Her heart sank. She knew she had to keep her wits about her.
“The queen is indeed a just and kind lady,” she said, landing on her feet. “But she is advised by her brother, James Stewart, who can be a hard and punitive man, it is true.”
The three exchanged skeptical glances.
“M’Lady,” the blond man said, bowing slightly, “I’m Bryce MacIvey, thane of the clan. Perhaps ye’ve heard of me.”
She had not heard of him, either, so she simply remained silent.
“This is my kinsman, Fergus’s son, Michael,” Bryce MacIvey said. “Ye’re upon MacIvey lands, y’see.”
“M’lord, good men,” she said, forcing a smile in acknowledgment, “I’m sorry to be trespassing, and sorry to have disturbed you. If you would just be so good as to direct me back toward Castle Grey…”
“We’d not have ye goin’ off with no sustenance to see ye on y’er way, nor would we send ye off into the dark without escort,” Bryce said.
“As it seemed Laird Graham allowed,” Fergus noted.
“I’m a very competent horsewoman,” she said.
“Mayhap, but ye should not be out in the dark alone,” Bryce chided her.
She did not like the speculative way he watched her and knew she had to speak very carefully. “Laird Rowan’s wife died today,” she said softly. “He is in mourning…and his temper is both weary and foul.”
Her words caused another exchange of glances.
“Come, we’ll get ye some ale to slake y’er thirst, meat to settle y’er hunger,” Fergus said.
She had no choice; Fergus had her mare’s reins, and Bryce had her by the arm, so she allowed them to lead her over to the fire that burned in the night.
She was given a seat upon a rolled tartan before the flames and offered ale in a horn that was surely a relic of someone’s Viking ancestor. She accepted the drink politely, realizing that she was, indeed, thirsty, though water would have sufficed much better. The ale was strong and bitter, and she had to force herself not to cough and sputter.
Fergus handed her a small piece of meat; he did not tell her what it was, and she thought she might well be dining on squirrel. She merely thanked him and began to chew. She had been mistaken; the meat was some kind of fowl, and not at all bad.
But once she was politely seated and fed, the three stepped away, and she knew they were discussing her, though they claimed they were trying to determine the best way back to Castle Grey.
By listening carefully, she could hear enough of what they said to send chills racing along her spine.
“…a MacLeod…” That from Bryce.
“…rich dowry…” Fergus.
“…revenge upon old Angus!” Michael said triumphantly.
“What of the queen’s wrath?” Bryce asked.
“Laird Rowan…the more deadly,” Michael advised.
Pretending to get more comfortable, she slid closer to where they were speaking, the better to hear their conversation.
Fergus began to speak in a heated whisper. “Aye, and what will they do, Bryce, if ye take the lady now, eh? Why not wait for a marriage come the mornin’? That can be no hardship, surely? She be a pretty creature, indeed. She has an alluring beauty.”
“What of Laird Rowan?” Michael asked.
“The fool has let her loose. He is deep in mourning and will not even notice her absence until it is too late,” Bryce pointed out logically. “And I do not care to wait for morning.”
“Possession is indeed the greater part of the law,” Fergus admitted.
Gwenyth kept her seat as she listened, pretending she didn’t hear them. Panic had made ice of her blood and frozen her limbs, but she knew she dared not let on, not if she wished to have any chance of escaping this band. She was incredulous that they would dare to suggest violence against her in any way, and yet she knew she should not have been. She knew how apt the clans were to battle one another, and how eager to take justice into their own hands.
Clearly, her uncle had done something to make these men enemies to the MacLeods, and equally clearly, they meant for her to pay the price.
And her service to the queen was no protection, because Mary had just returned. She was a foreigner in their minds, and not in control of her country yet. They no doubt knew that if she moved against them, she might incite a revolt among all those who feared her religion and her ties with France.
Bryce MacIvey came strolling to her side, excitement in his eyes now, as well as speculation. She knew her fate had been decided. Tonight she would be the victim of rape, and come the morning, a forced marriage. It would be easy enough for them to find the proper minister. Once the deed was done, she would be trapped, the scorned wife of a laird who had done nothing but use her in revenge and for his own monetary gain. Her lands were far from the richest in Scotland, but they provided revenue just the same.
She had been a fool, such a fool. She could scream forever, and no one would hear her. She didn’t even know where she was, other than on MacIvey lands. True, they would face the wrath of Laird Rowan and the queen, but still, once the deed was done, the vows spoken, what could anyone do? She would be tainted goods, and that would be the end of it.
And there was no one here to help her; there was not a chance of rescue. Therefore, she would have to rescue herself.
“Ah, m’lady, how is the pheasant?” Bryce inquired politely.
“A sweet morsel, quite delicious,” she said. “I admit to a terrible hunger and thirst. The ale is fine, as well. I thank you sincerely for seeing to my needs.”
“Naturally we, being men of honor, could do no less,” Bryce said.
“We think it best to wait for the morning and escort ye home,” Fergus said gravely.
“The dark is no time to be ridin’,” Michael advised.
“Oh?” she said.
“The land hereabouts is rugged and fierce,” Fergus told her. He seemed to be the leader here, though it was his blond kinsman who held the title. He was older, and the most powerful in build.
It was Bryce, however, who would lead her off into the woods. Bryce she needed to somehow best.
She must play innocent, must keep them all off guard. She must allow him to lure her deep into the woods, for getting him alone was her only chance of escape.
Bryce looked at her then and said politely, “The news you bring us is most tragic, that Lady Catherine has left this world at last.”
She bowed her head.
“And ye are here with Laird Rowan,” he said. There was speculation in his words.
“Aye. At the queen’s command, I travel with the man.”
There was silence. Were they wondering if the queen had decided that she would make the proper second wife for a man such as Laird Rowan? She found the very idea despicable when his loss was yet so new, but if it would help save her freedom for these men to believe such a thing she was more than willing to support the lie.
“Laird Rowan needs no more power,” Fergus muttered, staring at Bryce.
Her heart sank. Perhaps the lie wouldn’t help her after all.
What now?
The time had come for a decision. Bryce approached her, extending his hand. “Come, m’lady, and I’ll show ye a bit of the sweet forest here. We’ll find a place where ye can rest for the night, a place where ye’ll be safe as we guard ye through the darkness.”
“Thank you,” she said, accepting his hand with what she prayed was an expression of innocence and gratitude, and stood, taking her time, dusting off her skirts. She weighed the pressure of Bryce’s grip. He was more slender than the others, but hardly without power. Her one hope was to trick him, giving her a chance to inflict a blow that would render him immobile.
He led her some distance away, which told her that he knew these trails well.
“What about the beasts in the forest?” she whispered, clinging to his arm.
“Ah, ye needn’t fear. ’Tis mainly deer here, though we occasionally see a few boar, but
they disturb none that do not come after them.”
He stopped, and she worried, because they were still too close to the other men.
She let go of him, striding almost blindly along the path, wishing her eyes would accustom themselves to the darkness.
“M’lady, where are ye going?” Bryce demanded, his tone developing a slight edge.
“Just further into the woods,” she said.
“But I know these woods and where it is safest to sleep.”
“I am a member of the royal court,” she said. “I must have my privacy, Laird MacIvey.”
“Ye need go no deeper.”
“But I must.” She didn’t dare run, but she quickened her pace.
He fell in behind her, so she hurried all the more. And at last, when she was a good distance from the fire, she began to run.
He caught up with her, grabbing her arm, the vise of his fingers very strong. She stared at him, forcing herself not to fight in any way.
“My Laird?” she said.
Any pretense fell from his features. “This may be sweet and easy, m’lady, or more difficult. The choice be y’ers.”
“This…?”
“The MacLeods owe me,” he said softly.
“Ye’ve a feud with Angus?” she demanded, still pretending innocence.
“Aye. Y’er uncle caused a bitter fight that led to the loss of Hawk Isle, taken by y’er own kin, lady. Ye owe me. Ye owe me the income of that land, and of Islington.”
“If an injustice has been committed by my uncle, I will rectify it,” she said.
“Indeed, you will.”
He was done talking and started to pull her to him.
Despite the ice in her veins, she bided her time, listening to her instinct for self-preservation.
Only when he was certain that she was cowed, pliant in his arms…
Only then did she strike.
She kneed him ferociously. When he doubled over, she struck him atop his head with her doubled fists, using all her strength. When he fell, screeching in agony, she knew it was time to run again.
She tore through the forest, ruing the fact that Bryce MacIvey was making enough noise to wake the dead as far away as York.
No matter. It was done. And now, if she was caught again, she would be tortured, she was certain. That left escape as her only option.
So, despite the darkness and the unknown trails, she kept moving as quickly as she could. She ran and ran. At last she heard the sound of a brook ahead and made her way there, paused, drank deeply of the cool water, then hesitated.
She was stunned when the sound of rock against rock suddenly split the night and light burst to life in the darkness.
Fergus was there, lit by the glow of a torch.
She backed away, aware that Bryce MacIvey was still somewhere behind her.
“Aye, y’er a MacLeod, all right!” Fergus lashed out furiously as he started toward her, his face a distorted mask of fury.
She turned to run and, to her horror, plowed straight into a body.
Even in the shadows, her heart sank. She had landed in the arms of a fiercely scowling Bryce MacIvey, and Michael was coming up beside him, moving to flank her.
She backed away, wrenching free. She was surrounded on three sides, and still, there was nothing to do but run.
This time Fergus was ready, leaping toward her with speed and fury. Just as he would have grabbed her, he suddenly went still, an odd look on his face.
Then, to her absolute amazement, he fell face forward at her feet.
A voice rang out in the darkness from beyond, harsh and filled with such authority that it seemed as if the very forest went still.
“Touch her again, MacIvey, and I vow upon my late wife’s soul, you and your kin will all be dead men!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ROWAN’S FURY HADN’T abated a whit.
Perhaps his anger was something he needed desperately, something he was clinging to because it was vital to feel something…anything.
His fury was further fueled now by the scene he had come upon.
The MacIveys were a crude and vicious lot, ever ambitious, ready to sell their souls for any improvement to their land or income. Working their hereditary lands with greater care had never occurred to a one of them. They were known to strike up ridiculous feuds, challenging their neighbors.
They were prone to losing.
Thus far, James, acting on behalf of the Crown, had tried to keep some form of peace in the Highlands, but men such as these had done everything possible to undermine his efforts. Not that the Highlanders couldn’t feud easily enough on their own. But equally, they tended to be of proud moral character; they had laws unto themselves and, though there had certainly been abductions throughout the ages, rape was something they despised among invaders and did not practice themselves.
Gwenyth had walked right into this. And on this night of all nights! She had gone still, staring at him, heaving for breath, her eyes wide with shock, her hair tumbled about her shoulders. She was indeed a rare beauty, far too tempting for men such as these to have ignored. And there remained the feud with Angus to spur them on. She was a little fool!
“Ye’ve killed him, Rowan. Ye’ve killed me man, Fergus!” Bryce raged.
“He’s not dead, more’s the pity, merely unconscious. I try not to kill men for stupidity. I will report your crimes to the Crown,” he said coldly.
“What crimes?” Bryce demanded. “We were trying to help the lady, nothing more. She feared us, and I feared for her in the dark.”
“You liar!” Gwenyth exploded.
It looked as if Bryce were about to set his hands on Gwenyth again. Rowan urged his mount just slightly forward, and Bryce apparently thought better of it, though he could not stop himself from speaking.
“She is mistaken.”
“She is not,” Gwenyth snapped icily.
Bryce’s eyes narrowed. “If she thinks something other, it is because she is a witch, one who sought us out, found us somehow in the forest, where she cast the evil eye upon us.”
“Good God, what a ridiculous excuse for idiocy!” Rowan thundered.
“What is your anger for? The lady stumbled upon us. Unless, of course…” Bryce smiled, a slow and nasty smile. “I hear that your lady is scarcely cold yet, but perhaps you are already planning for the future. Y’er claim has been…laid, and thus y’er fury with me,” he announced, laughing.
“I should kill you now,” Rowan said quietly. “But murder can be so complicated, though I doubt I’d pay much of a price. Still, I would be compelled to kill both Fergus and Michael, as well, and they should not have to die for the folly of following their laird, who ought to know better. You’d best get Fergus to care. He’s been given a good thump upon the head with yonder rock. My aim has always been impeccable, as you know.”
“Y’er on me land!” Bryce cried, but he made no move to step forward.
“Which borders my own. You had only to set the lady upon the path yonder, and she would have reached the wall,” Rowan said. “Gwenyth, come here now,” he said.
She realized then that he wasn’t alone. There were a number of horsemen behind him. She obeyed the command without hesitation.
He reached a hand down to her and lifted her up before him on his own mount.
“Wife barely dead,” Bryce dared to mutter.
“Because of that fact, I will let you live,” Rowan said softly, and yet with more menace and promise than might have been in the loudest shout.
There were no more exchanges as Rowan turned his horse toward home. She saw then that he had been accompanied by Tristan, the guards who had ridden with them from Edinburgh and three more men from Castle Grey. They didn’t follow until Rowan had cleared the copse with her, and she realized that Rowan hadn’t trusted Bryce and his companions. He had dared to offer his back to them only because of his trust in his own men.
Gwenyth wanted to say something, anything, a thank-you…an apology
. But when she would have begun, he warned her sharply, “Don’t speak, Lady MacLeod.”
And so she rode back to the castle before him, painfully aware of him, humiliated, and too shaken to fight against the feeling.
At the castle, Annie and Liza were waiting for their return.
Rowan did not speak to her, just as he had not spoken on the ride, as he set her down in front of Annie.
“See to your lady,” he said brusquely.
She turned quickly enough to see his face. It was a stern mask, his eyes cold.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“Don’t ride out alone again,” he returned.
“Wait, please,” she said. But he did not.
“My poor, poor dear,” Annie crooned, then chastised her. “What were you doing, m’lady? God knows, you must take care. You serve the queen, and you are a lady in your own right. Ah, mistress, that ye can be so sheltered as not to know the minds of men…”
Annie didn’t even know half of what had happened, Gwenyth thought wearily.
“I’m fine,” she murmured uneasily.
Tristan returned quickly from the stables. “’Twill be a hard day, come the morning,” he said, smiling gently at Gwenyth. “No harm done, lady, though there might have been. But ye’re safe now, so best ye get some sleep.”
“Aye, sleep,” Liza, who had stood silently by, watching, said, as she slipped a supportive arm around Gwenyth’s waist. “Come, all will be better in the morning.”
It wouldn’t be better. Gwenyth knew it.
THE WOMEN HAD TENDED to Catherine’s body, using spices, vinegar and acqua vitae, so that she might remain beautiful, looking as if she were only sleeping, while she lay in the great hall in the fine wooden coffin that had been so carefully carved for her.
Rowan stood unmoving for most of the day, as the people of his holding came through the castle, saying their prayers, wishing her Godspeed to heaven, where surely such an angel would dwell. The numbness had settled upon him again, except whenever he noticed Gwenyth, who had taken up a position nearby. He felt the same wealth of passionate fury stir within him each time his eyes fell upon her, although he could not fault her behavior that day. She managed to walk a thin line, appearing regal, yet greeting the mourners as if they were all friends, and making certain they were all offered wine or ale as she thanked them for their love for their lady.
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