The Reluctant Bride

by Temple Hogan

  Logan remained silent and thoughtful, obviously mulling over Duncan’s information.

  “All right, I’ll do as you suggest,” he said finally. “Ride with us, Duncan. You know the mountain passes. If we need to send someone ahead to scout, you wouldn’t be suspect as would anyone of us.”

  “Aye.” Duncan grinned at the circle of men. “I look a little more civilized anyway.” He paused and placed a hand over Logan’s where it rested on his pommel. “‘Tis good to have you home, cousin.”

  “‘Tis good to be going home,” Logan answered. “Lead the way, cousin.”

  Chapter Eight

  Single file, they set out once more, traveling northward as before but soon their path led them into the mountains. They paused only for a quick bite of cold pork and leftover haggis. After a short rest they were on the way again. The sun burned away the mist that had plagued them earlier, leaving the air crisp and clear.

  The mountains were green and magnificent, the sky a vibrant cerulean backdrop as men and horses picked their way around the boulders and rocks. Despite the news from his mother, Logan felt a resurgence of joy. He was home again, in the beautiful hills he’d climbed as a boy. He wanted Cailla to see it as he did. Despite the burdens that accompanied his homecoming, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder and was immediately mesmerized by the sight of her—the brilliant fire of her hair, the pale translucence of her skin, the slim disciplined body firmly seated astride Balvenie. Woman and horse were one, each finely boned and delicate in appearance owning a dainty grace in movement that belied a surprising strength of mind and heart.

  “She’s a magnificent creature, my friend,” Jaimie said, coming to ride beside him.

  “Aye, Gowain owned some comely horseflesh,” Logan answered blandly.

  “‘Tis not the horseflesh of which I speak, man,” Jaimie said, chuckling. “And well you know. Who would have thought that ugly whoreson Gowain MacLaren could have sired such as she?”

  “She’s no more nor less than any other maiden I’ve seen,” Logan replied with feigned indifference.

  “Ach, Logan, ‘tis not like you to be dishonest about such things.” Jaimie’s grin was broad and impudent. “Besides, now she’s your bride, you must not shame her as you did last night. She’s a lady and a high-spirited one at that. You wouldn’t want to break her pride.”

  “Have a care, friend, that I do not take offense.” Logan warned, scowling, but both men knew such was not the case. They often sparred in such a manner.

  “I have na wish to insult you, Logan. Do you take her value so lightly? I would know what you think of the lady?” Jaimie persisted.

  “Damn you, Jaimie, she’s my wife and I’ll not have you thinking on her.” Logan kicked Kermichil’s sides so the white steed rode ahead.

  “Aye, I’ll not tempt myself or the lady, but if you let go of her, then I’ll court her m’self,” Jaimie called after him, then reined in his horse until he was alongside Cailla.

  At first, Logan ignored them, although he could hear their voices, but not what they said. As time passed and still they rode together, Logan’s ire grew. What could they be discussing so earnestly, he wondered? He clenched his lips together and vowed to outwait their tête-à-tête. Just as he was about to ride back to them, Jaimie galloped up to rejoin him.

  “You’re making a blathering fool of yourself,” Logan growled as Jaimie came along side.

  “Aye, but we both agreed she’s a bonny lass and worth the blathering.” Jaimie forced a grin, his earlier high spirit restored.

  “I warn you, Jaimie, my vow to Gowain to protect his daughter extends to any designs you may have on her. She’s my wife, well claimed by me and I’ll not have another man poach, not even you,” Logan continued darkly. He well-remembered Jaimie’s favor with the ladies.

  “Ah, to have such a wife as that,” Jaimie replied easily. “Though her hips are a bit slim, I’d wager they’d bear my sons easily enough. If you decide to set her aside, I’ll have her, mayhap I’ll honor your pledge t’ Gowain.”

  “You’re daft.” Logan dismissed his words. “You’ll be after the village maids before the day is out, and I’ll honor my own pledge to Gowain.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true,” Jaimie agreed with equanimity. “A man cannot slake his hungers on a fair lady.” He sighed. “Don’t worry. The lass and I spoke only of you.”

  Logan’s lips tightened. “I have no concern of your words with my wife. She’s Gowain’s daughter and bears many of his traits. I have no cause to doubt her faithfulness—stubborn and thick headed though she can be at times. Now let us speak of something else.”

  “‘Tis a beautiful day, old friend,” Jaimie said and chuckled.

  Logan glared at him but held his tongue. No sense to add fuel to the fire. Jaimie had a mistaken impression about his interest in Cailla MacLaren. Still he couldn’t resist a glance over his shoulder. She’d paused and was staring off in the distance, her slim body tense, her chin thrust forward at that stubborn angle he was coming to dread. Suddenly, she kicked Balvenie into a gallop. Logan waited, ready to pursue if she intended to flee, but she rode straight toward him, bringing Balvenie to a skidding halt.

  “Two men rode over yonder ridge. They seemed in a great hurry to get away from us.”

  Logan glanced at Jaimie.

  “MacAuley’s men have spotted us,” his tanist said as he prepared to gallop after the men.

  “Stay here and guard the lady,” Logan shouted over his shoulder to his other men as he raced after Jaimie.

  Cailla watched them dash away and it struck her the two men were fearless, furthermore that they would make formidable enemies. Once again, she acknowledged the reason her father had given her in marriage to a man such as Logan MacPherson.

  Logan and Jaimie were gaining on the two men. Suddenly from the corner of her eye, Cailla spied a group of horsemen who’d ridden out of a gorge and set out after Logan and Jaimie. Even from here, Cailla could see the distinctive red and green plaid of the MacAuley men. Logan was being led into an ambush!

  Without thinking she nudged Balvenie into a full out gallop. She gave no thought of the danger to her herself. Instinctively she knew only that she must warn the two men of Lundy’s deadly trap. She would never be able to catch them, she realized, unless she cut across the path of the ambush party, yet warn them she must. The exhausted little mare strove valiantly to do as her mistress bade, but she couldn’t gain on Kermichil.

  Cailla cut the line closer to the approaching enemy, hoping to slip past unseen, but a shout went up and the MacAuley clansmen veered toward her.

  “Logan!” she screamed, urging Balvenie to greater speed. They were just topping a ridge and would soon be out of sight. The MacAuley’s would overtake her before she reached the ridge. Desperation drove her on.

  “Logan!” she screamed again, but she was too late. Hands reached out to take her reins. “Logan, help me,” she gasped.

  Cailla tugged at Balvenie’s reins, wheeling sharply in her attempt to escape. Intent on capturing her, the MacAuley soldier leaned too far from his saddle and nearly lost his seat. Cailla’s knees tightened against the little mare’s sides and they veered away, neatly eluding the guard.

  Logan was at the crest of the ridge now. In a moment he would be gone. Who knew what ambush awaited them? She remembered the MacPherson battle cry they’d sounded as they’d pursued the Moncrieffes and desperately raised her voice in a shrill and undulating call. He’d never hear that she thought despairingly but to her relief, Logan looked back. Seeing the MacAuley patrol, he shouted to Jaimie and spurred Kermichil back down the hill.

  With a final effort, Cailla and Balvenie raced to meet them. From over the ridge came the two men who’d lured them into the trap. Their weapons were drawn. The hunters had become the hunted.

  “Logan, look behind you,” she shouted, but his great steed thundered down the steep slope with such speed his pursuers could never overtake him. With a final prod to Balvenie, Cailla
tried to escape, but one of the MacAuley men trapped her, capturing the mare’s bit. Balvenie reared, whinnying a protest.

  Cailla kicked at her assailant, but another MacAuley clansman rode forward and snatched her from her saddle. Cailla turned, scratching at his face so he lost his grip on her. She landed on her hip and painfully scrambled to her feet. The man who’d pulled her from Balvenie grabbed hold of her hair and jerked her back on his horse, flinging her across his saddle.

  Cailla screamed with pain and shock. Something whistled passed her ear. The man grunted as a dirk buried itself in his chest. Without another sound of protest he toppled to the ground, his sightless gaze fixed. Cailla would have been dragged from the horse by his weight, but she clung to the saddle. She caught a glimpse of Logan and Jaimie as they drew nearer. From the opposite ridge came a familiar cry as MacPherson men poured over the rise and raced down on the patrol.

  Quickly Cailla swung her leg over the saddle and grabbed the reins. Her captors braced to meet this new attack and made no attempt to stop her as she grabbed Balvenie’s reins and led her away from the battle.

  “Keep riding!” Logan shouted as he passed her.

  This time, the shrill cry was made by Logan and Jaimie as they rode into the midst of their attackers with a clash of steel against steel. Cailla watched in awe as both men wielded their deadly blades, slashing and wheeling to parry thrusts that came within inches of taking their lives. Logan seemed tireless. He paused only to urge his men on before turning to swing his mighty claymore again and again.

  The MacAuley men seemed intent on cutting him down and time and again she opened her mouth to cry out a warning but Jaimie was there to even the battle with his own blade. Even Jaimie couldn’t protect his chief’s back completely. Logan was engaged with a skilled swordsman and didn’t see another ride at him with his blade raised.

  “Logan, watch out.” Cailla screamed a warning but her cry was swallowed up by the sounds of battle. Horrified she watched as the man swung his sword downward. She saw Logan jerked with pain and lower his sword, slumping in his saddle. His shield clattered to the ground.

  The swordsman maneuvered his horse for the kill as Logan turned toward this new threat. Only at the last moment did Logan turn back to the man he’d been fighting in time to raise his sword and weakly ward off the deathblow. Cailla’s heart was in her throat. He couldn’t fight back, he was too weak she thought, but Logan brought up his sword with renewed vigor. The swordsman’s weapon left his hand and arched through the air. When he saw he was unarmed and about to be killed himself, he turned and fled.

  Logan kneed Kermichil into a gallop after him, but slumped over his steed’s neck, barely clinging to the mane to remain seated. Blood, bright and ominous, covered one shoulder.

  The battle was won. Those men of the patrol who’d escaped MacPherson steel threw down their weapons and ran for their lives. MacPherson men pursued them, rounding them up like so many head of shaggy Scottish cattle.

  “Christ’s blood, Logan, you’re wounded,” Jaimie exclaimed in dismay.

  Logan forced himself upright in his saddle. “I’m all right.” He pressed a torn piece of plaid to the bleeding wound.

  “What do you want done with our prisoners?” Jaimie asked. “Left alive, they’re bound to tell Lundy we’re in the area and we can’t take them with us. D’you want them killed?”

  Logan shook his head. “Lundy already knows we’re here and I’ve had enough of killing. I’ve no stomach to murder men just to keep our presence a secret. Set them loose but on foot. We’ll keep their mounts. That will slow their return to Lundy.”

  Jaimie opened his mouth to protest then seeing Logan’s grim expression seemed to think better of it and nodded in acquiescence. They stripped the prisoners of their horses, weapons and boots and sent them off at a dead run. They stumbled over the rocky ground, cursing.

  “We can’t go to Cluny castle now,” Logan continued when the prisoners were gone. “Let’s get to the shieling huts on Toliver Hill. We’ll stay there. We’ll send word my mother be brought to join us. I can’t trust Lundy not to harm her.”

  “Aye, he’s a devilish foe,” Jaimie said glumly as the rest of the men gathered around.

  “We’ll take them to Old Tam Hardy’s croft. They’ll be safer there. It’s located on Bienn Dubhcharaioh on the northeast end of Loch Mhor. Do you recall it?” Logan asked, struggling to stay aright.

  “I remember it well,” Jaimie agreed. “Scotty and I will ride at once. We’ll rendezvous with you there.” The two men set off at a gallop.

  “Let’s go,” Logan ordered. “I want to reach the Loch Mhor before nightfall.

  “But we haven’t tended to the wounded,” Cailla protested. She’d remained silent while they made their plans. Now she plucked at Logan’s bloody sleeve. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. That wound needs tending.”

  “There’s no time,” he grunted. “We have to be far away from this glen before Lundy’s men return with reinforcements. We’ll stop when we’re away from here.”

  They raced over the sun-spangled rises and plunged into shadowed green glens, the beauty of the rugged terrain lost in the urgency of their flight. The horses wouldn’t last long at this rate but they needed to put distance between themselves and the men who would try to come after them. They stopped often to hurriedly erase the evidence of their passage, followed rocky streambeds and doubled back on themselves before beginning the whole process over again. Finally, Logan signaled them forward and they began to climb steep rocky inclines where one misstep could break a mount’s leg and at best leave them winded and trembling with fatigue.

  “The trail is rougher from here on,” Logan said, coming to ride beside Cailla. The patch of tartan he’d used on his shoulder was dark with blood. “The croft is high in the mountains.”

  “If Balvenie can make it, so can I,” she said, leaning forward to make the climb easier for her valiant mare.

  “We’ll have to walk the horses when we get a little higher. They’ll have a chance to recover then,” Logan said and drew a deep breath. “We’ll tend to the wounded then as well.”

  She nodded and concentrated on the rocky trail, fearing that Balvenie might be injured on the rough terrain. They pushed as hard as they dared without permanently ruining their horses. They were high in the mountains and the air was thin for man and beast. A fog moved in, thick and chillingly damp.

  “We’ll make camp here,” Logan said finally when they topped a ridge.

  His voice was ragged with pain and fatigue. Cailla had never believed he could come so far with his wounds, but he seemed made of stone, impervious to ailments that would bring down a normal man.

  “The fog will cover our trail and there’re plenty of places to hide, but no campfires,” he ordered. “Spread out and get some rest.”

  The tired men swung out of their saddles and for all their exhaustion tended to their horses before wrapping themselves in their tartans and slumping on the ground.

  Cailla dismounted and watched as Logan slowly and painfully slid out of his saddle. She hurried to help him, guiding him to a place where the ground was less rocky. Kneeling beside him she tended his wound, cleaning it with water from their bag and strips torn from his shirt. When his wound was cleaned, she wrapped him in his tartan and lay down beside him, cradling him against her body to help warm him.

  Shivering as with the ague, he pulled her close, holding her tightly against him.

  “The night will be colder this high up,” he explained through chattering teeth. “We’ll need each other’s body warmth.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” she assured him.

  His face above the black beard was unnaturally pale. Sweat beaded on his brow. She smoothed it away with her hand and kissed him gently on the cheek and neck, seeking to give him comfort. After a long time she felt him relax in sleep and she was able to close her eyes as well.

  Chapter Nine

  The sound of movement woke her. The men
were saddling their horses, preparing to resume their journey. Quickly Cailla sat up and felt the morning chill. She turned toward Logan and understood the reason she’d felt such warmth throughout the night. He was burning with fever. As if he’d known she was watching him, he awoke with a start and sat up.

  “I’ve overslept,” he mumbled.

  “You’re not well, Logan,” she whispered, sweeping his damp hair off his brow. “Lie back and rest. We don’t have to leave this moment.”

  “Nay, I’ll ride,” he snapped and with enormous effort got to his feet. He staggered and caught himself then glanced at her. “Have one of the men saddle my horse. We’ve delayed long enough because of my wound.”

  “You can’t possibly ride with that fever,” Cailla insisted.

  “Wife, I’m capable of much more than you can imagine. Bring my horse.”

  “This is madness,” she objected.

  “Madness it may be, but it must be done. Now do as I command you and bring my horse!” His words were a roar heard by all.

  A man hastened to saddle Kermichil and bring him to Logan. When he tried to mount, he sagged against the horse’s side. His clansman hurried to help him mount. Logan straightened in the saddle and took up the reins.

  “We ride,” he said and set Kermichil to a gallop.

  The rest of the group hurried to gather their belongings and catch up with him. When Balvenie drew beside Logan’s horse, Cailla looked at him for a long moment.

  “Don’t worry about me, wife,” he said with a wry touch of humor. “I’ve ridden with much worse wounds than this.”

  “And a fever?” she snapped.

  “And a fever,” he replied. He rode along silently for a stretch before he spoke again. “Tell me, my reluctant bride, does all this wifely concern mean you’ve had a change of heart about me?”

  “I would see no man suffer more than he should,” she replied tartly, “even if he has not the sense of a donkey.”