Marti Talbott's Highlander Series, Volume 4

by Marti Talbott

  BETHIA HAD HER EYES closed too. Whoever he was, this man had just saved her life and the realization that she was indeed being followed, and could easily have been killed, hit her so hard she trembled uncontrollably.

  The English men of her acquaintance did not hold their women in such high esteem as the MacGreagors. It was a lesson she learned quickly once she arrived in England and found herself at the mercy of all sorts of rules and regulations she had never heard of. It seemed to her that morality was left completely up to the women. While the men were quick to shun a fallen woman, they were even quicker to want to bed her. Sometimes Bethia found the ritual amusing, but more often than not, the woman suffered, while the men were free to continue with their arrogant ways.

  Furthermore, women were contriving and often resorted to trickery to get a husband rather than to wait for his approach. She found that tradition confusing, for it signified the men were so simple minded they could not possibly seek out the right wife on their own.

  What a pleasure it was to be home. Already this man was trying to comfort her by putting his hand over hers and none of her male acquaintances in England would ever think to do that. Her injuries forced her to come back to Scotland early, but even before it happened, she set her mind to finding a MacGreagor husband and teaching her children the MacGreagor ways. Now she wondered if this man was the only MacGreagor left.

  At length, Hannish opened his eyes. “Why are you shaking?”

  Where had she heard that voice before? “I am just frightened, it will pass.”

  “You will be safe here for the night.” He could feel her slowly relax her grip around his waist and when she let go and took his bent arm with both hands, he flexed his muscles. Then he let her lower herself to the ground and when she recovered her clothing and moved away, he climbed out of the uncomfortable saddle. He hoped she would let him hold her, but she stepped back and stared at him.

  “Hannish?”

  “Aye.”

  She could not take her eyes off his face. His hair was longer, but he was just as handsome as she remembered. He had light brown hair with still lighter eyebrows that made the blue in his eyes stand out. His cheekbones were high and his mouth was...Bethia looked away. “Is everyone else dead?”

  “Nay, they are alive.”

  Her relief was great and she let out the breath she had been holding, “What happened?”

  “I will explain it later. Do you prefer this saddle?”

  “I cannot get the cinch undone.”

  “I see.” He turned around, tied the reins to a tree, untied her sack and handed it to her. Then he yanked on the strap twice, got it free of the buckle and lifted the saddle off. He started to toss it aside when she stopped him. While he held it, she slipped her hand inside a pocket hidden in the stiff leather back and pulled out a jeweled necklace. Then she nodded and he discarded the saddle behind the bushes.

  Hannish walked to the cottage, opened the door, checked to be certain it was empty and then let her come in. “Bethia, there is something I must do and then I will take you to Neil.”

  “Please tell me what happened.”

  “The MacDonalds attacked.”

  “Will the MacDonalds find us here?”

  “Nay, they think the land is haunted, but there are other dangers. Do not light a fire and do not show yourself in the window. Are you armed?”

  “Aye.”

  “Good.” He quickly stepped back outside and pulled the door closed behind him. For a moment, he paused and reconsidered his obligation. He finally had Bethia back and leaving her so soon did not set well with him. However, he had given his pledge and he dared not change his mind even for her sake. With more reason to be careful than he ever had before, Hannish set his determination, turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER III

  SHE WAS ALONE AGAIN with a lot to think about. Neil and the MacGreagors were not dead and for that, she was overjoyed, but of all the men to find her, why did it have to be Hannish?

  Time had not mended her broken heart at all. Just seeing him again stirred the memory of his touch. At least she was glad to have this time to get a grip on her emotions. He was married and he would not break his vows, nor would she want him to. Bethia had seen enough of men who thought nothing of forgetting their marriage vows. She wondered if he was happy with Iona and deep down inside, she wanted him to be happy. Yet for her, happiness was just an illusion and now she had to suffer being alone with him...without being in his arms. Of a truth, she could think of no worse fate.

  Bethia put the necklace in her sack, sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. How could she still love him so much? More importantly, how was she going to keep from wanting him? The obvious answer was to avoid looking into his eyes or thinking about his touch. Perhaps she could think of him as a friend. As long as he kept himself under control, and he would, she could do the same. She had to.

  Then she remembered how he covered her trembling hands with his. Did he realize who she was and if so, was that just comfort or something more? Bethia pushed the thought out of her mind. If she kept that up, she would go daft.

  Determined not to think about it anymore, she looked around the cottage. Considering the amount of dust on everything, it was easy to tell the place had been deserted. There were no wall hangings, no weapon displays and no personal belongings. Nor was there any food and it occurred to her Hannish had gone to hunt for some. Cautiously, she opened the door and peeked out. Her horse was gone but she was not concerned. Hannish probably took it.

  Again she noticed how eerily quiet it was. People must make a lot more noise than she thought. Sometimes the clansmen kept fruit and vegetables stored in caves where the animals could not get to it, and it would be easy to find the one behind this cottage. When she inched out the door and went to look, it was empty. A water source was always nearby too and when she found it, she knelt down and splashed her face. It wasn’t the bath she longed for, but it would have to do. She looked around a little more, went back inside the cottage and closed the door.

  She spotted her MacGreagor white shirt and blue plaid on the bed and wondered if she should change. Before she left England, she carefully chose the green gown hoping it would help her hide in the forest. Hannish said there were other dangers and perhaps the gown would still be of benefit. With that in mind, she put her MacGreagor things back in her cloth sack and drew the strings.

  HE DID NOT COME BACK and it concerned Bethia, but only a little. She trusted him to know what he was doing. Meanwhile she was alone with too much time on her hands...time to remember the pitiful look on Greer’s face when she left.

  Half Scottish, Greer knew just enough Gaelic to help translate and they soon became good friends. Tiresome cousin Luella was not impressed, however, and from the beginning resented the two women speaking in a language she did not understand. While Bethia was not accustomed to the ways of jealousy and bickering, she soon learned conforming to Luella’s wishes made life a bit less harrowing. After that. she only spoke to the maid in Gaelic where her cousin could not hear.

  Yet Greer could seldom please Luella, Bethia’s aunt was of no use, having indulged Luella for years, and James was a twit in all things save his horse...which Bethia managed to steal. There was some satisfaction in that.

  Bethia originally planned to go home, talk to Neil and beg him to send two warriors back to rescue Greer. There was no possibility of that now. She greatly feared getting caught by James and Baron Giffart, but on the other hand, as long as they were following her, they were not at home bothering Greer.

  It grew dark and she was tired, so she set her worries aside, pulled her plaid out of her sack, stretched out on the bed, covered herself and went to sleep. At least she could enjoy a softer bed and her painful back didn’t keep her awake for long.

  IT WAS VERY DARK WHEN he got back. Hannish slept on the floor beside her for a couple of hours, but it was not a restful sleep. Every noise woke him, especially her soft moans. She did no
t appear to be hurt, so he decided it was fear that troubled her mind and caused her to moan. Hopefully, he could ease her fear in another day or two, once they were far away from the hostile clans and the two Englishmen.

  Unable to rest, he sat in a chair watching her sleep and knew this was as close to paradise as he might ever get. He could not take a married woman into his arms and kiss her the way a man in love longs to, but he could sit beside the bed and watch her sleep. It was very little, but it was something.

  The hard part would be to resist holding her. The journey ahead was long and it was going to take every ounce of his strength to keep his desires in check, but he would ...he had to for her sake. He would rather die than be the cause of her unfaithfulness.

  He wondered if one of the men who followed her was her husband. She did not protest being saved and whisked away, so perhaps not. Still, for what other reason would they follow her into hostile land—unless she stole that necklace. Hannish wrinkled his brow. He had never known Bethia to steal.

  It wasn’t until the sunlight began to filter through the small open window that he realized he had blood splatters on his kilt. He quietly stepped outside, went to the creek and knelt down. He undid the front of his kilt and washed as much of the blood out as he could. When he glanced back, Bethia was watching him and he could see the concern in her eyes. “I am not hurt.” He tucked the pleats back under his belt and stood up.

  She did not ask about the blood; MacGreagor women knew better. He might have killed the Englishmen and that would be a good thing or it might have been someone else. Whomever he killed, he would tell her if he wanted her to know.

  When he walked past her and went back into the cottage, she did not interrupt his thoughts. Instead, she followed him in, grabbed her sack and then followed him deeper into the woods where he had both their horses tied to a tree. He tied her sack opposite his on his horse and then went to her. She tried not to wince when he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up on her horse, but she was in a lot of pain and had to look away to hide it.

  The hard English saddle with the high back was gone and at least she did not have that discomfort to contend with. Yet every movement was painful and it seemed more so today than yesterday. She noticed he carried a flask and wondered if it contained the precious wine that would dull her pain. Yet she did not ask. He would start questioning why she wanted it and he must never know about her injuries.

  He did not see her pain, but he did notice she was not willing to look at him when he lifted her. He wanted to keep his voice low, so Hannish took hold of her arm to get her attention. “The Fergusons are our enemy now and we do not trust the Camerons. To get home, we must cross Cameron land.” He waited for her nod, mounted his horse and led the way.

  ONCE A CLAN OF EIGHT hundred, the attack on their homeland forced the MacGreagors to scatter in all directions. Yet now that Laird Neil MacGreagor established a new home for his clan farther north, strips of blue plaid had been tied to trees hoping to lead the lost to the new land.

  Hannish was one of eight men Neil chose to go back and look for lost MacGreagors, and he was happy to do it. Posting more strips of plaid on trees along the way soon became mundane, but thinking of new and better ways to punish Laird Ferguson for his debauchery never got old. It was not until their last night together before the men split up, that they decided on exactly what would be Laird Ferguson’s punishment, and who could best see that it was carried out.

  The men unanimously chose Hannish and he was honored. First, he wanted to make sure all the MacGreagor land was void of MacGreagors and for a full week, he scoured the countryside. Already he sent twenty-three, including Gill’s brother and family, on their way and was convinced there were no more. Once those few were gone, the land truly did feel haunted. It was, of course, not true that many MacGreagors died in the fire the night the MacDonalds attacked. All escaped through a hidden tunnel, but some were later captured, and thus began to tell tales of seeing dead MacGreagors on this path or that one late at night. Soon stories of the hauntings spread all across the Highlands.

  Laird Ferguson’s wife, Kenna, died in the plague. Afterwards the man was filled with bile and drank from sunup to sundown, neglecting the children she gave him and all but the most unworthy of his followers. It was Taral MacGreagor who witnessed murders the day after the attack and saw Laird Ferguson order the death of MacGreagor men.

  Therefore, Laird Ferguson deserved to die.

  CHAPTER IV

  HANNISH AND BETHIA had been on the move for more than two hours by the time Laird Ferguson’s second in command found him, still in his bed, with his own sword driven through his heart. A square of MacGreagor plaid covered his tormented face and the meaning was clear—there was a price to pay for betrayal. Still, how did the assailant get in with no less than twenty Ferguson guards protecting their laird?

  Maybe the MacDonalds were not the only ones being haunted by dead MacGreagors.

  And so it was that the MacDonald laird, who coveted the MacGreagor land and attacked to get it, and the Ferguson laird who joined with him were both dead. Only the laird of the Camerons, who declined to give sanctuary to homeless MacGreagors, remained. Yet as soon as he heard Laird Ferguson was murdered, he doubled and then tripled his guard. Nevertheless, the dead MacGreagors invaded his dreams and he was not to enjoy a peaceful night’s sleep for many years to come.

  BETHIA WAS GLAD THEY were moving at a good pace. The farther away she was from James and Baron Giffart, the better. However, it was painful and she caught herself holding her breath often. She could have used more rest stops, but each time he lifted her back up on her horse, the pain seemed worse, so she just kept going and was grateful he did not glance back at her often. Enduring the ride was one thing, pretending to be happy about it was another.

  It wasn’t long after they left MacGreagor land that they found a well-traveled path leading east. It took them across meadows, up and down rolling hills, through the trees and then into other meadows. Hannish was always careful to stop, look and listen each time he took them into the next clearing

  Only once did they have to hide to let Cameron warriors pass, and that was late in the afternoon. The Cameron warriors seemed unconcerned with who might hear them, and Bethia could hear them very well. Word had already reached them—they talked about the death of Laird Ferguson and the patch of MacGreagor cloth found on his face.

  Hannish glanced at Bethia, but if she guessed he did the killing, she was not bothered by it. He noticed she never said a word the whole day except when she needed to stop and even then, she only cleared her throat to get his attention. He thought she was being very brave, and he knew he was probably pushing her beyond her level of endurance. Still she did not complain.

  When he finally stopped for the night, it was almost dark. He helped her down, watched her disappear into the woods and made a bed for her between two trees. As soon as she came back, he offered her a chunk of bread and his flask of wine. He smiled when she took several hearty swallows of the wine first. She wanted to stand up and eat. After riding all day, it was understandable. Still she was uncommonly quiet and it bothered him. “Bethia?”

  “What?”

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I have never been afraid of a MacGreagor in my life.”

  “Good.” He hoped that would start a conversation, but she seemed content just to eat. “Do you wish to tell me why the Englishmen have come so far north?”

  “Nay.”

  He finished his bread and made a bed for himself at the foot of hers. Then he decided to make a wide survey of their surroundings. He saw her watching him and thought she knew where he was, but when he came up behind her and lightly put his hand on her back to get her attention, she abruptly arched it as though his hand was on fire. Hannish was horrified. “I have hurt you?”

  She quickly moved away, turned to face him and then tried to smile. “Nay...you frightened me.”

  “
I frightened you?”

  “I did not know you were behind me.”

  She was lying and he knew it. He took a step toward her and when she backed away, he was convinced. “I have hurt you.”

  “Nay.”

  “Show me.”

  “What?”

  “Show me your back.”

  She was just as determined as he was, “I will not.”

  “I will not let you rest until you do.”

  “You know very well ‘tis not proper. Do not ask such a thing of me.”

  “‘Tis not proper unless you are hurt. When a lass is hurt, ‘tis not only proper, ‘tis required. You would show Neil if he were here.”

  “Aye, but he is like a father.”

  “Then think of me as your father.”

  Bethia rolled her eyes. “You fret for nothing and I need not show you when there is nothing to see.”

  Hannish took another step toward her and again she backed away. “If that is so, then allow me to put both my hands on your back.”

  She almost let him. He moved closer and she stared at his shirt, trying to muster all her strength so she would not react to his touch. As soon as he began to lift his arms, she once more backed up. “Please...please do not touch me.”

  “Bethia, turn around. I will unfasten your...whatever you call that.”

  “‘Tis called a gown and if you must know, I have a bruise, but ‘tis nearly healed.”

  “I will see this bruise.”

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “You are not going to give up, are you?”

  “Nay, turn around.” She stared into his insistent eyes for a time. She might as well let him see, the pain was excruciating and if he touched her once more, she would either pass out or scream. Reluctantly she turned her back to him.