His Bonnie Bride

by Hannah Howell

  Tavis almost laughed at the indignant look on Phelan's small face. "I am Irish. For Uncle Roden I might lead ye into treachery an he dealt in it, which he does not, but not for the Sussex bitch." He paused as he thought he heard a noise. "I seek to free Storm afore their plans for her can reach fruition. Hark!"

  The sound of a door opening echoed clearly in the gloom. Dousing their light, the Scots and Phelan melted into the shadows, tucking themselves into a small, doorless chamber. Being so few in number, discovery was the last circumstance they sought. Swords at hand, they waited for the danger to pass. When the footsteps came their way they tensed, only to start in surprise at a familiar voice.

  "Ye can leave me now, Agnes. I have no further need of ye." Storm leaned against a wall, uncaring of its cold, damp feel, rather almost welcoming the sensation against the fiery agony that was her back.

  "Aye, I'll leave ye," Agnes said softly, and pulled a knife. "This seems as good a place as any."

  Storm eyed the knife with scorn, too tired and wracked with pain to be afraid. "Don't be an ass."

  Although tensed to intervene and restraining Phelan, Tavis grinned in the dark, amused by Storm's tone and the maid's surprise.

  "I ain't having ye take Sir Hugh. 'Tis no bride ye shall be. I aim to stop that wedding."

  "I am leaving, am I not? What more do ye require? There is no need to stain your hands with blood."

  "You're leaving because ye're angry. Once ye see that Sir Hugh and m'lady were just acting as they ought, ye'll be back, and I will nay let ye have him. If ye be gone, Sir Hugh will wed me."

  "I will send ye a bride's gift. Ye are welcome to the man, Agnes. Go. Take him and be wretched."

  "Ye don't fool me. Ye will return and take him to wed. What woman could refuse him?"

  "This woman. I would rather take myself to London and spread for tuppence than wed Sir Hugh."

  Agnes made a scornful sound. "I suppose ye would like me to believe ye return to the Scot's arms."

  Tired and in pain though she was, Storm nevertheless saw the way to end the impasse. Convincing Agnes that Tavis was what she wanted was the way to ease the girl's worry that she would return to take Sir Hugh. Giving free rein to her love, Storm proceeded to do just that, blissfully unaware that Tavis stood close by, listening to every word with a mixture of amusement and longing, a longing for it to be the truth and not just a fine cozening act. Phelan bit back a smile as he listened. He knew it all for the truth but would never say so.

  " 'Tis just where I plan to go and quickly, before they are filled with another."

  "Do not seek to cozen me. The man will not welcome ye back. He'll have plenty to amuse him."

  "Unlike Sir Hugh, Tavis MacLagan shares but one bed at a time. An I return quickly, he'll not have replaced me yet. The halls of Caraidland are not filled with his bedmates as Hagaleah's are with Hugh's."

  "Ye cannot prefer a heathen Scot o'er Sir Hugh." Agnes's tone was growing less certain.

  "Can I not? Ye have not seen Tavis MacLagan. Tall, lean and strong, with hair the color of a raven's wing that begs a woman's fingers to bury themselves within, as mine so often do as he pleasures me. Shoulders so broad and smooth that do not flinch when, in the midst of impassioned lovemaking, my nails dig deep. Those hands that wield a sword so well have another skill that I would blush to tell you."

  Worrying that she might be laying it on a bit too thick, Storm watched Agnes as she spoke. The girl was plainly believing every word, her stance growing less and less threatening. Storm wished the process was quicker, for she was using up vital resources simply keeping herself standing and talking. Tavis, too, wished the matter at an end for her imagery was stirring him to the point of discomfort and the palpable, if silent, amusement of his companions told him that they were gathering fodder for many a future jest.

  "His eyes are like a summer morning's sky and can seduce at a glance. They can blaze with the heat of a midday or soften like a dewy morn. No woman could resist such eyes. Ah and such a figure of a man. He would leave no woman empty. He makes Sir Hugh look like a gelding."

  "Moon madness. That's what ye suffer," Agnes scoffed, but she put away her weapon. "There be no man with as fine a stature as Sir Hugh. Go to your Scot. I can see that ye will not be wanting Sir Hugh, fool that ye are."

  Agnes's satisfaction was short-lived. Just a few hours later Storm's escape was discovered and Sir Hugh quickly discovered who had aided her. It was no lover or future husband that left Agnes broken, bleeding and unfit for any man. That knowledge was what pushed her over the edge into madness, enabled her to drag her crippled body to a window's ledge and sent her plummeting hundreds of feet to the bailey below.

  * * * * *

  Storm was about to indulge in a much needed collapse when a light flared. At first her heart fell into her boots, but it quickly righted itself when she saw who it was. Her initial delight, something she never would have thought to feel upon seeing a MacLagan, was tempered slightly by the knowledge that he had heard the conversation between herself and Agnes. The broad grin upon his face assured her that he had caught every word, and she glared at her erstwhile rescuers.

  "Could ye not have stepped in and lent a hand ere I began to spout off like some whore?" she snapped.

  "Now, lass, is that any way tae welcome your gallant rescuers?" Iain chided with a small laugh.

  She sent him a disgusted look that suddenly changed as she became aware of the fact that though the MacLagans were within Hagaleah, no alarum had been sounded; there was only one way to accomplish that, and Phelan knew the way. "Oh, Phelan, what have ye done?" she mourned, foreseeing catastrophe for Hagaleah.

  "They gave their word of honor they'd not use the tunnel against us, Storm," Phelan said quietly.

  Relief flooding through her, she sighed. " 'Tis all right then."

  "Ye would accept that, lass?" Sholto asked in slight amazement.

  "Would ye not accept an Eldon's word of honor?" she replied, and there was no further discussion on the matter. "Have ye come to take me prisoner again?" she asked with a weak smile.

  Sheathing his sword, Tavis took her by the arm, frowning slightly at her weak trembling. "Aye. We havenae gained our ransom for ye yet and I ken ye will be safer by far at Caraidland than here." He felt her shudder, and his grip tightened slightly. "Did Sir Hugh hurt ye, lass?"

  "Not as ye mean," she replied, pushing away the unwelcome memories of her brief stay within the walls of a Hagaleah she no longer recognized. "Can we leave now, Tavis? 'Tis not safe to linger here. We are near the stores."

  Tavis nodded, and they made their way out of the keep. In the dim light he had seen a hint of the bruises upon her face but, while he suspected she had been knocked about some, she seemed fine otherwise. That she had not been raped was enough for the moment. There would be another time to make Sir Hugh pay for raising a hand to the girl. Frowning, Tavis realized that somewhere along the line she had become more a responsibility than a prisoner. He had become more of a protector than a captor.

  Storm grit her teeth against the agony of her body. Instinct told her that only trouble would ensue if she revealed the extent of her injuries. The tone of Tavis's voice when he had inquired about possible rape told her that he could easily be made to seek an immediate confrontation with Sir Hugh. She gave no thought to it being a sign of any feelings Tavis might harbor for her besides lust. The things she had done to aid Colin would be enough to make a MacLagan take up the cudgels on her behalf. Though she would sorely like to see Sir Hugh rent six ways to Sunday, she felt escape was more practical at the moment.

  The ride to Caraidland was pure torture from the moment Tavis set her up before him until, with dawn's light, they rode into the inner bailey of the MacLagan keep. There were but eight men, and they rode at a steady pace, none too eager to be caught by a large force from Hagaleah. After a while Storm found herself encased in a numbness; the pain still radiating through her had put her into a state of semi-consciousness. Only n
ow and again did she have to bite down a cry as a jolt caused a shaft of agony to stand out against the sheet of pain she had adjusted to feeling.

  When Tavis handed her down to Sholto in a rapidly filling bailey she found her legs unable to support her. For a moment after she had collapsed against him, Storm watched in groggy fascination as Sholto's handsome face shimmered and faded. She had the sinking feeling she was going to faint, but lacked the strength to fight it. All her resources had been used up in surviving the night's ride.

  "I do apologize," she said with a formal politeness that was rendered ludicrous by her pain-filled thread of a voice, "but I fear I am about to swoon. Please do excuse me."

  Sholto tightened his grasp, his arms encircling her as she gently lapsed into unconsciousness. His hands came in contact with a suspicious wetness as they lay upon her back beneath the heavy curtain of her unbound hair. As Tavis dismounted and stared, Sholto pulled one hand into view. Even in the gray light of a new morning there was no mistaking the blood that coated his hand.

  Wasting no time, Tavis pushed aside her hair and ripped open her tunic. While he gave a chilling growl, many another's hand went to his sword hilt, faces tightened with anger at what they saw. Few of them could lay claim to never having raised a hand against a woman, for theirs was a rough life with violence as an integral part, but the visual proof of the brutality visited upon the tiny lady touched them all. It mattered not that she was an Eldon. No man had a right to treat a woman so.

  "I will kill him," Tavis hissed as he stared at Storm's bruised and bloody back.

  Iain winced as he studied her wounds. "The bluid comes mostly from the reopened wound. Few of these other marks have broken the skin. Whoever did this was nay out to scar her."

  Taking her limp body into his arms, Tavis strode into the keep. He neither noticed nor cared who followed him. That the girl had been carried back was enough to draw Colin, who paused long enough to send a maid for a woman who might have some skills in healing. Once in her chambers, Tavis and Iain busily divested Storm of her clothes as Sholto collected whatever he thought might be needed to aid the unconscious girl.

  "Sweet mother of God," Colin murmured hoarsely as he moved to the side of the bed and put a comforting arm around the shoulders of a pale, silently weeping Phelan.

  There was little of Storm that was not bruised. Colin was able to read the marks like a book. Whoever had done it had plainly used his fists first, resorting to a rod or soft whip afterward. The only good he could find was that few of the marks would leave a bad scar.

  "I cannae believe she endured the ride here," murmured Iain as he began to wash her clean of her own blood. "She ne'er said a word, yet it must have been a torture. Who could do this to such a wee lass?"

  In a tearful voice that, nonetheless, was filled with hate, Phelan replied, "Sir Hugh and that Sussex bitch." He took a deep, shaky breath as his hand gently touched Storm's bruised face. "I was not fast enough."

  "Ye couldnae have been any quicker, laddie," Colin said in an attempt to soothe the stricken boy.

  "There's nothing broken," Tavis announced softly, "and there isnae any sign of rape, Phelan."

  "She said that had not happened," Phelan remarked, looking improved in spirit.

  "Laddie, a man who'd do this to a wee bonnie lass would do near anything, and I cannae believe she didnae swoon somewhen whilst this was being done to her." Colin sighed. "Aye, I only hope that she did."

  A small young woman named Jeanne, the maid Colin had sent to find someone, burst into the room. Behind her strode a sturdily built woman of indeterminate age who was the wife of the stable master. While Jeanne's sympathetic dismay was evident, the older woman's plain face registered little emotion. With admirable efficiency, she cleared the room and turned her undivided attention to doing what could be done for Storm which, unfortunately, was not very much. Her injuries were the sort that had to heal on their own, fading with time.

  The MacLagans and Phelan retired to the hall. Though they were all grim-faced and angry, none suffered from the seething rage that Tavis did. That for once he cared and cared deeply about what happened to a woman who warmed his bed he put down to the fact that Storm warmed it very nicely, as well as the fact that she simply did not deserve such brutal treatment. A small voice that hinted that he was being obtuse was ruthlessly ignored. No man could look at the destruction wreaked upon that alabaster skin and not be moved.

  When the woman left Storm she tersely reported to the MacLagans that she had tended the reopened knife wound but that there was little else to be done. The pain would fade in a few days and a potion or a dram of whiskey could ease that.

  "I cannae believe a man could treat the lass so harshly," Colin said after Phelan had been sent to bed. "Oh, aye, she's got a right sharp tongue, but it doesnae deserve such a beating."

  "She was witness to the man's humiliation," Tavis said, "and she wasnae too kind to him after he rebuffed the plea she made on his behalf. He also wants to wed the lass, needs her fortune, but she willnae do it. He didnae look an even-tempered sort to me."

  "Things have got a wee bit confused," Sholto remarked, frowning into his flagon of ale.

  "How so?" Colin asked when his youngest son failed to elaborate upon his observation.

  "Weel, when all's said and done the lass is our prisoner, yet it seems to me we've lost sight o' that. 'Tis more like we have taken her father's place as her protectors."

  "Aye, but I owe the wee lass my life. She didnae have to save me from Janet's treachery. An I died, I'd been ane less MacLagan to do battle with. I cannae forget that. Eldon she may be, aye, and a Sassanach as weel, but it doesnae mean a thing next to her bringing me back from the brink o' death."

  "Father's right," Iain declared. " 'Tis not the time to be thinking o' who she be, only what she has done. Then, too, who she be doesnae mean we can like what has been done to her nor stop me from wanting to rid the world o' scum like that Sassanach what treated her so. This has naught to do with the long-surviving battle atween the Eldons and us. 'Tis a thing apart. Aye, and she's earned our protection."

  Sholto nodded. "Do ye think the man will come after her? Finally come out into the open to fight?"

  "There's no telling, lad," Colin replied. "We can only wait, but he'll nay get his hands on her again if'n I can stop it." His grim tone ensured that no one questioned the truth of his vow.

  Many a plan was put forth to cover all contingencies on the chance that Sir Hugh and his forces came to take Storm back to Hagaleah. As with many of their contemporaries, the idea of battle, especially one with a cause, was invigorating. Their only activity since winter's end had been the raid on Hagaleah, and that had offered little challenge. This offered them grim amusement; Lord Eldon could well return from France to find that his old enemy had rid him of his new one.

  Much later, as Tavis readied himself for bed, Storm began to moan and writhe, plainly reliving her ordeal in Hagaleah in her dreams. Slipping into bed beside her, he took her into his arms, ignoring her thrashings as he tried to get her free of the grip of her mind's terrors. Here was the fright she had kept hidden while awake.

  "Tavis!" she called frantically as she burst free of the bonds of her nightmare.

  Feeling a strange exhilaration at the way she had awakened with his name upon her lips and was clutching him so tightly, Tavis caressed her hair and tried to soothe her. "Aye, lass, 'tis Tavis."

  "Oh, God." She shuddered as she sought to bury herself in his protective warmth. "I thought I was ..."

  "Nay. Forget it, sweeting. Ye are back at Caraidland. He will nay get hold of ye here."

  "It hurts so," she murmured, already comforted by the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.

  "Ye'll nay be scarred, lass. Ah, weel, ane or twa, but not badly."

  "I care not about that. 'Tis only the pain I wish gone."

  "It will pass, Storm. 'Twill just take a wee bit o' time. Go back to sleep. Rest will aid ye most."

  She
held on to him tightly, disgusted by her fear but unable to quell it. "Stay with me, Tavis."

  "I wasnae planning on staying anywhere else. Why did ye anger him so?"

  "Hugh was set on punishing me no matter what I did or said. Aye, my words may have added to his rage, something he is prone to, but I could not take the drubbing meekly though I did try." She shivered, and felt Tavis's grip tighten briefly, although not enough to hurt her. "Vicious words kept me from crying out or pleading for mercy. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me quail before him."

  Tavis listened in growing fury as she replied to his request for more information about her short sojourn at what had once been her home. Despite that, a laugh of honest amusement, made harsh by the turmoil of his emotions, escaped him as she told of the things she had said. This further proof of her spirit and courage gave him a feeling of pride, especially when he thought of how, despite all that had happened to her, she had found some source of hidden strength to attempt to escape.

  Recounting the incidents of the night made Storm recall certain things she had seen but only now began to wonder about. There had been the look upon Lady Mary's face as the woman had watched Sir Hugh abuse her stepdaughter. As unconsciousness had tightened its grip upon her, Storm had thought she had seen something, but her mind had shied away from the memory. No one could possibly behave so basely. Shyly, but needing and hoping for reassurance that she had been mistaken, Storm decided to speak to Tavis. Since they were lovers, it could not really be wrong to speak to him of such things.

  "Lady Mary was witness to it all," she said quietly, her hands enjoying the hard smoothness of his back.

  "Put the bitch from your mind," he ordered gently, his lips brushing across her forehead.

  "I shall as soon as I clarify something. Lady Mary not only watched, she enjoyed it. There was a look upon her face as if ... as if"—she felt a blush tinge her cheeks—"she were being made love to."

  "Puir wee Storm," he murmured, wondering why he felt such a strong desire to protect her from such ugliness. " 'Tis possible, lass. There be those who do feel so when giving or seeing pain."