Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “Wheesht, ye are equally bad-tempered.”

  Lying on his side next to her, he glanced at his son. The child’s gaze followed him, and the fierce expression remained on the tiny face. Slowly, Parlan started to grin. Along with amusement, he felt pride. Even though so young, the boy already showed spirit. He laughed softly.

  “‘Tis a good thing he is still a wee bairn or I might be in a lot of trouble.”

  “Aye, ye might at that.” Aimil’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Ye might be anyway. Why did ye creep away without a word?”

  “Ah, back to that, are we?”

  “Aye, back to that. ‘Tis that ye left no word, not with anyone. Ye were simply gone.”

  “Och, lass, I didnae mean to worry ye. Artair burst in shortly before dawn. He will enter more carefully now.”

  “Nearly skewered him, did ye?” She was well aware of his increased watchfulness, of how his sword was ever at hand as they slept.

  “If he hadnae stopped inside the door, aye, I might have. ‘Tis not something I care to think on.”

  “Nay, of course not. I didnae even hear him.”

  “This ill-tempered child had exhausted ye with his fretting half the night away.”

  She grimaced and nodded knowing that it would take far more than a sudden rude intrusion into their chambers to wake her when she was exhausted. “What did he want that couldnae wait ‘til a more reasonable hour?” She tensed as she realized the only thing it could have been since Dubhglenn had neither been raided nor attacked. “T’was Rory.”

  He took her hand in his. “Aye, sweeting, but ye have naught to fear. He cannae hurt ye any longer. Nay, never again.”

  “Ye have slain him?”

  “I fear it wasnae I who had that pleasure. Artair had heard of twa men that sounded much akin to Rory and Geordie at a village but twa hours ride from here. He tracked them down only to find that they had perished in a fire. He sought me out thinking I could better vouch that t’was truly Rory Fergueson and his faithful hound, Geordie.”

  “And it was them?”

  “Aye, though t’was Leith who determined it. I could do no more than agree that the shapes matched those of the ones I sought. Leith was certain t’was Geordie and he recognized Rory by a few of his belongings that werenae destroyed in the fire. He has gone to tell your father, and I ken that the man will be sore grieved that he wasnae the one to end Rory’s murdering life.”

  “He will but I cannae help but think that ‘tis the best way. Father isnae a cruel man yet, if he reached Rory, I think he would have acted verra cruelly. There was so much anger in him, so much hate. When it left him, he would have suffered. I fear he would have seen himself as little better than Rory and, aye, if he had gained hold of the man, I think my father would have gone a little mad.”

  “T’would be easy to understand.”

  “For we who didnae do it but mayhaps not so easy for the one who did. He would have to face the beast within himself and that cannae be easy. Nay, ‘tis best this way though my father may be some time in seeing that.”

  “Aye, it took me a wee while to see it. I felt as if something had been stolen from me, as if he had escaped me.”

  “I am just as glad that no one had to face him. He was a snake.” She smiled faintly at Lyolf who was finally done and held him at her shoulder, rubbing his back to release any air he may have swallowed. “I feared he would play some loathesome trick that would cost one of ye your life. Fair fighting wasnae Rory Fergueson’s way. A man cannae always watch his back or all the shadows.”

  “Mayhaps not. We will never ken now. The man is dead.”

  “Are ye verra sure of that, Parlan?”

  “As sure as any can be. Do ye have some doubt of it, dearling?” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “I had a few myself but they have faded away.”

  “As mine will, no doubt. ‘Tis that the end came so abruptly, so unexpectedly. I had never thought it would be this way.”

  “Nay, nor did I. It was a surprise and I did fear the way of it would leave ye still afraid, still uncertain.”

  “A wee bit but I shall get over it.”

  The baby was falling asleep so she reclined more on the bed, settling Lyolf more comfortably against her chest. She suspected that being a mother made her less able to shrug off her fears, to accept an end to the danger. There was so much more at risk if it proved to be a false safety. The child might not become a victim, but she dreaded the thought of being parted from him. She wanted to see him grow into a man.

  Lying there quietly, the baby sleeping on her chest and Parlan stroking her hair, she felt drowsy and content. At times like this, it was nearly impossible to recall all her fears and worries. It seemed that nothing would intrude to shatter her peace but she knew that was foolish. Rory had done so before. What she had to do now was believe that he could not do it again.

  “Are ye sure he is dead, Parlan?” She hated herself for the fear that prompted her repeating of the question, for needing the reassurance.

  “Aye, loving.” He kissed her forehead, smiling faintly when her eyes closed. “We will celebrate on the morrow. T’will be a fine day.”

  She smiled but did not open her eyes. “Angus says so, does he?”

  “Aye. He promises sun to bask in.”

  “It seems wrong somehow to celebrate a man’s death.”

  “If it troubles you, we can find something else to celebrate. Weel, if Old Meg says what I wish her to, that is. Tomorrow makes near to twa months since this wee rogue was born.”

  Knowing what he referred to, she forced herself not to blush and not to look at him. “My, my, he is growing apace, isnae he?”

  “Aye, and ye will be running apace if Old Meg says ye are healed from the birth.”

  “Mean to chase me, do ye?”

  “Until we fall. Preferably with ye on your back but I am nae too particular after near to three months.”

  “Near to three months of what?”

  “Of naught, and therein lies the trouble. I thought ye paid the highest price for bearing our son but I begin to wonder.”

  She lazily opened one eye to peek at him. “Regrets?”

  Gently touching the thick raven curls decorating his son’s small head, Parlan said quietly, “Nary a one but I do have an itch that screams to be scratched.”

  “And ye mean to do some scratching on the morrow?”

  “Aye, a lot of it so”—he kissed her cheek—“ye best get some rest, lass. Ye will be sore pressed to keep pace with me.”

  She doubted that for she was as hungry for some lovemaking as he was but she was not inclined to tell him. He would discover it quickly enough on his own. Once Old Meg deemed her healed from the birth, Aimil knew she would probably be running after him. The image that invoked made her smile and lingered in her mind as she finally gave in to sleep.

  As soon as he was certain that she was asleep, Parlan gently took the baby from her lax hold, causing a murmur of protest from both of them. Smiling faintly, he put the child back into his cradle. For a moment he crouched there, watching his tiny son sleep, and feeling unabashedly proud. It was going to be easy to love the boy, as easy as it was to love his mother.

  Startled, Parlan rose and went to stand by the bed to look down upon a sleeping Aimil. He did love her. It was the only explanation there was for so many of the things he had done and felt. He wondered when it had happened then decided that it did not really matter.

  Reaching out to take a lock of her hair between his fingers, he then wondered when and if he should tell her. She still spoke no words of love to him yet some instinct told him that she cared, could quite possibly love him. There was the possibility that she did not speak because he had not. Aimil had more than her share of pride. So too did he, he admitted with a crooked smile, and it was making him reluctant to be the first to bare his soul, to take the chance of revealing how he felt when it might not be returned.

  Shaking his head over the uncertainty she c
ould stir in him, he left the room and met Lagan in the hall. “I thought ye would be resting after such a long night.”

  “Aye, I am weary but I need to fill my belly first.”

  “That is where I head to.” Parlan started on his way.

  Falling into step beside Parlan, Lagan asked, “How did Aimil take the news?”

  “With a touch of doubt as we all did but she means to be rid of it. It cannae be easy to dismiss the fear that Devil bred in her heart.”

  “And yours,” Lagan murmured.

  “I didnae fear him.” Parlan bristled, hearing the insult of cowardice in Lagan’s words. “I was ready to fight that hellhound.”

  “Ye mishear me. I didnae speak of the fear that makes a man run from a fight but of your fear for Aimil and your child. T’was that fear that has driven ye so hard these last weeks and that fear was stirred and heightened by something I begin to think ye will never see.”

  “Is that so? Mayhaps I am not as blind as ye think, old friend. Tell me, do ye still think Aimil would like to hear a few sweet words?” He smiled over his friend’s obvious surprise. “Even more important, do ye think she will give a few back?”

  “If ye cannae tell that for yourself, mayhaps ye are blind. Aye, she must be thinking the sweet words will never come. I should be sure to speak them in the right place at the right time or the shock might kill her.”

  Parlan ignored Lagan’s sarcasm. “I have an idea for both. Aye, and mayhaps t’will serve to ease her fears. The last time we were there Rory set upon us. This time we can have our time alone in peace, and I mean to make the most of it.”

  “Are ye sure ye ought to act so free so soon? Mayhaps ye ought to wait to, weel, be sure.”

  “If I followed that advice, I would never feel safe nor free. Nay, Rory is dead and I mean to act accordingly.”

  Wildflowers drifted down to scatter over the fresh mounds of dirt. Their soft colors gentled the stark, barren look of the burial rises. The wind gently tugged at the full cloak of the figure who stood before the graves. A sigh broke the quiet.

  “Weel, old friend, how is hell? At least I ken that ye willnae be lonely. We ken many who have settled there. I will join ye there eventually.”

  “Ah, old friend, I hope ye understand. I had to do it. They were too close, yapping at my heels until I couldnae do aught but hide and I need to do more. I must have the freedom to move or I will never get the revenge my soul craves.”

  “Ye do understand, dinnae ye, Geordie, my friend. Your sacrifice willnae be wasted. If I cannae survive to kill Aimil and the man she plays the whore for, I will drag them down into hell with me. Ye willnae be alone for long, Geordie.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Dig him up.”

  Leith stared at his father in shock. Such a request was the last thing he had expected when he had brought his father to view Rory’s and Geordie’s graves. Neither could he understand why his father requested such a gruesome thing. There seemed no reason for it.

  “Ye cannae mean it. I told ye he was dead. What purpose can be served by digging up his corpse?”

  “Do ye fash yourself over some fear of desecrating the dead? This dead was desecrated before he was set into the ground. Dig him up.”

  “But why? I looked at him and t’was a sickening sight but I recognized his things. Why do you do this?”

  “To be sure. Ye saw a ring, a dagger, and a sword. I wish to see more.” He signaled to the two men with him. “Dig him up. There isnae any need to hesitate as I argue with my son.” He looked back at Leith as the men began to dig. “Who put the flowers on the grave?”

  Staring at the withering blooms his father held out to him, Leith shook his head. “I ken of no one who would. Dung, mayhaps. Flowers, nay.”

  “Another part of a puzzle.”

  “What puzzle save for these flowers?” Leith tossed them aside and scowled at the graves.

  “Mayhaps the only puzzle is that he was taken before we who had a right to vengeance could extract it.”

  “Weel, digging him up to stare at his corpse willnae ease that.”

  “Nay, but t’will ease my mind of worrying that it isnae his corpse.” Lachlan sighed, his gaze fixed upon the men digging. “When ye first told me of his death, I was angry. I felt something had been stolen from me. Then the anger began to ease and I began to think.”

  When his father said no more for several moments, Leith finally swore softly in exasperation. “Began to think what?”

  “Ah, that t’was all so neat. Too neat. Aye, we hadnae caught him yet, but he was cornered. He couldnae move freely, couldnae even try to get near his quarry. We ken how badly he wished to reach Aimil. I began to think he may have found a way.”

  Suddenly understanding what his father meant, Leith swore. “He made it look as if he was dead. I was wrong.”

  “Mayhaps not and I wouldnae lash myself with guilt if ye are. Ye saw what ye were meant to see—Rory and Geordie dead.”

  “Odd, though I had a doubt or twa about Rory, I had none at all that it was Geordie I saw. I would still swear to it.”

  “It could weel be Geordie. T’was no doubt part of why ye believed ye saw Rory. Do ye really think a man like Rory would hesitate to kill what might have been his only friend if it served his purpose?”

  “Nay, not for a moment. He would do it without regret.”

  “Weel, if I am right, he may have a regret or twa. There are the flowers and they were mostly upon the grave ye said was Geordie’s.”

  Leith absently nodded. His attention was upon the shrouded body the men pulled from the grave. Despite his father’s advice about not feeling guilty, Leith knew he would if he proved to be wrong. He knew he would also be afraid, afraid that his error could prove very costly.

  With tension knotting his insides, Leith stood by as his father carefully examined the body. He knew Lachlan needed time to be certain but his impatience grew. If he had been wrong, time was not something they had too much of. When his father stood, signaled the men to reinter the body, yet said nothing, Leith gave up being patient.

  “Is it him?”

  “Nay.”

  That one soft word struck Leith to the heart. “Sweet God, I was wrong.”

  “Dinnae take it to heart. I too would have thought it him. He chose weel. Aye, and there is damage to the face from what little I could see amongst the ravages and wounds caused by fire. Nay, this was verra nearly perfect.”

  “But not perfect and I missed the error that whoreson made. What was it?”

  “I kenned something about Rory that ye didnae, something I learned of years ago. He has a mark. T’was there at birth.”

  “I never noticed one upon him.”

  “Ye wouldnae unless ye had seen him naked and looked verra closely. The body beneath the charred clothes wasnae so ruined as the rest. Rory had a mole, a small dark one, below the curve of his left buttock. T’was hidden by the bend of his body most times, even when he was a bairn. I never would have kenned the mark was there save that his father showed me. He feared t’was the mark of the Devil.”

  “He had a right to worry on it.”

  “Nay, not over a wee spot upon the skin. Such a simple, innocent mar couldnae cut to the soul to rot it as Rory’s soul is rotted.”

  “I told Parlan that that was Rory.”

  “Ye said he doubted.”

  “He did then but he felt it foolish, meant to cease doubting.”

  “Then we best hie to Dubhglenn. He may believe it by now and act as if there is naught to fear. That is just what Rory wants.”

  As she reined to a halt beside Parlan, Aimil looked around and then shook her head. “Here again?”

  “‘Tis a fine place.” He dismounted then helped her to do the same. “I have always favored it, finding peace here. I mean to do so again.” As he spread a blanket upon the ground, he glanced her way. “Mayhaps after a peaceful day here, ye will lose a few of your doubts.”

  Cautiously, she approach
ed the blanket and sat down. She told herself it was foolish to still fret and fear but she could not stop herself. The last time she had come to this place with Parlan their time together had ended with Rory attacking them, badly wounding Parlan, and taking her away to suffer a time she wished never to suffer again. Despite the beauty of the day and the place, the memories of that time remained clear.

  Glancing at the food Parlan set out, she then surreptitiously studied him. He looked very cheerful, and there was an eager, hungry look in his eyes. Old Meg had neatly evaded her, but Aimil felt increasingly sure that the woman had declared her healed from the birth. She did wonder why he played the game of secrecy then decided not to complain. There could be a great deal of enjoyment in relaxing and letting him play his game for she was sure that it would lead to something they both wanted. She also knew she would enjoy every step as he led her along.

  When she took a quick look at herself, she sighed. She was not dressed as fine as she would have liked for such an occasion. The plain outfit, given to her for she had had no gowns, was clean and comfortable but not beautiful so as to enchant Parlan, something which she would really like to do just once. He did not seem to mind but she did wish that she could show him that she could be as elegant and as finely bedecked as any lady he had ever known. Biting into a chunk of bread with more force than necessary, she thought crossly that that would be easier if he had not known quite so many ladies.

  Parlan finally noticed that his wife was looking less than pleased with the arrangements he had made. “Something troubling ye, dearling?”

  “Is this the celebration ye spoke of?”

  “Aye, meager as it is.”

  “Weel, I wish ye had warned me. I would have done myself up a lot finer.”

  “Ye look as beautiful as any man needs.” He gently let her hair down. “Why do ye put it up? ‘Tis a crime to chain it, hide it.”

  “I am a wedded lass now, a mother. T’would be unseemly to leave it loose like a maiden.”

  “Even if your husband commands it?” He enjoyed the feel of her thick, silken hair in his hands, combing his fingers through it.