by Lois Greiman
Ramsay’s heart sank. They were done. There was no hope.
But a rock flew, striking a rider, and the horseman jerked about, his face visible in the moonlight.
“Gilmour!” Hope flooded Ramsay as his clansmen charged from the darkness. With renewed strength he leapt toward the Munros, but in that instant another missile was loosed. It struck his skull with reverberating force and he dropped, falling quietly at Anora’s feet.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ramsay groaned as he awoke. His head rang like an iron bell and his leg throbbed with pain that seemed to rumble its way through his entire being.
“You say he swoons often?” asked a familiar voice.
Ramsay cracked one lid open and got an eye full of Gilmour’s grinning face. Memories flooded back like a break-tide, and he sat up with a jolt. “Where’s Anora?”
“Ahh, so our long-lost brother joins us,” Gilmour said. “Welcome to the land of those who stay awake during a battle.”
“Where’s—”
“MacGowan.” She was there, unscathed, unbowed.
“Anora.” He whispered her name and she came into his arms. “I feared …” he began, but could find no words to complete the aching panic he had felt.
Nothing to explain the empty void he had faced at the thought of losing her. He slipped his hand onto her cheek and drank in the sight of her. “You are well?”
“Of course,” she said, but when she covered his hand with her own, her fingers trembled. “And you?”
“I am fine.”
“Not to worry, me lady,” Lachlan said. “I fear me wee brother has always been wont to swoon like a milk-fed babe. He’ll recover.”
If Anora heard him she showed no sign. She slid her fingers gently over the bump on Ramsay’s skull. “I am sorry.” Her face was pale. ” ‘Tis my own fault. Isobel only meant to save you from—”
“Your sister is a fine aim.”
“Sister! I have no sister,” she gasped, but for an instant her gaze darted toward the door.
“Aye, you do, lass,” he murmured, and followed her gaze. Isobel stood near Meara with her back to the wall. For the first time since his introduction to her, she was dressed in something other than faded, drooping gray. Indeed, the sapphire blue cape wrapped about her slim form and covering her head was just as bright as the colors always worn by her mistress. “Your twin, I believe.”
“Twins?” Lachlan said, and rubbed his arm as if nursing a bruise.
Anora shook her head. “We are not—”
“There is no need to lie,” Ramsay said. “The truth is out. “Anora’s lips moved in silent denial for a moment, then, “How did you know?”
“At first ‘twas simply her hands,” he said, and stroked Anora’s gently. “But then there were a dozen wee hints. Her lips were all but blue after she dove from me window into her beloved sea—a fact I failed to see in me drug-induced state. But me conversation with her, when she pretended to be you and sent me out to the vale—that was quite revealing. She called me Ramsay, which you have not to this day, and suggested that I might be in love with you. A dangerous lass, but quite astute. She is the one who pretends to be Senga, who made certain me mead was drugged, who visited me room in the wee hours of the morn, who rocked Mary’s cradle, and who dove from me window into the firth.”
“Is this true?” Anora asked, her gaze meeting her sister’s.
The girl frowned as she stepped forward. “I know naught of rocking a cradle, but as for drugging you …” She shook her head. ” ‘Twas clear Ailsa would keep your mug full of whatever fine herb I dropped in her pitcher.”
“Isobel!”
“I am sorry, sister.” The whisper was gone from Isobel’s voice, replaced by a demeanor as bold as her twin’s as she swept back her hood. Golden hair glistened in the candlelight. “I could not bear to lose you.”
“Lose me!”
“To MacGowan,” she said, and fixed him with her gem bright eyes for a moment.
“And so you would see him killed?” Anora asked. “Delivered to the Munro—”
“The Munro was not to have him,” Isobel said, drawing closer. “I have more than one friend who would be willing to see the MacGowan taken from Evermyst until you forgot him, until you remembered that we cannot let another in. Until you remembered our mother.”
“But with Ramsay gone, Munro would have only increased his efforts to have me!”
“But do you not see?” Isobel said, her tone softening. “The Munro would never have had you.”
“We cannot hold him outside these walls forever.”
“Maybe not outside the walls,” Isobel agreed. “But outside your heart?” She smiled. The expression was wistful, and Ramsay realized that until that instant he had seen nothing but trepidation on the girl’s elfin face. “For a few brief months, you shared your life with me. Indeed, you shared your very soul, for I felt as though we were one. But there is no place for me here now,” she said. “Truly though, mayhap ‘tis for the best. I tire of playing the soft maid.”
“Isobel—” Anora said, but her sister shook her head.
“Me apologies, MacGowan,” she said, though there was little remorse in her tone. “When I went to your chambers to test your loyalty and you turned aside me advances, I knew that you truly cared for me sister. Still, I convinced myself that your departure would be the best thing for her. I could not allow you to be killed, though. Not when me sister adores you as she does.”
“I do not …” Anora began.
“There’s little point in denying it,” Isobel said, her gaze still on Ramsay “Though I do not understand the attraction, she cherishes you.” She shrugged “I know, just as she knows the truth about me.”
“She knew in her heart that I was the one who wished you gone. She knew, yet because she cherishes me, she believed my lies to the contrary. You are blessed among men, MacGowan, for she adores you like none other.”
“Do you?” Ramsay asked Anora.
Their eyes met. “I—”
“Hold up!” Gilmour said. “I am utterly flummoxed. How could you not know they be sisters? You’ve been known to be daft, Ram, but surely none could be so simple as to miss the great beauty they share. Indeed,” he said and stepping toward Isobel, took her hand between his. “I am already light-headed from her charms.”
Isobel threw back her head and laughed. “Or mayhap ‘tis from the rock I hit you with,” she said, and pulled her hand from his. “Believe me, MacGowan number two, had I not wished you to know me true identity you would not have known.”
” ‘Twas you who threw the rock?” Gilmour asked.
“The lass is quite adept with a sling,” Lachlan rumbled.
“A maid must have some means of defense when she is born to poverty.”
Gilmour scowled, and Isobel smiled, enjoying his bemusement.
“I meself did not know I had a sister,” she said. “Not until some months ago when I tried to filch the very turnips the lady of Evermyst was attempting to purchase.”
“How can this be?” Lachlan asked.
“Ignorance is an evil thing,” Meara said, her voice dry as dust. “Evil and intolerant. Twins are thought to be the devil’s work. And triplets …”
“Triplets?” Ramsay asked. “There were triplets?”
“Nay, nay, there were not,” Meara said quickly. “I only mean that men are fools at times, and their sire, God rest his soul, was no exception. What difference does it make if the womb bears one babe or more? Surely the blessings be only multiplied. The laird of
Evermyst was not an evil man, but ignorance and superstition guided him.” She shook her head. “When the lady learned that she was to bear more than one child, she was afraid. ‘Tis not unknown for the second bairn to be put to death, so she begged me to hide the weaker of the two. I took Isobel far away and placed her in the care of a merchant’s wife.” Her ancient face cracked with grief. “I did not know she would fall into harm’s way.”
&nbs
p; “Do not fret,” Isobel said. “I am not the lady of Evermyst, but neither am I dead. I have learned many things. Enough to make me own way in this world.”
“Your own way,” Anora repeated. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Even at our first meeting at the market, we knew the truth. ‘Tis not safe for us to be together,” Isobel said. “Prejudice and ignorance—”
“Cannot win out over right and strength,” Ramsay said.
“What?” asked the sisters in unison.
“If you will be me wife,” Ramsay began, his throat aching with emotions as he held Anora’s gaze, “I will let no harm befall you or your sister.”
“But—” Anora began.
“Nay!” Ramsay said. “Hear me out. I know that you do not trust men, but this I vow: if you will pledge your life to mine, I will keep you safe or die in the effort.”
Anora’s face was pale. “MacGowan—”
“Do not say nay,” he whispered, and Lachlan stepped forward.
” ‘Tis not just me brother’s might that will protect you, lass,” he said. “But all the MacGowan power. We are the brother rogues. Who can best us?”
“I don’t know,” Isobel said, eyeing Gilmour. “He gasped like a child when me rock hit him.”
“MacGowan.” Anora breathed his name and ever so gently caressed his cheek. “There are times when even right and strength cannot best hatred and intolerance. And those who hate me will hate you, also. I could not bear to see you hurt.”
“Then marry me,” he said. “For nothing could wound me more than being without you.”
“I—”
“Marry me,” he said, “or I shall befriend Senga and haunt Evermyst meself.”
“I fear you will not hear from Senga again once I have departed,” Isobel said.
“Aye,” Meara agreed, “but if she could, your grandmother would return to meet this man.” She nodded firmly. “For he is powerful and peaceable, and cunning and kind. But is he loved, Anora? You alone can answer that.”
The room fell into silence.
“Am I loved?” Ramsay whispered.
“Aye,” Anora murmured.
Gilmour frowned. “I always suspected God had a fine sense of humor. There is only one mystery left, then,” he added. “Who was the warrior who led us here to best the Munros?”
“The same warrior who seized the lass from our very camp,” Lachlan said.
“Aye. But who is he, Ram—” Gilmour began, but found his brother locked in Anora’s embrace.
“I suspect he’s busy,” Lachlan said.
“Humph,” Gilmour answered.
* * * * *
The wedding took place at Evermyst. The walls of the great hall were festooned with bouquets of dried white heather to bring luck to the newlyweds, and the floor was covered with fresh reeds mixed with sweet strew. A score of clans gathered together to celebrate. Frasers mingled with Forbeses and MacGowans and MacAulays and Munros in a riotous crush of cousins and kinsmen and friends.
Upon the dais, Ramsay stood with his bride, and scores of well wishers drank to their health. Against the far wall, wee Mary lay content in her wooden cradle, and near at hand a dark haired Irishman lifted a mug and a devilish smile.
“I do not understand it, Rachel,” said he, speaking loud enough to make certain Ramsay heard every word. “Here’s your wee cousin, naught much to look upon and somber as a stone, yet he gains himself this bonny bride. ‘Tis a miracle, I say.”
“You’re not the one to call the kettle black, Liam,” said a huge warrior who nudged his way through the crowd.
“Haydan,” said the violet eyed woman on Liam’s arm. ” ‘Tis glad I am to see you.”
“I only mean,” said Liam, not missing a beat, “that wonders will never cease. But then, I’ve heard this keep is bewitched, so mayhap there lies your answer.”
“Nay,” said Gilmour, stepping forth. ” ‘Tis the way Ram swoons that draws the lasses. Prettily, like a fine, delicate maid. Ohhh,” he crooned, and lifted the back of his hand feebly to his brow. “I feel weak. Marry me, Anora, or I shall surely faint.”
The closest bystanders chuckled and Gilmour grinned.
“I had hoped that her pity would run short before the time of the wedding, but I see that it was me own luck that ran short. Nevertheless …” He raised his horn mug. “I congratulate you, brother, and welcome your bonny bride into the clan.”
There were shouts of “cheers” and “hear, hear,” as Ramsay gazed at his bride’s beaming face.
“Tell me, wife,” he said, squeezing her hand and looking deep into her smiling eyes. “Did you marry me because of the way I swoon?”
“Is it the truth you want, husband?”
“It might be an interesting change,” he said.
She laughed and rose on her toes to whisper her words. “Indeed, I married you because you make me swoon.”
“Oh,” he breathed, and felt his blood rush southward.
Her lips drew closer to his. Ecstasy waited.
“Here now!” someone yelled. “Surely you can wait till you reach her bed, MacGowan.”
Ramsay pulled away and raised his mug in an impromptu toast. “May me union with the fair lady of Evermyst forever aid in the peace amongst our clans.” As cheers rang through the throng, his gaze fell on the Munro, looming above the heads of his countrymen. “Excuse me, me love,” he said, and extracted himself to weave through the crowd, keeping the red curly head in sight like the northern star.
“So you have come,” Ramsay said simply.
“Aye.” The Munro nodded once. There was a healing bruise on his brow and when he raised his hand to accept the drink he did so slowly, as if he hurt. “Let it not be said that the Munro be not a man of his word. I said I would come and so I have, as a sign of accord between your people and mine. Not that I am afeared of fighting you again.”
“Nay,” Ramsay said, and rubbed his chest, easing the wound still healing there. “Nay. I too would have no qualms about a battle between us.”
” ‘Tis for the lady,” Munro said and lifted his brooding gaze over Ramsay’s head. “For her there shall be peace … and for the wee babe.”
“Aye.” Ramsay scowled. “So you have spoken with Ailsa.”
“She came to Windemoor some weeks ago, asking to speak to me.” He sighed. “I knew ‘twas she who had found the maid called Deirdre after her fall. But I did not know that she had seen Cuthbert and the girl together.”
“Maybe she was mistaken,” Ramsay said, striving to keep his tone level. “Mayhap the child is not your brother’s at all, but—”
“The babe is most probably his. Just as he may be the one who pushed the maid from …” He grimaced. “Mayhap ‘twas the widow Ailsa’s loyalty to me clan that kept her from immediately telling what she knew, but Cuthbert was … not as gentle as I.”
Ramsay cleared his throat. ” ‘Tis that very gentleness I would appeal to now.”
The Munro’s scowl consumed his face. “What’s that?”
“About the bairn. She is as much a Fraser as a Munro, and though her mother is gone, the same is true of her father. And while I understand that you might mourn his loss, the truth is—”
“What be you trying to say, MacGowan?”
“I’d like to keep wee Mary.”
Munro glared. “Why?”
“I’ve become somewhat attached.”
“You jest.”
“Nay, I do not.”
“And if I agreed, what would I get in return?”
It was Ramsay’s turn to scowl. ‘Twas best to drive a hard bargain, of course, but if the truth be told, he would give up much in exchange. Gryfon came to mind. And he had a couple of brothers—
“What would you like?” Ramsay asked.
Munro raised his gaze to the dais. ” ‘Tis a bride that I need.”
Ramsay stiffened. “You’ll not lay a hand—”
“Don’t get all alather, laddie; I’ve no intention of taking you
rs.”
“Then what—”
“Though I do not understand it, women seem to find you rogues somewhat …” he narrowed his squinty eyes, “… appealing.”
Was he joking? Ramsay wondered. If he had swooned one more time in the past few weeks, he would have been laughed out of Scotland. “So you want—”
“Quiet,” Munro warned, still leaning forward. “You may not know it, but maidens of breeding do not always find me … charming.”
“They don’t?”
“Your tutelage will be changing that, MacGowan.”
Ramsay kept his expression impassive as full understanding dawned. “As you wish, then.”
“We are agreed?”
“Aye.”
The giant nodded grimly. ” ‘Tis good,” he said. “But I tell you now, if so much as a word of this gets out, I’ll tear you limb from limb and—”
“You must be the Munro.”
Ramsay turned at the sound of his brother’s voice, but Lachlan didn’t shift his gaze from the giant’s broad face.
Munro glanced down. “And you must be the brother the wee maid wounded with her rock.”
Lachlan’s brows lowered and Gilmour appeared beside him just in time to laugh. “I’m certain he meant nothing by it, brother. After all, ‘twas a good sized rock, flung by, well, by a braw lass.”
The Munro chuckled, and Lachlan’s brows lowered more.
“This be me wedding day, brothers,” Ramsay warned under his breath. “And I’ll not have a fight between—”
“What goes on here?” asked Flanna.
The lads turned in unison. “Nothing, Mother,” they said, and Ramsay slipped away with a smile.
Across a sea of heads, he could see his bride. Standing beneath a bower made of dried and twisted flowers, she gazed across the crowd. An expression of concern was on her bonny face. Ramsay hurried through the mob to her side.
“Anora.” He stepped up beside her and followed her gaze out over the crowd. “What is amiss?”
“Nothing. ‘Tis naught.” She looked up at him and smiled, but in that instant, he saw where her attention had been. A solemn faced young man stood at the edge of the crowd with his back to the wall.