Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “How do ye feel, Aimil?” Leith asked, each look at her battered face increasing his hatred of Rory Fergueson.

  “Like the verra Devil.” She sighed. “I wouldnae have made it as far as I did without Maggie’s aid. We must find a place for her.”

  “We will, m’eudail. Never fear of that. I ken by looking at ye that I owe her your life.”

  “How fares Parlan?”

  “Weel,” replied Lagan, “now that we have threatened him into staying in bed. He sore ached to ride with us.”

  A little smile touched her bruised mouth. She could just picture Parlan tied to his bed by his wound and making life a misery for all. As the blackness overtook her again, she recalled that there was something she needed to tell Leith, but it would have to wait.

  Parlan’s roar could easily be heard even before the raiding party had entered the tower house. He had heard the men returning far earlier than they should have and was anxious to know why. Catarine’s pleas for him to lie still earned her only curses. She wished she had obeyed her desire to leave when the men entered with Malcolm carefully carrying the girl Catarine had thought dead.

  Maggie espied Catarine trying to slip out of the room. “‘Tis her. ‘Tis the one who told Rory where to find mistress Aimil.”

  Catarine fled, and Lagan moved to pursue her, but Parlan stayed him. “She willnae show her lying face about here again or elsewhere we go to. She willnae dare. She will be in fear for what remains of her natural life. So too will her treachery become weel known thus closing many a door to her. ‘Tis enough. Tell me what happened.”

  Maggie was urged to retell her story as Old Meg tended to Aimil who was placed beside Parlan in his huge bed at his insistence. His dark gaze never left Aimil as Maggie spoke. The extent of the beating Aimil had endured became evident as Old Meg stripped her. Even though he was filled with a blind rage against Rory Fergueson, Parlan felt like joining young Leith in weeping over his sister’s injuries.

  “Poor, poor wee lassie,” Old Meg crooned then fixed her keen gaze upon Parlan. “Could have been worse. She could have lost the bairn.”

  “What?” Parlan’s question was but a soft croak in the silence of the room.

  “The bairn, ye great gowk. Ye certainly have been working at one hard enough. ‘Tis weel past time, too.”

  “Aimil carries my child?” His stunned gaze was fixed upon Aimil’s slim waist, the covers drawn up only to her hips.

  “Aye. ‘Tis time ye stopped tossing good seed to the four winds. I ken what ye planted at the verra first took root or near to. She will be rounding before long now. ‘Tis set in there good and tight. Fergueson couldnae shake this fruit from the tree for all he tried to.”

  “Why did she tell me naught?” Parlan’s unsteady hand brushed the hair from Aimil’s bruised face.

  “I dinnae think she kenned it,” spoke up Maggie. “She was sick a time or twa, and I guessed it, but she thought t’was from the beating. I noted a thing or twa whilst I tended to her as weel. Nay, I be fair certain that she doesnae ken it.”

  “Ye must wed her now,” said Leith. “Ransom be damned.”

  “Aye, I must wed her. Recall that I had set my mind to it before Rory took her.” Leith nodded and Parlan’s big hands suddenly clenched into fists. “I wish to God that I could kill that bastard Fergueson more than once. By faith, he will beg for death before I finish with him.”

  Aimil heard that familiar, if muted, roar through the receding haze of unconsciousness and was comforted by it despite how the voice trembled with fury. “Parlan?”

  He caught the small hand that reached out to him. “Aye, little one. Ye are safe at Dubhglenn now. Tucked up in my bed again.”

  “T’was Catarine, Parlan. She betrayed ye.”

  “Aye, we ken that now. She will never give us any further trouble. The bitch will keep herself weel out of sight.”

  She nodded wishing that she could see him. “Are ye still angry about the trick I played on ye? He would have killed ye.”

  “Aye, he would have for all he promised Catarine he wouldnae. Nay, I am not angry though ‘tis furious I was at the time.”

  She managed a little smile. “I didnae think he would try to kill me so it seemed the thing to do at the time.”

  “Aye. I should have told ye about him, but I didnae want to frighten ye and I thought ye safe here.” He looked at Lagan and Malcolm. “I can hear the other men returning. See if there was any incident. Old Meg, show Maggie to a room.”

  “Humph,” Old Meg grumbled as she ushered Maggie out of the room, “sitting in that lewd bed, barking out orders like some king.”

  “Is Leith still here?”

  “Right here, Aimil.” Leith immediately turned from leaving and returned to her side.

  “I must speak to Papa.” She shivered as she recalled the tales Rory had related as he had beaten her.

  “Aye, Leith,” growled Parlan, “fetch your father. Best he sees how the man he chose to wed Aimil treats a lass.” He shook his head. “Here is the proof we sought of the man’s madness though I wish to God it hadnae come into our hands this way.”

  Leith was gone before Aimil could say anymore. He was anxious to show his father that the dark, whispered tales about Rory Fergueson were not rumors. There would be no wedding now. Even Lachlan Mengue could not send his daughter to such a man.

  “Aimil? Did he rape ye?” Parlan asked, realizing that no one had mentioned that and he feared the worst.

  “Nay, Parlan. He kenned that, for all my brave talk, I feared that, and he planned to torture me by nae letting me ken when he would do it.”

  “It wouldnae have mattered to me save that it would be one more hurt to make him pay for.” He lightly traced her bruised cheek. “He will pay for each and every bruise he put on ye. I swear to it.”

  “He isnae one to fight fair, Parlan. Ye mustnae think he will face ye square like an honorable man.”

  “Och, I ken that weel enough. Fear not for me, little one. I have fought snakes like Rory Fergueson before. I ken their ways weel.”

  “Dinnae go,” she cried when he tried to draw his hand from her grasp.

  “Now where would I be going with a great hole in my leg?” he teased gently. “Ye rest, Aimil. ‘Tis the surest cure.”

  “I cannae seem to do aught else,” she murmured even as blackness yet again embraced her.

  While she slept, he studied her closely. It seemed a miracle that she was still alive let alone had been able to get free of her prison. Carefully, so as not to touch any of her wounds, he ran his fingers over her waist, tracing the side of the area that held his growing seed. So too was it a miracle that all she had been through had not robbed them of that precious gift. Their child clung to life with all the stubbornness his or her parents had. If Rory had known of the child or had held Aimil any longer, Parlan was sure the child would have been lost.

  “Is it right for her to sleep so often, Meg?” he asked when the old woman returned with a cold meal for both of them.

  “‘Tis a natural sleep,” she reported after a careful look at Aimil. “‘Tis the wee lass’s way of healing. The bairn could have a wee bit to do with it.”

  “Ye mean ‘tis hurt in some way? I thought ye said the bairn was fine.” Parlan wondered how he could panic so over a creature he had not even known existed until only a few hours ago.

  Old Meg rolled her eyes in disgust. “Keep still. ‘Tis natural for a woman to sleep a fair bit at the start.” She set a plate of bread and meat before him and pushed a tankard of ale into his hand. “Eat up, laddie. I think ye will need your strength.”

  “‘Tisnae a matter of jest,” he grumbled. “Do ye think she will be all right? Such a wee lass to be beaten so badly.”

  “Aye, she will be fine and bear ye a bonnie bairn. The lass is a wee one, but there is steel in her bone and sinew. This has lain her low for now, and there will be a scar or twa upon her fair back, but she will be hale before too long. That be when ye will have a great
deal of trouble.”

  Parlan chuckled. “Aye, keeping her from carrying on as ever. And what do ye think of my choice of wife?”

  “As if ye care what this old woman thinks. Aye, but I will tell ye despite that. She be a good lass and she willnae cower before your every scowl. Ye couldnae abide a weak woman. More important, she has the approval of your people. They have all asked after the lass, fashing themselves over her.”

  That left Parlan feeling quite content. He did not let his clan rule his life to the extent where they could choose his wife, but their approval of Aimil meant a lot. It would, if nothing else, make life much easier for her. She would have no trouble finding a place for herself at Dubhglenn.

  Lying beside her, lightly holding her hand, Parlan contemplated the step he planned to take. With marriage and fatherhood staring him in the face, he was surprised to feel no qualms. He was, in fact, quite content. It seemed natural to picture the future with Aimil in each scene.

  Aimil stirred restlessly, reliving the recent horror of being Rory’s captive in her dreams and calling out fretfully, “Parlan! Parlan, where are ye?”

  He spent several moments easing her fright with murmured words of reassurance that finally penetrated to her sleeping mind then, glaring at the ceiling, hissed, “Ye will pay for putting the darkness in her dreams, Rory Fergueson. I swear it. Ye will pay dearly.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  A grin broke out upon Lagan’s face as he entered Parlan’s chambers. The two invalids were playing dice, and Parlan’s grumbling told him that Aimil’s good luck at the game was holding true. He then recalled what he was there to announce and frowned slightly.

  “Lachlan Mengue is in the hall and ready to see Aimil.”

  Parlan saw Aimil shiver as the shadow he had seen several times before passed over her face again. He had wondered what troubled her but, with uncharacteristic patience, had held off asking her about it. That it would be revealed in time had been enough to restrain him.

  “Weel, send the man up. Ye best disarm him.” Parlan propped himself up on his pillow to await the visitor.

  “Ye arenae intending to stay here, are ye?” Aimil gasped as a chuckling Lagan left and Parlan gave no indication that he would also leave or even get dressed.

  “‘Tis my bed and do ye forget that I am sorely wounded? My leg, ye recall.”

  “As if I could forget that tree stump. Parlan, ye cannae stay here. What will my father think?”

  “That we are twa invalids sharing a bed so as to ease the work of our nurses?”

  She thought his innocent look far too overdone. “Ye ken verra weel what he will think when he sees us abed together and naked.”

  “Aye, he might think that especially”—he lifted the covers and peered beneath them—“if he catches a glimpse of this poor fellow what’s a mere shadow of his former mighty self.”

  Aimil could not resist a peek and rolled her eyes. “Some shadow. ‘Tis plain to see that your wound hasnae dimmed your appetite.”

  “I begin to think that my appetite for ye will never be dimmed.”

  Her gaze flew to his and widened slightly for there was no twinkle in his eyes. His obsidian eyes were warm and serious. As she was about to inquire just how serious he was, a choking sound reached her ears. She looked toward the door, and her eyes grew even wider but with horror as her gaze locked with her father’s. Seeing how his face was turning a choleric red, she buried her face in the pillow with a soft moan. It was cowardly but she could not help herself.

  “I ken now why I was disarmed,” Lachlan bellowed, his hands curling into fists. “Ye bastard! Ye swore ye wouldnae harm her.”

  “I havenae, have I, Aimil?” Parlan asked, his voice soft as he ran his hand through her hair.

  “Then ye deal in a rough wooing, ye bastard,” Lachlan snarled as he neared the bed.

  “Papa,” Aimil gasped, forgetting her cowardice and looking at her father, suddenly realizing that his fury had not been due to her place in Parlan’s bed but her wounds. “These marks werenae made by Parlan.” Without thought, her hand sought Parlan’s in a gesture meant to soothe the sting of her father’s assumptions. “T’was Rory Fergueson who left me so.”

  Lachlan’s expression changed with alarming speed from anger to a fearful disbelief. He moved to Aimil’s side of the bed. Leith, who had arrived with him and Lagan, hastily produced a chair. Lachlan sat down heavily, suddenly showing his age.

  “Ye dinnae mean it, lass,” he rasped, but his knowledge of her honesty weighted his words with doubt.

  “I do. T’was Rory not Parlan. Parlan has never hurt me, never raised a hand against me even when he was in a fury spurred by my tongue which often runs too free and with a sharp edge.” She swallowed nervously. “Papa, how did Mama die?”

  Tensing at her soft question, Lachlan replied, “Birthing Shane, as I told ye.”

  His reaction made her fear that all Rory had told her was true. “Is that true or a tale to ease our pain for the truth would have been too great a horror for a child to bear?”

  “What have ye heard, lassie, and who has told ye the tale?”

  “Did ye not tell him what happened, Leith?”

  “Nay, Aimil. It never occurred to me that he would think your wounds were delivered by Parlan. I thought to speak before he saw ye.”

  “I will tell that part, sweeting,” Parlan said, his anger over Lachlan’s assumption gone as he realized the man had made it due to a lack of information. “Save your strength for the telling of what has been troubling ye. I ken it will cost ye dearly to tell all that has made your dreams so dark and frightening.”

  In a voice that revealed his simmering fury, Parlan told of the treachery that had resulted in Aimil’s capture by Rory. Parlan left out nothing including her rescue of him and then herself with Maggie’s aid. By the time he had finished, it was clear that Lachlan shared his rage. Parlan mused that it would take Rory Fergueson a great deal of running to escape death.

  “What is it that ye must tell me, lass?” Lachlan asked in a voice hoarse with anger at Rory.

  “Rory Fergueson told me a tale of my mother’s death that doesnae match yours,” she answered quietly.

  Rising slowly, Lachlan went to the window, turning his back to her, and clenching his fists at his side. “Tell me. Do ye remember it all?”

  “I cannae forget. He told me as he beat me. With each stroke, he released another sickening detail. She was murdered.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan murmured. “Go on, lass. Tell it all. Dinnae think to spare me.”

  “He said I would die in the same way, but t’would take longer for he kenned how to make the pain last now. I would survive long enough to give him the vengeance he felt his right. His revenge for her spurning of him.”

  Lachlan nodded heavily. “‘Tis right so far. She did spurn him. I always felt I had wronged the man by taking her from him. That was foolish for he was five years younger than she, barely grown. T’was a lad’s first love. She didnae return it.”

  “He seems to think she would have. He said he found her alone that day. She refused his offer of love, told him she loved only ye. He said he meant to change her mind, to show her how much more a man he was than ye.” Aimil began to shiver, the tale Rory had tortured her with spilling from her lips uncontrollably.

  By the end of her tale she was so choked with tears she found speech almost impossible. “She never stopped calling for ye, Papa. He told Mama that he would finish avenging himself upon me, for she was dying. He said she damned him with her dying breath, told him that if he hurt me the Devil would rise up and drag him into hell. He said he left her there, in the wood, dead and no longer beautiful.”

  Parlan held her face against his shoulder for she began to weep. His gaze rested upon Lachlan whose hands gripped the window frame and whose head was bent. He was sure that the man wept as well. Remembering the nightmare Aimil had suffered, Parlan wished he had heeded it more closely.

  “Papa?” Leith raspe
d. “Is that the true tale? Did our mother die that way and not of a sickness of the birthing bed?”

  “Aye,” Lachlan answered in a choked voice, his back still to them. “I couldnae tell ye, ye were all so young. T’was a tale that would have badly frightened a child. I never suspected Rory. He wept like a bairn at her burying. We never found the one who did it. He searched with us, didnae he?” He gave a shakey, harsh laugh. “Her slaughterer rode amongst us.”

  “Her killer was to wed her child come the summer,” Leith cried out. “Ye were to hand her over to him like a sacrificial lamb.”

  “I didnae ken he had killed Kirstie.” Lachlan finally turned to face his son. “God forgive me my blindness, I didnae ken that it was Rory.”

  “But ye were aware of all that has been said about the man.”

  “Many a man has a rumor spread about him, an evil word or twa said. I had no proof, son. T’was a marriage contracted at cradleside. My old friend, a man that was as a brother to me, asked for the match. Even as a bairn, Aimil bid fair to look as her mother did. He thought t’would soothe the hurt Rory had felt when Kirstie had chosen me.”

  “She did look like Kirstie,” he continued softly, his gaze fixing upon Aimil, “even to her nature. When she walked in that night all gowned and budding, looking the woman she was becoming, I couldnae bear to look upon her. She was Kirstie reborn and this time Rory would have her.”

  “So ye have ignored her,” Parlan said as he felt Aimil stiffen in his arms.

  “Aye. T’was easiest. I kenned she didnae care for Rory even then. She could have turned me against my word so verra easily. I also thought t’would make it easier to give her up. T’would not be like losing Kirstie all over again.” He looked at Parlan, his eyes narrowing as his mind began to take in the fact that his daughter shared the man’s bed and both appeared to be naked. “When this rogue got his hands on her, I found myself hoping that Rory would break the betrothal. Many another man would have. I wouldnae break my word over rumors but they did haunt me.”

  “But he wouldnae withdraw,” Parlan said, his voice cold.