Highland Warrior

by Hannah Howell

  “How can I e’er thank ye?” asked Mab.

  “Weel, ye could help me find something soft yet strong enough to bind a mon’s wrists to the bed.”

  Ewan blinked and stared up at the ceiling above his bed. He could not believe he had fallen asleep while waiting for Fiona to come to bed. Obviously, all the hard work he had done in an attempt to keep himself from chasing after his wife like a buck on the trail of a doe in season had exhausted him far more than he had realized. If he had been able to make love to his wife as he had planned, he would have stayed awake, but Fiona had claimed someone desperately needed her particular healing skills and left him alone.

  As he became more alert, an itch on his stomach drew his attention. He moved to scratch it only to realize his right arm was lashed to the bedpost. A quick glance revealed that his left arm was also secured to the bed. The bonds upon his wrists were thick ropes wrapped in layers of soft, dark blue wool. Ewan wondered why he was not immediately alarmed and searching for an enemy. Then he smelled a hint of lavender and Fiona stepped up to the side of the bed, and he knew why he was still calm. Some part of him had recognized that his wife was in the room and that he was not in any danger. Ewan suspected the ropes wrapped so carefully to protect his skin had been a clue. He also suspected her tying him to the bed had been what had awakened him.

  “Why have ye tied me to the bed?” he asked her, feeling his body tighten with need at the sight of her in her shift.

  “So that ye cannae run away from me this time,” Fiona replied and she took one last, bracing drink of wine before climbing onto the bed. “I am going to show ye that I am hale and hearty, that I need no more time to heal from Menzies’s attack.”

  Ewan opened his mouth to tell her about his change of heart, then quickly shut it when she settled herself astride him. It did not take a man of vast experience to guess what she planned to do. Only a complete fool would risk saying anything that might make her change her plans.

  “It was a sad travail for ye,” he murmured. “Ye being such a wee, delicate lass and all.”

  “True, it was an upsetting experience, but I intend to show ye that I am weel o’er it, that I dinnae wish ye to treat me as if I am some frail, swooning maid any longer.”

  He just quirked one brow at her, knowing she would see it as a challenge. She did and the way she met his challenge soon had him fighting the inclination to tear free of his bonds and grab her. The way she kissed and caressed every inch of his battered body had his blood running so hot in his veins, he was surprised parts of him had not begun to melt. He also felt honored, even cherished, and his hope that he might someday hold her heart began to rise. Ewan groaned and closed his eyes when she took him into her mouth, determined to savor the heady delight of this intimacy for as long as possible.

  “Fiona,” he groaned when he knew he was reaching the end of his endurance. “Take me inside ye. Now.”

  She straddled his body and he shuddered as she eased their bodies together. She was all tight heat and moist welcome. Ewan still found it difficult to believe that she could be stirred to passion simply by pleasuring him.

  “Untie me, lass,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I need to touch you.”

  The moment she released him, he reached for her, and their passion for each other swiftly became fierce and wild. Release was mutual and devastating. Fiona collapsed into his arms and he held her trembling body close while they both struggled to recover their senses.

  “Weel, mayhap ye arenae so verra delicate,” Ewan said when he found he could finally breathe regularly.

  “Nay, I am not.” Fiona idly stroked his chest, wondering when, or even if, she would have the strength to move again.

  “I dinnae think I have e’er been so pleased to be shown I was acting the fool.” He smiled when she giggled, then kissed the top of her head. “I thought I had lost ye,” he whispered.

  Fiona felt her heart skip with pleasure and hope. There was such deep feeling behind his words, yet she resisted the urge to press for more. Instinct told her that pressing Ewan for more would only push him away.

  “Nay,” she whispered back, “ye will ne’er lose me. I was but taken away for a wee while, but I would have found my way back. I will always find my way back.” She almost smiled when his only response was a soft grunt and a tightening of his embrace. It would do for now.

  Chapter 16

  “They are here again.”

  Ewan looked up from the ledger he was working on and frowned at his brother Gregor. “Who is here again?”

  “The Camerons.”

  “Jesu, has our father seen them?”

  “Aye. Tis difficult to miss about a dozen verra big redheads.”

  Cursing softly, Ewan hurried out of the small ledger room, Gregor close at his heels. He was just going down the stairs when he saw Fiona and Mab leave the great hall and run out of the keep. His father’s bellows were clear to hear through the briefly opened door as the women passed through it. It was time this foolishness ended, Ewan decided as he followed the women. When he reached the bailey, however, it was to discover that his wife was already taking his father to task for his intransigence. He hesitated, tempted to let her handle the problem of his father.

  “He doesnae sound quite as rabid as he used to,” said Gregor as he moved to stand next to Ewan.

  After listening for a moment, Ewan had to agree. “Mayhap he finally begins to see reason. Open the gates and invite our cousins in.”

  “What about our father?”

  “He will have to endure or he can go sulk in his bedchamber. Instinct tells me this visit is too weel timed to be all chance. Our cousins are united with the MacEnroys through marriage, and it was barely a sennight past that Brian went to meet with the MacEnroys. Go, let them in so that I might satisfy my curiosity,” Ewan said even as he started toward his father and his wife.

  “Ye are being blindly pigheaded,” Fiona told Sir Fingal, tired of trying to reason with the man.

  “Ye shouldnae speak to your elders that way,” said Fingal, looking slightly wounded.

  “I will speak that way when ’tis but the truth.”

  “I—”

  “Am being blindly pigheaded,” finished Ewan as he stepped up next to Fiona and looked at his father. “If these were the ones who had wronged ye, Da, I would offer to cut them down where they stand. They are not. Aye, I ken ’tis a lot to ask of ye to accept the son of the ones ye feel betrayed ye, but the needs of the clan force me to do so. We cannae continue alone, Da. We need allies. When I go to treat with our enemies, I can do so from a position of greater strength if they ken others stand behind me. The best I can do now is to get some of our enemies to consider nay killing every MacFingal they see.”

  Sir Fingal put his hands on his hips and glared at his son, then at Fiona. He then turned to stare at the men riding in through the now open gates. Ewan watched his father very closely as the man who called himself Sigimor dismounted and walked toward them. Seeing that the man was indeed as handsome as he had appeared to be from a distance, Ewan draped his arm around Fiona’s shoulders and stoutly ignored his father’s snort of amusement.

  “Ye look just like your father,” snapped Sir Fingal after they had all exchanged somewhat terse greetings.

  “I should hope so,” drawled Sigimor. “I should hate to think that my mother had played him false.”

  “She played me false.”

  “Truly? Was that before, or after, ye put a bairn in her cousin’s belly?”

  Ewan joined Fiona in staring at Sir Fingal, who scowled at a faintly smiling Sigimor. The barest hint of a blush colored his father’s cheeks and Ewan cursed. Although he hated to believe Sigimor, there was no doubting the look of guilt upon his father’s face. It was Mab who broke the tense silence.

  “So, ye were a young fool, too,” said Mab and she shook her head. “And here I had imagined that ye had turned into what ye are because of some great betrayal of your heart. Twas just another instance o
f ye being unable to keep your breeches on, ye old fool.”

  “It was a great betrayal,” protested Fingal. “I was holding fast to the vows I shared with my lass. Then my brother found out that his promised wife loved me and had almost convinced her father to end their betrothal and let her marry me. He sent that woman to me. She visited me in my bedchamber whilst I still slept, like some cursed succubus she took me. It was o’er and done ere I was even full awake. Then she went crying to them all claiming I had seduced her. No one would heed me when I tried to tell them the truth. For a wee while, I thought I might have a second chance, that my lass was finally listening to me, but then that wretched woman said she carried my bairn and everyone said I had to marry her. I lost my temper, cursed the whole lot of them, and left. So, ye see, Mab, it was a great betrayal,” he added quietly, looking and sounding very weary.

  “Aye, Fingal, it was,” Mab said as she slipped her arm through his and started to lead him toward the keep.

  Fingal paused after a few steps and looked back at Sigimor. “I tried to get my bairn. That woman told me the lad had died. She said that she had been cast out because of me and that the bairn couldnae survive the hardship of it.”

  “She lied,” Sigimor said. “The bairn was weel cared for by her kinsmen. He inherited their lands and has been wed for six years now. His mother died near fifteen years ago at the hands of a jealous wife.”

  Fingal nodded and let Mab lead him away. Fiona thought he looked as if he was suffering from that pain all over again. Her eyes widening, she looked around at all the MacFingal lads gathered in the bailey, at all the bastards Fingal had taken in to raise. She then looked at Ewan, who appeared to be as shocked as she was.

  “Ewan,” she began, faltering when he nodded and gently tightened the grip of his arm around her shoulders.

  “One is left to wonder which hurt him the most,” Ewan murmured. “I think he has blamed himself for the bairn’s death all these years.” Ewan looked at Sigimor. “Why was he ne’er told the truth?”

  “By the time I kenned the truth, your father wouldnae speak with me. The others held fast to the lie for so long because the lad’s grandsire was afeared of losing him. When the tales of how efficiently your father was breeding an army reached our ears, none of the elders felt he would e’en care. He didnae need the lad as they did.”

  “And what did ye think, Sigimor?” Fiona asked. “What did the tales tell ye?”

  “That Sir Fingal had a true fever for the lasses,” Sigimor drawled. “They also told me that he wouldnae have deserted the lad. The woman, aye, but ne’er the lad. His son kens it, too. He but waits for me to tell him when the gates are finally opened and if they will stay open for him to ride through.”

  “Aye, they will,” replied Ewan. “Come, we can talk o’er some food and drink. Introductions may take hours.”

  “First, I have to give each of ye a message from Connor.”

  “I thought your appearance was strangely weel timed.”

  “Aye. Your lads arrived safely and will return within a few days,” he told Ewan before smiling at Fiona. “And now for the message your brother sent to ye, lass.”

  Fiona suddenly found herself in Sigimor’s arms being heartily kissed. She was thinking that he was very skilled when she heard the sound of a great many swords being rapidly unsheathed, and she wriggled free of his grasp. The Camerons were now all gathered behind Sigimor with their swords drawn. Around them stood scowling MacFingals, and every man who had a sword now had it pointed at the Camerons.

  “Jesu, Sigimor,” muttered a voice from behind him, “do ye plan to get us all killed?”

  Leaning to the right, Fiona peeked around Sigimor and smiled at his cousin Liam. “Hello, Liam.”

  “Greetings, lass,” replied Liam.

  She squeaked as a strong arm curled around her waist and she was yanked back against Ewan. “I dinnae think my brother told ye to do that, Sigimor,” she said, hoping a little talking would ease this tense confrontation.

  “Nay,” replied Sigimor. “He told me to make sure ye are weel protected and cared for.” He calmly looked around at all the MacFingals ready to cut him into small pieces for touching their laird’s woman. “I would say ye are.”

  Liam stepped up to Sigimor’s side to glare at him. “Ye did that just to see how they would react?”

  “Actions speak louder than words.”

  “Ye are mad,” said Ewan as he sheathed his sword, listening as everyone else slowly followed his lead. “Ye came verra close to being killed.” Ewan understood his own swift reaction to another man kissing Fiona, but was a little surprised at how closely his clan’s reaction matched his.

  “I got my answer, didnae I?” Sigimor watched Ewan’s gaze fix upon Liam. “Ah, now, dinnae mind Liam. He is your cousin, too, ye ken.”

  “Is he.” Ewan found himself actually considering telling his far too handsome cousin to go stay in the village.

  “He has that look, Liam. Ye ken, the one Diarmot and Connor get when ye are about.”

  “The one that says he would like me better with a crooked nose and a few scars?” said Liam. “And that he would be pleased to assist me with the change?”

  “Aye.” Sigimor grinned at Ewan. “Ye said something about food and drink?”

  Gregor led the Camerons away and Ewan looked at Fiona. “Ye didnae tell me he was a lunatic.”

  Fiona laughed and nudged him to start him walking toward the keep. “He can be. My brother Diarmot says the mon looks at everything from a different direction than most people and that his humor takes some getting used to.”

  “I see. And the way he looks at things told him the best way to find out if we would protect and care for ye was to kiss ye in front of your armed husband and all his equally armed men?”

  “Aye. I suspect it told him a few other things he was eager to learn, as weel.”

  “How ye taste?” he muttered.

  “Nay. It told him that ye willnae blindly attack a mon. Every one of ye was ready, but not one struck out.”

  “He took a great risk with his life and those of his men.”

  “I wouldnae be so certain of that. S’truth, I wouldnae be surprised to discover that Sigimor kens a great deal about all of ye. If he doesnae make ye gnash your teeth or want to kill him, he will make ye a verra strong ally.”

  It did not take long for Ewan to understand what Fiona meant about his cousin. He wondered at various times during the evening’s festivities if he had, perhaps, been a little too quick to cast aside the possibility of madness in his blood. It felt good, however, to have allies, even if they were a little odd. Glancing around at the MacFingals, Ewan had to admit that one probably needed to be a little odd to accept them all as kinsmen.

  Then he saw Fiona and Liam seated closely together on a bench in the far corner of the great hall, their heads close together as they talked, and he decided one less kinsman would suit him very well. Just as he started to rise from his seat, a hand clasped his shoulder and pushed him back down. Ewan looked at Sigimor and idly wondered what would happen if he punched that look of amusement off his handsome face.

  “Liam willnae try to seduce your wife,” Sigimor said. “Your wife wouldnae let herself be seduced, either. I would say ye insult your wife by worrying, but a woman could be but one step away from sainthood and her husband would still fret if Liam drew near her. Poor lad is oftimes so maligned.”

  “That poor lad has to beat the lasses off with a stick,” Ewan drawled.

  “True, and he doesnae wield that stick as often as he should. Howbeit, he doesnae trespass. I willnae say he ne’er has since he left the monastery three years ago, but he does believe in the sanctity of marriage. And of course, if he tried his wooing on Fiona, she would undoubtedly give the lad that crooked nose we all think he needs.” Sigimor smiled faintly when Ewan laughed, then looked around at the people gathered in the great hall. “Your father collects people.”

  Ewan blinked in surprise at tha
t sudden judgment, then thought about it for a moment. “Aye, I suppose that is exactly what he does. Some of the older men and women were here ere my father inherited the place. Then there are all my brothers, half-brothers, and nephews. And aye, my father allows others like Mab to come here, ones who are cast out of their clans, but he is careful in choosing them. When he used to go outside the boundaries of our lands, he almost always brought someone home with him. Someone lost, or alone, or cast aside by their people.”

  “As he was cast off in many ways. As he believed his bairn was cast off. Twas the lie told about your father’s bairn that troubled my father the most, that drove him to confess it all to me ere he died. My father was certain that lie would be the one that struck your father the hardest.”

  “I believe that is so, although I hadnae seen the truth of that until now. My father ne’er told me the whole story of what had happened.” Glancing toward where his father sat with Mab, Gregor, Nathan, and several Camerons, Ewan was pleased to see that the man was scowling and arguing again. “Seeing how simply telling the tale pained him, I can understand. And yet, I think the telling of it may have bled out some of the bile in his heart and blood.”

  “Aye, it can do that.”

  “Did your father e’er think that what he had done was worth it?”

  “Some days he did; some days he didnae. He loved my mother, but she ne’er loved him back, not as she had loved your father. As he said when he was dying, he lost a brother, but ne’er really gained the bride. Sad, but I cannae grieve o’er it too much. After all, if it hadnae happened, ye and I wouldnae be here.”

  “Ah, verra true. So, tell me, how do the MacEnroys fare as kinsmen?”