by Temple Hogan
He thought of all that had transpired between them. He’d known from the beginning she was special, but in the heat of his passion, he’d thrown away all common sense and taken her like a common camp follower. In many ways, he was as uncouth and callous as most warrior leaders. Because he’d never imagined himself wanting a wife and home, he’d closed himself away from the things required on his part, understanding and sensitivity to a woman’s needs. He’d paid his fee and taken what he’d paid for. He cursed himself bitterly. He still didn’t even know her name or how to reach her. How could he undo the harm when he couldn’t talk to her? A horse whinnied in the darkness, and he leaped to his feet, fearful someone had crept up on him while he sat unprepared.
“Who goes?” he demanded, but no one answered. “Lass, are ye there? Have ye come back to let me explain?”
He waited, breathless at the thought she might be there, just beyond the curtain of shadows. Set on finding her, he plunged into the darkness, not even bothering to draw his weapon, so intent was he in his obsession. He crashed through the trees, pushing branches and saplings aside in his impatience, but all he found was a Highland pony, stamping its feet in equine impatience for the comfort of the stables and his feedbag.
Rafe came to a halt, staring at it. No one left such an animal alone in the woods. It must belong to her. Slowly, he walked toward the skittish pony and placed his hand on its muzzle to calm it. Instantly, it responded to his touch, quieting now that a human was near. Rafe examined the saddle and found it bore the markings of the Campbells. This mount obviously came from the castle, but then that meant that she lived there or in the village. She had said she was nearer than he imagined. His heart swelled at the possibility that she was right there under his very nose.
With a mingling of incredulity and burgeoning anger, he untied the pony and led it toward his mount. So intent was he on this mystery, he paid no heed to the crackle of dry leaves and pinecones until his assailant was upon him. Strong arms closed around him, gripping him in a bear hug that cut off his breathing. The effect was made worse when he felt himself lifted, so his booted feet dangled above the ground. His assailant bellowed as he swung Rafe around then let go. He rammed into a tree, his head bouncing painfully. Shock pulsed through his body and his vision turned dark. A malaise threatened to claim him. Bark tore at his face as he slid down the trunk, fighting for consciousness.
Stunned, he lay for a moment while his mind grappled with the reality of the assault. He bit back a groan, then remembering someone might be ready even now to leap on him and insert a knife blade in his heart, he forced himself beyond the weakness and struggled to his feet, trying to focus on the bulky shadow of his attacker.
“Leave her be,” a rough voice snarled. “She’s not a Campbell whore for your taking.”
“Who is she?” Rafe demanded, shaking his head against the dizziness that claimed him. When his vision cleared, he found his assailant had disappeared. He cursed under his breath. This was getting to be a habit. Was there, indeed, some magic in the woods, some devilment that whisked people hither and yon?
“Bah.” He shook off such thoughts and belatedly drew his weapon as he searched for the man who’d attacked him—a MacDougall, no doubt. He thought of the burly blacksmith who had bested him once before in front of his men. He found no assailant. He was alone in the woods. The man had simply vanished.
Mounting his horse and trailing the pony behind him, he made his way back to the castle. Whoever his foe was, the man had obviously come from the village. Had the pony belonged to Rafe’s attacker? No, he didn’t think so, otherwise, the man would have taken it with him. Winded and dazed, Rafe would have been in little shape to stop him.
Rafe puzzled over the events of the evening. If Jean hadn’t been the one to steer him to the pool at this time of night, he would have guessed he’d been set up. But he trusted MacIntyre’s daughter as he trusted MacIntyre himself. More likely the girl had come from the village, and the blacksmith had followed.
He rode along in contemplation. If the lass dwelled in the village, why hadn’t he seen her before? Because she was staying hidden on purpose, he surmised, and if that was the case, what cause had she to do so? Something was afoot. He thought of the first attack in these very woods. The leader had been of a slight figure, and he’d thought him little more than a youth. What if it had been a woman?
Gare was right. He was daft. Why would a woman lead a band of outlaws to attack his force? Why would men want to follow such a woman? Nay, it was too preposterous. He put the thought from his head. There was some other explanation, and he was bound to find what it was starting this very night.
“Who took this pony from the stables?” he demanded of the lad who ran forward to take the two horses.
Surprised at his manner and question, the boy shrugged. “I don’t know, sir,” he answered.
“Don’t lie to me, lad, or I’ll have your hide,” Rafe roared. An older man came from the stables.
“Can I help you, sir? Has the lad given you trouble?”
“He will not answer the truth about who took this pony out tonight,” Rafe answered shortly, glaring at the man.
“Begging your pardon, sir, the lad wouldn’t know. He was in the hills when the pony was taken. ‘Twas I who readied the pony along with two other horses.”
“Tell me who requested them,” Rafe ordered impatiently.
“‘Twas Captain Aindreas and m’lady Jean, going out for a moonlit ride,” the man answered quietly enough, but his expression revealed his opinion of such folly.
“Did a third person join them?”
“Aye, but I can’t say who it was. I asked them such, but they just laughed and said it was to be a surprise. Real jolly, they was, all gladsome and cheerful. They rode down that way, and I caught a glimpse of them as they turned toward the gate. They had another lady with them.”
The man fell silent and waited. He hawked up some spittle and deposited it on the ground near the nobleman’s feet. Rafe sensed the gesture was disrespectful and spoke of some disdain on the stable master’s part, but Rafe decided not to take him to task. It wasn’t the first time he and his men had been faced with barely concealed contempt from the MacDougall peasants. He’d hoped eventually to win them over. Now was not the time.
“Have Captain Aindreas and m’lady Jean returned?” he asked instead, focusing on his current goal to find out more about the woman at the pond.
“Aye, sir. Their mounts are back and in their stalls all brushed and groomed proper from their tryst.” His words and manner implied all sorts of scandalous things from that single word.
Rafe felt his anger rise on behalf of MacIntyre’s daughter. “Mind your tongue, man,” he snarled at the man, “or you’ll answer to me.”
“Aye, sir,” the man answered meekly enough. His head bobbed slightly, but his lips curled and his sly eyes met Rafe’s with dark resentment.
Rafe glanced at the boy he’d berated earlier. “You’re the lad who rode out with Annie, are you not?”
“Aye, m’lord.” The boy’s face lit in a smile, but his father simply stared back.
“You’re a good lad,” Rafe said, but as he walked away, he heard the man hawk up another wad of spittle and guessed it was aimed at the very spot where he’d stood. He’d never win over these stubborn clansmen, he thought dismally. Especially, if word got out that he’d defiled one of their maidens. All the more reason he should have had his head aright. He’d taken the clanswoman not once but twice without a thought as to the consequences. He cursed himself again.
The hour was late, too late to seek out Aindreas or Jean, so Rafe went to the well and drew up a pail of water to wash his battered face then stalked to his room. His mind was racing with possibilities for what had happened this night. Unable to sleep, he tossed and turned on his bed, remembering the golden-haired clanswoman, the feel and taste of her, his desire for her tormenting him even now. He thought of her reaction when he’d told her he wanted her as his wife. She’d
refused, but what if she’d conceived during their lovemaking. Christ, he had no wish to beget a love-bairn. He wanted her as his wife, and he wanted sons by her, sons he could claim with pride. Why couldn’t a man wish for that?
He fell to thinking of what a child of theirs might be like. Would it have golden hair like hers or black like his? Would it be a sturdy, impudent boy or a dainty, sassy girl? For some reason, he thought of Annie, of her smile and the sunshine on her hair and her slight body limping across the bailey yard. He’d talk to her tomorrow. She must know who the mysterious woman was, even though she’d evaded his question before. This time, he’d beat the information from her, by God. Then he chuckled, knowing he’d never lay a hand on her and realizing she probably knew that all too well. She was a canny lass, indeed. Regret swept through him for the unfairness of life. He fell asleep thinking of a beautiful wood sprite without a name and a crippled goose girl with sunlight in her hair.
He woke on the morn with a need in his belly to learn the identity of the woman at the pool. He’d taken her virginity, but he could see she was recompensed for it. If she wouldn’t take him as a husband, then he’d give her a good dowry so any prospective suitors would be happy to forget she came from a broken clan and was without land and dowry. He dressed and, not pausing to break the fast, hurried to the courtyard where he bellowed for Annie. She was gone into the foothills, he was told, gathering her fowl, which had been scattered the night before.
“Fetch her, immediately,” he ordered and a young lad was sent scurrying in search of her. By the time she finally limped into the courtyard, her eyes wide and uncertain, his mood had worsened.
“Come here, girl,” he ordered, pointing to the ground in front of him.
She hesitated then hobbled forward and paused before him, her head lowered, teeth nibbling her lower lip nervously.
“Tell me who she is,” he demanded balefully. “Nay, don’t shake your head like you don’t know of whom I speak. You know, right enough. She’s your kinswoman and I’ll have her name, or by God, every man-child of you will suffer this day. Now, I’m asking you, lass, who is she?”
Annie kept her shoulders hunched but raised her head to gaze through strands of tangled hair into his angry face. Her lips pinched together in determination, and she shook her head in defiance.
“You know who she is,” he shouted, raising a hand as if to strike her.
She shrank from him, her face pale now with some emotion he’d never seen there before. He lowered his hand, sorry he’d made the gesture. Scowling, he studied her, trying to discern her reaction. There was no fear in her gaze, rather anger and distrust and something that smote at his sense of fairness, a look of hurt at his betrayal of their friendship.
“Annie, I’m sorry. I would never strike you,” he said lamely, but her glance gave no ground. Anger rose within him. He’d not be thwarted, even by a simple goose girl, in his determination to learn the identity of the woman who haunted him.
“Gare,” he shouted, beside himself with frustration. “Turn everyone out, now, everyone in the village and castle. I want them all. Line them up along the road so I might see each and every man, woman and child. I would see who lives beneath the Campbell banner.”
He spun and glared at Annie. She’d not moved, only continued to stare back at him with a mutinous rebellion that shook him to the core.
“I thought you my friend,” he said brusquely. “I thought I could depend on you, but you cut me to the heart with your defiance.”
Annie glared at him, heartsick. This was the man she’d given herself to, the man she’d come to love and desire with all her heart, an honorable man she’d come to trust. Now he stood staring at her with all his injured male pride, demanding she betray herself because he was too much a fool to see what was right before him.
She let her silence and her eyes tell him all the anger and betrayal she felt at that moment. But he was too caught up in his own self-righteous rage to read beyond the surface.
She saw the exact moment the truth came to him. He recoiled and just as quickly she read the denial in his face. She couldn’t be the woman he sought. She was too lowly for his liking. Her eyes snapped with anger. Turning, she stalked across the courtyard, barely hobbling, head high.
Watching her go, Rafe felt the possibility bite at him again, then pushed it away. It couldn’t be. Tiredly, he mounted his horse and rode along the line of people who had come out to stand along the road as he’d ordered. Pushing aside the niggling doubts that by doing so, he’d behaved as carelessly of their dignity and rights as Baen had done in the past, he set himself to the task of finding the woman from the pond. Carefully, he studied each face, knowing in his heart he’d not find the one he sought. Or had he already?
He was nearing the end of the line when he heard a commotion in the distance. Gare and several of his men rode hell-bent toward the castle. Rafe spurred his horse to meet them before they reached the village.
“He’s coming,” Gare shouted above the pounding hooves. “The bastard’s on his way here.” He slid his horse to a stop, stones and clods of grass flying around him. “Baen and his force got past our border patrols during the night, and they’re headed this way.”
“Get the villagers inside the castle walls,” Rafe ordered and whipped his horse into a gallop to warn the MacIntyre men. God be praised he’d been distracted, so he hadn’t taken them out on patrol. He had a full garrison of men inside the castle. He galloped through the gate and shouted at a lookout.
“Sound the alarm!”
Instantly, a horn was blown. Inside the castle walls and without, people were galvanized to action. Though they’d seldom had cause to flee to the castle, especially since the Campbells had ruled, every man and woman knew what to do. The village and the dwellings beyond became a beehive of activity as children were brought close, belongings were snatched up, and cattle were gathered and driven toward the safety of the castle walls.
“I’m thinking Baen may not know the MacIntyres have come to reinforce our ranks,” Rafe told Gare as they sat astride their mounts waiting for their men to assemble.
“Aye, we could be a mighty surprise to them,” Captain Aindreas observed gleefully. “We’d best take advantage of the surprise.”
“My thoughts, exactly,” Rafe replied. “Take your men and ride out to the edge of Oban woods. Make sure they’re well hidden. In the meantime, Gare, take a force of men to the south over those hills, so you won’t be seen.”
“Aye, we’ll trap them between us,” Gare chortled. “I’ll be looking at Baen’s face when he realizes he’s ridden into a trap, the bastard.”
“We’ll spring that trap when he’s ridden too far into the clearing to retreat. Look for a red arrow to signal your attacks.”
The two men nodded in agreement, gathered their men and galloped off to their allotted posts. The road to the castle was filled with bawling cattle, wagons and carts laden with the poor goods of the villagers and farmers struggling to reach safety. Impatiently, Rafe rode among them, urging them to a faster pace, wishing he might order them to abandon their goods and think of their own safety first, but he knew bedding and temporary shelters would be needed in the baileys and milk cows, and cattle would provide food should there be a siege. These poor souls had thought of these essentials and had done their best to provide for themselves. Rafe felt a swell of grateful pride in these tough MacDougall peasants. Once again, he thought of Annie with her resilience and intelligence.
His musings were interrupted as a rider approached, driving his mount mercilessly.
“What is it, man?” Rafe called, spurring his horse to meet him.
“Baen and his force be but a mile away, sir,” the man cried, bringing his exhausted animal to a halt. The winded horse stood with trembling muscles and heaving sides while the messenger stared over his shoulder fearfully. “’Tis a mightier number than I would have reckoned he could draw.”
“How many men?” Rafe asked, quieting his own
skittish mount.
“Looks to be close to a hundred.”
“We can handle such a force,” Rafe said roughly. “We have the Campbells and the MacIntyres combined. Baen doesn’t stand a chance. Now get yourself a fresh horse and ride back to your post and be prepared to fight like the proud Campbell ye are.”
“Aye, sir.” The man grinned. “It won’t take us long to wipe out such rabble as Baen has no doubt collected.” He kicked his mount’s sides and galloped toward the castle to claim a fresh mount.
Rafe hastened to the castle walls where he deployed the guards he wished to remain in the castle’s defense, then gathered the rest to ride out and meet their adversaries. As he approached the castle gate, he caught a glimpse of a beautiful face with great emerald eyes and sun-drenched hair and his heart leaped. He’d found her! Then he blinked and saw that it was only Annie. He nodded a farewell and hoped she would wave, but she remained somber and unresponsive, her eyes behind their veil of pale wispy hair as cold and determined as before.
He put her from his mind. He must concentrate on the battle ahead, but he knew he would clash with the lowly goose girl in time, and though he was the nephew of the laird, Rafe wasn’t sure if he’d best her or not.
* * * *
Baen rode straight into the meadows that lay south of the castle, expecting the sheer number of his force to intimidate those within. He’d carefully planned this moment, timing his attack before Campbell reinforcements could arrive and late enough that Rafe and his men might have grown careless, believing he would not attack after all. Eyes fixed on the distant castle, which he anticipated would soon belong to him, he rode at the front of his force, looking neither to the left or right.
He was only moderately surprised to see Rafe and a group of men ride out of the castle toward him. He should have expected it. Rafe Campbell would want the battle to be in a location outside the castle walls where there was more room to maneuver. So their first skirmish would be here, but Baen and his superior forces would defeat Rafe and his pitiful handful of men and drive them back inside the castle. After that, the battle would change.