The Warrior's Bride

by Amanda Scott

  When the gillies had gone, he looked up to meet Andrew’s expectant, twinkling gaze. “What exactly do you have in mind, sir?”

  Andrew grinned. “Why, just what we’ve discussed afore now, lad. Ye’ll send a message to the man, saying ye hope to discuss matters of possible business betwixt Arrochar and Ardincaple. ’Course, after he agrees, we’ll take a different tack than ye might have afore. Ye’ll begin with Ardincaple, but then ye’ll seek to learn if he means to give Muriella back to us or keep her for his damnable son.”

  Rob nearly choked on the meat he was swallowing but managed—he hoped—to conceal his dismay by concentrating fully on getting it down safely.

  Arrochar Hall

  “Ye took longer than I’d expected,” Pharlain said bluntly when Dougal returned to the hall dais warmly clothed and impatient for his supper.

  Wondering if he would ever hear his father express actual approval of something he had done, Dougal signed to a hovering gillie to fetch him some food. He could not recall ever hearing praise without caveats about how his father would have done it or how he could have done it better, faster, or to greater advantage.

  Taking his usual seat next to Pharlain, Dougal said, “I wanted to see that the lass got food and dry clothes. I’ve locked her in the shed, so she’ll keep dry. But it’s as dark as the devil’s den, so ’tis likely she’ll be more compliant tomorrow.”

  “She is disobedient?”

  “She is angry,” Dougal said. “She’ll mind me well enough, though. Why did you ask me about the horse?” he added.

  “Claret?” Pharlain asked, reaching for the jug.

  “Aye, thanks.”

  Handing him the jug, Pharlain said, “Tell me the rest o’ your tale. But, first, did ye both ride the horse?”

  Dougal told him exactly what he had done and why.

  When he finished, Pharlain said, “Aye, good. If ye mean it about marrying the lass, I’m thinking now that I’ve heard summat of a way tae do that without raising a dust amongst her lot or our own.”

  Dougal raised his eyebrows. “How? Her father won’t approve such a wedding no matter how much good it would do her or the clan in the end. As for our lot, they’ll do as they’re bid, just as they always do.”

  “None o’ that will matter if I’m right in my thinking. It’s been long since I heard the tale, though. I must send for my mother’s cousin in the morning.”

  “What cousin?”

  “Fingal Morrison. He’s a Brehon justice, which means he kens more than most men do about Celtic law.”

  “But what do you think he can do?”

  “I’ll say nae more until I ken what’s what,” Pharlain said. “If I’m wrong, it will come tae nowt. I’m thinking, though, that it be time I held me laird’s court.”

  “Would you force her to marry me?”

  “If necessary, aye.” Pharlain smiled grimly. Then he added, “If I’m right, though, mayhap we can do the thing legally and without any fuss.”

  Chapter 8

  Having found nothing remotely resembling a weapon but likewise finding no implement that might fall on her, or spider webs, Muriella paced back and forth the short distance from the door to the candle shelf. She was trying to think.

  Usually, when she walked, she fell easily into reverie. Much as she needed to think now, though, she could not seem to do so. Her quick ears caught too many sounds beyond the walls. Each one interrupted her concentration.

  She had begun to hope her captors would leave the candle, and was trying to estimate how long it might last, when she heard the bar outside going up again.

  Turning toward the door, she felt deep relief when the silent woman entered again, but a man followed her. At first Murie thought it was Dougal, but the man was shorter, with a less muscular build.

  “Be quick,” he said to someone behind him.

  A second, younger man stepped past him, carrying over one shoulder what looked to Murie’s experienced eye like a rolled-up pallet. She welcomed the sight and welcomed even more the blanket she saw when the man laid the pallet out.

  She had had distressing visions of having to sleep on the dirt floor.

  As it was, she had no pillow, and both pallet and blanket were thin. Tempted to demand better quality or a second blanket, she resisted. To grouse without first having some idea of how her captors might react would be foolhardy.

  Common sense told her that the men were following Dougal’s orders and would be unlikely to defy them. So, she held her tongue.

  The woman moved to the shelf and unstuck the candle. As she turned back toward Murie, she allowed herself a slight nod.

  Turning with her as she passed, Murie said clearly, “Thank you, all of you. I am grateful for the food and clothing you brought me, and for the bed.”

  None of the three spoke.

  In the glow of the woman’s candle, Murie saw her casually put her free hand behind her back. The men, outside the doorway now and waiting for her, could not see her wiggle her fingers at Murie as if to say, “You’re welcome, aye.”

  Then the door shut behind her and blackness filled the shed again. With a sigh, Murie felt her way to the pallet.

  With the snoring of men on pallets in the lower hall as background noise, Rob and Andrew talked over mugs of whisky. As soon as Rob had finished eating, the older man produced a jug of the potent stuff and filled mugs for each of them.

  “You know, sir,” Rob said quietly, “rescuing her may take some time.”

  “Aye, it might, but dinna forget we must be in Inverness by mid-May. That journey will take time, too, lad. We need to leave by the end of the month.”

  “We may have to forgo Inverness,” Rob said. “With respect, sir, if you cannot find your charters, I’m surprised that you still want to go. Not only is the journey long but Pharlain controls the pass into the northwestern Highlands.”

  “Sakes, that doesna trouble me,” Andrew said. “As for the charter, our Lina cast her runes when she and Ian last visited us. She saw nae sign of disaster, so me charters will show themselves in good time.”

  “Forgive me,” Rob said, striving to conceal his disbelief. “If you hid them and they disappeared from that hiding place, how do you expect them to reappear?”

  “Tùr Meiloach protects its own,” Andrew said placidly. “I ken fine that ye’ve heard that afore, lad, and dinna believe it. Not long ago, unbeknownst to me, the charters were in grave danger. That is, certain people did fear as much.”

  “You refer to the events of last summer, aye?”

  “I do, and so ye do ken summat about Tùr Meiloach and how the land protects true MacFarlans. Nowt be more vital to the safety of our clan than that the King confirm the royal charters granting me the rights to Arrochar and its estates.”

  “I know that Dougal captured the lady Lina and held her captive at Dumbarton Castle. Did he hope to exchange her for the charters?”

  “That was one of the lad’s daft hopes, aye. He also sought to marry her.”

  “I remember that, too,” Rob said with a nod.

  “Dougal is a fool,” Andrew said with a growl. “In any event, I wouldna give him Lina. And that, I suspect, is why he’s taken our Muriella.”

  “Even so, it is gey unlikely that he stole those charters himself.”

  “I tell ye, lad, the charters are here,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “Dougal never set foot in this tower, nor will he. The land of Tùr Meiloach will reject him if he does aught more to endanger any of us. As spawn of the devil that killed my three young sons, Dougal doesna count as one of us, himself. Neither he nor Pharlain will lay a hand on me charters, whatever else they may do.”

  “Then how do you explain Dougal’s twice laying hands on your daughters?”

  “They cast themselves into his path, both of them,” Andrew said. “Our Lina did so through nae fault of her own, but she survived, aye? Ye’ll see, the charters will show themselves in time for me to present them to his grace.”

  “B
ecause Lady Lina cast her runes?” Rob said, allowing a strong note of doubt to enter his voice. Briefly, he worried that it might offend his host, but the twinkle returned to Andrew’s eyes, which was even more unsettling to his guest.

  Andrew paused with his whisky mug halfway to his lips and eyed Rob over its rim. “Ye dinna believe in the runes, then.”

  “No more than I believe in wee folk, fairies, or boggarts,” Rob said.

  “Yet ye call yourself a Highlander, aye?”

  “I do, and an Islesman, as well, as I think you ken fine.”

  “ ’Tis a pity then that ye didna sail here in one o’ your galleys,” Andrew said.

  “My father would agree with you,” Rob admitted. “In troth,” he added, meeting Andrew’s gaze, “I wanted to see more of Tùr Meiloach.”

  “So ye have summat in common with Dougal then. Likely he slipped in to explore and test Tùr Meiloach’s powers, but the land kens fine that he can do little harm by himself. I’ll wager he caught sight of my lads beyond the pass the first time he ventured here and sent his men ahead to kill them today.”

  “In fairness, I should tell you that the one I sent to you said that Dougal had ordered them to render your men harmless,” Rob said. “He might have expected his men simply to tie yours up.”

  “Then he should have said so,” Andrew retorted. “More whisky?”

  “Not tonight, sir. I’ve been up since dawn. Moreover, I’m thinking you’ll want to talk more tomorrow about how we should apply to parley with Pharlain. For the nonce, your whisky or simple exhaustion has befogged my mind. So, if you will excuse me and tell me where to find a bed, I would seek it.”

  “Aye, sure, I’ll have one of me lads show ye. Ye’ve been sleeping in Mag’s bed at the cottage, so ye might as well have his here, too. Will ye need aught more than the bed, water for washing, and a night jar?”

  Denying any further necessity, Rob bade him goodnight and, with a snap of his fingers, summoned the ever-alert Scáthach from her place by the fire.

  As they followed a gillie up the twisting stairs to a quiet, spacious chamber under the ramparts, Rob thought about the long talk he had had with his host.

  He could not help thinking that, often, when Andrew said one thing, he was thinking something else. Perhaps, on the morrow, after a good night’s sleep and with a fresh mind to guide him, Rob could figure out what the man was up to.

  To Murie’s surprise, she not only fell asleep almost the moment she drew the blanket up and put her head down, she slept the night through. When she awoke, she saw that although the stone walls of the shed were solid, a few cracks here and there let in tiny bits of the gray dawn light.

  Although she had arrived in darkness and quickly lost her bearings, she needed only her reliable instinct to know it was the dawn sky rather than an overcast one. She also knew that the tide was on the turn and the rain had stopped.

  The air in the shed was icy. Knowing she would stay warmer between blanket and pallet than if she got up, she stayed where she was until she heard noises outside. Certain that they meant her breakfast was coming, she scrambled upright, rolled up the pallet and blanket, and shifted them out of the way.

  After the usual ritual of the bar going up and the guard opening the door, the silent woman entered with a tray and set it on the stool.

  “Good morning,” Murie said, moving out of her way.

  “She won’t answer ye.”

  Whirling to see Dougal filling the doorway, Murie said, “Why won’t she?”

  “Because I told her I’ll have her flogged if she says one word to ye.”

  “I’ve heard tales about the brutality at Arrochar,” she said scornfully. “But I had not heard that you treat the women as badly as you treat the men.”

  “Watch your tone, lass. Remember, ye’ve become one of our women.”

  “I am no such thing!” she snapped. “You will gain naught by holding me, Dougal MacPharlain. Good sakes, you would earn scorn from all other Highlanders if you were to treat me the way you threaten to treat that poor woman.”

  “Ye seem gey sure of yourself, lass. If ye’ll recall, Arrochar did not protect your family in times past, nor did Tùr Meiloach protect ye yesterday.”

  She could not deny those words, for they were true. But she would not let him see how much they distressed her.

  Instead, she said, “Tùr Meiloach has its ways, and I do not know them all. It was folly yestermorn for me to let my thoughts go a-wandering. Even so, what happened was not my fault, Dougal MacPharlain. It was yours. Our land and our beasts know that as well as you and I do,” she added, looking him in the eye.

  Even in the dim light of the shed’s interior, she could see that his face paled. So, despite his successful forays onto their land—if one counted as successful his having abducted her without being buried in a landslide or drowned in a bog—he did clearly still have reservations about his safety there. She would do all she could to increase his uneasiness, too.

  Accordingly, she said, “You have put me at risk now, and the spirits of Tùr Meiloach will remember that. Sithee, I ken fine that my sister Lina warned you that the land will reject you. You would be wise to remember that and let me go home.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Dougal said in his usual superior way. He was still pale. “By my troth,” he added, “I mean ye nae harm, lass. I just want tae marry ye.”

  “Well, I don’t want to marry you,” she retorted. “Moreover, you cannot make me marry you. By law, no one in Scotland can force a woman to marry if she refuses to do so. And, by my troth, I will cry ‘Nae’ as loudly as ever I can.”

  “Lassie, ye ken nowt of laws if ye think that, for they are nobbut compliant beasts to the men who interpret them. Sithee, my father will hold his laird’s court to decide your fate. Mayhap he will agree with ye, and mayhap he will not.”

  Muriella felt her stomach clench. A gasp from the hitherto silent woman, as she returned to the doorway, made it clench tighter.

  Her own face, she feared, was probably whiter now than Dougal’s had been.

  In Pharlain’s own laird’s court at Arrochar, far from Jamie Stewart and his hope of instituting one set of laws throughout Scotland, Pharlain would have the power to decide her fate in any way he chose.

  He would also be able to enforce that decision by any means he chose.

  “I’m thinking ye’ll want a galley,” Andrew said to Rob, as the two walked together in the still-damp woods later that morning. Watching Scáthach range through the shrubbery in search of a snack or a chase, Andrew added, “Ye’ll look more impressive than if ye walk in alone. I’ll send some of me lads with ye.”

  “I thank you, sir, but nay,” Rob said. “I planned to go alone, and I think I can count on my name to get me in. Pharlain’s desire to partner with us and collect fees from all who enter the lochs from the firth should win me a meeting with him.”

  “Ye’ll be taking a greater risk than ye need, though,” Andrew said. “What would keep Pharlain from taking ye prisoner if ye’re on your own?”

  “I hope he’d have better sense than to cast such a gauntlet at my sire,” Rob said. “The MacAulay may be a man of peace, but he is my father.”

  “He is, aye, lad. And a chief’s son should travel with a proper tail, if only to remind that lout Pharlain that your da is a baron and chief of his clan, as well as being Laird of Ardincaple.”

  “The number of men that the King’s rules allow me in my tail would be of little use in a fight,” Rob said. “I’m neither knight, lord, bishop, abbot, nor earl.”

  “ ’Tis true, but ye’re nae dafty, either,” Andrew said, affecting an air of quiet patience that Rob knew went wholly against the older man’s character. “Forbye, ye are a gentleman, entitled to take six armed men wherever ye go.”

  “I do know that,” Rob said, suppressing a sigh.

  “Take what ye’re allowed, then. Sakes, lad, think what happens when Pharlain hears that your father won’t partner with him,
or when he learns that your true reason for meeting him is to win our lass’s freedom.”

  “In either event, six men would do me no good against Pharlain’s hundred or more,” Rob said. “Nor would an earl’s allowance of a full score be much better, come to that, not on Pharlain’s home estate.”

  “Then we must think harder,” Andrew replied. “Meantime, we’ll send someone to Craggan Tower to borrow a Colquhoun galley. That will take less time than sending a running gillie all the way to Ardincaple.”

  To that suggestion Rob agreed. He knew the Laird of Colquhoun’s people would willingly lend one galley, or more, to either Andrew or himself.

  “There, ye see,” Andrew said, grinning. “Ye can be reasonable.”

  “With respect, sir, when you talk like that, I begin to wonder if you recall that we are discussing how to rescue your daughter from her captivity.”

  “And when ye talk like that, laddie, I begin to wonder if ye’ve formed a softness in your heart for our lassie,” Andrew said, giving him a shrewd look.

  “Then let me set your mind at rest,” Rob said, keeping his temper with unexpected difficulty. “I don’t mean to marry any woman for years yet. Even if I did, you must be as aware as I am that my parents expect me to marry someone rather more…” Recognizing dangerous ground, Rob fought to gather his wits and added, “… rather older.”

  Andrew snorted. “Older, is it? And here was me thinking that your lady mother has set her mind on the Duchess of Albany’s youngest daughter for ye. How old would that lassie be, d’ye think?”

  Ever honest, Rob said, “Fifteen, sir, but I have no intention of marrying her, and so I have told my mother. You are right in that she wants me to marry a lass from a higher-ranking family than ours, but I have never sought such a marriage. Nor do I want any young woman who has to be forced to marry me.”

  “Aye, well I’d no force any lass of mine to wed a man she doesna want,” Andrew said. Then he asked curiously, “What do ye want then?”

  “To choose my own way as much as I can, considering the responsibilities I will likely inherit,” Rob said. “At present, I would continue to serve his grace the King as a warrior. But I do recognize my duty to my lord father, as well. That is why I did agree to talk with Pharlain.”