by Mary McCall
"What is the fish for, milady?” Darach asked.
"I thought to tame it and make it a pet.” Hope snorted and folded her arms in front of her. “What do you think? ‘Tis my dinner."
"We have food at the camp if you're hungry,” Aonghus offered. “You did not have to fish."
"I am hungry for fish. And I'm not of a mind to endure your company while I eat, so go away.” She threw up one hand in irate dismissal.
"Now, lass, we cannot leave without you,” Aonghus instructed.
"I'm not going anywhere with you! I don't even want to look at you, so leave me.” Hope spat out the words in a condescending manner.
Marc held out his hands imploringly. “But, milady—"
"Do not call me your lady.” Her nostrils flared, and her hands settled on her hips. “I do not wish to be your lady."
"But—"
"Think I did not hear all of you laughing at me?"
"We never—” Darach began.
"Aye, you did. You laughed so hard you didn't realize I was there. I may not be the best wife for your chief, but I've enough pride not to subject myself to a bunch of horrid Highlanders who jest of me and do not want me in their clan. I'm bloody well used to not being wanted."
"Truly you mistake us,” Darach insisted.
"Never would we laugh at you. Why...you're our lady,” Marc said.
Hope favored the warriors with a dubious snort.
"They're right, lass,” Aonghus concurred. “We were enjoying a good jest at the expense of The MacCallister and our chief. ‘Tis an honor for us that we have one as bonnie and brave as you to call ours."
"Aye, not another clan in the hills can boast of a lady who can bring down a wolf, much less the grit to try,” Hulon said.
"Think me simpleminded? I saw the way Bowyn looked at me when we left the MacDougalls. ‘Twas shame I saw."
"And well the lad should feel ashamed,” Aonghus said righteously. “You left without protection on his watch."
Sapphire eyes narrowed to slits.
The elder added wisely, “Keeping in mind none of us knew how well you could protect yourself."
"Please believe us, milady,” Marc pleaded. “'Twould wound us to know we hurt you and made you hate us."
"Zounds!” Hope scowled. “After all the hate tossed my way, you want me to believe you don't mind me being in your clan?"
"You are a tribute to Clan MacPherson,” Hulon declared.
Hope appeared confused by their persistence. They could guard her without giving her compliments, after all. “And you think I'm good enough for your chieftain?"
"'Tis a fact, lass,” Aonghus said. “We're all wondering if he is good enough for you."
Hope glanced away with a look of hopeful desperation on her face.
"Do you remember everything you said to The MacDougall about your mother?” Aonghus caught her hesitant nod. “Well, lass, you are The MacPherson's greatest treasure. Every one of us would give our souls to the kelpies afore we would see you hurt or unhappy."
She drew in a shaky breath and beamed a smile upon them.
"Will you come with us now, milady?” Marc asked.
Hope nodded and waded toward the bank. She stopped as her cheeks flamed. “You'll have to turn around."
"You're not going to run from us, are you?” Aonghus asked suspiciously.
Hope shook her head and gestured over her shoulder with a thumb. “The MacPherson watches from the woods on the other side. He ordered me not to let any of you see my legs, which seems strange because you're all bloody well showing yours."
Grinning, the warriors turned around and wondered how she knew the chief was there when they hadn't detected his presence.
She stepped onto the bank, wrung her hair, and tossed it behind her back, then unhitched her skirts. “You may turn back now."
She picked up her flopping trout.
"I'll take that, milady.” Darach approached her, holding out his hand.
"Nay!” Hope snatched the trout from his reach. “'Tis my fish. I offered to get you one."
"You misunderstand, lass,” Aonghus said. “Our Lady MacPherson is too good to carry her own fish."
After staring uncertainly at the men, Hope smiled and handed over the fish. Then she allowed the warriors to protect her all the way back to the camp.
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Chapter Twenty-Two
* * * *
The enormous fire lit the glen in the middle of the blackened forest. Leonce prayed the surrounding trees would not go up in a towering blaze. Hope sat between his legs, his arms around her waist, casting her spell over his clansmen. Glad they had finally accepted her, he relaxed and enjoyed her wit and enchanting smile. His proud warriors would soon want to burn the minx in the fire she had them build if she was doing what he suspected.
While returning to the camp earlier, he'd heard Hope grumbling and glanced across the stream. She came into view, muttering under her breath about his “cursed warriors,” hitched up her skirt, and walked into the water. Realizing none of his cursed warriors were around, Leonce decided to keep an eye on her and enjoy the sight of his wife fishing.
His men finally arrived. During their exchange, Leonce realized how vulnerable Hope had felt over the past weeks. She'd probably never sensed she belonged anywhere. At an early age, her mother instilled the need for escape, and Hope's dream of fleeing to the Highlands was tenuous. Her pride wouldn't have let her seek a place with her mother's clan.
When she arrived looking for her only human friend, he'd kept her, taking away the only fragment of the dream remaining. Then he thought of himself and went raiding before she had a chance to know him or find any sense of security in her new circumstances. At least in England she had familiar surroundings.
Bowyn had said Hope secluded herself because of contempt from his clan. Leonce suspected she might have run away had she been uninjured.
As the conversation progressed, he suppressed his mirth. His warriors came close to groveling. ‘Twas about time they appreciated her. And how had she known he was there?
Leonce waited until dusk gave way to darkness before returning to the camp. Hope sat in the center of his blanket, telling Bowyn how to cook her fish. The other men waited upon her, trying to anticipate her every wish. When she saw him, her lips curved invitingly. She moved over, making room for him on the plaid.
Tossing four rabbits to Marc, Leonce dropped down beside her and enjoyed the attention she lavished on him. She fed him over half her fish and probably would have fed him the rest of his meal if he had allowed it.
When they finished eating, she leaned against his side and sighed. “My thanks for stopping, MacPherson. I was bloody tired, but I'm ready to leave. We must get on our land afore it gets much later."
"We are on our land.” He slipped an arm around her waist.
She snuggled against him. “Then why did we stop?"
"We still have a quarter-day's journey to go. You need rest."
"Think me daft, or are you taking the long way back?"
"I'm taking the best way. ‘Tis still a half-day journey.” He raised a teasing brow. “Do you not know how long you rode today?"
"'Tis the truth, I was cursed mad when we left, and it didn't seem so long.” She raised rueful eyes. “You mind if we stay here tonight, Lion? I do not like traveling in the dark. Too many cursed wolves out."
"What is that, lass?” Aonghus cocked his head and squinted at her across the fire. “Are you wanting us to believe you're afeared of wolves?"
The warriors all appeared astonished, and Leonce chuckled.
"If I am not allowed to bait them, I am. Takes away my advantage. ‘Tis not a fun game if one jumps on you afore you're able to snare it with your lash. You ever had one jump on you, Aonghus? ‘Tis scary.” Hope shuddered dramatically.
"Saint Columba!” Bowyn exclaimed. “Has such a thing happened to you?"
"Almost did.” Hope nodded and a bloodthirsty expression
scrunched her nose. “Beast leapt at me from a ledge. I rolled away afore the mangy dog landed, and Diable squashed it. Fed Harry and kept me warm that winter. I guess the cursed creatures are good for something."
Leonce tightened his arm around her waist. “Do not worry. We'll be camping here, and you have eleven men to keep them away."
"I shouldn't have napped. I'll not be able to sleep now."
"I'll make sure you're well occupied all night.” He rubbed his jaw against her hair, inhaling her fragrance.
A few of his warriors chuckled and grinned like imbeciles. The comment flew over Hope's head.
"That's good. I hate lonely nights. They are worse than lonely days. This is a beautiful place. I'm glad ‘tis on our land."
"Aye, right you are. Taithleach Spey Glen must be the most beautiful spot on Earth,” Aonghus declared in a proud voice.
Hope tensed. “What did you call this place?"
"Taithleach Spey Glen. ‘Tis the quiet glen off the river Spey."
She sprang to her feet with a horrified expression. “MacPherson, we must leave this place now."
"What's wrong?” He frowned at her abrupt fear.
"We must leave.” Her guarded gaze darted about the clearing.
"'Tis late, Hope, and we are safe,” Leonce insisted.
She shook her head. “'Tis not safe. We bloody well must leave now."
"We are staying,” he stated in a decisive tone.
"Please.” She wrung her hands and begged him with her eyes.
Leonce sighed and wiped a hand over his face. How to deal with women! “We will leave early in the morn."
"Morn may be too late."
She damn well needed to learn not to nag when he made a decision. His scar jumped with an irritated spasm. “We are not leaving until morn, and that is final."
"Can we have a bigger fire—please?"
Leonce raked his fingers through his hair, tempted to pull some out. “Darach, go get more wood."
The young warrior stood and walked toward the forest. Hope called, “Be careful, Darach.” She patted Leonce's shoulder. “MacPherson, you stay close to me so I can protect you."
He rolled his eyes. “Hope, calm down and tell me what's wrong."
"I cannot say, or my words might bring it forth. Everyone must stay very close to the fire. It cannot hurt you as long as your eyes are aflame.” Darach returned with a few fallen limbs. “We are going to need more wood than that. The fire needs to be bloody huge."
Leonce scowled and tugged on her skirt. “Hope, sit down, and—"
"Aye, since you are mine, I need to stay near you, so I can save you if the kelpies come to help it.” She sat right on his lap. He caught a glimpse of a smile before she looked up again.
"Milady, tell us what you have heard of this place,” Marc demanded.
"I cannot speak of it. ‘Tis for the best if you do not know, so your last moments can be happy ones."
"Truly, lass, we will protect you,” Aonghus said in a fatherly tone.
"It will not hurt me. ‘Tis all of you that I must fret about. The cursed thing only goes after men."
Bowyn snorted. “Our lady is overwrought, Chief. Facing The MacDougall and a wolf on the same day could do it to anyone."
"'Tis not the truth!” Hope cried indignantly. “I am not overwrought. I'll not ignore the curse on this place as you have either."
"What curse, lass?” Aonghus scratched his grizzled head.
"The curse of the Felled Roman of Taithleach Spey Glen,” she said ominously.
Leonce rolled his eyes and decided he had best be careful in the future lest his eyes start twirling and never stop. His wife was making him daft. “Hope, cease this nonsense. ‘Tis no such curse."
"Aye, there is. My mother told me of it. Even my cursed father feared it."
"Tell us of this curse, milady,” Darach said.
Hope's eyes sparkled in the firelight. “'Twas once upon a time in the year of our Lord, two hundred and eight. Old emperor Severus was elated over his control of lower Caledonia up to the Antonine Wall. Then the cursed Roman got greedy. He decided to go for the whole bloody island and invaded the Highlands."
"What does that have to do with this glen, wife? Everyone here knows Severus never got farther than the Tay to the south and Inverness to the north.” Damn! His wife actually rammed an elbow into his gut.
"Then everyone here bloody well knows wrong. For he died right here in this glen three years later—probably killed by a MacPherson ancestor.” She gave them a proud look.
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Chapter Twenty-Three
* * * *
The spell-weaving began, and his clansmen stared in rampant horror. Darach lay on his belly, pale-faced and shivering, while watching Hope across the fire. The little imp knew what she was doing too. She leaned forward, gazed into every pair of eyes, and embellished every phrase. She struck terror into the hearts of his fierce warriors.
According to Hope's version of history, Severus's men were afraid to tell the truth about his death, because they saw the Roman ruler swallowed into a fiery hole that closed over his head. They made up stories about how he died, leading to the confusion about whether he expired at York or Inverness. She claimed he died in that very glen after a battle, but never mentioned how her mother learned the truth in the midst of all the confusing tales.
Hope adroitly fabricated wartime descriptions and sounded as if she had been through a few battles herself. When the emperor lay dying, he supposedly made a pact with Lucifer, who would grant Severus reign over the Highlands after he snatched one thousand warrior souls into hell. He received the power to reach his hand through the earth, grab men by the ankles, and pull them under.
Leonce wanted to laugh. How staring into the flames would save them she never explained, but his men riveted their eyes on the blaze. He understood why Bertie was so fond of her stories. Hope had a gift for spinning a yarn.
"And he only needs one more soul to resurrect his army of kelpie demons and capture the Highlands,” she finished.
The echoes of a wolf's howl and hooting of an owl came with perfect timing, backing up the crickets’ song and the crackling fire.
Hope slowly stood and whispered, “You must excuse me. I have an urgent need to tend. When I return, I will stay awake all night protecting you. Keep your eyes on the fire. The Felled Roman cannot get you if your eyes are aflame."
She slipped into the woods behind Leonce. His men weren't moving. He shook his head at their gullibility and remained aware of her exact location as she skirted the campsite. She was damn good at stealth too. She soon sneaked out of the trees behind Darach, her expression revealing pure mischief. Grabbing the young warrior's right ankle, she tugged hard.
Darach let out a bloodcurdling scream. All the warriors jumped up, pulled their weapons, and surveyed the area. Darach appeared near scared out of his wits.
Hope laughed merrily. “I was pulling your leg, Darach."
"What was that, lass?” Aonghus asked, still looking about.
"'Twas a jest.” Her happy eyes invited them to join her game.
"A poor one!” her victim cried.
Hope snorted. “A bloody good one. You will appreciate it more when you pull it on someone else."
Some of his men looked like they would like to pull their swords from her body and watch her fall. Leonce stood and tossed the blanket over his shoulder. “Come, Hope."
"But I have another story.” Her lower lip sulked into a beautiful pout.
Leonce had to clear his mind of a vision of that lush lip dragging across a rapidly hardening part of his body. “Save it. ‘Tis time to rest."
"All right, but ‘twas a good jest.” Hope walked toward him and then stopped abruptly. “Wait! I must do something first."
She whirled around, rushed over to the leftovers, and grabbed an apple. As she walked back toward Leonce, she cupped one side of her mouth and released a melodious call.
; Pounding hooves thrashed nearby foliage, drowning out the forest's night song. Diable burst into the clearing and halted in front of her. The horse stomped, snorted and tossed his head.
"Please do not be angry, proud beauty.” Hope raised a hand. The stallion nuzzled her palm, then lowered his chin and rested it upon her shoulder. “Ah, my noble friend, I would never forget you."
She rubbed her cheek against Diable's long face and stroked the underside of his neck. Leonce could have sworn he heard the savage purr.
"Come eat your treat.” She held out the fruit.
The steed pulled his big head back, lowered his mouth, and began eating the apple. She continued stroking his neck. “You ran well today, Diable. ‘Twas a bloody good game. No other stallion in the Highlands can match your speed or strength. Nor would I trust another with my life as I do you."
Finishing his treat, Diable smacked his lips and kissed her cheek. Then he moved back, stomped the ground, and tossed his head toward Leonce.
"Diable, this is The MacPherson. He is our chieftain, and he does not hunt horses."
Diable stretched out his forelegs toward Leonce and laid his head upon them.
Leonce raised his brows in surprise. “What is he doing?"
"He is bowing and waiting for you to tell him that he can get up. Say, ‘Rise.’”
"Rise."
Diable stood and looked from Leonce to Hope, then back toward Leonce.
"Hold up your hand with your palm toward him,” Hope instructed.
Leonce held up his hand. Diable nuzzled his nose into the open palm. Leonce stroked the slick, well-muscled neck.
Hope joined them and caressed the side of the stallion's face with the back of her fingers. “You see, my beauty? You're important to both of us. And so you'll not forget, tomorrow I'll ride you home, and The MacPherson can sit in my lap."
Diable kissed Leonce's cheek. A chorus of chuckles and snickers broke out behind him.
"'Tis glad I am to make you my friend, Diable, but I warn you—she will be in my lap."
Diable whinnied.
"Aye, my friend. I am glad you trust him too. Now the hour grows late. Find a safe place, and guard yourself well."
The stallion nudged Hope's shoulder and snorted.