Highland Vixen

by Mary Wine

Now, there were smiles aimed her way as she hurried toward Helen. A few of the women reached out to touch Ailis’s rounding belly. But Ailis pulled up as she sucked in a harsh breath, her eyes widening with horror.

  “Who raised their hand to ye?” Ailis demanded.

  It took a moment for Helen to recall what was alarming her mistress.

  “Some of her kin struck a deal with Laird McTavish to trade his daughter for her,” Bhaic answered his wife.

  “Aye,” Helen agreed. Marcus shot her a hard look.

  Bhaic MacPherson pulled his wife into his embrace, but Ailis wiggled free after only a brief kiss. “I need to see to Helen.”

  * * *

  “Save yer breath.”

  Bhaic’s eyes narrowed in response. “So sure of what I was going to say, Brother?”

  Marcus finished pulling his saddlebag from his horse and let a lad lead the animal away. “Rather certain ye feel I’m owed a measure of equal grief for what ye think I did to ye when ye brought Ailis home.”

  Bhaic’s lips split into a huge grin. “There’s a solid fact. Setting yer men on us as ye did, I’ll no’ forget that anytime soon. Could nae get me own wife alone for a kiss, much less a tumble. And then there is the matter of ye telling me that Ailis was likely a spy. I recall that as well.” Bhaic pointed at his brother. “And we can nae be forgetting about ye having us sent up to bed because we had no’ consummated the union, and making sure every one of the men heard about it. Truth is, I am no’ sure where to begin with ye.”

  Marcus flexed his fingers before making a fist. His brother snorted at him before he reached out and cupped his shoulder.

  “But,” Bhaic said in a jovial tone that made Marcus itch to smash him in the jaw, “I believe Father will be expecting the first shot at ye.”

  Marcus looked up to the main steps of the great hall where Shamus MacPherson stood.

  “Do nae worry, Brother. I will nae be forgetting to take me turn,” Bhaic assured him in a smug tone.

  Marcus growled at him, but Bhaic only smirked back. The urge to fight was strong, but Marcus turned and went to greet his father, Bhaic right on his heels.

  * * *

  “Do nae think that simply because ye are with child, I’ll no’ tell ye to stop smothering yer giggles behind me back.”

  Ailis turned and offered Helen an innocent look that conflicted with the merriment sparkling in her eyes.

  “Thank goodness,” Ailis said after she gave up the attempt to appear innocent of the charge. “It’s really rather strange the way everyone is so nice to me all of a sudden.”

  Helen moved a lump of soap over her arms as she took the opportunity to bathe away the grime from the road. Ailis had sent all the other servants away, granting them the chance to speak freely.

  “I imagine ye’ll be discovering how I feel. As soon as they all learn of yer marriage to Marcus.” Ailis used a large hook to pull the arm that a kettle was hanging from out of the fire. She made sure to wrap a sturdy piece of quilted wool around the handle before she picked it up and carried it over to the tub Helen sat in. Steam rose as she poured the water in near Helen’s toes. It was a delight to have them warm at last, but Helen was distracted by what Ailis had said.

  “No one will be changing how they treat me,” Helen said. “I’ll no’ be staying Marcus’s wife.”

  Ailis set the kettle on the hearth with a clunk. She contemplated Helen for a long moment.

  “Say what ye’re thinking,” Helen said. Truthfully, she was overstepping herself, for Ailis was the mistress of MacPherson Castle. The MacPherson women had not afforded her the position automatically when she’d arrived newly wed to Bhaic. Ailis had to fight for her current status.

  Ailis didn’t take offense. “Marcus left looking for ye.”

  “He did no’.” Helen rinsed the soap from her hair and stood up. “Do nae put credit to his actions. The beast made sure to tell me that he’d gone to court because ye and Bhaic were summoned and his father sent him in yer stead because ye can no’ travel.”

  “And the reason why he chased after yer kin?” Ailis brought Helen a length of linen with which to dry herself from where it had been warming by the fire.

  “To thwart Laird McTavish’s plans, of course,” Helen replied as she started to pull on a chemise. “Marcus has his position to consider. No one will be respecting a War Chief who can be duped. What did ye do with Katherine?”

  Ailis knew that Helen was changing the subject on purpose, but at least she didn’t point it out.

  “Duana is seeing to her,” Ailis replied.

  “Better to see to the matter personally,” Helen said. “Duana hates the English more than she hates Scotswomen from other clans.”

  Ailis’s eyes narrowed. “Ye might be right about that.” She realized Helen had started to get dressed. “I’ll see to it. I had Senga take supper up to yer chamber.”

  Ailis gave her friend a hug before she left the chamber. Helen hesitated and then snorted at herself.

  There was one thing that she was certain of—that she was not going to be reduced to standing about and letting her knees knock together in fear. She’d suffered the worst MacPherson Castle had to offer before. Tonight would be no different.

  * * *

  “The Earl of Morton is making a lot of enemies in the Highlands.”

  Shamus MacPherson was old. Yet at that moment, he sounded very much as he had thirty years before. There was still strength in his eyes, even if the skin around them was wrinkled by age. He looked at Marcus and smirked.

  “And ye managed to bring the English prize away with ye as well?” Shamus slapped the top of his desk as he cackled. “That’s the way to illustrate MacPherson strength, sure enough.”

  “To be fair”—Marcus spoke up—“Brenda and Helen were the ones who did the planning. The earl sets his traps well. I’d have been without recourse save for Brenda’s quick wit.”

  “So ye said.” Shamus returned to being pensive.

  Marcus reached up and pulled on the corner of his cap, but his father held up a finger to keep Marcus standing in front of him.

  “Ye killed a pair of Grants?”

  “I did,” Marcus replied without hesitation. “Ye saw me wife’s face. I doubt even the Grants would like that pair back. I wonder why they were on McTavish land and looking for work.”

  Shamus nodded, and the moment he finished giving the grave topic due respect, he started to choke on his amusement.

  “Wife, ye say?” His father asked the blunt question. “I would no’ have thought that lass would allow ye any sort of relations with her.”

  “She did nae,” Marcus admitted before turning and punching Bhaic in the shoulder. His brother half fell out of his stance before flashing him an unrepentant smirk.

  “Well now, since it’s bride and no’ wife,” Bhaic managed while trying not to choke on his laughter, “I am sure they need…witnesses.”

  Marcus turned and lunged at Bhaic. They ended up sprawled on the fine carpet that adorned their father’s receiving chamber.

  “Get off yer brother, Marcus!” Shamus bellowed.

  There was a pounding on the outer door. “Laird?” the retainers questioned from behind it.

  “Stay out there!” Shamus ordered.

  Marcus was glaring at Bhaic, but their sire pointed at both of his sons and Marcus turned to face him respectfully.

  “Ye earned that crack,” Shamus informed him.

  “Along with a few more,” Bhaic added. “Ye can be sure I’ll be taking the measure due me.”

  Marcus lifted his hand and sent his sibling an obscene gesture. Shamus snorted. “Well now, this will prove to be very interesting, to say the least. I’m sure even Father Matthew Peter would agree that ye are reaping what ye sowed last season.”

  His father couldn’t finish because he wa
s laughing so hard.

  “The lot of ye can piss off,” Marcus informed them. “Hire yerself a fine fool if it’s laughter ye seek. I can promise ye, me union is no’ going to be a source of it for ye.”

  Bhaic clutched his midsection and collapsed into a chair as he chuckled.

  Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “Well then, I suppose I might just let yer lovely wife know how much ye plan to exact yer revenge on me for making sure the pair of ye remained wed.”

  Bhaic sobered, shooting his brother a deadly look. Marcus angled his head and stared at him. “Poor lass might think ye harbor resentment, which might lead to a very cold winter for ye.”

  “Enough now,” Shamus interrupted. “Let that lass be. She’s carrying me grandchild. And enough from yer brother and me on the matter of yer wife, for the moment,” he said to Marcus. “Get some sleep. Ye look as though the road was long.”

  Marcus took full advantage of his sire’s permission to quit the chamber. But once he was outside in the passageway, he realized he didn’t know where Helen slept.

  “Indecision, Brother?” Bhaic asked. “No’ something I’m accustomed to seeing on yer face.”

  “It’s a good thing yer wife is breeding,” Marcus muttered, stepping close enough to his brother to make sure their father didn’t overhear. “Because I’m going to smash yer balls—”

  “Give it yer best, man,” Bhaic answered, “and Helen will remain a maiden.”

  Marcus was distracted by that idea. Bhaic noticed and dropped his teasing. “What is it?”

  For all their picking at each other, they had a tight bond. Marcus looked both ways to make certain they were alone.

  “I do nae know if Helen is a virgin.”

  “And that bothers ye?” Bhaic inquired.

  Marcus shook his head. “Nay. I could hardly condemn her for taking comfort where she might when I dumped her here and failed to ask after her welfare.” He aimed a hard look toward Bhaic. “It would seem Duana is quite the bitch when it comes to outsiders.”

  He suddenly felt as though his shoulders were lighter, earning a raised eyebrow from his brother.

  “I wonder if Helen thinks it would matter to me,” Marcus said. “Matter so much that she’d insist on an annulment to escape me reaction.”

  “Could be. She has no dowry, no family alliance to barter, so no’ being pure might make her think ye’d reject her after the fact.” Bhaic smirked again. “But I will be sorely disappointed if that female settles down after ye tell her it does no bother ye and fails to give ye the grief ye deserve.”

  * * *

  Helen loved her hair. It was one of her few vanities, and she didn’t have many opportunities to indulge it. Ailis had sent someone to her chamber to light the fire and make sure the water pitcher was filled. It was a welcome Helen treasured. It allowed her to stay in her chemise and brush out her hair while the heat from the fire gently dried it.

  A rare moment of indulgence in her own vanity.

  The chamber itself was not grand. No, the one she’d occupied in the McTavish tower had been larger, but she preferred hers. Located in the oldest part of the castle, the room had rougher walls, but Helen viewed them as proven. The chambers were a set of receiving and bed areas, but what she liked best was the privacy closet. There was no need for a chamber pot.

  Considering she was a servant, that meant one less duty to attend to. She sat down and looked at what fare had been provided. There was cheese and bread and a portion of chicken. A fine supper, and she realized she was ravenous.

  Yet once her belly was full, she felt lonely. Ailis was her only friend, besides perhaps young Senga.

  But it was Marcus who came to mind as she moved over to get her comb. Helen let out a sigh as she drew it down the length of her sable hair. She had no idea whether the man fancied dark hair or light. Not that it mattered, of course, because she wouldn’t allow herself to care about pleasing him.

  Could she please him?

  Her memory offered up what he’d said to her back in that dungeon. She was past the age of wedding, both of them were. If she hadn’t been home on that fateful day or had stayed hidden, she might well have a husband now. The question was, how did a woman please a man? Such a topic was discussed often, but the conversations varied so greatly that there was little way to sift chaff from wheat.

  Could she please him through obedience?

  She dropped the comb, snorting at the very idea. That was what came of considering the idea of being what Marcus desired. There was no point to it, none at all. Better to set her mind to finding a way to see Laird MacPherson and begin the process of annulment.

  * * *

  Ailis nearly ran into Marcus on her way out of the bathhouse. For some, there was private bathing, but like her, most of the inhabitants of the castle came down to the back side of the kitchens where tubs were kept and the water was always warm from the hearths. The river ran along that side of the north wing, so water could be brought up easily.

  “Katherine?” he asked.

  Ailis nodded. “I was just checking on her meself. I made sure Elise knows I expect Katherine to be treated well.”

  “I did nae know Duana was such a bitch. She should have seen to it herself,” Marcus informed her in his quiet tone.

  Ailis knew it well and understood that he was far from neutral when he used that tone. Marcus was a master of keeping those around him guessing at his true opinions.

  “Well, I’ve seen to Katherine,” Ailis informed him. “I’m just now off to ensure that a chamber is made ready that is appropriate to her station.”

  “Which is?” he asked, not willing to leave the matter to debate.

  Ailis tilted her head to the side. “Yer sister. I am sure the Earl of Morton will be delighted to hear how we have taken her into the family. Even if it was no’ quite in the fashion he envisioned. Still, family.”

  Marcus offered her a smile of appreciation. “Well played. I might even suggest to Father that his secretary write it up in a missive for the man.”

  With that matter lifted from his shoulders, Marcus felt every hour he’d spent with his eyes open weighing upon him. Ailis was smiling at him, and his temper was nearly frayed through. “Take yerself off to yer husband. Tomorrow will be soon enough for ye to take yer turn at extracting yer amusement from me plight.”

  Ailis turned and lowered herself before him. Marcus’s eyes narrowed at her mockery.

  “I could be ever so obedient to yer will, dearest brother by marriage.”

  “Or?” Marcus questioned. “Ye could do what?”

  Ailis lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I could tell ye which chamber I moved Helen to, so ye do nae have to ask anyone where yer wife is or wander about lost until she decides she wants to be seen.”

  He made a low sound under his breath, reaching up and squeezing the bridge of his nose before sending a narrow-eyed look at his sister by marriage. “I would be in yer debt.”

  “I do believe that is by far the sweetest spoken manner I have ever heard from ye.”

  He made a low sound of frustration. “Am I to be rewarded for me efforts?”

  “Before I do so, let me say, Helen is me dearest friend,” Ailis warned him.

  “I’ve noticed such.”

  “Good.” Ailis abandoned her playfulness. “Wound her heart, and I will laugh as the staff gossips freely over ye no’ knowing where yer wife is.”

  Marcus blinked at her before nodding. “I expect naught else from ye.”

  It was a compliment she recognized as Marcus’s unique sort. She let out a sigh and gestured to him to follow her. MacPherson Castle had three full wings and four massive towers. Ailis made her way to one of the older towers. Marcus’s expression said he didn’t care for it.

  “It was the best Helen would accept from me.” Ailis pointed down the
passageway. “However, I believe she enjoyed knowing ye sleep on the other side of the castle and there is no way to bar this door from the outside.”

  “That is on account of the fact that this was the convent,” Marcus stated. “And the door bars from the inside.”

  “Yes,” Ailis agreed. “That chamber is where the abbess slept. Beware of ghosts. The ones in this wing might be very pious.”

  Marcus grinned. “Yet, we are wed, so there should be no objection.”

  Ailis smothered a snicker behind her hand. “Unless Helen is dead, I highly doubt that, sir.”

  Marcus narrowed his eyes at her before she turned and disappeared into the shadows.

  He slowly smiled until his teeth were showing.

  Let the challenge begin.

  * * *

  “Ailis did right by ye.”

  Helen jumped, catching the comb just before it went tumbling to the floor. Again. Marcus sent her a grin that was the opposite of repentant as he came through the door of her chamber and closed it firmly behind him. Had she conjured him from her thoughts? The strangest sensation rippled across her skin, as though she was more aware of him than any other person she’d ever met.

  “What are ye doing?”

  It was really quite a foolish question. He was stripped down to his shirt and kilt, water still glistening in his hair, proving that he’d washed the dirt from the road away before coming to her. He hadn’t bothered to strap on his second belt or sword, simply carrying them into the chamber and laying them beside the bed.

  “I am going to get some sleep, lass.”

  He wasn’t really complaining, his tone still crusty and full of strength, but she realized it was the closest thing she’d ever heard from him that might indicate fatigue. Having him there with her was strange and unsettling, but she couldn’t help but look closer in an attempt to deduce what his game was.

  He was tired.

  She saw the dark circles beneath his eyes as he sat on the bed and kicked his boots off because they too were not laced fully.

  “I’ve had precious little rest since I went down to see the good Earl of Morton.” He stretched his arms, rotating them and his neck before he opened his eyes and considered her. “And I’ll no’ sleep very soundly if I do nae know where ye are, so indulge me for the service I have given ye in getting ye away from those cousins of yers.”