Hugging her tightly, Rodrick said, “Lass, do no’ fash yerself over it. I ken what ye did and why. Come now, let us go get our daughter and go home.”
Home.
A year ago that word meant naught to her. But now? Today? It meant everything.
Chapter Twenty
The Mackintosh men were waiting for them, just as Rodrick and Ian had planned. They had successfully gotten the babe back from a very upset and rather insane Anthara MacDonald. Later, they would recount the story to Rodrick, of how the woman had screamed like a banshee, had fought tooth and nail, clawing at their faces as they took the babe from her arms. They left her and her guard alongside the road to Portree.
But for now, they oohed and ahed over the tiny babe, doing their best to keep her from crying. The poor thing was undoubtedly hungry, but all they had to offer her was dried beef. Somehow, they didn’t think her mother would appreciate them giving the toothless babe dried beef or bits of apples.
They were mightily glad to see Ian, Rodrick, Muriel and the others, bounding down the road. Rodrick had his arms wrapped around his wife. Muriel could not wait for the horse to stop before she was scurrying off its back.
“Cora!” she exclaimed as she raced forward and grabbed her from the arms of William Mackintosh.
Between kisses for her babe, she thanked the men repeatedly. Rodrick stood behind her now, just as glad to see his daughter as her mother was.
“Thank ye,” he told the men surrounding them. “I - we - will never be able to repay ye.”
“Bah!” Callum said with a shake of his head. “Ye would have done the same for any one of us.”
Cora began to cry rather loudly. It had been hours since last she’d eaten.
Rodrick helped Muriel to a quiet spot and set her down on a felled log. “Ye rest here and feed our daughter, aye?” he said before kissing first the top of Muriel’s head, then Cora’s. He started to walk away when Muriel stopped him.
“Where are ye goin’?” she asked, sounding afraid.
“Ye feed our babe. I have one more thing to do.”
“Nay!” she cried out over the waling cries of her babe. “Ye can no’ mean to leave me now!”
Kneeling before her he said, “Wheesht, Muriel. I promise, I will no’ be gone long. Ian will be with ye, as well as the rest of the men. I shall meet ye at the ferry in less than an hour.”
Tears pooled and fell. “Please, Rodrick, do no’ leave me.”
He smiled warmly and placed a gentle palm on her cheek. “I swear to ye, where I be goin’ is no’ dangerous.”
He left her then, sitting on a wide log, looking sadder than he’d ever seen her. But there was something important he needed to do.
Standing near their horse, Rodrick spoke to Ian. “I will take Callum with me,” he said. “Please, see me wife safely to the ferry. And ye leave, with or without me.”
“And where might ye be goin’?” Ian asked as he rubbed his chin with his hand.
“I have to deliver Fergus’s head.”
Ian did not ask another question. He watched as Rodrick strode to Ian’s horse. Hanging there, in a sack, was Fergus’s head. Rodrick untied it from Ian’s mount before tying it to the saddle of his own. “No matter what happens, ye see me wife and daughter safely home.”
Ian let out a heavy breath. “Aye, ye have me word. But promise me two things.”
Rodrick gave him a nod. “What might that be?”
“That ye do no’ start any wars and that ye come back to yer wife and child.”
Rodrick nodded his head again but said not a word as he and Callum rode away.
Rodrick and Callum let themselves into Anthara MacDonald’s home. No one had answered their repeated knocks at the door. They could hear a woman crying and the sound of things being thrown against the walls within.
They found her in a small room just off the hallway. Anthara had only that moment thrown a candlestick at the wall next to the hearth when they stepped inside. There were bits of broken furniture and pottery scattered about the room. She’d picked up a small table when she turned and saw them standing in the doorway.
Fury filled her eyes. “Go away!” she screamed at them.
Most women would have made an inquiry as to their identities.
“I be Rodrick MacElroy, husband to Muriel MacElroy,” he said, ignoring her demand.
Recognition was quick to set in. Gritting her teeth together, she screamed, “She took my babe!” In the next instant, she was hurling the small table at them. Callum stepped forward and grabbed it before it could strike either one of them. Carefully, he placed the table on the floor near his feet.
“Cora be no’ yer babe,” Rodrick told her pointedly.
“Yes she is! She be mine and Fergus’s! That whore ye call yer wife is no’ fit to raise a dog!” Her eyes were filled with unsuppressed rage and rimmed in red from crying. “When Fergus gets here, ye will see! He will get her back for me! And he will kill all of ye!”
Rodrick took a tentative step forward, the bag with Fergus’s head dangling from one hand. “Fergus is no’ comin’ back.”
“Ye lie!” she screamed. “He is on his way here now. But first, he is goin’ to kill yer whore of a wife. Ye will see! Then he and I will raise Burunild together.”
Rodrick shook his head in disgust. The woman was just as mad as Fergus. Anthara was just as culpable as her husband in what had happened to Muriel. Anthara had refused to listen to Muriel’s plea for help. Instead of helping her, she sided with Fergus. She’d even gone so far as to help in some of the beatings Muriel had received. Nay, he would not feel an ounce of remorse or pity for this woman.
“Fergus is no’ comin’ back,” he repeated. “No’ today, no’ tomorrow, no’ ever.”
He could see she was not quite ready yet to believe him. Cautiously, she took a step back, her eyes darting around the room for something else to throw at them. “Ye lie,” she said. This time, she did not scream. Rodrick could see her resolve was beginning to fade.
Rodrick slowly lifted the sack containing Fergus’s head. “Nay, I do no’ lie to ye,” he replied. He tossed the sack onto a chair, where it landed with a hard thud. “Ye can have that,” he said, “or give it to his father. Either way, I do no’ care.” He turned to leave but stopped himself. “Ye can tell the bloody bastard who fathered yer husband that if I ever I see him or his men or kin anywhere near me wife or daughter, I shall do the same to them.” He nodded toward the sack once before leaving.
As he and Callum crossed over the threshold and back into the late afternoon air, they heard the plaintive wail of the newly widowed Anthara MacDonald. Neither man looked back.
Chapter Twenty-One
With his wife and daughter wrapped protectively in his arms, Rodrick began the long journey home. Just as they’d done the previous spring, they rode fast and hard. Neither Rodrick nor Ian knew if Walter MacDonald would declare war over the taking of his son’s life.
By the time they reached the Mackintosh and McLaren keep, Muriel was beyond exhausted. Road worn and weary, Rodrick carried her and Cora into their little home. With Rose and Deidre’s help, Muriel bathed in a tub of hot water before slipping into a nightdress and into bed. With Muriel in their good hands, Rodrick went with the rest of the men to bathe in the loch.
Rodrick and Muriel had said very little to one another during the ride home. He supposed ’twas exhaustion — both in mind and body — that kept her from speaking much. She’d watched as her husband had taken the life of her tormentor and abuser. He reckoned it might take a few days for her to come to grips with everything that had happened.
At least that was his hope. In truth, he worried his sweet wife would now be terrified of him. She had, after all, watched him slice Fergus’s throat and cut his head from his body. Mayhap she would now think him naught more than a vicious murderer. Even though she had asked him, nay told him to kill Fergus, it could have been something said in the heat of the moment. She might not have tru
ly meant it. And she certainly didn’t need to watch as he did it.
Mayhap he should have ordered her removed before he killed him.
Mayhap he should have simply ridden off with her and dealt with Fergus later.
Some men might have left their wives alone to sort out their feelings. Some men might have kept their own worries and feelings unto themselves. But Rodrick worried that ignoring anything at this point would put a wedge betwixt him and his wife. Nay, he decided, ’twas best to deal with everything now. Like a gangrenous wound if left alone and uncared for far too long, it would grow and fester until ’twas deadly.
Upon returning to their home and finding Muriel and Cora fast asleep, he slipped out of his clothes, into his braes, and slid into the bed. Muriel was facing him, with Cora bundled and sleeping in the crook of her arm. They looked so peaceful as they slept. On the morrow, he decided. On the morrow, after a good night’s sleep, we will talk.
Muriel opened her eyes as he pulled the warm fur up to cover her shoulder.
“Ye smell good,” she said sleepily.
Certainly, a woman terrified of her husband wouldn’t comment on such a thing, would she?
“Thank ye, Rodrick,” she said, her voice naught but a whisper. Reaching out, she placed a warm hand on his cheek. “Thank ye for comin’ for us.”
Relief was slow to build. “Did ye think I would no’?”
She smiled warmly. “I knew in me heart the only thing that would stop ye would be yer own death.”
He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “And ye would be right.” He was relieved and quite glad that she didn’t pull her hand away.
“Rodrick, I want to tell ye somethin’,” she whispered.
Dread and worry reared their ugly heads. Had Fergus hurt her again? Was she about to tell him of her ordeal, of something ugly and sordid? He willed his nerves to settle and took in a deep, fortifying breath.
“I love ye, Rodrick MacElroy. With all me heart.”
He could not have been more stunned had she hit him over the head with a battle-axe. Uncertain if he’d heard her correctly, he said, “What?”
“I love ye,” she repeated. “And no’ just because ye came fer us. I realized it no’ long after ye left to go after the Randalls.”
All at once, he felt enveloped in a sense of warmth and peace. ’Twas as comforting as a heavy fur in wintertime. Like the heat from a brazier on a cold day. But so much more than that.
“I missed ye,” she went on to say. “So much so that ’twas a physical ache. I knew then that I could no’ miss ye as much if I did no’ love ye.”
For the first time in his adult life, Rodrick the Bold’s eyes grew damp. He felt no shame in it. Nay, he felt naught but elation, pride, and utter joy. “I love ye, Muriel. With all that I am, I love ye.”
Her smile burned bright, her eyes filled with happiness and love. “I ken,” she told him. “I’ve kent for some time now. And I be verra glad that ye do.”
He kissed her palm again before placing it on his chest, just over his heart. “Ye have made me verra happy this day, lass. Verra happy.”
They talked then, for the next hour or so. First, they discussed all that had transpired over the last few days. Nay, Muriel did not hold him in any kind of low regard over killing Fergus. Just the opposite. She was grateful. Although she did admit she didn’t truly enjoy watching it.
Just as the embers in the brazier began to die down, Rodrick the Bold and his wife fell asleep, holding each other’s hands.
It may have taken three decades, but his Christmas Tide wish had finally come true. Rodrick the Bold finally had a wife and child. He had so much more than that.
He had his family.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rodrick was the first to rise the following morning. He left his wife and babe to sleep as he dressed quietly and started the fire.
A new day had dawned, a new beginning for him and Muriel. A day in which he knew, unequivocally, that his wife loved him. Loved him like a wife loved a husband, in a romantic fashion, and not as one would love a brother, father, or friend. She proved that to him last night, after she put Cora in her cradle. She spent the next two hours showing him just how much she loved him and how ready she was to move on.
While he would have loved nothing more than to wile away the day, staying abed with his wife and making silly faces just to see his daughter smile, there was much to be done. First, he needed to meet with Ian. There was still the matter of the Randall raid that needed to be dealt with. He also wanted to thank Ian for helping him to get Muriel and Cora back.
When he stepped out of his home, he was met with brilliant sunshine, birds flittering about, and the sound of his clan coming to life. I could die right now, and die a most happy man, he mused.
One of the women folk was walking by, pulling him from his quiet reverie. She bore the oddest expression when she looked at him. As if he were some deranged madman. ’Twas then he realized he was smiling. He supposed no one was accustomed to seeing his lips curved upward, unless he was in battle or training his men.
“Good day to ye,” he said with a nod. Let them think me mad, he thought to himself. ’Twill keep them off balance.
The woman said nothing, but she did pick up her pace.
Taking the path that led to the keep, he continued to smile. Aye, life is good, he thought.
That was until he saw Ian coming toward him.
Ian did not look happy.
Before Rodrick could inquire as to what was making his chief look mad enough to bite nails, Ian said, “Ye have a visitor.”
Confused as to why a visitor would cause his chief to be so angry, Rodrick stopped and asked, “Who?”
With his nostrils flared, Ian let out an angry breath. “Walter MacDonald.”
Rodrick, Ian, and ten of their men rode out of the keep to meet with Walter MacDonald. Ian was furious. Before mounting his horse moments before, he said, “I shall give ye over to the MacDonald before I enter into a war.”
From his expression, Rodrick did not doubt him for a moment.
Walter MacDonald sat tall in his saddle. Though he might have been nearing sixty, he was still a formidable looking man.
Leaving the rest of the men a few paces behind, Ian and Rodrick rode out to meet the chief of Clan MacDonald. The father of the man Rodrick had killed just a few days ago.
“Which one of ye be the one called Rodrick the Bold?” Walter asked. His voice boomed and echoed over the open landscape.
“I be Rodrick the Bold,” Rodrick replied dryly.
Walter studied him closely for a brief moment. “Ye be the one who killed me son?”
“Aye, I am,” Rodrick answered. He tried his best to keep the pride he felt in doing so out of his voice.
The MacDonald shifted slightly in the saddle as he continued his close scrutinization. Rodrick and Ian maintained their air of indifference.
“I have kent fer some time that the day would come when an angry husband, father or brother would kill him,” Walter said. “Or some young lass who had finally had enough.”
Rodrick continued his stone-cold silence. He knew he could learn more by listening than by talking. And they needed to know why the MacDonald was here. The wrong word said now could lead to dire consequences.
“Fergus,” Walter began as he shifted his weight once again, “was no’ me best work. He was a fool and a deviant, that I will no’ deny.”
Rodrick kept his opinion on the matter to himself. However, Ian finally broke his silence. “Have ye come to declare war to avenge the death of yer son?”
Rodrick knew they could ill afford a war at the moment. Ian had to be worried, but no one else would have guessed. His tone was that of a calm and unconcerned man.
Walter raised one bushy brow in surprise right before chuckling. “Ye be Ian Mackintosh, aye?”
“I am,” Ian replied.
“Ye can put yer worries aside. I am no’ here to declare war.”
&
nbsp; “Then why are ye here?” Ian asked.
“I’ve come to thank the man who finally had the guts to take me son’s life.”
Rodrick and Ian glanced at one another, but their expressions belied what they were both truly thinking.
“I ken it sounds cruel that a father would think so poorly of a son,” Walter told them. “But as I said, Fergus was no’ me best work.”
Rodrick couldn’t fathom having a son he would not grieve or mourn for. He had to give Walter MacDonald some credit for realizing his son was a demented and deviant individual. However, Rodrick had to believe that he would have done everything in his power to help any of his children off the beaten path and onto the path of righteousness and good.
As if Walter could read his mind, he said, “I did everything I could fer him.”
The three men sat quietly for a long while. Two were trying to gauge the truthfulness and sincerity of the one.
“Rodrick the Bold,” Walter said, breaking the lengthy silence, “I would like to speak to ye alone.”
Rodrick and Ian sat a bit taller, uncertain if this was for nefarious purposes to get Rodrick alone.
“I want to speak to ye about the child.”
Rodrick thought long and hard before making his decision. Cora had been claimed as Fergus MacDonald’s child and Walter MacDonald’s grandchild. By law, Walter had more rights over Cora than either Muriel or Rodrick. Pushing his worries aside, he finally agreed.
The two men dismounted and walked side by side toward the creek. Tension roped around Rodrick’s shoulders, his senses on high alert for any sign of treachery. Knowing Ian and the others had his back did give him a better sense of strength.
“As ye ken,” Walter began as he clasped his hands behind his back, “I did declare the child as me grandchild. Publicly and for all the world to ken.”
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