Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  Since Geordie was busy trying to calm Rory and to tend to the wound as well as avoid Elfking, Aimil decided the time was right to flee. “Artair, can ye mount?” She kept her gaze fixed upon the enemy as she fought to quiet Elfking.

  “Aye, I think so though, God’s tears, I feel close to death.” Artair struggled to his feet.

  “Ye will be far closer than ye wish to be if ye dinnae mount and quickly. Their attention will again turn our way verra soon.”

  Keeping a watch on Geordie and Rory, she felt Artair falter twice in trying to pull himself up behind her. Although Elfking was steady, the horse was still agitated and could flare up at any moment. Nevertheless, she knew she had to chance it when Artair faltered a third time. Releasing one arm from its firm grip around Elfking, she grasped Artair by the arm when he made his next attempt to mount. To her relief Elfking did not rear, and the extra pull she exerted upon Artair was enough to get him up behind her. She then cautiously retrieved the reins she had dropped when Elfking had begun to rear and she had held tightly to his neck.

  “Here is the chance to kill that filth yet I must tuck tail and run.”

  “Ye could do none of us any good dead, Artair. Hold tightly. I cannae catch ye or lift ye if ye fall.”

  As soon as she felt him grip her tightly, she spurred Elfking into a gallop. The frustrated cries and curses of Geordie and Rory were like music to her ears. It meant she had gotten away from them. Now all she had to concern herself with was getting to Dubhglenn before she had the child or Artair fell off Elfking. She mused a little wryly that that would undoubtedly prove enough concern to last her for a lifetime. Then some of Rory’s screaming rage reached her ears, and she thought of nothing save escaping the madman, of reaching the safety of Dubhglenn.

  “Ye have lost the chance,” Geordie finally screamed at the raging Rory. “Let us leave here before ye lose your life, too.”

  It was another moment before Rory gained enough control to speak in a normal voice. “Are ye telling me to give up?”

  “I am asking ye to flee now, before she has a chance to tell anyone where ye are. ‘Tisnae the same at all.” Geordie sensed that Rory’s madness had reached the point where even his life was at risk. “Ye willnae have another chance if ye linger here for there is sure to be someone along soon and they willnae let ye live.”

  “Aye, aye. Ye are right. I must never risk my chance to seek vengeance.” He lightly touched the wound on his face that Geordie had awkwardly bandaged. “Here is but another crime to add to the ones that slut must pay for.”

  “And she will,” Geordie soothed but, as he silently urged Rory on, he felt it would be a very long time, if ever, before Aimil left Dubhglenn so lightly guarded and he knew that the hunt for Rory would now become even more determined, especially if Artair died from his wound.

  It was a long while before Aimil felt safe enough to slow Elfking’s pace. Artair rested so heavily against her back that it worried her. Her contractions too were growing stronger. She feared she had erred in telling Artair that even a baby startled into birth did not come very speedily. Her child felt very determined to be set free.

  “Artair? How fare ye?” She felt him stir and sighed with relief. “Can ye hold on until we reach Dubhglenn?”

  “By my teeth if I must.” He frowned as, beneath his hands which rested upon her belly, he sensed something. “How do ye fare? Has the bairn been hurt? I dinnae mean to be indelicate but your belly feels strange.”

  “It seems the bairn’s memory has been shaken.”

  “Eh?”

  “He has recalled that he cannae always abide in there.”

  “Now? The bairn comes now?”

  “Aye. Now.”

  “Jesu. What do we do now?”

  “Go on.”

  “But, ye must be feeling verra uncomfortable.”

  “Aye, I am but I have no choice, do I?” She was not surprised when he gave no reply but was rather disappointed that he could offer no other choices.

  “Doesnae this hurt the bairn?”

  “Nay. Artair, he willnae come for a while yet though it would be fitting for a child of mine and Parlan’s to be born in the saddle, dinnae ye think so?”

  “I may think it fitting but I dinnae want to see it. Does...does it pain ye much?”

  She almost smiled over the hesitant question. He sounded shy and decidedly nervous. It had never ceased to amaze her that men who so vigorously went about the business of creating children knew so little about childbirth, what to do, what should be done, or most anything else. His ignorance was simply another reason to get back to Dubhglenn as quickly as possible. Aimil did not want to ask Artair to deliver her child and she was confident that he did not want that either.

  “Aye, it hurts, but not as bad as it will. Nae as much as your wound, I wager.”

  “Oh, that isnae so bad. I have tied my shirt about my waist, and the bleeding has eased.”

  It was not only the pain-ridden tone to his hoarse voice that suggested he lied. He still rested too heavily against her, and his breathing was irregular. While the suggestion that she was close to birthing her child had roused him some, Aimil suspected that he was periously close to unconsciousness. He was fighting that blackness, however. She only hoped that he continued to win the battle against it until they reached Dubhglenn. If he fainted and fell from Elfking, she would have to leave him—for she could never move him—and that was not something she really wished to do. Rory and Geordie may not have fled and could find the helpless Artair.

  Gritting her teeth, she kept Elfking at a steady pace. Even his smooth gait was a torture, however. She could not give into the pain, stop, and concern herself with the birthing of her child. It was tempting but she fought that temptation, using the spectre of Rory to drive her onward.

  “Would ye like to stop?” Despite his own pain and weakness, Artair was aware of Aimil’s increasing difficulties.

  “If I stop, Artair, I shall never continue until the child is born. I fear to stop for neither of us ken much about birthing a bairn. Neither can we be sure that Rory has left, has run for his life. We thought t’would be foolish for him to come so near to Dubhglenn yet he did. We cannae think that he will now become wise. I dinnae think I have to tell ye how it would be if he caught us off Elfking, me giving birth.” She gasped as a fierce contraction ripped through her.

  “Nay, there would be no chance for us. No chance at all. ‘Tis just that ye seem to be growing worse.”

  “Aye, I am, but we are also drawing nearer to Dubhglenn. Dinnae fash yourself. I have hours to go yet.”

  “If ye say so.” He laughed weakly, the sound drained by his pain. “Parlan will come home to find himself a father.”

  Parlan knew he was not going to like what he found at Dubhglenn the moment he rode through its gates. The people gathered in the bailey looked too guilty and fretful for his liking. Even Malcolm was hesitant to respond when Parlan dismounted and signaled to him. He felt his worry for Aimil become a hard knot in his stomach. A glance at Leith and Lachlan did nothing to ease his concern. They too looked worried. Malcolm’s feeble attempts at a cheerful greeting made Parlan scowl.

  “Where is Aimil?”

  “Ye cannae expect a lass so heavy with bairn to rush out to greet ye.”

  “Malcolm, dinnae trouble yourself with playing that game. It willnae work. Where is my wife? I want the truth.”

  “Weel, ye willnae like it.”

  “That much I have discerned for myself.”

  “She isnae here.”

  “Aye? So, where is she?”

  “I fear no one is too sure. She isnae alone. Artair is with her,” Malcolm hurried to say when Parlan’s anger reflected in his face. “No one would ever let her go off on her own.”

  “She isnae within Dubhglenn?”

  “Nay.” Malcolm cringed slightly as Parlan hissed out a stream of vicious curses. “She is out riding with Artair.”

  “Out riding?” Parlan’s bellow mad
e several men nearby jump nervously. “The fool lass is overdue upon her childbed and she goes out riding? How could ye let her do such a fool thing? How could Artair? Is there not an ounce of wit left within the walls of Dubhglenn?”

  “Calm yourself, laddie.” Lachlan placed a hand on Parlan’s arm. “I am as worried as ye are but be fair. Ye ken as weel as I do that Aimil can be verra clever in getting her way. Why should they watch for such a thing? As ye said, the lass is overdue to take to her childbed. No one would ever think she would get upon Elfking and go for a ride now.”

  With much effort, Parlan reined in his fury. “Has anyone gone to look for that pair of fools?”

  “Nay. We decided to give them another hour to return. Even if the lass has had some difficulties, Artair would soon come for help.”

  “If he was able to. Malcolm, ‘tisnae just that she has gone riding when she should be carefully awaiting the birth. Aye, I can even understand what might have driven her to such a rash act. She has been kept much fettered. We have strong proof that Rory and his hellhound, Geordie, are lurking near. Catarine Dunmore has been found.”

  “Dead?”

  “Quite dead. He did to Catarine as he did to my cousin and Lachlan’s wife. Aye, and as he tried to do to Aimil. That is why I am back so soon. Old Simon Broth was the one called when Catarine was found. I left as soon as the man told the tale.”

  Malcolm grasped him by the arm when Parlan made to re-mount. “‘Tis still wisest to wait. No one even kens which way the pair rode when they left here.”

  “He is right.”

  “Lachlan,” Parlan protested even as he stopped trying to mount.

  “Aye, he is. When ye dinnae ken whether they be south, east, north or west, ye can do naught more than run about blind. We only ken that Rory lurks at the border. Give it a wee bit more time. They could yet return on their own and safely.”

  Although he hated doing it, Parlan had to agree with Lachlan. It would be a fool’s errand to charge out to search when no one even knew where to begin looking, an errand that should not be made use of unless all else had failed. Cursing, he turned from his mount toward the gates, and stared blindly out at the empty landscape.

  “I will wait one more hour.”

  “That is what we thought to do,” murmured Malcolm. “Then t’will be too long she and Artair have been gone, considering that she, weel, she isnae really fit for a long ride.”

  “She isnae really fit for a short one either.” He strode to the gates and halted inside of them. “I could use some ale to wash the dust from my throat, Malcolm. I mean to wait here until she returns so that I may beat her or until the search begins.”

  As Malcolm hurried to fetch some drink and the others dispersed, Leith moved to Parlan’s side. “She isnae a helpless lass.”

  “Nay, not for the most part but she is now, and ye ken it as weel as I do. She cannae even rise from her bed in the morn without aid she has grown so full. Artair is all that would stand between her and Rory if the man set upon them.”

  “Artair isnae without skill. Nay, in truth, he has a fine skill with a sword and his fists.”

  “Aye, I meant him no slur. I mean that he would be one against twa and with a helpless Aimil to protect as he could. Those arenae odds I feel good about. For all they are but murdering cowards, Geordie and Rory possess a fine skill, too.”

  “And Rory wouldnae hesitate to harm Aimil just because she is large with child,” Leith said softly, voicing their fears.

  “Nay, God’s beard. He could easily see it as but another reason to do her harm.”

  “Come, let us not weary ourselves thinking of all the worst that can happen. Aye, there is a chance that Rory could have come upon the pair but there is also a verra good chance that she and Artair will soon come riding back, safe and untouched.”

  “Aye, and then all I need concern myself with is which one shall I beat first.” His words were harsh and cold but, when he looked back out over the empty land, the lines on his face were those of worry not fury, and he prayed that he would soon see his errant wife riding toward him unharmed and concerned only that he had caught her in her foolish act.

  “Artair,” Aimil cried hoarsely, relief momentarily diverting her from her discomfort. “I see Dubhglenn. We are nearly there.” When he did not reply, she grew worried. “Artair?”

  “Aye, little mother, I am still amongst the living. ‘Tis good to hear that we are so close for I fear I cannae hold onto ye verra much longer. T’would be verra fine indeed if to this success we could add Parlan’s not finding out about this folly.”

  Easily recognizing the tall figure that stood at the gate watching them, Aimil sighed. “I fear our luck isnae that good.”

  “Nay, even if the wound I suffer could be kept a secret, we must tell him how close Rory has come.”

  “Verra true but I wasnae meaning that. I fear ‘tisnae only Rory lurking at Dubhglenn. Parlan has returned early.”

  Rousing himself to look over Aimil’s shoulder, Artair groaned. “And here he comes looking as black as he ever has.”

  “Ye could always give into that faint ye have fought so weel until now.”

  “And leave ye to face his wrath alone?”

  “If ‘tis too bad, I have my own retreat I can make. By the time I bring his child into the world, he should have calmed some.”

  The alarm Parlan had felt upon seeing the pair return upon only Elfking had turned mostly to anger by the time he reached their side. “How could ye be so thoughtless, so foolish? What has happened?” Even as he bellowed at her, his gaze swept over her as he carefully searched her for some sign of injury and, despite her paleness, found none. “I begin to think ye witless.”

  Exhausted and in increasing pain, Aimil felt very inclined to bellow right back at Parlan. Artair diverted her, however. Although she had made the suggestion in jest and knew Artair had not seen it as serious, she knew he was about to faint. She clung very tightly to Elfking so that she would not be dragged out of the saddle when Artair finally fell.

  “I think ye best catch Artair. He has stayed conscious as long as he was able.”

  Startled, Parlan moved quickly to catch the falling Artair. Leith helped him carry the unconscious, young man back into Dubhglenn. Parlan silently cursed himself for not seeing what Artair’s condition was because he had been too concerned for Aimil.

  Aimil followed them into Dubhglenn on Elfking. Her father quickly moved to help her dismount so that she could go after Parlan who was already inside of the keep, shouting orders that would swiftly bring all Artair might need. A look upon her father’s face told Aimil that he knew what ailed her, but she curtly shook her head. A shrug was his only reply, but she knew it meant he would not say anything for the moment. She needed to see that Artair was fine before she gave into her own needs for she felt responsible for his wound.

  She entered Artair’s chambers, faintly aware of her father closely following her. Parlan and Old Meg, with Leith and Malcolm aiding as they could, were already busy caring for Artair. Aimil stood to the side, out of the way. Her hope that she would also be out of mind was quickly shattered by Parlan.

  In the one look he shot her way, Aimil saw how angry he was. She had not really anticipated such fury but she supposed she should have. So too did she reluctantly admit that he had some right to that anger. In one innocent bid for a moment’s freedom in the sun, she had put three lives at risk, one not even really begun. She suspected it was risking the child’s life which angered him the most. That tweaked at her only slightly for she could easily understand it. It was a substantial part of the annoyance she felt with herself.

  Parlan fought desperately to control his anger. He knew it was bred by his fear for Aimil more than by anything she had done. She looked pale and weary, not able to deal with his ire at the moment. Knowing that she had undoubtedly already been through enough and that, in her condition, she should not be pushed too far or too hard, he was determined not to unleash that anger on
her. Despite his efforts, it came through in his voice, making it clipped and cold.

  “What happened and no evasions.”

  The chill in his voice only hurt her fleetingly, and she realized she was simply too burdened with other worries and too weary to get upset by the fact that he seemed to hate her. “Ye will get no evasions nor half-truths for this is too important. T’was Rory.”

  “Aye, I ken it.”

  “‘Tis why ye came back early.”

  “Aye, t’was said he was on the border and I feared he would be mad enough to come near Dubhglenn. I had but hoped that ye wouldnae be foolish enough to place yourself within his grasp.” He winced for that was argumentative and he did not wish to carry on like that, especially not when he needed information.

  Aimil knew she was poorly when she did not immediately bristle in response to that prod. “Quite.” She hurriedly described where she and Artair had been attacked, and Parlan immediately sent Malcolm to begin a search. “He was mildly wounded, Malcolm, if that is of any help to ye,” she called after him and he acknowledged her comment with little hesitation in carrying out his orders from Parlan. “I would think the man would be far away by now but then I would never have thought he would come so close to here.”

  “Nay, neither would I but he wants ye.”

  “Aye, he does and I fear I may have given him yet another reason to hunt me.”

  “The bairn?” Parlan felt sure that the sight of a very pregnant Aimil must have enraged Rory.

  “Well, I cannae say how he feels about that though I do ken that it wouldnae have stopped him from doing whatever he wished to. Nay, ‘tis his face. Elfking has destroyed Rory’s fine face.”