by Mary McCall
"You heard her, MacPhersons. My mam wants a happy ending, and you better bloody well give her one."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Sixty
* * * *
Hope hurried down the front steps, garbed for play. She wore a loose-fitting gown of pale yellow gauze, belted at the waist with a braided plaid rope. Her whip was secured at her side, and her dirk was sheathed. Draped over her arm, she carried her plaid. Calling out for Diable, she cast her gaze toward the southern corner of the keep where she expected him to appear.
"'Twould be a bad chieftain if I let you leave without your slippers."
She turned around. Her breath hitched as she beheld the savage strength and splendor that exuded from Leonce, mounted upon his white steed. Her hungry eyes perused his body in a possessive sweep. Zounds, he had great knees. She finally remembered to exhale and swallow before drool dribbled from her mouth.
"'Twould be a cursed fool if I forgot them again.” She lifted her plaid, revealing a pair of slippers strung over her belt.
Leonce cocked a brow. “Their purpose is to protect your tender feet, not to decorate your already bonnie person."
Diable trotted up behind her, and she favored Leonce with her first smile of the day. “Do not need them while I ride."
His eyes lightened. “I have a surprise for you in the meadow. Can you come?"
Hope caressed Diable's nose, held out an apple for her friend, and looked at Leonce. “I can come if it does not take too long. Bertie wants to distract me with limb-swinging. He and Harry left for the falls a while ago. I trust him to wait, but he is probably going wild with anticipation."
"This will not take long, and ‘tis truly Ian's surprise. Ride down with me, and let Diable follow.” He held out a hand toward her.
"I planned to avoid having the other clans see me dressed like this."
"The MacKays saw you yesterday, and most of the Frasers would laugh at your reticence."
"You're right.” Hope sighed and looked at Diable. “Follow us, my beauty. We'll have a good gallop on the way to the falls after I get my surprise."
She was about to leap up behind Leonce when he bent low and lifted her onto his lap. Hope slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest, savoring his warmth and spicy scent. Leonce turned his mount, and they cantered down the mountain.
At their approach, Ian glanced up from his conversation with The MacKay and grinned. The Frasers gave Diable a wide berth, but the MacKays wanted a closer look at the magnificent stallion.
"Best tell your clan to stay clear of the beast, MacKay,” Ian warned, then winced as one MacKay got too near Diable's left flank and took a hoof in his shoulder. Diable bucked and reared, driving the warriors back.
"No need to tell them now,” The MacKay replied. “The beast just did."
"Diable, mind your cursed manners!” Hope scolded.
The proud steed ceased his violent display, pranced over to Hope, and kissed her cheek. Then he rested his chin on her lap, looking up at her like a contrite puppy.
Leonce shook his head at the penitent one. “If you'll move, Diable, Hope can see her surprise, and you can take her for a gallop."
The stallion snorted, nudged Leonce, and stepped back.
Julien stared in disbelief. “No wonder you wanted Raven. The brute truly is jealous."
Hope's cheeks burned at Julien's observation. Ian, Leonce and The MacKay laughed.
Leonce dismounted with Hope in his arms and lowered her to the ground. “Where is the surprise, Ian? Hope wishes to catch up to Bertie afore he gets into mischief."
"Here I am.” Cassie stepped from behind Ian, dimples flashing from her fairy face.
"Cassie!” Hope ran to her friend, and the two women embraced.
Cassie stood back, holding on to Hope. “I am glad to find you so fit. You had me fretting the last time I saw you. How are the twins?"
"Wonderful. I am so happy you're here, but what do they mean by calling you my surprise?"
"Ian says wee Ian and I can stay till they get back."
Hope's eyes sparkled. “This is great! You can keep me from fretting, and we can have fun like we used to."
"Just what did the two of you used to do, Cass?” Ian asked, worried.
"Water games, bait games, limb-swinging and stuff,” Hope answered happily.
"No bait games, Hope,” Leonce ordered in his I-really-mean-it tone.
An imp nudged Hope. She smirked. “I hear the MacGregors have a new prize bull, Cassie. Want to play Highlander and go raiding?"
"If I thought you were serious, I would have Ian send her home."
Hope and Cassie snorted, looked at each other, and giggled.
Hope faced Ian and linked arms with Cassie. “My thanks for this surprise, Fraser. We'll take bloody good care of her."
"Just do not start any feuds while we're gone,” Ian said. “Cass doesn't have your expertise with weapons."
Hope's chin dropped. “Does not have my—"
Cassie jabbed Hope's side with an elbow.
Hope rolled her eyes at Cassie. “I promise I'll protect the weakling if any cursed feuding starts."
Ian frowned. “Do we trust them, Leonce?"
"I do not know. From what I hear, there are bound to be pranks aplenty awaiting our return.” Leonce ponderously rubbed his jaw.
"Hope will be good, MacPherson,” Cassie promised. “I will make her."
"Do not fash, Lady Fraser.” Leonce smiled. “Hope will be herself, and I trust her."
"My thanks, Leonce,” said Hope. Diable nudged her shoulder, and she caught his head in her arm and rubbed his nose. “Only a moment more, my beauty. Cassie, I need to reach Bertie afore he hangs himself. Want to come limb-swinging?"
"Nay, she does not!” Ian shouted.
Hope glared at Ian. “Zounds! Does your hulk let you have any fun?"
"He does not know everything I do, but you go ahead,” Cassie replied. “Wee Ian will wake soon. I want to get him settled at the keep. We'll have plenty of time later."
"Want to come, Lion?” Hope invited.
"Nay. According to Bowyn, The MacDougall arrives shortly. The four of us need to finalize our strategies. Will you be long?"
"Not above a few hours. ‘Tis still too cursed cold for longer play if you're not coming."
The men watched with admiration as Hope sprang astride Diable in a fluid motion. The stallion reared and moved restlessly.
"Would you mind your cursed manners and quit showing off?"
Diable snorted, tossed his head, and pawed the ground.
"Are you sure you'll be well?” A frown creased Leonce's brow. “I've not seen him this wild with you afore."
Grabbing a handful of mane, Hope smiled. “My beauty has a case of spring fever and needs a good gallop. I'll not fall unless I want to. He will calm down once we're away from the crowd."
"If you're not back by the nooning, I'll come looking for you."
"Might decide to play longer if you do, Lion.” She tossed him a saucy wink, leaned low, and tightened her leg grip. “Charge, Diable."
The stallion reared almost straight up. As his hooves came down, he pushed off with his mighty haunches and broke into a full run, clearing a path.
* * * *
"I hate it when they do that,” Cassie muttered.
"'Tis her MacKay blood,” her father proudly declared. “Is she not magnificent?"
"Aye, she is.” Leonce watched her disappear into the forest. “I just hope the next time we see her, she hasn't broken her damn neck."
Hearing a chorus of hooves behind him, Leonce tore his gaze from the forest trail and greeted The MacDougall. The vengeful clans were now assembled. Leonce would soon receive satisfaction for crimes against his people and his treasure.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Sixty-One
* * * *
Midway down the forest trail, Hope slowed Diable, not wanting him injured on the narro
wer, uneven path. Cassie's arrival gladdened her. They would fret until their husbands returned, but at least they could share their misery.
Now she must smile for the rest of the day. Leonce couldn't find her brooding again. She loved him too much to cause him concern when ‘twas him taking all the risks.
As she neared the falls, the snap of a lash chilled her. Bertie's cry rang out. Then another whip cracked.
"Get back down here, you cursed heathen bastard!"
Hope's blood froze as the hated voice from her past tormented her soul. She crushed the urge to nudge Diable about and race to Leonce and safety. Harry's battle cry resounded, reminding her of the danger to Bertie. Her son needed her, and she had a debt yet to settle. She summoned her demon wrath, knowing it would give her the courage to face her nemesis. Aye, that churl would pay for every sin against her mother and her clan.
"Bring that back, you cursed buzzard!"
The rage in that demand strengthened Hope's resolve. The baron's control would be poor. Mayhap she could hold him off until Leonce arrived. She pulled the red ribbon from her whip, tied it to Diable's mane, and dismounted. “To our chief and hurry."
The steed surged down the path. A cloth dropped on her head and slid to the ground. Recognizing the baron's red-and-black banner, Hope snatched up the cloth and signaled to Harry. “Quickly, take this to our chief."
The eagle grasped the cloth with his talons and flew from sight.
Pulling her dirk and readying her whip, Hope cautiously made her way toward the falls. This game she must win for Bertie.
The muscles bunched in her nape. Zounds! The baron had spotted her and stalked her now. She reached the clearing and looked about. Where was he?
A powerful fist came from behind a tree and slammed into the side of her head, knocking her to the ground.
* * * *
The plaids of the four clans colored the meadow, and revelry pervaded the atmosphere. The warriors grew festive, anticipating the thrill of the battle to come. Killing Norman swine beat feuding with each other any day.
Cassie retrieved wee Ian from some Fraser warriors who were showing him off, and the four chieftains talked warfare.
A shout suddenly rang out. Leonce glanced toward the sound. The crowd split as Diable thundered toward him with a red ribbon fluttering from his mane. Leonce's heart jerked. Something fell on his head, masking his vision. He grabbed it as Harry cawed.
"Oh Lord, nay!” Cassie screamed. “'Tis Baron Nevilles's banner!"
Feral rage blazed through Leonce as he transformed into a predatory beast bent upon defending his mate. The roar of his battle cry swept through the meadow. He vaulted astride Diable without allowing the horse a break in stride. Grabbing a handful of mane with one hand, he pulled Justice free with the other and rode at full speed toward the forest.
The MacKay, The Fraser and The MacDougall attained their mounts and joined the race.
* * * *
Though stunned by the blow, years of survival came to Hope's aid. Her grip tightened about her weapons. She fell into a roll and came up on her feet. The baron backhanded her, cutting her lip and causing her to stagger.
Her adversary seized her throat in a vise-like grip and squeezed. “Die, you barbaric bitch!"
Wits reeling, Hope raised her dirk and stabbed. She caught the baron by his nose and cut a gash into his mouth down to his jaw. He howled and released her.
She staggered backward, gasping air through her throbbing throat. Pounding reverberated inside her head. Her right eye was swollen shut, and salty tears blurred her other eye. Wiping the back of her hand across her cut lip forced her to master the pain, for when she looked at the blood on her hand she saw no evidence of her own injury. Instead, she beheld her mother's torn heart drenched in MacPherson blood.
Fury blazed away tears like a demon beast unleashing fiery rage.
Her whip snapped and sliced open the baron's opposite cheek. She smote his chest, ripping through his tunic and drawing blood. He grabbed at the lash with a raving snarl, but missed and jumped back. “You cursed heathen! Do you think you can bring me low with a lash?"
Hope measured for her next strike. An unfamiliar madness lurked behind the venom in the baron's smoldering black gaze. He released his own coil, and the shards in his lash clinked. She must keep his rage heightened to offset his dexterity, or he'd slice her to ribbons. “I bloody well plan to kill you with this lash, you buggerin’ boar. Or mayhap I should leave out the buggerin’ and just call you a blood-drenched pig!"
At the goading reminder of his impotence, the baron howled and struck out with his lash. Hope dodged the assault and thrashed his neck. He moved away to doff his black surcoat and tunic, then returned to the match.
"Sure you do not wish to escape afore The Roarin’ MacPherson comes? My lion's going to feast on your cursed rump."
The pair circled each other between the falls and the forest, each looking for an opening. The baron sneered as blood dripped from his chin. “I knew you would end up whoring like the cursed heathen you are—just like your slut mother."
"Must have forgotten my parting promise, you slimy serpent. I bloody well married your worst enemy. But if he had denied me, I would have whored for him. The MacPherson is more of a man than you ever were."
"You heathen harlot. I lost everything because of you!"
The baron lashed out with a series of blows, which Hope deftly evaded. She fought back, striking him a number of times, cutting raw wounds into his chest and arms. Just as she backed him against a tree, his lash sliced open her left arm from shoulder to elbow. Hope dropped her dirk. She kicked at the handle, trying to clear the weapon from her path. The sharp blade caught her foot, slicing into tender flesh. Looking down reflexively, she saw the baron's dagger pierce her left shoulder. Searing pain spread through her chest.
"Hope, drop to the ground!"
She didn't need her husband's command as pain consumed her, overwhelming her wrath. She fell upon the earth, gasping for breath. Several hurling objects whirled over her head followed by four thunk sounds. She pushed up with her good arm, wanting to see what had happened.
Leonce was suddenly beside her, pulling her into a sitting position facing away from the baron. “Do not dare die on me, Hope! ‘Tis a chieftain's order! And do not move till we get the blade out and those wounds bound."
Hope tried twisting. “But I wish to see—"
"Nay, love.” He held her back. “'Tis too gruesome. I'll not have you burdened by the memory."
She clutched his plaid. “'Tis this gruesome memory that will wipe away the others."
Leonce hesitated. Hope sensed years of anguish mingled with physical pain in the pleading sapphire eye that remained open.
"How is my Angelaspera?” The MacKay asked as he joined them, accompanied by Ian and The MacDougall.
"Severely injured and wanting to examine our work."
"'Tis too horrid for a woman to stomach,” Ian said.
"Please, Leonce? I need this, and ‘tis my game.” At his hesitation, Hope added, “Think I did not see worse three years ago, only a mountain away?"
Leonce sighed. “'Twill only be for a brief moment, and you'll let me move you."
He cradled her in his arms and turned.
Baron Nevilles was pinned to the tree she had backed him against. Justice was lodged in his heart. The MacKay's Vengeance protruded from his head. The Fraser's Fortitude pierced his neck. And The MacDougall's Guardian resided in his groin. Blood oozed and trickled around the blades and from the many cuts and gashes inflicted by Hope.
As the chieftains studied the kill, The MacKay chuckled. “Your aim grows weak with old age, MacDougall."
"There is nothing wrong with my aim,” the elder chief said gruffly. “I couldn't bring myself to tell you all of the memory your daughter gave me. Methinks she didn't either, or Vengeance would have tried to steal the spot from Guardian."
Hearing the bitterly spoken words and seeing the color rise in
her father's face, Hope decided she couldn't handle any more rage this day. She would ponder later whether she could forgive The MacDougall and accept him as her grandfather. Right now she needed to find Bertie.
"'Twas a good target, MacDougall. My thanks to all of you for winning my game. I must beg another favor, though. Please find my son. I fret for him."
A whip cracked over their heads, and Bertie swung down to a lower branch. “Do not fret, Mam. I'm a cursed heathen, so I escaped into the trees."
Hope's attempted smile turned into a grimace.
Leonce brushed his lips against her forehead and carried her toward the water's edge. “Let's get that blade out and bind your wounds, love."
"Promise me one thing.” She cupped his jaw with a tremulous palm.
"What?” He knelt and lowered her onto the grassy bank.
"For the next few weeks, you'll put up with the cursed torture. I do not wish to wake on the morrow and learn you have gone raiding."
Leonce wiped a tear from her cheek. “'Tis a chieftain's promise to his most precious treasure."
Epilogue
Scotland, October 28, 1082
Leonce winced. A yellow ribbon intertwined with strips of MacPherson and MacKay plaid adorned the door of the keep. Hell had just descended on the Highlands, and he would be the one held accountable.
"Chief! Chief! Lad, she is gone again!” Aonghus halted his mount and jumped to the ground.
"Obviously. Has she taken anything yet?"
"Aye. There is a mob not far behind me, coming for you."
A horde of angry warriors from the various clans participating in the harvest festival marched up the path. Leonce sighed and braced his stance.
"Damn it, Leonce!” Ian bellowed from the head of the pack. “Are you ever going to tame your woman?"
"I'm not mad, Chief,” Davey called from the midst of the throng. “Just thought you should know Melba is missing."
"I'm furious,” The Gordan hollered. “She stole my prize pumpkin!"