by Lynsay Sands
"May I have my wife back?"
Ross blinked his thoughts away to peer at his brother-in-law at that question. A frown claimed his face when he saw that Annabel was no longer seated before the man. Ross looked around, his expression turning grimmer when he saw her presently pulling herself up onto her mare's bare back with a leg up from Marach. A bulging bag that no doubt contained flowers hung from her one hand. Ross immediately scooped up his sister and tossed her the couple of feet to her husband. He barely waited to ensure Bean caught her before turning his horse to urge it up next to his wife's. Ross plucked her up just as she settled on the animal's bare back with a little satisfied huff at the successful effort.
"Husband," she protested. "I can ride. I am not hurt."
"Yer gown is torn and bloodied and ye've added yet another bruise to yer pretty face. Do no' tell me yer no' hurt," he said grimly, shifting her about before him until she was pressed snugly up against his groin. Satisfied with her position, he then gestured for the others to follow, and turned his horse toward the castle. He rode fast at first and let a moment pass to get ahead of the others, before saying, "Ye told me ye had no' seen the man in the clearing yesterday."
"I did not," Annabel assured him, swiveling to look at him with a bit of excitement as she was recalled to the day's events. "But I saw his plaid and the man today was wearing the same color plaid. He was big too. And, he was the same man as the one who startled me in England on our journey here, so I am beginning to think it was the same man all three times."
"Ye're sure it was the same man as in England?" he asked, not happy at the thought.
"Aye. I only caught a glimpse that first time, but he is hard to mistake," she assured him. "He is very large and has a pretty face."
That brought a scowl to Ross's lips. He didn't at all like her finding someone else attractive, which was silly, he supposed. It wasn't like she was going to run off with her attacker. According to Giorsal, she'd stabbed him. Besides, he himself wouldn't have been flattered to be called pretty.
"Ye mean handsome, do ye no'?" he suggested.
"Nay. You are handsome, husband. He is pretty," she said in a tone of voice that suggested that should clear the matter up. It didn't.
"Is there a difference?" Ross asked cautiously.
"Aye," Annabel said as if that should be obvious. "Handsome is rugged and manly and . . . well . . . handsome," she finished helplessly, and then added, "Pretty is big eyes, sculpted jaw and hair that flops across the eyes." She paused briefly before continuing with some consideration, "He would make a lovely girl were he not so muscular across the shoulders and chest."
"Ah," Ross said, unable to repress a grin. Whether she realized it or not, his wife was saying she thought he was a sexy beast, while the pretty boy was . . . pretty, but not in a way she found especially attractive. He liked that.
His smile didn't last long though. Now that he'd got past the bit about her attacker being pretty, he was considering that her description fit the man he'd seen chasing her through the clearing yesterday. It would seem that he was the fellow from all three incidents, after all. "Did he speak?"
"Aye," she answered and then recalled, "He had a Scottish accent."
Ross let his breath out on a disappointed sigh. He'd rather been hoping it was an Englishman trying not to draw attention up here, rather than a Scot who had taken on English garb that first time, no doubt in an effort to try to fool them into thinking he was English. If it was a Scot, though, it meant these events likely had more to do with him than with his bride. Someone was trying to get to him through her.
"He said it would go easier did I not fight," Annabel added suddenly. "That he did not wish to harm me, but would. So I guess it was my fault he punched me in the head."
"I am going to hurt him when I find him," Ross said grimly.
"I already did," Annabel admitted on a sigh. "I fear I stabbed him in the arm."
Ross tightened his hold on her. She sounded almost apologetic when she admitted it, but he was proud of her. She was a fighter, his wife.
"I did not mean to," she admitted. "I had forgotten I had the knife in my hand . . . and I was aiming for his head." She grimaced, and then added, "I am glad he raised his arm. Knifing him in the head would have been disgusting."
"Aye," Ross agreed. He'd done it in battle on more than one occasion, but on purpose. A good jab in the ear, in the eye, or up under the jaw was always a battle stopper. Removing the knife afterward was the disgusting bit. The suctioning sound that accompanied the chore was rather gruesome, and sometimes the eye might come out with the blade if you stabbed them there, and then you had to remove that . . . also gruesome.
"Could it be the old trouble?" Gilly asked.
Ross glanced to the side and back at that question to see that he hadn't left everyone behind after all. Gilly and Marach had kept apace, and had apparently heard all. Ross turned forward again, a grim expression on his face at Gilly's words. He was suggesting that the battle for clan chief was not yet over and someone was trying to use Annabel to force him to give up the title. But, if that were the case, the attacker would be his uncle or Fingal, and he'd seen the man in the clearing and--"I did no' recognize him. He's no' a clan member."
"He could ha'e been hired to do the chore for another," Gilly pointed out quietly.
That was a very real possibility and one Ross wished he didn't have to consider, but he did. He'd hoped killing Derek had put an end to it all, and certainly the other three men who had been vying for the title of clan chief at the time had seemed to back down and fall in line. His cousin, Derek, had been the son of his father's deceased twin brother. He had used age as the excuse for why he would be a better clan chief, but the man had only been four years older. The moment Derek had brought up age as the reason, Ross's two remaining uncles, Ainsley and Eoghann, had each stepped up, pointing out that they had more age and wisdom than either of the two younger men and therefore should be the choice. The final man to try to claim entitlement to the chiefdom was Fingal, the blacksmith in the village, and the bastard son of Ross's grandfather. As such, he too felt he had every right to go after the seat.
All three of the older men had backed down after Ross had killed his cousin, Derek, in battle. Derek had lain in wait and ambushed Ross, Gilly and Marach while they were out hunting. The element of surprise had not helped him. Nor had his having a dozen men with him. Ross had ended the battle quickly and decisively, riding furiously through the other men to his cousin, who was staying at the back of the group, allowing his men to fight the battle for him. Ross would never see such a coward rule their people. He'd given Derek a mortal chest wound as the man had tried to turn his horse to flee.
Whether it was shame at their leader's cowardly behavior or simple self-preservation, the moment Derek was dead, the other men had lain down their weapons and sworn fealty.
Fingal and his uncles had done the same on learning the news. All three claimed they had simply been trying to show Derek that his being four years older did not give him a claim to the title, and that leadership skills and courage were what mattered, not age.
Ross's uncle Ainsley had since passed away when his heart seized up the past winter, but Eoghann and Fingal still lived. Eoghann had a little farm outside the village, and Fingal still worked as a blacksmith in the village. The question now became, was one of them still interested in the title clan chief, and if one of them was, how was he planning to use Annabel to gain it?
"THANK YOU," ANNABEL murmured when Ross helped her down from his horse. Reaching down to give Jasper an absent pat when he rushed up, she glanced the way they'd come and saw that the others were just crossing the drawbridge. She only had moments before they would reach the keep. Fingers tightening on the bag in her hand, she whirled and rushed up the stairs to the keep doors, aware that Ross and Jasper were following.
The smell in the great hall was not nearly as bad as it had been, but still hung in the air like a ghost, faint but noticeab
Seonag was too old to be kneeling on the cold stone floor for any length of time. She should have simply directed the women, rather than helping, but before Annabel could say so, Seonag said, "Oh, thank goodness. Ye found the flowers. They'll--" She paused abruptly as she got near enough to see the state Annabel was in and gasped, "What in the bloody blazes happened to ye?"
"She was attacked," Ross answered and didn't sound very happy about it.
"Again?" Seonag asked with dismay.
Impatient at this delay when the MacDonalds were nearly on their doorstep, she waved the question away. "Never mind that now. We must get these bluebells spread about. Ross's sister and her husband are right behind us and shall be coming through the door any moment and it still smells in here."
"Aye. We have scrubbed and scrubbed but the stench remains," Seonag said. Her tone was distracted, however, her attention seeming locked on Annabel's forehead, and she couldn't resist asking, "Did ye run into another tree?"
Annabel gaped at the question and then sighed. She would never live that one down and really wished her husband hadn't felt the need to explain her injury and tell everyone about it. Though to be fair, he'd probably only told Seonag so that she knew what she was dealing with. Annabel didn't doubt that everyone now knew about it, though. It was impossible to keep secrets in castles.
"Me wife was attacked and punched in the head," Ross explained. "And doubtless she has other bruises and wounds from the attack too. Take her above stairs and be sure there is nothing serious. Then see her changed. I'll--"
"There is no time for that now," Annabel protested at once. "We must get these bluebells strewn about. Your sister and her husband--"
"I'll tend the flowers," Ross interrupted. He took the sack from her and then urged her toward the stairs. "Let Seonag examine ye and help ye change . . . else I'll do it."
When he paused on the last word and suddenly turned to look down at her, his eyes going smoky, Annabel felt her own eyes widen. She recognized that look and instinctively knew that his examining would be a lot more involved and take much longer than Seonag's. She suspected it would include his getting naked too, and for a moment she was tempted, but then Seonag tsked with exasperation and took her arm to pull her away from Ross.
"There's time enough fer yer kind o' examining later, after yer guests have left," the maid said to Ross as she urged Annabel up the stairs. Glancing over her shoulder she added, "Now get on with ye and give those flowers to the maids to strew about. Ye don't want yer wife embarrassed by yer home when yer sister enters."
Recalled to the situation, Annabel stopped dragging her heels and hurried up the stairs. When they reached the top and started along the landing, she glanced over the rail to the great hall to see that rather than hand over the bag to one of the maids, her husband had opened and tilted the bag and was walking about shaking out the contents over the rushes.
"It'll do," Seonag assured her.
"Aye," Annabel agreed and led the way into the master bedchamber.
"Bloody dog," Seonag muttered when Jasper rushed past her before she could close the door.
Annabel bit her lip and petted Jasper when he hurried to her side. After a moment, she said, "Do not be too hard on him, Seonag. 'Tis not his fault he had a bad tummy. I did not know it troubled him and fed him cheese." She allowed time for that to sink in and then added, " 'Sides, he saved me in the woods when I was attacked."
Seonag's scowl eased a bit and then she sighed and said, "The water is still in the basin from this morning. 'Twill be cold, but I suppose 'twill have to do. While ye strip and clean up, I'll find ye something to wear. Then I'll check ye over and help ye dress."
Annabel simply stared as those words filled her head. Find her something to wear? All she had were Ross's mother's dresses, which were all far too small in the bust. Unless--
"I do not suppose the gown I traveled here in has been cleaned yet?" she asked hopefully.
"Nay. I'm sorry," Seonag said apologetically.
The woman moved to a large basket beside the bed. Annabel recognized it as the one that had been downstairs by the fire in the great hall, the one that held all the dresses that were repairable. Annabel hadn't noticed it before, but supposed Seonag had brought it up to work on the gowns while she'd watched over her the day before while she was unconscious.
"I should ha'e done it yesterday. It would be dry now if I had," Seonag said with regret as she began to sort through the remaining gowns in the basket. "But between watching o'er the merchant, and then yerself after yer accident, all I managed was to make the one yer wearing larger in the bosom fer ye."
"And I have gone and ruined it," Annabel said on a sigh, peering down at the now destroyed dress.
"Never mind. We'll find something," Seonag said, and then added with asperity, "And if yer bosoms hang out and Ross does no' like it, 'tis his own fault fer no' giving ye time to pack ere dragging ye here from yer home."
Annabel bit her lip at the irritation in Seonag's voice. She was blaming Ross for all of this, but while it was true he hadn't given her time to pack, she hadn't had anything to pack anyway. She was debating whether to admit all to the woman, when Seonag glanced over and saw her simply standing there.
"Is the water that cold? Should I send fer fresh warm water?" she asked with a frown.
"Nay." Annabel let go of the brief desire to confess all and turned to the basin. She poured the last of the water from the ewer into the cool water from that morning and then quickly stripped out of her gown and set to work at cleaning off the blood that had splashed onto her chest, hands and arms. Busy with the task, she didn't realize Seonag had settled on a gown and come to join her until the other woman spoke.
"Ye've a nasty bruise here," Seonag said with concern, brushing a finger over the center of her lower back.
"I must have got it when he knocked me to the ground," Annabel murmured, craning her head around to try to see it, but it was impossible.
"Does it pain ye?" Seonag asked.
"Nay," Annabel lied and when Seonag looked dubious, she admitted, "Well, mayhap a little, but 'twill be fine."
"Hmm." Seonag let it go and peered at her face. "How is yer head? Is it painin' ye?"
Annabel took in the maid's arched expression and didn't even bother trying to lie this time. "Aye. 'Tis pounding a bit."
"I'll make ye some willow-bark tea when we go below," Seonag decided, and then turned her attention to the dark blue gown she'd selected and announced, "This one is in the best shape. No tears, or fraying."
"Let us hope 'tis a little larger in the bosom than the others then," Annabel muttered.
"SO YER WIFE has been set upon three times by a lone Scot?"
Ross glanced to his brother-in-law. Bean sat turning his tankard of ale absently in his hands, his expression thoughtful.
Once Annabel and Seonag had disappeared upstairs, he'd spread the bluebells about, then instructed one of the maids to go tell Cook to send out refreshments. His sister and her husband had entered just as he'd finished giving the order. Ross had welcomed them and seen them seated even as servants rushed out to the Great Hall with the requested drinks. Now they were discussing what had happened to his wife.
"Aye," he said finally. "It would seem so."
"The old trouble over the title of clan chief?" Bean asked.
"Gilly suggested as much too," Ross admitted.
"But?" Bean asked, apparently hearing the doubt in his voice.
"Aye." Bean nodded with a grin. "Yer right. It would no' work."
"That does no' mean either Eoghann or Fingal would no' be stupid enough to try it," Giorsal said dryly. "Uncle Eoghann was never very bright. Neither is Fingal for that matter."
Ross smiled faintly at her dry words. "How do ye ken how bright Fingal is or isn't? Have ye even met him?"
"Nay," she acknowledged. "But only an idiot would have tried to take the title from ye."
He grinned at her staunch words, but turned to Bean and said, "If 'tis no' for the title, what else could it be? Has she enemies in Scotland?"
Ross shook his head slowly as he considered the question. "She has no' been here long enough to make enemies."
"From where she came from then?" Bean suggested, and then added, "I know it appears to be a Scot attacking her, but he could ha'e been hired by an Englishman."
"I can no' see that being likely," Ross said dubiously. "She's a kind heart, does Annabel."
"That makes no matter," Bean said dryly. "Ye have a kind heart too, but ye have enemies."
Ross stiffened and scowled at the other man. "Do I insult ye in yer home? Nay," he answered himself. "So do no' insult me in mine, thank ye very much. I am no' kindhearted. I am fair, mayhap, but no kindhearted."
Bean chuckled at his affronted words. "Very well, yer fair, no' kindhearted."
"Hmmm," Ross muttered, only slightly mollified. He couldn't have the man going around suggesting he was kindhearted or such. His people would think he was going soft.
"If no' Annabel, mayhap her father has enemies here," Giorsal suggested. "He visited once or twice when we were younger, ere he and Father's friendship waned. Mayhap he angered someone here in Scotland on one o' those trips."
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