Albert raised a curious brow as he unsheathed his broadsword. The falchion the Frenchman had pointed at him was no match for his broadsword. “Who the bloody hell are ye?”
“I am Remi Francois Claremont LeFavre,” Remi answered with a slight bow and flourish. “Brother to the man you just threw into the lake and whose honor you have besmirched by your actions. Again, peasant, I tell you to prepare to die.”
Albert rolled his eyes and re-sheathed his sword. “Is this fool with ye?” Albert asked Graeme.
Graeme was furious, his green eyes drawn to slits, his hands clenched into fists. “What on earth possessed ye to toss me into the loch?” he demanded.
Traigh and the others drew their horses up to the loch to allow them a leisurely drink. “Shall I answer him, Albert, or would ye like to?”
“Ye’re a bloody fool, brother, lyin’ out in the open like that. Ye’re lucky we’re no’ one of the Chisholms. And who be this man with the wee sword?”
“This ‘wee sword’ is called a falchion, peasant.”
Albert was growing weary of the Frenchman’s insults. “I ken what it be called, French.”
Graeme made his way out of the loch in his waterlogged plaid, tunic and trews. “Chisholms?” he asked rather incredulously.
“Aye,” Albert said as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Ye be on Chisholm land, ye fool.”
Graeme shook his arms in an attempt to shed some of the water. “We be on Fraser land,” he politely informed his brother.
The thirteen men before him shook their heads in undisguised disappointment that bordered on disgust.
“Did ye no’ take the time to learn map readin’ whilst ye were in Italy?” Traigh asked as he rested one wrist on the pommel of his saddle.
“What the bloody hell are ye goin’ on about?” Graeme ground out as he began to wring the loch water from his plaid.
“We be on Chisholm land, Graeme, no’ Fraser,” Albert told him. “And before ye ask, aye, I be certain.”
Traigh grunted his disapproval over his youngest brother’s lack of care. “Who be the Frenchman?”
“He already told you who he is,” Graeme said as he began wringing water from his long, blonde hair.
“He says he’s yer brother,” Traigh calmly pointed out. “I happen to ken fer a fact that he is nae. Unless our da was unfaithful to our mum. Be that yer inference?”
Remi had remained standing between the large boulders and had yet to re-sheath his weapon. “Who are these men, brother?” he asked Graeme.
Graeme knew Remi could hold his own against any number of men, with or without a weapon. He also knew how ruthless his brothers could be. He had no desire to see any of them dead at the moment, save for Albert. ’Twould be a very long time before he forgave him for tossing him into the loch. He started toward his horse to grab clean clothes. “Remi, these be me ruthless and cold-hearted brothers that I told ye about. Brothers, this be me good friend, Remi LeFavre.”
The MacAulay men looked as impressed with Remi LeFavre as he looked with them. Which was not saying much.
Graeme riffled through his pack in search of dry clothing. “What are ye doin’ here?” he asked angrily. “Did da send ye to make certain I arrived before the sixth of June?”
Traigh and the others dismounted. “Nay,” Traigh said.
“Then why be ye here?” Graeme asked as he pulled the wet tunic over his head and draped it across a low hanging tree branch.
Traigh and Albert came to stand near Graeme while the others kept a very watchful eye on Remi.
“We be on our way to retrieve yer bride.” Traigh barely kept his rage in check.
Graeme paused with one arm shoved into his tunic. “Me bride? But why? Does da no’ trust I’ll do me duty?” he asked sarcastically.
Traigh grunted again. “Ye’re a bloody fool. We be goin’ to get Joie away from that tetched brother of hers.”
“Joie? Who be Joie?”
Traigh and Albert grunted in unison. “Yer bride, ye fool.”
Graeme looked confused. “I thought her name was Josephine.” He was growing wearier with each insult hurled his way.
“Those that love her and care fer her call her Joie. ‘ Tis a term of endearment her mum gave her when she was a bairn,” Albert informed him.
“Of course ye would no’ ken that, because ye never bothered to answer any of her letters,” Traigh interjected.
Graeme’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. He had assumed Josephine was unable to write her own name, let alone pen a letter. “She can read and write?” he asked.
Traigh and Albert stared at him in disbelief. “How foolish can one man be?” Albert asked.
Graeme gritted his teeth. “I would appreciate it if ye’d both stop callin’ me a fool.”
Traigh crossed his arms over his chest and spread his feet apart. “We only speak the truth. Ye never read her letters, did ye?” He shook his head in disgust.
Graeme felt a momentary pang of shame. He had received letters, many of them, but he had assumed they were from Josephine’s father or that someone else had written them. He hadn’t bothered to open them, for he had assumed they contained nothing but information on the betrothal and marriage contract. Demands, mayhap, of a father for his daughter. He felt his face grow warm with humiliation.
“Nay, I thought the letters were from her da,” he admitted. “I did nae realize they were from her.”
The three men stood silent for several long moments. Traigh and Albert were thoroughly frustrated with their youngest brother and they were not about to hide that fact.
So what if the woman could read and write? It did not mean she possessed any kind of superior intellect. Though knowing that she was literate did manage to make Graeme feel somewhat better about the prospect of marrying her. His thoughts then returned to why his brothers were on their way to the MacAdams keep. “Ye said ye were goin’ to retrieve Josephine from her tetched brother,” Graeme said as he pulled on dry trews.
“Aye,” Traigh said. “He be as tetched as he is cruel. Da received a letter from her just a few days ago. Helmert is gettin’ much worse in his abuse of her.”
Was that what this was all about? His brothers were on their way to the MacAdams keep because Josephine and her brother were still fighting like children? “Ye jest,” Graeme said as he pulled on his boots. “Those two have been fightin’ all their lives. Now the lass has all of ye reduced to hysterics.”
Traigh and Albert cast curious looks at one another. “What do ye mean?” Albert asked.
“Josephine and Helmert. That be all I have ever witnessed between them, fightin’ like bairns.”
His brothers stared at him blankly. Graeme let loose a frustrated breath and filled them in, beginning with the first time he’d met Josephine — when she was hiding in the tree — and finishing with his last encounter in the garderobe. When he was finished, he said, “So ye see? ’Tis probably naught more than a brother and sister arguin’ over nothin’ of import. She has ye runnin’ across the country because she’s probably hidden his horse again. Or his strop or mayhap his boots this time.” In his mind, this was nothing more than a quarrel.
His brothers saw it in a completely different light. “So all those times she was hidin’ in fear, and ye thought nothin’ of havin’ a wee chat with that older brother of hers? Ye never once thought to step in to protect her?” Traigh asked.
“Of course no’,” Graeme said. “Why would I?” He felt certain Josephine’s plea for help was nothing more than a spoiled young woman begging for attention.
Albert threw his hands up in disgust. “I swear ye cannae be a MacAulay.”
“Graeme, ye’ve been gone fer many years. Ye’ve no’ seen the lass as we have. Ye’ve no’ read her letters. Ye have no idea who she be or what she be like. I tell ye now, the lass is in dire need of our help,” Traigh said in a most serious tone.
Graeme was not convinced, but knew it wouldn’t matter what his opinion
might be. His brothers were determined and their opinions would not be turned. Knowing it would be futile to make any attempt to change their minds, he decided to play along. “Verra well then, we should get to the MacAdams keep straight away,” he said, trying to sound sincere. “Before the lass hides his belt or his sporran.”
3
“In here!” Josephine whispered frantically as she pulled away the tapestry that concealed a small door. Covered in sweat, with her heart pounding against her breast, she prayed the bar on her door would hold long enough to give her time to hide Laurin. She yanked the small door open and told her friend, “Do no’ come out until I call fer ye!”
Laurin did not have to be told twice. She gave a quick nod before crawling inside. The poor girl was terrified, as well she should be. Had Josephine not intervened, who knew what Helmert and his friends would have done to her this time. Probably nothing more than what they had done in the past. Still, Josephine refused to stand by and allow the men to rape Laurin again.
Josephine watched over her shoulder as Laurin made her way inside the secret hiding spot. She could hear the three men shouting as they made their way down the hall outside her bedchamber. Once Laurin was settled inside, Josephine closed the door and let the tapestry fall back into place.
Blood rushed in her ears as she moved toward the window. Helmert and his friends were outside her door now, pounding it with their fists, demanding entry. They banged against it with enough force that the heavy wooden bar began to rattle.
“We ken ye’re in there, Josephine!” Helmert called out. “Give us Laurin and we’ll let ye live!”
Bah! Over my dead body! She thought to herself as she wiped the blood from her broken lip onto her sleeve.
She gave a quick glance over her shoulder before opening the shutters. Just once, she wished she could go an entire week without having to hide herself or Laurin from her brother and his mad friends. Lifting her skirts, she rested her bottom on the sill and spun around. She quickly scanned the ground below for any signs of trouble before she wriggled to her stomach and began her climb down the trellis. She’d done this so many times, she reckoned she could do it in her sleep.
Once her feet hit the soft earth, she lifted her skirts and took off running. She hoped to make it to the stables before Helmert realized she’d snuck out her window again. For someone who liked to brag frequently about his cunning and intellect, Helmert was as dumb as a basket of rocks. One would think he would have figured out by now that she had more than one way out of her room and more than one hiding spot.
She ran as fast as her legs would carry her.
The MacAulay men and the Frenchman had just come through the arched gate of the MacAdams keep when they heard the shouting. Graeme could only assume it was Helmert. Then he heard other male voices that made the hair on his neck stand up.
Quickly, they aimed their steeds toward the shouting. Just as they rounded the corner, a feminine figure wearing a blue dress made her way down the trellis attached to the side of the keep.
Josephine.
Though he could not see her face, Graeme knew it was she. She lifted her skirts and took off running. A shout from the other side of the keep drew their attention away. ’Twas Helmert MacAdams tearing around the corner. A leather strop was folded in one hand, his dingy tunic open to the waist, and a look of murder etched onto his face.
This was no simple spat between brother and sister. Graeme’s gut tightened with that realization and anger began to boil. That anger increased tenfold when he saw two more men round the same corner, urging Helmert on. “Beat her ’til she canna walk,” the short man with dark hair called out to his companion’s back.
“But no’ so hard that she canna spread her legs fer me!” the other man called out.
Fury ignited in the pit of Graeme’s stomach. He kicked the flanks of his horse and thundered across the yard to the stables.
Josephine ran across the courtyard as fast as her feet would take her. With blood rushing in her ears and her heart banging against her chest, she could barely hear the men shouting after her. All she could think of was getting away from her brother and his friends. She needed a safe place to hide and she needed it quickly.
The granary was to her right, the stables to her left. She knew from past experience that there was nowhere to hide in the granary. The best route to safety was the stables.
The men continued to shout, but they sounded muffled and far away. Hopefully, Helmert and his arrogant and foolish friends would give up their hunt, go back to the gathering room, and drink until they passed out. Until then, she would hide in the stables.
Were she not running for her life, she would have made an attempt to avoid the puddles that littered the cobblestone yard. By the time she made it to the stables, her shoes were soaked through as well as the hems of her dress and chemise. She raced inside and headed for the stall farthest to her left. She practically dove into the straw headfirst, scrambling to cover herself, burrowing into the pile like a field mouse.
Crying was impossible at the moment, for she could barely catch her breath. She had to concentrate on getting her breathing under control so her gasps for air would not give her away. She shook from head to toe, from fear and dread as much as from the cold damp seeping into her bones through her wet shoes and clothes.
Oh, how she wished her mamma was still alive! Her mother would have put a stop to Helmert’s cruel and borderline evil ways. Her mother would not have allowed him to beat and torment her, or her poor friend, Laurin. When her thoughts turned to Laurin, Josephine sent a silent prayer up to God that she could remain safely hidden until the danger passed.
She took in slow, deep breaths and tried to will her body to stop its incessant trembling. Cursing inwardly, she slowly lifted her hands and clamped them together. When would this insanity be over?
As she lay huddled under the straw, she began yet another fervent prayer that God would send Traigh MacAulay to her, and send him soon.
Oh merciful father, please help — her prayer was cut short by someone grabbing her ankle and pulling her out of the straw.
She opened her eyes and to her horror, ’twas Helmert standing over her.
“I told ye what would happen if ye interfered again!” he shouted.
Josephine kicked her loose foot out in a futile attempt to free herself from her brother’s strong grip on her ankle. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw him lift his arm over his head. He was holding his leather strop. When she saw the forward motion of his arm, she knew she was in for another beating. Clamping her eyes shut, she covered her face and rolled over to her stomach in order to avoid being hit in the face, and waited for the first strike.
It never came.
Graeme had arrived at the rear of the stables just as Helmert MacAdams was preparing to beat Josephine with the strop. Anger coursed through his veins as he reached out and grabbed Helmert’s wrist, halting his downward motion in midair.
Quite surprised, Helmert spun to see who had been impertinent enough to stop his assault on his sister. He dropped her leg in the process. “Who are ye?” he asked incredulously.
Graeme was seething with anger. “I be her betrothed.”
Josephine lay on the cold dirt, staring up in disbelief. Had she heard the man correctly? Was he truly Graeme MacAulay? She hadn’t seen him in more than four years. It had to be Graeme, for he looked very much like the other MacAulay men, with the same blonde hair and similar green eyes.
Holding her breath, she watched in stunned silence and waited. Graeme and Helmert glared angrily at one another. Helmert hated having his authority or actions questioned.
“Betrothed?” he asked as he wrenched his hand free of Graeme’s firm grip. “The bitch has no betrothed,” he ground out.
Inflamed with fury, Graeme grabbed Helmert by his tunic with both hands, flung the scrawny young man around and slammed him against the wall with enough force that it shook the items hanging on it to the ground.
“I’ll warn ye only once ne’er to speak about her in such an ugly manner,” Graeme fumed between gritted teeth.
Helmert was just as furious as his attacker. “Ye gave up bein’ her betrothed a year ago, when ye failed to come fer her.”
Graeme still had him in a firm grip, refusing to set him free. “I claim her now, ye bloody fool.”
Helmert did his best to look disinterested and unbothered by Graeme’s anger. “Ye have no right to her.”
Traigh and Albert had paused just a few steps away, swords drawn and at the ready. When Josephine saw them enter, she scurried backwards, uncertain if a melee was about to commence.
“Ye need to read the betrothal contract,” Traigh said as he glared at Helmert. “Graeme had up to one year after Joie turned eight and ten to come fer her.”
Helmert might have been an ignorant and cruel man, but he was not so stupid that he would make any attempt at a physical fight against any of the MacAulay brothers. Besides, he was too drunk, and sorely outnumbered.
“Verra well,” he said. “Take her. She be nothin’ but trouble anyway. Ye can have her. But I warn ye, she’ll drive ye mad inside a fortnight with all her self-righteousness! And I’ll nae take her back!”
Graeme was disgusted by this man’s attitude and air of self-importance. Long moments passed before he let Helmert loose and turned his attention to Josephine.
Kneeling beside her, he studied her face. A bruise lined her right jaw. Blood oozed from her broken lip and had left a trail to her chin. He could also see bruises on her neck, as if someone had tried to strangle her. If Traigh and Albert hadn’t been here with him now, he knew in his heart that he would have broken Helmert MacAdam’s scrawny neck.
Bright green eyes, damp with unshed tears, looked back at him. She was quite a beautiful young woman. No longer was she a gangly girl. She’d grown into a stunning young woman. Something very reminiscent of a flutter tickled at his stomach. He was uncertain just what to make of it, so he pushed it aside. “Are ye well, lass?”
With Love from the Highlands : A Highlander Love Story Duet, One Page 4
