by June Francis
‘He’ll be fine. All the Mackillins I’ve known have had hard heads.’
‘What of his wife?’
‘I’ve left her bound in one of the wagons and set a guard over her. Is it that yer wishing to see her now? She’s a bonny lassie. Who’s to know if we—?’
‘Nay! You will not touch her,’ snapped Malcolm. ‘Even if this night I hadn’t heard it from the king about her family’s wealth, I had it from her kinsman that she’s no common wench. I will demand from her guardian a ransom for her safe return.’
Wife! Were they talking about Cissie? Mackillin could remember sharing a bedchamber with her but had no recall of a wedding taking place. When had that happened? Somehow he had to free himself and rescue her.
‘Milburn had been of a mind to keep her for himself, but he paid for presuming that because she was a lass, she was weak. He was as dead as a doornail in the blink of an eye,’ said Jamie.
Brave lass, thought Mackillin, marvelling at her actions and wondering how Cissie had managed to kill her kinsman.
‘If she wasn’t worth a small fortune, I’d break her spirit,’ drawled Malcolm. ‘I’ll need to get rid of her, so my daughter can wed Mackillin, but we’ll get our hands on a ransom first.’
‘So what are yer planning on doing with him once he weds your daughter? Milburn said he killed his kinsman for love of this wench and he wanted him dead.’
‘I, too, had a brother, whose body I buried in St Albans,’ rasped the Armstrong. ‘But that had naught to do with him. Once he and Mary are married and there’s a child on the way, I’ll dispose of him because he’ll be less trouble dead. His mother and I would rather he had never returned once we got rid of his father and his half-brothers, but those I hired to kill him failed in their task, so we had to change our plans.’
Mackillin could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He had known his mother hated his father, but that she could be in league with this man to destroy her husband and his sons, including himself, shocked him to the core.
‘Why don’t you just take his land?’ asked Jamie.
‘Because there are others, such as the Douglases, who would fight me for it. Better to make it legal, then there’ll be no dispute over ownership. Mary will do as I tell her or suffer for it.’
Armstrong laughed in a way that infuriated Mackillin. He had to get free. Once he was, then he would cut their accused throats.
There was the sound of a chair being pushed back. ‘We ride for the Border at first light. Mackillin can go in the wagon with the wench and booty. Just make sure they’re tied up good and tight. Gag them, too. I don’t want them talking to each other.’
Mackillin knew he had to pretend to be still unconscious, so went limp, allowing himself to be carried to the wagon where they held Cissie a prisoner.
Cicely turned her head as the canvas flap of the covered wagon was lifted and her mouth went dry as she looked at the man standing outside in the torch light. He was short of stature, but had huge shoulders and long arms; his hair and beard were black. She trembled beneath his lecherous dark beady eyes and longed for Mackillin, praying he would find her.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded with more confidence than she felt.
‘Ma name’s Jamie Armstrong,’ he replied. ‘Mebbe yer’ve heard of us Armstrongs, lassie?’
She shook her head, but her heart was pounding with fear. She wondered if she had been abducted to lure her husband into a trap, so this man could kill him.
He thrust his face into hers. ‘Ye haven’t answered me, lassie. Perhaps Mackillin didna tell yer that he’s going to wed ma kinsman’s daughter? I wager he made yer all kinds of promises to lure ye into his bed?’
‘Then you’d be wrong,’ she said stoutly. ‘We were married before the king and queen of England and he will rescue me.’
Jamie grabbed her by the hair and she bit back a cry. ‘No, he won’t, lassie,’ he hissed. ‘He’s being brought here but he’s our prisoner and hasn’t woken yet from the blow the man you killed dealt him. Perhaps he never will.’
She bit back a cry. ‘Where is he? Let me see him.’
He laughed. ‘You’ll see him soon enough. If he dies—see it as a fit punishment on yer wicked ways. A lassie dressing as a laddie—now that’s a sinful thing to do.’
‘And what you do, is that not wicked? You have no right to hurt Mackillin or to abduct me in this fashion.’
The laughter faded from his eyes. ‘Just ye be thankful that yer kinsman told us yer worth more than half the booty we carry. Otherwise, I’d have to…’ He did not finish, but his grip on her hair tightened and he rubbed his beard against her face. ‘Who’s to say that we’ll hand you over once we’ve got our hands on your ransom?’
She felt a chill run down her spine and her mouth felt so dry that she could not speak. Jamie gave a humourless smile. ‘That’s shut you up.’ His dark eyes surveyed her and then he bent his head towards hers. She averted her face, but even so her empty stomach heaved, for his breath was foul. ‘You’ll pay for that later,’ he snapped, taking a narrow length of linen cloth and gagging her with it.
She retched and then managed a breath, watching him step aside with loathing in her eyes. Her expression altered as she saw a couple of men approaching, carrying the limp body of Mackillin. She wanted to cry out to him, but could only produce a strangled gasp and watch as they dumped him inside the wagon some distance away from her.
Mackillin waited until the men had gone before opening his eyes. His head throbbed, but he ignored the pain and peered about him. The light was dim, but he caught a muffled cry and his head swivelled in its direction. Then he saw Cicely and his heart lifted because she was staring straight at him; the relief in her blue orbs was such that he wondered what they had told her about him. She tried to speak, but he could not make out what she was trying to say. Even so he hazarded a guess that it was along the lines that she was glad to see him. He echoed her feelings, but would be happier if he could free them both soon. He needed something sharp. Surely amongst the booty stored in the wagon they might discover something to cut their bonds. But first he needed to rid them of their gags; they had to talk. He began to shuffle across the sacks, wincing as he jarred a knee on something square, one of its corners piercing the jute material of a sack.
The instant Cicely realised what he was doing, she attempted to throw herself towards him. She landed face down on something soft, but all the air was knocked out of her. For a moment she could not breathe, but before she could panic, a bristly chin nudged against the curve of hers and forced her head up. Mackillin’s nose brushed hers and they were almost eyeball to eyeball. Then he drew back a little in order for her to catch her breath.
A little calmer now, she watched Mackillin’s head loom towards hers. Then his parted lips were touching hers. It was a moment she would never forget for, despite the thrill of it, this was no simple kiss; somehow he managed to get his tongue out from beneath his gag and worm the fabric from her mouth and force it beneath her chin. Once that was done, it was so much easier for her to do the same for him, except she was able to use her teeth as well.
‘That was some feat,’ he murmured, before kissing her for real this time. It was of necessity not a long kiss, but even so she found it immensely satisfying. When they had to stop to draw breath, he whispered, ‘Now let’s see if we can find something to cut these bonds.’
She did not ask how they were to do that with their hands tied because he must surely know how difficult it would be without her saying so. They would just have to shuffle round and feel for a knife, or some such sharp implement; a piece of metal or glass that would do the trick. It was Cicely who found the chandelier half in, half out of a sack. Her fingers searched its metallic branches and discovered a design of what felt like fleur-de-lys, the points of which were sharp. ‘Mackillin, over here,’ she called in a low voice.
He did not hesitate, crawling towards her on his elbows and knees. She gripped his fingers and placed them on
one of the metallic flowers. ‘There’s several of these. They might do the trick.’
‘Well done, Cissie, let’s get weakening these cords.’
They wasted no time and, although it was not easy because the metal tore their skin, at last some of the strands of hair and wool parted. Mackillin managed to get his hands free first and immediately tore apart the cord binding Cicely’s wrists. She was aware of his sense of urgency as he bent over her legs and she bid him free himself first. He hesitated but she added, ‘It makes sense, Mackillin. You’re stronger than I am. If Armstrong was to come in the next few minutes, then it’s best you get to him first.’
He nodded and set about the task of undoing the knots securing his ankles. Cicely began the job of getting rid of the cord that bound hers, breaking several fingernails in the attempt. She was almost free when there came a lightening of the darkness outside. Then she heard galloping horses and the shouts of men. ‘I wonder what’s happening,’ she said, lifting her head.
‘It sounds like an attack on the camp,’ said Mackillin, alert.
They heard screams of pain and could see shadows moving outside. Suddenly there was a flash of light and a whooshing noise as the canvas roof of the wagon caught fire.
Chapter Thirteen
Cicely had no time to dwell on her fear because Mackillin seized her hand and dragged her to the rear opening. His arm went about her waist and he shouted, ‘Jump!’
They leapt out of the wagon and landed on the grass. Men were fighting nearby; as the two looked around, they could see more men grappling with each other in deadly combat. ‘What do we do?’ she asked, still on her knees on the ground.
‘I’d like to kill that cur who dared to touch you,’ muttered Mackillin, gazing about him.
Cicely had no argument with that, but thought it might be sensible to try to escape and said so. Mackillin nodded vaguely and gazed about him. Then he began to crawl swiftly through the damp grass in the direction of another wagon. She wasted no time in following him and soon saw the reason why he was heading in that direction. A shadowy, squat figure was backing a horse between the shafts of the wagon. By the light of the fires and torches she recognised Jamie Armstrong.
‘You have no weapon,’ she whispered.
Mackillin made no sign of having heard her, but rose to his feet and dove in through the rear opening in the canvas hood, just as the wheels rumbled into motion. She followed him and did not waste time asking what he planned on doing. He reached out for her hand and raised it to his lips, before releasing it and crawling towards the front of the wagon.
She held her breath, scarcely able to make out his outline. Her fear for him was a tightness in her chest as she listened to the struggle taking place beyond her reach. There was a gurgling noise and the sound of something falling. Then Mackillin called to her. She was filled with thankfulness and hurried towards him. He had taken hold of the reins and she had almost reached him when a voice shouted, ‘Where do you think you’re going? Stop immediately!’
‘Is that you, Harry?’ called Mackillin in amazement.
‘Rory, by all that’s holy!’ exclaimed the man on a large horse, carrying a flaming torch. ‘We’ve been looking for you. One of my men called at the house and found two dead bodies. Then it was discovered you and your lady wife were missing. Afterwards I learnt that Armstrong and his kin were also missing, so I became a mite suspicious.’
Mackillin felt a peculiar leap of the heart. ‘My lady wife,’ he murmured. ‘So it’s true.’
‘Aye. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already that you were wed at the king’s bidding?’ said his kinsman, smiling.
Mackillin glanced sidelong at Cicely and said softly, ‘How could I forget?’
She did not speak, but only gazed at him, thankful that they were both still alive. Then Harry cleared his throat as the wagon was surrounded by horsemen. ‘Time to get on the move,’ he said.
‘I presume these are your men, Harry?’
‘Aye, although when I couldn’t find you at first I thought I’d made a mistake. Then Jonah here spotted this wagon trundling away.’
Mackillin’s smile was grim as he said, ‘I appreciate your help. Armstrong’s plan was to ransom Cissie and eventually to dispose of us both.’ He decided to keep quiet about his mother’s part in his father’s and half-brothers’ deaths, but still felt sick and angry about it.
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me,’ drawled Northumberland. ‘What of your wife’s kinsman?’
Cicely decided to say her piece and leaned forward the better to see his Grace. ‘I killed him with the hackbut which Husthwaite sought to kill Mackillin with.’
His Grace looked startled. ‘You killed a man? God’s blood, Rory, it seems you have chosen the right woman to stand alongside you in your Border domain. But tell me, who is this Husthwaite person?’
‘He was a wily, sly cur who would have robbed my lady and her brothers of their inheritance but he, too, is no longer with us.’
The earl grinned. ‘Then not a man to worry about. I wonder that you need my help at all when the pair of you are so able.’
Mackillin felt a swell of pride that his sweet Cissie should have won such praise from his kinsman. Since their first meeting, her courage had never been in doubt, but he was amazed that her nerve had not failed when confronted by her kinsman and the black-hearted Jamie Armstrong. It proved to him just how level-headed and resourceful she was and—as Harry had stated—a fitting bride for him.
‘Tell me, Harry, have you captured Malcolm Armstrong yet?’
Instantly the earl’s visage showed chagrin in the light of the coming dawn. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, Rory, but in the confusion he seems to have escaped. Possibly some of his men might have, too.’
Mackillin frowned. ‘That’s bad news, but it can’t be helped.’
‘No doubt he’ll head north.’
‘Which means I cannot waste any time, but must return to Killin,’ said Mackillin, his expression grim.
The earl agreed. ‘He won’t have got far. I’ll have some of my men make a search for him, but they might not find him. He’s a cunning devil. I don’t intend waiting for them to find him, but will continue north without delay. Will you ride with us?’
‘Aye. As soon as I can find a horse.’
‘You should have no trouble doing so as some have lost their masters.’
Mackillin climbed down from the wagon before helping Cicely to the ground. The earl excused himself and left Mackillin and his lady alone. Lacking a cloak or surcoat, Cicely shivered in the icy breeze. Mackillin drew her against him. ‘Are you cold, lass?’
‘Aye,’ she murmured, snuggling against him. ‘I confess I am a little weary, too.’
‘Not surprising considering what you’ve been through in the last few days. I suggest we share a horse—at least for the first stage of the journey. We can keep each other warm and you can rest against me.’
She greeted his suggestion with relief. ‘Thank you, my lord. I confess to fearing that I might have shamed you by trailing behind and even dropping asleep in the saddle and falling from my horse.’
He smiled and ran a gentle finger down her cheek. ‘I don’t believe it. You are an excellent horsewoman. Besides, do you really think I would allow you out of my sight after all we have been through, my lady?’
Cicely felt a happy glow flood her being. ‘It sounds so strange you addressing me so.’
‘Aye, but it is true that you are my lady. I would have preferred our wedding night to be different, but, alas, even now our coupling will have to wait,’ he said ruefully, ‘but I promise you when the time comes…’ He did not finish, but pressed his lips against hers in a long, sweet kiss. Then he took her hand. ‘Let’s go and find a mount suitable for our needs.’
It did not take them long to find such a horse: a grey stallion, broad in the chest and built for endurance. Mackillin lifted Cicely up on to the saddle and then climbed up behind her. She revelled in his closeness, wa
tching his strong fingers take hold of the reins. Aware of the familiar scent of him, underlying the smell of dried blood, she remembered that it was not so long ago that he had been lying unconscious after being hit over the head by her kinsman. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the thought that he could have been killed and tears slid silently down her cheeks.
One of his arms tightened about her. ‘Why do you weep?’ he murmured against her ear.
‘No reason,’ she said hastily, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.
‘Of course there is a reason. Tell me the truth. We must have no secrets between us. Have you changed your mind about being my wife because you fear living in the Borders? Or have you remembered that you once wanted to marry Diccon?’
She thought he sounded anxious, so was swift to reassure him. ‘Neither. I cry because I am relieved we have passed through extreme danger together and survived.’
Mackillin kissed the top of her head. ‘Thank God the Armstrongs made the mistake of putting us together.’
‘He underestimated your strength,’ she said.
‘And your cleverness.’ He felt proud of possessing a wife who was not only comely, but courageous and clever, too. ‘I know you will miss your brothers and your home, but pray God we will be able to visit them in the future. I’m of the mind that Jack should come and stay at my house in Kirkcudbright in the near future. I will introduce him to my master mariner and he can travel to Europe in my ship.’
Cicely was touched by his thoughtfulness. She considered it an excellent idea and said so, adding, ‘I’m sure Owain will agree to it once he receives your courier, although he will not know that we are wed.’
‘He was firmly of the opinion we should marry.’
‘You broached the subject.’
‘Aye. And as soon as possible I will send a messenger to inform Owain of our latest news.’