Bride of Lochbarr

by Margaret Moore

  Once it was out of sight, she let out her breath slowly. She also started to shiver, there on the cold ground, but she didn’t dare move, not until more time had passed and no rider returned. Only then did she slowly and cautiously rise, her joints aching. She brushed off the mud as best she could, and tried to get her bearings.

  She wouldn’t leave Lochbarr, not without Adair. She was sure there would be those loyal nearby who would help her. She would find them and get to Adair. Together they would reclaim his rightful place and—

  “Marianne?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ADAIR’S EYELIDS FLUTTERED open. His head hurt, his side, his chest. What had happened?

  Then he remembered.

  Where was Marianne? He’d heard her cry out….

  He sat up abruptly, only to gasp in pain and collapse back onto the rock-hard bed.

  It was a rock, and around him, in the flickering light of a torch, he recognized the walls of the cave under the falls.

  His side hurt as if a hot shaft of iron had been shoved between his ribs, but that was nothing compared to his inner anguish as he recalled what had happened in the hall.

  Barra appeared beside him, his lined face full of worry. “Adair, ye’re awake?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Barra broke into a relieved smile. “You gave us quite a scare. I was that fearful for your life. And no way to get Beitiris, neither. I tell you, I feared you’d ne’er last the night.”

  The night? How long had he been there? “Where’s Marianne?” he asked through dry, cracked lips.

  Barra turned away, then brought a wineskin to Adair’s lips. “Have a wee drink o’ this. You’ll feel better.”

  Adair choked back some of the strong, cool uisge beatha, then put his hand on Barra’s to make him lower the drink.

  “Where’s Marianne?” he repeated, his voice weak, determined to have an answer.

  “Still in Lochbarr.”

  With Lachlann and the other traitors.

  Adair tried to sit up again. “I’ve got to go back.”

  Barra put his hands on Adair’s shoulders and pushed him down. “We can’t go to Lochbarr, at least not yet,” he said with unexpected firmness. “Not when you’re hurt and your brother and those others hold the fortress.”

  Those others, the traitors. Including his brother. And Marianne was their captive.

  Adair closed his eyes and tried to muster his self-control, to stop the raging torrent of anger and dismay and need for immediate action. As much as he wanted to rush back to Lochbarr, he couldn’t let his emotions be his guide—he’d learned the folly of that. He needed to be more like Marianne, more like his father, and think. Find out what exactly had happened. How many men Lachlann had at his command. How many he had.

  He needed a plan. He had to consider all the possibilities, all the potential outcomes. Most of all, if he was to save Marianne, he had to make sure he won when next he confronted his brother and the rest of those who’d fought against him.

  “We can’t risk staying here much longer,” Barra said, looking around at the damp walls. “They’ll remember the cave and come looking.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “Roban and the others loyal to you who weren’t out on patrol brought you.”

  “How many men loyal to me are there?”

  “Nineteen got away from Lochbarr. There would have been twenty, but young Dougal fell in the fighting.”

  Young Dougal—Roban’s second cousin. He was only sixteen.

  Lachlann had even more to answer for.

  “We have only nineteen men?”

  That would include Barra, he supposed. Although Adair was glad to see the seanachie, Barra was no warrior.

  Barra looked indignant, almost as if he’d read Adair’s mind and been insulted, but the explanation for his expression became clear when he answered. “There are more loyal to you than that, Adair. Remember the patrols? We had some luck there. Roban spotted one of them coming back to Lochbarr, and he warned them what was afoot. Old Creemore sent some of his men to find the others before they went back to Lochbarr, so Lachlann and his traitors can’t tell them any lies. That’s another fifty men.”

  It was good news, and Adair was relieved to hear it. With so many, they could attack Lochbarr, he could regain control and free Marianne.

  “Where are they?” he asked, knowing they could not be there, for the cave could hold twenty men and horses at the most.

  “Scattered here and there, hiding. The traitors will have a job trying to find us all.”

  “You didn’t have to leave Lochbarr,” Adair noted.

  Barra made a sour face. “Stay there after what your brother did? Your father would surely rise from the grave and strike me down if I did.”

  “He didn’t rise from the grave to strike down Lachlann,” Adair grimly replied. “Or to save Marianne.”

  “You fear Lachlann will hurt your wife?”

  “He’d better not, or I swear to God, Barra, I’ll kill him.”

  “I don’t think he will.”

  Although Adair was glad to hear that, Barra sighed and shook his head in a way that robbed him of some of his relief.

  “You’re a forthright, plain-speaking man, Adair Mac Taran,” Barra said, “without an ounce of deceit in you, so maybe that’s why you didn’t see it. Your brother wasn’t just jealous because you were to be the thane and chieftain when your father died. He envies you your wife, too.”

  Adair closed his eyes, sick to think the signs of jealousy had been there, and his pride in his family and his clan had made him blind to them.

  He’d noticed the way Lachlann watched Marianne. The quiet conversations. The way his brother had looked at her in his teach the night their father died. Marianne had been rightly indignant, because she was innocent of improper feelings—but Lachlann…?

  He’d had too much trust in his brother and his clansmen, believing they would be as loyal and trustworthy as he.

  He should have been wiser with Cormag, as Marianne had been with Fionnaghal.

  His beloved Marianne, now in danger because he refused to believe any Scot could be as sly and deceitful as a Norman.

  Ignoring the pain, Adair forced himself upright. He pressed his hand against his side and fought the dizziness and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. “I’ll talk to the men.”

  Barra gently pushed him back down. “You should rest awhile longer. You’re wounded, Adair.”

  He pointed to the cloth wrapped around Adair’s torso. It was stained red, crusted with dry blood and damp with wet. “Look, you’ve started bleeding again, and I had a devil of a time stopping it before. Now lie down, or so help me God, I’ll knock you out myself. It’s already been two days, so if there was evil to be done, it’s been done.”

  Adair stared at Barra, horrified. Marianne had been alone in Lochbarr with the traitors for two days? His poor wife…his poor brave wife who’d climbed down a wall rather than be forced to wed. His brave, clever wife who’d fled her brother and made a marriage that should have been a disaster into a joy.

  This was the woman Lachlann might try to rape and conquer. “He’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill him if he dares to touch her.”

  Barra managed a smile. “Even though he lusts after her, I think we can hope she’ll not be harmed. This is Lachlann we’re speaking of, after all, and she’s more valuable to him safe and untouched. He’ll think of that, I’m sure. He was always a coolheaded boy.”

  Adair let out his breath slowly. Barra had a point. The clever, calculating Lachlann would think of Marianne’s value before his own desire. Nevertheless…“We still have to get Lochbarr back, and soon.”

  “Oh, aye, absolutely,” Barra agreed. He reached down and produced a loaf of bread wrapped in some rough cloth. “And we will. But it is not going to be easy. It seems your brother’s been planning his rebellion for a long time. Since he took Lochbarr, we’ve heard other men have come—a motley bunch, by the sound of
it. Mercenaries, mostly, as well as some Scots.”

  “How many?” Adair asked, again trying to be calm and force away images of Marianne hurt or in other danger.

  “We make it about two hundred.”

  Two hundred—and he had seventy at most.

  “Is Roban here? And Old Creemore?”

  “Aye, I’ll fetch them.” Barra rose and looked down at him, his eyes full of sympathy. “You’re still the chieftain of Clan Mac Taran, Adair. It’s what your father wished, and most of the good men in our clan. Never forget that.”

  “Adair!”

  The cry reverberated off the stone walls and the small pool of water, followed by the sound of somebody running, and apparently stumbling.

  Adair struggled to his feet, sucking in his breath at the sudden pain, and looking for his claimh mor. Or his dirk. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  But it wasn’t Cormag or another traitor who appeared, mud-splattered and soaking.

  It was Marianne.

  “Adair!” she shouted with relief and happiness as she crossed the space between them and threw herself into his arms.

  He cried out with both joy and pain as he held her tight, ignoring Barra, who danced about, exclaiming, “Not so tight! He’ll bleed again!”

  At the moment, Adair didn’t care if he bled to death, as long as he could do so in Marianne’s arms.

  His lips found hers and they kissed with fierce and fervent passion as if they’d been lovers for years and never thought to see each other again.

  Finally a desperate Barra pried them apart. “Marianne, please, for my sake, if not for his. I had a terrible time with the bandaging.”

  Marianne’s eyes widened with horror and remorse. “Oh, sweet mother of God! I’m so sorry. Adair, lie down at once. Barra, have you more bandages? I’m no healer, but I can repair what I’ve done. Oh, Adair! He’s right. You’re bleeding.”

  Holding his breath, and her hand, Adair sat gingerly on the ledge that was acting as his makeshift bed. “I’ll not lie and say it doesn’t hurt, but this pain is nothing now that you’re here. How did you get away? How did you find us?”

  “We’ll talk of that later, after we’ve seen to your wound. Barra, can you bring me some fresh water? And linen?”

  “Water we’ve got and plenty of it, but no fresh linen.”

  Without a moment’s pause, Marianne lifted up her skirt, revealing her shift. “We’ll use this then. I need a knife.”

  Barra looked scandalized.

  “Don’t try and stop her, Barra,” Adair said, his mouth tight with pain, but his eyes dancing. “She’ll get angry and she’s fierce when she’s angry.”

  “Aye,” Barra said, although whether that was an agreement to do what she ordered, or agreeing that she was fierce when angered wasn’t completely clear. He obediently handed her a knife he took from his belt.

  “Where’d you get that?” Adair asked, for Barra never carried weapons.

  Barra grinned as he handed the dirk to Marianne. “Just because I don’t flash a dirk about like you youngsters doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

  “I don’t know where you keep it hidden, but I suspect it’s a lucky thing you don’t do yourself an injury.”

  “If both of you are finished jesting, I need to get to work,” Marianne said as she took the long knife. She immediately began tearing the skirt of her shift into strips. “The water, please, Barra.”

  The seanachie dutifully hurried away to the pool.

  Marianne frowned at Adair. “And you should lie down.”

  He wasn’t fooled by the downturn of her lips. She wasn’t angry—and he was too happy and giddy with relief that she was here to be completely serious. With her by his side, he didn’t doubt that he’d overthrow the traitors and return to Lochbarr in triumph. “I want to watch you ruin your shift.”

  “Why do you men always have to try to act as if you’re not in pain when it’s obvious you are? You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

  “So much for my manliness, eh?” he said as he finally lay back down, trying not to groan. “I had a lovely view of your ankles. Very nice ankles they are, too.”

  She leaned over him and brushed his hair off his cheek with a gentle caress. “You don’t have to prove your manliness to me.”

  He laughed, then sucked in his breath. “Losh, woman, don’t say such things. It hurts too much to laugh.”

  “Does it hurt to smile?” she asked as she sat beside him on his uncomfortable bed.

  “No. Let’s see if it hurts to kiss,” he whispered. He reached up and cradled her head in his hand, then pulled her to him for a long, slow, passionate embrace.

  Barra cleared his throat and they moved apart. “I’ve, um, brought the water,” he said, as sheepish as a lad.

  “Thank you,” Marianne said, blushing, too. “If you’ll put it down beside me on that rock.” She nodded at the loaf of bread. “Would you happen to have anything more to eat? I’m starving.”

  Adair realized how pale and tired she looked. “What was Lachlann trying to do, starve you?”

  “Not deliberately.” She sighed as she started to remove the bloodstained cloth from Adair’s torso. “I was too worried about you to think of food much.”

  She gasped when she saw the torn and bloodied flesh along Adair’s ribs. “No wonder Lachlann thought he’d killed you.”

  “He did?”

  “He told me so himself.”

  Barra was still hovering nearby and he quickly moved closer. “It looks worse than it is,” he assured her. “The sword went along the rib, you see, not between, thank God. And thank God Roban got him out of there as fast as he did, and Lachlann didn’t strike again.”

  Adair and Marianne both looked at him, surprised.

  Barra nodded in confirmation. “Aye, Roban said that after Adair fell, Lachlann just stood there, staring.”

  Adair closed his eyes as emotion swamped him. Lachlann could have finished him, but he hadn’t. Whatever else he’d done, his brother hadn’t killed him when he had the chance.

  “In the times I’ve seen him since,” Marianne said, “he looks as if he’s haunted by what he’s done.”

  “And if he’s not, we’ll give him cause for regret soon enough,” Barra declared.

  “Aye,” Adair quietly assented.

  Whatever mercy Lachlann had shown to him, the drawing of his weapon against the clan’s chosen chieftain and the subsequent crimes of his followers had already sealed his doom.

  Heartsick, Adair bunched his feileadh in his fists when Marianne started to wash his wound. The pain nearly made him pass out again. He clenched his teeth, pressed his eyes shut and listened to Marianne and Barra.

  “Lachlann told me he didn’t think he’d have to kill Adair,” Marianne said.

  “Then he’s a fool as well as a traitor.”

  “He’s ambitious and jealous of his brother, but not a fool. It would be a mistake to act as if he is,” Marianne replied. “If he was a fool, he wouldn’t have been able to convince anybody that he should be chieftain and not Adair.”

  Adair flinched as she started to bandage him again.

  “I’m sorry. Am I hurting you very much, Adair?” his wife asked gently.

  “It’s all right,” he answered, his eyes still closed. He just wanted this to be over. “And you’re right. We shouldn’t underestimate Lachlann. Barra, I’ll talk to the men here in a little while. Not just now, though. Will you tell them? Oh, and please bring some food for Marianne.”

  “Aye, Adair,” the older man answered.

  Adair opened his eyes to find Marianne beside him. He scanned the cavern, and realized they were as private as it was possible to be. His hand reached for hers, and for a long moment, he simply held it, content to look at her lovely face and be glad that she was with him, and safe.

  Her gaze faltered. “Oh, Adair, if you hadn’t come for me at Dunkeathe—”

  “If I hadn’t gone to help you, this would have ha
ppened anyway.” His grip tightened. “And I wouldn’t have a wife I love with all my heart.”

  She wiped her eyes with the grass-stained cuff of her gown. “As I love you.”

  In spite of everything, when he heard her words, he had a moment’s true and joyful contentment.

  But he had questions, too. “How did you get away from Lochbarr? Surely Lachlann didn’t just let you go.”

  “He was taking me back to Dunkeathe, to show Nicholas that he had no quarrel with him,” Marianne replied, her expression showing how ineffective she thought that tactic would be. “Nicholas would never trust a man who’d betray his own brother.”

  “Another mistake Lachlann made,” Adair said. “There wasn’t just the two of you, surely?”

  “There were ten men with us.”

  “Cormag?”

  “No. I never saw him after that first day—thank God. When we reached a turn in the road between the meadow and the wood, I found my chance to escape. I kicked the poor horse so hard, she took off like a shot from a bow, right for the wood.” Marianne drew in a deep breath. “I confess I feared I’d fall, but I managed to hang on.”

  Adair felt faint again. “The child?”

  She caressed her stomach and gave him a smile that filled him with new relief. “No harm done.” Her expression changed, to one intense and full of meaning. “No harm done to me, Adair, not by Lachlann or Cormag or any man.”

  A wave of relief passed through him. “Thank God.”

  Although he would love her no matter what had happened, he was relieved to think she’d been spared that humiliating agony, part of the fate that had befallen poor Cellach.

  “So you rode to the woods…?” he prompted, moving past those terrible memories to concentrate on his precious wife.

  “I got to the woods and as soon as I could make the horse stop, I dismounted and smacked her on the rump to send her running again. Then I hid in a hollow under the roots of a large tree until I heard Lachlann and his men go past, chasing the horse. I stayed there as long as I dared, then got up and started back toward Lochbarr.”

  “What?” Adair gasped in horrified disbelief and utter confusion. “You went back to Lochbarr? Why?”