Malle wondered if she would manage to see Craig somehow today, then she chided herself for being stupid. How would Craig get onto their land without being arrested for trespass? She determinedly put the thought out of her mind. That way lay folly, but she must have been nursing the idea in her mind without realizing it, because suddenly she found herself riding towards the Cut.
She began to try to turn Arthur around, but he was not in the mood for taking orders; he rarely disobeyed her, but that day he had ideas of his own. He tossed his head and kicked his heels up before galloping at full speed straight for the Cut, then he flew over it with hardly a pause in his stride.
However, for a heavy horse like Arthur, a smooth landing in these conditions was impossible, and his huge feet hit the ground with such force that Malle was literally thrown out of the saddle and hurled into the air. She heard herself scream, and for a few seconds, there was a dizzying jumble of images before her eyes as she flew through the air to land on the wet ground with a jarring thud. It was a moment before the pain came, wave after wave of it hammering through her head.
She groaned and closed her eyes, but when she opened them the world was still swimming in and out of focus and the only thing she could see clearly was the muddy ground she was lying on. She made a feeble attempt to get on her knees so that she could try to sit up, but she did not have the strength, and collapsing on her stomach again brought even more pain. Presently the world disappeared from her sight.
When she opened her eyes again, for a moment, she had no idea where she was. The thumping agony in her head had now been joined by even more pain, stabbing her from her backside, elbows, knees, and hips, and she began to weep. She wondered, in a brief moment of clarity, whether she should wait to die or try to get up and crawl, but a few seconds after that the blackness descended again.
Craig had been riding to take medicine to some of his tenants whose sheep had been suffering badly from foot rot, which was a common complaint in the boggy parts of his estate. His route took him past the church, so he turned his horse’s head that way, and cantered towards the little gray building.
Then he saw the moaning, bedraggled form lying facedown on the ground and vaulted off his mount to see who it was and how he could help, and that was when he noticed Arthur calmly cropping the grass a few yards away.
His heart skipped a beat. “Malle!” he cried desperately. He ran up to her side and gently turned her over on her back, then lifted her shoulders and back onto his lap. His hands were infinitely gentle. “What has happened to you?”
She opened her eyes for a moment, looked into his, and smiled slightly. “Craig,” she said groggily, then her eyes closed again.
He was incredibly relieved to see her smile, but worried when she passed out. It was beginning to rain again so he swept her up in his arms and took her into the church, then he laid her tenderly on one of the pews and went to fetch a candle so that he could inspect her properly. He felt all over for breaks in her arms, legs, and ribs, but thankfully he found none, although he suspected that she would develop some painful and colorful bruises all over her body in the days to come. He was worried that she had injured her head, though; that was much more serious than a bruise, which would heal in a few days.
He lifted her onto his lap and put his arms around her, then held her close to him, waiting for her to regain consciousness. If she had not been in such a bad way this would be heavenly, he thought, nestling in each other’s arms peacefully and sharing each other’s warmth.
“God, bring her back to me and I will never say another angry word to her,” he whispered. Then, as if in answer to his prayer, her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed at him again, but this time recognition dawned in her eyes.
He breathed out a deep sigh of relief, and gathered her closer, feeling her wet hair slide across his face. “Oh, God Malle, I thought you were dead,” he breathed.
“Not yet, Craig,” she whispered huskily. She put her hand to her forehead. “Although I feel as if I might be very soon!” She laughed, then winced.
“Don’t say that!” he said angrily. “Don’t ever say that!”
“I was only jesting.” She rubbed her forehead again, not because it eased the pain, but because it gave her something to do to distract her from it. She became acutely aware of being in Craig’s arms, her head cuddling closely under his chin, and knew that if she had not been in so much pain it would have felt blissful.
“I never thought I would be lying in the arms of a Dunbar,” she mused, only half aware of what she was saying.
He looked at her, surprised. “Do you like it?” he asked softly.
“I do,” she replied, smiling.
“And I like holding a MacEwan,” he said tenderly. He cupped her face with one hand and ran his thumb down her cheekbone.
“I feel safe with you,” she whispered. “I know you will never hurt me, and I have never felt like that with any other man, not that I have much experience. My father makes me feel like that too, but you are not like him.”
“He is a fine man.” Craig smiled at her fondly. “And you, Malle, are a very fine woman.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. The gray eyes looking into hers were warm and shining, and suddenly she realized something. She loved him, this big, strong man who could be so fierce and yet so tender. “Hold me tighter, please,” she said, her voice husky and pleading.
“Are you not sore?” he asked, frowning.
She shook her head. “Not if you hold me,” she replied, and he pulled her more closely into the shelter of his arms. She felt his breath on her hair and heard the rapid, steady thudding of his heart, and realized there was nowhere else she wanted to be. She moaned with happiness, then he tilted her chin up so that their faces were almost touching, and although he said nothing, there was a question in his eyes.
Malle answered it by looking at his firm, well-shaped lips, then back at his eyes, then he touched his mouth to hers, very softly, as if afraid to hurt her.
However, she was not in pain. The ache in her head had lessened, or at least she had ceased to notice it as his lips caressed hers, and he moved his hand gently from her shoulder and arm, to her hip and thigh, then back to her face again, and she moaned in pleasure. He had kissed her before, but not gently and sensually like this. Eventually he drew away, but he could not seem to look away from her.
“Oh, Malle MacEwan,” he murmured, running his thumb over the lips he had just kissed. “I am so in love with you.”
I must have heard wrongly, she thought, her eyes widening in disbelief. Then she looked deeply into his eyes and realized that she had not.
“I love you too,” she replied, hardly believing the words that were coming from her own mouth.
They stared at each other for a moment, then kissed again, and this time it was a hungry, passionate exchange, and Malle felt desire shoot through her in a way that she never had before. She wanted to stay like this, in his arms, cradled against his body forever.
If Craig had been able to, he would have held her that way forever too. He loved everything about her, and he knew that it was never going to change. At last, after knowing so many different women, he had found the love of his life.
The truth hit them at the same time. He was a Dunbar and she was a MacEwan, and they could never be together while their families were still at war.
“This is madness, Craig,” she murmured sadly. “I wish we could be together. You are not like any man I have ever known before, but our families will never allow it.”
“Then damn our families!” he growled. “Malle, we only have one life to live and love. We may die tomorrow. Look what happened today! It could have been so much worse. We are young, and we have to live for today.”
“Our families are feuding, and have been for centuries,” she pointed out, shaking her head.
“There is a truce,” he replied. “Malle, this stupid feud does not concern us. We can leave. We can run away.”
She
shook her head again and rubbed her forehead, realizing that the pain was coming back. “I could not do that to my parents.”
“I see,” he replied. He looked disappointed but understanding. He stood up, pulling her with him, and then, because he simply could not help himself, he kissed her again. “Then if I want to marry you, I will have to brave the wrath of both our families,” he said grimly.
“You would do that for me?” she asked in wonder.
“I have no choice,” he replied, smiling. “What else can a man in love do?”
13
Many Letters
They rode home together on Craig’s horse, and Malle reveled in the feeling of having his strong arms around her. In fact, she wished the journey was longer. He wanted to see her inside, but she would not let him.
“They must not see me riding with you. I will tell them I fell off Arthur and a good Samaritan came to my rescue and helped me home. That is all they need to know, Craig,” she said firmly. She did not kiss him but called a guard to accompany him to the Cut, then turned away and strode into the castle, where she got as far as the foot of the stairs before collapsing.
Unbeknownst to them, someone else had been close to the church. A face that Malle had seen—or imagined seeing—when she was dazed and bewildered. He was not supposed to be on MacEwan land, but he had to know what was happening between Malle and Craig. Now he did, and it was not good. It did not suit his purposes at all. He growled to himself and mounted his horse again. Something needed to be done, and quickly.
When Malle awoke she no longer had a headache, but she seemed to be wearing bandages just about everywhere she looked. There was one on her elbow, both her knees, and she could feel one on her forehead and her cheekbone. She could see purple bruises between them, and she could feel a huge and painful lump on the back of her head.
Margaret was bending over her, and when she saw Malle’s eyes open, she let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God!” she cried. “I thought you were never going to wake up! How are you, darling?”
“Fine, Mammy,” Malle replied, managing a brave smile. “I am just a bit sore.”
“Weel, Mistress,” Jessie, the wise woman, said. “Ye were very lucky. If ye had hit yer heid much harder ye might no’ be talkin’ tae us noo.”
Malle gave a feeble laugh, then winced as her head decided to ache again.
“What happened?” Margaret had tears in her eyes as she took both Malle’s hands in hers and kissed them.
“A wild cat ran in front of Arthur and gave him a fright,” she answered. “He skittered sideways, then I think he fell over a stone and stumbled. It was not his fault, Mammy, and I am a bit battered and bruised, but fine.” I hope I am a good enough liar, she thought. She would have hated to see anything happen to Arthur.
“I have told you a hundred times that horse is too big for you!” Margaret protested. “Let us go to to the horse fair in Ardgour next week and find you a smaller one.”
“No Mammy,” Malle said firmly. “Arthur and I grew up together, and we are friends. What happened today was an accident.”
Margaret sighed. “Malle, I wish you would listen to reason sometimes.”
“I love you, Mammy.” Malle leaned over and kissed her mother. “You are the best Mammy in the world.”
“I know!” Margaret answered, laughing. “I have to be with a daughter like you! I have to go out for a while with your father. We are going to the horse fair in Aberdour. Maybe we will find you a nice gentle little mare there. Try to be good while I am gone!”
“Of course I will, Mammy,” Malle said mischievously. “Am I not always good?”
“No!” Margaret replied, “but I love you anyway.”
She kissed Malle and went out, leaving her alone to think. Something had just come back to her, but she could not quite pin down the thought. Then slowly, hazily, it swam back into her memory.
While she had been only half conscious on the ground, someone had bent over her and touched her face. She had an impression of a man’s dark face with a long beard, but it was so vague and blurred that she could not identify him. It might not even have happened. The thought of the experience made her shiver with fear and she resolutely put it out of her mind.
Craig was worried sick about her, but he could think of no way of sending a letter to Malle before he remembered Father John. A priest was never denied access anywhere, so he sat down the day after the accident and wrote:
* * *
My love,
* * *
I am going mad with worry about you. How are you? I wish I could come and see you, but as you know, that is impossible, and I wish I could tell everyone about our love, because I want the whole world to know. Our time will come soon though, I know it. Please write back and tell me you are well.
* * *
Your loving Craig
* * *
When Father John took the letter from Craig he smiled his serene smile at him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I never thought I would see the day when a MacEwan and a Dunbar would fall in love,” he said happily. “It is indeed wonderful news.”
“I asked you for secrecy, Father.” Craig’s voice was doubtful.
“Of course I will keep it to myself, Craig,” Father John said firmly. “It was told to me under the seal of confession. Have no fear, young man. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I will come back the day after tomorrow and try to be patient till then.” Craig sighed. “Thank you Father.”
“God bless you, Craig,” the old man answered, thinking how wonderful it felt to be the bearer of such good news.
Malle struggled downstairs to receive Father John in the parlor. When he handed Malle the folded and sealed piece of parchment she looked puzzled for a moment. Then, as she slit it open, her face became suffused with joy. She read it once, then again, then for a third time, while Father John watched the happiness spread over her features.
“Good news?” he asked, smiling.
“Oh yes, Father,” she replied. “The best!” She began to pen a letter back to him.
* * *
My dearest Craig,
* * *
Please be reassured that apart from a few cuts and scrapes I am well, but I am glad you cannot see me, for my bruises are every color of the rainbow. Thank you for helping me and for caring about me, and I hope we can be together soon.
* * *
All my love,
Malle
* * *
She sealed the parchment, kissed it, and gave it to the old priest. He stood up and looked at her fondly. “I wish you good health, Malle. Look after yourself and God bless you.”
“Thank you, Father,” she replied as she watched him leave. She hugged herself, then went to look out of the window. It was raining again, but nothing could depress her today. She decided to go back to the secret room which she had made more comfortable by putting a padded chair, a table, and a candelabra in it. She even had a special blanket for cold days, so she could spend hours in it if she wanted.
It was particularly cold on that day, even though it was approaching summer, so she wrapped her blanket around her and settled down for a few hours of digging through the last three hundred years’ worth of letters and diaries, and soon she was immersed in reading through one of Isobell’s. This one was quite close to their wedding day, and as Malle read through it and Isobell expressed her hopes and fears for the future, Malle began to imagine that she was Isobell and she felt that the same things were happening to her.
* * *
Some of the pages were happy and lighthearted:
* * *
It snowed today and piled up as deep as our ankles. Donnan fell down in the snow and we had a great laugh! When we came in we warmed up with chicken stew and spiced ale, then sat by the fire until we both dozed off to sleep. What a glorious day it was!
* * *
Malle read on, and the tone of the letters changed from day to day according to Isobell’s mood, and
Malle almost felt that she was looking over Isobell’s shoulder as she was writing. As she read on, she also realized that she was beginning to be happy when Isobell was happy, and sad or angry when Isobel felt the same way. It seemed as though she was reaching back through the past to hold Isobell’s hand, and the thought made her uneasy, since it seemed as if Isobell was taking over her life completely.
Eventually she became restless and wandered to the window to look outside, but it was still raining relentlessly. She took out Craig’s letter and read it again, then again, and soon she knew it by heart. However, she could not spend her day rereading the same letter ad infinitum, so she stowed it away safely where no one could find it.
For want of something else to do she went back to start reading the diaries again. She expected to be bored because she had read so many pages already, and so many of them dealt with the minutiae of Isobell’s everyday life. But instead she was fascinated, even though every injured part of her body was beginning to ache and sting again. She was thinking about going back to bed with a cup of Valerian tea when she found the entry that made all the difference.
14
The Ambush
I had to tell Mungo that I could not keep the pledge I had made to him when we were twelve years old and I could not marry him. I will never forget the look on his face—he was so hurt, and I could practically see his heart break. I had to tell him that I had met someone else and I loved him with all my heart, and I had to follow where love led me. I am so desperately sorry for Mungo, but I cannot help it. He wished me good luck and I told him to go with God’s blessing, then I watched him ride away. May God forgive me for doing such a terrible thing to such a worthy man, and I hope Mungo will forgive me too, and find someone much more deserving of his love than I am.
Highlander's Ancient Vengeance (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 8