The Touch 0f Her Hand (Highlander Heroes Book 1)

by Rebecca Ruger

  The doors opened. Tess breathed deeply and watched as Inesfree’s bailiff led the shackled offenders inside the hall. He used a long iron rod to prod them forward. To a man, each of the accused’s eyes, went immediately to the table and the occupants. But across the distance from one end of the hall to the other, Tess could perceive no emotion in their eyes.

  Though she held herself very still, Tess’s lips trembled to find, among the accused, a boy of not more than twelve or so, and a woman, thin and unkempt, weeping openly. When they came to the stools, the bailiff gruffly told them to sit and they did so as one. Now, not one would meet Tess’s gaze.

  That was fine. It gave her opportunity to consider them. She recognized only a few, and only by sight. Aside from the boy and the woman, they seemed just average peasants, hardened by the very circumstances of their daily lives, but cowed now by this particular situation. Tess couldn’t be sure this had anything to do with her, and their part in her attack. Their current meekness could be a result of their belief that they were bound to die?

  Next, several dozen soldiers entered the hall, taking positions along the wall on either side. They lined up—with near equal distance from one to the next—and stood at attention. Conall had told Tess the rest of his army would be, during this assembly, directly outside the keep. As the open doors had brought a stridency of noise from outside, Tess believed the entire village must now be surrounding the keep.

  After the soldiers, the families of the accused, mostly wives and mothers and sisters, filed into the hall, keening and crying as they entered. “Mercy,” was called and sobbed many times until John Cardmore brusquely called for silence.

  When all had settled, and the room was near to full, Conall stated to those who sat in the chairs, “You are charged with attempting to murder. It had been decided you would hang without so much as this benefit, for your treachery against the house of Inesfree, and against one under the protection of the house of Inesfree.” He paused—dramatically, Tess thought—before pronouncing, “‘Tis only at Lady Tess’s insistence that you be allowed to plead your case. She has no wish to see you hang.”

  “Mercy” and “praise the lady,” were exclaimed now until John Cardmore once more shouted for quiet. “And if you make one more noise, you’ll be tossed out!”

  Conall turned to Tess and inclined his head, squeezing her hand, which had remained covering hers.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. Her palms were damp upon the arms of the chair.

  She swallowed visibly and faced the accused. “Would you look at me, please?”

  They did. Slowly, reluctantly, and with obvious uneasiness, one by one, they raised their eyes to her. The accused woman whimpered loudly now, confronted with the evidence of her crime, written upon the still-bruised eye and the discoloration of Tess’s cheek and neck and hands. John Cardmore did not instruct her to shush. The young boy only appeared sorrowful and afraid. The others, all men, some as young as twenty and some as old as fifty, looked at her with varying degrees of fear and regret. Only one, who sat at the end, stared at her with tight lips, seeming to withhold a snarl.

  Tess asked, “Do any of you claim to be innocent?”

  No one answered.

  Tess nodded, considering her words.

  “Have I personally done anything to you, or the people of Inesfree, to have warranted your treatment of me?” When there was again, no answer, she persisted in an even tone, “Anything at all?”

  She looked from one pair of eyes to the next. She saw no defiance, no current loathing. “You, sir,” she addressed the man at the end, whose eyes yet held a bit of an edge. “Have I wronged you somehow? That you should want me dead?”

  He wanted to say something, she could see. His body jerked a bit, the cords in his neck stood out, while he clenched his jaw to keep himself silent. His eyes strayed to Conall, but he said nothing.

  Tess continued, “It is no secret, I was stolen from my home. I was brought into an enemy keep and nearly,” she cast a glance sideways at Conall, surprising all by showing a quirk in her lips, “forced to marry. Against my will. Yet, I did not take it out on you, nor even your laird. I did, however, try often to escape, much to your laird’s chagrin, and when he re-captured me this last time, he made me promise not to try again. And I did. I’ve kept my promise, and I intend to keep that promise always.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I don’t need you to like me. I don’t even need you to pretend that you like me. But can you promise me that you’ll neither wish me harm nor cause it? I know...I know I wouldn’t harm any of you.” She watched as their expressions altered gradually, until most were watching her now with some combination of confusion and hope. “If you can promise—and intend to keep the promise—then you shall not...you shall walk out of here today, free.”

  No one answered. And one by one, they dropped their eyes to their chests. Her shoulders, stiff from holding such an anxious posture, slumped now, this hard blow of failure twisting her already fretful gut. She’d so wanted to believe they really weren’t hateful people. “Only a vow to not repeat your actions, that is all,” she urged. “I don’t think you really meant to do me such harm.”

  The boy looked about him, at those who sat at his left and right, his eyes anxious and frightened again. Another quiet sob overtook him when he realized none would speak, and he was, presumably, too frightened to speak first, or for himself.

  “Please say something to save yourselves,” she begged, so unwilling to see people die because of her. Some looked up at her again, startled. Tears now slipped from her eyes and she nervously brushed them away. She leaned forward. “I couldn’t bear it if you were to die.” She felt Conall’s and Gregor’s and Serena’s eyes on her and knew they would be disappointed with her pitiful pleading.

  Near complete silence filled the hall, save for Tess’s quiet crying. Many seconds passed while her crying was the only noise. Finally, Conall stood, about to proclaim their sentence, since none had chosen to accept Tess’s offer.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” the accused woman whimpered. “I dinna mean—I never meant—”

  “I promise,” called the man sitting next to the woman. Tess moved her eyes to him and saw a lone tear travel down his dirt-stained cheek.

  “I won’t ever hurt you again, lass,” said the oldest man in the group, his voice steady and firm, his eyes thankful.

  Tess’s cries turned to joy as one by one, they promised or apologized. She clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent embarrassing herself further with outright blubbering.

  The young boy wept openly, staring unabashedly at her. “I’m sorry, miss!” he wailed. “I promise not to ever do it again, not to anybody.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Tess said through her tears. “Thank you.”

  Conall sat back down. Tess could almost feel tension washing away from him.

  Finally, all of the defendants had made some statement either in apology, or as a promise given, which satisfied Tess immensely, save for the man at the end, though his eyes now watched her with much less animosity. He said nothing.

  Tess regarded him, silently pleading with him to say something. Anything.

  Finally, he lowered his head to his chest and wept. He mumbled something, but the words were lost in his sobbing. When he raised his eyes again, Tess saw only fear, and his eyes were on Conall.

  “It was me,” he said through a sob. Shaking the dark hair off his forehead, he admitted. “I started it—I bashed the rock into her head.” All this was confessed through his weeping, while snot dripped from his nose and spittle followed the words out of his mouth.

  Conall pushed his chair back and stood abruptly, his lip curling, about to charge. Tess grabbed at his fisted hand. “No,” she cried.

  Gregor had risen as well. Tess lifted her other hand to stop Gregor.

  One of John’s hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword, prepared to draw it from the scabbard.

  “No,” Tess insisted loudly. “Enough.”

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nbsp; The man had gotten control of himself and, with an air of resignation as if he expected still to die, went on, “I am sorry, lass, but hang me anyway. I’ve brought shame—to myself and my family. I thought he hated you. I thought you hated us.”

  Still clenching Conall’s fist and Gregor’s arm, while they remained standing on either side of her, and while Conall’s breath snorted out of his nose rather than through his clamped lips, Tess kept her eyes on the man and asked, “But how could I hate you when I don’t even know you?”

  He had no words, just shook and lowered his head, crying again.

  “But will you promise me that it will never happen again—not to me, not to anyone?”

  “Tess, no,” Conall growled.

  Their gazes met and she could see that his temper and his forbearance were stretched beyond thin.

  “No,” he repeated, with more emphasis. “This bastard was responsible—”

  “This man,” Tess interrupted, aware that every person in the room held their breath, straining to hear her soft words to their laird, “has apologized and is sorry. He has admitted he was wrong. He did not need to make the claim that he did; he could have very easily just spat out a promise to be free.” When he seemed not swayed at all, she pressed on, “Please. He doesn’t need to die, not if he’s truly sorry.”

  Calls for mercy came again, first one then a second, until dozens of strident and begging voices could be heard.

  “Now, goddamn it all, knock it off!” John’s voice thundered above, but the cries kept coming.

  Tess kept her eyes on Conall, who met her beseeching gaze with his own displeased glare. After what felt like an eternity, he tore his gaze from her, holding up his hands for silence.

  Tess dropped her hands to her lap.

  When the room quieted again, Conall addressed the man. “This morn, I wanted you hanged. Now, I want to kill you with my bare hands. and I’d want it to be painful, and slow,” this last, delivered with a sneer. The man nodded, accepting his due. Conall continued, “She just begged for your sorry life. If you don’t do something worthwhile with it, I will kill you. And if you ever even look sideways at her, I’ll kill you.”

  The hall erupted in noise again, as cheers and cries of gladness resounded. Tess stood from her chair and walked behind Conall while he continued to glare at the man. Her steps were halting, with the pain she still felt. Another hush fell upon the hall, as every eye in the room watched her slow and painful progress from behind the table, down the step, which caused her a visible grimace, and toward the shackled group.

  From her peripheral, she sensed the movements of Conall and John. She stopped and turned, just in time to see Gregor put one hand on the table and vault over it to be within only feet of her now. “I’m fine,” was all she said and approached those who had attacked her, well aware of how close those three did stand behind her.

  The bailiff struck his iron rod into the chair of the one nearest him, and the man bounded to his feet. The others followed suit, standing from their stools, their eyes on Tess. She stopped before the first man and took in his grateful gaze. He mumbled, “I promise,” again and Tess hugged him and thanked him and asked his name. “William,” he answered but otherwise seemed to be at a loss for words.

  Tess moved on to the next, the woman. She repeated the embrace and expressed her gratitude and asked her name as well. “’Tis Marta, and God bless you, Lady Tess.”

  As she approached the next, he announced, “I am Gilbert, milady, and I am ever indebted to you.” He closed his eyes, his jaw quivering when she hugged him.

  The boy was next and stood at just the same height as Tess. She placed her palm against his cheek, considering how young he was. “My name is Miles, Lady Tess.” His fear was gone, and that was good, Tess thought. She embraced him warmly.

  She continued to each person, standing shackled before a stool, until finally she stood before the last man, the one who’d declared to have started the entire attack. Conall and Gregor drew closer. The man wouldn’t meet her eye.

  “What is your name?” She asked, cognizant of his efforts to gather composure.

  “Ranulph,” he said, his voice weak.

  Tess hugged him warmly, with true sentiment, while he lowered his head to tuck it on her shoulder. When she disengaged herself, she asked in a low voice that only he could hear, “Ranulph, will you promise to never harm another person unless you’re defending yourself or your family or an innocent?”

  “Aye, I do. I promise,” he whispered back, and finally raised his eyes to her.

  They weren’t unkind eyes, she knew immediately. They were warm and intelligent, and Tess smiled at him. No longer whispering, she asked, “And what is your occupation, Ranulph?”

  “I-I am a tanner, milady.”

  “Do you enjoy that?”

  “Aye, verra much.”

  “Would you be averse to helping my friend, Angus?” She turned and indicated the old man, who’d never moved from his seat at the table, but whose sightless gaze hovered somewhere near Tess, his smile fond. “At one time, Angus was a master tanner,” she said, not sure if that were actually true, the ‘master’ part anyway, “I think he’d be quite pleased to have some leather work to occupy his hands.”

  Ranulph’s face was not the only one to show surprise, though this was immediately overtaken by a want to please. Eagerly, he nodded. “Oh, aye, milady, I could at that. I’ve more work than I can handle, and my boys are too young yet to train.”

  “Wonderful. Perhaps come up to the castle Monday next and let’s get started.”

  She continued to smile but turned her eyes to Conall, while Ranulph continued to stare at her, his mouth hanging open, his awe apparent.

  Her legs were near ready to buckle, and her head throbbed almost unbearably. She’d only taken one step before Conall was at her side as if he’d sensed her growing weakness, his arm sliding around her, one hand taking the one she’d reached out to him. She’d pushed herself too far, she knew, but, oh, it had been worth it.

  Conall led her from the hall, while the bailiff busied himself unshackling each of the relieved attackers. They had barely turned the corner to gain the stairs when Tess collapsed. Conall reacted quickly, catching her as she nearly fell, taking her up into his arms and bearing her up the steps and into his chamber.

  CHAPTER 23

  He watched her sleep.

  Conall had yet to know a coherent thought from the moment he’d carried her out of that hall, or to fully comprehend all that she had accomplished today. His mind was a jumble of exactly how brave she had been, how they had gawked at her with such wonder, how she had so easily and effectively turned their belligerence and fear to appreciation and thankfulness.

  He shouldn’t be surprised, he knew, reflecting on how she’d handled him since coming to Inesfree. Coming? No. He’d stolen her, had snatched her from her home and had brought her to this place that reviled her, and he’d had every intention of making her life miserable. But she had turned all the tables, so that he was begging for just one smile from her, or maybe one more kiss, and forcing oaths from her that she would never leave him. Not Inesfree. Just him.

  And now she would stay. She wouldn’t leave him.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even thought of Marlefield, or his pursuit of that vengeance.

  Good God, what had she done to him?

  And what was to become of them now?

  The door opened and Angus entered, the old man now accustomed to finding his own way about the keep. “She sleeps?” he guessed, and shuffled further inside, until Conall met him to lead him to the chair he’d vacated.

  “Aye, she sleeps,” he told him. He stood behind Angus, his hands on the back of the chair. “Like as no, she’ll sleep until morn.”

  The old man’s head moved up and down. “Aye, and dinna she earn it,” Angus stated, his pride evident.

  “How did you know her meeting with them would no fail?”

  Angus didn�
��t respond immediately, but when he did, his tone was thoughtful, reflective. “I dinna have eyes to see, laird, but you and I both ken her heart is pure. She’s soft, and maybe too much so, but they only had to meet her. I knew she’d turn ‘em around.” Angus crossed one leg over the other, showing one knobby knee. “She turned you, though you likely fought it.”

  “Wasn’t the plan,” Conall said, and Angus chuckled softly.

  “Plans made can sure enough be improved. Off with you now, get about your lairdin’. I’ll sit with the lass for a while.”

  “DO YOU THINK THAT’D have worked if she were ugly?” John asked.

  Gregor spit out his ale and howled with laughter. “Aye, and here she is with her eye all blown up and her cheek still three shades of green and purple, and they’re all bending at her feet, ready to swear fealty.”

  “Aye, she was a feckin’ queen today,” John said, still filled with incredulity over what had transpired earlier, what she had done. But then he cackled, “I thought Ranulph might piss himself!” He plunked one ankle down over the other, his feet on the table in the main hall.

  “The lass’ll be washing snot from her hair for a week,” added Gregor.

  They chortled more, but settled down after a moment, each thoughtful again, considering the whole of the day.

  Sobering for a moment, Gregor said, “I canna believe she pulled it off. I have never seen anything like it.”

  John nodded, his brows rising. “’Tis the same what she did with the boy,” he said, referring to Conall. “Just took him longer to bend the knee, so to speak.”

  Gregor acknowledged this with a wry grin. “I’d have done the same.” When John gave him a hard glare, he waved it off. “No like that, old man. She’s all his—as if she’d notice any other. As if he’d let her.” He chuckled again. “But damn, between the two of them and all their making eyes at each other, I’m no sure who has it worse.”