Riding into a clearing, Munro gazed out over the snowy land that stretched before him, land that eventually touched the borders of Dunblane and Rancoff. Home. He turned in his saddle to Banoff, who had been as faithful to him these last days as any man born of Clan Forrest. "I ride ahead. See that Anne reaches Dunblane safely."
The brothers nodded.
"What?" Anne demanded. "You're going to leave me with the Lout Brothers?"
Munro met her gaze. She was a beautiful lass, with a heart-shaped face, pale blue eyes, and red hair like her father's, only darker. Prettier. "I would trust these men with my life," he said proudly. "And now I trust them with yours." With that, he spurred his pony forward, thankful to be out in the open where he could finally ride hard.
"M'lord! M'lord Rancoff," men called, as two hours later Munro thundered over Dunblane's drawbridge.
He leaped off his pony. "Where is m'lady?" he asked of the nearest Burnard.
The man, Allen, stared at him. "She isnae with ye?" he said softly.
Munro felt his heart plummet. "She isnae with me," he said, trying hard to stay calm. "What made ye think she was with me? I went a fortnight past to fetch the king's daughter. She couldnae be with me."
The man's pinched face paled. "She left the same day, m'lord. Only a few hours after Finley."
"With whom? What men escorted her?"
The man shook his head. "She rode alone, m'lord."
"Alone?" Munro boomed.
Allen cringed, and Munro realized he was shouting at the wrong person. He should have been shouting at Elen for such foolishness. He wished to God she was here so he could. What made Munro think this man or any man could have gotten her to take escorts if she had decided not to?
"I... I'm sorry, m'lord. She wouldnae hear of anyone riding with her, and then when she did not return we thought..." He gulped and glanced at the snowy, muddy ground. "We thought she was with ye. Then the storm hit and..." His lower lip trembled. "We prayed she was with ye."
Munro's knees felt weak. Two weeks? She had been gone two weeks? Anything could have happened to her in that time. Outlaws could have captured her. She could have fallen ill in the mountains or been attacked by wolves. Her body could have lain there on the path, covered with snow, and Munro would not have known he had passed it.
He turned away from his wife's clansman, not embarrassed by the tears that came to his eyes, but not wanting to share his pain.
Elen dead? Dead, having died thinking he did not love her? The thought pulled at his heart, twisted it until he could physically feel the pain.
It could not be true.
And now what? He gazed up at the clear sky. Did he backtrack through the mountains? Send men to ride to the four winds in the hope someone might have seen her?
He rubbed at his aching eyes. He would go back up the mountains, but sending riders elsewhere to look for her was a good idea, too. He turned back to Allen. "Fetch me a mount," he said quietly. "I ride to Rancoff to organize men to search for your mistress."
Allen caught the pony's reins. "Would ye come inside, m'lord, and have something to eat, to drink? Ye look sore tired."
He shook his head. "She's out there." He pointed toward the mountains. "And I have to find her."
As Munro stood in the bailey, the cold wind off the water biting his face, he thought that she must be alive. That he could feel her. After all, she was so much a part of him now, wouldn't he know if she were dead? Wouldn't a part of him have died?
* * *
In less than an hour, Munro rode into his own keep. A stable lad ran to take the mount from his master. "Where is my brother?" he asked. "Do ye know where Cerdic is?"
"In the stable, m'lord. I think he saddles to go ahunting."
Munro strode across the bailey. His plan was simple. He would organize men to ride in every direction in search of word of Elen. He would put Cerdic in charge of that. And then he would repack his bag and head back into the mountains to find his wife. Maybe she had taken shelter with a family until the storm passed. Or maybe she was ill and someone had looked after her. There were not many keeps in the Grampians, but some. He would go to them all.
Munro strode into the barn. "Cerdic?"
His brother turned to gaze at him from a stall, and the look on his face sent a chill up Munro's spine.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. Munro could read it on Cerdic's face.
"M-Munro. Ye... ye have... re-returned."
Munro flexed his fingers at his side. "Aye, I have returned. I brought back the king's daughter as intended, only the trip took longer than expected because of the snow." He thought he would tell his brother of Finley and that whole mess later. He didn't have time. "Why do ye look at me that way, as if ye have just seen a ghost?"
Munro's own words rang in his ears. That was how his brother looked at him, as if Munro was a dead man who had risen.
Fear trickled through Munro's head. Could Cerdic have been a part of the attempts on his life? Was that why he looked so shocked by Munro's appearance? Finley had acted alone, hadn't he? But if Finley had not, then Cerdic might know what had happened to Elen.
Munro grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, a pitchfork.
Cerdic leaped back, lurching against the pony he was saddling.
"Where is she?" Munro shouted, stalking his brother.
"W-where is... who?" Cerdic stammered.
"My wife. Where is my wife?"
"I... I nae know where your w-wife is. R-Rosalyn said she rode off after ye. We... we thought she was with ye."
"My wife rode off into the mountains alone. Ye knew it, and ye did not try to stop her?"
Cerdic pressed his hands to the stall wall and eased around the corner into the open walkway where Munro waited. Out of the corner of his eye, Munro spotted a stable lad take off out of the barn.
Cerdic gave a little laugh. "I can barely control my own wife. What makes ye think I can handle yours?"
"Ye know where she is," Munro accused. "I can see it in your eyes."
"Nay." Cerdic shook his head adamantly. "I know naught."
"Liar!" Munro took a step closer. "And ye were never a good one." He pointed the forked end of the stable implement at Cerdic. "Now tell me quickly where Elen is before I run ye through."
* * *
"Get up here! Get up here," Rosalyn shrieked, startling Elen awake.
Elen leaped to her feet in confusion. Light appeared overhead, and she saw her sister throw down a Jacob's ladder. "Get your arse up here," she ordered.
Elen didn't know what had happened, and she didn't care. She just wanted out of the prison pit. She wanted to see the sun again, wanted her baby to feel its warmth. She grasped the rough rungs of the swaying ladder, shocked by her weakness. It was all she could do to pull herself up after a fortnight of naught but bread and water.
"What's wrong?" Elen said, squinting as she climbed up into the cellar chamber, the torchlight hurting her eyes.
"Get up!" Rosalyn screamed.
As Elen rolled onto the floor, her sister grabbed the back of her shirt. "Now get up and walk."
Elen stumbled to her feet. "Where... what—" Elen stopped in midsentence as Rosalyn pressed a cold blade to her sister's throat. Elen didn't know what was happening, but she prayed something had gone amiss in her sister's plan and someone had realized she was missing. Why else would Rosalyn drag her from the pit?
Rosalyn led Elen out of the cellar and through the yett into the bailey. With the blade pressed so tightly to her throat that Elen knew it had cut her skin, Rosalyn ushered her past gaping men toward the stable.
"Open the door," Rosalyn ordered at the door. "And ye try anything, I will kill ye. Do ye understand that, sister dear? I will kill ye, and I will enjoy it."
Elen stepped into the warm barn that smelled of hay and ponies and spotted Munro in an instant. Tears sprang into her eyes and blurred her vision.
"Munro," she heard herself squeak as her sister pushed her inside and slamme
d the door shut.
Munro turned.
"I didnae do it," Elen said through her tears. "I didnae try to kill ye and I do love ye. I love ye, Munro Forrest," she cried tearfully.
"I know," he called. "I know, sweet."
"I love ye, Munro Forrest," Rosalyn mimicked. "God's teeth, ye make me sick. Now shut up before I shut ye up."
Blinking back her tears, Elen realized what was happening. Munro stood in the center aisle of the stable between Cerdic and Rosalyn. Munro had survived the mountain pass and Finley's and the brothers' attempts on his life and had made it home safely. Somehow, he had known to look for her here. Now, when he had threatened Cerdic's life, Rosalyn was coming to her husband's rescue.
"Rosalyn," Munro said quietly, "ye might as well give it up. I will kill ye and Cerdic both."
Rosalyn shrugged. "But will ye reach me before I slit her throat?"
"Ye cannae get away," Munro reasoned, keeping one eye on Cerdic while he addressed Rosalyn. "There is no way to escape. Ye are in my keep."
"Where is Finley?" Rosalyn demanded. "Dead, I suppose."
"Worse," Munro answered.
Elen almost smiled. He was cocky for a man whose wife had a knife to her throat. She liked a man who could be cocky in the face of such danger.
As Elen listened, she tried to figure the best way to get out of Rosalyn's clutches. If she could get away, then Munro could kill them both for all she cared. But Rosalyn's grip was tight and Elen's was weak. She could feel blood trickling down to the hollow at her throat. She could smell it.
"Worse? What can be worse than dead?" Rosalyn spat.
Cerdic suddenly leaped forward toward Munro. Elen screamed.
Munro stepped toward his brother, pitchfork poised.
"Nay!" Rosalyn shrieked and shoved Elen aside.
Elen hit a stall wall so hard that it jarred her teeth as she fell in the loose straw that covered the floor. She rolled to her side to see Rosalyn fall on Munro's back, the dagger poised.
Elen screamed again and scrabbled to get to her feet, frantically searching for a weapon, any weapon.
Munro gave a grunt of pain and pitched forward onto Cerdic, Rosalyn on his back.
Elen grabbed a hayfork. There was nothing else there.
Rosalyn shrieked. The horses whinnied and stomped in fear as Elen tried to close the distance between her and her husband.
The three rolled, grappling on the floor. Cerdic cried out like a man possessed, swinging wildly. Munro growled.
A sound out of Cerdic that was something akin to a gasp cut the air, sending a chill down Elen's spine, and suddenly Munro was on top of both Rosalyn and Cerdic.
The dagger fell from Rosalyn's trembling hand into the straw, its blade bloody.
Cerdic rolled onto his back, his eyes wide.
"Cerdic! Cerdic!" Rosalyn shrieked, flailing her hands. "Nay!"
Munro rose to his feet, dragging Rosalyn with him. He was panting hard, but Elen knew he was not mortally injured. His gaze again fell to Cerdic, fatally wounded by his own wife.
"Brother," Munro exhaled.
Cerdic took one gurgling gasp and silenced, his sightless eyes staring at the pigeons cooing in the rafters. Rosalyn shrieked as if it were she who had been stabbed, and she crumpled at Munro's feet.
Elen threw the hayrake aside and ran into Munro's open arms.
Epilogue
Dunblane Castle, Three years later
"Is she aslep?" Munro murmured, gazing down at his six-week-old daughter, who lay on Elen's naked breast.
"She's asleep."
"Let me take her, then." Munro slid the infant from Elen to rest her in the curl of his arm.
As Elen got out of bed and slipped on a robe, she marveled at how tiny the little red-haired lass looked in her father's arms, how utterly appealing he was, lying naked on their bed cuddling with his second daughter. "You're spoiling her," she said, not really meaning it. "Let me call Anne to take her and put her to bed."
Elen walked to her door. "Anne," she called down the stairwell. She returned to the bed to sit on the edge, unable to stop looking at her daughter, at Munro. She couldn't stop thinking about how much she loved them both.
In the years since Cerdic's death, Elen and Munro had found a way to make their marriage work. Sometimes Elen had to yield, as when Munro had insisted Rosalyn be sent to a convent when Elen wanted to kill her in the stable that day. And sometimes Munro had to yield. Elen still rode her own land daily, and her keep was still not quite as tidy as he would have liked. But they were happy, as Munro promised. Happy beyond Elen's wildest expectations.
"Give me the baby." Elen thrust out her arms. "And cover yourself, husband. You'll scare the wits out of poor Anne."
The king's daughter was indeed a handful, strong-willed and stubborn, but Elen liked her, and the two women had become friends. With two daughters in the house and a keep to run, Elen was forever thankful the king had sent Anne.
Munro handed her the baby and threw a blanket over his middle. "Come back to bed," he murmured.
Elen knew that look in his eyes. That husky voice. "'Tis morning, husband. Time to get to work."
He tucked one hand behind his head and leaned back on a pillow. "Come back to bed and I will give ye vigor to meet your day."
There was a knock on the door and Elen opened it. It was Anne. "Could ye put her in her cradle in the hall?"
"Aye." Anne gazed into the chamber. "So are ye up, or will ye lounge half the day like yesterday?"
"I nae think how long I lounge is of your concern, Anne, dear," Elen said good-naturedly. "I'll see ye in the hall in good time."
"Mouthy chit," she added, closing the door behind the girl.
Munro patted the space beside him on the bed invitingly. "Reminds me of someone else I know."
"Oh?" Elen took her time easing out of her dressing robe, knowing that giving birth to the two lasses had added a womanly shape to her body Munro seemed not to be able to get enough of. "And who is that?"
He drank her in, his gaze filled with desire for her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her blood already coursing inside her. In truth, she could not get enough of him, either.
"Who?" he asked as he pulled her into his arms. "Who, ye ask?" He lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck. "Why, ye of course."
Elen laughed as he pushed her over onto a pillow and pinned her down to gaze into her eyes.
"I love ye, you know," she said, brushing her hand across his beard-stubbled cheek.
"Say it again," he demanded.
"I love ye."
"And again."
She held his blue-eyed gaze, wondering what she had done to deserve this man who loved her so fiercely, who had taught her what it was to love. "I love ye, Laird of Rancoff," she whispered.
He lowered his mouth to hers. "And I love ye, Lady of Dunblane."
The End
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Want more from Colleen French?
Here's an excerpt from
HIGHLAND LORD
The Scottish Fire Series
Book Two
~
Scotland, 1323
The great hall's door opened, and a woman dressed in men's clothing walked in. "Good even," she said, smiling. "I am Lady Rancoff, Munro's wife."
Behind her, another woman appeared. Younger. A striking woman with spun golden-red hair, bright blue eyes and a look of determination that seemed to match that of his father's wife. Tor lifted his hand to Lady Rancoff's b
ut could not tear his gaze from the other woman staring brazenly at him.
As Lady Rancoff's hand met Tor's, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Ah, I see." She stepped aside. "And this would be our Anne. She is a family friend and cares for our daughters."
Anne dipped a slight curtsy, still not taking her gaze from his. Tor was fascinated. Most women found him frightening. Even the ones who were attracted to him kept their eyes averted and stood well away from his reach.
Tor took a step closer to Anne and answered her curtsy with a slight nod.
"We've come to ask ye to sup with us," Anne said, smiling as if she knew she had already cast a spell over him. "Will ye join us?"
Anne waited calmly for the man to respond, but inside she was anything but calm. Her heart was stumbling, her palms were damp, and she felt as if she couldn't quite get a full breath. Never in her life had she experienced such an overwhelming attraction to a man. Until this moment, she had thought herself invincible to male charms.
And what a man Munro's bastard son was! Tor looked to be close to Anne in age, and he was a giant. She barely came to his mid-chest, though she was taller than average for a woman. And he had the wildest, most beautiful hair Anne had ever seen: long and yellow, windblown and tangled so that it looked like a lion's mane. And his eyes... They were icy blue, full of anger and a certain vulnerability that fascinated her.
Anne heard herself speak but barely heard her own words. Something about supper.
The giant, Tor, stared at Anne and she stared back. A Norseman, that's what he was. What else could he be with his leather clothing, wild hair, and bare, bulging biceps? He was a Viking, a wolf from the north that struck terror in the hearts of men and women alike.
Anne was utterly enthralled. She didn't want to be, but she was.
Elen cleared her throat. "So what say ye?" She scrutinized him. "What are ye called? Tor, is it?"
The Norseman turned his head slightly toward Elen. "I am called Tor Henneson, son of Henne."
"Well, son of Henne and Munro, will ye ride to my keep and dine with us?" She glanced at the two men who stood near the hearth, eagerly looking on. "Your friends are welcome, as well."
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