by Lois Greiman
Isobel paced. Gilmour could hear her light footfalls against the floor, for although he kept his eyes closed, he had leisurely discerned a few things. One was that they were inside a room of some sort, most probably in the chamber where he had fallen asleep the night before. A wizened little woman of indistinguishable heritage had jabbered something about dressing his wounds, but fatigue had overwhelmed him, and he’d been able to do nothing more than take a bit of food and drink before falling into oblivion. They’d obviously decided rest was the best medicine, for here he remained, perfectly content so long as no one was trying to kill him. It was interesting how one’s standards lowered so quickly.
“I recognized none of the men who took me,” Isobel was saying. “In truth, I know no one who might wish me ill. Except—”
“Who?”
“Him.”
Me! Gilmour thought.
“This MacGowan?” Lady Madelaine’s tone evidenced her surprise. “What grievance does he have against you?”
Aye, what grievance indeed? Gilmour wondered foggily.
“I know not. I have done him no harm.”
Gilmour’s chest throbbed an argument, but it was so wonderful to simply lie there in silence.
“Then why do you suppose he wishes you ill?”
“I first met him at Castle Evermyst where I stayed for a spell. He is the brother by law of Anora—Lady Anora, whom I served there. Even then we… had words.”
Madelaine was quiet for several heartbeats, and when she spoke it was as if she were musing. “So he is the son of Roderic the Rogue, who is… let me think… a duke now, I believe. And his lady mother, well honored at court and known by all as the Flame. You were a servant in his brother’s castle and you… had words.”
There was utter silence for a moment, then, “Just because I am beneath him in me station does not give him the right to…” She paused. “He thinks himself quite irresistible.”
“Most men do, ma chere.” There was a shrug in her voice.
“And most men are wrong,” Isobel stated.
“But not this one?”
“Especially this one!”
Gilmour almost scowled. Madelaine laughed.
“So he wished to take you to his bed, oui?”
Isobel said nothing, but the elder woman continued nevertheless. “And why did you refuse? From all I hear he has the coin and the… gear… to make it well worth your effort.”
“I was not interested in his proposal.”
The older woman was silent for a moment, and it almost seemed in Gilmour’s misty state that he could feel her gaze on him. “Ahh. Well, on with your tale then.”
“Eventually I left Evermyst to—”
“Why?” Madelaine interrupted.
“I… ‘Twas time, is all.”
“Tell me, mon petit enfant, have you ever wondered why you run?”
“I did not run. I merely felt it was time to be off.”
“So you left the comforts of the castle where they adored you. I am correct in assuming they adored you am I not, Belva?”
Madelaine obviously did not know that Evermyst’s lady was Isobel’s sister, and yet she had guessed well. Evermyst’s people did cherish her. Of course, she probably hadn’t stabbed more than two or three of them—an action which had a tendency of cooling one’s feelings toward another. Perhaps.
“I got on well there,” Isobel admitted.
“I thought you would. Nevertheless, you ran—”
“I did not run.”
“Ahhh, yes. You went to…” Lady Madelaine paused, waiting for Isobel to continue.
“I lived for some months in the village of Henshaw, where I prepared the meals at an inn called the Red Lion. All was—”
“You have such a talent with the spices. ‘Tis like magic. I oft wondered if hunger made you gifted. Perhaps those of us who are forever well fed do not appreciate fine food as we should. But I prattle. Go on with your tale. Were you happy at the Red Lion?”
“Happy?” Was Isobel’s tone a bit strained now? Was he awake? Or was he dreaming? “I suspect I was. Happy enough.”
“But not filled with joy as you were at Evermyst?”
“What makes you say so?”
“No reason. Continue.”
“I was content in what I did.” She said it with some feeling. “Then one evening MacGowan turned up in the common room.”
“And began where he left off with his propositions,” suggested Madelaine. “But still you were not interested?”
“Nay.”
” ‘Tis strange. For even with the bruises he is quite fair to look upon.”
Gilmour almost smiled. But he did not, for there were few times in his life when he had more enjoyed doing nothing. He felt strangely at peace, almost dreamlike, and ever so interested. It took him a moment to realize that Isobel had not answered.
“Belva?”
“What?”
“Do you not agree?”
“Regarding what, me lady?”
“Do you not agree that he is a bonny lad? Almost… sweet of face.” Her tone was retrospective. “Yet deliriously wicked at the self same time.”
Isobel cleared her throat. “He is bonny enough, I suppose.”
“Ahhh,” Madelaine said and laughed. “So he made his appeal yet again and you refused him… yet again. But I still do not know how you wound up here, so near Delshutt Manor, looking as if you’d been trampled by a maddened bull.”
“I thought all would be well in Henshaw even after MacGowan’s arrival. After all, the Munro was about to return to his home and—”
“The Munro?” asked Lady Madelaine, her interest piqued. “I have heard tales of him. Tell me, Belva love, is he as large as they say?”
“Aye…” Isobel sounded baffled and somewhat distracted. “I suspect he is. At any rate, I assumed MacGowan would accompany him on his journey north, but his mount became injured and so he continued to stay at—”
“Why did he not purchase a new steed?”
Looking at the situation from this new position, with his body battered like a wind-blown apple,
Gilmour had to admit that such an idea had a good deal of appeal.
“I do not know,” Isobel said. “But it makes little difference. Whatever the reason, he stayed on at the inn.”
“Ahh. So he remained at the Red Lion and continued to bedevil you.”
The room was quiet for a moment. “Aye.”
“And you did not enjoy his overtures?”
“Nay! Of course not.”
“There is no need to become distraught, chere,” Madelaine said.
“I have been abducted and threatened and chased down like a hunted hare. I think I have the right—”
“Poor enfant. But let us continue with the tale, shall we?” Lady Madelaine soothed. “So he was interested in you and you were not completely certain how you felt about his attentions. Thus—”
” ‘Tis not true. I had no interest atall in his advances.”
“Ahhh. Well, let us forget that part for a spell. Now, what of the abduction? How did you end up in the company of the young rogue?”
Isobel sighed then paced again. “He had taken to following me home.”
“From the inn?”
“Aye.”
“In the dark.”
“Aye.”
Gilmour could almost hear Lady Madelaine’s cream-eating smile. “Continue.”
“Aye, he would follow me home, and—”
“Tell me, Belva, do you still love the water so?”
Memories washed over Gilmour like mulled wine.
As for himself, he had never been comfortable in the water. It wasn’t that he was afraid of it… exactly. He just appreciated the fact that land did not have a tendency to flow out from under his feet like water did. But seeing her by the river’s edge with the moonlight stroking her ivory breasts and waves lapping her delicate ankles, had made him feel somewhat differently. Of course, he’d rather she didn�
�t push him off a cliff again. In fact, now that he thought about it, there was no reason she couldn’t simply disrobe for him and pretend she was by the river.
“Aye. I am ever at home in the water,” Bel admitted. “Why do you ask?”
“Simple curiosity. Nothing more. So he followed you to your home but still you refused his advances.”
“I…” Isobel’s voice fell into silence like a pebble in a pond.
“Belva?”
“Of course I refused him.”
“Ahhh. Go on.”
“Then one night I was attacked, knocked unconscious and carried away. When I awoke I knew not where I was. All I knew was that I had been abducted and that he was at their campsite, laughing and conversing with them. ‘Twas perfectly logical to assume—”
“That he was one of your captors.”
“Aye.”
“But…” Madelaine let the word lie there in the quiet.
“But I think I… may have been mistaken.”
May have been! They’d beaten the living stuffing out of him.
“And why do you think so?” Madelaine asked.
“Well, when I said his name…”
And tried to kill him!
“They grabbed him and…” To her credit, Isobel seemed unable to go on.
“And?”
“In truth,” Bel murmured, her voice feather soft. “I thought he was dead.”
“And this distressed you?”
“Of course it distressed me. I never wished for him—”
“They beat him,” Madelaine interrupted.
“Aye.”
“And kicked him, by the looks of it.”
“Aye.”
“And stabbed him.”
“Ay… well, in actuality… I do not think they… stabbed him.”
“I was certain Liddie said there were stab wounds on his chest and leg.”
Isobel cleared her throat. “Aye, well, it could be that those wounds were caused by… meself.”
“You stabbed him?”
Damn right she did. And it hurt like the devil.
“When I saw him by the fire with the brigands I…”
“What?”
“I fear I lost control.”
“Lost control, Belva? You?”
“I believed he had betrayed me.”
The room went deadly quiet for a moment, then, “A man cannot betray a woman unless she trusts him to begin with, chere. Did you trust him?”
“Nay. But still I was… incensed.”
“And so you flew at him and stabbed him.” Lady Madelaine sounded a bit baffled, but not nearly as bloody baffled as Gilmour himself had been.
Isobel cleared her throat. “Aye.”
“Ahh well, one scar upon that bonny chest will do him no harm, will it now? Indeed, mayhap ‘twill make it only the more appealing for the lassies, oui? Still,” Madelaine continued, “would it not have been more sensible to try to escape since the opportunity presented itself?”
What a fine idea! Too bad Isobel had not considered that at the time.
“I was not thinking straight. I had been struck on the head, if you recall.”
“Aye. The brutal bastards. Fortunately, you have mended well. The rogue here has a bit more healing to do since they wounded him on both sides of his pate.”
Isobel said nothing.
“There is an open wound on the left side. Did they strike him with something? A club, mayhap?”
“I think perhaps… that wound was caused by meself also.”
“You struck him on the head?”
“Aye.”
“With a club?”
“A rock.”
“While the brigands looked on?”
“Actually, the incident happened somewhat earlier.”
“Afore you left Henshaw?”
“Aye.”
“Beside the burn?”
“What?”
“When he saw you unclothed in the water?”
“How did you know I—”
“I well remember the months you spent with us at Milford House, Belva. Perhaps you did not realize that I knew you made a habit of swimming in the pond.
” ‘Twas an intriguing habit of yours. And I made certain the lads did not disturb you, but mayhap it would have been wise to forestall it once you were no longer under my protection.”
Nay, ‘twould not have been wise atall, for of all the memories that drifted through Gilmour’s hazy brain, that was his most favored. His mind wandered dreamily and below, his interest swelled.
“The lad here doesn’t look the sort to miss that type of thing,” Madelaine continued. “Go on with your story, chere. After you attacked him.”
“I did not attack him… exactly.”
“What would you prefer to call it?”
Yes. What?
“I was but protecting meself.”
“From what?”
The silence was quite long now. Gilmour waited.
“I suspect it is possible that he was attempting to protect me,” Isobel murmured.
“Ahh, so he followed you to the brigands’ camp and when your captors realized his reason for being there, they beat the devil out of him.”
“I’m willing to wager there is still a bit of devil in him,” Isobel said and Madelaine laughed.
” ‘Tis good to know you learned a bit about men while you were in my employ, Belva. What happened after they beat him?”
“We traveled, seemingly forever. MacGowan was unconscious much of the time.”
“He seems to have a penchant for that,” Madelaine said, but even in his odd, dreamlike state he could have sworn he heard a dram of humor in her tone.
“I planned and schemed, trying to think of a means of escape. But what could I do while he was unconscious?”
“Leave without him, mayhap?”
“But… I… he had planned to save me… I think.”
“And so you hoped to do the same for him.”
“I thought they had killed him.” Isobel’s voice broke.
“I believe you have already said that, lass.”
Bel cleared her throat. “Then when he awoke… there was no time for apologies. I attempted to tell him of me plan, but when he spoke they…” She paused.
“They are evil.” Madelaine’s tone was softer than Gilmour would have thought possible, for it was clear she was not a women prone to foolish sentiment. “God shall deal with them if man does not get the opportunity, and the lad shall recover.”
“Aye.” Isobel went on, her voice brusque. “I had no chance to tell him me plan, but I convinced one of the brigands to untie me hands. I promised him…” She paused as if gathering strength. “I promised him meself if he would give me one chance at MacGowan.”
“One chance?” #
“I had, ahhh… tried to kill him you know. They believed I hated him.”
“Didn’t you?”
“I… aye, I did. I do.”
“Except for that one time.”
“What time?”
“I think you know, chere. ‘Tis a strange thing; men can be bumbling bastards their entire lives and then they touch you… just that once and you wonder why you never knew they were magical.”
It had been magical. Gilmour remembered the feel of her skin, the whisper of her sighs. Sweet heaven, she had moaned like a goddess under his fingertips. Even now he was hard with the memory.
“We did not… it was not what you think,” Isobel said.
“Truly?”
“I did not… give meself to him.”
“Ahhh. And yet you felt the magic?”
“Nay, I—”
“Go on with your tale.”
It took Isobel several seconds to continued, and then there was pacing again, the steps faster now. “Only a few of the brigands wanted to keep MacGowan alive. The others thought him too risky. The guard knew I would go for his knife. That much he knew, but he thought I would kill MacGowan.”
“Ins
tead of free him.”
“Aye.”
Madelaine sighed. “And so here you are, with the very man who has bedeviled you for so long.”
The footsteps halted. Again it seemed that he could feel gazes upon him.
” ‘Tis said he has been with scores of women.”
“A goodly number.”
“I would be just one more.”
“Would you?”
“If I gave meself to him. But I will not.”
“So that he cannot wound your heart.”
“He cannot wound me!”
“Indeed? So you have no feelings for him?”
There was the slightest of pauses. Gilmour held his breath.
“Nay, I do not,” Isobel said, her voice soft. “He has done naught but plague me since first we met.”
“What do you mean, ‘plague,’ exactly?”
“Have I not just told you? He followed me everywhere. I could not be shed of him.”
“Ahh.” He felt the lady’s hot gaze skim his body. “For shame.”
” ‘Tis shameful! He would not give me a moment’s peace.”
“Except that one time.”
“There was no one time! He followed me home, is what he did, and forced himself—”
“He forced himself on you!”
Gilmour waited, breath held, but Isobel didn’t speak. The room seemed suddenly quite cold.
“I am a patient woman,” Madelaine said, but her tone was no longer husky and smooth, but hard and chilled. “I am also forgiving, for I know that God will send justice on those who most deserve it. My first husband, for instance. But some things should not wait for the Lord’s judgment. If he forced you, Belva then he shall pay the price this very day. Were you willing, lass?”
“Nay, I—”
“Then he shall dearly regret his actions.” She was directly beside the bed now, and in that instant Gilmour felt the weight of fabric lifted from his hips. “Belva, fetch the knife,” she said and Gilmour’s eyes snapped open.
Chapter 14
Madelaine stood over him, one hand holding up a strip of cloth while the other perused his lower body.
Gilmour shot his gaze downward and found to his wordless amazement that he was naked. Completely and utterly naked but for a scrap of scarlet linen that flowed over one hip and away.
“I did not say—” Isobel began, but the older woman interrupted once again without shifting her gaze the slightest degree.