“Owen,” she called softly at the edge of the trees, then spied him crouching against a trunk. “Keep yourself hidden. After I withdraw, come fetch this bag. I am being watched, so at present I cannot return with you. When the castle sleeps, I’ll find my way to the cottage. Do not allow anyone to see which direction you go when you leave here.” She saw Owen’s nod, confirming that he understood. “I am depending on you. You are the only one I can trust.”
Placing the bag on the ground, Chandra turned and headed back the way she’d come. When she was halfway between the wood and the fortress, Owen jumped from the trees, snatched the bag, and took off in the opposite direction to the cottage. Chandra furtively looked up at the battlement, spotting Cedric standing at one of the crenels. Hatred for the man teemed through her. Pray she would be able to keep it in check, at least until Aleck was safe.
While climbing the hill, Chandra sighed heavily. His reasons known only to himself, Aleck had come for her, but foolishly he’d done so alone. After the initial shock she’d suffered on seeing him, the thought that he’d made a dash for the Highlands surprised and elated her. But now she wondered at his purpose. Had it been concern for her welfare that had caused him to be so reckless? Was it possible that he held affection for her, hence his irresponsible action? Or did he merely seek to return her to England in order to fulfill James’s command that they produce an heir?
Chandra was uncertain, but the possibility existed that a new life formed within her body. Normally quite healthy, she now suffered from bouts of light-headedness and nausea. Her monthly flow was late by two weeks. The signs confirmed that she carried his child, but she was undecided whether or not to tell Aleck, should he live. Made aware that he was to be a father, he’d try to force her away from Lochlaigh, she knew, ordering her to Montbourne where undoubtedly he thought the child should be born—in his beloved England. It would be an order she refused.
Although torn, Chandra felt the weight of the responsibility she carried. She might wish otherwise, but she was her father’s daughter. She would do naught but face her obligations squarely. Her clan abounded with unrest. As its leader, she had to somehow suppress the impending revolt, dissolve the factions, and bring peace and unity to Lochlaigh again. In order to carry out such a task, she had to remain here. Until it was done, Aleck could not learn of her suspected pregnancy. It was a secret she must keep unto herself.
She pictured Aleck lying on the cot in the dreary little cottage, his face pale, his head caked with blood, and her heart compressed. Worry over his condition escalated inside her. Pray that he survived, she thought, wanting to be able eventually to share her secret with him, wanting to be held in his arms again. The revelation had taken a long time in coming, but she now knew, fully, completely, that she loved him—loved more than her own life!—her handsome lord of legend. Duty decreed that she remain loyal to her clan, but if even one of them sought to harm her husband, she would quickly fell him. Already Cedric’s existence held little worth. He would pay for his offense, and soon.
She entered the gate, vowing to protect Aleck. Tenaciously—even unto her last breath—she would keep him safe. Tonight, when everyone was abed, she’d escape the castle and hasten to his side, staying with him until dawn. He must live, she thought. He must! For without him, her life would be meaningless.
From the battlement, Cedric watched his niece walk toward the doors of the great hall. In his estimation, she seemed changed. The look in her eyes and the expression on her face had told him when she’d returned from England that she was no longer a girl. She possessed a woman’s quality, one that attracted a man’s attention. Ever astute, he’d concluded she’d lain with the bastard who’d abducted her, the one who now rested at the bottom of the ravine. Soon she would join her lover—but before she did, Cedric thought he might enjoy the Sassenach’s leavings.
Disavowing that she was any longer his kinswoman, he intended to torment and misuse her. After marking her with his own seed, he’d cut her throat and toss her atop the bloated remnants of the man she obviously loved. Traitor that she was she deserved no less—the English bitch! And then Cedric would be the clan’s new leader—The Morgan of Morgan.
Well after everyone was abed, Chandra crept from her quarters, down the stairs, and out into the inner ward. She was thankful that no moon shone tonight. Gaining the north tower unseen, she opened the old door and edged her way through the dark cellars. She gingerly felt along the shelves, her fingers avoiding the slice of splinters. Finding the right one, she pushed against it; the panel opened, and she slipped through onto the stairs. Without benefit of light, she slowly wound her way down the narrow stones. Then she was out the lower door, past the boulders and shrubs, down the hill and across the clearing, into the wood.
At first she was confident she knew the way, but as she wended deeper into the wood, she grew less assured. Sticks snapped beneath her feet, while low-lying branches snagged her hair and struck her face. The night creatures fell quiet at her noisy approach. Soon the woodland became a black den of stillness. Much like the grave, she thought, the pounding of her heart the only sound she heard.
After ten minutes, Chandra realized she was hopelessly lost. In the moonless dark, she could see no farther than a few feet. Keep calm, she told herself, feeling the first dregs of hysteria churning upward from the depths of her stomach. If they reached her throat, she knew she would scream. Taking a deep breath, she remembered the small burn that she and Owen had crossed. A fallen tree bridged the stream. Were she to find it, she’d be only a few hundred yards from the cottage.
Trapped in the eerie silence, Chandra’s ears had grown quite sensitive. Like stiff taffeta, fallen leaves rustled on the forest floor; a twig popped, sounding like a gun’s report. Something was close behind her. A wild boar? Then she thought of Cedric. Dear God. Anything but him.
She ordered her feet to run, but they were frozen to the path. A hand fell upon her shoulder, and Chandra nearly leapt from her skin. With a soft cry, she spun around. “Owen,” she breathed on a relieved sigh, “you nearly frightened me to death.”
In the dim light, his teeth flashed white. It was the first smile she’d ever seen from him. Then he took her hand and led her through the wood. This time, Chandra paid close attention to the landmarks they passed. A jutting boulder, a gnarled, pine, the gentle burn with the fallen log—all would lead her to the cottage. At dawn, she would again have Owen show her the way, marking each step she took. For Aleck’s sake, she couldn’t afford to become lost again.
They stood at the cottage door. “How is he?” she asked, needing to know before she entered. Seeing Owen’s firm nod, her heart quieted and her nerves calmed; slowly she stole through the opening. A small candle burned atop a stool set close to the cot. His head turned away from her, Aleck appeared as though he’d not moved since she’d last seen him. “Has he awakened at all?” she asked Owen.
He shook his head, and his dark auburn tresses, wild and tangled, bobbed about his head; his deep blue eyes looked downward, staring at his bare feet. Chandra’s hand touched his arm, and he looked up.
“You have done well, Owen. Had it not been for you, my husband would now be dead.” Chandra’s brow wrinkled. “You saw him with me that day above the loch. That is why you came to me, isn’t it?”
Owen nodded.
“He will be pleased that you remembered,” she said. A peat fire burned low in the old fireplace, and Chandra glimpsed a kettle of water resting near it. She asked, “Has the water been boiled?” He affirmed that it had been. “Then bring it nigh, so I may cleanse his wound. Afterward I shall stitch it up.”
Approaching the cot, Chandra noticed that the linen had been torn into strips, which were sitting atop a rickety table next to the ointment, herbs, and thread and needle. Everything appeared ready for the task that awaited her. Removing her plaid, she tossed it on the foot of the cot, then leaned over to see Aleck’s face.
Lips parted, his soft breath whispered lightly in
her ears. Long, black lashes lay against his lower lids. He slept still. “Love, I must attend your wound. There might be some pain, but I shall take care not to hurt you too much.” Lifting his head, she unwrapped the fresh bandage that Owen had applied. To her surprise, the deep gash had already been cleaned. Glancing at Owen, who stood behind her with the kettle, she smiled her appreciation. “I see you attended him well, Owen. Again, I thank you.”
With his free hand, Owen imitated the movement of sewing. Then he shrugged.
“Usually, but not always, women are better at sewing than men. Do not belittle yourself because you were not able to finish the task.”
After washing her hands with a crude bar of soap, which she’d given Owen long ago but doubted he used very often, she rinsed them with a dipper of cooled water from the kettle. She cleansed the wound again, then using her knife, its blade held over the candle’s flame then allowed to cool, she shaved a strip of hair from around the gash. Cleansing it yet again, she estimated the wound to be about three inches long. With needle and linen thread in hand, the former again held over the candle’s flame, she took a deep breath and set herself to sewing.
With each tiny stitch she made, hoping to prevent a hideous scar, Chandra swore the needle pierced her own skin. Her teeth bit into her lower lip and she constantly winced. To Owen, she appeared to be suffering acute pain. When the final stitch was cut and knotted, there being more than forty in all, Chandra breathed a sigh of relief. The needle set aside, her hands began to shake, her nerves finally giving way to the pressure she’d faced. Commanding them to behave, she applied the ointment and wrapped Aleck’s head with a fresh bandage. Finally she straightened and stretched, then kneaded the small of her back, trying to ease the ache that had settled there.
“You did well, love.”
Chandra froze; her heart seemed to stop. “Aleck?” she queried disbelievingly, her eyes riveted on him. He appeared to be still asleep.
His eyelashes fluttered, then his lids opened. Slowly he turned his head. “Aye. ’Tis me,” he said, his voice weak and hoarse. A faint smile crossed his lips.
“Oh, Aleck,” Chandra cried, falling to her knees. Her arms went around him as her cheek settled on his chest. “Thank God you’ve awakened.”
Feeling as if it were made of lead, his hand lifted from the bed and met her silky hair. “Aye. It’s been a long sleep.”
She felt his fingers awkwardly stroke her unbound tresses and thought of his first words. You did well, love. Hadn’t she uttered nearly the same phrase to Owen, but without the endearment? A frown marring her brow, she pulled back and stared at him. “Just how long ago did you awaken?”
“Time eludes me, but you had not yet stepped through the door.”
“But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t even move while I—while …”
Though his vision was clouded, even doubled at times, Aleck noted she’d grown quite pale. “While you stitched me up?” At her nod, he chuckled, then wished he hadn’t. His head felt as though it might explode. “Would you have done such an expert job had you known all along that I was awake?”
Her gaze fell away from his. “You let me believe you felt nothing just to make it easier on me.”
“And myself,” he said, then discerned her confusion. “’Twas my male vanity that kept me so still. By your skilled hand, the scar should be minimal. Were the thing to have ended up looking quite ugly, my wife might have left me again.”
Tears stung Chandra’s eyes as she thought about the problems she had created for him. Were it not for her, he’d not be lying here now. “Forgive me for causing you so much trouble,” she said, her trembling hand caressing his cheek. “You should not have come, Aleck. Especially alone.”
“’Twas impetuous, I know. But when Jason informed me that you’d escaped him, I could think of nothing but your safety. With no preparation, I came here, straightaway.”
“Poor Jason—I feared I had hit him too hard.” Seeing her husband’s raised brow, she elaborated: “He caught me just as I was about to slip through the gate. I had no choice but to set the axe handle to his neck. ’Twas a harsh blow I gave him. He is all right, isn’t he?”
“Other than a sore jaw to go along with his pained neck, he is probably fine.”
Light laughter bubbled from her throat. “He undoubtedly hates us both.”
“I’m certain he will stay far from us in the future—which is fine with me.”
“Do not blame him for what his father did.”
“He told you?”
“Aye—at our wedding feast. He suffers, just like you, for he, too, lost his father. He was little more than a boy, Aleck. What happened between his father and yours was not his fault. Whatever has happened between you and Jason since, try to mend your differences. He is, after all, your cousin.”
“I will think on it, but right now, it is your uncle who concerns me. He is dangerous, Chandra. The bastard waylaid me not far from Lochlaigh. Tomorrow, we must leave here. Should we stay, I fear what might happen to you.” He glanced around him. “How did I get here, anyway.”
“’Twas Owen.” She turned around, but the lad had disappeared. Looking back to Aleck, she noted his frown. “He is the one you thought was a poacher that day at the loch.”
“Aye. I heard you say that he saved my life and that he’d come for you. But I remember nothing after Cedric dropped from the tree.”
“Owen saw it all. He dragged you from the bottom of the ravine where Cedric had thrown you, and brought you here.”
Aleck had wondered why he ached all over. Now he knew. Then he saw his medallion appear as she pulled it from inside her tunic.
“He came to me with this,” she said.
She started to remove the chain from her neck, but Aleck stopped her. “For now, keep it with you.” He watched as the gold circle slipped back inside her tunic, then said of the cottage: “’Tis not the best of accommodations, is it?”
“No, but ’tis unfortunately where Owen prefers to live. Good befalls us, though, for Cedric knows nothing of this place. Not even I knew it existed.”
“’Tis a hovel, for certain,” he said, looking around him. “But this night, it is our haven.” At his movement, his head throbbed unbearably and the room seemed to spin. Damn! he thought, closing his eyes. He quickly opened them again, for he felt he’d twirl straight off the cot. He had to get control of his senses, fight off his dizziness and blurred vision, for on the morrow they must leave. He focused on Chandra’s face. “The lad should come with us,” he said, “for if Cedric discovers the boy’s part in rescuing me, he’ll be hunted down like a rabid dog. Tomorrow we go back to England.”
Chandra knew he could not travel—not for several more days. Not wanting to worry him, she changed the subject. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to London to see James? What made you hide the fact that my clan was in trouble? ’Twas unfair of you to keep it from me. I am its chief.”
“I had hoped to keep from happening exactly what has happened.” He saw the question in her eyes. “The moment you learned your clan was in danger, you bolted, Chandra. Had I told you, instead of Jason, it would have been me who nursed a sore neck. I know you. You are far more impetuous than I. My hope was to seek an audience with James and convince him not to react so strongly against all the Morgans. It was Cedric who incited them into their acts of aggression, he who provoked them into attacking their neighbors. It should be he who atones for the wrongdoing, not the entire clan. That is what I told our king.”
“And?”
“James agreed. His army is held in London. At present, your clan is safe. Cedric, however, will soon meet his fate.” If he does not meet his end first, Aleck thought. Were he ever to face Chandra’s uncle again, he’d kill the bastard! “If James’s plan comes to fruition, your uncle will live out his days in the Tower. Our king might seem foolish, but he is, in fact, most sly. Vindictive, too. Diplomacy was needed to change his mind—you realize James had planned to dest
roy the Morgans, don’t you?”
“I suspected such once I discovered what had been happening here at Lochlaigh. I have reminded them of the clan Oregor. For now, the raids have ceased.” She studied Aleck. “Did you not trust me to speak on my own behalf?”
“With so much at stake, emotions could play no part in negotiating with James, love. You were too close to the situation. In a moment of passion, desiring to protect those whom you love so dearly, you might have lost your temper or spoken out of turn. It would have boded ill for your family. That is why I did not tell you—why I went alone.”
Aleck was probably right to keep her from London. Her Scot’s temper might have clashed with the most notorious Scot of them all. Then she thought of Felicia Emory. She felt certain the lone reason for his trip south was to see James, but she had to be sure. “Was that the only reason you went to London—because of my clan?”
Aleck surveyed her. “No other reason existed. Why do you ask?”
Chandra drew a deep breath; her attention fell to her hands. “I found Lady Emory’s letter. The date atop was just a few days previous to your departure. Since your note did not state why you had left—only that a matter of great importance needed your immediate attention—I, uh, I assumed—”
“You assumed I had gone to London to be with her,” he finished. “Chandra, look at me.” She did. “It was Sir John’s letter that hastened me to London, not Felicia’s. I will not deny that she was once my mistress. Over the years, I have had several. But on the day I met you, any desire I might have had for Felicia—or any other woman, for that matter—met a sudden death. From the first moment I saw you, you have held my attention. ’Tis you whom I’ve desired, and you alone.” He sighed heavily. “I must tell you, while I was in London, Felicia did approach me. I turned her away. It is unlikely that she will ever trouble either of us again. Believe me when I say there is no one but you.”
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