as if I am a prisoner again. Nay, ‘tis worse. I had more freedom when all I carried was ransom value. I cannae abide sitting still, doing needlework and just waiting for another moment. I must do something.”

  “Fine, but that doesnae mean going for a ride.”

  “Aye, it does.”

  “Ye could hurt yourself or the bairn.”

  “Aye, and just mayhaps I will shake this wee one into recalling that a bairn is supposed to come out sometime.”

  “Exactly, and he could decide to do so whilst ye are out there somewhere, nowhere near the women ready to aid you.”

  The way he was standing before her, his arms crossed and looking down at her as if she were some errant child reminded her a great deal of Parlan at his most overbearing. It annoyed her just as much. However, she hid her annoyance for she knew that, unlike Parlan, Artair could be persuaded to change his mind. The younger MacGuin was susceptible to subtle pleading.

  “Artair”—she laid a hand upon his arm—“a wee ride, a gentle wee one, cannae hurt the bairn. I have been riding all my life. T’willnae hurt me to do something I have been doing all my life. Aye, and whilst I carried the bairn, right up until I grew too round to mount with ease. Ye can help me mount. I can do it. I just need a wee bit of help.”

  “If ye need help to get into the saddle, then ye shouldnae be riding.”

  “Nonsense. There are a lot of ladies that willnae even try to mount a horse without aid yet they are never told not to go riding.”

  “They arenae big and round with Parlan MacGuin’s heir. I am certain Parlan has told ye to do no more riding.”

  “Weel, ye are wrong in that. He hasnae ordered me at all, never said I couldnae go riding.” She decided that was not really a lie for Parlan had never told her not to, even if he had made it clear that he was about to when she had ceased her rides all on her own. “I stopped because I was beginning to feel verra silly and awkward atop Elfking, looking as I do.”

  “Then why do ye suddenly need to ride now?”

  “Because I cannae abide another moment of doing naught!” she snapped then sighed, honestly sorry to be so short-tempered with him. “Sorry. ‘Tis just hard to be so verra big and so verra restless. The twa dinnae go together weel at all.” She smiled hopefully at Artair. “Can ye help me with the saddle?”

  “Aye, I can,” he grumbled even as he did so, “though I ken weel I will be sorely regretting this. I should make ye wait until Parlan returns.”

  “Parlan willnae be back until ‘tis far too late for me to go riding.”

  “I ken it. I just pray he comes back late enough for me to have got ye back safe from this folly.”

  “Ye arenae heeding what is said at all, Parlan.” Lagan exchanged a grin with Leith before nudging Parlan.

  Parlan grimaced as he silently acknowledged the truth of that. He had come to a meeting of the Mengues and their allies not only to assure the lot of them that he considered his marriage to Aimil Mengue a treaty of sorts with all of them but to hear whatever news had been gathered on the elusive Rory Fergueson. While he felt sure he had done the former, his intention to listen was sadly wavering. He could not keep his mind on the business at hand. His mind wished to busy itself thinking of Aimil and the child she carried.

  “I dinnae like leaving Aimil when she is so near to her time.”

  “She has been near her time for almost a month. I begin to think the bairn plans to wait until he can walk out.”

  Chuckling over Lagan’s remark, Parlan nodded in amused agreement. “Aimil has puzzled over that as weel.”

  “Here, heed what old Simon Broth is saying,” hissed Leith, urgency tightening his voice.

  “I tell ye I am c
ertain it was him, that whoreson, Rory. I dinnae mean to bring ye pain, Lachlan, old friend, by stirring up the painful memories of the past, but the lass they found was murdered in the same manner your wife was. Who else could it have been? The killing held his mark. T’was clear for even an old man like me to see.”

  “Do they ken who the lass was?”

  “Nay, Leith. None had seen her before, not until she arrived a few weeks past,” Simon Broth answered.

  “They must have had some knowledge of her.” Parlan knew that few people ignored a stranger in their midst. “Some information that might lead us to ken who she was or someone who did ken.”

  “Do ye think it is important?” Simon asked.

  “It could be.”

  “Weel, ‘tis said she was a fair and fulsome brown-haired lass, twenty years of age or older. They couldnae say exactly. What little she had to do with the plain folk, even the ones at the inn where she stayed, didnae make them feel she was the friendly sort. Haughty and shrewish, they said, though she did favor the innkeeper’s son who be a braw, handsome laddie.”

  “That could be any of a thousand lasses. Was there naught else? Naught upon the body to give any clue?”

  “Ooh, aye, aye. I meant to show it before I had finished my tale.” Simon dug a ring from a pocket in his pourpoint and held it up for all to see. “I dinnae hold much hope for it to help. I couldnae place it and I ken most all about here who would wear such as this.”

  “Lagan,” Parlan whispered, his gaze fixed upon the ring he suddenly recognized.

  “Aye, I fear so.” Lagan rose and slowly moved to take the ring from Simon. “She wasnae from about here, old man. That is why ye couldnae recognize her or this. She was Catarine Dunmore, a cousin of mine. What was done with the body?”

  “T’was buried proper. Any in the village can tell her kin where to find her. What was the lass doing ‘round here, with him?”

  “After betraying Aimil and Parlan to Rory, she had no place to go and no one else to go to. Did none see anything or hear anything where she was murdered?” Lagan was not surprised to find Parlan and Leith flanking him for the village where Catarine had been murdered was very near the border of the Highlands and the Lowlands, placing Rory uncomfortably close to Dubhglenn.