by Lynsay Sands
"As fer how me mother ended up married to me da, the Carmichael," Murine said now, and hearing the smile in her voice, Dougall dropped his gaze to see it mirrored on her face. He supposed that's why he was so shocked when she said, "Well, apparently he killed Lord Danvries and stole me mother."
Silence fell among the group and Dougall wasn't surprised. No doubt his brothers were not sure how they should respond and were wondering whether congratulations were in order, or they should pretend to be horrified.
Murine glanced from one man's face to another, taking in their expressions, and then laughed. It was a tinkling sound that drew a reluctant smile even from Dougall.
"'Tis all right," she said. "'Twas no murder, 'twas at jousting."
"Oh," the men said as one, relaxing in their saddles.
"I gather Lord Danvries liked to joust and since his father still lived and was lord at Danvries, he was free to attend the tourneys as he liked so dragged me mother to several tournaments a year."
"And yer father?" Geordie asked.
"He was a laird, and claims he ne'er much liked jousting. His being there was an unusual occurrence, he rarely attended such events and it was just chance he was there that year at all." She paused and then admitted slowly, "He ne'er told me what brought him there that year." They were all silent for a moment and then she shrugged the worry away and continued, "At any rate, that is where he saw me mother for the first time. He arrived early, a couple days before the tourney began. Several others had as well, including me mother and Lord Danvries, and so their tents were close together."
She paused, smiling softly, and added, "Da once told me that he could still remember the first time he saw her. He was coming out o' his tent and she and her maid were walking past on the way to hers. He said he would ne'er forget his first sight o' her. She wore a blue gown the same bright color as the sky on a cloudless day, indeed, the same color as her eyes, and he said her hair shone brighter gold than the sun o'erhead. Da said she was the loveliest creature he'd e'er set eyes on and he fell a little bit in love with her on first sight."
Dougall scowled. Men did not go about saying flowery things like that, even if it was true. That was women talk.
"But then he learned she was a married lass and quickly turned his eyes elsewhere." Expression solemn, she added, "However, with their tents so close, he could no' help but see her again and again, and was often seated close to them at the nightly feasts."
"What about yer ma?" Geordie asked. "Did she notice him?"
"Aye. She said she noticed him that first night at the feast. That every time she looked about he seemed to be nearby and that he had the kindest eyes and the prettiest face."
"Aye, the Carmichael was a handsome de'il in his youth," Conran commented with a nod.
"Ye kenned me da?" Murine asked with surprise and Conran shook his head.
"'Tis more that I knew o' him," he said. "Da used to tell us many a tale that included him. According to him, yer da was a damned fine warrior, but held more fame fer his looks. They called him the Peacock. No' because he preened a lot or was vain, but just because he was so handsome," he assured her quickly, and then continued, "The story goes that lasses all o'er England and Scotland were trying to catch his eye and lure him to their beds. They were all heartbroken when instead his heart was caught by a wee injured bird with a broken wing." He smiled faintly and added, "I'd be guessing that bird was yer ma."
"Aye." Murine nodded solemnly.
"Why was she a wee injured bird with a broken wing?" Alick asked with a frown.
"Lord Danvries," Murine said with a grimaced. "Me da said that e'ery time he saw me mother at that tourney she seemed to ha'e a new bruise or injury and it made him wonder. He had no heard shouting or any untoward sounds from their tent to suggest Lord Danvries beat me mother, though, so he had begun to wonder if she was no' merely incredibly clumsy. But the second last day o' the tourney Da happened to return to his tent in the middle o' the morning to fetch something and arrived in time to see Lord Danvries drag me mother out o' their tent and head into the woods. He hesitated briefly, but then followed. However, his hesitation had put him behind enough that he lost them.
"Da was just debating returning to camp when he heard a woman's distant screams. He followed the sounds, but then they stopped. He paused to listen, waiting for something to tell him which direction to go, and a moment later spotted Lord Danvries some twenty feet to his left, returning alone. Da waited for him to pass, then headed in the direction Lord Danvries had come from. After a bit he heard soft sobbing and followed that to where my mother lay in a small clearing. He said she was lying in the dirt; bloody, bruised and her gown in tatters."
"The bastard," Alick growled.
"Aye," Geordie agreed grimly.
Dougall nodded in agreement.
"Me da picked her up gentle as he could. There was a small brook nearby and he carried her there to clean away the blood and filth and check to see how bad her wounds were. Apparently, he said no' a word as he did it, but was e'er so gentle me ma knew he'd no' hurt her. He then scooped her up again and carried her back through the woods to the tents. Ma said he spoke gently to her the whole way, tellin' her she was safe, he'd no harm her, and indeed that no one would harm her again."
Alick sighed behind him like a love-struck lass and Dougall glanced over his shoulder to give his younger brother a glare meant to remind him he was a warrior. He glanced back quickly to Murine, however, when she continued her story.
"Ma thought he'd deliver her to Old Megs at the Danvries tent. Instead, he took her back to his own tent, tended her wounds and tucked her in his bed, then found Old Megs and gave her two messages, one was to be delivered to Lord Danvries and the other to the English king."
"The English king was there?" Geordie asked with surprise.
"Aye," Murine said solemnly. "Apparently he was fond of tournaments."
"Ne'er mind that old bastard. What happened?" Conran said impatiently.
Dougall saw Murine smile crookedly, and she continued. "The king and Danvries arrived at the same time. Me da showed them both into the tent where me mother was resting. O' course, Lord Danvries was no' well pleased to find his wife in the Carmichael tent. He accused him o' raping and beating her and demanded a wager of battle."
"Wager of battle?" Alick murmured. "That's where they battle to decide guilt or innocence, is it no'?"
"Aye, I've heard it called trial by combat," Conran said quietly and then asked, "'Tis what yer da intended when he placed her in his bed and sent fer the king and Danvries, is it no'?"
Murine nodded. "He suspected that the reason Danvries dragged her out to the woods to beat and rape her was because he had no wish fer others to witness or overhear and ken how he treated her. He was quite sure Danvries would ne'er admit he'd injured his wife so badly in front of the king. Da also knew that few kenned o' his skill as a warrior, that instead all they seemed to talk about in reference to him was his looks. And since Danvries had settled past disputes by crying for wager of battle when he thought he could best his opponent, he was sure Danvries would try it again."
"Clever," Dougall murmured with true admiration, and his brothers all murmured in agreement.
"Obviously, yer da won the battle," Geordie said.
"Aye." Murine grinned. "But Da swears God lent a hand in that. They were to take three courses of jousting, and then exchange three blows and strokes with battle-axes, swords and daggers. They ne'er made it to the third course o' jousting. Da got in a hard blow to Danvries's chest on the second course. His lance shattered and a sliver flew into the eye o' Danvries's horse, piercing right though into his skull. The horse reared, toppling Danvries, and then trampled him, screaming in agony the whole while, ere falling dead on top o' him. When they got the horse off, Danvries was well and truly dead."
"Bloody hell," Alick breathed.
"Aye," Geordie agreed.
They were all silent for a minute and then Conran cleared his th
Murine chuckled at the question. "Aye. If ye consider his returning to his tent, telling his men to gather everything and follow and then packing her up and carrying her off back to Carmichael wooing her." She smiled faintly. "Mother always said he wooed her as he nursed her back to health, and he was so sweet and gentle she began to trust him and agreed to wed him."
Her smile faded then, Dougall noted and understood why when she continued.
"They sent for William and Montrose then, but her first husband's father, the then Laird Danvries, refused to send them. He claimed they were his heirs and would be raised at Danvries. But the truth was he blamed her for his son's death and was punishing her by not letting her see her sons. That about broke Mother's heart, I think."
"But then she had you," Geordie pointed out. "I'm sure that helped soothe the ache."
"She had two boys and then me," Murine corrected and then admitted, "And, aye, I'm sure it helped, but she still missed Montrose and William. Fortunately, old Danvries died some ten years ago and William became laird. They came to visit Mother then and met me and my older brothers."
"Wait," Alick said with a frown. "Ye've two English half brothers and two full Scot brothers?"
Geordie added, "If ye've two Scottish brothers, why the de'il were ye sent to England when yer da died?"
"Colin and Peter died more than a year before me da did," she said quietly.
"How?" Geordie asked at once.
Murine fell silent and Dougall felt a tremble slip through her. "We were attacked on our way home from Sinclair. Both me brothers and half the soldiers who traveled with us died that night."
"Night?" Conran asked sharply. "Ye were attacked at night?"
"Aye. They crept up on us while we slept and had slit the throats of the guard and several of the sleeping men, including me brothers, before someone woke and cried the alarm. The remaining soldiers managed to fight them off, else we'd all be dead, I'm sure."
When Conran's gaze shifted his way, Dougall nodded solemnly, knowing what his brother was thinking. Bandits made traveling dangerous. They waited at passes and bridges, hiding to the sides and charging out to rob unsuspecting travelers on their approach. But they didn't usually follow a party, wait for them to fall asleep and then creep up to slit their throats. That sounded more like an assassination, murder for coin rather than murder in the hopes of gaining coin. It was a very slight difference, but with the number of people who had died in Murine's life of late, it was very, very suspicious.
"Who the de'il did that?" Alick said suddenly, apparently not suspecting what Dougall and Conran did, but then he was still young.
Murine shrugged helplessly. "We ne'er found out. Me father suspected they were mercenaries, hired to kill me brothers, and perhaps me. But he ne'er told me who he thought was behind it." She fell silent for a minute and then said wearily, "Losing me brothers on top o' losing William just the year before that . . ." She shook her head. "Me mother took it hard. She wouldn't eat and was always weeping, and then she became ill and she just did no' ha'e the will to fight it." Murine shrugged unhappily. "She died a month and a half after me brothers."
"Ye lost both brothers and yer ma and then yer da too in the span o' little more than two years?" Geordie asked with dismay.
"And yer half brother William died the year before yer other two brothers?" Alick pointed out as if she may have missed that fact.
"Aye," Murine said, and before he could ask, offered, "A riding accident."
"How long before that did yer betrothed die?" Dougall asked now.
"Just a month before William," Murine admitted.
"That's a muckle lot o' death fer one family to suffer in so short a time," Conran said grimly.
"Aye, too much," Dougall muttered and when she turned to glance at him in question, he asked, "How did yer da die?"
"He fell ill this past spring, just ere I was to visit Sinclair again. A chest complaint; fever, cough and a runny nose. It did no' seem that serious. Still, I almost did no' go because o' it, but he insisted, and he did seem to be improving so I went, but the day after Joan had her child, Montrose arrived at Sinclair. Father was dead, cousin Connor had inherited the title and Carmichael Castle, and Montrose had been named my guardian. I was to live with him in England."
"That's no' right," Geordie said grimly. "Who the de'il was this cousin Connor?"
"Aye, and why were ye left with nothing?" Alick asked and pointed out, "The English may no' leave lands and castles to their women, but we Scots do. If the clan supported ye, ye'd ha'e been clan leader."
Murine had turned her head sideways at Alick's question and Dougall saw sadness and disappointment cross her face, and then she bit her lip and turned her face forward before admitting, "Connor is the son o' me father's sister. She married the younger brother o' Laird Barclay and Connor was raised among the Barclay clan. I've ne'er met him."
"Yer da left Carmichael to a Barclay rather than his own daughter?" Geordie asked with dismay.
"Connor is only half Barclay," Murine corrected. "He is Carmichael by blood on his mother's side."
"Still," Alick said with a shake of the head. "He was raised at Barclay, with no ties to the Carmichael clan. Why the devil would yer father leave all to him and not you?"
Dougall was rather interested in the answer himself. It just didn't seem like something the Carmichael he'd heard of would do.
Murine lowered her head and plucked unhappily at one of the ties on her skirt as she admitted, "Montrose said 'tis because I am so weak. That with me constant fainting, Da did no' think the clan would back me as clan leader. He thought it best me cousin Connor take his place, and that 'twould be kinder for me to live in England and start afresh than to have to step aside and watch me cousin claim all I was too weak to gain."
Dougall noted the expressions on his brothers' faces and knew they reflected his own. Reluctant understanding. Aye, it might be hard to get the clan to rally behind a lass who so frequently dropped in a faint. Still, he felt the father could have and should have done better by her than to leave her in the hands of her half brother. Surely the man had known Montrose's nature? He must have. He'd never heard the Carmichael to be a stupid man. Hell, the story of how he gained his wife, Murine's mother, proved his intelligence. His leaving Murine to Montrose's less than tender mercies just didn't make sense.
"And o' course he was right," Murine said suddenly with a firmness that brooked no argument.
Dougall peered down at her solemnly. She sat stiff and still before him again, her head lifted and face turned forward so that she needn't look at anyone as she gave that lie. Her father's decision had obviously hurt her, but on top of all the other losses she'd suffered, he suspected that to her mind it was just one more blow among many that she'd had to endure the last couple of years.
"But--" Geordie began in protest, only to pause abruptly when Dougall turned a stern look his way.
"Enough talk. We left late and need to make up time," he said grimly and then urged his horse to more speed, making talk impossible.
While he did want to make up time, Dougall's main concern was Murine and how this discussion upset her. She had suffered a great deal in a short time, and was ailing because of it. He suspected her fainting problem was completely due to her not eating enough. He also suspected that issue may have saved her life. Had she been healthy and hale enough to rule as clan leader, he was quite sure she too would have died in some unnatural manner. Either slain by roadside bandits, or a nasty fall. Because he suspected this cousin, Connor, might be behind the deaths. Certainly, he was the one who had gained from them.
Dougall's arms tightened around her as they rode, and not just to prevent her tumbling from the horse should she faint again. For some reason Dougall found himself with the most damnable urge to protect the lass; from her brother, from the pain of her father's decisions . . . hell, from the world at large. And he hadn't a clue why.
Chapter 5
"'Tis early to stop, is it no'?"
Dougall glanced down at the top of Murine's head at that comment as he turned his horse off the road and into a clearing. He then shifted his gaze to Conran when his brother urged his horse up beside them and agreed, "Aye. Should we no' continue on for another hour or so?"
"There will no' be a spot by the water in another hour or so," Dougall said mildly, although that wasn't completely true. He'd traveled this route many times delivering his horses and there were a couple some distance ahead, but none of them offered a waterfall to bathe under. His decision to stop here was because he fancied a nice dip in the water and thought Murine might too. She'd commented self-consciously about the lack of water at their last stop, and that she hoped she did not have a dirty face or something.
Noting the way Conran was eyeing him, he added, "The horses need water."
"We let them drink an hour or so ere stopping last night and then a couple o' times today," Conran pointed out mildly.
"Aye, but this way they can drink their fill," he responded firmly.
"Hmm," Conran murmured, and had the audacity to smile knowingly.
Dougall glowered at him for his trouble as he slid off his mount. He then turned to lift Murine down.
"Thank you." She almost whispered the words as he set her on the ground. She'd been as quiet as a mouse since their discussion of her family. But then, Dougall had kept up a steady pace to prevent conversation.
"Oh, how lovely!"
Dougall glanced around at that exclamation to see Murine at the water's edge, peering along the river to the right and even now moving in that direction. The sight made his eyes widen with alarm. He'd set her down beside him and turned to retrieve the bag with the cooked meat from his horse, expecting her to stay still and wait for him, but the woman had not stayed where he put her. Off she'd flitted like a butterfly, traipsing across the clearing to the water's edge where--should she have one of her fainting spells--she'd most like tumble into the river and drown before anyone could reach her.
"Ye chose well. She likes the spot," Conran commented, smiling after the woman like a simpleton.
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