“Er, nay. So, dinnae be bothered if she acts surprised or the like. And she might get angry, but ’twill be with me, nay you. Remember that.”
“Mayhap ye should tell her about me first.”
“I have tried, lad. Tisnae easy and I am nay good with words, ye ken. Tis nay an easy thing to be telling a wife, and ye will understand that weel when ye get older.” Ewan grimaced, then smiled when he heard Old Robbie laugh.
Then he heard something else, a noise that made the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. He was just getting to his feet when the door to the cottage was kicked open. Kate screamed and Old Robbie quickly wrapped his arm around her and dragged her with him into a corner by the hearth. Ewan drew his sword and put himself between the armed men near the door and his son.
It had been a trap after all. The Grays had baited it with his son and then waited with a patience they had rarely shown before. Since he was sure he and Gregor had missed nothing when they had come here that first day, the Grays must have left the boy and gone away, staying away in the hope of lulling their suspicions. It had worked. When no attack had come, when no enemy had been sighted, he and Gregor had relaxed their guard, ignoring their own advice. Now he was stuck, the only armed man between the Grays and three helpless people.
A man shoved his way through the others crowded near the door, and Ewan’s stomach tightened with fury when he heard a soft whimper escape his son. Hugh, the laird of the Grays, was a good six inches shorter than Ewan, but his body was thick with muscles. His broad face was handsome enough, Ewan supposed, but he had to wonder what Helena found so compelling. Hazel eyes, nut brown hair, and somewhat ordinary features seemed ill suited for the brute Hugh was. There was a look in the man’s eyes, however, and something in his smile that warned a person. At the moment, that smile held cold triumph and anticipation.
“Couldnae resist the boy, could ye?” Hugh said.
Ewan shrugged. “He is mine.”
“Aye, any fool can see he is a filthy MacFingal.”
“I am curious as to why ye kept him so long if he troubled ye so.”
“Thought the little bastard might come in useful someday and he has, hasnae he.”
The thing that upset Ewan the most was that, unless some wondrous miracle happened, he was not going to have the chance to kill this man. “This has been a most pleasant visit,” he drawled, “but I really must be on my way now.”
“Och, dinnae spoil my fun. If ye take one step toward this wee door, I will have to have ye killed—quickly—and that wasnae my plan at all. Now, why dinnae ye just put down your sword.”
“And just why should I do that?” He cursed when one of Hugh’s men moved to hold a sword at Kate’s throat. “Ye would kill an old woman who has ne’er done ye any harm?”
“Aye.”
Ewan knew he had no choice. If he kept arguing, Hugh would kill Kate and Old Robbie. The man might even turn his brutal attention upon the boy. There was no guarantee that he would not kill them all anyway, but Ewan could not ignore the chance that his sacrifice might keep them alive. He tossed his sword at Hugh’s feet.
Hugh chuckled and signaled two of his men to grab Ewan. As he was dragged outside, Ewan found some comfort in the fact that Hugh seemed to forget about the old couple and the boy. Even his men just turned their backs on them and left them alone in the cottage. He hoped there was some way they could take advantage of that and slip away. Once out in the clearing before the small cottage, Ewan looked toward a tall, stout post that had been erected. Standing next to it, and smiling sweetly, was Helena.
Sigimor cursed as he watched Ewan being stripped of his clothes and tied to the post, his arms stretched wide and lashed to the crosspiece nailed to the top of the post. He had been watching his cousin for three days and had decided the man was acting strangely. Due to the somewhat licentious nature of his newfound cousins, Sigimor had wondered if the man had a mistress. That being an insult to Fiona he could not tolerate, he had followed Ewan. At the moment, he rather wished it had been a woman.
The sound of someone behind him made him tense and he rested his hand on his sword. Then he heard a soft curse in a voice he recognized. When Gregor started to hurry by him, Sigimor lashed out with one arm, catching the younger man in the chest and knocking him to the ground. He stood over Gregor until the man caught his breath enough to glare up at him.
“What did ye do that for?” demanded Gregor as he rubbed his chest.
“I thought ye might wish to pause a moment and come up with a plan ere ye rushed off to face odds of ten to one.”
Gregor cursed as he stumbled to his feet. “I cannae leave Ewan in the hands of that bastard Hugh.” He paled slightly as he looked toward the clearing. “The mon is going to make him bleed.”
“Aye.” Sigimor frowned as he caught sight of movement at the rear of the cottage. “Ye cannae fight all those men by yourself. Even if I lend ye my awe-inspiring skill, the odds are still too great. We need to hie ourselves back to Scarglas and get some help.”
“Then let us be on our way.”
“In a moment. I want to see who is escaping from the cottage.”
“Jesu, ’tis Old Robbie, his wife, and the boy.”
“The boy?”
Gregor hastily explained. “We thought it might be a trap, but then days passed and naught happened.”
Sigimor nodded. “They waited for ye to grow comfortable, to feel as safe as one can about this place. The first day, mayhap e’en the second, there probably was no one about. From what I have heard of the Grays, ’tis a remarkably clever plan for them to devise.”
“Aye,” agreed Gregor. “We should have suspected that they might actually get clever at some time over the years. That bitch Helena is down there, I see. She is as bad as Hugh.”
“She will soon be as dead as Hugh. Come, those people are about to slip into the wood to our left. We will get them and take them with us.”
“I hate leaving Ewan to suffer at Hugh’s hands.”
“Suffering is better than dead.”
“He has a mistress.”
Mab handed Fiona a linen square to wipe her tears and returned to making some lavender sachets for the linen chests. “Now why should ye think Ewan would have a mistress?”
Fiona frowned at her friend as she blew her nose. There was a distinct lack of sympathy in Mab’s voice. “For the last three days he has gone somewhere and no one kens where.”
“Weel, if no one kens where, then how can ye be sure ’tis a woman he goes to see?”
“Why else would he be slipping away without the guard he has always had?”
“To get away from the guard?”
“Possibly,” Fiona conceded, then shook her head. “Nay, ’tis more than that, more than stealing a wee bit of freedom for himself. He is being secretive.”
Mab leaned against her worktable, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at Fiona. “That is odd, and many people have noticed it. Ye are the only one who has decided it is a woman, however.”
“Tis usually why a mon starts tiptoeing about, keeping secrets, and disappearing for hours with no one kenning where they are.”
“Not here. The MacFingals make no secret of their, er, lustiness.”
“Most of them arenae married.”
“Fiona, I really dinnae think Ewan is being unfaithful. I cannae think why ye would wonder on it. Has he been less than enthusiastic in the bedchamber lately?” Mab’s eyebrows rose when Fiona blushed bright red. “I gather not.”
“I am sure he is keeping a secret, Mab. There is something troubling him, something making his mood turn somewhat odd. And, weel, he has become verra, er, enthusiastic.”
“I would think that, if he is servicing a lass for hours during the day, his enthusiasm would wane a little at night. E’en a MacFingal needs a rest now and again.”
Although it surprised Fiona a little that she could do so when she was so upset, she giggled. “He did tell me he would be faithful when we got married.”
“Then he isnae visiting some lass. Ewan is a mon of his word. I think ye are just being a wee bit sensitive, prone to frets and fears. Tis the bairn, mayhap. It can do that.”
Fiona slowly nodded. It was possible that she was just succumbing to a surfeit of emotion, imagining problems where there were none. The fact that she was desperately in love with her husband and still had no hint of his feelings was certainly not helping her stay calm.
“I tried to speak to Gregor about it, but he is verra good at slipping away and staying out of sight.”
“Why would Gregor ken anything no one else does?”
“Because he is the one who slips away with Ewan.”
Mab rolled her eyes. “Listen to yourself, child. Gregor goes with Ewan. Do ye really think a mon would take his brother with him when he went to visit his leman?”
“I am being silly,” Fiona whispered after a moment of thought. “Tis just that I am so in love with him yet cannae seem to get him to feel as I do. Tis making me witless and afraid.”
“That and carrying a bairn. Why dinnae ye just tell him how ye feel, lass?”
“Pride, I suppose. I think on it, then think on how I would feel if I bared all and he couldnae say the same. Jesu, but that would hurt. And what if kenning how I feel when he cannae return the feelings makes him so uncomfortable he starts to pull away from me? Not that he can pull away much further than he has already. Oh, I am nay making any sense.”
“Aye, ye are,” Mab said. “I wish there was some advice I could give ye, some clever wifely thing ye could do to make it all right for ye, but I ken nothing. All I can keep saying is that he is a good mon and ye must be patient. Just keep reminding yourself of all ye do have. He is faithful, he is passionate, he will see all your needs met, he will protect ye, and he will give ye children. They dinnae sound warm and loving, save for the passion, but they are verra important things.”
Fiona smiled faintly. “I ken it. I was just suffering a weakness. It is just that I ken he is troubled, but he willnae tell me what it is, then he disappears for a wee while every day, and from there I managed to start imagining him rolling about in the heather with some lusty, buxom maid.”
“The lusty ones are always buxom, I fear.” Mab laughed along with Fiona, then shook her head. “Trust him, Fiona. Just trust him and love him and ’twill all come right in the end.”
As she left the herb shed and started back to the keep, Fiona promised herself that she would repeat Mab’s words several times a day. Gillyanne had not been able to win Connor’s heart very quickly, either, she told herself. She suspected her brother’s heart had been placed in his wife’s hands long before he had actually admitted it. If he had not been faced with the very real chance of losing her, Connor might have held silent for far longer than he did.
And Ewan is like Connor in many ways, she mused. That same hard outside with a soft inside that he fights to keep hidden from everyone. Ewan would probably never be a man of soft, pretty words and open affection. She was going to have to accept that. Fiona knew it would not be so hard if just once in a while he would whisper that he loved her.
She was sighing with pleasure over the image of Ewan whispering vows of undying love into her ear when a cry went up from the men watching the gates. Her eyes widened when she saw Sigimor and Gregor come racing into the bailey with an elderly couple clinging desperately to a third horse and a small boy clinging to Gregor. Then she recognized the third horse and her heart nearly stopped.
As soon as Sigimor dismounted, she raced to his side. “Ewan? Where is Ewan?”
Sigimor put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a light squeeze. “He is alive, lass, so ye can set aside that fear.”
“Then why have ye brought his horse back without him?”
“Because he fell into a trap set by the Grays,” said Gregor. “Ye explain it, Sigimor. I will get the men we need.”
Fiona kept her gaze on Sigimor as Gregor hurried off shouting orders. “Explain.”
Her eyes widened with each word he said. Here was the problem that had been gnawing at Ewan for the past few days. Helena, his first love, had returned to his life. She had given him a child, never told him, and then tossed the boy into his lap. And it had all been a trap set by Hugh and Helena Gray, two people who loathed Ewan. The same people who had captured him once before and tortured him, nearly gelded him. She felt the chill of her fear for him reach deep into the marrow of her bones.
“We were able to help the old people and the lad escape,” Sigimor said, and added in a whisper, “The poor lad doesnae have a name. Just call him lad or laddie for now. Your husband can explain all that later.”
“If he survives,” she said.
“Oh, he will survive.”
There was such cold certainty in Sigimor’s voice that she felt compelled to believe him. Slowly she turned to look at the child. It hurt that Ewan had not told her about him, but she pushed that aside. The boy looked terrified and needed comforting. She suspected he also needed some assurance that he was welcome.
“Ye look like your father,” she said softly and gently touched his hair. “His eyes and his hair.”
“He was going to bring me here today,” the boy said, rubbing away the tears on his cheeks with a dirty hand.
“I am glad. He should have brought ye here the verra first day, but I shall scold him about that when we get him home.”
“Hugh and my mother are hurting him. They are always hurting people.”
“I can fix his hurts. I am Fiona, his wife.”
“He said ye were bonnie and would be kind to me, but ye dinnae have to if ye dinnae want to.”
“Oh, I want to. Who wouldnae want to keep such a bonnie lad about, eh?”
“My mother. And Hugh. Tis because I am a MacFingal.”
“Aye, ye are,” said Gregor as he stepped up beside them, his father at his side. “Lad, this is your grandsire and he is going to show ye your new home.”
The boy cautiously gave his hand to Fingal to hold, then looked at Sigimor. “Ye will bring my father back here?’
“Aye, lad,” replied Sigimor.
“My mother?”
“I am afraid ye will ne’er see her again.”
He just nodded and let Fingal lead him away. Fiona sensed that Ewan’s son was going to need a lot of gentle handling. The look in his eyes, his quiet, tentative nature, and the fact that he apparently had never been given a proper name told her that he had probably paid dearly for being Ewan’s child every day of his short life.
She stood by, listening carefully as Sigimor and Gregor made their plans while the men and horses gathered. Their plans sounded good, their confidence in their success was comforting, and she felt her fears ease a little. She saw only one small problem. There was open space that needed to be crossed before they could reach Ewan and his tormenters.
“Ye are going to need something to divert their attention as ye draw near enough to strike them down,” she said.
“I hope ye arenae about to suggest what I think ye are,” said Sigimor, frowning at her.
“I fear your hopes are in vain.”
“Ewan wouldnae be happy with us if we used ye, put ye at risk, just to save him,” said Gregor. “One of the men can do something.”
“The Grays recognize your men. The only diversion they could create is a brief fight, or a squabble amongst Hugh’s men as to who will get to kill them. They willnae recognize me,” said Fiona.
“Some of them did see ye the day Simon got injured.”
“They saw a dusty lass in boy’s clothing and that only during a fight for their lives.” She nodded when they both looked a little surprised, then thoughtful.
“And what will stop them from squabbling o’er who will get to kill ye?”
“Simple curiosity. Mayhap lust. It doesnae matter what will make them hesitate to kill me, just that they will. E’en if they somehow recognize who I am, they willnae kill me for they will think I will be useful to torment
Ewan with. Ye dinnae need much time to slip o’er that open ground and get close enough to be a real threat to Hugh and his men, do ye?”
“I fear she is making sense, Gregor,” Sigimor said. “She can give us those few short minutes we need to cross the clearing and do so better than anything we could think of. The minute they glimpse a MacFingal, they will be alert and battle ready. A wee lass tripping up to them will just puzzle them. I also think most of the men will watch her, even the most conscientious of them needing a few moments to recall that they ought to be watching for a threat.”
“And those few moments will be enough to put your swords at their backs,” Fiona said.
“Ewan is going to flay me alive for this,” Gregor said then asked her what her plan was.
Chapter 19
This was not going to be pleasant, Ewan thought as he stared down at a smiling Helena, who stroked the stout whip in her delicate hands as if it were a lover. He began to understand why she loved Hugh. They were of the same ilk. What he did not understand, had never understood, was why they had such a deep, abiding hatred for him. That he was laird of the lands Hugh coveted did not really seem reason enough.
“Ye should have given the lad a name,” he told Helena, and almost smiled when he saw how his words startled her.
She shrugged. “I ne’er thought the little bastard would survive. Jesu, but he was stubborn. I couldnae clean him from my womb ere he was born, and after he tortured me with his birth, he just seemed to grow stronger. I thought once that a fever would take him, but Hugh’s crippled sister Mary nursed him back to health.”
“We MacFingals are hard to kill.”
“I am pleased to hear it for I want ye to take a long time to die.”
It was strange to hear such vicious words spew out of such a tempting mouth. Ewan could still look at her and see that she was beautiful, but that beauty no longer moved him. He could now see the rot beneath her fair skin. It ran so deep and was so strong, he was somewhat surprised that she could still be so beautiful to look upon.
He knew what true beauty was now. Fiona might be scarred, her form not so lush, but in all ways she was far more beautiful than Helena could ever hope to be. Fiona had the softness, the kindness, and the generosity of spirit that Helena lacked and would probably see as only weak and foolish. Ewan was a little embarrassed that he had allowed lust to so completely blind him to the sort of woman Helena truly was.
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