Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “Aye, ye are right and I am getting cursed sick of saying that.” She smiled weakly when he laughed.

  “And now I must say what I ken weel ye dinnae wish to hear but ye will heed this, Aimil. Heed it and obey it. I ken why ye had to take that ride, ken weel how the walls of even a place ye favor can close in about ye, choking ye. Ye are just going to have to grit your pretty teeth and endure, lass.”

  “There will be no more rides with only one man to watch over ye. If ye must travel somewhere, t’will be with an escort of a half-dozen or more strong well-armed men. Ye will be watched at all times. I must see that there is no way for Rory to reach ye, no way at all, and if that means ye are kept close, that I must make a prisoner of ye again, then so be it.”

  “Ye dinnae make me a prisoner, Parlan. Rory does. His hate and madness lock me inside these walls, not ye.”

  “So, ye mean to obey me, eh?” Although he knew she had common sense, he had not expected her to comply so easily.

  “Aye. When he attacked me today, I kenned that he would not hesitate to kill the child I carried. Because the bairn is no longer within me willnae make any difference. The bairn and I will be close until he is weaned. If I am in danger, then the chance grows that the bairn is too. In truth, I fear Rory’s simply kenning a bairn exists.”

  “Nay, I cannae like it either. He was enraged that ye shared my bed. I think he would hate any bairn we had made together.”

  “He would. He also hates me. More so now than he ever did. He frightens me more than I can say. I have no wish to face him. I ken too weel what he wishes to do to me. I was a fool today not to think of him before I set out.”

  “Not a fool. T’was not wrong to think yourself more or less safe. So many swords are searching him out that in the midst of the enemy t’was the last place to expect him. Howbeit, that shows us that he can and will get close if we are not exceedingly vigilant.”

  “He has made us prisoners.” She sighed then looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Or has he? Ye dinnae intend to just sit behind these walls, do ye?”

  “Aimil, the man must be found.”

  “And ye must do the searching.”

  “Mayhaps I could stay here and send others yet not be cried a coward but I willnae do that.”

  “Nay, I didnae think so.”

  “Aimil, Rory must be found and killed. He is a threat to all of us. What matters to me is that he is a threat to ye and our child. I mean to hunt him in every corner of this land. Aye, and elsewhere if the whoreson slips free of Scotland’s boundaries. It must be done for, until he rots in hell as he deserves, ye and the bairn arenae safe. ‘Tis my duty as your husband. My duty as a father. Aye, as a man.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, tugged him closer, and laid her head against his chest. “Ye will be verra careful?”

  “Aye, sweeting. More careful than I have ever been in my life.” Kissing the top of her head, he glanced at his sleeping son. “I have more of a reason to be careful now.” He smiled down at her when she glanced up at him. “A wee wife that gives me bonnie, braw sons and a son I wish to see as a man, to see what mistakes I have made with him.”

  His words hurt even as they flattered. He was clearly pleased to have her as his wife, but she ached to be more than the wife who gave him strong sons. It was, however, a beginning. She was not foolish enough to scoff at the bond the tiny infant had created between her and Parlan. What she needed to do was make it stronger and all-encompassing.

  “Ye willnae make mistakes.” She gave him no resistance when he silently and gently urged her to lie back down.

  He smiled faintly when she yawned then grew serious as he looked at his son. “I will. ‘Tis something I wager cannae be avoided. Ah, Aimil, though I rejoice in the gift ye have given me, I tremble when I think of the responsibility that comes with it.”

  Although she felt weary and wanted to rest, she brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm. “‘Tis a heavy one but I dinnae fear that ye cannae carry it. Aye, ye will carry it weel with few stumbles.”

  “Such trust ye have in me.”

  “I have seen ye with Artair.”

  “Ah, ye mean the brother I had beaten.”

  “As ye had to.”

  “I was angry.”

  “But ‘tisnae the only thing that prodded ye and t’was an honest fury, one that had cause. Do ye think he would be as he is now if he didnae ken that? Ye couldnae treat him different from all the rest. That would have hurt him more than the lash. Ye have never deserted him. That is what has stayed in his heart. In all his follies, he kenned ye were there for him if the need arose. That is how ye raise a child.”

  “Love your son, Parlan. Let him ken it. Aye, he will falter and ye will have to punish him be it with strength or word. Teach him honor and right from wrong. ‘Tis all any can do for a child. If he still turns out bad”—she shrugged—“‘tis God’s will and no fault of yours. I have never seen a child who was loved and kenned it turn bad, however. Nay, not when ‘tis a love tempered with guidance and strength.”

  “Such wisdom from a lass who has but born her first child.”

  She colored slightly with pleasure at his sincere words. “I may be wrong.”

  “I think not. Such sensible advice could never be wrong. If followed, I cannae see how one could err. I dinnae believe in bad seeds either for I have seen good come from rot. Aye, and I ken that t’was because they found the guidance and love they needed elsewhere.”

  “Ye raised Artair, Parlan, and, though he faltered some, he is a good man and tries to be better. Find strength in that.” She tried and failed to smother a yawn. “Ye dinnae think Rory is a bad seed? I cannae believe my father could befriend a man who could raise such a monster yet my father loved Rory’s father as a brother.”

  “Rory isnae a child turned bad. He is ill. We ken naught of how he was raised. A man who is a good friend for another man neednae be a good father. Aye, and there is other kin to consider, others that could have turned Rory, even his mother. Even so, with a madness such as Rory’s, it could have been there at birth, a deformity no eye could see. Thank God men like Rory are the exception to the rule.”

  Seeing her yawn again, he smiled and lightly kissed her. “Rest, dearling.”

  “‘Tis an order I shall have no trouble obeying,” she murmured even as her eyes drifted closed.

  He sat for a long time, holding her hand and watching her sleep. The contentment he felt made him smile for it seemed to be fed by such simple things. A pretty wife and a son were fine things but not so difficult to gain. There was far more to it than that and he knew it. Soon he would have to give more careful thought to it all.

  For the moment, however, there was little time for soul-searching. Aimil and his son were in danger. What was of the greatest importance at the moment was to find Rory Fergueson and kill him. Until that was done, whatever happiness and contentment he or Aimil could find would only be fleeting.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Even as the door to his chambers was still swinging open, Parlan was on his feet, his sword in his hand. A small part of him acknowledged that it was highly unlikely that any attacker could reach his chambers with no other warning sounded but weeks of fruitlessly searching for Rory had left him tense. He noted fleetingly that his wife slept peacefully on.

  “Here now, Parlan, ‘tis Artair. No need for that.”

  Setting his sword aside, Parlan lit a candle. “Surprising a man can get ye killed. What is it? ‘Tisnae yet dawn.”

  “Weel, I didnae think ye would wish to wait for this news.”

  He frowned at Aimil. “Shouldnae we go elsewhere to talk so that we dinnae wake her?”

  “There is little that will wake her yet. The bairn was fretful most of the night, and she is exhausted. When Aimil is tired, she can sleep though a battle of thousands raged around her. What news?”

  “We may have found Rory.”

  Parlan immediately began to get dressed. “Where?”

/>   “But twa hours ride from here.”

  “So close?”

  “Aye, but, if this is the whoreson, ye neednae worry. He is dead. ‘Tis a corpse we must go to view.”

  Although keenly disappointed that he was not about to come to swordpoint with Rory, Parlan also felt hopeful. He ached to take revenge against the man but, more than that, he ached for an end to the constant watchfulness and fear. It would be a shame if Rory had died by any other than his hand but it would also be a cause for celebration.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “A fire it was, in a small house outside of a wee village. From what little the folk say about the twa men who were there it sounds like Rory and his faithful dog, Geordie. They have both died. Lagan and I feel certain ‘tis them, but ye ought to have a look.”

  “Aye, and Leith for he kens the man better. ‘Tis why he lingered here after his father left. Rouse him and I will join ye in the hall.”

  The sun was beginning to rise when they set out for the village. With each new detail Lagan and Artair supplied, Parlan’s hopes were raised yet he tried to rein them in. That Rory’s threat could be ended so conveniently seemed too good to be true. Parlan had expected it to cost him far more than an early-morning ride to view a corpse.

  An acrid smell tainted the air as they reined in before the ruined cottage. Two blanket-shrouded shapes were on the ground, and three of Parlan’s men lingered nearby, coming alert when he arrived. Since the house was little more than ashes, Parlan was not sure the bodies would be recognizable. Artair and Lagan had said the corpses were burnt, but only now did Parlan see that there was a chance that they were burned beyond any hope of recognition. Hesitantly, he started toward the bodies.

  “I ken I willnae enjoy this,” muttered Leith as he fell into step beside Parlan. “They willnae be a pretty sight.”

  “Nay, they willnae. Nevertheless, we have to be certain ‘tis the pair we search for.”

  “Aye, ye dinnae want to ease your guard before ye are verra certain indeed. That could be a deadly folly.” Leith took a deep breath and reached for the blanket. “I have always detested fires and their consequences.”

  When Leith pulled the blanket back, he paled and gagged softly, something Parlan sympathized with. He had been right. There was not much left that was recognizable. Steadying himself, he helped Leith closely examine each body then joined the younger man in making a hasty retreat from the scene. When they were several yards away, Parlan silently offered Leith a drink from the wineskin he had snatched from his saddle.

  After taking a long drink, Leith handed the wineskin back to Parlan. “Weel, ye cannae tell much by looking at them save that one was tall and slim and one was short and burly. What little remains of the clothing and hair indicate that the tall one was fair and dressed fine. I have made my judgment on what few belongings survived the fire with them.”

  “The ring?”

  “Aye, ‘tis Rory’s. So was the dagger and the sword. Rory often displayed them for he was proud of them.”

  “And the other man is Geordie?” Parlan rinsed his mouth with wine to wash the acrid taste of smoke and death from it and then took another long drink.

  “Aye. Strange but I feel no doubt about that.”

  “Without Rory he wouldnae be a danger. Rory would always be. Kenning that ye are wary. ‘Tis all.”

  “Aye. A lot weighs upon my word. I cannae think of any way a man would get Rory’s possessions and be with Geordie as weel. It must be Rory.”

  “T’would seem so,” Parlan agreed.

  “So your worries are at an end. Ye seem little pleased.”

  “I am pleased yet, at the moment, I am both angry and regretful. The whoreson has slipped beyond my reach again and this time to a place where none can hunt him down.” He smiled crookedly. “I have no wish to ride into hell before my time is due.”

  “Ye wished to send Rory there by your own hand. ‘Tis verra easy to understand. Father shares that wish. I ken he will share your torn feelings about this—glad the swine is dead but verra sorry t’wasnae by his hand. This lacks the satisfaction revenge craves.”

  “Aye. Mayhaps that is why I am slow to accept the ending. I didnae see it or cause it.”

  “So ye suspect it.” When Parlan nodded, Leith sighed. “Cut down by sword or fire, dead is dead. Do we bury them?” He finally turned to look back at the bodies.

  “T’would be fitting and just to leave them for the carrion but I have ne’er done so, so why begin now. Aye, we bury them.”

  Although he cursed himself for a fool, knowing Rory would never have honored his remains if the situations had been reversed, Parlan saw to the burials. He could not leave a body, any body, for the carrion. The thought turned his stomach. In a way, he also hoped that the act of burying the pair would make him accept their deaths which he still had some difficulty doing.

  “T’was a waste of our time and sweat but ‘tis done,” Artair said as he shared the water Parlan had drawn from the well and joined his brother, Leith, and Lagan in washing off. “I wouldnae be surprised to see the ground spit them out.”

  Parlan laughed softly. “Aye, neither would I. Mark the graves, Wallace,” he called to one of his men.

  “Why trouble with it? There cannae be any who will care where they rest. Weel, except, mayhaps to spit upon the bones.”

  “There are those who wished that pair dead yet arenae here to see it. Marked graves might do as weel, Artair.”

  “Aimil?”

  “Mayhaps her. My word on it might be enough. Then again the man bred a deep fear in her, one that haunts her dreams. My word might not be enough to still that. Sometimes the sight of a grave is needed to make one really believe in a death, especially in one like this, one that she needs to ken is true. Poor lass hasnae liked wishing for Rory’s death but she also kenned that t’was the only way we would be free of the threat of him.”

  “Aye, and I think my father may need to see it.”

  “True, Leith. His need to see Rory Fergueson dead might even have been greater than mine. Do ye travel now to tell him?”

  “Aye, I shall leave from here. Tell Aimil I shall visit again soon,” Leith called as he strode toward his horse.

  “I never thought we would be kin and friends with Lowlanders.” Artair shook his head as he watched Leith ride off.

  “Weel, there hasnae been much blood spilt between our clans.” Parlan walked toward his mount and the others fell into step with him. “That eases the way. Being so near to the border of the Highlands, I think ones such as the Mengues are more akin to us than the true Lowlanders. There is much that they do that follows our way. Ye can see that in the way that Leith goes too and fro so easily.”

  “Aye, but I begin to think that Leith Mengue is a man who can fit any boot he slips on.”

  “I think ye might be right in that, Artair, and ‘tis a gift that could serve him verra weel one day.” Parlan mounted and sat staring back at the burned-out cottage as the others did the same.

  “Second thoughts or a few doubts mayhaps?”

  “Nay, just wondering over the ease of it, Lagan. Weel, best we hie on back to Dubhglenn. Aimil has surely roused by now and shall wonder where I slipped away to with nary a word to anyone.”

  By the time Parlan rode into Dubhglenn the relief, even the joy, over the ending of Rory’s threat to him and his family had conquered all his regrets and doubts. He jovially greeted each person he met as he took his mount to the stables. On his way to the keep, he met Old Meg who greeted his happiness with a severe frown.

  “And what have ye been up to, me fine rogue? Creeping off before dawn like some thief? Eh?”

  He kissed her cheek. “I had to go view a body, a corpse I have long hoped to see.”

  “The hellhound is dead?”

  “Aye, verra dead. How is Aimil?”

  “Gnashing her teeth. Best ye hie on up to your chambers. She is suckling that greedy son of yours, but I doubt that has stopped her from watchin
g for ye. If ye dinnae get up there quick, she will be down here to greet ye with the bairn still dangling from her breast.”

  Aimil heard the increased activity in Dubhglenn and tensed. Idly patting her nursing child’s back, she listened more closely, trying to hear something that would tell her it was Parlan’s return that had stirred things up. She had just decided to go and see for herself, detaching her son who immediately began to wail with fury, when Parlan strode into the room.

  “Where did ye slip away to?”

  Staring at his screaming son in mild astonishment, Parlan replied, “Eh? I cannae hear ye over the din. What ails him?”

  “He wasnae done but I stopped him for I meant to come see if ye had returned.” She frowned at her son whom she held at a distance.

  Sitting on the bed, Parlan gently pushed the baby back toward Aimil. “I beg of ye, let him have his fill before he deafens us all.”

  She put the child back to her breast, and after a few convulsive sobs, he quieted down. As she was about to question Parlan again, something about the way Lyolf nursed distracted her. Curious, she looked down at her son and saw that he was not nestled against her breast in the usual way. His small hands clung tightly to her bodice, and his eyes, the color matching hers to a shade, were open. His gaze was fixed upon her face, and his brows, so like Parlan’s, met in a vee over his tiny nose. Diverted, she tried to loosen the grip of one of his small hands only to have him grunt, frown even more, and cling more tightly. It was clear that he did not intend to be moved again until he was finished.

  “Your son looks verra much like ye at this moment, Parlan.”

  Leaning over to look at Lyolf, Parlan drawled, “I have never looked so discontented when savoring that sweetness.” He bent forward to kiss the curve of her breast only to jerk back with an oath when a small fist struck his nose.

  Aimil tried not to laugh. She looked at Parlan who scowled and rubbed his nose. Then she looked at Lyolf who scowled in exactly the same way as he clung tenatiously to her bodice. Despite her best efforts not to, she began to giggle. When that only deepened the scowls on her husband’s and son’s dark faces, she laughed harder.