Medieval Ever After

by Kathryn Le Veque

  It might as well have been midsummer’s day for all Rona noticed the chill and the bare trees among the evergreens.

  “Nay, you’ll just have to wait,” she said cheerily.

  The little group trudged along in silence as they moved southward through the Galloway woods. Patrick, one of the men Daniel had selected for their guard, put on an air of expert calmness that his youth didn’t support. He was likely modeling himself after their other guard, Harold, who had actually earned the mantle of experienced composure he wore.

  Patrick was young—perhaps only a few years older than Rona—but he was distinguishing himself in training as a quick learner and a skilled fighter. Harold was at least a decade and a half more advanced in years than Patrick, and Rona had seen the two practicing in the yard together. Daniel had begun forming teams in their training sessions, trying to build strong bonds of trust between the men. No doubt Daniel was also trying to honor Patrick and Harold by publicly tasking them with accompanying Rona and Meredith into the woods.

  It must have worked, for Patrick had puffed up with pride, and Harold, normally so stoic, actually cracked a smile.

  But now the men were working. They flanked the two women so that they could have an eye on both sides of the woods at all times. At first Rona had thought the men were even more overly cautious than Daniel, but she had to admire their dedication.

  A low groan from Meredith tugged Rona out of her thoughts.

  “What’s wrong?” she said, taking Meredith’s hand.

  Meredith clapped her other hand over her mouth and blinked a few times.

  “It’s morning sickness again,” she said, lowering her hand. “Though the babe doesn’t seem to care that it’s not morning. It will pass in a moment, I’m sure of it.”

  Rona looped Meredith’s arm in hers and they continued to walk.

  “We’re more than halfway there,” she said, hoping to ease Meredith’s discomfort.

  Meredith halted and groaned again, this time clutching her stomach.

  “I should have brought some of Jossalyn’s tea with me,” she said lowly.

  “There’ll be tea when we arrive,” Rona said reassuringly, but she noticed that Meredith had grown pale.

  “I don’t think I’ll make it before I—” Meredith covered her mouth with her hand again, and her dark eyes went wide. Then she bolted to the nearest clump of bushes and emptied her stomach.

  Rona approached cautiously.

  “Would you like some water?”

  Meredith moaned then heaved again before answering.

  “I think I may be a few more minutes. You should go on without me.”

  “We’ll not leave you here, my lady,” Harold said sternly behind Rona.

  “I don’t mean leave me,” Meredith said, still bent over the bushes. “I just mean…could I have some privacy?”

  “Of course!” Rona said quickly.

  Patrick and Harold exchanged a look, but Meredith started retching again, and Rona backed away. Though she wanted to ease Meredith’s discomfort, in truth, the sound of her retching was making Rona feel a bit queasy.

  Rona moved off into the forest, Harold and Patrick trailing her, until the sound of Meredith’s heaves was faint. Then she stopped and waited, hoping her friend would feel well enough to enjoy a visit with Bhreaca.

  She glanced up at the sky through the trees. They would still have more than an hour at the cottage before they’d need to return to the castle. She couldn’t decide which she was more excited for: seeing Bhreaca herself, or watching Meredith’s response to the speckled peregrine falcon. She could only imagine how Meredith would react to Fionna, the regal white gyrfalcon.

  Suddenly Harold, who stood on her left, tensed. His eyes darted around the quiet forest, sensing something that Rona couldn’t.

  “Patrick, go back and fetch—”

  A whirring noise sliced through the forest a moment before the sickening thunk of an arrow as it landed in Patrick’s shoulder.

  Just as Rona screamed, Harold tackled her, bringing her to the forest floor with his weight on top of her. Patrick groaned in pain and sank to the ground next to them. Another arrow whizzed by, then Rona felt the reverberation of hooves through the forest floor.

  The pounding of hooves grew louder and louder until Rona was sure they would be ridden over in their position on the ground.

  Suddenly Harold jerked to his feet and yanked Rona up with him.

  “Shield her!” Harold shouted to Patrick. The lad, whose boyish face was transformed into a mask of pain, dragged himself to his feet and drew his sword with his good arm. The arrow bristled from his left shoulder. Harold pushed Rona behind Patrick and quickly drew his sword as well.

  It was then that Rona saw the band of armored men on horseback barreling toward them. Like a nightmare, the group of nearly ten men unsheathed their swords as they drew nearer. Their helms gleamed dully in the weak light, and the sound of their clanging chainmail mingled with the pounding hooves.

  The mounted attackers slowed their horses and began fanning out to surround them. Just then, Rona noticed an unhelmed man at the rear of the group. His eyes locked on her, and a shiver of terror snaked through her.

  The attackers completed their circle around them. Harold and Patrick inched their backs together, squeezing her between them.

  “You must be Rona Sinclair, née Kennedy,” the bare-headed man said as he pushed his horse into the circle. “What a shame that your Sinclair husband isn’t with you today.”

  The man frowned as he passed a glance over Harold and Patrick. Though he could have been considered handsome, his hazel eyes held a cold light and his mouth was turned down cruelly.

  “And you must be Raef Warren, the tyrant and murderer,” Rona said, her voice shockingly steady.

  The man bowed his sandy blond head in a show of mock gallantry. “At your service.”

  Then Warren turned to one of his men. “Dispose of them, but don’t harm the girl. Leave her to me.”

  Rona’s throat was so tight she felt like she could hardly breathe as several of the men dismounted and moved in.

  “Stay between us, my lady,” Harold rasped, tightening his grip on his sword.

  One of their attackers swung, and suddenly the circle exploded into battle. Rona screamed again, but she couldn’t hear herself above the clanging metal.

  Harold and Patrick blocked and swung fiercely. Each managed to dispatch one of their attackers, finding the gaps in the chainmail, just as they had practiced in the yard. But as they shifted to defend against more blows, Rona was left exposed on one side.

  With her attention transfixed on the two men fighting for her life, she didn’t notice Warren approach from behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her out of the circle of flashing blades. She thrashed against him, kicking his shins and elbowing him, but he only held her tighter, so that she could barely inhale.

  Just then, Patrick lost his grip on his sword with his left hand. He tried to block a blow one-handed, but the attack was strong enough to send his blade flying. Two men set upon him, one slicing low along the backside of his legs and the other cutting high along his shoulder. Patrick crumpled to the ground, and one of the attackers sank his blade into the young man’s heart.

  “Nay!” Rona screamed as she watched the light fade from Patrick’s light brown eyes.

  Warren’s remaining men fell on Harold, quickly bringing him to his knees. Just as one of them was about to run his blade across Harold’s throat, Warren held up a hand. His men froze, waiting.

  Harold panted on his knees as blood streamed freely from several wounds. He met Warren’s gaze calmly.

  “Shall we send you back to your Sinclair dog of a master so you can tell him we have his woman?” Warren said quietly to Harold.

  The proud warrior didn’t blink. He only stared back at Warren.

  “Or shall we keep you alive long enough to have you watch us use your lady?”

  The armored men ch
uckled and exchanged eager looks. Rona’s head spun, and she prayed that she could find a way to fend off so many men.

  Harold didn’t respond, which seemed to tweak Warren’s anger. His cool demeanor slipped as he released his other arm from around Rona’s waist and came around to face her.

  He let his gaze slide over her body, a sneer of disgust twisting his features.

  “I think perhaps we should not soil ourselves inside her used body after all, men,” he said. There were a few mutters of dissatisfaction, and Warren whipped his head around. The men fell instantly silent.

  “You see, as the wife of a Sinclair, she is dirty. She has been plowed by a Highland barbarian who is little more than an animal. Perhaps even now the savage’s filthy offspring festers inside her.”

  All of a sudden, Warren drove his fist into Rona’s stomach. All her air left her, and she doubled over at the force of the blow.

  Harold bit out an oath and tried to stand, but one of the attacker’s blades was pressed against his throat. Through blurry eyes, Rona saw Warren smile.

  “You don’t like us hurting your lady, do you?” he said to Harold.

  Quick as lightning, he pulled Rona upright and sent another punch into her stomach.

  “But how else can we rid her of the filthy spawn she may be carrying? We can’t allow you animals to breed and spread and infest what is rightfully England’s.”

  Warren jerked Rona upright again, preparing to deliver another blow. Mustering her strength, she inhaled.

  “You are a pathetic excuse for a man,” she managed to grunt. “Daniel will hunt you down and kill you like the vermin you are.”

  Warren raised a sardonic eyebrow at her, and a snide smile actually began to spread across his face.

  “Daniel, is it? How charming. But I very much doubt that—”

  She didn’t know if it was Warren’s sickly-sweet smile or the sound of Daniel’s name on his tongue, but something snapped inside her. She lunged forward and sank her teeth into Warren’s smooth, smile-curved cheek. She bit as hard as she could, tasting metallic blood as a piece of flesh came off in her mouth.

  Warren screamed in surprise and agony. He shoved her back hard and cupped his face in his hands.

  “You bitch! What have you done?” he shouted through his hands.

  She stumbled back at the force of his push but managed to stay on her feet. She spat, trying to get his filth out of her mouth.

  “Kill him!” He gestured toward Harold with one elbow.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” Harold said, locking eyes with Rona. Before she could reply, one of Warren’s men dragged a blade across Harold’s throat and he slumped backward, his lifeblood pouring from him.

  Rona shrieked again, staggering backward. She bumped into one of the warhorses and stumbled.

  Warren turned and bore down on her. He kept his left hand pressed against his cheek, which bled freely, but he raised his right hand as he approached. She tried to block his strike with her arms, but he rained blows down on her head and face.

  She staggered under his attack and fell to her knees, but his strikes kept coming. Time stretched, and she was sure he would beat her to death right there in the woods. All she could concentrate on was protecting herself from his strikes and kicks, though her shock was beginning to fade and the injuries he inflicted ached and bled.

  “We’d better get back to the castle, my lord,” one of Warren’s men eventually said pointedly at his side. The man’s words seemed to break through the haze of rage that encased Warren, and he finally ceased his attack on her.

  “Get my horse,” Warren said stiffly. “And find me something to stop all this blood.”

  The remaining men began to slowly mount their horses. The one who had spoken a moment before brought a horse over and handed Warren a slightly dirty rag for his face. Warren mounted, holding the rag to his left cheek.

  “Take her,” he said disdainfully to the man, nodding toward where Rona lay crumpled on the ground.

  “What about these men, my lord?” the soldier asked as he dragged Rona to her feet. She couldn’t resist him. She could barely even stand without the soldier’s grip on her arm.

  Rona cast a glance at the carnage and instantly wished she hadn’t. Sweet young Patrick and noble Harold lay in an unceremonious heap along with a few of Warren’s men. Several pairs of lifeless eyes stared up into the trees. There was blood everywhere.

  Rona bent and vomited. She would have fallen on her face if it hadn’t been for Warren’s man holding her at a disdainful distance by the arm.

  “Leave them,” Warren said from atop his warhorse.

  “And shall we send a messenger to Loch Doon?”

  Warren considered this for a moment. “No, let Daniel Sinclair worry for a few days. We’ll send a message then, perhaps after he’s found these bodies and imagined the worst for his woman.”

  The soldier nodded and moved to his horse. He mounted and then dragged Rona up so that she was folded face down over the front of the saddle. The horse began to move, and she was sure she would throw up again as her stomach pressed into the saddle. Yet there was nothing left inside.

  Tears flowed silently from her swollen eyes as they rode. Darkness began to settle in the woods, and she thought of Daniel, waiting expectantly for her back at Loch Doon. She thought of Patrick and Harold, murdered without a care and left in the open forest. She thought of Meredith and prayed that she’d hidden and was now safe, along with her and Burke’s babe.

  The moonless night stretched before her as they continued to travel southeast. The darkness swallowed her prayers and tears.

  HIGHLANDER’S RECKONING

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Daniel paced along the battlements that ran atop Loch Doon’s curtain wall. The moonless night gave him little light by which to see, but the stars reflected off the loch’s surface enough to show him the waters were calm—and empty.

  Oh, they were going to get a piece of his mind when they returned. First, he would hide both Patrick and Harold for defying his direct order to see that they returned before dark. Patrick was still young enough that Rona could have overwhelmed him with demands to stay longer. He had no doubt that his wife would be able convince the green lad of just about anything. But Harold should have known better. The stoic, experienced warrior shouldn’t have taken any guff from Rona.

  Then he would have to deal with his wife. How could he be expected to trust her when she refused to follow the most basic requests?

  He nearly growled under his breath. He thought when they’d talked through their latest disagreement and come up with yet another compromise that they were actually making progress together. But now they were back to this—with her nowhere in sight long after sunset, and him here waiting, worrying, and stewing.

  Just then he caught a ripple across the star-filled loch. A small boat was making its way from the village to the castle. He breathed a sigh of relief but hardened himself for the fight that was sure to ensue once the party reached the docks.

  As he descended the stairs from the wall to the courtyard, he saw Burke emerge from the great hall. The rest of the castle’s residents were taking their evening meal in the hall, and light and noise spilled into the yard briefly as Burke slipped out and closed the door behind him.

  Burke caught sight of Daniel and nodded.

  “Still not back yet?”

  “A boat is just arriving. I’m of a mind to meet them,” Daniel replied darkly.

  Burke nodded and fell into step at Daniel’s side as they crossed out of the yard and toward the docks.

  “I have a few questions for Meredith as well,” Burke said tightly. Daniel shot a glance at him and realized that his cousin was worried for his pregnant wife.

  “Don’t be too hard on her,” Daniel said quietly as they reached the docks. “In all likelihood, my wife browbeat the entire group into overstaying. She has a knack for getting her way.”

  Burke smiled wryly and turned his attentio
n to the small boat as it drew toward the dock.

  As the rowboat approached, however, Daniel’s stomach slowly started to twist. It wasn’t until the boat bumped into the dock that he was forced to admit the truth. There were only two people in the boat: the oarsman and a woman—Meredith.

  “Burke!” Meredith screamed as she stumbled from the boat onto the dock.

  Burke rushed forward and scooped her into his arms.

  “Meredith, love, what has happened? Where are the others?”

  Meredith burst into hysterical sobs. Daniel’s skin prickled in foreboding and he felt a stab of fear in his gut.

  “Get her to the castle!” Daniel barked.

  With Meredith in his arms, Burke strode quickly up the dock and toward the castle. Daniel kept pace with him, Meredith’s panic-stricken cries filling his ears. Something terrible had happened. His throat tightened and his pulse hitched.

  They burst into the hall, and the merriment died around them as they crossed toward the spiral staircase. The men taking their evening meal gaped at them, falling silent and staring in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel saw Robert and Garrick, who were seated at the high table on the raised dais, bolt to their feet and follow them toward the stairs.

  Burke took the stairs two at a time, pausing only long enough to kick his and Meredith’s chamber door open. By the light of the fire burning in the chamber’s brazier, Daniel could see that Meredith was disheveled and panicked. Bloody hell, what had happened? And where was Rona?

  As Burke set Meredith down gently on their bed, Robert and Garrick stepped into the chamber and closed the door behind them.

  “What happened?” Robert demanded.

  “We don’t know yet,” Daniel bit out.

  Burke was trying to disentangle himself from Meredith, but she clung to him, her arms around his neck and her fingers digging into his shirt. Daniel noticed that her hands left dirty smudges on the white linen. There were twigs tangled into her dark hair, and several red scratches stood out on her pale face and neck.