"As the future mother of my children," replied McNab, "I certainly hope no'. But whatever the state of her mind, her inheritance more than makes up for a little madness. Dinna ye agree?"
Thirteen
MACLAREN AND HIS WARRIORS, ALONG WITH WARWICK, Pitcairn, and several soldiers from Dundaff, rode to St. Margaret's to find the wayward Lady Aila. The two clans had similar goals, but distrust had sparked between the groups, and they regarded each other with wary caution. An unspoken, fragile truce emerged as they rode along. MacLaren took the lead with his men, Pitcairn and Warwick with the lads from Dundaff following behind.
Though sunset was still hours away, the skies darkened, and a storm threatened. MacLaren chose a challenging but more direct route through the forest instead of staying along the main path. By the time they were within sight of the convent, the heavens had opened, and rain was pouring down in sheets. The wind whipped them mercilessly, cutting the chill through their wet garments.
The hard ride through the wet weather had effec tively dampened MacLaren's anger into resignation. By the time he reached the convent, he wanted naught but resolution. Either she would agree to stay his wife, or he would go home. At this point, a nice warm fire in his own hearth sounded mighty tempting. MacLaren reached the large oak door of the main hall, illuminated by a flash of lightning, and had to pound on the door to be heard over the booming thunder. Eventually, an ancient nun opened the door and led the drenched party to a large room where they were offered food and drink.
MacLaren, Chaumont, Pitcairn, and Warwick requested an audience with the Reverend Mother while the rest of the men gratefully accepted the nuns' hospitality. The four men followed a young nun— MacLaren's mouth set in a grim line; Warwick scowling and well-armed; Pitcairn saying little but watching everything with a careful eye; and Chaumont, tall, smiling, and elegantly dressed even as he sloshed down the corridor. The four men crowded into Mother Karine's small study, looking like awkward oafs next to the Mother Superior's tiny frame.
"I'm here for the Lady Aila MacLaren," said MacLaren possessively.
"Lady Aila was here earlier, speaking wi' Sister Enid, but she left many hours ago. Is there a reason why ye ken she would be here still?"
It was not the answer MacLaren nor any of the men had expected to hear. They stood silent, looking all the more uncomfortable.
"Perhaps ye would like to speak wi' Sister Enid?"
The men agreed and were led to her cell, having even more difficulty squeezing into the smaller space.
"We seek Lady Aila." This time it was Warwick who spoke in his low, gravelly voice.
Sister Enid looked concerned. "Lady Aila was here earlier, but she returned in the afternoon with her maid. Has she not returned to Dundaff?"
"Nay."
"And did you not meet her along the road?"
"We came overland, Sister."
"Ah, that explains it," said Sister Enid, her face relaxing. "You must have missed her."
"Ye're sure she be going back to Dundaff?" asked MacLaren suspiciously.
"Most assuredly, yes," replied Sister Enid, studying MacLaren's Highland garb. "Would I be correct in assuming you are Sir Padyn MacLaren?
"Aye." Thunder crashed again, louder and closer.
"Considering the poor weather, you and your men are welcome to stay the night and return to Dundaff in the light." It was a sensible suggestion, but MacLaren was anxious to lay eyes on his elusive wife.
"Nay, we'll be going back," said MacLaren. A giant clap of thunder shook the building.
"It will be black as pitch out there," said Warwick slowly. "Are ye're sure Lady Aila returned wi' enough time to beat the storm?"
"Yes, I would say so."
"Sister, Lady Aila is verra dear to us all. Are ye certain she be safe at Dundaff now?" Pitcairn spoke with a soft voice.
"Where she is now, I cannot say for sure. I do know she left for Dundaff many hours ago with her maid, Senga."
"Then it's settled." Pitcairn spoke with relief. "We gratefully accept yer hospitality, Sister Enid."
"Ye may stay. I'll return," said MacLaren over the sound of hail beating a staccato rhythm on the roof.
"I don't cherish losing my way in the dark and ending up in a bog," said Chaumont, looking up as the hail beat down louder.
MacLaren sighed. He was losing this fight. The others were right. Aila was most likely curled up by her warm fire, mocking him for riding all the way out to St. Margaret's in a storm for naught. He was tired and hungry, hungry for real food this time. The thought of a hot meal and soft bed sounded heavenly. MacLaren reluctantly agreed to stay, and the men returned to the hall to fill their empty stomachs.
After a hearty meal, MacLaren once again sought Sister Enid, finding her reading in a room designated as a small library. Books were stacked on shelves, revealing a nice collection for such a small community. Sister Enid looked up from her reading and smiled a welcome to him.
"How did ye find my wife today?" MacLaren asked, not exactly sure what he needed to know.
"She was rather upset when she came to see me," began Sister Enid.
"She wasna by any chance wearing a solder's garb?"
"Yes, she was." Sister Enid motioned for him to sit in a nearby chair, but MacLaren remained standing.
"Was she planning to request an annulment and join the convent?"
"Why did you not visit her on your wedding night?"
MacLaren looked away. He had not thought this nun to be so direct. There was no delicate way to answer this question, and he was not about to talk about his fear of betrayal with anyone. "I went hunting the men who are burning Graham's fields." MacLaren's gaze snapped back to hers. "And you dinna answer my question. Was she going to join the convent and ye changed her mind?"
Sister Enid studied him with shrewd interest. "You're not a man who trusts easily."
"I am often correct in my judgment, and it saves time," answered MacLaren caustically. This nun was nipping at all sorts of tender spots.
"You've been disappointed in life."
"Disappointed?" said MacLaren with a snort. "That's one word for it."
"You blame God."
"Nay, I blame the whoring wench who deceived me." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could remember how to speak to a nun. "Forgive my language, Sister. I forget myself." Sister Enid remained quiet, looking at him expectantly. MacLaren sighed and sat in the chair opposite her. "I may have wondered what I've done to offend my Lord that misfortune would befall me."
Sister Enid was silent for a while before saying, "Suppose you took your knife and plunged it into my heart. What would be the outcome?"
MacLaren's mouth dropped open and his brows furrowed. This was not at all the answer he had expected. "I'd be condemned to hell eternal."
"It would be wicked, and I'm not suggesting it as a course of action, mind you, but would it be possible for you?"
"Aye, if I favored hell."
"Suppose you did such an act. Would my death be a judgment on me or the result of sinful action?"
"The fault would be mine alone."
"Just so. Sometimes it is the innocent who suffer the consequence of sin along with the sinner."
"But why does the Good Lord no' protect the innocents?"
"Say you tried to strike me and your knife was changed to a feather so it could not harm me, and you were held back by angels unseen so you could not reach me."
"I would say ye were miraculously protected," replied MacLaren, still not understanding why the nun pursued this course.
"Now let's say anytime anyone tried to harm another, this would be the result. What kind of world would it be?"
"A kindly one."
"Granted. But if it is no longer possible for people to sin, even sin greatly, would they still be free to choose their actions?"
Now MacLaren was beginning to understand. "Nay, they would be slaves."
"Giving people free will means giving them the power to hurt others."
; MacLaren thought about this for a while in silence, the steady tapping of rain and occasional pop of the fire the only sounds in the room. "'Tis still a hard thing to be hurt by those ye trusted," MacLaren said softly.
Sister Enid's eyes were filled with compassion. "Logic may help to explain, but it rarely heals the wounds. Talk to Him about your pain," she said, motioning to a crucifix hanging on the wall behind her. "I believe He knows what it is to be betrayed." The nun stood up slowly and shuffled from the room.
MacLaren spent a long time staring at the image on the wall. When he finally sought his bed, he felt, if not peace, at least a calm that had evaded him for a long time. He fell immediately into a deep sleep.
Aila raised her hood against the rain and bent over, trying to shield her face, and blindly followed the man ahead of her. They had plodded along, traveling northeast, and had crossed out of Graham territory. The rain was relentless, and Aila was soaked and shivering. She tried to think of a way to escape, but with riders ahead of her, thick brush on either side, and a crossbow at her back, there was little chance of that. By the time hail started pounding her head, she did not care where they were going; she just wanted to get there soon.
Thunder rumbled, ominous in the distance. Aila recalled the story of Esther, the inspiration for her decision to return to Dundaff, but could not recall any point where Esther was kidnapped. The whole situation was unbelievable. What did McNab think he was doing? She remembered him as a lad, not much older than her brother. She had seen him several times at different fairs her mother had liked to attend when Aila was a girl. Aila had many happy memories of going to the fairs, her mother strutting about on her father's arm, looking resplendent in her finery. Of course that was before the illness crippled Lady Graham and she had taken residence in the south tower, never to leave.
The Archie McNab she remembered was a skinny kid with black, scraggly hair and hungry eyes. He often followed along behind the other children, watching silently as the other children played, never joining the group and never being invited. Everyone knew the McNabs were late to join Robert the Bruce and had been punished for their lack of patriotism. Most of the clans, the Grahams included, had nothing to do with the McNabs, though in fact they were neighbors. The clans had never fought with each other, perhaps because the difference in power between the clans was substantial. What could McNab possibly be thinking?
Even after the scourge at Neville's Cross, surely her father had enough soldiers to devastate whatever forces McNab could muster. Yet, to be honest, she had no idea what kind of numbers that would be or even how many warriors her father currently had. She knew very few returned, but after hearing of the fall of her brother, she had not paid heed to the rest. Was her clan really in such a dire state they could no longer protect themselves from the likes of McNab?
Aila was relieved when they reached the clearing of a small hamlet. Men circled around to have some sort of meeting as another horseman rode up to take her reins. She strained to listen to the conversation but could hear nothing over the thunder and pounding rain. A decision made, the men dismounted and began to lead their horses to the village stables situated next to an inn. She breathed a sigh; it appeared they would stop to get out of the rain and the dark.
Her spirits rose. Surely in the public inn there would be someone she could call to for help. Her hope was short-lived. The men seemed to already have considered that possibility and led her around to the back. When she entered the servants' entrance, there was nobody to be seen but McNab's own men. She was led through the kitchen, up the back stairs, and down a dark hallway. A door was opened, and she was unceremoniously shoved across the threshold. Alone in the dark, the lock clicked behind her.
She was trapped.
Fourteen
AILA STRUGGLED TO SEE HER NEW PRISON WITH ONLY the dim light from a small window slit covered in animal skin. Feeling around with her hands and making use of occasional flashes of lightning, she discovered she was in a simple upstairs bedroom. A bed, small table, and one chair were the only furniture. Taking off her soaked cloak, she huddled in the lone chair. Firewood was laid in the stone hearth, but the men had not thought to leave a candle, so she had no way to light it. She began to shake in the chill, dark room and looked longingly at the wood. She was damp through, cold, and hungry.
After a while of waiting, she got up to ensure the door really was locked—it was. She pounded on the door and yelled for help, though she doubted anyone could hear her over the din of the storm. Still, it was worth the effort. She pounded on the floor and on both walls of her little room. Nothing. She screamed some more until her throat grew dry. Exhausted, she collapsed back into the chair, and within minutes, began to shiver.
Blankets were on the bed, but wary of her predicament, did not want to undress and get into bed. Soon, though, she was too cold to care and stripped quickly out of her kirtle, left on the linen chemise, and wrapped herself in the blankets. She refused to lie down though and sat back in the chair to await her fate. She didn't understand why she had been brought there or what McNab wanted with her. Although she did not wish for his presence, she might be able to tolerate him if he brought food and a flame.
She did not have to wait much longer. Heavy footsteps approached, the lock clicked, and McNab walked into the room, candle in hand. With gnawing resentment, she saw he had been feasting downstairs while she shivered. He was warm and dry, his face flushed. Worse, he had the smell of roasted meat, which teased her empty belly.
"Greetings, m'lady," said McNab with a mocking smile. "I pray ye find yer accommodations to yer liking?"
Aila only glared from beneath her blanket cocoon. She was warmer now, but such a greeting deserved no response.
"'Tis cold in here. Too stubborn to light a fire, are we?"
"Ye dinna leave me a flame," Aila ground out.
McNab shrugged. "Things here may no' be as comfortable as ye are used to, princess." McNab knelt by the hearth and, using his candle, lit the fire. His back turned, Aila had the sudden thought to strike him senseless and make her escape. She glanced furtively around the room, but it was practically bare. A bed, curtains, a table, a chair—the chair, that's it. Standing up without making a noise, her blankets falling to the floor, she picked up the wooden chair and took a step toward the man hunched over his work.
"That should warm us, princess," said McNab, standing quickly and turning to face her. Aila was now directly in front of him, the chair poised over her head for attack. "Well now," said McNab, taking the chair effortlessly from her hands, "ye'd no' be thinking to knock my head off, no?" Aila backed away from the man. He looked her up and down, and smiled in a cold way. "I do thank ye for dressing for our purpose, princess."
Aila tried to grab the blankets from the floor, but McNab stepped forward onto them, preventing her from pulling them up.
"What do ye want from me?" Aila's voice was so soft the words were barely audible above the roar of the storm. McNab slowly approached and heart pounded. She backed away from him until she hit the wall. He continued until he was but an inch away. She pressed into the wall, trying not to let any part of her body touch his. Not wanting to look at his face, she stared at his chest. He also was breathing fast.
"I want ye, Aila. Or more importantly, yer fortune."
"Are ye daft? My father will kill ye for holding me ransom."
"I'm not holding ye for ransom. I'm holding ye forever." McNab pressed against her and smiled when she gasped. "Ah, ye'll make a bonnie bride."
"Nay!" shouted Aila and shoved him back with all
her might. "Ye cannot marry me. I've already been wed. Ye've surely no' heard the news, but I married Sir Padyn MacLaren yester morn."
"Oh, I ken it, but no matter." He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the wall. "I claim ye by right o' handfast, and if ye be breeding afore a year's out, ye'll be mine." He held her fast, leaning all his weight onto her wrists, holding her straight-armed against the wall.
Aila's hea
rt beat hard and her mind spun. She must think of some escape from the situation. "Archie, listen to me." Aila tried to sound calm and reasonable. "I'm already married. Ye canna claim me. MacLaren winna take kindly to ye stealing me."
McNab frowned, but only for a moment. "And ye be sure o' that?" McNab leaned over and began planting little kisses on her forehead. She turned her face into the wall.
"He will come for me and kill ye for sure." Aila tried to sound more confident than she felt. After MacLaren's rejection of her on their wedding night, she honestly did not know what he would do or if he would even mount a rescue. Though to protect his financial interests, he most certainly would demand her return.
"If he cared so verra much, why did he no' come to ye on yer wedding night?"
Highlander's Sword Page 10