Highlander's Sword

by Amanda Forester

  Shocked, Aila turned back to him. "How did ye ken…"

  Taking advantage of her open mouth, he claimed it with his, pressing hard against her lips and forcing his tongue in her mouth. Filled with revulsion and shock at the forced intimacy, Aila suddenly remembered a jewel of wisdom bestowed on her by her mother. Jerking her knee up, she slammed it as hard as she could between his legs. Archie McNab howled in pain and dropped to the floor, just as her mother said a man would. Thanks, Mother, she thought and fled to the unlocked door.

  She opened the door and tasted freedom for but a moment before vise-like fingers closed around her arm and she was yanked back into the room. Aila flew several feet before crumpling to the floor and sliding to the opposite wall. McNab slammed the door shut and doubled over once again in pain.

  "That wasna verra nice," he panted, slowly sliding down the door until he was curled into a ball on the floor. The two lay still for a few moments, struggling for breath on either side of the small room. Realizing she was more shaken than hurt, Aila climbed back into the chair. She drew the blankets around her once more, feeling more comfortable to be less revealed. She looked at the figure crumpled on the floor and remembered the skinny boy he used to be, always an outsider, always rejected. She pitied him for a moment, but remembering her current situation and his intentions, her feelings moved swiftly to revulsion. She wanted nothing more than to be away from him, away from this trap. She had nothing to fight against McNab except her wits, and she needed to think with a clear head if she had any hope of escape.

  "I'm sorry if I hurt ye," said Aila, hoping to reason with the man, "but I canna agree to what ye want. Our clans have e'er been at peace wi' one another. Kidnapping me can only end in ruin. Let me go now, and I will no' tell my father or MacLaren what ye've done."

  McNab sat up with a grimace and leaned back against the door, still sitting on the floor. "What could they do to me, Aila, that has no' already been done? When Bruce made king, did he no' take most o' our land? It dinna matter most folks, including Bruce, mind ye, allied wi' the English at one point. But no, we were treated as if we were the only one."

  "But how will starting a clan war help ye?"

  "Was no' supposed to be," McNab shot back. "I planned it out careful. The man said Graham would give ye to me to stop the burning."

  "What man?" asked Aila. Had someone put this ridiculous plan into McNab's head? McNab said nothing. Aila's mind continued to piece things together. "The fields! Are ye saying ye purposely set our fields ablaze to force Father to give me to ye?"

  "Aye, lass. Good reckoning. Nice to ken our bairns will no' be daft."

  "But how could ye?" cried Aila, standing up. "How could ye threaten innocent people wi' starvation?"

  "How could I?" McNab repeated angrily and struggled to stand. "'Tis time ye reap what ye sow. When our land was stripped from us, our herds taken, did ye no' ken what would happen to our clan? We starved while ye feasted. We struggled while yer father built up yer fortress. Put in real glass windows, did he no'? Ye ken how many o' my clansman that would have fed?"

  "If ye needed help, why did ye no' ask?"

  "Ask for a handout? Ye must be daft. After we lost our land, people treated us like we was dirt." McNab walked over to Aila, his eyes gleaming with intensity, but this time, Aila stood her ground. "Did ye ken my father humbled himself and took me to see Laird Graham? My father told him I was a good lad and asked if I could foster wi' him. Yer father said he'd no' take traitorous blood in his house and kicked us out."

  "I'm sorry that happened." Aila meant it sincerely. "Ye shoud'na be punished for something yer father did."

  Suddenly McNab dropped to his knees before her and took her hands. "Would it be so bad, Aila, to be my wife? I have little for ye now, but once yer father dies, we shall both be rich."

  Aila was at first startled and then repulsed by his decla ration. "I canna marry ye. I am MacLaren's wife."

  "MacLaren!" said McNab, jumping up. "That arrogant bastard, always swaggering around wi' his big sword. All the lasses used to swoon for him." Aila looked away. It was unfortunately an accurate picture of herself as a young lass. "Ye've always looked down yer nose at me. I'm no' good enough for ye, am I?" McNab's voice was chilling, and Aila craned her neck to look back up at him.

  "I've ne'er looked down at ye, Archie. Ye've always been taller than me." McNab seemed seem to relax a bit, though he still stood close, holding her hands. "I ken ye be taller than MacLaren, too," added Aila, thinking a bit of flattery could not hurt her situation.

  "Truly?" asked McNab, and Aila could see once again the lonely child, if only for a moment. He shook his head, releasing her hands and slowly removing her blankets from around her. She stiffened but offered no resistance. If it came to a physical fight, she would lose. Her only hope was to reason with him. McNab replaced the blankets where she had found them and sat down on the bed. "'Tis too late now. Come here, Aila. I promise I'll be gentle wi' ye."

  Aila shivered again, standing before him in naught but her undergarments. Her heart started to beat faster, and she glanced at the door, but the bed stood between her and freedom. "Dinna be a fool, I tell ye. MacLaren will kill ye for this."

  "I'm disappointed by yer lack o' faith in me. But no matter. Ye simply dinna understand. I hope my plan will work for the good o' my clan, but otherwise, I dinna care. I may end up a rich man, I may end up dead on MacLaren's sword, but either way, I can say I died a man. I'm no coward, Aila, I ken my plan may no' succeed, but I'm willing to take the risk."

  "But…" Aila struggled to find something to say that could change the man's mind. "Our fathers' differ ences need no' be ours. Let me go now, and we can still be friends."

  "Ah, that's where ye're wrong. One o' the best things about this plan is no matter what the outcome, yer father will ken I bedded his daughter." With a cold smile, McNab stood and walked toward Aila. "I wish I could see the look on the auld bastard's face when he thinks about me between yer legs every night."

  Aila gasped, her pulse thumping in her ears, making it difficult to think. Behind her, the fire prevented her from retreating any farther and illuminated her through her thin chemise.

  "Ye're a bonny lass. I'm going to enjoy this," he said, his gaze crawling all over her body. Fast and sure, he reached out and spun her to the wall, pinning her body with his. She tried to fight, but he held her arms firm against the wall and ground his hips against hers, preventing any repeat of her kicking him in tender areas. Innocent though she was, she could easily discern his arousal through her thin chemise. Help! She lifted up her desperate prayer. Tears pooled in her eyes. Help, help, help!

  "We made a deal earlier to save yer horse. Let's make a deal again. Ye agree no' to fight me, and I take ye gentle and slow. I can give ye pleasure, Aila, like ye've ne'er kenned. Or, ye can fight me, and I'll slam ye as hard as ye slammed me. Either way, I'll be pleased. So what'll it be?"

  Ait ne irascatur dominus meus quod coram te adsurgere nequeo quia iuxta consuetudinem feminarum nunc accidit mihi sic delusa sollicitudo quaerentis est.

  The verse that flew to Aila's mind was odd indeed. Despite her predicament, she pondered it quickly, trying to make sense of it. It was a verse from the biblical story of Rachel, who, not wanting to have her camel searched, refused to dismount, saying it was her time of the month.

  "Make up yer mind, sweetheart," McNab murmured as he nuzzled her hair.

  "My courses!" shouted Aila.

  "What?" McNab jerked back.

  "Ye canna take me now. 'Tis my, well… that's why MacLaren coud'na come to me last night, ye ken?"

  "Oh." McNab frowned and took another step back. "Aye, that makes sense." Aila held her breath while McNab rubbed his beard and glared at her. He twisted his face, looking disgusted. "I dinna want ye now. Ye'll have to wait to please yer new laird. Besides, 'twill be better for me to bed ye first when we reach home. 'Tis no' like ye're going anywhere," said McNab, as if the delay was his idea.

  "Aye
, sir," replied Aila meekly, trying not to show her utter relief.

  "Dinna forget, I claimed ye as my bride. Ye be mine now, so spend yer night thinking of ways to please yer new master." McNab exited the room with quick strides and locked the door behind him.

  Exhausted, Aila collapsed into the chair. She wrapped her arms around herself and started to shake again, which this time had nothing to do with being cold. Despite her current situation, she could not help smiling. Men. Her mother had been right about another thing. They did fear a women's time of the month. It seemed rather silly to her, but she was not complaining. Her falsehood had bought a reprieve, but it would not last for long.

  Fifteen

  AILA WOKE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, A HABIT BORN from years of early morning rides. While still wrapped in her blankets, she almost convinced herself this was all a horrible dream. But when the remnants of sleep left her, it was painfully obvious she was still locked in the small room in the inn, her maid snoring beside her. Senga had been allowed into her room shortly after McNab left. Aila had been relieved that Senga was flushed and smelled of wine and meat, so at least she had been fed and warmed. Aila was further grateful her maid had brought food with her. Her meal consisted of naught but porridge, but Aila had been happy for it.

  Aila looked around her small prison, with a growing sense of panic. She knew once McNab got her to his fortress, there would be no chance for freedom, and her ploy last night would not stall him much longer. Unless someone rescued her, she might indeed become McNab's wife. Since her marriage to MacLaren was never consummated, if McNab claimed her by handfast and she conceived within a year, she was caught. A slimy feeling slithered over her. McNab would certainly do his part to ensure she would be with child as soon as possible. Motivated by this unhappy thought, Aila got out of bed and tried the door again. It remained locked, just like the last half-dozen times she had checked. She wandered around the small room, seeking a way to escape. Finding nothing once again, she sighed and sat down in the chair.

  Remembering Sister Enid's words, Aila closed her eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on her breath. There must be an escape.

  Aut quomodo dicis fratri tuo sine eiciam festucam de oculo tuo et ecce trabis est in oculo tuo.

  "Small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it," she murmured. Standing, she searched the room again, repeating, "Small is the gate." She took another look at the window covered in animal skin. With sudden excitement, she ripped the skin from the window and tried to peer outside. The opening was a rectangular slit cut high into the stone wall. She grabbed a chair to stand on and was able to stick her head through the hole.

  Aila breathed deep. The air was refreshingly sweet with the fresh smell of rain in the orange light of dawn. Her room must be in the back of the inn, since her window faced nothing but thick forest. Aila squiggled forward a bit more until she was able to see down. It was a straight drop for two stories. She experimented with different positions and found if she turned sideways, she might be able to fit her shoulders through. Yet emerging head first out of the second floor window had fatal repercussions, so she wriggled back in to consider her options. Casting her eye on the blankets covering her sleeping maid, Aila had an idea.

  "Wake up, Senga. I ken a way to escape."

  MacLaren woke early and roused his men before the sun broke through the early morning mist. He was impressed when the Graham warriors joined his men to break their fast at this early hour without complaint. Some differences between the two groups of men were plainly evident. Many of MacLaren's men wore their traditional Highland garb, while Graham's men wore mainly breeches and tunics. Of course, Chaumont was the best dressed of the lot, happily chatting at Warwick, who made little effort at continuing the conversation.

  MacLaren ate quietly and took the measure of the Dundaff warriors. Graham's soldiers may have been few in comparison to the lands they defended, but they were proud and well-disciplined. Graham's men, Pitcairn and Warwick, were able leaders. Pitcairn was meticulous in his person, neat and orderly. He was observant, watching those around him with a shrewd eye. MacLaren doubted there was much this man failed to notice. Warwick was a large man, gruff in speech and not above meting out physical punishment if he felt his men would benefit from the lesson. He was also abundantly equipped with weaponry. Besides the claymore at his back, he had a thrusting sword at his left side and a mace at his right. Strapped across his chest were several daggers, a war hammer, and an axe. MacLaren had rarely seen the like. This was not a man he wished to engage in a fight.

  After the basic meal, Sister Enid, supported on the arm of a younger nun, found MacLaren and wished him a safe journey.

  "Thank ye, Sister, for yer counsel last eve," said MacLaren sincerely.

  "May you find the peace you seek."

  MacLaren nodded. Something had shifted last night, though he would have difficulty saying what. He no longer felt consumed with guilt and driven by anger. Those emotions were still present, but something else was there, too.

  "Are you ready to find your skittish bride?" asked Chaumont with his usual good humor.

  "Aye, let's be done wi' it," said MacLaren.

  "Ladies," said Chaumont with a small bow to the two nuns, giving the younger one a sinful wink.

  "Good day to you, Sir Knight," responded Sister Enid, giving Chaumont a wink in return.

  The whole party left St. Margaret's by dawn while the sky was still grey. The rain had stopped, but the ground was wet and muddy from its torrent, and thick mist settled in the low places. They cantered along the main road back to Dundaff, the horses kicking up mud in their wake.

  As MacLaren rode along, something white in the thick brush drew his eye. Stopping for a moment, he dismounted and pulled the sopping head cloth from the bushes.

  "What have you there?" called Chaumont.

  "Looks to be a woman's wimple," replied MacLaren. He turned it over and his stomach sank. Inside were several strands of long, auburn hair. "Aila," he whispered.

  "What's that?" said Warwick from behind him.

  MacLaren showed him and Pitcairn the wet, dirty garment. "Maybe it was Aila's."

  Pitcairn frowned. "That could be from any number o' lasses. Who kens how long it has been there?"

  MacLaren was going to order his men to look around, but Warwick was ahead of him. "Tracks!" the Master of Arms called from the brush. "Rain has washed them out a bit, but looks like about a dozen men rode through here heading north toward MacLaren's land or…"

  "McNab's," finished MacLaren, his stomach tight ening. "Let's go."

  "Ye warrant the lass ha' been kidnapped?" asked Warwick, his thick brows furrowed.

  "Aye, or she left the road a willing party."

  'I doubt it," said Chaumont, examining the wimple. "From the amount of her hair she left behind, I warrant this was torn from her head."

  Warwick gave quick commands to his men, proving to be an able leader accustomed to instant obedience. A lad was sent back to Dundaff to determine if Aila had made it back to the castle, and if not, to inform Graham of their suspicions. The rest of the party moved to follow the tracks. Warwick proved to be an able tracker, and MacLaren followed behind, anxious to find his bride. He cursed himself for taking his rest while Aila might be in mortal danger. Yet doubt nagged him, and he wondered if the scene pointed to a kidnapping or a conspiracy. Perhaps Aila had been plotting with McNab all along, trying to force her father's hand to allow her to marry him. MacLaren shook his head. He was not sure what to think, but as time went by, he grew increasingly impatient to find his bride. Let her be safe, he prayed, turning to God for the first time since the day of his cousin's death.

  Graham sat alone. He had been informed that Aila was missing and presumed kidnapped. As furious as he was at Aila's flight to the convent, he was just as concerned for her safety now. Where was his daughter? If McNab had her… Graham growled. Someone needed to kill that traitorous bastard, McNab. He wanted to do it himse
lf, but supposed he would have to leave the honors to MacLaren.

  Sighing, Graham rubbed his injured thigh. It ached something fierce today, made worse by a sleepless night. Where was his child? He wished he had spent time with her, gotten to know her, but he had let the division between him and his wife separate him from his daughter. What a fool he had been. Aila was married now. He could not do anything for his daughter but trust her to MacLaren's care. It was MacLaren's responsibility to see to his wife. Just as it was Graham's to see to his.

  Graham sighed again. Gossip had ripped through the castle. The rift between Laird Graham and his lady was common knowledge, but this time, her flouting of his authority had gone too far. Graham needed to deal with his wife. He'd rather go to war where merely steel could pierce his armor. The Lady Graham's words were sharper than any blade he had ever known and were wielded by an expert. Still, Graham was no coward. He called for a ghillie to inform Lady Graham to present herself before him and poured a glass of liquid rein forcement while he waited for his lady's arrival.