Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “Being a man and one who can fight weel with sword and fist, if ye are sober, ye are stronger than a lass. ‘Tisnae right to turn that against her. ‘Tisnae right to take what a lass doesnae want to give. I ken many think me a soft fool for such beliefs, but I dinnae think it has weakened me. Nay, nor has my bed been empty too often because I choose to wait for a willing lass. Ye cannae just grab as ye will. Woo it, seduce it, or pay for it, but dinnae beat it out of a wench.”

  He stared at Artair, but his brother was neither speaking nor returning his gaze. Parlan began to wonder if any of what he had said had been heeded. It was a gain of sorts that Artair had even attempted to apologize, but Parlan knew it meant nothing if Artair did not really mean it nor had learned anything from the whole business. His hopes lifted when Artair finally looked at him for shame was clearly written upon his face. For the moment at least, Artair understood that he had been wrong.

  “I dinnae ken what possesses me at times.”

  “Drink, laddie. ‘Tis a Devil no man can let get a hold upon him. There is a brutal side to a man, ‘tis what lets us pick up a sword and hie to battle. Aye, even enjoy it. What a man has to learn is when to let the beast free and when to rein him in. No man can do it when drink clouds his mind. Ye must learn to control the drink and not let it rule ye.”

  “Aye, I ken it. Might I speak to Aimil now?”

  “Nay, not now. The fool lass nearly drowned herself. She needs to rest. On the morrow.” He started to move toward his chambers.

  “Parlan?”

  Stopping to glance back at Artair, Parlan asked, “There is more ye have to say?”

  “Aye. Do ye mean to wed Aimil Mengue? I have heard talk of it.”

  “Then ye have heard right. Aye, I mean to speak to her of it on the morrow. I shouldnae have hesitated as long as I did. If I had spoken up when first I had decided on it, I wouldnae have been fishing her out of the loch for she wouldnae have tried to run.” Or, at least, he mused with an inner grimace as his confidence wavered, I dinnae think so. “Do ye object?” he asked coolly when Artair frowned.

  “Nay, though I will say that I am a wee bit surprised. I never thought of ye as a man to don the yoke of marriage.”

  “With Aimil I dinnae feel as if t’would be donning a yoke and that, mayhaps, is the best reason to wed her.”

  “Aye, mayhaps. For your sake, I hope it never feels so. The why nor even the wisdom of it isnae why I mention it.” He nervously cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I have been with Catarine or, shall we say, she has been with me.”

  “Take warning, Artair, she is a sly wench and she seeks a husband but would make a man a verra poor wife.”

  “I ken that she seeks a husband, but she wants the laird not the heir. She seeks ye, Parlan.”

  “Aye, she has made that clear enough though she thinks not. I have made it clear that I am not interested in aught she has to offer. Dinnae fash yourself. I ken the games her sort plays and they willnae work with me.”

  “That much I am sure of. I wouldnae waste the time of either of us by speaking on it if that was all I suspected. Aye, she plots but it isnae against ye, I think. She plots against Aimil.”

  “How so?”

  “She didnae really say, and I fear I paid little heed until, weel, later. She distracted me.”

  “She is skilled at that.”

  “Aye, verra skilled. Still, I did sense that she plots against Aimil. She wishes Aimil gone. I but thought ye should ken it.”

  “‘Tis good to ken it. I thank ye for speaking on it. I will be certain to look more closely, to keep an eye upon the slut. I begin to think ‘tis far past time for the wench to be gone. She takes sore advantage of our hospitality. If there is more ye want from her, best ye gain it now, Artair. I will seek my chambers now for t’was a long ride home. Aye, and the swim I took wearied me some.”

  “I hope Aimil fares weel. Good sleep, Parlan.”

  “And to ye, Artair.”

  With a slight frown, Parlan watched Artair walk away. There seemed to be a change in his brother, but Parlan dared not let himself hope. He had done so in the past and tasted disappointment too often. It would take awhile before his wariness disappeared.

  Striding into his chambers, he found Old Meg dozing in a chair by his bed. It pleased him to see that the woman had personally taken over Aimil’s care. Gently he roused the woman, smiling faintly over her sleepy grumbling as she woke and stood up.

  “How fares the lass?” He stood by the bed and studied the restlessly sleeping Aimil. “Do ye think she will sicken at all?”

  “Nay, she be too hale a wee lass to be felled by a wee cold swim. There be no hint of fever.”

  “Her sleep is an uneasy one.”

  “Nay doubt the lass be troubled with the memory of them dark waters.”

  “Has she roused at all yet?”

  “Enough to grumble that she didnae need to be tended like some wee bairn. I paid her temper no heed.”

  Parlan laughed softly as he escorted Old Meg to the door. “She would no doubt have been verra surprised had ye done elsewise. Get your rest, Meg. I pray I willnae have need of ye again this night.”

  “I dinnae think ye will, laddie. Good sleep to ye.”

  After the woman left, he got ready for bed. He kept a close watch upon a continually restless Aimil as he undressed and washed. It did seem that her sleep was troubled, and he hoped she had been badly frightened. A good scare was often the mother of caution, and he felt it would not hurt if Aimil had a little more of that. He would find it comforting if she did.

  It still pinched at him that she had tried to leave him, even if Leith had had to prod her. He had thought her more than content in his bed. While he knew that she desired him, he found himself wondering if the passion they shared was as strong in her as it was in him. While he craved it, she might simply enjoy it. All the reasons Leith had given for trying to escape were very sound and easily understood, but they were not strengthening his confidence as he wished they would.

  Cursing as he snuffed the candles, he told himself not to be a fool. Her trying to escape was perfectly understandable and no real indication of how she felt. It had been a matter of choosing honor and duty over a man who offered her nothing more than passion. By remaining silent about his plans, he had given her no choice. To stay when escape was possible was to be marked as his whore, and Aimil had far too much pride to allow that to happen.

  Carefully, he eased into bed. He ached to make love to her but knew there would be none of that. Even if she woke, she would still be suffering from the effects of her near drowning. Recalling how he had felt when the same had occurred to him in his youth, he knew that she would be feeling little inclined even to try for a taste of passion, and he did not want her unless she could share his pleasure. He could wait until the morrow when she would be recovered and more responsive as well as more receptive. When he gently tugged her into his arms and she nestled near him, he decided that the morrow was going to seem very slow in coming.

  As Parlan was about to give into the tempting pull of sleep, Aimil began to thrash about. He quickly got a firm grip on her to still her flailing arms. From her movements he guessed that she was reliving her near drowning in her dreams. As he held her, he called to her, trying to pull her from her nightmare. He decided that he did not like to see her so afraid, even in her dreams.

  Aimil fought the pull of the waters. She desperately needed air but dared not breathe knowing that the cold, dark waters would fill her if she did. Something held her firmly and she fought its grip, but nothing she did seemed to break it. Then breaking through the choking terror she felt was a deep, soothing voice. She saw Parlan and reached for him, certain he would save her. Slowly, she felt herself pulled from the depths. With a gasping cry, she opened her eyes and met Parlan’s gaze.

  For a moment she felt swamped with confusion. She was not wet and neither was he. Although her throat was sore and her chest hurt, she felt no need t
o spew out any water. Then she realized that she was warm, dry, and in Parlan’s bed. An instant later she recalled all that had happened, the nearly tragic end to her attempt to leave the man who now held her.

  “T’was but a dream.”

  “Aye, lass.” He eased his hold on her.

  “I thought I was drowning.”

  “Ye nearly did.”

  “Aye, I remember that now. Wheesht, I dinnae fell verra weel.”

  “Nay, I suspicion ye dinnae but t’will pass quick enough.”

  She sensed a sternness in him and eyed him warily. What surprise she felt over his presence faded quickly as she faintly recalled him crouched over her while her body violently rejected all the water she had swallowed. It occurred to her that he must have been the one to pull her from the water. Although he did not look very receptive to gratitude, she knew she ought to thank him. He had obviously saved her life and probably at no small risk to his own, something that made her feel uncomfortably guilty.

  “I owe ye my life.”

  “Aye, ye do.”

  “Weel, I thank ye for it.”

  “If it means aught to ye, mayhaps ye shouldnae risk it so carelessly.”

  There was anger in his voice, and her initial reaction of chagrin quickly changed to annoyance. She decided that he had no right to get cross with her. If not for him, she would not even be at Dubhglenn. If not for him, she would still be a maid and not concerned with people thinking her a whore. He was the one with all the grand plans that did not seem to be working so that it began to look as if he could not be trusted. And if his plans were working, he was not telling her and Leith about it which was nearly as bad.

  “‘Tis all your fault.”

  “My fault?” Taken aback, he was torn between amusement over her belligerence and an urge to shake her.

  “Aye, right from the beginning. Weel, mayhaps not exactly right from the start for t’was Artair who made the raid and caught us, but ye didnae send us home. Then ye speak of all these plans that seem clever yet naught happens save that my father still pays.”

  “Dinnae ye trust me?”

  “Aye, I trust ye and Leith does too, but, as he said, there comes a time when ye must ask yourself if ‘tis wise to set still and be trusting, if ye have been wrong and act upon what ye see and not what ye feel. We both feel that ye can be trusted, but we see naught happening save that my father still struggles to collect the ransom and I,” she said, sighing, “and I still share your bed. We both ken that the bargain made for Elfking has long since been fulfilled.”

  He smoothed away the lines caused by her frown with his fingers. “And ye are no longer happy to share my bed?”

  “Aye, but therein is some of the trouble. Cannae ye see that? As Leith said, my being here is accepted as part of my being a hostage, but when I make no attempt to escape, especially when the chance arises, then I become naught but a whore in all eyes.” She looked at him closely, hoping he would understand for she had never wanted to deliver any insult. “I couldnae do that to my family.”

  “Nay, ye couldnae. Weel, ye have now soothed all that worry for ye have tried to escape, something all can attest to. Aye, and ye nearly killed yourself in the doing of it.” For a moment he thought about speaking of marriage now but decided he would stay to his original plan. “So, now ye can stay right where ye are and I mean to see that ye do.”

  She thought that sounded arrogant but was feeling too weary to take him to task about it. With an inner sigh, she also admitted to herself that, if he wanted her to stay in his bed, she really had no objections. It was where she really wanted to be. While he gave her only passion when she ached for so much more, there was still more joy than sorrow to be found in the arrangement. Neither did he ever leave her feeling no better than a whore. She was not quite certain of what he felt for her and continuously feared that his feelings would change, that he would eventually discard her. However, she was sure that she was more than a mere bedmate with whom he sated whatever lust he felt. As long as he allowed her to, she would stay and try for more, try to win his love.

  “Go to sleep, loving,” he ordered gently. “Ye need your rest. Get a lot and on the morrow ye will feel better.”

  “I hope so,” she murmured, and yawned widely. “I can still taste the water of the loch. Aye, still feel as if it fills me.”

  “T’will fade.”

  Suddenly recalling that he had been gone for a while and realizing that he was making no move to make love to her, she forced her heavy eyelids to open to peer at him. “Isnae there anything ye want? Ye have been gone a wee while.”

  “Aye, I have.” He smiled faintly and lightly kissed her. “And, aye, there is something I want but it can wait until ye are rested.”

  “If ye are sure,” she said even as she closed her eyes again and started to let sleep conquer her. “Seems verra tolerant of ye when ye are such a greedy rogue.”

  “Aye, ‘tis and ye will no doubt pay for it on the morrow.”

  He smiled when she laughed softly and then almost immediately fell asleep. Although it had been a nightmare that had made her wake, he had had a lot of his fears about her health eased by that short time of coherency. So too had her words softened the sting her attempt to escape had inflicted. She had not said much more than Leith had, yet seeing it all from her side had aided his understanding. Knowing that she still wished to share his bed and that in her heart she still trusted him was going to make what he planned to say on the morrow a little easier.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Where are we going?”

  Swinging her up onto Elfking’s back, Parlan smiled sweetly at Aimil. “‘Tis a surprise, lass. Dinnae ye like surprises?”

  Frowning as she watched him mount his horse, she grumbled, “Not particularly and even less when I consider who means to spring it on me.”

  “Ye wound me, loving. Come, arenae ye a wee bit curious? Let your curiosity lead you.”

  “Curiosity can lead one into a great deal of difficulty,” she intoned a little piously, eyeing him with suspicion.

  He laughed and spurred his mount foreward. After a brief hesitation Aimil cursed and followed him. His cheerful mood and the air of a mischievous boy that he carried drew her. She was curious. She simply hated to admit it especially when it made him grin so.

  Deciding to ignore him, she turned all her attention to riding. It was something she had not been able to indulge in as freely as she had been accustomed to since coming to Dubhglenn. She was determined to enjoy the freedom, false though it might be, and the unusually fine weather, a sunny day the like of which came along too rarely.

  When they finally reined in, Parlan indicating that they were to stop and dismount, Aimil looked around in interest. There was a wild, somewhat desolate beauty to the spot he had chosen. She wondered why he had chosen it and again found herself wondering what he was up to, why he needed to get her alone. It was then that she realized just how alone they were.

  “Ye have left your guard behind?” she asked in surprise as he drew her toward the blanket he had spread out upon the ground.

  “Weel, I wished to spend some time alone with ye, and I cannae rightly do that with them stomping about, now can I?”

  She was about to remark upon that when she heard what sounded like a soft wail, the cry of a woman. Giving a gasp, she flung herself into Parlan’s arms. Her fright ebbed quickly when she saw that he was grinning.

  “Didnae ye hear that?” She tensed, listening closely. “There it is again. What is it, Parlan?”

  “‘Tis the banshee.”

  Meeting his grin with a stern frown, she drawled, “Ye jest with me, but look at my face. Even a man of your wit can see that I dinnae find it verra humorous.” She frowned even more when he chuckled and kissed her downcast mouth.

  Standing up, he pulled her up after him and started toward a ravine. “Come, my sour-tongued wench. I will show ye.” He stopped near a hole about a foot away from the edge of the ravine, holdin
g her back when she would have stepped closer. “Careful, sweeting. It may be unsafe. The hole might have been made because the roof of a cave has collapsed. That moaning is made by the wind. There must be a second hole in the wall of the ravine somewhere. The wind sweeps through, and, lo, ye hear the wail of the banshee of Banshee Well. She calls to those foolish enough to walk without heeding where they step.”

  Aimil shivered as the sound came again. “I ken ‘tis naught but the wind but ‘tis a verra mournful sound.”

  “Aye. When I would come here as a lad, I often made up some wild tales to explain it. ‘Tis a sound that near begs to be more than just the wind. I had myself lowered into it once and found naught, but felt the wind and with each stirring of it came that sound. It doesnae sound so ghostly from inside either.”

  “Was there a cave there?” she asked as he drew her back to the blanket.

  “There was a small hole and a lot of rubble. Mayhaps I would have found something had I taken the time to clean out the rubble, but I was only after discovering the source of the moaning. I was past the age where caves were of any interest to me.”

  “Is the hole verra deep?”

  “Deep enough so that ye could break your neck if ye took a tumble down it.” He began to unpack the basket he had brought along.

  Her eyes widening as she saw what he set out, she asked, “Ye mean for us to dine here?”

  “Aye. ‘Tis a fine way to spend a beautiful day. I have even brought us some wine. We shall drink and eat and loll about in the sun like idle royalty. Have ye never dined in the sun?” She shook her head knowing he did not refer to the sometimes rough and rushed meals taken while traveling. “Then this shall be something new for you. Come, enjoy.”

  She did and, as they ate and drank, her enjoyment grew. Parlan was in high spirits and kept her laughing with his teasing and nonsense. It was not until they had finished the food that she began to suspect there was more to the trip than food and sun. She half-lay in his arms, sipping wine, and recognized the look that was slowly altering his expression.