Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

  “Menzies,” Mab replied, nodding when she saw how Ewan paled. “We were searching for healing plants and he found us.”

  “Ye and Fiona went outside these walls unguarded?”

  “Here, lad,” Sir Fingal said as he lifted Mab into his arms, ignoring her protests, “the woman needs tending to.”

  “Mama!” cried Ned as he ran up to Sir Fingal and tried to reach his mother.

  “Hush, laddie,” Sir Fingal said. “Your mother has but a wee scratch. She will be fine.”

  “Aye, Ned.” Mab reached down to stroke her son’s fair hair. “Do ye remember what I told ye one needs to tend a cut?” When the boy nodded, she smiled at him. “Weel, ye go get what I need and bring it to me.”

  “Bring it to the great hall,” Sir Fingal ordered, then the moment the boy dashed off, he started toward the keep again. “That lad has verra fair hair. Are ye certain he is mine?”

  “Of course he is, ye old fool.” Mab groaned and rubbed her thigh. “That bastard threw me to the ground.”

  “Now, dinnae fret, woman. Ye can tell Ewan everything in but a moment.”

  “Da,” Ewan protested as he hurried after his father, “Fiona is out there in the hands of her enemy.”

  “Aye, and we will fetch her back soon. She has been in the mon’s hands before and wriggled free. As soon as we get Mab tended to, we will go after your impertinent wife and kill that bastard. We need answers first, though, aye?”

  Ewan knew his father was right, but that did not make it any easier to accept the delay. He paced the great hall as Bonnie tended to Mab’s wounds, Mab reassured her son that she was fine, and Sir Fingal scowled down at Ned’s fair hair, occasionally muttering vaguely insulting remarks to Mab.

  “Get over here and ask your questions, lad,” called Sir Fingal.

  “Och, Ewan,” Mab said the moment he reached her side, “we were just standing there talking about what we could do with all the violets we had found and there he was. She called him Menzies.”

  “He is the mon who chases her, the one who gave her those scars,” Ewan said. “What happened?”

  Stroking her son’s hair as if she needed that touch to calm herself, Mab told Ewan all she could remember. “Poor Fiona must think me dead, that she gave herself into her enemy’s hands for naught.”

  “She will soon learn the truth. Did ye see which way they went?”

  “Nay, I fear not. I dinnae believe I was unconscious for verra long, though. It should be easy to see where we were, where they caught her as they chased us about on their horses for several minutes ere they took her.” She carefully told him where she and Fiona had discovered the violets. “The ground is quite soft there so whate’er marks they left should be clear to read and follow.”

  “Then we shall do so,” Sir Fingal said even as he started out the door of the great hall. “Help your mother up to her bed, Ned,” he ordered the boy as he left.

  Ewan picked ten men from the dozens who offered to ride with him. Although he was surprised that his father was coming with him, he realized he was glad of it. At the moment Fingal had the calm and control he himself lacked. He knew what little he had grasped hold of could easily be lost depending upon what he found when he tracked down Fiona’s enemy.

  As he led his men to the place Mab had described, Ewan tried to banish the fear that was twisting his insides. He told himself, over and over, that Menzies did not want Fiona dead. The man wanted her for his wife. Ewan prayed Fiona had the wit to keep her marriage to him a secret, for there was no guessing how such news would make a madman like Menzies react. Then he reminded himself that Fiona had proven herself very clever indeed time and time again, and he relaxed a little.

  It proved easy to follow Menzies and his men. Ewan had to wonder why. Was the man simply unaware of such things, or did he think no one would try to rescue Fiona? Or worse, was this a trap? From all Fiona had told him of her brother Connor, Ewan knew that man had both strength and intelligence, yet he had failed for almost two years to catch Menzies. That would seem to imply that Menzies was clever yet this easily read trail was the act of a clumsy fool. Ewan quickly halted his men and explained his concerns.

  “I will go ahead and see what I can find,” said Gregor, and he left the moment Ewan nodded his agreement to that plan.

  “Do ye really think this Menzies is clever enough to hide his trail?” asked Sir Fingal.

  “Aye,” replied Ewan. “This is as good as a clearly drawn map. Either it is a trap or the mon has become too certain of success this time. Mayhap his madness has grown so strong it has overcome whate’er cleverness he once had.” Ewan shook his head, then dragged his fingers through his hair. “Tis hard to ken how to step when dealing with a madmon.”

  Sir Fingal scratched his chin. “The mon wants your wife. He has spent near two years hunting her down and cutting wee bits off her. Aye, ’tis a madness. Howbeit, mayhap he was so caught up in his pride o’er finding the lass when no one else has that he wasnae thinking. Mayhap he didnae realize that, in his rush to ride away with his prize, he didnae kill Mab.”

  “Possible. Are ye sure he meant to kill Mab?”

  “Aye. He but hurried it, cut too quick, and didnae pay any heed to the wound he gave her. The mon was so certain he had cut her throat that he ne’er looked back. Tis the way our Mab bled so freely which saved her. Menzies cut her, saw the blood flow, and tossed her aside.” Sir Fingal looked down at the tracks they would soon follow. “Why should a mon hide his trail when he believes no one else kens he has stolen something?”

  That made sense, Ewan realized, and he tried to hide his surprise. It was not quite fair. His father was old, made more problems than he solved, and had all the sexual restraint of a goat, but he was not stupid. He had also always been skilled in battle, in both the fighting and matters of strategy. Ewan knew he should heed the man’s words, then he tensed when he saw Gregor riding toward them.

  “They are just beyond that line of trees,” Gregor reported as he reined in before Ewan. “There is a small clearing there and they have set up camp. Menzies and six men, no more, and all are within the camp.”

  “And Fiona?” Ewan felt his blood chill when Gregor snatched his reins from his hands before answering.

  “She is alive. She is wearing naught but her shift, her wrists are bound, and he has strung her up by them to the branch of a tree,” Gregor replied, watching Ewan closely and keeping a firm grip on his brother’s reins.

  “She said he liked to string her up like a fresh kill,” Ewan whispered.

  “Then best we slip up on them and steal their catch away,” said Sir Fingal. “We plan a raid, nay a battle.”

  Ewan nodded as he fought down a fierce bloodlust. A direct attack would put Fiona in danger, especially since she was so helpless. Stealth was needed, the sort of stealth they used when they deprived a man of his cattle or his horses. Once Fiona was safe, however, Ewan had every intention of casting aside all stealth and killing Menzies.

  Glancing at Simon, Ewan was now glad that he had allowed the youth to accompany them despite his inexperience. Simon owed his life to Fiona and had desperately wanted a chance to repay that debt in some small way. Now the boy would have that chance, for there was one thing Simon did very well. Simon could move through a wood without disturbing a single leaf upon the ground. He could also climb trees silently and quickly, his skill a wonder to behold. Looking the youth over very carefully, Ewan decided Simon was strong enough to pull Fiona out of harm’s way and he gave the boy his orders.

  It took another few minutes to make their plans before they rode toward the trees. When Ewan spoke of needing a diversion, Gregor assured him that Menzies and his men were already well diverted and Ewan did not ask what held their interest. He knew. Any man with blood in his veins would be unable to resist staring at Fiona dressed only in her delicate shift.

  They left their horses at the edge of the wood. Ewan gave Simon a few moments to get into position, then signaled the other me
n on their way. With his father at his side, Ewan crept up to Menzies’s camp. The moment his men silenced Menzies’s men, he and his father would go after Menzies. He was not surprised when his father grabbed his arm the moment the camp came into view. One look at Fiona hanging there, Menzies’s sword pointed at her, roused the bloodlust in him so swiftly and fiercely Ewan knew he was in need of the restraint.

  “Your wee wife has a clever way with a threat,” whispered Sir Fingal as Fiona told Menzies what her brother would do to him.

  Ewan was a little hurt that Fiona did not threaten Menzies with him, then told himself not to be such a fool. Fiona had indeed had the wit to know it would be dangerous to let Menzies know she was no longer an innocent maid. Menzies already knew her brother hunted him and why, so that was the man to speak of.

  A cold smile curved Ewan’s mouth as he watched his men slip in behind Menzies’s men and silence them. The fact that each one of them needed only a knife to his throat to remain still and quiet as they were all disarmed told Ewan that their loyalty to Menzies probably ran very shallow. The moment Menzies’s men were disarmed, Ewan nodded to his father and they began to stealthily work their way toward Menzies’s unprotected back.

  “I dinnae fear your brother,” said Menzies.

  “Then ye are a fool,” said Fiona. “And ’tis nay just Connor ye must watch for, but all MacEnroys, all their allies, and all of Gillyanne’s kinsmen. Ye are naught but a walking dead mon. Do your worst. I will ne’er pledge myself to ye. I will say nay and keep saying nay until ye breathe your last and I but pray that that will be soon.”

  “Ye are mine!”

  “Nay, fool, she is mine.”

  Fiona could not believe what she was seeing. It seemed impossible that Ewan could be standing there right behind Menzies, that his men now held Menzies’s men captive. She had seen and heard nothing. It was obvious that neither had Menzies or his men. Then she felt strong hands grasp her wrists and she shook aside the shock gripping her so tightly. She glanced up to see Simon grinning at her as he pulled her up. The moment she was able to, she swung herself up onto the branch with him.

  “Your wife is a nimble lass,” said Fingal as he watched Fiona follow Simon down out of the tree.

  “Your wife?” Menzies stared at Ewan, his eyes widening when he realized he faced this threat alone.

  “Aye, my wife,” said Ewan. “It tends to irritate a mon when some fool steals his wife.”

  “Nay! She is mine! I had first claim!”

  “Ye ne’er had a claim to her. She told ye nay.”

  “I will go help your wife dress,” said Fingal as he started to move away. “Cease talking and just kill the bastard.”

  Ewan just nodded since that was what he intended to do, what he had promised Fiona he would do. He pushed aside the strong urge to make this man suffer for what he had done to Fiona, to torment him with little cuts for a while. That, he knew, was the bloodlust talking, the anger and fear this man’s actions had roused in him. It was best to just end this, swiftly and cleanly, and get Fiona back to Scarglas.

  The sudden clash of swords startled a cry out of Fiona. She started to turn toward the fighting, but Sir Fingal grasped her by the shoulders and stopped her, keeping her face turned toward the woods. A part of her bristled, wanting to argue, but she silenced it. If she watched Ewan fight Menzies, there was a small chance she might do something foolish like cry out and dangerously distract him. Despite having been well taught the danger of distracting a man who was in a battle, Fiona could not be certain she would remember those lessons if she saw the man she loved fighting Menzies, a fight that could only end in the death of one of them. She told herself firmly that it would be Menzies who died and set her mind to the task of getting ready to leave when Ewan was done.

  A soft curse escaped her when she fumbled with the laces of her gown. Her hands were shaking badly. She suspected some of that was caused by the strain of hanging by her arms. The rest was caused by a wealth of emotion she was struggling to hold back, relief at being saved as well as all the fear, anger, and grief she had fought to hide from Menzies.

  “Here, lass, I will do it,” muttered Sir Fingal as he pushed her trembling hands aside and began to lace up her gown. “Dinnae ken why ye are so clumsy now when, a minute ago, ye were climbing down the tree with near as much skill as Simon.”

  “I am just a wee bit shocked that ye are here,” she said. “How did ye ken Menzies had found me?”

  “Mab staggered into Scarglas, all blood and bruises, and told us.”

  “Mab is alive?” Fiona felt a few of the tears she was fighting to hold back slide down her cheeks.

  “Here, now, dinnae ye start that. Aye, Mab is alive. Yonder fool didnae cut hard enough or straight enough. Nay sure whether she will be needing stitches or nay, but ye can see to her when ye get back to Scarglas.” He looked her over. “Did he give ye another scar? I thought I saw a wee bit of blood upon your shift ere ye pulled on your gown. Ye will start to look too much like your mon if ye arenae more careful.”

  “Nay, no scar this time. He but scored my skin once with the tip of his sword.”

  Sir Fingal was being remarkably kind to her, Fiona realized. That he had even joined in her rescue was a bit of a surprise. The man was such a bundle of contradictions she doubted she would ever understand him. Even now he grumbled, spoke somewhat insultingly, but tended to her with a surprising gentleness.

  “Ye moved like the mists,” she said. “I heard nary a whisper and didnae see ye until ye were there right in front of me.”

  “Aye, we are good. We can steal a mon’s leg of mutton right off his table and be gone ere he kens we were there,” he boasted. “None are as skilled at rieving as me and my laddies.”

  Fiona was about to tell the man that a skill at thievery was not something to be so proud of when a scream cut through the air. For one brief moment, doubt about Ewan’s skill caused Fiona to fear Menzies had just killed her husband. Then knowledge overcame emotion. She had seen Ewan fight and knew Menzies had never had a chance of winning. Although Sir Fingal allowed her to turn around to face the camp, he kept a light grip upon her arm and she accepted the restraint. Menzies sprawled dead upon the ground and Ewan looked unhurt. It was all she needed to know for now.

  Ewan cleaned his sword on Menzies’s elaborately embroidered doublet as he studied the man he had just killed. Sir Ranald Menzies was the sort of man that women made fools of themselves over. Ewan had to wonder why Fiona had not been be-sotted with the man, for Ewan doubted Sir Menzies’s madness had always been so clear to see. Realizing what sort of man had courted Fiona in the past, Ewan simply could not understand what she was doing in his bed. He shook away such unsettling thoughts and moved to face Menzies’s men.

  “Do I need to worry that ye will be troubling me and mine again?” he asked the men, and all six quickly said nay. “Are any of ye Menzies?” Two nodded. “Good. Tell your clan exactly what happened here. I dinnae wish to be beset by angry kinsmen who dinnae ken the truth and think I must pay for killing the fool.”

  “None will come after ye, m’laird,” said the biggest of the six men. “He has always been a sore trial to his kinsmen.”

  “They kenned that he hunted my wife, but did naught?”

  “What could they do but cage him or kill him, and his mother…” The man sighed and shook his head. “Tis done, naught else matters, does it?”

  “Nay, mayhap not. Take him with ye. I willnae have his body souring my ground.”

  Letting his men see to the removal of Menzies’s body and the retreat of his men, Ewan turned to face Fiona. She looked steady upon her feet and he saw no obvious wounds. Ewan prayed he had reached her in time, before Menzies was able to do any more than frighten her.

  The way he had felt when he had thought she was lost to him troubled him deeply. He knew what it meant. All of his efforts to keep a distance between them, to shield his heart, had utterly failed. When he had seen a bleeding Mab return from th
e wood without Fiona, the truth had hit him like a sound blow to the side of his head. He cared.

  He inwardly cursed. He more than cared. He loved. He loved Fiona deeply, with his whole heart and soul. That brief moment when he had thought her lost to him had been complete hell, a dark, cold, lonely hell. Long, empty years had stretched out before his mind’s eye, the chill of them quickly entering his bones. Now that she was safe and returned to him, he was fighting the urge to drag her behind a tree and make love to her, marking her as his own like some beast marks his territory. Steadying himself, he walked over to her.

  “Did he hurt ye, lass?” he asked, unable to resist the urge to brush his fingers over her cheek.

  “Nay,” she replied and, casting aside all efforts at restraint, flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around him. “He was still boasting about his cleverness in finding me.” When he wrapped his arms around her, she felt her riotous emotions begin to calm and told him how Menzies had tracked her to Scarglas.

  “I thank God we found ye ere he could do all he planned. He will ne’er hunt ye again, Fiona.”

  “Tis a sad waste of a mon so weel loved by his family, but the madness had worsened, and there was blood upon his hands.” She leaned back a little, saw how Menzies’s men were gone and had taken his body with them, and then looked up at Ewan. “May we go home now?” she asked quietly.

  “Aye, lass,” he replied as he led her to his mount, deeply moved by how she had called Scarglas home.

  Holding her close as they rode, Ewan wondered what he was to do now. He was not such a fool that he thought he could kill the feelings that had taken root inside his heart. That battle had been well and truly lost. Fiona was as much a part of him as the blood in his veins. It felt both glorious and terrifying.

  What caused his greatest concern was that he did not know what Fiona felt for him aside from passion. Until he did, he cringed at the mere thought of letting her know or even guess at his feelings. Somehow, despite the fact that these strong emotions were now free and flowing within him, he had to hide what he felt until he could win Fiona’s heart. Hiding his feelings for her might not be too difficult. He had hidden them from himself for weeks, after all. It was winning Fiona’s heart that worried him the most. That would prove a battle he felt ill equipped to wage.