Highland Wedding

by Hannah Howell

  “Come out from hiding, MacLennon; face me mon to mon and let us have done with this.”

  “Nay, a woman-killer deserves no such honour as a fair fight.”

  Islaen pressed closer to Iain, trying in vain to soothe the sting of what Duncan MacLennon called him. She knew nothing she could do would shield Iain from MacLennon’s accusations, for Iain believed them. He would probably take little notice of the fact that she did not believe him guilty of the crime MacLennon sought to execute him for.

  She shivered when an arrow slammed into the trees they huddled behind. The man had them at his mercy and his chilling laughter told them that he knew it. Just as she wondered why no one came to their aid, wondered if no one had had the wisdom to keep a close watch upon Iain, the sound of hoof-beats reached her ears. She was almost able to smile when she heard Phelan’s wild cry but her jubilation was dimmed by the sounds of hoofbeats rapidly retreating. MacLennon was yet again escaping. Islaen wanted to scream her frustration and could only guess at what Iain must feel.

  Iain leapt to his feet. After one burning but thorough look at Islaen, he left her. Just as Phelan, Tavis and Iain’s squire, Murdo, reined in, Iain reached them. He dragged his brother from his horse and hurled himself into the saddle.

  “Watch my wife,” he snarled as he spurred the horse into a gallop.

  Islaen watched warily as Tavis stood up and brushed himself off. As he neared her she saw anger glittering in his eyes, but she had the feeling that none of it was directed at Iain’s abrupt handling. His gaze settled upon her arm and he hurriedly knelt at her side. It was only then that Islaen was aware of the sharp burning there and looked to see that she was bleeding.

  “’Tis but a flesh wound,” she murmured as Tavis took the small water bag from his belt and dampened a handkerchief.

  Glancing over her before concentrating on washing her wound, he asked, “Are ye sure?”

  Gritting her teeth against the sting as he washed her cut, Islaen looked at herself, noticed the sad state of her gown and almost smiled. “Most of this damage was done when Iain dragged me to safety. His concern was for speed not gentleness. I willnae be surprised an I find a few bruises in the morn but naught else is wrong.”

  “This was verra close, verra close,” Tavis muttered, then flashed her a brief smile before helping himself to a piece of her petticoat to use as a bandage. “I hadnae realized that he now stalks ye as weel.”

  “He has taunted Iain with the promise of killing me but he has yet to attack me unless I am with Iain.” She frowned slightly. “’Tis true that he shot at me first though Iain was a clear target but methinks ’tis really only to taunt Iain. He wants Iain to see me murdered is what he says.” She decided there was no need to mention the threat of rape. “I began to fear that Iain wasnae watched and t’would be too late ere anyone came to aid us.”

  “Iain has been closely watched since the first attack though I think he doesnae oft notice.”

  As she thought about that her eyes widened. It only took a short search of her memory to see the truth of Tavis’s claim. Although never intrusive there had always been an armed man near Iain. The moment he was not in the company of others he was shadowed by Murdo or one of his men-at-arms. She had thought it by Iain’s orders but now suspected otherwise. MacLennon had reached Iain at court, but only by coming in through a window so high up and treacherous it had been thought inaccessible. To a sane man it would have been so.

  “Look out your window or chamber door some time in the middle of the night and ye will find well-armed mon.”

  “They are muckle quiet about it.”

  “Aye. We wish no complaint from Iain. After this day, ye too will acquire an extra shadow.”

  “T’would be nice if they catch that madman so that there would be no need.” Her voice held little hope of that and she found none at all in Tavis’s solemn expression.

  Iain studied the tracks at the edge of the gorge for the fifth time but there was no denying the message they relayed. “He leapt the gorge,” he muttered, amazement tinting his voice.

  Phelan shook his head. “The man is quite mad. Do ye think he made it?”

  “The only way to be sure is to go and look upon the other side.”

  “Aye and by the time we ride around to that side it will matter little for he will be an hour gone.”

  “Ye could always try the jump yourself.”

  “I may lack some sense at times, my friend, but I am ne’er that great a fool.”

  “He had a dead mon’s courage,” grumbled Murdo.

  “Aye.” Iain shook his head. “He cares naught for life so laughs in death’s face as no sane mon would.”

  “An’ he did not clear the gorge then he died in the waters below.”

  “’T’would be cause for celebration if that is what happened, Phelan.”

  “I will take the ride round to gain the answer. T’would be best if we can know one way or t’other. Best ye get back to your wife, Iain.” Phelan grinned faintly. “I should think she would prefer you to nurse her hurts.”

  After watching Phelan ride off, Iain took one last look at the gorge and shivered faintly. How did one deal with a man mad enough to try such a jump? If he made it to the other side he did so upon the wings of luck alone. There would be no reasoning with a man who so clearly lacked all reason and fear. This could only end when one of them died.

  When he reached Tavis and Islaen, Iain sighed. He could read the hope upon their faces. So too could he see that Islaen did not like to hope for a man’s death and cursed MacLennon for causing her that turmoil.

  “He leapt the gorge,” Iain reported flatly. “Phelan goes now to see an he made it across or fell into the waters below.”

  Tavis said nothing, simply shook his head. When Iain moved to dismount, Tavis shook his head again, silently urging Iain to stay where he was. After helping Islaen to mount in front of Iain, Tavis swung himself up behind Murdo.

  Once back at their future home, Islaen and Iain mounted their own horses. Little was said as they headed back to Caraidland. Islaen was a little hurt by the way Iain ignored her. He had not even inquired about her wound, slight though it was. She understood what had put him into such a dark silent mood but it still pinched at her heart.

  It also frightened her. She could almost hear the gates to his heart locking tighter than ever before. This attack would add weight to his beliefs.

  Meg hurried her off to her chambers when they arrived at Caraidland. Partly she wished to join the others in the hall to hear all that was said or planned concerning MacLennon, but she was also more than willing to seek her bed and be coddled by a fretting Meg.

  “’Tis but a scratch, lass,” Meg said as she tucked her in. “I dinnae think t’will e’en scar ye.”

  “Ah, weel, if ’tis but a wee scar my freckles will hide it,” Islaen jested weakly.

  “I dinnae understand why he seeks your death. Ye have done naught to the madmon. Ye didnae e’en ken that lass.”

  “I am wed to Iain. ’Tis enough of a crime in that mon’s eyes. In truth, I am but something by which he can further hurt Iain. I hope he died in that gorge, may God forgive me.” She snuggled down beneath the covers. “Either that or those who now talk of him come up with a way to end his murderous attacks.”

  Iain finished off his wine and refilled his tankard. He knew getting drunk was no solution but he needed to wash away the bitter taste of frustration. When Phelan entered the hall he tensed, only to curse viciously when the young man shook his head. He had not realized how badly he had wished to hear that the man had died at the bottom of the gorge. It would have denied him the pleasure of killing him, but it would also have put an end to the whole problem.

  “I stared at the tracks for near to half an hour but there was no denying their message,” Phelan said wearily as he sat down and accepted a tankard of wine from Storm. “He made the jump.”

  “Ye should have told us that he sought to kill the lass too.”
r />   “Aye, I should have, Fither, but I didnae really believe it. I thought it but a taunt he used to make me act foolishly that night he attacked us. Aye, he cut her, but only when she sought to get my sword to me.”

  “This time t’was no mere taunt.”

  “Nay. Had she not suddenly moved he would have pinned her to the tree. The second arrow was also aimed at her but I pulled her out of the way. Both times I was a target it took no skill to hit. She is my wife and that is enough to draw his hate. He wants me to watch her die. He feels that will be fair payment for Catalina.”

  “And then you.”

  “Aye, and then me.” After a moment’s thought Iain decided to be completely honest. “He has also mentioned taking her before my eyes, preferably as I lay dying. That too would be to pay for Catalina, for bedding her.”

  “There can be no softness towards the mon now,” Tavis said coldly.

  “Nay. I have none. He cut all understanding from my heart when he cut Islaen that night, e’en though I had not yet come to see that he wanted her dead too. There is no reason for him to strike at her.”

  “There is no reason for him to strike at ye either,” Storm snapped. “Ye take upon yourself a guilt that was ne’er yours.”

  Iain smiled wearily. “We shall ne’er agree upon that. What matters here is that MacLennon blames me, seeks to kill me out of revenge for Catalina’s death and, most important, now includes Islaen in that vengence.”

  “She will be watched,” Tavis stated firmly.

  “As I have been?”

  “I wasnae certain ye noticed.”

  “I nay stumble o’er them all the time but ’tis hard not to see a constant shadow,” Iain drawled, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I best send word to her kin. They would cut the mon down e’en now ere they caught sight of him simply because he drew her blood, but ’tis important they know that he seeks her death. There will be e’en more eyes searching the shadows for the mon. It cannae hurt, though t’will no doubt anger her kin that I have brought such a danger upon her.”

  “Did ye not say anything to them that night at court?”

  “Aye, Storm, I did but then there was a reason for him to strike, as I have said.”

  “I will go to them, Iain,” Phelan offered. “Ere the sun rises tomorrow, I will set out.”

  “Go warily, Phelan. The English have raided there and may yet be causing trouble. Ye dinnae wish to find yourself in the midst of that sort of difficulty.”

  “Nay, although,” he smiled faintly, “there are one or two English I should not grieve to cross swords with. But, aye, I will watch. Best ye give me something to identify me without any doubt. I am not a Scot, do not sound one, and, if trouble is still brewing, it could be costly for me.”

  “We will send one of the men with ye as weel,” Tavis said. “Take who ye please, if we have any that can keep pace with ye, that is. And best an he speaks first. As ye said, ye are no Scot.”

  “Ye are certain Islaen was not badly hurt?” Storm asked. “Mayhaps I should go and see her.”

  “Nay, that old corbie, Meg, is with her. Islaen wasnae badly hurt.”

  “Not that ye would have noticed, brother,” murmured Tavis.

  “I noticed.”

  “Went black-faced and silent, did he?”

  “Aye, Storm. Sat glowering and sulking upon his horse with nary a word to the lass. Tossed me at her to chase after MacLennon, e’en though she sat there awash in her own blood.”

  “She wasnae awash in blood. ’T’was naught but a flesh wound.”

  At that moment, Alexander arrived. “How is Islaen?”

  “Fine,” snapped Iain, irritated even more by Alexander’s interest.

  “Where have ye been all day, Alex?”

  “Just visiting a few friends, Storm.”

  “Ye have some, do ye?” Iain muttered.

  Alexander grinned and strolled over to the table to help himself to some wine. “Mayhaps I should visit with the lass.”

  “Meg most like has her abed.”

  “All the better.”

  “Alex, behave yourself,” Storm ordered, biting back a smile.

  “For ye, Storm, anything.” He then grew serious. “Ye are certain the lass is all right?”

  “Aye and it seems to me ye are muckle concerned about anither mon’s wife,” Iain growled. “My wife.”

  “Tsk, such a black mood. I fear I have news that willnae lighten it.”

  “What news?” Iain demanded impatiently when Alexander did not elaborate, simply sat down. “Where have ye been?”

  “That matters not.”

  “With a lass,” Storm said firmly.

  Ignoring that, Alexander continued, “Lord Fraser didnae die from the beating ye gave him, my friend.”

  “Ye are right. ’Tis not good news.”

  “It seems he is, howsomever, scarred and crippled.”

  “Crippled?” Iain struggled to remember what he had done to Fraser but could only recall his intense murderous rage.

  “Aye. Ye busted his leg when ye threw him up against the wall.”

  “But he stood up.”

  “Fear most like gave him the strength. He was trying to run, broken leg and all. It didnae break clean.”

  “So he will have a limp.”

  “Aye, Storm, there is little doubt of it. His kin see it as a just payment.”

  “So there willnae be a lawing done.” Colin’s voice held a note of relief.

  “Nay, there willnae be a feud, but Lord Fraser cries out for vengeance and none can silence him.”

  Iain indulged in a long, colorful bout of cursing, ending with a muttered apology to a wide-eyed Storm. “Anither knife aimed at my back. Lord Fraser willnae face me square. He has e’er been a coward.”

  “Aye, ye have the measure of him. Best ye have the full measure.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “’Tis not just ye he claims must pay.” His gaze never leaving Iain’s face Alexander reported flatly, “He claims Islaen is to blame too. He says she lured him, taunted him and tempted him, then cried rape when ye caught her at her games.” Alexander barely saved his tankard of wine when, with one swift sweep of his arm, Iain cleared a wide arc of the table off. “He cries her a whore and claims ye tried to kill him to keep him from telling the truth about her,” Alexander continued doggedly, viewing Iain’s rage with interest. “He is talking loud and long for the tale has e’en reached here.”

  “No one will believe it,” Iain rasped.

  “None that ken her, nay,” Alexander said quietly.

  “But not that many do,” Iain ground out.

  “Nay. I am sorry, my friend. I should not have stopped ye from killing the mon. It hasnae stopped the talk.”

  “He has cut his own throat.”

  “Ye can do naught until he is up and about. Nay, not until he strikes at ye.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ye cannae kill a mon in his bed. That would bring about a feud and the death of many. Neither can ye strike at a cripple. I fear ye have your hands tied and cannae loosen them until he strikes at ye.”

  “Or Islaen.”

  “Aye, or Islaen. The least ye would bring upon yourself is the whisper of cowardice, the worst is outlawry. Only if ye cut him down in the act of fighting for your life or Islaen’s can ye come away clean.”

  “Shall I tell the MacRoths this news too?” Phelan asked quietly.

  “Aye, tell them. I will seek my bed now,” Iain said as he abruptly stood up. “There seems little else I can do.”

  Iain wondered blackly what Islaen had done to deserve being burdened with a husband who seemed doomed to bring about her destruction. She had been safe and content with her family. Now she had two men eager to see her pay for crimes she had not committed. Worse, she had a husband who was unable to really protect her, could only wait for the enemy to strike and pray that she was not killed before he could end the threat to her life.

  Finding he
r asleep, he undressed quietly, then carefully eased into bed. Despite his better intentions, he reached for her. She murmured his name and cuddled up to him. He fought to clear his mind of worries and prayed that all the wine he had drunk would help him sleep. A bitter laugh echoed in his mind when he realized how much holding her close helped him in that aim.

  Islaen woke with a start, then cursed herself for being a foolish child. A nightmare had frightened her awake, one she clearly recognized as having been inspired by the day’s events. Letting that fear rob her of needed sleep was the worst thing she could do, she thought crossly. It would insure that she was not alert enough to protect herself if she had to. She would not let that madman defeat her in that way, especially not when he only meant to use her to deepen the hurt he dealt Iain.

  Slipping out from beneath the arm Iain had draped over her waist, she moved towards the window. Below she spotted the guard, alert yet strangely unobtrusive. She did not bother to peer outside of the chamber door. Tavis had said there would be one there too and she did not doubt it.

  “He has made us prisoners in our own home, upon our own lands,” she thought with a touch of bitterness. “We cannae e’en feel safe within our own chambers. I begin to think ye a sorcerer, Duncan MacLennon. If ye would but turn that skill and hatred against the English, Scotland would ne’er have to fash herself about that country again.”

  “Islaen.”

  She turned quickly, hearing a note of fear in that husky call. “Here, Iain. By the window.”

  “Best ye get back into bed ere ye catch a chill and take ill.”

  Biting back a smile, she dutifully returned to bed. Despite her confusion and doubts about how he felt for her she was confident that he held an honest concern for her safety. She had heard that hint of fear in his voice and knew men well enough to know that his grumpiness now was because he feared she had. She had been in no danger and he now felt foolish about worrying.

  “God’s teeth, woman, your feet are like ice,” he growled as he pulled her close. “Did ye have a need for fresh air?” he muttered.

  “Weel, Iain, I have been meaning to speak to ye about your feet,” she began, grinning against his chest, then squeaking with outrage when he gave her hair a gentle punitive yank.