Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “Little of worth. They do feel it was the man who came to visit her from time to time but they couldnae say what he looked like for he and the short one, as they called his constant companion, slipped about like shadows, never letting any get a good look at them. The lass was bound to the bed and gagged so she wasnae able to alert any to the danger she was in. The inn was quite raucous that night as weel. They ken when the man came but none saw him leave. She was found in the morning. As I said, the manner of her death tells me she died by that whoreson’s hand,” Simon insisted.

  “Aye, it tells me that as weel. Where she died tells me that Rory draws too near to Aimil. I am returning to Dubhglenn now. Do ye come with me, Lagan?”

  “I ache to, Parlan, but duty commands me to ride and tell Catarine’s kin of her death.”

  “Aye, I understand.” He briefly clasped Lagan by the shoulder. “My condolences.”

  “Weel, I dinnae grieve for her even though she was kin. ‘Tis the manner of her death that troubles me. Nay, Catarine wasnae one to leave many grieving for her passing but she didnae deserve what must have been a hard, long death.”

  “Nay, no one does save for the ones who deal in such. Ye will be returning to Dubhglenn?”

  “Aye, as soon as I have accomplished my sad chore.”

  “I will come with ye now.”

  Glancing at Leith, Parlan nodded. “That little surprises me.” He looked at Lachlan who was already standing up. “Ye as weel? Do ye doubt my ability to keep Aimil safe?”

  “Nay, lad, and weel ye ken it if ye but think a moment, so smooth down those ruffled feathers. I dinnae mean to go along for that reason. Ye have been searching about your lands and I have been searching about mine because we didnae ken where that adder had slipped away to. Now we have an idea. Until that changes, t’would serve better if we search together.”

  “Aye, verra wise. Let us hurry then before that sheep dung named Geordie talks a moment’s sense into the madman he serves and all hint of Rory fades again.” Parlan turned sharply and left the hall of Lachlan’s keep, the others hurrying to follow.

  They were halfway to Dubhglenn, moving slowly for a change as they tried to pace their mounts, when Leith moved next to Parlan, and struggled to find the words to ease the increasing worry he could see in the man’s face. “Aimil is weel guarded.”

  “Aye.” Lachlan moved up on Parlan’s other side. “The man cannae get to her within the walls of Dubhglenn.”

  “Nay, not if she stays there.” Parlan could not find the words to explain the fear that had begun to grip him and continued to grow.

  “Weel, where would the fool lass go? She must be verra large with child by now.”

  “Aye, Father, verra large.” Leith smiled faintly. “I saw her but days ago, and she needs a hand to but rise from her seat.”

  “Verra true.” Parlan too fleetingly smiled, but his grim mood returned quickly. “Another lass would be kept still by such a thing. They wouldnae even think on going far when the bairn weighs upon them so heavily. I cannae be certain Aimil would act so.”

  “Nay, and I cannae tell ye she would either.” Lachlan grimaced. “She has never been as other lasses. A bairn coming wouldnae change that.”

  “Nay, it wouldnae. She has been growing restless of late and it now has me worried. I cannae say what it is but I feel that something has gone wrong. That feeling gnaws at me now and grows stronger each moment that passes.”

  “Weel, then, we best gain some speed.” Even as Lachlan spoke, he gently urged his mount to a swifter pace.

  Doing the same, Parlan muttered, “If she isnae setting quietly in the keep, I shall beat the wench, I swear it.”

  “I will hold her steady so that ye can,” Lachlan offered.

  “I think we shall find her in childbed. She is past due and that may be all that eats at you.”

  “I hope ye prove right, Leith. Though I have my own worries about the birthing, I would far prefer that than to find her outside Dubhglenn and mayhaps within Rory’s foul reach.”

  Aimil took a deep breath and smiled at a frowning Artair. They had paused for a moment so that she could enjoy the feeling of being outside of walls for the first time in many days. It was far more wonderful to be in the glorious weather than to acknowledge it while standing behind thick stone walls. Artair, however, was proving a less than enjoyable companion for he made no secret of his continuing disapproval of the ride.

  “Come, Artair, can ye not enjoy such a fine day? They are a pleasure that is too rare.”

  “I would enjoy it more if I kenned that ye were safe back in Dubhglenn with your feet back on the ground.”

  “I am nearly as safe as that on Elfking’s back.” She patted her mount’s strong neck. “He would never harm me in any way.”

  “True. Ye have spoiled that beast to your hand. Still, ‘tis not that which truly troubles me.” He frowned darkly as he looked around. “I have a bad feeling about our being out here. Parlan wouldnae like it.”

  That was true but Aimil had no intention of admitting it. “We are taking it most carefully. In truth, we go along as if we ride old weary nags instead of the fine, swift mounts we have. What harm in that? If Parlan decides he must rage about it, I shall take all the blame. After all, I did talk ye into it against your better judgment.”

  “Aye, ye did and I dinnae ken why I let ye do it.” He shook his head.

  “‘Tis because ye are sweet.”

  “Am I or am I but stupid? Aimil, ‘tis undoubtedly mad to let a woman so far gone with child go for a ride. But ye forget that Rory Fergueson has yet to be found and brought to justice?”

  “I am not about to forget such a thing. Surely he wouldnae come so close to Dubhglenn and Parlan’s sword?”

  “Who can say? The man isnae right in his mind. T’would seem foolhardy indeed to come so close to a place where so many ache to kill him but it was foolhardy for him to take ye and do as he did. He couldnae have hidden ye there and carried on so for verra long. Then too, a man who suffers madness can be verra clever.”

  “Ah, but Geordie, Rory’s man, is clever. He wouldnae let Rory come near here.”

  “T’would be fine if that is how it goes but”—Artair shrugged—“in such cases, who can tell? Geordie may seem to lead Rory at times but that doesnae mean that Rory isnae the master still.”

  Aimil shivered and could not stop herself from looking all around her. She told herself her fear was nonsense. Pure nonsense. Rory had always been very careful about keeping himself safe and coming so close to Dubhglenn was not.

  Despite that reassurance, she felt a chill ripple up her spine. She could not stop herself from thinking about how totally helpless she was in her present state nor about how any threat to her was also a threat to her child. Her hand instinctively went to her abdomen as she thought on that. No matter how sternly she told herself not to let her fears rule nor to let Artair’s dour words upset her, she felt as if Rory did indeed lurk nearby, as if he watched her. The fear she could not dismiss annoyed her, and she glared at Artair.

  Artair eyed her warily. They were slowly working toward being friends, but he could not yet claim to know her well. He wondered if Parlan really knew her or ever would. Never had he met a woman who seemed to so delight in acting contrary. He had hoped to evoke a little common sense in her by voicing his honest concerns but she seemed to be annoyed.

  “Ye were trying to frighten me, werenae ye, Artair MacGuin?” She scowled when a fleeting look of guilt crossed his face, confirming her suspicions.

  “I was but trying to stir a wee bit of common sense in you.”

  “Your idea of common sense.”

  “It should be yours as weel. I wasnae feeding ye lies. I spoke of my honest worries I hold about all of this.”

  She sighed, reined in her annoyance and nodded. “Fair enough. I rather wish ye hadnae though.”

  “Weel, I didnae really mean to frighten ye badly. Do ye feel all right?” He warily eyed her bulging stomach.r />
  “Ye didnae scare the bairn out of me if that is what ye fear.” She could not restrain a laugh when he flushed. “Artair, a bairn doesnae come out with such speed. Nay, especially not a first one. Even had ye scared me into labor, t’would be hours before Parlan’s heir arrived. Dinnae fash yourself over it so.”

  “Weel, ye are a wee bit late.”

  “Aye, mayhaps, but being late doesnae mean the bairn will come any faster when it does decide to leave me.”

  “I think I would still feel more at ease if ye were back at Dubhglenn nearer to your bed and the women to help you.”

  “I begin to think I would too. Try as I may, I cannae ignore your warnings about Rory. The taste of fear he left me with is still too strong. Your words have made me feel that eyes watch us from every bush and tree.”

  He grimaced and reached out to squeeze her hand briefly. “I am sorry. That really wasnae my intent.”

  “I ken it. Your intent has succeeded. We will return to Dubhglenn in a moment.”

  “Why hesitate?”

  “Because when I return to Dubhglenn, I ken weel that t’will be a long time before I can leave again. As ye say, the bairn is late. He will bring me to my bed verra soon, and I shall be tied to it for a while. Aye, and then to him and his hunger. For just a moment longer I wish to sit here, breathing the fine, crisp air and seeing no walls about me.” She smiled crookedly. “Ye can busy yourself looking to find all those eyes I now think are peering at us.”

  “Aimil, I dinnae think he is that close.”

  “Now, dinnae back down. ‘Tis only wise to be cautious. I let myself forget that for a moment. That is something I cannae do. Nay, I cannae relax my guard until Rory Fergueson is dead.”

  Rory glared at the pair in the clearing. “T’will be a long time before that happens, my pretty slut. Look at her, Geordie. Do ye see her?”

  Hate poured through Rory’s veins with a heat as strong as any passion he had ever tasted. Aimil Mengue sat there proud and beautifully clothed as if she were some fine lady but he knew better. She was no better than a base whore.

  His gaze fell to her bulging abdomen, and his hands clenched so tightly they hurt. As Kirstie had done, Aimil had allowed her body to take and to nurture the seed of another. Worse than Kirstie, however, Aimil had let one of the MacGuins he so loathed to possess her and to round her lithe shape with child.

  With Kirstie, he had gained only the satisfaction of avenging her scorn with her death. In killing Aimil, he could accomplish so much more. He could avenge her scorning of him, repay them all for the ruin they had brought him, hurt Lachlan Mengue by depriving him of the clearest memory of Kirstie the man had ever had, and bring the great Black Parlan to his knees for, in one stroke, he could deprive the man of his wife and his heir.

  From where he lay at Rory’s side, Geordie peered through the bracken. “Aye, I see her. Now can we leave this place?”

  “When she is so close I need but reach out and take her? Dinnae be a fool.”

  “I begin to think a fool is just what I am. ‘Tisnae wise our being so nigh to Dubhglenn without even a horse to flee on. The land crawls with men aching to spit us on their swords. Aye, and now there will be more since ye killed that Dunmore wench.”

  “She deserved to die. She was naught but a whore who never let a moment pass wherein she didnae complain or whine. I doubt there is any who will miss the ill-tempered slattern.”

  “True, but even if every Dunmore alive hated the wench, she was kin and they will demand blood for blood.”

  “Let them demand. They willnae catch me. None has in all these months. Do ye expect me to crawl away like some whipped cur? I have lost everything. I am hunted and haunted at every turning. Someone must pay for that.”

  “Aye, but there isnae any need to set yourself in their hands. Look, ‘tis Artair MacGuin himself who rides with the lass. Do ye think he will let ye take the lass without a fight? She is his laird’s, his brother’s, wife and she carries the heir to Dubhglenn. If he even catches scent of ye, he will seek ye out, howling for your blood.”

  “Let him seek. Let him howl. He is naught but a drunken boy. I neednae fear him.”

  “‘Tis said he changes. Aye, for the better, growing stronger and more like the Black Parlan every day. He looks verra sober now.”

  “Ye fret as badly as any old woman, Geordie. Look at the slut. She sets there with her belly swollen by that whoreson’s bastard, and smiles at his brother. T’wouldnae surprise me to learn that she services them both. Just like her mother. Kirstie turned from me to another, let that fool Lachlan fill her belly with his spawn over and over. Weel, she paid for her slighting of me. Now I shall make her daughter pay as weel, and t’will be a double victory for me. I will take the Black Parlan’s woman and his child in one stroke.”

  “Aye, if the Black Parlan doesnae arrive to take ye in one stroke.”

  Geordie heartily wished that he had deserted Rory Fergueson years ago. The man was too mad to heed sense or to be controlled now. Rory would lead them both to the slaughter, but it was far too late for Geordie to turn away now and he knew it. He may not have struck the death blow to the women, and some men, that Rory had murdered but he had aided the man so that his own hands were as bloodstained as Rory’s. The men now hunting them knew that and would not allow him to escape. His fate was irretrievably tied to Rory’s. Geordie simply wished the man was not so set on making that fate a swift, bloody death.

  “Let that whoreson come. Aye, let him come. He shallnae find me to cut down. Nay, if the Black Parlan comes here, he will find only corpses, only grief and blood. God willnae deny me my rightful vengeance upon that whoreson and the bride that scorned me.” Rory unsheathed his sword and left his hiding place, his gaze fixed upon the couple in the clearing.

  Thinking to himself that God had long ago denied Rory, Geordie reluctantly followed the man. He really had no wish to kill Aimil for he dreaded the thought of how firmly that would set the Black Parlan upon their trail. The man would never relinquish the hunt. Nevertheless, he made no attempt to stop Rory nor stop himself. He was no longer sure that he knew how.

  Aimil stretched and then smiled at Artair. He was trying very hard to be patient with her. His eagerness to quit the place and hie back to Dubhglenn was evident in every line of his body. She decided it was probably past time for her to consider his point of view and position with more sympathy. He had given her her brief taste of freedom and so it was only fair that she return to him his peace of mind.

  She smiled, acknowledging that she was not acting selflessly. She was very weary of sitting on Elfking. It was no longer comfortable for her body was too awkwardly shaped. So too was she still unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched. Pleasant as the place was, she could no longer feel safe in it.

  “All right, Artair, I am done with freedom. We may return now.” She smiled when he breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  “Are ye sure? We could linger another moment or twa if ye wish.”

  “Nay, there is naught here for me now.”

  “Ah, but there is where ye are wrong, my pretty slut. Death is here for ye now. Aye, death is here.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Aimil sat as if frozen and stared at the ragged, dirty man before her. Despite the loss of his finery, she had no trouble recognizing Rory. His was a face that would never leave her nightmares. He was the cause of the fear that had never left her since the day he had taken her from Parlan and revealed the monster that lay beneath his beauty. His words seemed neither fanciful nor mad to her. In her eyes, he was death in all its horror and pain.

  “Get behind me, Aimil,” hissed Artair as he drew his sword and prepared himself to face the rather poor odds of two against one.

  Shaking free of her fear, she moved to obey Artair. They could flee, she thought. They had horses. Then she realized that Geordie lurked to the rear of them. Artair stood his ground for fear that Geordie would block the horses, startle them and proba
bly unseat her. If she were not so large with child, they would have no fear of such things. Her condition stole their chance of bolting for freedom. Even as she thought that they ought to try it anyway, Geordie moved with a speed that was astounding and, with only a few moves, had knocked Artair from his horse, wounding him and forcing the younger man to fight for his life.

  “So quickly does your gallant knight fall.” Rory lunged to grab for Elfking’s reins.

  Cursing, Aimil kicked at him, but her foot barely grazed his face. She then found herself clinging for dear life to Elfking. The horse, sensing the danger to her, reared and struck out at Rory. The man dodged the first strike, but the second caught him on the side of the face. As he screamed and tried to scramble out of reach of Elfking’s deadly hooves, the horse struck him again, Aimil felt sickened by the sound of hooves striking flesh.

  Each time Elfking came down before rearing again, Aimil felt the jarring throughout her body. She knew that Elfking was accomplishing what Artair had feared from many another source. Her labor had begun. She made no attempt to halt the horse’s attack, however. It was undoubtedly keeping her, her child, and Artair alive.

  She finally dared a glance Artair’s way. Geordie was deserting the battle to race to Rory’s side. Artair sank to his knees, clutching his side which bled far too freely for Aimil’s liking. She had to get him away before Geordie could renew his attack. The wound might not be fatal but the weakening from the loss of blood made Artair easy prey. Since his horse had fled, she had to stop Elfking’s attack at the safest moment to allow Artair to mount. She could only pray that Artair would be strong enough.

  “Look at my face! Look what that Devil’s spawn did to my face!”

  Despite a voice that warned her not to, Aimil looked. As she glanced Rory’s way, he removed his hand from his face to show Geordie the results of Elfking’s attack. Even though she wondered how a stomach gripped by contractions could do so, hers heaved, sickened by the sight of Rory’s ruined face. Elfking had not struck Rory squarely. The horse’s hooves had dragged along the side of Rory’s face, taking the skin with them. Nothing could restore Rory’s face to its former beauty. If the wound healed without infection, the scar would be large and ragged. Despite her loathing of the man, Aimil found no joy in the sight.