Highland Spitfire

by Mary Wine

  She tied up the front and put her arisaid on. Gaining a sense of satisfaction from seeing to herself. At least no one would be labeling her helpless.

  Don’t be peevish… Ye knew full well where ye were heading when ye wed.

  She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. Aye. She’d known and struck her bargain, so she’d have to be keeping it. Besides, she couldn’t very well expect to win over many hearts in a single week.

  What she needed was a ride. Some fresh air would see her feeling right again.

  She pushed her doubts aside and headed down the stairs. The hall was still full of sleeping retainers. They had their plaids pulled up and over their heads to stay warm. More than one of them had a serving lass sharing those plaids.

  She caught herself staring at them, trying to decide if she longed for the same. If she were to be practical, she’d expect nothing more than contentment from her marriage and be grateful for the pleasure Bhaic had made sure she found in his bed.

  Was there more? The couples in the hall looked more intimate somehow. The sight stirred up some longing she hadn’t realized she had. The couple she was spying on started to move, stroking each other beneath their layers of wool plaid. The man cupped his consort’s breasts as she reached down and boldly grasped his member. Their legs entwined as they kissed, and finally the man rolled the woman beneath him. He shrouded her with his plaid, but not before Ailis spied her clasping him between her thighs.

  She’d done that too…

  Her cheeks heated as she ducked out of the castle and headed up to the stables. It was quiet still. But her mare gave her a warm welcome, tossing her head and pawing at the ground.

  “I’ve missed ye too.”

  * * *

  Marcus was in the hall when Bhaic made it down the stairs.

  “I did nae expect ye to send the lass from yer bed,” Marcus said softly. “A bit harsh.”

  “She left after I fell asleep,” Bhaic bit back under his breath. “Likely due to the fine sense of welcome she’s been shown.”

  There was a delicate scoff. Bhaic looked beyond his brother to see Helen sitting in a chair. She had her arms folded over her chest and was perched on the edge of the seat. Marcus was watching her, daring her to move.

  “As if either of ye know a single thing about a woman’s feelings.”

  Marcus’s lips curled. “Me brother knows something about moving a woman to ecstasy. I have that on good report.”

  Helen pushed her lips into a pout as Bhaic punched him in the shoulder. “Have done with us, Marcus. Ye’ve had yer way enough.”

  Marcus continued to look at Helen. “I always get me way.”

  Helen looked right back at him and arched one of her eyebrows. “Every spoilt child has an encounter with disappointment. Ye’re no different.”

  Marcus looked past Bhaic. “What are ye doing down here without yer charge, Finley?”

  Finley had a fresh mug of ale, his beard frothy with it. “The lass came out last night looking well ridden. Ye said to watch her until the union was consummated.”

  He drew off a long sip and belched, clearly thinking the job well done. Marcus started toward him but turned back around when Helen moved.

  “Sit back down, Helen.” Marcus spoke softly. It was a warning, one Bhaic knew well.

  “I am no’ agreeing with this.”

  Bhaic looked up to see several of their retainers lined up.

  Marcus shrugged. “Ye can choose, or I’ll let them compete for ye.”

  “Ye’re a bastard,” she snarled.

  “I am.”

  “Ye’re thieving from me father. That’s the truth about what ye’re set to do. Forcing him to give me dowry to one of yer own.”

  “Ye’ve been here too long,” Marcus countered. “Yer reputation is ruined if ye are no’ wed.”

  “That’s yer shame, no’ mine.”

  “Which way is going to be, lass? I’ve got other things to see to today.”

  She lifted one hand and gestured at the men who had stepped up. “What? Do I no’ even get the chance to check their teeth? Should I select one simply by the way he leers at me?”

  Marcus slowly grinned. “Well now, lads. It seems the lass desires a bit of courting. Make sure ye are attentive to her and do nae lose sight of her.”

  His last words were delivered in a solid tone his men recognized well. They grinned, several of them chuckling. Helen slowly stood. She turned to look at the men eyeing her like a treat. Marcus had turned to look at Bhaic. Helen struck in that small moment of inattention, claiming a pitcher from the tabletop and swinging it in a wide arch. She caught Marcus on the side of the head, knocking him flat.

  Bhaic stared incredulously as his brother landed in a heap. There was silence in the hall for a split second before laughter erupted. People turned around in time to see Marcus jumping to his feet. Helen had the pitcher in both hands, facing off with him.

  But it was the sound of their father’s amusement that made them both turn. Shamus was halfway up the steps. He’d stopped because he was laughing so hard, his age-worn body was shaking. He struggled to make it up the last two steps.

  “Just like yer mother,” he said at last. “She was never afraid of anything. No’ even the church. She was a member of the new kirk. That’s why she never wed me.”

  “He’s trying to force me to wed.” Helen appealed to Shamus. “Allow me to go home.”

  Shamus made his way to a chair. He settled back into it and gestured her forward. “Why are ye on me land, lass?”

  “Yer son stole me to force me father to no’ make a fuss. He had me locked away when me own laird was here so I could nae seek his protection. I am a Grant.”

  “Me son Marcus, ye mean?”

  Helen nodded. Shamus considered her for a long moment. “Well now, I stole his mother too. A Highlander does that from time to time when he sees a lass worth keeping for himself.”

  Helen’s face paled, but she wasn’t ready to give in just yet. She took a deep breath and considered her argument.

  “Yet he is trying to force me on his men.” Helen gestured behind her. “I’ll have none of it.”

  People were moving closer, frowning at the tone Helen was using with their laird. Shamus was pensive, clearly thinking the matter through.

  “If ye stole her, Marcus, ye’ll keep her or return her to her father,” Shamus said firmly.

  “Her family was making trouble,” Marcus informed his sire. “Better one woman change her thinking than blood spilt.”

  Shamus took to stroking his beard.

  “I was giving the men leave to court her,” Marcus added when his father didn’t speak.

  “After listing me dowry,” Helen argued. “Ye’ve given them a fine reason for rough wooing sure enough.”

  There was a rise of sound from the back of the hall—women were shaking their heads in disapproval.

  “Me son’s choice to take ye was valid. Unless ye would like to tell me that ye would prefer spilled blood over a peaceful settlement?” Shamus suddenly sounded exactly like the laird he’d been ten years earlier, before age had stolen his strength.

  Helen opened her mouth but shut it without uttering a word. She nodded a single time, clearly frustrated by her circumstances but wise enough to see the matter for what it was.

  Shamus grunted with approval and turned his attention to Marcus.

  “Ye stole her. If ye can no’ convince her to wed ye, it falls to ye to return her to her father and account for yer actions. Her father will account for his actions if he persists in causing trouble. It’s true a Highlander may steal a woman, but no’ to make a mockery of her and her father’s good name. However, if she does nae favor ye, she may choose another.”

  Marcus opened his mouth to argue at the
same time that Helen did. Shamus slapped the table, making it clear the matter was closed. Which left them staring at one another. “Now. On to yer brother.”

  Shamus took a drink from his mug before he looked around. “Where is that sheet?”

  “Father…” Bhaic said quietly.

  His father paid him no mind. Duana finally came into sight, her breathing labored and sweat trickling down the sides of her face. But she came up onto the high ground and held up a sheet. The dark stain on it was clear in the morning light.

  “Well now.” Shamus nodded approvingly. “That’s settled.” He slapped the tabletop again but looked around. “Where is the lass? Still sleeping? Well now…that’s me son after all! Let her rest. She’ll be needing it.”

  The hall filled with laughter.

  Duana started to direct the serving of the high table. The retainers moved the tables and benches into position so they might enjoy breaking their fast.

  The day was beginning, but his wife never appeared.

  Well, tonight he’d see about making sure she had reason to seek him out.

  * * *

  Her mare was eager for a ride, setting off the moment Ailis gave her leave to. The hills were covered in green, and the heather was blooming. Ailis leaned low and let her mare run. The castle fell out of sight before she pulled up on the reins.

  Her chest felt lighter. Her circumstances no longer seemed so overwhelming.

  Well, she wouldn’t say she felt hopeful, but at least she wasn’t hopeless any longer.

  It was something.

  She smiled ruefully.

  Well, her marriage was something too. Something she’d best avoid putting a label on. It was done now, and there was part of her satisfied by the knowledge. Part of her hoping for another night of passion. Was that to be the way she found meaning in her new life? In those dark moments when she surrendered to the bliss Bhaic’s touch unleashed?

  Well, it had certainly been better than what the marriage bed held for some daughters of lairds who needed to marry with alliances in mind. He wasn’t old enough to be her father—more than one bride had suffered such a fate.

  She wasn’t wed to Marcus.

  That idea made her snicker. Bhaic’s brother was well suited to his position as War Chief. Ruthless to his core. She couldn’t see him taking her to the astrologer’s house, and the idea of Marcus courting her was laughable. He would hunt his wife, not court her.

  At least her mood was lightening. She eased her mare up an incline, coming to a crest. Below her, a river was roaring with spring melt off. The power of the moving water was incredible. It was churning so much, it created its own mist. The sun was coming up now, chasing away the night shadows. The moment was magical, that time between night and day when fae roamed and the specters of night were no longer able to move about.

  There was a crack behind her. She started to turn but was suddenly falling off the horse as pain ripped across her shoulders and a shower of splinters rained down on her. She hit the ground, more agony tearing through her. Her mare reared up, and Ailis willingly let herself start tumbling down the incline. The newly risen sun flashed off the horse’s hooves as the animal pawed at the air before coming down.

  Ailis lost sight of her as she tumbled head over heels, her skirts blinding her and trapping her arms. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t get her bearings, and a moment later, she plunged into the river, the chill biting into her.

  She let out a shriek, but her mouth was full of water and fabric. The current tore at her clothing, dragging her into its heart and downstream as she fought to break the surface and draw breath. She was straining, fighting with all her strength, but the water was too powerful. The pain in her back was stolen by the chill of the water, but still she fought to escape its power.

  * * *

  Helen was a bold woman.

  She appeared in the training yard later in the day in defiance of the tradition of it being a place for men. Some of the younger retainers blinked as they tried to decide if she was truly there. She gave them no attention, continuing on to the man she sought.

  “Save yer breath, Helen.” Marcus cast her only a short glance before returning his attention to the men training in the yard. “I will nae be taking ye back to yer father, and ye do nae belong in the training yard.”

  Marcus and Bhaic were standing on a stone platform at the front of the training yard. It was set off from the main yard in front of the keep. Helen picked up her skirt and climbed the stairs without hesitation, a stern look on her face that promised Marcus hell.

  “No’ that I am surprised to hear ye saying such, but I did no’ come here to talk to ye.”

  Helen stepped right up to him but looked at Bhaic. “I can nae find Ailis.”

  “Who gave ye permission to go near her?” Marcus demanded.

  Helen bristled. “At least I went looking for her. No’ a single one of yer household cares to notice that their mistress is gone, and it past noon.”

  Bhaic turned to face her. “Where did ye look?”

  “She is no’ in her chamber, or yers, or the kitchens. And no one has seen her. That lot ye had trailing her has no idea where she is.”

  “Elise should know,” Bhaic said slowly, trying to think the matter through. But his emotions were rising.

  “That useless creature dropped a tray in Ailis’s chamber this morning and left, considering that service enough for a Robertson. She never checked to see if her mistress was in the bedding,” Helen informed them both. “I checked. The tray is untouched, and a dress missing from those her father brought her. I hung them and took an inventory.”

  Bhaic locked gazes with Marcus.

  “The mare,” they said at the same time.

  Bhaic was down the steps and on the back of his horse in a flash of thigh and plaid. Marcus was right behind him. Men scrambled to pull horses around from where they were kept ready during the day. They dug their heels in to catch up with their leaders.

  Helen was left standing on the stage from which training was conducted. The youths had stopped and were staring at her, some of them with gaping jaws. She held her chin steady before making her way down the steps and away from the training yard.

  * * *

  “Well now, that mare was gone before first light.”

  “And ye did nae think to tell me?” Bhaic demanded of his stable master.

  The man shrugged. “Yer stallion was missing too. Thought the pair of ye went off to the astrologer’s house again. Or someplace else ye might enjoy being newly wed.”

  Bhaic cursed, feeling his own choices nipping on his heels.

  “Pull the hounds out,” Marcus instructed. “Looks like it will be a good thing she went back to her own bed last night. Best get that sheet. We’ll start with the mare, but might need something of Ailis’s.”

  “Aye.” Bhaic swung back up onto his stallion and headed back to the castle. By the time he made it back to the stables, thirty men were readying their horses. Marcus had chosen well. They were all hardened Highlanders, their saddles packed light but with what they needed to survive.

  The hounds were large ones, their coats gray. They were eager for the hunt, pulling on their leashes. The hound master took the hounds into the mare’s stall.

  There was a low whine as one of them picked up a scent. Another hound joined in, and then the pack was jumping against their leashes, trying to break free. The hound master let them go, the pack taking off into the afternoon light.

  Bhaic was right on their tail. He avoided thinking about what Ailis’s absence meant.

  But that didn’t stop his temper from rising.

  The hounds led them over the ridge and into the village. The most confounding thing was that they were heading away from Robertson land. Someone started ringing the church bell as they ne
ared. People came out of their homes, goodwives standing in their doorways wearing aprons as children peered through open windows and men looked out from workshops. The streets cleared to allow for the retainers’ passage.

  Marcus whistled at Bhaic and pointed ahead of them. Ailis’s mare was tied up outside the tavern. Bhaic slid from the saddle as several of his retainers struggled to release the hounds. They tossed slices of meat to the animals to praise them for a duty well done.

  Bhaic went inside, pausing in the doorway to get a look at what was happening, his hand wrapped around the pommel of his sword.

  The place was filled with laughter. It died away quickly as the occupants gained a look at who was arriving. They reached up to tug on the corners of their caps.

  “The mare,” Bhaic began. “Who tied her up?”

  There was a hoot from several of the men sitting at the tables. One of them lifted his mug toward his companion. “See there? Even the Tanis has heard of yer talents!”

  “Who?” Bhaic asked again.

  The men were all drinking again. Bhaic ended up waiting until they lowered their mugs. One of them wiped his mouth on his sleeve before standing. “The mare is me prize. Shot a Robertson off her back this morning, I did. Damned bastard was sneaking around at first light. Up to no good for certain. Saw those Robertson colors clearly.”

  “Ye shot her?” Bhaic demanded. Marcus put out his arm, holding him back.

  “No’ the mare.” The man sniffed indignantly. “Horse can’t be held accountable for what stable it was born in.”

  “The rider,” Marcus snapped.

  The man shrugged and reached for something on the table. “It was a Robertson sure enough.” He held up a tattered piece of wool, the Robertson colors clear in spite of the mud dried on it. “I know me enemy when I see them. Even in the dim light of early morning,” the man declared. He patted one of the pistols stored in his belt. “Keep these loaded just in case I needs them.”