Courage Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Keep safe, milady.”

  “I shall.”

  Marguerite turned and hurried into the blue dark. She tiptoed along the ramparts. As she did so, she heard footsteps.

  They were walking quickly and quietly along the wall, their movement fast but stealthy. Headed toward her. Marguerite froze. She couldn't have said exactly why, but she was frightened. It's just the sentry. He's just coming back to the guardhouse. Just the sentry.

  She tried to believe it, but was scared. Her heart hammered in the cage of her ribs. She slipped into the shadow by the wall as the steps grew nearer. She leaned back as a shadow moved in the hallway. A hand shot out and grabbed her arm. She screamed.

  “Hold your whist,” someone hissed. They dragged her out from behind the pillar and into the light. She stared.

  “Rodham?” She twisted away, but he drew her closer.

  “Aye,” he said grimly. “It's me an' all.” The coldly-handsome face was stiff with anger. “And you need putting in your place.”

  “What?” Marguerite was as shocked as if he'd slapped her. Her heart thumped with fear. “Rodham, are you...are you mad?” She twisted her arm in his grasp, but he tightened his clasp on her wrist, hurting her.

  “No, I'm not mad. Though you might be, to cross me as you do.” He tightened the grasp, sneering at her.

  “Rodham, let go,” Marguerite said. She wished she could run or just disappear. She stared at him in horror. “Please. Let me go now.”

  “Not until you tell me precisely what nonsense you've been up to.”

  “Nonsense?” She was incredulous. “Rodham, this is my home. I have every right to talk to whom I will.”

  “No, you don't,” he said roughly. “You're my betrothed. And I'll say what nonsense you brew in these walls, so I will. Or you'll pay for it later. Now, hold your tongue and bide your ways.”

  Marguerite stared at him. His eyes narrowed. She shook her head. “You are mad, sir,” she said firmly. “I think there is something very odd going on in this castle. And I think you're responsible. I will not let you...”

  “Hold your whist,” he hissed. His hand rose. To her horror, she realized he was about to slap her. She stared at him.

  “Rodham. How dare you...”

  “I dare much,” he chuckled grimly. “Aye, I'm a mere guard now. But your father gave you to me. To have and to hold. And I will wed you right now if I choose--if you refuse to obey me now.”

  “What?” She frowned. “You are mad,” she said sadly.

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “I'm quite sane,” he said quietly. “Not only are you the means to a barony for myself, which would suit nicely, but you're a juicy wench too. This is too good for me to risk losing for that spoiled fool in bed.” He jerked his head toward the courtyard, where the infirmary faced the colonnade.

  “Rodham!” Marguerite couldn't believe her ears. She looked up into that cold face, those pale blue eyes. His expression didn't change. His gaze held hers.

  “Aye,” he whispered. “I know about him. And you. And what you get up to nights.”

  “How dare you!” she said in shock. “I do no such thing!”

  “Aye, not yet, you don't,” he said. “And now you won't. He'll not take my bride. I'll kill him afore.”

  “Rodham,” she said softly. “I don't know what you think. But I have never and would never...give myself...to anyone without due sanction. And you can take your threats of death and...”

  He chuckled. “You threaten me?” He shook his head. “Don't dare: an' don't you go trying anything clever either,” he said. He drew her toward him. “And mind that you're ready for weddin'. I've a mind to get it done before Sunday next.”

  “Before Sunday?” Marguerite's head reeled. “Rodham! I cannot possibly...”

  This time his hand came down on her head. Not a hard blow, but the shock of it stunned her and she stared at him, a tear tracking its way down to her chin, slowly.

  “You will mind me in all things,” Rodham said, quietly but vehemently. “Or I swear you will learn how.”

  Marguerite stared at him. Her whole body shivered. She felt afraid. She just wanted to curl into a tiny ball and weep.

  “Off you go,” he said. “And mind you keep your nose to yoursel', not stick it in anyone else's business. I've a mind to kill that pretty fellow else.”

  Marguerite nodded. Dazed and frightened, she could think of no other suitable response. Then, still shaking, she walked, feeling like she was in a trance, along the hallway. When she got indoors again, she blinked in the torchlight, feeling suddenly disorientated.

  “Milady?”

  A hand on her shoulder made her jump. “Oh! Fraser!” She looked up at the guard in confusion. “Sorry. I didn't see you there.”

  “Milady. Can I help?”

  She sniffed and shook her head. “I'm just going in to my chambers,” she explained. She caught sight of the hallway where the bedchambers for guests were situated. “I'm quite well.”

  “Good, milady,” Fraser said, a frown on his bluntly-handsome face. “You're sure you're not ailing? You're as pale as snow.”

  “I'm fine,” she said tightly. “Just tired.”

  She considered telling him what had just happened, but how could she start? If she said a superior officer had just threatened to kill his comrade, what would he say? She couldn't prove it, not yet. In addition, she was still shivering with horror.

  She headed quickly up the hallway toward her room and opened the door. The maid had just been in and tidied, the fire burning even though it was not very cold. She sat down on the bed in a daze. Then she curled up and sobbed.

  “Oh, Sean,” she whispered. “What am I going to do?”

  Sunday. Married by Sunday. She couldn't do it. Not to Rodham.

  Not to a man who was trying to kill Sean.

  She would have to do something about it. Soon. Before it was too late.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MAKING PLANS

  MAKING PLANS

  Sean was standing by the window when he heard the door open. He spun around, winced in agony and fell back against the wall.

  He heard an arid laugh.

  “Young man, perhaps you would be wise to obey the injunction of your physician and get into bed?”

  He let out a shuddering breath. “Yes, Father Matthew.”

  The priest's soft face was grinning under the snowy-white beard. “Quite so. What did you think you were doing? I'm curious.”

  Sean shook his head, a weary half-smile on his lips. “Sorry, Father. I was trying to leave the infirmary. I can't stay in here any longer.”

  Father Matthew smiled. “Well, if you let me dress that wound, perhaps I can consent to a walk in the courtyard. I was young too, once – believe it or not as you will – and I know how terrible it is to be stuck within four walls.”

  Sean grinned. “Thanks, Father.”

  He considered telling the old priest what he suspected - that someone had made an attempt on his life, but where would he start? Perhaps he was being foolish and overly-suspicious. He sighed. Sitting down, he let the priest gently unwind the bandages. He grimaced as he pulled away the gauze, waiting for the agony of it being pulled from the raw flesh.

  The gauze came away cleanly. The physician breathed in. “No corruption to smell,” he said with a smile. “And the wound is starting to pucker at the edges. Good. You're young and strong, and you'll mend.”

  Sean smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Well, then. A fresh bandage, then a walk. In that order. And some breakfast. And these can be burned. Sir Clarence?”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Do take these away and have them burned?”

  Sean had to smile as the physician-priest passed out the soiled bandage in a basket. The knight's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the succinct command. Nonetheless, he hurried away promptly.

  “There. Now,” the priest worked as he spoke, smearing lineament on the wound, and then bandaging it slowly and s
ystematically. “Let's say an hour out in the sunshine. Then I need you back in here again. That bandage should be changed three times a day. It's clean yet, but if it starts to weep around the edges, foul humors can get in and taint the wound.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Sean listened to the priest explain his work, wondering with a secret smile what Marguerite would say about it. He imagined she would be well-equipped to discourse with the man. He was tempted to ask if he followed the school of the Hermetics or of Paracelsus, but he thought the poor old priest might pass out. At the very least, he'd need to know why an ill-educated soldier knew such things.

  “Right,” he said when he was done. “Out you go. Be back in an hour, mind.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He headed out into the sunshine, relieved to be out in the cool, fresh air.

  Over by the fountain, he stopped. The sun was blazing down onto the flagstones and the scent of water drifted up, cool and refreshing. He lowered himself onto the rain-scented stone around the fountain and breathed deeply. The priest was right; it was good to get some sun.

  He closed his eyes and then opened them as a shadow fell across his eyelids. He stared up into the colonnade. A woman in a white dress stood there, looking down. Marguerite!

  “Milady!” he called up cheerfully. He saw her flinch, then make a hushing gesture with her hands. He frowned. She made a motion with a hand that suggested stairs, and climbing down. He nodded. A minute later, she appeared in the courtyard. He stood to meet her.

  “Milady!”

  “Hush,” she whispered. They walked together to the shadow of a column. There, unable to control his urge, he wrapped his arms around her and his lips descended passionately on hers.

  She sighed and melted into his arms. Then, after what felt like an age where his tongue grappled softly with hers and her body pressed into him, he moved back.

  “Sir,” she whispered. “Oh, Sean...”

  He shook his head. She looked terrified. “What is it?”

  “Sean, we have to leave. Soon. Today.”

  “Leave?” He frowned at her, feeling suddenly alarmed. Had all the stress turned her mind? “My dear. What is it?”

  She shook off his stroking hand as he touched her hair. “Listen to me,” she whispered. “You were right. It's Rodham.”

  “What is Rodham?” he frowned.

  “This is,” she put a hand on his side and he jumped, hissing out a breath. She shook her head. “Sorry. But he did send someone. I know it.”

  “How?”

  She drew in a shaky breath. Keeping her fear at bay, she quickly told him her story.

  When she had finished, he stared at her. He felt his heart thudding in his chest. He felt rage such as he had never even imagined fire his blood. “He did what?”

  Marguerite flinched. “He hit me, Sean. Not hard. No, please! Don't be angry...” She trailed off as he shook his head, letting out a rush of breath.

  “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I shouldn't be angry. It's not you. Not your fault. I want to hit him,” he said simply.

  “Oh, Sean.” She sighed. She reached up and her soft, tender hand stroked his cheek sweetly. “You're so good to me.”

  He huffed out a breath. “Good to you? No, my dear. I am natural. The man is mad.”

  “I think so too,” Marguerite whispered softly.

  “We have to leave,” Sean nodded. “We can't stay here.”

  Marguerite frowned. “But...where can we go?”

  Sean shook his head. “We'll think of something. Back to Aberleigh would be a good place to start.”

  Marguerite nodded. “I agree.”

  “When would we go?” Sean asked. The thought of riding with this wound was disconcerting to say the least. It went down almost to the bone across his ribs and when he walked it pulled terribly. The priest had stitched it, but he knew he was courting disaster if he rode with it.

  “We cannot go until you are fit to ride,” Marguerite said.

  “But we have to leave soon,” Sean said. “Before Sunday.”

  Marguerite nodded. Her pale, gentle face was tight with nerves. “We must.”

  Sean nodded. “Well, then. We will leave tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow! But, Sean…”

  “Tomorrow is Thursday,” he said softly. “And I will be ready.”

  Marguerite looked as if she was about to protest. Sean leaned in and gently kissed her cheek.

  “We can do it,” he said softly. “We have each other. We have love. It is all we need.”

  She smiled, though her eyes were damp with tears. She nodded. “We will succeed.”

  He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. She made a soft sound and buried her face in his neck. She leaned in and he leaned closer, his loins aching as he pressed against her body. He could smell the sweet, soft fragrance of her hair and feel her warm, firm body filling his arms. He thought that if he died right then, he would die content.

  “Marguerite,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you so.”

  She sniffed and nestled closer, a small creature seeking comfort. He kissed her hair.

  “Sean,” she said solemnly. “I love you too.”

  When she looked up into his eyes, Sean felt his heart melt. He knew then that whatever happened, he would find a way. He had to. He was not going to live another day without her.

  Sean waited until evening before he left the infirmary again. As the guard changed and Fraser replaced Alec, he heaved himself to the door and stuck out his head. “Fraser?”

  “Sean!” Fraser grinned. “You madman. I don't think you're meant to be doing that.”

  Sean shook his head, grinning as Fraser tried to shoo him to the bed. “Fraser, listen. Could you find Camden for me? We need to talk.”

  Fraser frowned. “Of course. But Sean...”

  “Just go and find him?” Sean said tiredly. “Please?”

  Fraser nodded. “Of course, old friend.”

  Camden appeared, handsome face tired but happy. He looked like he'd just been dragged away from a banquet. He probably had been.

  “Sean! How fares my wounded comrade?”

  “Fine. Listen, Camden. We need to talk.”

  “What is it?” Camden frowned.

  Sean told him.

  Camden's face darkened and then he whistled. “Sean. Whew! That's a strong tale.”

  “I'm sure it's true. Listen. We need to leave.”

  “I understand that,” Camden nodded. “But don't you think you should speak to her father first?”

  “Her father?”

  “Yes,” Camden nodded. “Lady Marguerite's father. Lord Alexander. He's here for the wedding.”

  Sean stared. “You mean...you mean they had it arranged?”

  “Possibly,” Camden nodded. “In any case, Lord Alexander has been at court. He's helping with the defenses of the castle. I think he has the intention of rising up the ranks by promotion and favor. Anyhow.” He shrugged. “He's here. You can talk.”

  Sean frowned. “You think he'll listen?”

  “I think anyone would have to believe your account, Sean,” Camden said gravely. “And when something can be done through the front door, so to speak, why try to sneak around through the window? Be up front, Sean. That's my advice.”

  Sean nodded. “I agree.”

  “Right,” Camden said. He gave Sean a smile, albeit a little exasperated. “Well, then, my impulsive brother. We can agree on that.”

  “Yes,” Sean said. “We can.”

  He would meet her father.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A DARING PLOT

  A DARING PLOT

  Marguerite sat with Rubina in the solar. She was tense, every nerve on fire. She stood and went to the window, then sat down again, hurriedly. “I can't stand it,” she whispered.

  Rubina shook her head. “It'll all be well, sister. You'll see.”

  Marguerite felt her hands twisting each other. She too
k a deep breath and tried to find calm. Even so, she couldn't settle down.

  “Sorry,” she said, shrugging helplessly. “I just can't help it. I...I know my father. I know how Sean will...” She choked, unable to get out the words. Why would no one listen to her? It was imperative that she and Sean leave as soon as possible!

  “I understand your fear, my dear,” Marguerite said softly. “But he is your father. Surely he will see reason?”

  Marguerite shook her head. However, she couldn't explain, so she simply sighed. “I suppose.”

  Marguerite's father, the baron of Carron, was a cold, distant man who had shown precious little interest in the family in Scotland, spending most of his time in his estate in France. As Marguerite was the only surviving child, he seemed to have decided to lose interest in her. His chief interest was compounding his career as an envoy and furthering his influence at court.

  I don't matter to him except as part of that endeavor.

  Marguerite sighed. Rubina couldn't understand what she meant. She had no basis to do so.

  “We'll have all of this cleared up by dinner, you'll see,” Rubina said gently. “Mara?” She looked up as the nurse came in.

  “Sorry, milady. The babe's wakeful.”

  “Oh!” Rubina smiled. “I'll come and see her directly. Marguerite?”

  “I think I'll upset her,” Marguerite said. “You know how the mood of others can affect a babe. I'm overwrought. Let me stay here.”

  “If you will. But please, don't fret yourself.”

  Marguerite nodded. She stood and paced restlessly to the window. Distractedly, she leaned on the sill and looked out to the distant gray line of the mountains, wavering along a pale eggshell sky.

  What are they doing down there?

  Try as she might, she couldn't stop worrying. She knew her father would reject Sean, who – while a more famous knight – was not as well-placed nor as ripe for promotion as Rodham. She also knew that Rodham was more than capable of blackening her name. He might well already have told her father some dreadful slander.