The Fraser Bride

by Lois Greiman

  “Stay seated!” Ramsay jerked the dirk from his boot.

  “Nay!” she gasped, and grabbed his hand. “Nay, Ramsay.”

  Their eyes met. There he saw the lies laid bare like fallow ground, and when next he glanced up, the first of the warriors was already upon them, then off his horse and down on one knee, his head bowed in deference.

  “Lady Anora,” he said, his voice filled with boundless gratitude. “You have returned.”

  She pulled her gaze away from Ramsay. “Caird,” she said. “Why are you here?”

  “Me lady.” He rose abruptly to his feet. “When your escort returned, saying you had been lost, our troops were sent far afield to search for you. Our laird has been horribly … worried.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He camps just outside of Evermyst.”

  Ramsay sat very still, his gaze never leaving the girl’s pale face. “Your laird?” he asked.

  She did not look at him, did not speak, and Ramsay shifted his gaze down to the warrior. “Tell me,” he said, “who is your laird?”

  The warrior straightened with a scowl. “He is called Innes Munro,” he said, as if there should be none who was not aware. “The Munro of the Munros, and the lady’s betrothed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The world swirled dizzily around Anora. Banners waved, men yelled, horses galloped. Fears and dreams scattered and melded in her mind, making her want to scream, to escape, but they were already crossing the valley toward home, and with that simple, steady movement, her mind began to clear. MacGowan sat stiff and silent before her, but she dared not look at him. Indeed, she dare not think about him, for she had to concentrate, to consider what must be done.

  She had not expected the Munro to send his troops so far afield; she’d thought she’d have more time. She had known, of course, that he would stake his claim, but she had hoped, had believed, that he would remain at Windemoor. That would have given her a chance to reach Evermyst unmolested, to steady her nerves, refine her plans. But now there was no time, for from the top of the next hillock she could see not only the high, crumbling turrets of Evermyst, but the brightly colored pavilions of Munro’s camp. Fear clawed at her belly.

  Below her, horses whickered. Men pointed, and then a huge man ducked from the largest tent and approached with long-strided purpose.

  Around them, their escorts grew silent as their leader drew closer. Tension cranked up like a loaded crossbow until he stood only inches away.

  Anora lifted her chin, but let her eyes widen with fear.

  His nod was curt, his voice as guttural as she remembered. “You had me worried.”

  Her heart was beating overtime. “I have told you before, my laird, you needn’t concern yourself on my account.”

  “Oh, but I must. ‘Tis me duty,” he countered, and stepping toward her, raised his arms. “Come down, now.”

  She struggled with her fear, pushing it away like a threatening tide before sliding stiffly into his arms. He stood very close, too close, smothering her, but she stifled her fear and kept her movements slow as she pulled out of his arms.

  He held her a second longer, then released all but one arm. ” ‘Tis good to have you home, lady. But I wonder …” His eyes were as small and sharp as a ferret’s. “Who is this fellow with you?”

  She could not speak, could not bear to look at Ramsay, to see the condemnation in his eyes.

  “The lady seems to have lost her tongue for a moment,” Munro said, shifting his gaze upward, “so I ask you, laddie, what be your name?”

  There was a prolonged moment of silence, then, “I am called Ramsay. Of the MacGowans.”

  “The MacGowans.” Anora felt the Munro stiffen, saw his giant hand settle with almost casual ease on the bone handled dirk at his side. “And what might you be doing this far north, MacGowan?”

  It was difficult to breathe, more difficult still to raise her gaze to Ramsay’s impassive face.

  “Last I heard, ‘twas not the Munros’ task to decide where a man travels.”

  The Munro grinned, showing the gap where a molar was missing. “It could be you have heard wrong, lad. Why are you here?” he asked, and pulled his dirk from its sheath.

  Fear exploded in Anora’s gut. “He saved me!” she blurted.

  Munro turned slowly toward her, like a bear considering his next meal. “Saved you, lady?”

  “Aye. Were it not for him, I might well have perished far from my homeland and … you … my laird.”

  “Well, then, I owe him a great debt of gratitude. Come, MacGowan, you will be our guest this night,” said the Munro, and tightening his grip on Anora’s arm, turned to go.

  “I fear I cannot.” Ramsay’s words were measured.

  Munro turned slowly back, his entire body tense. “What is that you say, lad?”

  ” ‘Tis just this—lad,” he said evenly. “I must return home this night.”

  “But I insist that you stay,” Munro said, and glanced almost casually at the guards who rode nearby. Immediately they tightened their circle around him. “To accept me gratitude.”

  Ramsay glanced about him. The suggestion of a grim smile shadowed his face, and then he settled his hand on his sword. “As much as I would like to—”

  “Please!” Anora rasped, then calmed her voice with a hard won effort and tried to smile. “Please stay, sir.”

  He turned toward her, his expression flat, his eyes unreadable. Still she held his gaze.

  “Please stay,” she repeated, and forced herself to relax. He would be safe; she would make certain of that. “I owe you much.”

  “Aye,” the Munro agreed. “And the lady’s debts are me own. You must join us for a homecoming feast. Caird, have me mount brought up.”

  “Aye, me laird.”

  “And now, me dearest,” Munro said, turning to her again. “You must tell me why you escaped me men?”

  “Escaped them!” She glanced fearfully up into his broad face. “Nay. ‘Twas simply that the mare you gave me became startled and fled into the woods. I could not stop her.”

  He scowled. “She bolted?”

  “Aye.”

  “Caird,” he snarled, lifting his gaze from her face. “The mare has displeased me lady. Send a man to the south in search of her. When we find her …” He returned his attention to Anora, his scowl harder than ever as he nodded. “We shall feast on her carcass and you shall have the first morsel.”

  “Nay!” Her heart jammed in her chest as words lodged in her throat. “Please. ‘Tis not necessary, my laird.”

  He watched her closely. “The beast endangered you,” he rumbled.

  “Aye. But … ‘twas my own fault. As you well know, I am not very strong, and when she took the bit in her teeth …”

  “So you do not want her slaughtered?”

  “Nay,” she murmured.

  He nodded once. “You have bought the beast’s life for a while longer—but tell me, lass, why did you not return to the protection of me men?”

  Anora lowered her face, her heart beating hard and fast against her ribs. ” ‘Tis embarrassed I am to tell you.”

  “Embarrassed?” He narrowed his eyes and tightened his fist on his dirk again. “Was there one who compromised you?”

  “Nay!” She quelled her nervousness, lest he sense it but mistake the reason. People had died for less. “Your men were naught but courteous.”

  “Good.” He glowered at his men, then turned to mount the gigantic stallion just brought to him. From his steed’s great height he reached down for Anora’s hand.

  She shook her head, trying to stand her ground, but she felt light-headed and nauseated. “If it pleases you, me laird, I will walk.”

  For just a moment, his gaze swept to Ramsay.

  “You rode on that wee horse. It would please me if you rode on mine,” he rumbled.

  She acquiesced without a word, giving him her hand and settling stiffly in front of him.

  “Come along, MacGowan,
” Munro said. “Mayhap you can assist me lady with her story.”

  The men around Ramsay urged him forward, and he came, riding alongside them.

  “She was just about to tell me why she did not return to her escort.”

  “I fear …” She wrapped her fingers in the stallion’s mane for strength and concentrated on the verdant country. There, atop a high, flat sided hill, perched Evermyst, fifty rods above the restless sea. Her home. Her sanctuary. She would not live in fear here. She would be safe again, as would her people. Of that, she would make certain. ‘Twas all that mattered.

  “You fear what?” Munro rumbled.

  It did not matter what the MacGowan thought. It did not matter how he felt or what he did, she reminded herself. All that mattered were her people, her home, her freedom.

  “Lady,” Munro said.

  Anora snapped her mind back to the matter at hand. “I became turned about in the woods. I tried to find my way back to the safety of your escort, but the mare had run long and hard, and I …” She let her voice drift away.

  “You should have called out.”

  “I did. I called and …” She swallowed hard. “Indeed, I fear ‘twas my own voice that brought the warrior upon me.”

  “Warrior?”

  His huge arm tightened like a vise about her waist. Fear rose in her throat. It took all her strength to keep from attempting to fight free.

  “My laird,” she whispered, “I cannot breathe.”

  “Oh.” He loosened his grip a mite. “What of this warrior?”

  “He came out of nowhere.” She kept her voice low, her eyes averted. “Galloping toward me, and I was afraid.”

  “Who was he?”

  She did not need to see his face to feel his anger. The Munro did not like others to challenge what he had claimed for his own. “I do not know.”

  “Did he harm you?” The words were gritted, his right arm, as thick around as her leg, tightened dangerously again.

  “Nay. Indeed, ‘twas then that MacGowan found me.”

  “Ahh.” His grip loosened a little. They were climbing, ascending the nearly vertical slope that led to Evermyst’s all but unbreachable heights. From beyond the rocky slopes that acted as natural walls about the path, she could hear the rhythmic wash of the waves against the castle’s very roots. “So you saw this mysterious warrior, MacGowan?”

  For a moment he did not answer, then, “We caught a glimpse of him.”

  “We?”

  “Me brothers were with me.”

  “The brother rogues. I have heard of you.”

  Ramsay held his gaze. “And we of you.”

  Munro grinned, showing the gap in his teeth. “So the tales of me prowess spreads.”

  “I have heard tales; that I will say.”

  “They all be true.”

  “I never doubted it.”

  Munro stared for a moment, then grinned as if he’d decided to accept the words as a compliment. “So you and your brothers saved me wee lady.”

  “We took her to Dun Ard.”

  “Did you, now?” His tone was careful; his small eyes, were narrowed. “And what happened there?”

  Memories burned through Anora’s mind like a thousand blazing candles. Ramsay’s touch, his kiss, his—

  “There was little time for aught,” Ramsay said, his tone even, “for from the first moment she awoke, she wished to return to … her home.”

  He had almost said “to Levenlair,” Anora thought, and realized she’d been holding her breath.

  “Awoke?” The heavy timbre of the Munro’s voice echoed as they passed through the stone arch of Evermyst’s outer curtain, and for an instant, he shifted his eyes suspiciously around him as if the very walls contained unseen foes. But to her it was naught but home.

  Ailsa, Anora’s second cousin by marriage, stood beside the worn path, her back to the rock behind her. Her breasts, full and pale in the morning light, were all but bare to the world. Grazing on the uneven turf, her goats chewed rapidly as they cocked their heads at the passing riders. “I thank God you have found her,” said Ailsa, but her buxom presence did nothing to distract the Munro.

  “Awoke?” he growled again. “You were with her when she awoke, MacGowan?”

  Ramsay said nothing.

  “I was unconscious when the MacGowans found me,” Anora explained.

  “What’s this?” Munro leaned closer, pressing his heavy chest against her back.

  “I fell from Pearl, and—”

  “Slow down there, lass. It seems this tale gets the more interesting as it unravels. Methinks we’d best sit and discuss it at length. MacGowan, you will join us, of course.”

  “Nay,” Anora said.

  “What?”

  “I would like some time to rest, me laird, afore—”

  “Lassie,” someone crooned.

  Anora jerked her attention to the doorway of the keep where an ancient woman stood bent and scowling over a black walnut staff. “Meara,” she breathed. “You are well?”

  “Aye, lassie. Aye.”

  “And Isobel?” she asked, barely able to force out the question.

  “Aye.”

  “What of Deirdre and Clarinda?”

  “All are safe. And what of you?” The old woman took a feeble step toward them. “You are well?”

  “Aye, she be fine,” said the Munro. “And you will speak with her soon enough. But for now she is recounting the tale of her adventures to her betrothed.”

  Ignoring the Munro, Meara scuttled forward a few steps. “You are well?” she asked again, her gaze pinned on Anora’s face.

  “I am fine,” she answered and held the old woman’s gaze for a moment, longing for … nay, needing her ancient wisdom to see her through. She pulled her gaze from Meara’s and lifted it to the huge man behind her. “But I am tired. Mayhap we could speak later, me laird.”

  “I will hear the tale—”

  “Surely even you can see that the lass is exhausted, Munro!” Meara croaked.

  He tightened his arm about Anora’s ribs and straightened. “Methinks it would be wise of you to treat your laird with some respect, old woman.”

  Meara drew herself up to her full and astoundingly unimpressive height. “And methinks you are a—”

  Anora gave a quiet sigh and forced herself to go limp in his arms.

  “Anora!” Meara croaked.

  “Lady,” Munro rumbled and shook her roughly. “Lady.”

  “What have you done to her?”

  “I’ve done nothing.”

  “By the saints,” Meara swore, hobbling forward, “if you’ve hurt her, you’ll be supping with her grandmother this very night.”

  ” ‘Tis nothing,” Munro rumbled, but a note of uncertainty had crept into his tone. “She’s but fainted.”

  “Fainted!” Meara turned her attention aside to skim the faces around them and returned to MacGowan with a jolt. “You! What’s your name?”

  “I am called Ramsay.”

  “Come hither and catch the lass.”

  He remained as he was. “That would be her betrothed’s—”

  “Come!” Meara ordered.

  Apparently he did so, for despite the fact that she lay slumped against the Munro’s chest, Anora could hear the creak of his saddle as he dismounted.

  “Let her go,” Meara insisted.

  “She is mine to—”

  “Release her!” Meara ordered. “Or you’ll not have to worry on her ancestors’ wrath, for me own will be vicious enough.”

  He loosened his meaty grip. Anora felt herself slipping, but in a moment she was caught in Ramsay’s arms. It took all her concentration to remain relaxed as he bore her to his chest.

  “Inside!” Meara ordered. “Up the stairs.”

  A half dozen voices murmured around her as servants and kinsmen drew close.

  “Me lady!”

  “She is returned!”

  “What happened?” Isobel’s worried voice joined the thr
ong.

  “She fainted,” Meara said.

  “Fainted!” Isobel’s eyes widened.

  “Hush now, child. Up the stairs, lad.”

  MacGowan’s footfalls were steady and sure, and in a moment she was laid upon her own bed. It sighed beneath her back. Ramsay drew his arms slowly away. Meara took her hand.

  “Is she well?” Ramsay asked.

  “What concern is it of yours, laddie?” Munro’s voice was strangely silky.

  “Mayhap the lad has a heart,” Meara said, “unlike some others in this room. Isobel, fetch a mug of ale for your lady.”

  Feather-light footsteps skittered away and heavy ones paced closer. “So I have no heart, old woman?”

  “I’ve not had the pleasure to check,” said Meara. “But ‘tis possible, I suspect.”

  “And ‘tis just as possible that yours will be forfeited as soon as—”

  “What say you, laddie?” Meara asked, interrupting brusquely. “Do you think the Munro here has a heart?”

  The room went silent.

  “I’ve been told all have one,” Ramsay said finally ” ‘Tis. simply that some use them more effectively than others.”

  Meara laughed, but her mirth was interrupted by the sound of the Munro’s dirk slicing from its scabbard.

  “I hate to kill a guest!” Munro rumbled.

  “Aye,” Ramsay continued. “All have a heart, but a mind …”

  There was a growl of rumbling rage.

  “Munro!” Meara snapped. “Remember the prophecy or share your sire’s fate.”

  There was deadly silence for a moment, followed by the sound of a razor-edged dirk meeting its sheath again. “Surely not,” Munro rumbled, “for me own motives are naught but generous. Indeed, ‘tis only me tender mercies I wish to bestow upon the lady—naught else.”

  Meara opened her mouth to retort, but Anora squeezed her hand and the old woman’s face fell back into a scowl. “Then get yourself gone from here,” she said. “And let the lass rest.”

  “You will tell me when she awakens.”

  Anora squeezed again, and the old woman paused. “I would be pleased as always to serve me laird.”

  There was a moment of tense silence as if he pondered her words. ” ‘Tis good. And now for you, MacGowan. Come.” His voice held that frightening silkiness again. “We shall share a mug while you regale me with stories of the time you spent with me bride-to-be.”