Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts)

by Maxine Mansfield

  He kissed her and winked. “Ye are all the feast I be needing, my Beth.” He cupped a naked breast and lowered his head as he slowly took a nipple in his mouth and sucked.

  She swatted him away. “That particular food source is for your son. I’ll go get bread and cheese for you.”

  “But nae uisge beatha.” He grimaced. “I doubt I’ll ever be able ta drink Scot’s whiskey again and nae puke.”

  “Ah, then I see the poisoning wasn’t a total waste,” she teased. “Ale it is.”

  The moment Beth exited their room, John Iain and Alec entered in her wake.

  “’Tis good ta see ye even more alert than ye were just a few hours ago, Nephew,” the MacLeod said.

  “Aye, he’s a right bonny sight, for sure.” Alec Mackenzie grimaced. “Ye almost died on us, my friend. Do nae be doing that again any time soon, ye ken? Ye little wife almost worked us in ta our graves because of it. She’s a fierce one, she is.”

  Quint nodded as pride filled him. “That she is.” And before his wee tyrant returned, there was business ta be dealt with. “Did ye do as I asked?”

  “Aye, we did,” John Iain answered. “We sent word ta both the English ships that ye had perished from the poison, and we’d be holding a wake for ye later today. The MacLeod banners have all been taken down and sheets of black hang in their place. Even the great hall has been prepared for mourning. Every mirror has been draped. If that does nae bring that little weasel scurrying back here, nothing will.”

  “And what of Marta?” Guilt filled Quint. It was his fault and his alone that Mairi’s sister was out there somewhere, and God only knew where or what she’d do next. He’d let a promise to a dying girl cloud his judgement—lesson learned, and not something that would happen again anytime soon. “Has she been found?”

  Alec Mackenzie shook his head. “At last word, she hadna. But Ralf did say he had a lead as ta where she might be hiding, and he went ta look. If she’s anywhere in the vicinity, ye guardsman will find her. I swear that man’s half bloodhound the way he sniffs out a trail. I’d hate ta be Marta if and when he does find her. He didnae take word of his laird being poisoned on his watch verra well, ye ken. None of ye men did.”

  Quint nodded. “Aye, Ralf is a good mon. But right now, I need a hand before my wife returns. I do nae want her ta see I’m still as weak as a bairn. So if I could get some help getting dressed and down those stairs, I’d verra much appreciate it.”

  John Iain’s face lost all color. “Should ye even be outta bed so soon? I do nae object ta helping ye all I can, ye ken that, but I gotta admit, ye wee wife scares me just a little. While ye were sleeping, she was like a crazed wolf watching over her cub, and she told the both of us if we even dared touch ye, she’d tie us down and slice off our bits, and with a dull blade ta boot.”

  “She’s nae bigger than a healthy shit.” Quint laughed. “I’m pretty sure ye bits are safe. With or without ye help, I’m still going down those stairs and in ta my hall. And that’s exactly where I’ll be sitting when Telford arrives. I may nae yet be quite up ta snuff, and I’m nae sure I can even heft my broadsword above my head, but the viscount will nae be the wiser. When he walks through those doors, all he will see is a Scottish laird sitting in his rightful place of power.”

  He ran fingers through his hair, tugging out tangles as he went. “So, are ye gonna help me or nae?”

  ****

  Beth stood in the kitchen with Annie, watching the cook prepare the Hogmanay meal while waiting for a chance to bother the woman for a quick plate of food for Quint. He was still very weak, and if he hoped to get his strength back anytime soon, he needed to eat.

  But as Annie rolled out and cut the dough she was so diligently working on, Beth’s curiosity got the better of her. “What are those for?”

  Annie looked up from her work table and grinned. “For my famous Scotch pie of course. There cannae be a proper Hogmanay without them. I stuff the crusts plum full of beef and onions, and then bake them up in the oven right alongside the black bun.”

  “Black bun?” Beth shrugged.

  The cook stopped for a moment and placed her flour-covered hands upon her hips. “Aye, my lady, the black bun. What kinda Scot are ye if ye do nae even remember our cake filled with raisins, almonds, ginger, cinnamon, and just a wee touch of brandy? ’Tis tradition, lass.” She shook her head. “What kinda nuns raised ye at that abbey? English ones?”

  Beth shrugged once more. “I honestly don’t know.”

  The old cook chuckled. “Well then, ye are surely in for a treat today, ’cause we be having ourselves a full-on Scottish New Year’s meal ta celebrate the fact our laird still lives. Haggis, clootie dumplings with custard, and a right nice cullen skink chock full of smoked haddock is gonna be served, right along with the bridie and the black bun. Oh, and of course, my shortbread. Hogmanay would nae be a holiday without me shortbread, ye ken?”

  Beth smiled. “It all sounds wonderful, Annie, but I don’t suppose you have anything already prepared I could take up to Quint, do you? I’d rather he stay abed and rest as long as possible.”

  “In these kitchens, there always be food for the laird.” Annie pointed toward a big pot hanging over the open fire. “Take him up a bowl of the cullen skink there a simmering. And a big piece of this morning’s fine crusty bread slathered with freshly churned butter. That’ll put some strength back in his step.”

  Thanking the cook, Beth gathered up the meal and headed back toward the stairs. She hadn’t made it a half dozen steps into the great hall before she realized her efforts to keep her husband in bed were in vain, because there he sat, big as life and twice as handsome. She wasn’t sure which she wanted to do first, kiss the man for being so stubborn and refusing to die or hit him over the head with something and drag him back to their chamber.

  In the end, she walked over, slammed the bowl of fish stew upon the table, and tossed the bread beside it. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she hissed close to his ear so the Mackenzie and John Iain, who were both sitting close by, wouldn’t hear.

  Quint calmly picked up the crust of bread, dipped it into the stew, and bit off the end. “What’s it look like I’m doing, wife? I’m eating.”

  She wanted to hit him. But then she’d been wanting to hit something or someone for days now. “You shouldn’t be out of bed yet, and you know it.”

  Her husband smiled, and Beth’s heart skipped a deep. “I tried ta stay there longer. Because I ken ye wish it. But I simply could nae, and I hope ye understand, my Beth.”

  Though she wanted to be angry, she couldn’t keep up the effort. She’d missed that smile too much, and she’d missed that Quinton MacLeod stubbornness, too. All she could manage to do was smile right back at him and nod.

  The doors of the great hall opened, and Beth’s smile died on her face as in walked Ralf, half prodding and half dragging Marta along behind him.

  Sadness filled Beth as she realized the smirking woman standing before them was much too pretty for her own good. Even with brambles in her strawberry blonde hair and the dirt and mud smudging her tight-fitting frock, Marta could still bend any man in the room to her will if she so desired. And she’d been Mairi’s twin. No wonder Quint had loved her sister so. What man wouldn’t?

  Beth was on the verge of confronting Marta herself when the woman’s eyes suddenly widened with fear as they locked on Quinton MacLeod sitting in his usual place at the board. There was no way she could’ve missed his anger reflecting back toward her.

  For a moment, Beth almost felt sorry for the woman about to face judgment at the hands of the man she’d tried her best to kill. But then Marta opened her mouth, and any sympathy Beth might have felt fled in the face of her words.

  “I see I should’ve made ye drink a wee bit stronger, laird.” She winked. “Perhaps next time, aye?”

  “How much did the viscount pay ye, lass, ta poison ye laird?” Quint asked.

  Beth was proud of her husband. He didn’t lose his
temper, and he didn’t yell. His voice was controlled and perfectly even, as if they were all simply chatting about the weather instead of his attempted murder.

  “I do nae understand,” he continued. “I cared for ye after Mairi died. I gave ye a home, a roof over ye head, clothes on ye back, food in ye belly. Why would ye do such a thing?”

  Marta glared, and her eyes burned with hatred. “My sister did nae simply die. It was ye who killed her. Ye and Dougal, and that crippled bastard of hers. But it was mainly ye when ye would nae allow her ta marry Dougal MacLeod. Ye struck her just as dead that verra day, as if ye’d stuck ye dagger right in her heart.” She suddenly laughed. “And then, ye stupid blootered arse could nae be bothered ta even fall off the parapet as ye should’ve when I did my best ta push ye. Oh no, it was nae ye who fell over that wall and broke upon the rocks below. It was Dougal.

  “Even though ye’d denied him the woman he loved and the child that was rightly his, he was still so loyal, so trusting, like a pathetic lap dog. He wedged himself between the two of us that night when he kenned my intentions. And ye should’ve seen the surprise on his face as he fell ta his death. Though I hated him, too, for getting Mairi with child in the first place, I hate ye more, much, much more.”

  Beth’s blood ran cold. There was certainly no remorse to be found in Marta MacLeod’s eyes, only craziness. The woman continued to dig herself into a deeper hole as she smiled brightly and just kept on babbling.

  “And now it looks as if I’ve failed again. For here ye sit, Quinton MacLeod, big as life. If ye but give me one more chance, I’ll be sure ta get the dosage right this next time. And we both ken there’ll be a next time, do we nae? For ye made a promise ta, Mairi, ta watch over me and keep me safe, and the Laird of Brochel would nae ever break a promise made ta the woman he so loved. Nae even if it meant his own death.”

  Beth wasn’t sure which she wanted to do first, hug her husband and wipe away the look of hurt and betrayal from his eyes or scratch Marta’s out. In the end, she did neither. Quint would not welcome comfort or interference right now, especially not in front of his men.

  And as for Marta?

  Beth let out the breath she hadn’t even been aware she’d been holding. Marta’s ultimate fate was in Quint’s hands, not hers. After all, it had been him the woman had tried her best to harm. Unlike Marta, though, Beth had no doubt whatsoever her husband would mete out whatever justice he felt was deserved. For it was Laird Quinton Macleod Marta faced, not the young man who’d loved her sister.

  She counted the seconds as they ticked by, waiting to see how Quint would deal with Marta. She’d just gotten to forty-two when he spoke once more. “I’ll ask ye again. What did the viscount offer ye ta betray ye laird?”

  Marta shrugged. “What does it matter? I did what I did, and I freely admit it.”

  Quint shook his head. “I’d still like ta ken?”

  Marta chuckled. “Lord Fredrick, Viscount Telford promised me I’d be lady of the keep if I’d help him. So I did. After all, Mairi would’ve been if she hadn’t died, and I look just like her. Ye should’ve taken me as wife when she and Dougal betrayed ye. It should’ve been me ta have given ye an heir.” She sighed. “And then it would’ve been me the viscount would’ve wanted ta marry after ye were dead. I deserve ta be a countess more than Elspeth does. And the stupid little chit does nae even want it. But want or not it does nae matter, for a countess she will be. For ye will nae best Lord Fredrick, and he means ta see ye dead, marry ye wife, and give over ye lands and ye son ta the king.”

  The woman gasped and grabbed at her waist as a growing pool of dark red oozed through her frock and down the front. At first, Beth wasn’t sure exactly what had happened until Marta dropped to her knees.

  “Ye said ye would nae kill me,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Quint gestured toward the man standing at her back. “I kept my promise, Marta. I did nae take ye life, lass. Ye did that ta yeself the day ye pushed John Iain’s son ta his death. It was the MacLeod himself who has passed judgment on ye and carried out ye sentence. A life for a life, ye ken? ’Tis the Highland way.”

  And with that, Marta slumped over, dead.

  A wave of dizziness overcame Beth, and she was forced to sit before she fell. She’d seen death up close and personal, first her children’s and then her own. Yet, the suddenness, the finality of Marta’s ending, shook her to the core, and she feared what was yet to come. What would happen when Lord Fredrick decided to make his entrance? For there was no doubt he was coming. After all, he thought Quint to be dead, and he’d be wanting to collect his prize—her, her newborn child, and all of Brochel.

  ****

  Glancing down at Marta’s unmoving form, Quint thought he really should be feeling more than he was. After all, she’d been identical to Mairi, in features if nothing else. But try as he might, he couldn’t muster much more than simple irritation that her blood was now staining his floor, and he wondered if it was truly that he did nae care or that he really was even yet beyond exhaustion and should be abed.

  He glanced toward his wife. There was no way he’d ever admit ta her that he was nae yet up ta snuff. His wee wife would have him back up the stairs and between his covers before he kenned what was happening, and that he could nae afford. At least nae yet. For there was still the viscount ta deal with.

  He turned to his wife who sat beside him so quiet, so motionless, her eyes big and frightful, and brimming with tears.

  “My Beth,” he whispered so as nae ta frighten her, “how is it with ye, lass? Ye look as if ye are about ta be ill.”

  Beth took a deep shuddering breath. “I know Marta tried to poison you. I’m even glad she’s gone and can never harm you again. But it all happened so very fast, and I know her sister was your first love, and I’m just so very sorry things had to end this way.”

  Quint nodded. “Do nae waste ye pity on Marta, lass. Ta tell ye the truth, I ken she almost welcomed the ceasing of her misery, for she never stopped grieving for her sister, and in the end, it cost her her mind. And as far as Mairi…aye, I did love her once. But ’twas the love a lad has for a pretty lassie, and nae more. I ken that now. ’Twas nae meant ta last a lifetime, only a little while. Marta had the right of it. Mairi did nae love me. She loved Dougal. Nae allowing them ta marry was the biggest mistake and deepest regret of my life.”

  He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “But my feelings for her were nae ever anything like the love I have for ye. The love a full grown man has for the woman he hopes and prays he gets ta spend the rest of his life with and die beside, safe in her arms, in their bed, when they are both verra old.”

  He took her hand into his and gloried in the love shining in her eyes. “It’s time we both let Mairi and Marta rest in peace, ye ken? For nae other woman means anything ta me or ever will. Ye are my life, my Beth, and my reason for living. Ye are my next breath and every beat this man’s heart takes. I love ye beyond reason, beyond all time.” He lifted their joined hands to his lips. “Of that, nae ever doubt.”

  He was on the verge of emphasizing his words with a slow, thorough kiss upon her lips when Bronwyn bellowed from the stairs. “My lady, Verra Hungry MacLeod has decided he’s verra hungry once more.”

  Beth chuckled, and the sound was like music to his ears, but then she punched him right in the shoulder, hard, as she rose from her seat. “Your son is almost a week old and as yet does not have a proper name.”

  She held up a hand as he opened his mouth to speak, so he quickly shut it. He’d been married long enough to understand the futility involved in interrupting a woman in the middle of her lecturing.

  “I realize you woke only a few hours ago after being close to death for two days, but really, Quint, you’re going to have to name your son soon, or the poor child is likely to get stuck with Verra Hungry MacLeod for the rest of his life. Half the castle already calls the bairn by that horrid moniker.”

  Quint nodded. “Aye, my Beth. F
irst thing on the morrow I’ll give our son a right proper name, and it will nae be Verra Hungry, I promise. For now, go see our wee bairn fed, my love, and I’ll be along shortly. At the moment, it does feel good ta be sitting upright once more. I’m afraid my poor arse is worse the wear for all the lying about it’s done lately.

  He watched her walk away, and a weight lifted from his soul.

  At least his Beth wouldn’t be in the great hall when Telford arrived. She’d already been witness this day ta more blood, gore, and death than any lassie ever should. And that more death was coming ta Brochel was simply a fact of life.

  Though he was weak as a wee bairn himself because of the aftereffects of the poisoning, it would still fall upon his shoulders to face Telford. And God help any man who got in his way.

  After all, he was laird. This was his castle and these were his people. If he had ta tie his sword ta his arm and use both hands in order ta lift it, he would. For only one man would be left standing and breathing when what was ta come was over and done with.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Quint had almost dozed off when the doors of the keep suddenly burst wide open and in marched Lord Fredrick, Viscount Telford, dressed in full regalia, with his nose stuck high in the air, and waving about a sheet of parchment.

  He wasn’t alone. He was followed closely by at least a dozen well-armed men and what looked to be both ship captains.

  “As close confidant to King Charles,” the viscount shouted. “And as the legally appointed guardian to the widow, Lady Elspeth Frasier MacLeod, and her poor fatherless child, I claim this castle and all surrounding lands for the crown. God save the king.”

  Quint cleared his throat as he slowly stood. “Ye might be a tad premature claiming what’s nae yours ta claim, Telford. As ye can see, the lady is nae a widow, and neither is the bairn fatherless. But if ye think ye man enough ta take what’s mine, then I welcome the challenge.”