Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero

by Terry Spear

  “Angus! Finbar!” Marcus called out. If any one of his men or his kin could hear his voice he would know Marcus was in dire need of help or he would not ask them to come to his aid when he knew they had to be in the thick of battle themselves.

  Instead of any of his men, three of Pembroke’s knights came into view, surprising Marcus. He hoped that if they slew Laren’s men, that Pembroke’s knights didn’t try to take off with Isobel next.

  “We have got her,” Sir Travon said, galloping past him.

  Marcus recognized the two other knights who had forced him to leave the dance held in Isobel’s honor before he was bushwhacked. That realization didn’t make him feel any less uneasy as he slashed again at Tearloch.

  No matter how hard he swung or thrust at the villain, Marcus couldn’t break free from his battle with Tearloch, both of them wearying.

  “You ken I killed your da, eh?” Tearloch taunted, his face a mask of fury, as he readied to take another swing.

  His blood burning with anger, Marcus blocked Tearloch’s swing with a mighty clang. He hadn’t known. No one had. Not only would he kill the whoreson for attempting to take Isobel, Marcus was glad to avenge his da’s murder!

  “And that sweet lassie will be beneath me before long. Mark my—”

  Marcus thrust his sword into Tearloch’s chest, saw the look of wide-eyed surprise, right before the man sputtered and tilted on his horse.

  Marcus yanked out his sword and watched the bloody bastard fall to the ground, not stirring, his eyes wide in death, leaving his men to their fates.

  Marcus turned his horse to join the knights and fight the MacLauchlan clansmen who had stolen Isobel from the crannog. But Laren’s men were done in by the swim in the cold loch and the fighting before this. One of the men held a sodden Isobel over his shoulder like a sack of wet grain. She wasn’t stirring. And Marcus was furious with the bastard as he leapt from his horse and stalked toward the man.

  Three of the soaking wet Highlanders dropped their weapons and sank to their knees. Isobel’s captor waited for someone to take her from him, wisely not releasing her like they had their weapons.

  One of Pembroke’s knights gathered the men’s weapons while another directed them to sit on the ground.

  Sick with worry over Isobel, Marcus took her from the man, cradling her in his arms, holding her tight to warm her chilled, wet body. “Isobel, lass, can you hear me?”

  She didn’t respond, but her skin was pale pink, not blue and she was breathing, her breath warm against his chest, which were all good signs. Marcus had to get her into the enclosure right away where a fire was burning at the hearth, the smoke curling above the boulders. “Can you hold these men here, Sir Travon?”

  “Aye, what of Lord Wynfield?” Sir Travon asked.

  “Injured. We will take him to Lochaven as soon as my reinforcements get here.” Marcus glowered at the MacLauchlan men. “What did you do to her?”

  “Naught,” a black-haired man growled. “She just got quiet all of a sudden.”

  Marcus would ask Isobel as soon as he could revive her. “If I hear it wasna true, I will be asking you again how she came to be this way.”

  Then he strode off for his horse. Sir Travon ran after him. “Let me help you with the lady.”

  “Is it true that Lord Pembroke lives?”

  “Aye.” Sir Travon took Isobel from him so that Marcus could mount his horse, and then Travon lifted her up to him. “We only just learned a farmer had found Lord Pembroke and the two knights badly injured. One died. The other and Lord Pembroke lived. His lordship did not want anyone to learn of what had happened to him until he was well enough to travel.”

  Marcus frowned at the knight. “Lord Pembroke feared someone in his own ranks had attacked him?”

  “I should not speak of it. Lord Wynfield will if he can.”

  “Aye. See to these men and we will have to learn what has happened to the rest of our men and theirs.”

  “Aye, you have but to tell us what you need us to do.” Sir Travon bowed his head to Marcus.

  Marcus was surprised to see the knight pledge his loyalty to him.

  “Aye, thank you.”

  “Just…just take care of the lass.”

  “Aye, that I will do.” Holding Isobel as close to his body as he could, Marcus rode back to the crannog and found Finbar caring for Lord Wynfield, the baron’s chainmail and some of his clothes removed.

  Finbar had stoked the fire and was trying to warm the man with dry wool brats and offering him ale.

  “Lady Isobel.” Finbar’s face was a mask of alarm as he quickly rose from his crouched position, and took Isobel from Marcus.

  Once Marcus dismounted, Finbar handed her over to him. Anxious about her well-being, Marcus rested her on the ground and began removing her wet clothes.

  “She is…?”

  “Alive.” Marcus fumbled with her damnable brooch, his hands shaking from worry.

  “I will get more wool blankets.” Finbar rummaged around the leather bags and other spare blankets left behind.

  Marcus thought he saw her stir. “Isobel.”

  She groaned a little, her eyes fluttering open, then widening as she saw Marcus on his knees beside her, rubbing her hands with his, trying to warm them. “Marcus.”

  “Aye, lass.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Nay, stay with me until I can get you warmed up. What happened?”

  She seemed too tired to speak, and instead he began removing her shoes and hosen. Finbar handed him several dry blankets.

  To Finbar, Marcus said, “We need to know the status of our men and Lord Pembroke’s.”

  “Aye. Do you wish me to look into it?”

  “Nay. When the men return here who are injured, you will be responsible for them. Just have someone else take care of it.”

  “Aye.”

  “What happened to the Chattan men who were guarding her?”

  “Dead. I removed their bodies.”

  Marcus nodded, hating to learn of it. One of the hardest things a clan chief had to do was give the fallen clansman’s family the news of his death. No matter the number of years a chief led his clan, the solemn task never got any easier.

  “I will return.” Finbar left the enclosure.

  “Isobel.” Marcus finally managed to unfasten her brooch and let her brat fall away from her shoulders. Then he pulled off her soaking wet léine.

  “Nay.” Isobel pushed his hands away.

  Taking a deep breath, he was gladdened to see her react to his efforts and not lie there still as death.

  “Aye, lass. Your clothes are sodden.” He pulled her clinging wet chemise off, and then dried her and wrapped her in a blanket, sat down, and held her in his lap, close to his body to share his heat. She was shivering so hard, he worried she had grown too chilled this time. “How are you faring, baron?” he asked Wynfield.

  “I will live.” The baron’s voice weary, his eyes half-lidded.

  “Isobel, Lord Wynfield has brought us news. Your da is alive.”

  Isobel looked up at Marcus, her eyes widening. She was so pale still from the cold, he didn’t think her face could lose any more color. He held her tighter. She parted her lips, but the words would not come out, and her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears.

  “Aye, lass, ‘tis true. He lives.”

  “Oh, God, Marcus…” She buried her face against his chest and soaked his tunic with her tears.

  “‘Tis good news, is it no’?”

  She nodded, brushing her wet cheek against his chest. “‘Tis really true?”

  “Aye, lass.” Marcus kissed the top of her wet head.

  She was quiet for a long time, most likely processing the information, like he was.

  “Oh, Marcus, we have agreed to wed and—”

  “We are wed,” Marcus corrected her.

  His face as pale as Isobel’s, Lord Wynfield shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

&n
bsp; “He is truly alive?” Isobel asked Wynfield, freeing an arm from the cocoon of a blanket and brushing away the tears. She quickly tucked her arm back inside the blanket.

  “Aye. We thought he was dead. No one knew the truth but the farmer and his wife caring for him and the knight who survived.”

  “Oh, thanks be to God that he is alive.” But then she looked up at Marcus. “Oh, Marcus, what will he do? About you and me?”

  Marcus wanted to reassure her that her da would be reasonable. At least he was hopeful he would be. Marcus wasn’t giving her up, no matter what.

  “Did you tell Lord Pembroke what happened to Lady Isobel and her escort, Lord Wynfield?”

  “What little we knew to tell,” Wynfield said. “That your man brought one of our knights back to the keep to have our physician see to him. That you and the rest of your men went in search of Isobel because she was not with her doomed escort. We fed your man and took care of his horse. He left after that. I sent men to discreetly follow him, knowing he would lead me to you and Isobel. Your man quickly lost Lord Pembroke’s men and they returned to the castle. The next morn, we had word that Lord Pembroke and Sir Edward lived.”

  ***

  Isobel couldn’t believe the news. She was so glad her father was alive, but she couldn’t absorb the information no matter how much she tried as if her body was so numb with cold, her thoughts were also. She fought crying with joy for the welcome word all over again, but she feared what her father might still do once he learned she and Marcus had pledged themselves to each other.

  “At first, he was angry that Marcus did not return you to the castle. I was sent in search of you, to locate you,” Wynfield said, his voice strained, filled with pain.

  She wished she could ease his discomfort, and prayed he would get through this all right.

  “We thought my father was dead, and that one of my suitors was responsible for everything that has befallen us. The attempt on Marcus’s life. The murder of my father and his escort. The killing of my escort.” Isobel hated that her words were so shaky because she could not stop shivering, despite the heat of Marcus’s body as he tried to warm her. She loved how he did so, leading by sending other men to take care of matters, while he stayed with her, protective and endearing.

  “I pray forgiveness, my lady, that I put you in such danger.” Wynfield’s eyes shimmered with tears.

  She hated seeing him on the verge of tears when she couldn’t recall a time when he’d ever revealed such an emotion to her before and it made her uncomfortable. “I forgive you, Lord Wynfield, but only because Marcus came to my rescue in time. Had he not…” She didn’t bother to finish the statement. She was certain she would have been in the hands of a murderous knave. “Also, John intended to take Father’s place. So there was no need for me to stay there any longer.”

  “His nephew John is the one who attacked Lord Pembroke and nearly killed him,” Lord Wynfield said coldly.

  Isobel’s jaw dropped. “No,” she whispered, thinking of her sullen cousin and the way he had always ignored her, until he thought to use her as a marriage pawn. How could he turn on her father like that when her father might very well have handed the earldom to John when it was time?

  “It was said that my father knew his attacker, a Norman,” she finally managed to choke out.

  “Aye, his very own kin. John thought your father and his knights were both dead. John did not arrive until two days after I had sent you away from Torrent. Once we learned your father was alive, we realized John had been in the area the whole time, but was keeping out of sight so it would appear he had naught to do with your father’s murder. When John finally arrived at Torrent, before we knew your father was alive, I told him that your escort had been murdered. John was furious that I had sent you away. He went after you, vowing to bring you home at once. He knew that Laird McEwan had to have found you and since Marcus did not return you home, we all assumed you were on your way to Lochaven with him.”

  Marcus cursed under his breath. “We must send word to Rondover Castle at once to let the chief know that John and his men need to be incarcerated until your men can return him to Lord Pembroke. Then he can handle the matter.”

  “He is at Rondover Castle?” Wynfield’s eyes narrowed with hatred.

  “Aye. My uncle is keeping him and his men there to allow us time to reach Lochaven. John wasna happy about me taking Isobel for my wife.”

  “What if John was the one who had my escort attacked?” Isobel asked. “If he wanted to be the one who married me off for his own personal gain?”

  “‘Tis possible,” Wynfield said.

  “Would he have sent men after me to have me killed so much earlier?” Marcus asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Nay, I do not think so.” Isobel hated that they couldn’t clear the whole matter up right away.

  Gunnolf stalked into the enclosure. “One of your men, by the name of Dow, has been wounded. Two of Lord Pembroke’s men are dead. Ten of MacLauchlan’s are dead or wounded. Four more have been taken prisoner. The rest escaped.”

  “And Tearloch is dead. He said he killed my da,” Marcus sounded so angry about it, and her heart went out to him.

  Glad that Marcus had learned the truth of who had killed his father, she was shocked to hear that Laren’s people had anything to do with it. Knowing that her real father had to have given the word to kill Marcus’s father, she worried how he would feel that he had agreed to marry her when she was from the clan that had murdered his own father. She snuggled tighter against Marcus, remembering how he’d talked so fondly of him as the two would fish together in the loch and hunt in the woods. How he’d shared humorous stories of his youth, like the time he had gone off to hunt a rabbit and a wild boar had treed him, or how he met his beloved wife, Marcus’s mother, at a feast that Isobel’s own mother’s clan had given.

  His expression dark, Gunnolf nodded to Marcus. “Then ‘tis good you avenged your da’s death, ja? But I understand. Did you want MacLauchlan’s wounded men brought here also?”

  “Aye. Have the dead men buried. Lady Isobel’s father lives. Let the others know that.”

  Gunnolf’s eyes widened, then he looked at Isobel.

  “My father will approve of our marriage and I hope that he will be well enough to travel here to attend our wedding,” Isobel said, determinedly. She would have it no other way.

  Wynfield shook his head. “He said if you and Laird McEwan had decided this because you believed him dead, then he would not stand in your way.”

  Still trembling with the cold, Isobel sagged against Marcus with profound relief. He tightened his arms around her and kissed the top of her head again. “‘Tis what we always wanted, aye, lass? Your da’s approval?”

  She sniffled, fighting the tears again. She had always adored her father. She always would. She nodded against Marcus’s chest. “But what about a successor?” Isobel asked Wynfield, saddened that John could not fill the position.

  “Your father has sent word to John’s younger brother.”

  Isobel knew even less about him, but she hoped that her people would keep a close eye on him and watch her father’s back in case this cousin decided he wanted the earldom sooner.

  “The only problem I now see is with MacLauchlan, should he pursue this business with saying you are his daughter,” Marcus said.

  “Who told MacLauchlan that?” Wynfield asked, sounding outraged.

  “He somehow had word that Lord Pembroke had died and that is why he sent Tearloch and his men to seize the lady and take her with them. MacLauchlan had intended to marry her off to someone of his choosing. Though, Tearloch had been under the impression he would have wed her, if I hadna killed him.”

  “Laren is not her father,” Wynfield said. “Who told him he was?”

  Isobel stared at the baron in mute shock. Wynfield could not be trying to protect her from the truth still, could he be?

  “Isobel’s mother,” Marcus said. “And if you must know, I dinna l
ike that you are still trying to keep the secret from the lass when MacLauchlan is attempting to take her hostage. The lass had to know the truth!”

  Chapter 17

  Marcus didn’t feel any remorse for telling Isobel the truth about her parentage. She had every right to know when MacLauchlan was trying to claim her as his own daughter. Wynfield had no cause to be angry with Marcus over it.

  “My mother told me,” Marcus said, “because Isobel’s mother told her.”

  Wynfield shook his head and closed his eyes. “Lady Ciarda lost the bairn within a fortnight of reaching Torrent Castle. Three months later, she was with child again. This time with Isobel. Mary knows the truth. And several on the staff at that time still serve the earl and were witness to the events that occurred. Lord Pembroke was distraught when Lady Ciarda lost her first bairn, but he could not have been more pleased to have had a daughter from their union.”

  Isobel clung tighter to Marcus, still trembling from the cold. “He is my father.”

  “Aye,” Wynfield said. “No other.”

  “I am sorry, lass.” Marcus felt sick knowing that he had told the lass wrong and upset her so. And yet, would he have gotten her to agree to marry him if he had not? Still, if he had known the truth, he would have attempted to convince her to marry him anyway, assuming John would have taken over her father’s estates, and she would be free to wed whom she pleased.

  He still couldn’t believe the bastard had attempted to kill her da for the power it would have given him. If Marcus had only known sooner when they were still at Rondover Castle…

  “What did Lord Pembroke say about me bringing Lady Isobel here instead of returning her home?” Marcus asked.

  “He said had he been in your place and he was rescuing his beloved Ciarda, he would have done the same as you. I will admit he was furious with me for sending the lady away from Torrent Castle. To rectify my standing with his lordship, I came myself to give you the news and make amends. I did not expect to be in a battle with your people.”

  “They were no’ my clansmen,” Marcus said, irritated that anyone would think that.

  “Aye, I know that now. But not when they first attacked. You do not know how confused I was to see you fighting them when I thought they were your own men. I had told them who I was, and that I was bringing word of Lord Pembroke’s state of health. That made them attack all the more ferociously.”