by Allie Borne
“I see,” Mary responded, appearing to be comforted by the comment, despite the fact that the statement held no relevance to her.
“I believe ye have stayed long enough,” Sir Phillip Cumyn responded. “Ian will show ye out.”
“Oh, one more item, Sir Phillip, if ye will?” Sir Andrew paused on his way to the door.
“Aye, aye, what is it?”
“Laird Dane has agreed to serve as officiator of the match. He has proven himself unbiased toward either of our clans and we believe him a fair judge. His men will see to the holding of the stud and Miss Luke.”
“Jest the same, Ian will stay with them as well,” Phillip Cumyn humphed.
“Then I will also remain with them,” Sir Andrew responded.
“Verra well, we are agreed. Now, Ian, if you don’t mind?”
Ian led Sir Andrew from the room. It was as if the candles had been lent their golden light by his very form. As Andrew left the chamber, the grey cold crept back in and settled around Mary and her adversary.
“Tch, tch, tch,” Laird Cumyn tisked.
“After all I have done for you, Miss Luke, ye do me the dishonor of admiring that Murray boy in my presence? It is most unladylike.”
Mary did not respond. She stood instead, staring at a point just over the man’s shoulder. She attempted to remain as immobile as Sir Andrew had been.
“Have you nothing to say to me, Miss Luke?” Sir Phillip ribbed.
“What would you have me say, Laird Cumyn?” Mary returned, keeping her tone neutral and devoid of sarcasm.
He laughed, encouraged by her gall and wit. “I suppose, that you would prefer to stay here, with me, and serve as my mistress, rather than to go to that self-righteous Laird and your witch of a lady.”
“My duty lies with my Lady.” Mary responded calmly, still avoiding eye contact but refusing to duck her head in submission.
“Ah, a loyal lass. Well, keep this in mind, Miss Luke: yer Laird and his Lady have wagered ye fer a horse. It seems that, to them, ye are worth no more than a pretty mount. In some ways, I must admit, I agree. Ye are a pretty mount. I will esteem ye much more than they, in that regard, I assure ye.”
Mary said nothing. Obviously he had agreed to the competition and thus considered his possible winnings worth the loss of her person.
“Nothing to say to that? Well, I shall let ye think it over. I will leave ye to yer rest...”
“Wilma!” as the stern maid entered, Sir Phillip barked out his orders. “Take the lass to the room she was just occupying. Give her something to drink, then lock the door. Understood?”
Wilma nodded once then ushered Mary from the room in her brisk manner.
Mary was happy to oblige. She downed two glasses of the cider Wilma brought up to her. Then, without even bothering to undress, Mary crawled under the covers of the slightly lumpy bed and snuggled in. No fire had been lit, but, as it was April and she was no longer in the underground portion of the keep, she felt positively toasty in her new accommodations. Hearing the lock click into place, Mary fell into a heavy sleep for the first time since arriving on Cumyn soil.
~ ~ ~
Andrew was in awe. The lady had clearly been held in untenable situation and required to clean up before their visit. Her hair, he noted had been wet, her eyes sunken and purplish from lack of liquids and rest. She shook and swayed slightly, but covered it well with a firm posture and lifted chin. She was regal and attractive. Her milky skin complemented her blonde hair and blue eyes. She was everything he pictured a lady to be.
When she realized he was leaving her there, with that monster, she had not cried or begged, as might be expected. She had responded in the best manner possible, with a lack of response. She had followed his cues and kept them both alive to negotiate another day.
Redland would kill Andrew himself if he realized that he had gone in person to deliver the necessary messages to the Cumyn clan. It was foolhardy, he knew. But he was the only one with enough clout to demand that the lady be seen. He wanted to see the companion for whom Merianne had been willing to risk her own future, her own life.
Merianne was right. Mary Luke was worth it. She was so calm and assured... He could spend a lifetime getting to know a lady such as she. Merianne had said herself that Mary was lesser gentry, fallen on hard times. She hadn’t a dowry but she had a respectable blood line. Perhaps he could convince Redland to allow a match. It would, after all, further cement their connections to the South.
As Andrew rode back towards the Murray holdings, he wondered if his strong reaction had more to do with the excitement of rescuing a damsel in distress than to the actual lady herself. Time would tell, he decided. Either way, he already had quite a bit invested in saving the lass.
~ ~ ~
“Two days?!” Merianne ranted, pacing back and forth across the rug in the master suite. “How can ye expect Mary to suffer through two more days of such torment? She might not survive that long!”
“Do no’ fret, Merianne. I have sent a messenger, as ye suggested, to assure us that she will be produced and well for the competition. I have asked that the messenger request to see her, to verify her good health, so that we might receive a report. The messenger left out at dawn. He should return within the next couple of hours.”
“Oh, I suppose I can wait that long,” Merianne, shrugged, calming considerably.
“Please, have some of the food that Lancey brought up. It smells delicious.”
“I am sorry, Bryan. I can not. My stomach is tied in knots.”
“Ye owe it to yer friend to stay healthy for the competition. Ye will have to play the lethal role ye have designed fer yerself. Ye can no’ do so if ye are a shaking, fainting weakling.” Bryan looked down at Merianne paternally.
“I will have a piece of toast,” Merianne conceded, sitting across from Bryan at the tiny table that had been brought up for the occasion.
“Thou art, as always, the model of reason,” Bryan quirked his angelic mouth to cast doubt on his proclamation.
“Reason is over esteemed,” Merianne shrugged, unperturbed.
“How so?” Bryan chuckled, interested in the direction of his wife’s thoughts.
“Reason requires us to act in a manner that considers pros and cons, historical and future ramifications, et cetera. It does not take into account emotions, feelings, or instinct. It rarely considers the need of the individual over that of the group. In short, reason is essential for designing strategy and procedure but its worth is limited. It does not account for humanity. While admiring the big picture, it does not consider the individual pieces of the image. It looks at how they all fit together, but not in what they mean to each other. I much prefer empathy and compassion to reason.”
“Ye were not very empathetic to the Cumyn man I interrogated.”
“On the contrary, I thought that by engaging him on an emotional level, he would be much more likely to act for his own self-preservation by guarding Mary’s well being.”
“Ye detest the man, Merianne.”
“My decision was not based upon how I felt towards him but upon how his feelings towards me could affect his behavior. Do you disapprove?” Bryan stared at his radiant bride for a moment, across the tiny table between them. He rose and came to stand by her chair. Drawing her up, he ran one long finger down her jaw, following the line of her throat and collar bone, until his palm rested atop her heart. “I find that having a wife that manipulates emotions has its benefits,” Bryan finally retorted.
“That was not my meaning, I-” but Bryan cut her off in mid-sentence, bending his head to take her lips in his. Gently, he probed her mouth with his tongue, enjoying the taste of honeyed tea and buttered toast that lay there.
“Like summer,” he whispered, “always like summer.”
Guilt welled up in Merianne’s gut as the unwelcome thought came to mind, Perhaps two more days of honeymoon would not be such a bad thing.
~ ~ ~
Mary awoke in the middle
of the night with the terrifying sensation that something or someone hovered over her bed. She squashed the childish inclination to pull the sheets over her head. A real attacker would hardly be encumbered by a blanket. Instead, she very slowly and very quietly sat up.
Still, that sensation of someone hovering persisted. Mary weighed her options, as she grabbed for the candlestick. Should she light it or wield it as a weapon? She never got the chance to decide. A beefy hand wrapped around her wrist just as another covered her mouth, suffocating the scream that welled in her throat.
A greasy smell of animal fat greeted her flared nostrils as a thick head leaned in to whisper, “I will nay harm ye, Lass, if ye do as I say. Do no’ move or yell out. I am here to save ye.”
Mary’s mind was so filled with the horror of her current condition that it took several moments to process her attacker’s words.
When she stilled her struggling, he continued. “I will escort you from the grounds. We will meet up with Sir Andrew and he can take ye somewhere from there. I dare no’ return after I do this, so ye best no’ make a noise. We may both wind up dead.”
Mary nodded, realizing that Merianne’s attacker, Ian, had likely been scared and or bribed into turning her over to the Murrays. She would be foolish indeed if she were to fight this opportunity for escape. Luckily, Mary had not felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in only a shift.
She rose now, silently reaching to pick up her boots. Mary crept after Ian’s lurking form. The two made their way down the darkened hallway. Slipping down the back stairwell, Mary shivered. The eerie sputtering of the walled torches put her on edge. The two continued down the stair. Ian held out his hand for Mary to pause. He pointed to the slumbering forms on the floor of the hall. It was clear to Mary that they would have to get past these men and out through the kitchen if they were to escape.
Mary’s heart beat so heavily against her chest that she was certain the snoring Scots would hear it. Ian pointed to the front of the hall. Were they really going to attempt to walk out the front door? She followed, stricken with fright.
Each step muffled in her stockings, made a scraping noise against the stones. She was certain someone would hear them, see them, smell Ian ...something. As soon as they came to the front of the door, Ian indicated a sack. He opened it and looked at Mary.
She blanched. It was clear she was supposed to climb into that tiny space. Mary had no doubt that the lumbering brute could carry her. Small, enclosed spaces did not suite her. She would panic, not be able to breathe. Slowly pulling air into her lungs, she stepped into the sack and curled into a ball.
Mary stuck her entire fist in her mouth to stop her from calling out as Ian lifted the sack, shoved a layer of uncarded wool atop her and cinched it. Mary’s lungs tightened in panic. She was bumped and jostled onto Ian’s back. Chewing on her fingers, Mary concentrated on taking painfully deep and measured breaths.
Slowly, she relaxed her body to move more naturally, as would inanimate objects in a bag. Ian descended the steps walking swiftly along the side yard and into the stables. Mary was placed unceremoniously on the back of the horse, laying on her stomach. She could feel the straps cinching around the bag and had to begin counting her intake of breathe again as the wool pressed in upon her face.
The lurch of Ian swinging onto his saddle nearly knocked the wind from Mary’s lungs. She eased herself onto her side a bit, to avoid blacking out. Each breath became an effort as the wool pressed in and the horse’s flanks bulged and flexed beneath her curled up form. Mary prayed fervently to every saint she knew that she would not suffocate, that she would not be discovered, that she would arrive safely at the Murray keep.
Each moment she endured brought her nearer to fresh air and her golden savior, Sir Andrew. God bless him for paying off this vile man. Mary’s cheek rubbed raw against the course hemp of the bag. She grasped tightly to the horse’s blanket beneath the bag, in mortal fear that the ropes tying her to the saddle would not hold.
“Halt!” called a voice as Ian’s horse clopped along the cobbled path towards the keep’s gate. “What business are ye’ about in the middle of the night, man?”
“Tis I, Ian,” the grizzly man replied, in a bored tone. “The Laird has sent me to do his bidding and I shan’t be answering about it to the likes of ye.”
The bow legged gate keeper looked at the hunched form of the Laird’s enforcer and at the bundle tied to his mare’s back. The mare shied slightly, despite the tight reign Ian kept on him. Although the bag appeared lumpy, 'twas more likely than not that the Laird was having Ian dispose of another body.
The gate keeper cast his eyes down, preferring not to be a party to whatever it was that the wretched man was about. Waving him on, he warned, “Best be back within an hour or two. I’ll not be bothered to open the gate again until morning, once tis closed.”
Ian nodded and clomped slowly out of the inner bailey. Once they were on the road, Ian picked up a faster pace. Mary’s body was bruised and aching. The jarring of the horse’s canter sent her head to spinning. Finally, after a particularly hearty knock from the back of the saddle, Mary began to lose consciousness. She turned her head towards the largest open space in the bag before the black descended upon her.
~ ~ ~
Sir Andrew awaited the brute on the edge of his clan’s holdings. He dared not dismount, for fear that the man would ride upon him unawares. He had expected Ian Cumyn an hour ago. Sir Andrew was very uncertain as to the wisdom of waiting longer. He would wait, however, until dawn. Fifty pounds and a promise of an escort through the Murray lands was as good of an offer as Andrew had the power to make.
“Aiden, I cannot tell you again how grateful I am for your help. I should not be askin ye’ to risk yer hide on a task that the Laird kens nary about. Ian will be reminded that he is to act honorably. If he harms ye in any way, I promise to hunt him down.
“I would take him myself if it weren’t for the fact that Miss Luke has not made yer acquaintance. She is much more likely to come to me, then to a man she has no’ met.”
Aiden nodded. “I am more than willing to rid the highlands of My Lady’s attacker. She would no’ be able to feel free to ride out and about with that man mere miles away. Tis an honor to aid ye in this, Sir Andrew.”
“Thank ye, Aiden. I am indebted to ye.”
“No’ at all, Sir,” Aiden argued. “Look, I see a shadow to the East.”
Sir Andrew and Aiden turned their horses to face the approaching figure.
Silently they waited, hands upon swords, just in case. Yet, just the lone rider approached. Concern etched Andrew’s handsome features as he realized that only one person rode the horse in question. Ian approached slowly, appraising the two men before him.
“Let us move into the cover of the trees,” Ian requested, gruffly.
“Where is Miss Luke?” Sir Andrew demanded, panic rising in his chest. He swiveled his mount about, checking that they were not about to be ambushed.
“I ‘ave her here, with me,” Ian responded curtly. “I am alone, but for her, you needn’t worry ‘bout that.”
Ian preceded the two into the tree line, dismounted and began cutting the rope from the sack on his horse’s back. Panic turned to horror as Andrew began to realize what Ian had done. Dismounting himself, he rushed the bundle just as Ian pulled it from the horse and dropped it unceremoniously to the ground.
Pulling a dagger from his boot in one fluid movement, Andrew grabbed the opening of the bag and sliced it open. Reaching his hand in the sack, he encountered wool, pulling, he felt hair and an arm.
“Dear God, man! What have you done!” Sir Andrew croaked, horrified by the actions he had set into motion.
Aiden pulled his sword and held it at the ruffian’s throat. “Ye best hope she lives, ye bastard, or ye’ll be sliced from gullet to liver.”
Sir Andrew gently cut the bag away from the lovely lady, noting her limp form, he prayed that she still breathed. Pulling Mary into his arms, A
ndrew pressed two fingers to her wrist and leaned his head to her mouth the feel for a breath. Faintly, so faintly a flutter pressed against his fingers.
He felt no breath. Carefully, Andrew lifted Mary’s chin and placed his own mouth over hers. Pinching her nose, he breathed into her mouth. Slowly, her chest rose. Again he leaned to give her a breath.
Spluttering, Mary pushed away weakly, rolling to her side, she pulled in a jagged draft of air. Andrew rubbed her back and arms, hoping to encourage her heart to pump life-giving air to all of her parts.
“She’s fine,” Ian spluttered, silently relieved that he had not killed his means of escape. “Now can I get me blunt and be on my way?”
“Aiden has sequestered yer funds at the departure point, Ian. He’ll give it ye when ye part company, several miles from here.”
“I want to see it,” Ian protested.
“Ye will have it,” Sir Andrew restated. “Dost thou question my honor?”
“Nay. Let us be leavin’ then,” Ian reiterated, looking nervously about.
Sir Andrew dared not stay in their meeting place. He had no guarantee that the oaf did not tip off his Laird to the plan. “Ye’ll wait and hand the lass to me. I will ride a ways with ye both and then part company.”
Sir Andrew mounted his horse and waited for Ian to lift Mary into his arms. Ian obliged, grudgingly. Within moments, they were off, riding south towards the border of their lands.
“Ye’ll be best off making your way into a large town or city. Do no’ tell us where you have gone, so that we might honestly claim ignorance. As far as Philip Cumyn is concerned, we found her dumped on our land.”
Ian nodded silently, so Sir Andrew continued. “Tis understood that ye will leave Aiden, unharmed at the edge of our territory. He will pay ye the fifty pounds and return to his own home. He does no’ know where I am taking the lass, so don’t bother asking.
“If anything happens to Aiden, you will be hunted and gutted, just as previously promised. Do ye understand?”