Highland Treasure

by Mary McCall

  Leonce's cheek twitched. “Do you seek to increase your crimes by warring wits with me, wife?"

  "'Tis a poor opinion you must have of your wife, if you think she would battle brains with an unarmed warrior."

  Another gasp rushed about the hall.

  "You are never to insult or contradict me."

  "In a pig's eye!"

  "What!"

  Hope settled her hands on her hips. “I will insult and contradict you whenever I want. If you do not like it, we can cancel this marriage right now."

  His jaw clenched tighter, increasing his tic, and he balled his fists.

  Hope moved closer and rose on her toes, getting within inches of his face. “You have a problem with that cheek. Want me to mix you a nerve potion and see if it will make the cursed spasm go away?"

  "I do not need a potion, and you would do well to know when you see that tic that I am—” He broke off before he said the word “dangerous” and wiped a hand over his face, muttering, “God Almighty!"

  "Well, ‘tis no wonder you have a tic,” Hope said sardonically. “You obviously think you have all of creation to run and not just the one clan."

  "Aneuch!” Leonce took a step backward, bridling his temper. “You are unused to our ways, so I will be patient. Go to our chamber and calm yourself. Later you may beg my forgiveness."

  "It will be a hot winter in the High—"

  "How did you kill it, Lady MacPherson?” Bowyn called.

  Hope grimaced. Rigidly turning toward the rear door, she dropped a mask of cool serenity over her face and looked at the warrior. “Pardon me?"

  "There is no wound. How did you kill it?"

  She raised a mocking brow and put a perfect burr into her voice. “I told the wee beastie if he hurt me, The Roarin’ MacPherson would bloody well come after him. The poor pig took a fright and fell down dead."

  "Your back, Lady Sass, will be healed in one week, and if you threaten me with canceling this marriage again, I'll consider you miraculously cured.” Leonce's expression softened.

  Cassie broke away from the hand Ian had placed over her mouth when the arguing began and called out to Bowyn. “'Twill be a wound in the boar's left eye.” She turned sparkling eyes toward Hope. “Put there by the finest archer ever to grace the Highlands."

  "Cassie?” Hope whispered in surprise.

  Cassie flew across the room and embraced her friend. “Oh Lord, Hope, I thought I would never see you again."

  Hope stiffened. Cassie pulled away and glared at Leonce.

  "Did you beat her!” She looked back at Hope. “Did he beat you? So help me—"

  Hope placed a hand on Cassie's arm. “'Twas the baron, but I'm better."

  "The brute,” Cassie fumed. “I'm glad you're away from him."

  "Oh, Cassie, I'm so glad you're here. I have missed you, and I..."

  Ian moved to stand behind Cassie. The giant stood a few inches shorter than Leonce. He had a thatch of fiery hair and a massive chest. He looked mean as a bear and too much man for her tiny friend.

  Hope scowled. “Is that hulkin’ ogre good to you, Cassie, or should I kill him?"

  A delicate blush tinted Cassie's elfin features. “My husband's name is Ian Fraser. He is also my chief and treats me well."

  "Is your wife speaking of killing me, Leonce?” Ian addressed Leonce above the pair's head.

  "Aye.” Leonce nodded. “I'll ask your pardon, because I believe she is insulting you too."

  "There truly is a wound in the boar's left eye!” Bowyn cried as he rushed in and stared at Hope in admiration.

  Cassie and Hope snorted simultaneously, then looked at each other and giggled.

  "Oh Lord, Hope. I can see why you sent me the red ribbon. The MacPherson is going to beat you to death if you keep yelling at him like that."

  "He'll not beat me. He promised, or I would be dead and not married to him. And ‘twas a purple ribbon I sent."

  "'Twas red. See?” Cassie pulled the old, faded ribbon from her pocket.

  "This is red.” Hope held up the end of her whip where the many other-hued ribbons hung and gripped a scarlet one. “That is purple."

  "'Tis a different color of red,” Cassie countered.

  "Look at this, Lion. Tell Cassie ‘tis purple.” Hope took one end of the strip in Cassie's hand and held it toward Leonce, who appeared amazed she sought his agreement with anything.

  "Nay. He is your husband, so he has to agree with you.” Cassie tugged the ribbon toward her husband. “Ian, tell her ‘tis red."

  Hope shook her head. “He will just say you're right. We'll find Bertie."

  Ian raised his gaze to heaven. “The ribbon is pink, and husbands do not have to agree with their wives. What difference does the color of a ribbon make anyway?"

  Both women stared at Ian as if he was missing his brain.

  "A bloody big difference. If Harry takes Cassie a purple ribbon, it means I want a visit and ‘tis safe to come. A red one means I'm in danger or hurt and need help. ‘Twould be cruel to send a red one and scare her if ‘twas not necessary."

  "How does she find you, Hope?” Leonce asked.

  "Harry guides me,” Cassie replied.

  Leonce looked at Ian, seeking sanity. “Did this Harry come with you? I wish to meet him."

  Hope cupped her mouth with one hand and released a high-pitched screech. Everyone jumped except Cassie.

  "What was that for?” Leonce asked, rubbing the ear closest to her.

  "You said you wished to meet Harry, so I called him."

  The giant eagle soared into the hall from an upper window and circled the gathering, landing only when Hope held up her unclad arm.

  "Be careful, Hope. He'll cut you."

  "Nay, my friend would never harm me, would you, my fierce warrior?” The eagle nuzzled his head against her cheek. “Come, my friend. You must meet The Lion. Harry, this is our chief. He does not beat me or hunt eagles. Hold your palm outward, MacPherson, so Harry can see you have no weapon. When he stretches out his neck, stroke his chest with the back of your fingers.” As Leonce followed her directions, Harry warbled. “Remember his plaid, Harry. This is home now."

  "You think to harbor a killer bird in your keep, Leonce?” Ian asked.

  Hope stared at Ian. “Harry is not just a bird. He is a magnificent, mighty warrior with strength, cunning, speed and loyalty. He only kills if he is hungry, or if I ask him to."

  "He will take the lambs and upset the shepherds, Hope. And he cannot stay inside the keep,” Leonce said in a reasonable tone.

  "Harry, no lambkins. We will find a cave for you and Diable to stay in. And no chickens or piglets either.” Harry hopped to her shoulder, wrapped a huge wing around her head, and nuzzled her cheek. She raised anxious eyes. “He agreed, MacPherson. You'll not let anyone harm my friend, please."

  Leonce cocked a brow. “I'll help you find a cave for your friends.” He grinned. “Mayhap on Fraser land."

  Ian grunted. “'Twould start a feud."

  "You bloody well will not feud with my lion,” Hope bellowed.

  "Calm down, Hope.” Leonce placed a restraining hand on her arm.

  "Not until he agrees. Cassie is my friend. I've not seen her for over two years because he stole her. If he feuds with us, I'll go raiding and steal her back."

  "We are not going to feud, and Harry can stay around here."

  "Lord, Hope, you look worse than the last time I saw you."

  Hope stiffened and noticed Leonce surveying her tattered gown, dirty bare feet and soiled hands. Her cheeks burned. She knew she appeared worse than the lowest beggar. “Cannot wear finery to go hunting. Harry, go on. I'll see you soon.” As the eagle flew off, Hope smiled at Cassie. “I must tend to some important mending. Then we can talk."

  Cassie's brows drew with concern. “Do you need help?"

  "Nay. I would rather you explained to The MacPherson about his mistake in marrying me.” Hope slung her bow over her shoulder and walked over to a nearby table whe
re some warriors sat watching the proceedings. She picked up a flagon of whisky and started toward the stairs.

  "Oh Lord! ‘Tis the...the...” Cassie exclaimed.

  Hope followed her friend's gaze toward Justice and snorted. “'Tis a great sword."

  "'Tis the great sword. The baron will come after you and try to beat the Scot blood out of you again,” Cassie chided.

  "Think I don't know?” Hope smirked. “I tossed extra bait just to be sure."

  "Oh Lord, what did you do?"

  "Old Elda's secret recipe. I tripled it."

  Cassie chuckled. “'Tis fitting, but now I think he'll come to kill you instead."

  "One can only hope he will try.” Hope released an exaggerated sigh and resumed her rigid pace toward the stairs.

  "Where do you think you are going with those spirits, wife?"

  Shoulders back and head high, Hope faced Leonce with a condescending mien. “To our chamber, husband. As a woman forced to sleep next to a man the size of her horse, what you call spirits, I call liquid fortitude.” She turned around and regally ascended the steps, calling over her shoulder, “Get rid of the cursed traps, MacPherson. ‘Twould bloody well please me."

  Every person in the hall stared in shocked silence as Hope mounted the stairway, majestic as a ruling queen.

  * * * *

  When the sound of a door slamming echoed below, Ian turned toward Leonce with an amused grin. “Your woman has some mouth."

  As stunned as everyone else by her audacity, Leonce voiced his thoughts to the room at large. “I think my lady wants me to beat her. Why is she so obsessed with the traps?"

  "When Hope first fled into the woods, her father hunted her.” Cassie spoke softly, gazing at the stairs. “She kept eluding him, so the baron put out traps. Hope got caught in one."

  "Hell, Cass, this baron sounds worse than your damn uncle,” Ian said.

  "He is. He caught me by my braid once when I sneaked over to visit Hope. He took a whip to me because I wouldn't tell him where she was. I don't think I stopped crying or lay down for a week, and he used to do that to Hope all the time. ‘Twas why I cut off my hair. Hope never would let me cut hers, though. She said it kept her warm in the winter months."

  Cassie rubbed her hands over her upper arms as if warding off a chill. “If you can imagine all the evil in the world rolled into one man, that is Baron Nevilles. Hope would have died in that trap if old Elda hadn't found her. When the baron found out about their friendship three years ago, he killed Elda. Hope blames herself."

  "What was the recipe she spoke of?” Leonce asked.

  A blush swept over Cassie's cheeks. She pulled Ian down so she could whisper in his ear. “A secret potion for overly lusty husbands who will not leave their wives alone after difficult births. If Hope tripled it, the effects will be permanent."

  Ian threw back his head and laughed. Then he grinned at Leonce, who had overheard and struggled to suppress his own mirth. “Let's just say the baron will never have a need for carnal pursuits again."

  Warriors throughout the hall winced and clutched their crotches.

  "He will definitely come for the lass,” Aonghus predicted.

  "Aye, Aonghus. We'll be ready,” Leonce vowed.

  "We'll be with you, MacPherson."

  Hearing his old friend address him by his title, Leonce noticed Ian's possessive stance of a hand on Cassie's shoulder. “Aye, Fraser. You're welcome."

  The two lairds nodded, and the pact was set.

  "I pray you'll forgive my presumption, MacPherson, and grant what I ask of you now,” Cassie said. “Be patient. The crude speech Hope learned from her father is the least of her flaws, but I love her dearly and would rather she not kill herself."

  "I'll not allow it.” Leonce crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  Cassie continued as if he had not spoken. “'Tis all right for now. For some reason, Hope has set her mind on giving the marriage a chance."

  "Hell, Cass. She practically begged him to beat her,” Ian pointed out.

  Cassie stared toward the stairs. “Hope told me once that she never shows pain or fear because her father enjoyed beating her more if she did. I have always admired her ability to handle extreme fright and agony without people knowing. But I know her better than most. She rages first because she's been bested. Then she gets rigid and...sassy. Sometimes she drops a mask of tranquility over her face that nothing can penetrate. I have a grave concern at the moment, MacPherson."

  Cassie finally faced Leonce, and he raised a brow.

  "Hope does not drink whisky. We heard her scream. She was harping on about the traps."

  A cold chill swept though Leonce as her words began to sink in.

  "Leonce, Hope may wring my neck for telling you this, but she cannot sew a straight seam in a garment to save her life. She is, however, very skilled with stitches of the skin."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twelve

  * * * *

  Leonce threw open the door and was assailed by the aroma of whisky spiriting about the chamber. Hope sat upon a pelt by the hearth, where a small fire burned, leaning forward with a needle in her right hand. Her left hand held together an angry gash about one finger long just below her right midcalf. A linen cloth under her leg protected the pelt, and two bowls of bloody water rested on the floor beside her. A discarded strip from her hem that had served as a makeshift bandage littered the floor on her opposite side, along with a small open case containing a number of linen sleeves and jars.

  Leonce crossed the room in three angry strides and knelt beside her. “Wee fool! Why did you not tell me?"

  "Surely I got it cleaned good. I do not want a fever. I'm too weak for another now.” Her voice sounded dazed, and her gaze remained on the wound. Her hand holding the needle hovered over the laceration. Then she pulled back, and her brow puckered. “Is that not strange? I know this must be done, but I cannot bring myself to do it."

  Leonce moved her hand away. The wound gaped open. He wondered at her placid expression and absence of tears, for the pain must be severe. “This does need sewing. I will ask Freya if she can manage. Our healer died this past winter."

  "Cassie can do it. I taught her,” she said in the same hollow voice.

  "I'll ask her then.” Leonce hesitated, recalling Cassie's words about Hope hiding her pain because her father so enjoyed inflicting it. He nudged up her chin until she met his gaze. “I do not enjoy your suffering, Hope. Trust me. Tell me if anything pains you so I can help you."

  Her lips quivered, and she dropped her gaze. He realized a lifetime of abuse had raised barriers of distrust. She wouldn't easily lower her guard. “I'll return soon with your friend."

  * * * *

  As the door closed, Hope raised shaky fingers to her brow. He surely regretted their marriage after her spectacle in the hall. Now he would think her useless, because she couldn't stitch a simple wound. All of her earlier resolve to make Leonce love her crumbled. What should she do?

  Manners were the least of her worries. Too many people lived here, and she couldn't guard her every side. Staying here bloody well wouldn't work. Cassie couldn't help. Her husband didn't appear the type who took in runaway wives.

  Zounds! She was too weary to deal with this. Mayhap in a few days she would feel more rested, and sorting out her situation would seem less troublesome. At least she was warm and safe from her cursed father. The buggerin’ boar shouldn't come after her for some time.

  Leonce seemed sincere when he'd said he didn't want her suffering. Mayhap if she knew him better she could ask his patience while she got used to being around people again. But right now he was the one she feared most.

  He held an unbending mastery over her that started the moment his intense gaze coerced the response from her lips.

  How had he done that? With one look, he had also stripped away her confidence. He was so big that, unless her fury took over, she felt timid, which was totally unlike her. Yet at the s
ame time, she wanted him to kiss her.

  Zounds! Mayhap she was a cursed wanton!

  The door opened. Leonce ushered Cassie inside, and she rushed to Hope. “Good Lord, why did you not let me come up when I offered?"

  "I'll put her on the bed. ‘Twill be easier to hold her down.” Leonce crossed the room toward Hope.

  She stiffened and averted her face. She couldn't let him see how his control affected her. Men used such emotions against women.

  "Nay, MacPherson,” Cassie said. “Please let Hope stay where she is. She will not move."

  "I'll not have her injure herself further by fighting the needle."

  "She'll not fight. She is made from tougher stock than that.” Cassie knelt on the pelt and inspected the deep cut.

  "'Tis ridiculous I cannot do it, Cassie. I do not know what is wrong with me."

  Cassie prodded the wound. “You're exhausted. At least ‘tis a clean wound and does not look as bad as the last time. ‘Twill only take a few stitches, ten at the most."

  "A fallen branch got caught in the trap and kept it from closing all the way. I'm still reeling because my shot didn't go wide."

  Cassie gasped. “You were in the trap when you let fly your arrow?"

  Hope nodded. “'Twas not until the trap closed that the beast knew I was there. Then he charged, and I fell. I do not even remember releasing the string."

  Leonce sucked in a breath, and Cassie tried to pry open Hope's clutched fist. “You will have to give Lady Fraser the needle, Hope."

  She looked at her hand. Swallowing hard, she relaxed her tense fingers, and Cassie took the needle and thread.

  Freya entered, carrying a tray laden with clean bowls and linens. Aonghus followed, set down a pail of fresh water, then left.

  The housekeeper paused by the hearth. “Lady Fraser, I would like to help if you need any assistance."

  "'Twould help if you put water into one of those bowls, then tear a strip of linen and roll it."

  As Freya set about her tasks, Cassie strained a small amount of whisky into a bowl and dropped in the needle and thread. Then she folded some of the linens into neat pads. Leonce settled on the floor behind Hope and slipped an arm around her waist.