Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “Ye must have flown to Dubhglenn, lass,” he said with a weak smile when she hurried to his side.

  “Nay, I have never been that swift. I met them hieing here. It seems my father insisted upon viewing what we all thought was Rory, and he kenned that it wasnae.” She glanced at the men peering into the ravine. “He is dead for certain this time?”

  “Aye, lass,” her father replied then he looked at Parlan. “If ye can wait but a moment, Leith will go down to be sure.”

  “I can wait for that. For that and the burying. Aye, buried with a lot of rock piled atop his bones so he cannae rise again.”

  Shivering at the mere thought of a resurrection of such evil, Aimil moved so that Parlan could rest his head in her lap. “Are ye certain, Parlan? Ye are looking somewhat wan.” She placed her hand upon his forehead but could detect no hint of fever.

  “I am but weary, dearling. A good rest and I will be much improved. Aye, and that rest will come easier when I have seen Rory Fergueson set deep in the ground, closer to the reach of the Devil whom he will reside with now.”

  She did not try to argue with him but was relieved when the men worked quickly to bring Rory’s body up and bury it. Parlan’s weakness troubled her greatly. He could have hurt himself more in the fall he had suffered than he knew, and she was not skilled enough in the art of healing to judge the extent of his injuries, injuries she knew might easily be fatal in the end.

  Her fears were not eased until they had Parlan back at Dubhglenn. In truth, the journey had only added to them for Parlan had needed help to stay in the saddle and was parchment-white by the time they put him into Old Meg’s capable hands. However, Aimil fought to hide her fear from Parlan as she lent Old Meg a hand. Not until she got a moment alone with the woman in the hall outside of Parlan’s chambers did Aimil give voice to her fear.

  “Will he die?”

  “I dinnae think so, lass. I could find naught wrong with him that I couldnae fix. I will speak true though. I am no judge of whether he has done his innards a real hurt. We can only wait and pray.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “What are ye doing out of bed, ye great fool?”

  Aimil stared at her husband with a mixture of amazement and amusement. It had been nearly a month since they had fought Rory and finally beaten him. Parlan had taken a long time to recover. She did not think he ought to be up and prancing about the room. Her eyes narrowed as she decided that prancing was the only way to describe it.

  “Preparing to take a wee trip, loving.” He walked over and kissed her on the nose.

  “A wee trip? Are ye daft? Ye were near to death not a month back.”

  “Weel, not that near.” He decided that she was adorable when she was trying to be stern.

  “And when did ye start getting out of bed and stomping about?”

  “As soon as my nursemaids werenae hanging about me night and day.” He turned her toward the door and patted her backside. “Go ready yourself. Ye are coming with me.” He smiled at her when she turned round to glare at him.

  “I dinnae think ye ought to go anywhere—with or without me. Ye are still on the mend.”

  He tugged her into his arms, lifting her off her feet. Although it strained his control, he gave her a kiss that revealed all the hunger nearly a month without her had brewed in him. When he slowly released her, he was hard pressed not to pick her up, toss her onto the bed, and make love to her immediately but he forced himself to smile at her.

  “There now, sweeting. Was that the kiss of a man still on the mend or one who is fair mended and past cosseting?”

  She stared at him dazedly. What she felt inclined to do was to push him back into bed and make love to him, but he seemed set upon doing something else, despite the heat of his kiss. With great effort she pulled herself together and frowned at him.

  “Ye have been playing us all for fools then, have ye?”

  “Nay, lass, I but wished to surprise ye. Now, ye go and ready yourself to ride with me for I plan for us to celebrate my return to good health.” He opened the door and nudged her out. “And, ye tell Maggie to bring your things back in here. The bairn too. Since I am healed, there is no longer a reason to worry that I might have my night’s sleep disturbed.”

  That was something she did not mind doing, she decided, as she finally left. She hated sleeping alone but, in the beginning, Parlan had been so easily awakened that she and the baby had left his chambers. He had needed his sleep. Even he had not protested too much at the start. It had bothered her that he had done little complaining as he had grown stronger. To have him order her back into his bed was almost a relief no matter how high-handed it was.

  What she was not sure of was whether she should let him have his way in the matter of going out. He had been as battered as any man could be without breaking any bones. Although his wounds had quickly begun to close and had remained free of infection, he had lost a lot of blood, leaving him very weak. He had looked strong and healthy, but she was not sure she could trust in that. Unfortunately, she could not find anyone to talk to about Parlan’s health, Artair, Lagan, Malcolm, and Old Meg having strangely disappeared, and without an ally, she could not see any chance of changing Parlan’s mind. Even Maggie seemed to have found some place to go. It made Aimil very suspicious about Parlan’s part in it all.

  Parlan whistled jauntily as he saddled his and Aimil’s horses. For several days he had planned the little trip they were about to make. At any moment he expected her to join him, looking none too pleased for she would have discovered that there was no one about to gain as an ally to stop him.

  “How much longer do we have to hide up here?”

  Glancing up at Artair and Lagan who peered down at him from the hayloft, Parlan smiled. “Not much longer, Artair.”

  “Dinnae see why we have to carry this game so far.”

  “Because, if she found any of you, ye ken weel that she would soon have ye convinced to help her keep me confined, being so near death as I have been.” He grinned when the two younger men made derisive sounds.

  “Ye arenae really taking her back to the Banshee’s Well, are ye?” Artair asked, surprised.

  “Aye, I am. ‘Tis a fine spot and I willnae let bad memories spoil it. This time we will have no trouble or grief there.”

  “With so many MacGuins and Mengues encircling the place, I would be surprised if even Rory’s spirit could slip through the net. She will be sore embarrassed if she ever kens that the men are about, even if it is at a respectable distance,” Lagan added.

  “Then I best be sure she doesnae find out. Hide, for here she comes and she has a face near as dark as mine.”

  Aimil met Parlan’s cheerful, welcoming smile with a frown. “I still dinnae think this is a good idea but I couldnae find a soul to agree with me. In truth, I couldnae find a soul at all. I dinnae suppose that ye ken why that should be.”

  “‘Tis a fine day, lass. I expect many a lad or lassie has slipped free of work to enjoy it.”

  “Aye, near to half of Dubhglenn if my eyes dinnae deceive me.” Knowing very well she was being played with, Aimil was torn between amusement and annoyance.

  “And such lovely eyes they are too.”

  She rolled her eyes in disgust over that blatant flattery intended to divert her. “Ye arenae going to explain it all, are ye?”

  “T’will all be clear in a moment,” he said brightly as he picked her up and set her upon her horse.

  Starting to get down she said, “Now, wait a moment. I think I have a right to ken what game is being played here.”

  “Ah, ye intend to be troublesome, do ye? Weel, I am prepared for that.”

  A near screech of annoyance and surprise escaped her when he grasped her by the wrists and gently, but firmly, secured them with a soft binding. He then blindfolded her. In the midst of her sense of outrage was the feeling that he had intended to do this right from the beginning unless she had been totally and blissfully accepting.

  “Are
ye mad?” she ground out as he set her back upon her horse.

  “Not at all, dearling. Best hold on,” he advised cheerfully as he mounted and took up her reins.

  Aimil barely got a good grip upon Elfking when Parlan started them on their way. She wished she knew where they were going. In fact, she had a lot of complaints about how he was acting and what he was doing. As they rode, she informed him of each and every one of them, and grew increasingly exasperated at the pleasant way he refuted or ignored each of them. When they finally came to a halt and he took her down from her horse, she waited impatiently for him to unbind her so that she could hit him.

  Warily, Parlan took the binding from her wrists then slipped the blindfold from her eyes. He knew she was not going to be pleased about where he had brought her. It was necessary to him, however, to erase all the bad memories of the place. He did not want there to be any part of his lands where she did not feel safe, or as safe as anyone could feel in such troubled times.

  “Weel, here we are, love.”

  Before he had uncovered her eyes, she had heard the now familiar soft wail, and forgetting about her intentions of hitting him, she stared around her in near horror. “Oh, nay, Parlan, not here.”

  “Aye, here.” He thrust the basket of food into her arms then collected the blanket. “‘Tis a fine spot.”

  “Weel, aye, ‘tis pretty.” She reluctantly followed him as he went to the same spot they had gone each time before and spread out the blanket. “‘Tis just that I dinnae really like it any longer, foolish as that may seem to ye.”

  Sitting down and tugging her down beside him, he lightly kissed her mouth. “I willnae have ye fearing a place on my land—our land. I willnae have there be a place that holds naught but bad memories and bad feeling. ‘Tis true that none can think themselves perfectly safe wherever they go, but I mean to have ye feel as much so as possible while ye are upon MacGuin land. There is also the fact that, from the first time I brought ye here, I thought it would be a fine spot for our special place and, being a stubborn man, I dinnae mean to let aught change that.” He served her some wine, smiling at her when she sipped from her tankard.

  “Our special place?”

  “Aye, all couples should have one. A place to go to to mark the special moments in their lives, like having a new, healthy bairn.”

  She smiled, her mood improving quickly. Although a part of her remained wary, expecting something to go wrong at any moment, she tried to relax and enjoy the time they had together. Parlan was indeed recovered and that was certainly something to celebrate. He was also acting his most charming and it was nearly impossible to be anything but happy when he did so.

  After he was finished eating, Parlan cleaned his mouth and hands with a dampened cloth. He then leaned closer to Aimil to do the same for her, kissing each spot he washed clean. Seeing how her breathing grew swift and erratic, and her lovely eyes darkened with passion increased his ever-present hunger for her. He smiled crookedly as he tossed aside the cloth and pulled her into his arms for he knew that their first bout of lovemaking was going to be swift and fierce, their need for each other demanding it.

  Some time later, Aimil slowly opened her eyes and looked at the man collapsed atop her. Neither of them had managed to shed much of their clothing, their bodies too eager to join for them to be bothered by undressing. She felt deliciously ravished and smiled as she slipped her arms more securely around him. Despite the pleasant feelings that surrounded her, however, she could not stop from glancing around a little warily, looking for a danger her common sense said was not there.

  “Ye are safe, Aimil,” Parlan murmured as he raised his head and brushed his lips over hers. “This time we will have no rude interruptions. All will go as I planned.” He eased their embrace but stayed close to her.

  “Ye planned something else, did ye?” She tried to take his assurances of safety to heart and ignore her fears.

  “Weel, aside from a less hasty tussle with ye”—he grinned when she blushed—“I thought we would have ourselves a wee talk.”

  “A talk? About what?”

  “Us.” He wondered why a brief look of fear crossed her face.

  Even though she told herself not to be foolish, she could not suppress a tremor of fear. He looked so serious and never before had he wished to discuss their relationship. When he had never given her any real hint of his feelings, she could not help but view a talk on them as a couple somewhat ominously. Even telling herself that Parlan would never be so cruel as to make love to her then tell her that he no longer desired her as a wife did not stop the taint of fear from possessing her.

  “What about us?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Aimil, I wish ye wouldnae look as if I am about to say something ye have no wish at all to hear.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He sighed, feeling his courage and determination waver. She did not look ready or willing to hear him speak his heart. Then he recalled the way she had cried out when she had seen him fall, quite possibly to his death. The emotion he had recognized in that cry gave him the strength to go on with his plan to be honest.

  “Dearling, I dinnae ken what ye think I mean to say but it willnae be so bad.” He smiled when she briefly looked guilty. “Dinnae ye think ‘tis far past time that we talk on us?”

  “Aye, I do.” She wondered if he meant to pull truths from her that she was not sure she was ready to reveal.

  “We have gone along for over a year with few words about how we might feel or what we might wish from each other. We talk on near to everything beneath God’s sun, but when it comes to speaking of what we feel, ‘tis only to talk of the passion we share. That is glorious, loving, but ‘tis not all that binds us and I think ‘tis past time for us to look at what does and what we truly wish to give or to get from each other.” She still looked nervous to him, and he smiled, kissing her gently. “Come, Aimil, can it be so hard?”

  “Aye, it can. I cannae think that there are many who can speak freely of all they hold in their heart. ‘Tis not easy to reveal oneself so fully.”

  “True. I planned that as the second thing I meant to do whilst we were alone here.”

  “The second?”

  “Aye, I have already done the first thing I wished to, what I was sore pressed to do when I kissed you back at Dubhglenn.”

  She smiled and ran her finger along the strong line of his chin. “I was briefly thinking of pushing ye back into bed but nae to rest.”

  “Ah, so I didnae have to chase ye after all.”

  “Ye never have,” she murmured, and grimaced. “I didnae even fight ye at the start though all I have always learned and believe in told me I should, bargain made or nay. I tumble back for ye with the ease of any whore espying the glint of gold.”

  “And that troubles ye, does it? Do ye think ‘tis different for me? Ye can have me any time ye even think ye might want me.”

  “‘Tis not the same for a man. A man is always ready to tussle with a lass.”

  “Aye, in most ways but ‘tis only lusting that brings that about.” He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “Ye but crook one of these wee fingers and I am like a stag in rut. That isnae the usual way. It never has been with me at least.”

  It was not such a really big thing but his admission of sharing her weakness for making love sent her heart soaring. She thought wryly that she was easily pleased. There was so much more she hungered for yet she found delight in crumbs.

  “Should I crook my finger now?” she whispered.

  “Nay, still it for the moment. We arenae done talking, lass, and weel ye ken it. All we have talked upon is our passion for each other and that has always been acknowledged between us. I wish to speak on things we have held within us, kept silent about.”

  “Who goes first?”

  “Now, there is a puzzle, eh? ‘Tis often what stills one’s tongue. No one wishes to be the first to bare one’s soul.”

  “Because then the other need no
t do the same but then holds all the power, especially the power to hurt,” she added softly.

  “Aimil, my wife, I would never hurt ye on purpose. I swear that. I cannae swear I never would for a man can be an unthinking creature at times but I never want to cause ye pain. What hurts ye, hurts me.” He lightly touched her mouth with his finger. “Tell me what ye want from me, Aimil. Ye have never asked a thing of me. I dinnae truly ken what ye want or need.”

  “Faithfulness. I fear I am a verra jealous sort.”

  “I noticed,” he murmured, and grinned.

  “‘Tisnae verra funny, Parlan.” She sighed. “It isnae a verra nice feeling.”

  “I ken it. I suffer the same ailment myself.”

  “Aye?”

  “Aye. It gnaws at my innards whenever ye smile at any man. What troubles me about it is that I sometimes fear what I might do to ye if I thought ye had turned to another.”

  Recalling that coldness that had been in his voice whenever he responded to her occasional threats to find another man, she realized that he spoke the truth. He did get jealous, fiercely jealous. She knew it was not the best of emotions but was pleased that he suffered from it.

  “Why do ye think I grew so angry with Artair that day he assaulted ye? Aye, I dinnae hold with such things but it wasnae his breaking of my rules that spurred that rage. It was because he had struck ye. I saw it even then, kenned it as the source of my fury. It became the reason I sought Rory’s death as weel. I forgot most all the evil he had done, only remembered what he had done to ye.”

  “As to being faithful, I have been and I mean to do my best to stay faithful. I have no true interest in the wenches who smile so welcomingly. They cannae give me what I can find in your arms, and none of them are worth spoiling what we have. A man can be a weak creature though, dearling. The right touch, a weak moment...” He shrugged. “I can but swear that I never intend to break your trust in me.”

  She caressed his cheek, deeply moved by his words. Each thing he said seemed to indicate that he did care for her. So too did she know that his promise of faithfulness was no small thing. Few men gave it or felt it necessary, did, in truth, feel it their right to bed a woman, any woman, as the need took them. His promise, though qualified with an admission of a man’s weakness, eased the fears she had never successfully fought.