The Highlander's War Prize (The Highland Warlord Series Book 2)

by Tessa Murran

  They lay together, their bodies moist with sweat until Lyall kissed her tenderly and rolled aside.

  ‘Here, use my shoulder for a pillow if it will ease you a bit.’ He held out his arm, and she snuggled into him. No words were spoken after that, for the longest time. To Giselle, the sound of the insects, buzzing, and the river, gurgling past, became deafening to her ears. Was he disappointed with her? Had she not tried hard enough to please him? Giselle was sure she had a lot to live up to, as Lyall would have had many women, far more experienced and exciting than her.

  ‘I want a gaggle of brats at my feet, at least four sons,’ Lyall said in a rush, looking up at the sky. She heard him swallow hard. ‘For that, we should wed.’

  She could scarce believe Lyall was saying the words, but she tried to sound nonchalant.

  ‘Yes, we should wed,’ she said and, just like that, she had a future. ‘What about daughters?’ she asked.

  ‘Aye, we shall have some of those too. I will be a busy man, keeping you satisfied.’ Lyall entwined his fingers in hers and raised himself onto his elbow.

  ‘You did like it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did, very much.’

  His green eyes were warm as he looked deep into her eyes.

  ‘Giselle, this life here at Beharra, in the Highlands, it is rougher than you were bred for. If you wed me, I fear you may come to regret it. I am a soldier, death could claim me any day, and you could be left a widow.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fate has a way of catching up with us, Giselle. One day soon, a stray arrow will find my heart or a sword spill my guts. Or I could die of my wounds or a fever, which afflicts all armies, and carries off more men than any amount of weapons, and you don’t see it coming. Living or dying is all a throw of the dice, and God’s will.’

  ‘Lyall, it is also God’s will that we have found each other. I don’t care how long we have, a day, a week, a lifetime, as long as we are together. I have had more adventure in these last weeks with you, savage Scot that you are, than in my whole lifetime at Ravensworth. This, with you, feels more like living than my quiet, safe world back there ever did. I can learn, and I can get stronger if you are there to guide me. I don’t want that life I was bred for, it would kill me to live like that. I cannot go back, and I cannot leave you, I can only go forward, by your side, always.’

  ‘Then, it is settled. If you can bear to, I should like to show you how much I love you once more, before the sun sets on this day.’

  Lyall took hold of her waist, pulling her on top of him. It seemed shameful for a man to look at her nakedness so fully. A warm hand skimmed her bottom and then Lyall pulled her hard against him. She could feel he was ready to go again.

  ‘You are in charge, this time. You control how deep I go, how hard I go. I am your slave, to use as you wish, and Giselle, don’t be shy.’

  His lips found hers, and she was lost. Giselle closed her eyes and felt the setting sun glow orange against her face, and her body drift away under his confident touch. Later, when he entered her, less painfully than the first time, she realised that she had never ever been this happy and that she would never, ever deserve him.

  ***

  ‘Wed!’ bellowed Cormac. ‘Have you lost your senses?’

  ‘No, I am in full possession of my wits, and I am marrying Giselle. In fact, I have just come from her bed this fine morning, so it’s best I make haste, else I shame her and myself.’

  Lyall’s face grew warm at the thought of the night he had just spent with Giselle, making love to her, learning just where to put his hands and his mouth to make her cry out his name in ecstasy.

  ‘On a few weeks acquaintance, you would do this? She is English for God’s sake. And what about the ransom? Her father will demand her return.’

  ‘Dead he is, dead for weeks now. So there will be no ransom, there was never a ransom coming, and there is no one to claim her, but me.’

  ‘What? How…?’

  ‘Oh, close your mouth and cease your bellowing, Cormac. I want Giselle, I intend to have Giselle, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Apart from getting used to having an English sister, that is.’

  Before Cormac could voice any more objections, Ramsay came in. He gave Lyall a truly venomous look.

  ‘Do you know I am to be wed, Ramsay? Surely you must, by the look on your face. Eavesdropping again? You do know that people who press their ears to doors are liable to get splinters in them.’

  ‘We have bigger trials than your marriage, Lord. I came to say that there has been a skirmish with the Gowans. Two farmers killed, and several wounded. Livestock has been carried off and homes put to flames.’

  Cormac stood in a fury. ‘Curse them to hell. What has roused them from their slumber? We’ve not had an attack for years?’

  ‘I thought this evil was behind us,’ snarled Lyall.

  ‘Well it is not. These Gowan beasts are working their way along the borders of Buchanan lands and putting fear into the hearts of our clansmen. Will we retaliate Lord?’

  ‘Why now?’ asked Lyall.

  ‘Ranulph Gowan scarce had hair on his balls when he took over from his father,’ said Cormac, ‘but it seems the wretch has gone from a boy to a man, and now he wants to test our resolve or prove himself to his clansmen by killing ours. Either way, this insult must be answered swiftly and in blood.’

  Cormac’s face was grim with anger. ‘So Lyall,’ he snapped, ‘are you coming to teach the Gowans a lesson in Buchanan justice, or would you prefer to stay here, making love to the enemy?’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  How many days had Lyall been gone? Too many. Out in the yard, Giselle watched the children chasing each other with wooden swords, pretending they were great warriors. She dearly hoped Lyall was not doing the same with a real sword against the Gowans. According to Ravenna, the Gowans were no match for Cormac and Lyall and their clansmen, but still, she fretted. Ravenna, on the other hand, seemed curiously indifferent to the fact that they had gone to fight her half-brother’s men. But then, she had long since cut ties with her family, when they had cast her off in marriage to Cormac, and clearly, Ravenna’s loyalty now lay with Clan Buchanan.

  Since Lyall had ridden out, Giselle had been in a fever of worry for him, longing for his return. When he came back, she would be so good to him. Her face burned at the thought of the things he would do to her and how much she would enjoy them. How she longed for Lyall’s kisses, the smell of his skin, the knots of his muscles under her hands and the feel of him inside her, so hard, so potent. Soon he would be her husband, and she could have him, all day, every day. What a wanton thought.

  Little Ross got knocked onto his backside by a bigger boy and started to cry. Giselle rushed over and hauled him onto his feet, dusting him off.

  ‘Don’t cosset him, he needs to learn how to be a man,’ sneered Ramsay from where he leant against the wall of the keep, picking at his nails with a knife tip.

  ‘Can he not be a child first, Ramsay?’

  ‘That is the weak, English way, but here, in the Highlands, it will not serve him.’

  Giselle was about to bite back at him, for she was learning more defiance every day, now that she had Lyall at her back, but she stopped dead.

  Horses, many of them, clattering over the bridge. Lyall was back!

  She ran toward the gates with a big grin on her face just as a party of men poured through. But they were not Buchanans. They were strangers, soldiers, heavily armed, and she didn’t recognise any of them, save one.

  ‘Did you miss me, Giselle?’ His voice was like a fist to her gut.

  The children scattered out of the way of the horses’ hooves, and Giselle spun around and ran as fast as she could, but Banan was off his horse in an instant, catching her by the hair, tearing her backwards and off her feet.

  Ramsay ran over to help her with his knife drawn.

  ‘Deal with him,’ snarled Banan, and a group of soldiers fell upon Ramsay, punch
ing and kicking him to the ground. Giselle heard the crunch of feet on bone, and Ramsay, hopelessly outnumbered, could do nothing but curl up into a ball to protect himself. They would surely beat him to death if she did not do something.

  ‘No, please leave him, no,’ she screamed, but Banan had hold of her tight, so tight in fact that she feared he would tear her scalp from its skull. The pain made her clutch at his hand, but he did not loosen his grip until he had dragged her back to his horse.

  He flung her to the ground. ‘Stay down, or I will kick you until you vomit, girl, and then I will slit his throat before your eyes.’

  Through a blur of tears, Giselle saw Ravenna run out of the keep and stop in horror, at the sight of Ramsay, bloodied and moaning on the ground. She glanced at the soldiers and at Banan. Some of the other Buchanan’s were starting to gather around and stare and mutter. Ravenna put a hand out to stop them coming closer.

  ‘Who are you?’ she said, her voice firm.

  ‘Banan MacGregor is my name, woman. Who are you?’

  ‘I am Ravenna, Laird Cormac Buchanan’s wife and Lady of Beharra. What right do you have to do this, on my husband’s land?’

  ‘Ah, so you are Cormac’s bitch. Well, Lady, I have the right to do anything I like, and I am taking this woman here, by the King’s order. Anyone who tries to stop me will be hanged for treason.’

  ‘King’s order is it? If that is so, I have a right to see it?’

  ‘If you must.’ Banan waved a hand, and one of his men ran to Ravenna and handed her a parchment.

  ‘Can you read, bitch,’ he said, spitting his anger onto the ground. His grip tightened. Giselle had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming. ‘See, it has the King’s own seal upon it.’

  Ravenna tore it open and, as she read it, she frowned. She looked towards Giselle with a stricken face. ‘It says here he has a right to take you, Giselle, as a hostage of war, by order of King Robert. We are to give you up or face the consequences.’

  ‘And you can imagine what they are, can’t you, Ravenna?’ smirked Banan. ‘Get in my way, and I will take the women of your clan and give them to my soldiers for their amusement, and then, I will take your children and feed them to my dogs.’

  ‘Where are you taking her?’ asked Ravenna, going pale.

  ‘Hold your tongue, and your questions, it’s no concern of yours.’

  ‘Very well, but, if you must take her, can she not fetch her clothes, her belongings?’

  ‘Giselle need take nothing from you Buchanans. From now on, I will give her all she wants, and some things she does not want as well.’

  ‘Might I at least bring her mantle? ‘T’is turning to autumn’s cold, and if you have a long journey, she will need it.’

  ‘Run and fetch it then, and waddle as quickly as you can, with your fat belly.’

  Banan turned from Ravenna and started barking orders at his men to take what food they wanted from the kitchen and to get ready to ride out. Thankfully, he let go of her, but Giselle could not move. Her whole body shook. Any moment now, she may vomit.

  The soldiers fanned out, with their swords drawn, and started foraging about the yard for any food they could carry off. Anyone who got in their way was cuffed or pushed to the ground. One soldier came running back with a piglet held by its back legs. Its shrill squeals rent the air around Beharra.

  Giselle stayed where she was on the hard ground, watching Ramsay push himself off the floor and drag himself backwards against the wall. His mouth oozed blood, and his eye was already swelling horribly. He clutched his ribs, face white with pain and, when his eyes locked with hers, he shook his head. No resistance, that was his meaning. If she fought, it would be worse for everyone. If she fought people would die.

  Ravenna rushed back out and came over to her, wrapping the mantle around her shoulders with shaking hands, pulling her close.

  ‘There is nothing I can do, Giselle, but you must be strong,’ she whispered in her ear. ‘Lyall will come for you.’

  ‘No, he must not, for if he defies the King’s order, he dies. That is what Banan wants.’

  ‘I cannot tell him to forsake you.’

  ‘Tell him not to come, Ravenna. Tell him to forget me. By tomorrow I will be dead or shamed. Tell him not to come, promise me, swear it.’

  ‘Alright, I will tell him, much good it will do me.’

  Ravenna clung to her, saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ over and over, but then Banan tore her away and pushed her aside. He dragged Giselle to her feet and up onto his horse.

  Within minutes, she was galloping out of Beharra, to the sound of the piglet, flung over a saddle and still screaming for its mother.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lyall surveyed the distant stand of trees with a frown. The forest was dark and impenetrable, a perfect place for an ambush. His clansmen were silent, waiting for the order to attack.

  ‘Do you think the Gowans are in there, watching us?’ asked Cormac.

  ‘I’d wager they will be long gone by now, but there is no way of knowing for certain, and it is a risk, Cormac. If we attack from here, then they have the advantage with the cover of the trees,’ Lyall replied.

  How many Gowan clansmen lurked in those dark trees, out of sight, bows drawn, swords at the ready? The bastards might just be making a break for it, heading back to the safety of Mauldsmyre Castle, the Gowan’s stronghold. Or they might have a different plan.

  They had tracked the Gowan’s this far, riding all night to catch up with them after a sighting at one of the villages, on the border of Buchanan territory. The brutes had raided and carried off livestock and coin at sword point, and Lyall was in a fury of anger. He wanted to cut them down, and he wanted this over with, but he couldn’t let impatience get the better of him. Years ago, he had been caught in a Gowan ambush, and it had cost the life of his younger brother, Darrow. He was not going to rush into those trees and make the same mistake twice.

  A shout went up from behind them. ‘A rider, Laird, coming from the north.’

  A horse was galloping, at full pelt, across the moor, and, to his astonishment, he recognised the rider as Ramsay. The horse skidded to a halt before them, sweating and obviously ridden to the edge of its endurance. Ramsay’s face was a mess of scabs and bruises.

  ‘We must speak,’ he hissed at Lyall.

  ‘Your face!’ said Cormac.

  ‘I am come with news, Lords, grave news.’

  ‘Ravenna? The child?’ gasped Cormac.

  ‘Nay Lord, it concerns Giselle de Villers.’

  ‘What of her?’ Lyall held his breath as Ramsay babbled out his message in a rush.

  ‘Taken, Lord. A man came to Beharra, a vicious brute. He had the King’s order to take her, with his seal on it, and he had soldiers at his back, many of them, too many’

  ‘Who? What man?’

  ‘Banan, Lord, Banan MacGregor. He said that you would know why he had come.’

  ‘Banan?’ Lyall’s breath left his body in a rush. He glanced at Cormac whose face had turned hard with anger.

  ‘When was this?’ he growled.

  ‘Two weeks ago.’

  ‘Two weeks!’ Lyall dismounted and dragged Ramsay off his horse. He grabbed a fistful of his tunic and shook him hard. ‘Why did you not come sooner to tell me this?’

  ‘Banan did not say where they were going, so I followed him and his men, at great risk. It took me some time to come back with news of their destination.’

  ‘And?’ snarled Lyall.

  ‘He took her to Urquhart, Lord, to the King’s court, which is presently there.’

  ‘He took her to court before the King. Why?’

  Cormac came up to him and prised his fingers off of Ramsay.

  ‘Go, Ramsay. Leave us be for a moment,’ he said.

  ‘There’s more you should know, Lord.’

  ‘Speak,’ snarled Lyall.

  ‘I could discover no news at Urquhart as to the welfare of the de Villers girl, but I am ce
rtain she is there. On the day I was to leave, to bring you this news, there was an execution.’

  Lyall frowned. ‘What fresh hell is this, and what does it have to do with Giselle?

  ‘Domnhall MacGregor was found to have been involved in an English plot to topple the King. He was tried and sentenced to death. The King’s executioner dragged him out into the yard, with everyone looking on. He hanged and gutted him. His corpse, or what’s left of it, now blows in the wind at the gates of Urquhart Castle, for all to see, as a warning not to cross King Robert.’

  ‘How, in God’s name, could they execute someone as powerful as MacGregor?’ said Cormac. ‘I can scarce believe he would turn on his King.’

  ‘Someone in his clan betrayed him, Lord. I heard rumours that one of his own sons gave him up, but I had to be careful who I spoke to. There was a dangerous mood at court.’

  ‘Who? Who gave him up?’ said Lyall. Anger and dread overtook him, and he felt sick to his stomach. He knew what Ramsay was going to say before he said it.

  ‘It is said his oldest son denounced him. It was Banan, Lord.’

  ‘And what of Domnhall’s clansmen, his other sons, did they do nothing?’ asked Cormac.

  ‘No, on pain of death, they held their tongues, and stood by, as their Laird was butchered. The Clan MacGregor is now ruled by the iron fist of Banan MacGregor.’

  ‘Banan gave up his own father. By all that is holy, how could he do it?’ said Cormac.

  ‘He is capable of anything.’ Impotent rage took hold of Lyall, and he rounded on Ramsay. ‘He is a devil, and you let him take Giselle, you bastard.’

  Cormac got in between them.

  ‘’Tis not his fault, Lyall, and Ramsay has done well to find out where they went. He has risked his life to ask dangerous questions of dangerous men. It’s clear he has taken a beating. Who do you think did that?’

  ‘I beg pardon for my failure, Lord,’ said Ramsay.

  Cormac pushed Ramsay away. ‘Let me talk to Lyall, Ramsay,’ he said. ‘I will come and find you presently.’