The Warrior Bride

by Lois Greiman

  He looked at her closely. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “Perhaps I have been blind to what is right before my very eyes. Ride with me, Lady Rhona.”

  “I had planned to talk to your daughters.”

  “Perhaps now would not be the best time. Besides, my sister has things well in hand. Indeed, I have rarely seen her so angry as she was last night.”

  “So she spoke to Colette too.”

  “Aye, we both did.”

  “What did she say?” Rhona asked. “The same that she told me.”

  She said nothing, but perhaps he saw her anger. “Sometimes I think you are not so mild as you seem, sweet Rhona,” he said.

  “She struck your daughter,” she said.

  “Are you so certain the girl does not harm herself?”

  “Aye, I am.”

  “Very well then,” he said, and nodded. ”Then you have my word, if the girl shows new bruises, I will relieve Colette of her duties.”

  ”Thank you, my lord.”

  He smiled. “Come then,” he said. “I will teach you much about my children’s former years. Colette’s departure will only increase your responsibility. I will arm you jot the challenge.”

  She was tempted to refuse, but her mission loomed. large in her mind, and in the end, she knew what she» must do.

  Although she had not expected it, the day was not completely unpleasant. They rode together down the winding avenue of the open countryside. The weather was fine with a scattering of clouds overhead and the lightest of breezes from the southwest. The field maple and beech trees were showing the first signs of yellow in their uppermost leaves and a hint of autumn brightened the air.

  The fair was good-sized, brightly colored and noisy.

  Seated on his cloak in verdant grasses, a troubadour played a vielle. The copper wires shone in the sunlight and on his golden hair. Across the way a fishmonger hawked his wares while his wife shooed off a beggar.

  For the most part, Lord Robert ignored it all, but when Rhona stopped to admire a small leather purse, he purchased it without hesitation and handed it to her with a bow.

  “Nay, I cannot accept it,” she said with sincerity, but he laughed away her objection and they continued on.

  By nightfall, her emotions were in a strange tangle.

  She had not come here to enjoy herself. Hardly that, but during the day she had learned a good deal about the girls’ formative years. It seemed Lorna was not a doting mother, and Catherine had sorely missed the lack of maternal attention. Lord Robert was oft busy elsewhere and had had little time to see to their needs himself.

  ‘Twas a sad tale, and one close to Rhona’s heart, but when she inquired about the girls’ well-being that day, she learned they had eaten well. Still, she felt it necessary to check on them herself. Edwina was fast asleep, breathing softly through parted lips. Crossing the hall, Rhona found that Catherine’s room remained unlocked. A spark of hope lit her heart. Hanging her lantern in the hall, she opened the door and pattered quietly to the girl’s bedside. Catherine lay on her side, her lean face shadowed, her eyes closed, looking small and pale and lonely.

  Strange emotions twined through Rhona, feelings she was not accustomed to, feelings she had no place for. Nay, not she, for she had deeds to do and little enough time to do them.

  Who had written the letters to the marquis? What did they mean? Was evil truly bent on Evermyst, and if so, from what quarter? Were the fierce Munros involved? And how did the king figure into things? She was certain Lord Robert harbored some sympathy for King Henry of England, but was he bold enough to plan King James ill?

  Her mind in a jumble, Rhona crossed the chamber and shut the door quietly behind her. At least she had done some little good here, she thought, for the girls looked undisturbed.

  Her own room was empty and quiet. Stripping off her gown and undergarments, she slipped into her night rail and crawled into bed. Despite everything, she soon found sleep.

  Laughter filled the lofty hall. Even Grandmother seemed content this night, for there were no whisperings, no drafts, only a feeling of contentment. Before the huge, open hearth, a wispy lass played chess with her uncle. Her hair gleamed red gold in the firelight.

  “Check and mate,” said the Highlander.

  Her tiny mouth fell open. Her solemn eyes were wide.

  “You cheat!” she said, and he laughed as he left his stool and scooped her high into the air.

  “Not [,” he argued. “I would never. Ask your father.” “Da, your brother cheats,” she accused.

  Lachlan ‘s eyes gleamed and his lips lingered on Rhona’s for just a second longer before he rose to his feet. His hair shone like sable in the candlelight as he crossed the hall and took the child from her uncle’s arms.

  “Aye,” he said, “that he does, wee Catherine.”

  “So you have returned.”

  Rhona awoke with a start, grappling for her dirk as she searched the room for the source of the voice, but she already knew who had breached her chamber.

  “MacGowan,” she said, and hoped her tone sounded casual. “Have you nothing better to do than climb me damned wall?”

  Her fire had dwindled to little more than embers, but its erratic light gilded his hair to an amber hue. He shrugged as he stepped toward her. The tam was gone, as was his foolish expression and his inarticulate accent. He looked large and solemn and more than a bit dangerous in the moonlit darkness. “I thought perhaps you had forgotten the lassies and would spend the night elsewhere with your fat marquis.”

  She shrugged. “Indeed,” she said, and faced him as he paced closer. “It was an enjoyable day. Lord Robert is quite good company.”

  “If you do not care that he abuses his children.”

  “In truth,” she said, and scowled at her own thoughts, “he talked of little but them this day. I think he cares for them a good deal.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  She was tired and cranky and fidgety, with a thousand worries running like wild bullocks through her head. “Aye he did,” she said, then hurried to add, “I’ll admit that he has been neglectful, but when I suggested that Catherine is being abused, he assured me he would see to it.”

  “So he didn’t know.”

  “Nay, he believed she was torturing herself. It seems she bears the blame for her mother’s death. Loma was not strong, and Catherine badly wished for a brother. The pregnancy was more than she could bear and-”

  He chuckled. The sound was low and humourless in the deep night.

  “You find something amusing, MacGowan?”

  “Amusing?” he growled. “Nay. Pathetic! The marquis spews his lies and you would walk through fire to believe him. You have been here but three days. Yet you know the truth.”

  “You think he will refuse to relieve Colette?”

  “Nay,” he said, “I think he will gladly let her go.”

  “Then- ”

  “For the maid does not share his bed. She sleeps with another.”

  She felt herself go pale. “So you would vouch for her because she spreads her legs for you?”

  His brows lowered. Anger rippled through the room. “‘Tis Reeves she spends her nights with.”

  “You- ” She halted. “Reeves? The humorless bailiff?”

  “Aye. Apparently not every lass is enamored with your ugly marquis’s grand title.”

  “Still…” Her mind was racing. “That hardly makes her innocent, Mac-”

  “She was with him all last night and she did not touch the girl this day. Of that I am certain.”

  “That is because Lord Robert warned her-” She stiffened. “What do you imply?”

  “Were you not so busy winning a fortune, you would know.”

  “Something happened to Catherine.”

  “Aye.”

  “But I checked on her.” Her voice was pale. “All is well.”

  “You are right, I suspect. After all, you are the warrior, callused and hard. A lassie’s blackened e
ye means little to you.”

  “Nay,” she whispered.

  He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “Call me a liar if you like, warrior, but the truth is in her face.”

  “Nay,” she whispered again and, swinging her feet to the floor, lit an iron lantern and rushed from the room.

  She swung the girl’s door wide and in that instant Catherine sat up and blinked against the light.

  But only one eye opened, for the other was swollen shut. Inflamed and blackened, it puffed away from her face in dark, ominous colors.

  The girl said nothing. Instead, she sat absolutely silent, her expression inscrutable.

  “Who did this to you?” Rhona growled. The child said nothing.

  “Did your father strike you? Tell me, Catherine, and I swear I’ll make it right.”

  Another second passed in silence, then she turned her back and lay down.

  Rhona stood frozen for some moments as her stomach roiled. Then, steadying her emotions, she pushed herself from the room and back down the hallway.

  Aye, she had a mission. Aye, it was of the utmost importance, and aye, she had tried to protect the children while maintaining her disguise.

  But she had failed. The child had suffered.

  Rage boiled like black tar inside her.

  Damn diplomacy!

  Chapter 23

  The lantern flame wavered as Rhona dropped it onto the floor. It hissed and went out, but she failed to notice, for she was already flinging open her trunk.

  “So you saw,” said MacGowan.

  She didn’t answer, but dug furiously to the bottom of the chest, tossing garments aside as she did so. She found them in a moment-her leather hose and dark tunic.

  “Lass.” His voice was less certain now. “What is your plan?”

  She was already tearing off her night rail.

  “Rhona!” he said and grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll tell you this much!” she hissed. “I am not being diplomatic.”

  “Don’t be foolish.”

  “Foolish!” she snarled and snatched her arm from his grasp. “‘Twas foolishness to wait so long.”

  “What are your plans?”

  She didn’t answer. Her hose were already in place. In a second she had slipped her tunic over her head and belted on her sword. She was once again Hunter the warrior. Hunter the man.

  “Rhona,” he said, and caught her arm again. “I’ll not let you do this.”

  “Won’t let me?” Her dirk was in her hand. It felt lovely and right and proper. “I go to find answers, MacGowan. Stop me now if you can, but know this, if they see you here you will ruin everything and the girl will suffer all the more.”

  He stared at her for the briefest moment, then backed away. She thrust her knife into her belt, crammed her helmet onto her head, and flew down the hall. In a moment she was at the marquis’s door.

  It sprang open beneath her hand. She charged inside, sword drawn, but the room was empty.

  She turned a circle, searching. He wasn’t there. Rage boiled anew as she leapt into the hall. Throwing open Lady Irvette’s door, she rushed inside.

  “Who struck the child?” she hissed.

  A low fire crackled in the hearth. A candelabra gleamed on the crossed swords above the bed. The baroness sat up. “Who’s there?” she asked, but her voice was neither mousy nor restrained, and her breasts gleamed bare in the firelight.

  “I’ll have answers,” Rhona growled. “Get out of this house!” ordered Irvette. “Who is it?” rasped the marquis.

  And in that instant, Rhona realized they were both there, together in bed. She stepped back a startled pace, but found her balance in an instant.

  “I am vengeance,” she growled, and sweeping her sword sideways, sliced the candles in two. They fell hissing to the floor, burning for an instant against the carpet. “Come for retribution for your sins.”

  “She seduced me,” whispered the marquis. “When we were yet children. I-”

  “Shut up, Robert!” ordered Irvette. She was crouched on the mattress now, wholly naked and making no attempt to cover her nudity. “You’re naught but a snivelling cur. Surrounded by tools of war, yet too weak to produce a single heir.”

  “‘Tis because we sin against nature,” he hissed. ”The devil has come.”

  Irvette laughed aloud. “There is no devil, you whimpering-”

  “Who struck the child?” Rhona snarled.

  “No one. She abuses herself,” whined the marquis, but Rhona swept her sword forward, slicing through the coverlet between them. Feathers littered the air like wind-tossed snowflakes. “‘Twas my sister! She did it!”

  “Damn your cowardice!” Irvette swore and leaping to her feet, tore a sword from the wall above the bed. Silver flashed in the moonlight. Pain ripped across Rhona’s arm. She jumped back, blade in hand.

  “Who are you?” snarled the baroness, and lunged again. Rhona leapt away, but Irvette came on, blade held high. She slashed out, but at the same moment, Rhona slammed her arm across the other’s hand. The sword clattered to the floor, and Rhona pressed her blade to the woman’s ribs.

  “Did you strike the girl?”

  “She is nothing! The bitch’s foul seed and better off dead. ‘Twill be myself that gives him an heir.”

  “Hear me!” Rhona warned. “And hear me good, for I’ll not say it twice. If ever again you lay a hand to the wee ones, it was cost you dear.”

  Irvette strangled a laugh and drew herself straighter.

  “I am Lady Norval, Baroness of Hanstone, and there is no devil, just as there is no God.”

  “Aye, there is a devil and you are his handmaiden, but you’ve tortured the girl for the last time.”

  “Now!” Irvette shrieked, and in that instant Rhona sensed a movement behind her. She spun about, but Lord Robert was already striking. His sword gleamed in the firelight, and then, like a falling demon, he crumbled to the floor. MacGowan loomed dark and hooded behind him. Rhona spun back toward Irvette, grabbing her by the throat and shoving her up against the wall.

  “Leave on the morrow and I will spare you.”

  The baroness clawed desperately at the warrior’s hands, but through the gauntlets, Rhona felt not the slightest twinge. Indeed, she smiled as she squeezed harder.

  “But if you stay, I swear by all that is holy, you will die bloody, and naught but hell awaits you.”

  Irvette’s eyes widened as she gasped for breath.

  Against the wall her face shown a pale blue. Perhaps it was naught but a trick of the moon.

  “What say you? Do you go or do you die?”

  “I go!” The words were rasped and painful.

  “And you’ll not touch the lassies again. Not so long as your soul walks this earth.”

  “Damn you-” she swore, but it was so simple now to tighten the pressure. She rasped for breath and struggled weakly. “Nay! Never.”

  It almost hurt to loosen her grip. In fact, Rhona held it a while longer. The baroness’s legs jerked, then went still.

  Rhona backed away, letting the body fall limply to the floor.

  “Irvette,” the marquis groaned from the floor.

  Rhona spun about. “‘Tis your fault as well!” she hissed.

  “Nay!”

  “Aye,” she said and, drawing her dirk, sent it quivering across his ear and into the floor beneath. Next time ‘twill be through your worthless skull!” she warned.

  A flash of white shifted her attention. Catherine stood in the doorway, her face was pale and her one good eye was wide with terror.

  The marquis twitched but did not rise. From a distant hallway, shouts were heard.

  “Go,” Lachlan ordered, but Rhona was caught in the girl’s stare. Footfalls rushed nearer.

  “Go!” Lachlan gritted again and grabbing her by the arm, pushed her toward the door. With one more glance at the girl, Rhona dashed down the hallway away from the footsteps. MacGowan followed, her cape billowing
like a dark cloud around his giant shoulders.

  A shout sounded from ahead. She turned wildly, searching for an escape route, but Lachlan grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into her own chamber.

  “Take off your clothes,” he ordered.

  Blood pumped like alcohol through Rhona s veins.

  Wrapping her hand about the back of his neck, she kissed him with hot passion.

  He dragged her closer still, crushing her lips with his before drawing abruptly back. “‘I’d gladly be your bloody spoils of war,” he growled, “but either you hide your warrior garb or your damned mission will fail.”

  She came back to reality with a jolt and realized the marquis was yelling. Footsteps were running in all directions. Doors slammed open and closed.

  She froze, listening intently, but his hands were already busy, snatching off her helmet, tearing off her tunic. She unlaced her hose and shoved them downwards.

  Lachlan grabbed her discarded night rail and whipped it over her head, pinning her arms to her sides before pivoting away. Her cape billowed about him.

  “What- ”

  “Shut up!” he ordered and bundling up her garments, tossed them out the window.

  Voices clambered in the hall. Lachlan leapt for the window, jumped to the sill and nodded.

  The plan burst in Rhona’s head and she screamed as she pushed her arms into her sleeves. Her door slammed open, and in that moment MacGowan soared from sight.

  Servants armed with candles and cutlery were pushed, quaking, into the room.

  “Where is he?” someone sputtered.

  “There! There!” she said and pointed shakily toward the window.

  One intrepid servant hurried forward. The rest hung back, barely guarding the marquis.

  ”There he goes!” rasped the brave one, and then others streamed forward with the marquis behind.

  “Seize him!” he shrieked.

  The servants milled and gasped and finally bustled from the room. The place fell silent.

  “What happened here?” rasped Lord Robert.

  “I was asleep, then I was awakened,” Rhona babbled and glanced shakily toward the window and away. “Big as a mountain he was, with black teeth and-”