Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “We run out of land,” Iain muttered when they reached the edge of the loch.

  “Aye, but the beast wishes to move on yet even he balks at trying to walk the wee spit of land between the walls of Dubhglenn and the waters of the loch.” Handing Elfking’s reins to Iain, Parlan ordered, “Hold him here. I will go along and see what draws the fool animal.”

  He smiled grimly as he heard Iain’s soft mutter. The man did not like being left behind where his sword could prove useless. Parlan knew that Malcolm would have been far less reticent in his disapproval. Parlan also decided that he had better speak to Aimil about what tricks she had taught her mount so that he would not be caught by surprise by the horse’s actions again.

  “Did ye think to try this door?” panted Aimil as she struggled in her battle to open the thick oaken portal.

  “I nudged it and it gave. Do ye wish me to take a turn?”

  “Nay, for if ye stumbled, I would never be able to hold ye and ye would end in the loch. I am near to having it open enough.”

  “We but need a space to slip through and we being so slim it doesnae have to be a verra big space. ‘Tis not enough as yet?”

  “Nay. An inch or twa more will do it though.’ Tis noisy,” she hissed when the hinges groaned, strained by use after so long.

  “I should have thought to grease them.” He waited with her to see if any alarm was raised. “‘Tis not as loud as we think,” he murmured a few moments later. “Try again. Mayhaps the noise doesnae carry beyond this spot. Come, loving,” he urged when she continued to hesitate. “There is always the chance that someone may look into our chambers and see that we are gone. We cannae hesitate now.” When she pushed the door and again the screech of little-used hinges rent the air, he cursed softly then said, “Ignore it and continue.”

  “But, Leith,” she protested, sure that the noise would be audible to a guard.

  “There is no other way nor is there any other time for us. If we are caught now rather than later, so be it, but let us not hesitate simply because of the risk of capture. Push.”

  Parlan pressed himself against the cold stone wall. He was not sure what he had heard but something had alerted him. Listening tensely, he waited for either a movement or a sound. A soft whicker from Elfking told him that whatever had drawn the horse to the spot was still there.

  His searching gaze suddenly fixed upon an irregularity in the line of the wall. Although he was not well-acquainted with this side of Dubhglenn, he felt sure that there should not be a length equal to a man’s height jutting out from the wall. Even as he stared at it, a soft noise reached his ears, and he was certain it had come from that spot.

  Carefully he edged toward it. As he watched, he detected a faint movement accompanied by the faint squeak of something akin to rusted hinges. Suddenly he knew what he saw. Some long-forgotten exit was there, and someone was trying to open it. Someone had found an old doorway in the walls of Dubhglenn and was struggling to put it to use.

  He was assailed with an odd mixture of emotion as he moved even nearer. There were only two people in Dubhglenn who would need to leave it so stealthily. Angrily he wondered how they had managed to get so close to succeeding. They were supposed to be closely watched yet no one had apparently noticed their absence.

  Catarine hesitated as she passed Leith’s chambers. The youth had been cold to her, quite insulting in his attitude. That stirred her to fury, but she suddenly recognized his possible usefulness. He was very close to Aimil. The girl listened to him, and he had a great deal of influence with her. Catarine realized that she could find the way to drive Aimil away either by using him directly or by the use of some information she managed to glean from him. That he had shown her little warmth was something she felt sure she could change.

  Opening his door, she slipped inside only to halt and stare blankly at the empty bed. It took her a moment to realize what had happened. Hurrying down the hall, she flung open the door to Parlan’s chambers. When she saw that bed was also empty, she began to smile. Leith had convinced his sister to escape. Considering the time that had passed since the pair had retired and the lack of any outcry, there was a very good chance that they had succeeded, and Catarine’s smile widened.

  A sudden stir in the keep prompted her to leave Parlan’s room quickly and shut the door. If she was caught there, she would be asked why she had raised no alarm. She listened tensely, but there was no outcry simply a sudden bustling, an increase in activity. Her smile widened again as she understood the meaning of it. Parlan was returning. Laughing softly, she hurried to greet him, planning to let him see that she held no grudge and was more than willing to assuage whatever sense of insult Aimil’s flight had inflicted.

  “‘Tis nearly open enough, Leith,” Aimil gasped as she paused to rest a moment.

  “I should have tested it more. We waste precious time struggling here.”

  “Are we to give up then?” she asked with weak hopefulness.

  A light smile touched Parlan’s face. He stood near enough to hear the faint whispers and knew his suspicions were correct. Aimil and Leith were attempting to escape Dubhglenn. Reluctantly, he admitted that it hurt to think she would wish to leave though he understood the reasons behind the escape did not need to be personal ones. The reluctance he heard in her voice was some balm to that hurt. She did what she felt she had to, not necessarily as she wished to.

  “Aimil.” Leith sighed. “Now isnae the time to argue that again. We do as we must.”

  Aimil pondered crossly that duty was a tiresome thing. She would much rather follow her heart which told her to stop breaking her back on the door and go back to Parlan’s chambers. Her heart did not care what people thought if she chose to stay in Parlan’s bed or if he did impoverish her father with his demands for ransoms. Unfortunately, the demands of pride and duty were proving as strong as her heart’s desires.

  “‘Tis that I dinnae like losing Elfking,” she muttered, and was disgusted with herself for mouthing such a lie, one that was so easy to see through.

  “Of course,” drawled Leith. “I err in thinking ‘tis the other stallion ye crave to see return.”

  “Dinnae call him a stallion.”

  The twinge Parlan had felt when she had spoken of Elfking passed. He knew she loved her horse and that she would feel regret for having to leave him behind. Her defense of Parlan, however, indicated otherwise. It at least revealed that she was not without some feeling, enough to make her object when she thought a slur had been made about him.

  “Many call him so. ‘Tisnae an insult for a man.”

  “I shouldnae like to be compared to a beast not even one as fine as Elfking,” she gritted as she pushed against the door. “There is more to the man than that. I thought ye kenned it.”

  “I do.”

  “Yet we try to flee.” She knew the length of time it was taking to break free of Dubhglenn was why she faltered.

  “I told ye the why of it. Even if we dinnae succeed, mayhaps t’will spur him to confide the plans he speaks of or to show us some results.” Leith released his hold upon her to test the opening of the door. “Nearly there.”

  At that instant, Aimil gave a push that utilized all her waning strength. She suddenly realized that it was not only a lack of use that made the door hard to open but the fact that it rubbed against the ground. Her efforts had finally caused it to clear that obstruction and made the door suddenly jerk open. She fruitlessly tried to maintain her balance but fell to the ground.

  For an instant she hung at the edge of the small rocky walkway. She frantically tried to gain a hold that would stop her from falling into the cold, fierce waters of the loch but failed. With a soft cry, she plunged into the cold waters. She fought to regain the surface, but her clothing pulled her down. Fear gripped her when she discovered that she might lack the strength to save herself, having seriously depleted it in trying to open the door. She struggled against the paralyzing effects of terror as fiercely as she fought to remov
e the clothes that worked to hold her beneath the water. The fear began to win as she failed to remove her clothes in time. For a moment she tasted sheer terror, then blacked out.

  “Aimil,” Leith cried, staring in horror at the black waters that had swallowed her.

  He hurried to tug off his heavy boots only to find a sword thrust toward him from out of the dark. Stunned though he was, he recognized the large form that dove cleanly into the water after Aimil. Another man suddenly appeared at his side, and together they tensely waited for Parlan to reappear.

  Parlan fought a gnawing panic as he dove after Aimil. She had been fully and warmly dressed which would act as an anchor. So too there was little light beneath the water to aid him in his frantic search. When he located her, her limpness frightened him. He fleetingly noted that she had tried to lessen the weight that pulled her down but suspected that she had lacked the strength.

  Four hands reached out to aid him when he broke the surface of the water, but he ordered Iain and Leith to a wider spot where they would not be so dangerously hindered by the lack of room. Once he got Aimil upon the bank, he worked to free her of the water she had swallowed. He joined Leith in softly thanking God when Aimil spewed out the cold water and spluttered briefly awake. Curtly refusing any assistance, he carried her to Elfking then into Dubhglenn where he intended her to stay.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was a moment before Catarine noticed the bundle that Parlan carried. She halted abruptly in her advance toward him to glare at the limp, dripping Aimil. Briefly hope flared that the girl was dead but that was killed when the girl groaned. After Parlan turned Aimil over to Old Meg’s care and ordered Leith escorted to his chambers, Catarine followed him into the hall, watching him hungrily as he changed into dry clothes even as she plotted another way to be rid of Aimil.

  “I told ye to watch them carefully, Malcolm,” Parlan growled.

  Malcolm took the rebuke as his due. He could have placed extra guards upon the Mengues but had not. Even a long-forgotten doorway would not have aided them had he done so. It was an oversight and he acknowledged it.

  “How did ye come across them?” he asked Parlan.

  “That horse sniffed her out. He forced me to that point. ‘Tis weel that he did. Fool lass could have drowned.” Parlan downed almost a full tankard of ale that was served to him. Where did that door come from? Did none ken it was there?”

  “I think not. The stables have been there since your father’s father’s time.”

  “Come the morn I want it sealed. Now, I will go speak to that fool lad.”

  After glancing at an avidly listening Catarine, Malcolm suggested softly, so that she could not overhear, “Ye didnae tell the lad your plans at all. I ken he trusts ye but he darenst, nay, not when the ransom is still collected and ye still bed his sister as ye will.”

  Parlan ran a hand through his damp hair. “Ye are right, Malcolm. I will say what is needed. Tomorrow. I am too weary to do it right this night. How promises the weather on the morrow?” he asked Angus, a man reknowned for his forecasting skill.

  “Bodes well. Sun, clear skies, and warmth. A rare summer’s day.”

  “Good. Maggie, ye will see that food is readied. I dine in the sun tomorrow at noon with Aimil.” He winked at Malcolm. “I ken just the spot. The Banshee’s Well copse. Now, to speak to Leith.”

  Catarine did not care to think on what such special arrangements could mean. She crept out of the hall and sought out one of her men-at-arms. Ordering him to leave with two horses giving the excuse of readying matters for her journey to Stirling, she told him to wait for her just beyond sight of Dubhglenn. He had barely cleared the gate when she was at the door Leith and Aimil had tried to escape through. Luck was with her, and moments later she was riding toward one who would certainly aid her in her quest of ridding Dubhglenn of Aimil Mengue.

  “Who?” muttered Rory when Catarine was announced.

  “Catarine Dunmore,” growled Geordie. “She says she has a bargain to set before ye.”

  “Show her in then.”

  “I have little time,” Catarine began immediately upon entering the room. “I must be back at Dubhglenn before the morn.”

  “Then tell me what ye wish. I cannae think what bargain we can strike however.”

  “I can give ye Aimil Mengue.” Catarine nodded with satisfaction when Rory tensed with interest and she quickly told him of the plan she had devised.

  “And what do ye gain?”

  “Parlan. I want him. Alive,” she hastened to add. “A bargain?”

  “A bargain. Where will they be and when?”

  “I mean it,” she said after they had made their final plans and she prepared to go. “I want Parlan alive. Do as ye will with that girl but leave Parlan to me.”

  “Of course. My word upon it.” A smile eased over Rory’s face after Catarine left, and he turned to Geordie. “Ten of our best marksmen are to be ready to ride on the morrow. I will get my bride back and I will see the Black Parlan dead.”

  Leith tried very hard not to feel like an errant child as he faced Parlan. He was, however, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had been allowed to stay at Dubhglenn on Parlan’s good graces. His attempt to escape with Aimil was akin to an insult to that hospitality. Leith hoped he would not be sent from Dubhglenn as a result.

  “How fares Aimil?” he asked quickly, thinking to divert Parlan.

  “Fine. She sleeps. She will most likely sleep through the night.”

  Inwardly, Leith winced. That was a circumstance that would not improve Parlan’s mood at all. He watched the man warily.

  “How did you find the door?” Parlan demanded.

  “I was kicking a ball around, and it went back there. I then explored its suitability as an escape route.”

  “It didnae prove too suitable, did it? Aimil was nearly drowned.”

  “Aye,” Leith rasped, “I ken it, and the guilt lies heavy on me for I pressed her into leaving.”

  “I told ye I wasnae taking all the ransom.”

  “Ye did yet ye still let it be gathered.”

  “Because I have naught on that hellhound Rory yet. If I give ye your sister back, she will be wed to the man, and if this ransom game ends, I have no rights to hold her. She is only my captive and all hold I have flees when the ransom is paid.”

  “The ransom my father sweats to gather for ye.”

  “It willnae break him to gather it. In truth, he will learn something. He will learn who his true friends are.”

  Leith suspected that there was a great deal of truth to that so did not bother to argue but went directly to the next point of contention. “And as my father learns who his friends are, ye continue to bed my sister as ye will.”

  “She and I made a bargain.”

  “Aye, months ago. That cursed horse has been ransomed ten times over.”

  “‘Tis a fine mount.”

  “Dinnae play with me, MacGuin. I have been more than patient but I cannae sit by any longer and let ye make a whore of my sister. ‘Tis no longer a matter of using a hostage. It has gone far beyond that.”

  “Aye, it has.”

  “Then ye mean to put her from your bed?”

  “Nay, I mean to wed her if she will agree.” He smiled faintly at Leith’s surprise which the younger man made no effort to hide. “On the morrow, if the weather is fine and if she doesnae sicken from her swim, I will take her for a wee ride and talk to her.”

  “What of Rory? God’s teeth, what of my father?”

  “I care not. They willnae be able to do verra much about it after a priest has done the vows. Mayhaps t’will even drive Rory to act. T’will depend upon how badly he wants Aimil. Mayhaps it willnae be enough to bring him to sword point with me, though, by God’s bones, I wish it would be. I have long ached to come to sword point with him.”

  “As have many another but Rory guards himself verra weel. Enough of him. I care not for the swine. There is still my father to consider. Ye cannae
up and wed his daughter with nary a word to him. ‘Tisnae done.”

  “Then I shall break with tradition. Heed me, Leith. Aimil stays in my bed. Does she stay there wed or unwed?”

  “Wed, curse ye.” Leith spoke rather mildly for he knew Parlan was the one Aimil wanted. “T’will brew a mighty storm though.”

  “I have faced down one or twa in my time. I will speak to you again after I have had my say with your sister.”

  Parlan left before Leith could think of any further objections. He hoped Leith would continue to be persuaded. It would not make an auspicious beginning to his marriage if he had to lock the younger man up until the priest had finished wedding him and Aimil, he mused.

  His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Artair suddenly stopped in front of him. Parlan met his brother’s nervous gaze with coolness. Anger over what Artair had done to Aimil still lingered. He was not sure he was quite ready to forgive, if that was what Artair sought.

  “I have come to apologize for what I did to your woman.”

  “‘Tisnae really me ye must apologize to.”

  “Aye, ‘tis. Weel, and the lass too. See, she told me she was yours, but I paid her no heed. I shouldnae have tried to take what was, is, yours. That wasnae right and I ken it.”

  “Nay, it wasnae right but ‘tisnae the real wrong ye did. ‘Tisnae right to reach for another man’s lass but, if she proves willing, weel, so is the game played. She wasnae willing though, Artair. There is your wrong. Ye didnae heed her nay. Ye hit her.”

  “She bit clean through my lip,” Artair said in his defense, but it lacked strength and he knew it.

  “So ye cuffed her one. I still wouldnae have been pleased, but that I could have understood. ‘Tis a man’s nature to strike out at what strikes him. But ye hit her again and meant to keep on hitting her. That was your other wrong, Artair.”