God, let me get to her in time. He and his men boarded the ferry, Hunter in tow. How dare she put herself and their bairn in such danger. “Arlen,” Malcolm urged the ferry master, “make haste.”
“Aye, my lord. Have the lads take up the poles to aid me.”
Malcolm nodded to his men, and they took up the task, hastening the vessel toward shore. He lifted Hunter and gave him a fierce hug, then set him down at arm’s length. “You were very brave to get away, son. I am counting on you to lead us back.”
Hunter nodded and swiped the tears from his cheeks. The trip across the loch took interminably long. Once there, Malcolm lifted Hunter to his shoulders and ran for the stables.
Ikwe’s empty stall stopped him dead in his tracks. Hunter’s pony, wet with sweat, was being rubbed down by one of the lads, and his wife’s pack rested in the corner. “How far?” He turned to Hunter.
“Not far. I rode slow on the way out.” He shrugged. “I did not want to go, but Ma said there is somebody in Inverness she needs to talk to.”
“Giselle.” Malcolm ran a shaking hand through his hair. He turned to one of the stable hands. “See my wife’s things are taken back to the keep, lad.”
“Aye, milord.” He nodded.
“She must no’ have been asleep when we spoke of Giselle, Malcolm. Makes you wonder what else she might have heard, does it no’?” Robley gave him a shove to get him started. “Come, we’ve no’ a moment to waste.”
They rode hard. Malcolm’s horse was covered with froth, and its sides heaved when Hunter grabbed his hands. Reining in, he signed to his men to stop. Turning his son in the saddle to face him, he waited.
“The forest around the next bend is where we were stopped,” Hunter signed. “The men will be watching.”
Nodding, Malcolm dismounted. “We go on foot from here. Gareth, guard the horses beyond the rise there.” He pointed to a hill to their east. “From here on in, we use sign only. Hunter, stay to help Gareth.” He squeezed his shoulder.
Lifting his nose to the wind, he sniffed and caught the faint scent of an old campfire. Malcolm pointed to the left side of the forest. “Hugh will have posted his men to guard their camp. Find them. Hugh is mine. Once the other three are dispatched, we’ll meet at their camp.”
“Wait,” Robley signed. “This may be a trap. Mayhap there are more than the four Hunter saw.”
“Aye,” Malcolm whispered. “Why would Hugh camp on MacKintosh land? He will expect us to ride right into it. Use stealth, and take care.” He knelt once more before his foster son. “Can you watch the horses by yourself? It is a very big responsibility.”
A look of determination came into Hunter’s eyes. He nodded. Malcolm and his men led their mounts over the rise and secured them, leaving Hunter with his bow strung and an arrow notched at the ready.
“Gareth, join the others,” Malcolm signed. With that, Galen, Robley and Gareth melted into the trees, fanning out in search of their enemies.
Hugh and his men had left an easy trail of broken brush. Malcolm crept along, careful to keep to the shadows, careful not even to snap a twig, alert for any sign of Hugh’s men. Soon, he heard movement. Edging closer, he remained hidden—until the sound of ripping fabric snapped his control.
Drawing his sword, he broke through the brush. The sight before him turned his vision red with rage. Alethia had been staked to the ground, spread-eagle. Hugh, his back to him, stood above her with a dagger in hand, slitting her garments from bodice to hem.
Malcolm grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hurled him across the clearing. “Your life is forfeit, Hugh. Pick up your sword.” Two men leaped into the clearing and came at him. He cursed as he noted the Comyn plaid they wore. Hugh hung back—the coward counted on others to do his dirty work. The men he fought were ragged and hungry, fueled by desperation.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hugh sneaking around the perimeter of the clearing, edging closer and closer to True, with his sword drawn and a dirk in his other hand. Malcolm gave a shrill whistle, a signal for anyone close to come to his aid. The sound distracted his opponents enough to give him the upper hand.
Malcolm plunged his sword into one man and kicked the other in the chest to buy some time. He took the dagger from his belt, flipped it in the air to catch it by the blade, and whipped it straight for Hugh’s heart. He spared only a second to watch the stunned look come over Hugh’s face before he fell.
Malcolm drew his sword from the corpse on the ground and spun in time to see two more Comyns come at him, Robley right behind them.
“Malcolm, there are a score of men or more surrounding us.” Robley huffed as he met his enemy’s ax with his sword.
“You’ll not be so fortunate this day, MacKintosh,” the man fighting him spat out.
“Aye, a score or more you say?” Malcolm could feel the fatigue creeping over him. He had worked his way over to stand protectively near True. Robley had done the same to flank her other side. “Four have fallen here,” Malcolm said as he deflected a blow. “How many have our lads taken, Robley?”
Robley had done battle with him countless times and knew his mind. He meant to intimidate these leaderless men into fleeing. Another man appeared from the forest. Malcolm was beginning to worry. He delivered the killing blow to the enemy before him and turned to meet his new adversary.
“I took three before I reached this clearing, and Galen and Gareth have at least that many each.”
“That does no’ bode well for them, eh?” Malcolm continued to banter with Robley, praying his strategy would work. His new opponent came at him with a war club and sword. The sound of other struggles going on in the shadows of the forest came to him. Worried for his men, and for True, Malcolm feared he wouldn’t last much longer.
He heard the thunder of horses on the trail, and his heart skipped a beat. They’d not survive this day. He’d failed True.
A familiar war cry rent the air, a MacKintosh promise of victory. His father had come. And by the sounds of it, half their garrison as well. He gave them a shrill whistle to guide them, and the noise of warriors crashing through the brush sent the Comyns fleeing just as Malcolm buckled to his knees.
“Cover True. The men will be here in a trice,” Robley hissed.
Malcolm pushed himself up with the aid of his sword and reached for her cloak lying at the base of a tree. He’d just made it back to her when his father broke through to the clearing. He covered her nakedness first and then bent to cut her free.
“God’s blood.” William froze at the edge of the clearing to survey the scene. “This is my fault.”
“Nay, Father. The fault lies with me.” Malcolm’s voice broke as he slid his arms under True’s head and knees to lift her.
“Does she…is she…?”
“She lives.” Malcolm found he could not manage lifting her, and so he settled her against his chest and sat to catch his breath. He swallowed hard several times and blinked to clear his vision. Sweat must have gotten into his eyes during the battle.
“Uncle William, these woods are infested with vermin.” Robley wiped his sword on the plaid of his enemy. “I suggest we be about the task of ridding ourselves of the infestation.”
“Aye. Let us be about it.”
Malcolm watched his father direct their men to fan out in search of any remaining Comyns, and suddenly, he was left alone with his wife in his arms and his heart breaking asunder in his chest.
Alethia came to and became aware of two things. Malcolm’s scent—and pain, all-encompassing and pervasive. Her arms and hands felt as if they were crawling with fire ants as blood worked its way back into them. Her head throbbed, and her face burned. One of her eyes was swollen shut, and her right hip ached. She struggled to remember where she was and how she’d come to be in such a state.
She strained to see with her good eye and caught a glimpse of Malcolm’s face. She could hardly draw breath, and she trembled. Oh God, Malcolm was pissed. She stared into the furious blue of
her husband’s icy gaze and tried to sit up. “Malcolm, I—”
“Dinna speak, woman.”
She closed her mouth and looked around her at the death and destruction everywhere. Her eyes fixed on something not far from where she’d been tied. “Ohhh, oh no.” She crawled out of Malcolm’s lap toward the tree. There beneath it lay her violin—broken into bits.
Dazed, she picked up one piece after another of the beloved gift from her father. “No.” Tears of anger and sorrow coursed down her cheeks. Helpless tears, and tears of regret.
Gentle hands lifted her. Malcolm replaced the cloak around her shoulders, drawing it tight to cover her exposed front. “W-why did he want to hurt me? What d-did I ever do to him?” she sobbed.
“He didna want to hurt you; he wanted to hurt me.”
“Yeah? Well I don’t see any bruises on your face.”
Malcolm held her battered face in his large hands—his eyes desolate. “You were leaving me. You said you loved me, Alethia. Why were you leaving?”
“I do love you, Malcolm, more than my life.” Her insides crumbled. “I heard you arguing with your father. I heard you tell him you would renounce your inheritance and your future rather than break your vows to me.”
“Aye. We can begin anew in your land. I look forward to it. I thought ’twould please you to see your family again. Did I no’ tell you I care naught for titles?”
“You’ve never asked me when my birthday is!” She grasped the front of his plaid and shook him, or tried to. He was immovable, a solid wall beneath her fists. She loved him—loved him enough to leave if it meant his life would be what it was meant to be.
“Och, you make no sense, Alethia. Are you saying you’d leave me because I dinna ken the date of your birth?” Malcolm shook her by the shoulders.
“I was born in the twentieth century, Malcolm. Giselle didn’t just take me from my country to yours. She sent me back more than five hundred years in the past, from the twenty-first century. We can’t go back to my country to live with my people.” She tried to shake him again. “They haven’t been born yet!” she shouted. “I can’t let you throw your life away for me.” She let her forehead fall against his chest. “I…I can’t let you do that. I love you too much.”
He put his arms around her and rocked her back and forth. “Och, lass. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You are talking out of your head.”
“Oh, Malcolm. You don’t believe me? I have proof. Why would I make up such a thing?” She pushed herself away from him to make a sweeping gesture encompassing the clearing strewn with bodies. “My God. Life is nothing like this in the twenty-first century. Stuff like this only happens in the movies.
“We have washers and dryers…and tampons. And…and…electricity. All I have to do is flip a switch and I have light and heat. Men have walked on the moon. Astronauts live for months at a time on an international space station.” She hugged herself, trying to stop the shaking. “And I have news for you—the earth is round. Round, dammit—like a ball!”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve gone through more hell in the past eight months than I’ve gone through in the entire twenty-two years I’ve been alive. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go through it anymore. I’ve had it.” She swiped at her eyes. “I need a freaking vacation. And do you know what really pisses me off?” She glared at him. “When your life was in danger, I got one damned vision after another. But when my life is in danger—I get nada, zilch, nothing.” She sniffed. “What the hell is up with that?”
“Let us leave this place and start for home. We’ll sort it all out on the morrow.”
“Home?” She started to cry again. “Your father doesn’t want me there. I heard him. He suggested I become your whore while he marries you off to some bimbo with a dowry. I don’t want to see that man ever again.” She turned away. The sight of all the bodies made her gag.
Robley slipped quietly into camp. “I had no idea you had such a rich and varied vocabulary, Cousin True.” He chuckled. “You dinna look so good, lass.”
“I know.” Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground in a heap, clutching her cloak around her. “I don’t feel so good either.”
Malcolm lifted his wife into his arms as Galen joined them in the clearing. He knew his men well and had no doubt they’d done what they’d set out to do. “Come, let us return to the horses. Hunter must be worried sick by now, and we need to get home.”
“Is your lady well enough to travel?” Galen peered at True’s swollen and abraded face. “Mayhap ’twould be better to camp and return on the morrow. Half the garrison is here with your father, and we’d be safe. ’Twould be best to let her rest a bit.”
“Nay, Galen. I have no healing teas or salves with me to ease her pain. The sooner we are home the better.” He tried to communicate his thoughts to Galen without speaking. True’s eyes were shut, but this was another of her tricks he’d learned well. Nodding his head toward her violin, he looked at it, then gave Galen a long look. Thankfully, Galen caught on and quietly began to retrieve the pieces, putting them back into the case. He would see if one of their craftsmen could repair it, or use what was left as a model to make her a new one.
“I believe her, Malcolm.” Robley cleaned the blade of his sword against another Comyn and put it back into its scabbard.
“You overheard our conversation?” Malcolm pinned him with a look.
“Aye. I thought it prudent to stay nearby lest our enemies circle back to have another go at you.”
Malcolm snorted. “She says men have walked on the moon, Robley. ’Tis no’ possible. She’s suffered a blow and talks out of her head.”
“Hmm, I wonder. If the son of God could be born to a virgin, die on the cross, and rise from the dead three days later, surely anything under the heavens is possible.” He grinned at him.
“Mmm. I dinna—”
“Think, man. You believed her visions well enough, did you no’?”
“Aye.” Malcolm gave him a skeptical look.
“She traveled through time to see things that had already happened, and to the future to see things that had no’ yet occurred. ’Tis but a small step to believe the rest. I wonder what electricity is, or an astronaut?” Robley’s gaze went to True.
“I dinna ken. I only caught a portion of what she spoke of.”
“And tamp-ons, I do hope she has some of those to show us…and move ease,” Robley continued. “Wonders from the future, what think you of that, Malcolm?”
“She says she has proof. I will see it before my mind is made up.”
“I do have proof,” she muttered with her eyes still closed. “And thank you, Robley. Malcolm should listen to you more often.”
“I’ll no’ argue the point.” Robley raised a brow and switched to sign. “True left because she could not bear to see you give up your place in our clan, Malcolm. Her feelings will not have changed on the matter.” Robley grinned at him. “You will have a fight on your hands, cousin.”
Malcolm smiled back. The fear for his wife’s life and his anger toward her for leaving had left him. His braw lass had the heart of a lion, and she loved him. Nothing else mattered. They would find their way together. “Aye, I expect I will. My feelings have no’ changed on the matter. If my father continues to dishonor my wife, we will leave. If Alethia’s home and family lie in the future, then we will confront Giselle together. I will take my family to the twenty-first century.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Alethia’s entire body ached. She stretched each limb to assess the damage, and realized she was once again in her own bed. She touched her face gingerly. The skin around her left eye was tender and swollen. The abrasions on her right cheek had begun to scab. Hunger and thirst added to her misery, and she felt the presence of others in the chamber with her.
“Oh, my dear,” Lydia cried. “We have been worried sick.”
A cool, wet cloth came to rest against her eye. “Where is Malcolm?”
A
man’s throat being cleared caused her to open her good eye. William stood at the foot of the bed. Alethia didn’t want him there, and she struggled to gain control of her emotions.
“My son has gone to fetch something for you to eat, lass.” William came to stand beside Lydia.
She turned her face away and closed her lips tight. She heard the rustling of Lydia’s gown and watched with dismay as her beloved mother-in-law left the room. She wanted to burrow under the covers.
“My wife lays the blame for all that has befallen you at my feet,” William said. “My people tell me, were it no’ for you, we would have ceased to exist as a clan. They say I have you to thank for my son’s life many times over, and for the lives of my nephews and several of our best men as well.”
William took her hand. She yanked it away.
“Good daughter, I have come to beg your pardon.”
His words took her by surprise, and anger loosened her resolve not to speak to the man. “I heard you and my husband arguing. Malcolm said he would renounce his inheritance for my sake. I cannot let that happen.”
“Nor can I, Alethia.”
“I heard how you spoke about me. You do not know me or my people. I know who I am, William, and where I come from. I will never forget it.” She couldn’t control the emotions causing her voice to break. “If my father were alive, you would have to answer to him for suggesting I play the part of Malcolm’s whore so you can marry him off to someone you find more worthy.” She raised herself to sitting so she could glare at him.
“I have wronged you.” William took the seat by the bed. “It seems I dinna ken my own children.”
For the first time, she noticed how haggard he looked. “I know you only want what’s best for your clan. I couldn’t let Malcolm throw away his future. That’s why I left.”
True to the Highlander (The Novels of Loch Moigh) Page 29