Highland Charm: First Fantasies

by April Holthaus

  Much later, the woman chanted over her. Words she didn’t understand, that sounded ancient, but she found calming.

  “Ugly crone, get out of my way.” Maclay pushed the woman aside and grabbed hold of Laurie, dragging her from the pallet.

  The torture began again. Only this time he seemed different. More intense. Laurie feared this time he’d surely commit rape.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The horses stomped the ground, frightened by the eerie, soul-wrenching screams echoing through the hills. With the land covered in heavy fog, Archibald MacLachlan couldn’t tell from whence the sound came.

  He leaned close to his companion. “Something is amiss in the hills this night.”

  “Aye. But, where?” Alexander Campbell said as he stared into the thick, gray haze.

  Seeing more than a short distance was impossible.

  Abruptly the screaming stopped.

  With a whistled signal from Alexander, the small group of men who journeyed for King James IV moved forward. Having been away on the Continent for a lengthy stay, they traveled this night in an attempt to make up for lost time, eager to reach Castle Lachlan.

  When they cleared the forest and road into the glen, a mysterious woman galloped out of the mist. Tinkling music filled the air. She raced toward them across the moor, her flaming red hair flying behind her like a pennon billowing in the wind. She rode a handsome white steed with a golden bridle and with golden bells plaited in his mane. The stallion was a fine beast, fast as wind, with an arched neck and broad chest. His nostrils flared; his ears laid back.

  The woman rode headlong into the midst of the traveling party.

  Her approach brought a bold grin to Alexander’s mouth and Archibald found himself grinning too, forgetting his unease. She rode with more skill than most men. A stunning display of horsemanship, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, her emerald gown and green mantle enhancing her fiery beauty.

  “Who is she?” Archibald asked.

  “I dinnae ken. But I recognize the plaide she wears. I am certain it is the work of my father’s weaver,” Alexander replied in an awed voice.

  The guardsmen moved apart, falling back, making way for her. Most of the men’s jaws dropped open and they stared at her enchanting beauty. Stopping in front of Archibald and Alexander, she spoke directly to Archibald, her green eyes sparkling, alight with an uncanny glow.

  “I am known as Caitrina. You must come with me, now, to the caves of the gray women. There is no time to waste. We must save your brother’s betrothed, for she has been abducted and is held prisoner.”

  She gracefully turned her horse about and rode back into the misty night. Her horse flew across the moor as if with wings. Did she expect them to follow?

  Archibald glanced at Alexander. He shrugged, then smiled and nodded. Archibald spurred his horse and gave chase. Alexander stayed close, followed by the rest of the men.

  After following a strange green light through the fog, they approached the mouth of a large cave. Men ran from the opening, escaping into shadows and mist before they reached them.

  The sight of so many king’s men must have frightened them away.

  Archibald headed into the cave while Alexander and some of his men pursued those who fled.

  A battered woman lay naked on the floor in a slimy corner of the dank cavern. Covered in filth, her dirty, stringy hair matted around her head and shoulders. Her wrenching sobs yanked at Archibald’s heartstrings.

  Reaching down, he touched her shoulder. She flinched, curling tighter into herself. He gently spoke to her in Gaelic. She didn’t respond to his words. Her weeping continued, her shoulders heaving.

  After placing a plaide over her bloodied and beaten form, he lifted her, careful of her injuries. She hung limp, her slender form trembling in his embrace.

  As he carried her from the cave, he found himself staring at her marred face. Who was she? What was he to do with her? He didn’t even consider leaving the responsibility to Alexander or the others. Whether, in truth, she was his brother’s betrothed or not, he’d take care of her.

  His gut clenched. What had been done to the lass disgusted him. How could anyone so abuse a woman? If, in fact, she belonged to Patrick, who could hate him so much they would torture a young woman in such a horrible manner? Lamont?

  Iain was a hard man, but the chief of Clan Lamont wouldn’t stoop so low.

  Archibald carried the woman to where his lads waited with the horses. He handed her into the arms of one of the other men. He mounted then reached down and took her into his arms again. He placed her sideways in front of him.

  The wee woman leaned into him, slid her arms around his waist, and placed her head below his shoulder as if she realized she was safe. He wrapped his arms around her, tenderly holding her. He softly murmured calming words, trying to soothe her.

  She tilted her head back to look at him. The small effort must have been painful, for she closed her eyes and again leaned into him.

  Having seen the pain in her blackened eyes, he patted her gently to reassure her. Her hand reached out from under the plaide she now wore and grasped his leine with surprising strength.

  “Patrick?” she said before she thankfully swooned.

  Archibald groaned. Another female mistaking him for his twin.

  He didn’t know for sure if the lass belonged to his brother, but she obviously knew Patrick. His parents raised him and his brothers to believe all women precious. Gazing at the small hand on his chest, he made a heartfelt vow to protect her with his life.

  * * *

  Luck blessed Patrick this eve. After several days of dense fog, the murky vapor finally dissipated and the waning moon shone bright, making tracking easier. He and his lads rode north to the head of the loch where they met up with Jamie’s search party. Jamie reported finding a currach hidden in the brush at the edge of the wood near the beach. After conferring, the two groups of warriors split again, Jamie taking his group farther north.

  Even though he assured Patrick he’d seen no sign of Laurie or Duncan near the forest, Patrick’s party headed east anyway, toward the Fir-wood.

  Although it might be unwarranted arrogance, he refused to believe Laurie managed to return to her own time. He’d convinced himself they’d come together for a purpose, that they were matched souls. Together they had to fulfill their destiny.

  He couldn’t marry Isobell.

  Patrick and his men searched through the night directed by the shimmering light of the moon. Morning dawned to crystal-clear weather. With the rising sun, Patrick’s frustration grew beyond bearing.

  He and Stephen climbed a high crag just beyond the wood. From this vantage point, on the cliff above the tree line, they could see to the west as far as the bay, the castle beyond, and the sea loch. Patrick noted the huge cloud of dust at the edge of the bay. A large party of riders swiftly approached the crossing to the castle.

  Patrick pointed outward. “Stephen, what do you make of that? Can you see who draws near the castle with those keen eyes of yours?”

  “Might be Campbells. Perhaps Archibald returns with Alexander.”

  “Aye, Campbells. Mayhap Archie.” Patrick frowned. “Even if we hurry, we will not make it in time to greet them.” He ran a hand through his snarled hair. He didn’t want to stop the search for Laurie. But if his brother were with the travelers...

  Patrick would return to the castle before resuming his search. He couldn’t leave it to Elspeth to explain the chaos his life had become.

  They watched the progress of the riders for several more minutes before they scrambled down. Their descent required caution as they crawled over steep and slippery rocks, using exposed roots as handholds. Carefully moving over the scree at the base of the incline, they made their way to the clearing where the others waited with the horses.

  “We make haste to the castle!” Patrick shouted as he mounted.

  The trail rose and fell as they made their trek downward. At times, Patric
k caught a good view of the loch and the castle, and saw the visitors take boats across to Castle Lachlan. At other times, the trees hemmed in the view.

  The men carefully worked their way through the thick stands of fir.

  Once they were out of the trees, they quickened their pace. Over the heather-clad slopes, they galloped to the stable where they saw the Campbell device. Archibald had returned. Patrick and Stephen wasted no time and ran to the water’s edge where a boat waited with oarsmen ready to take them across.

  Patrick glanced at the purple tinted hills. He’d speak to his twin and resume the search.

  * * *

  His jaw tight, Patrick stood next to his brother at Laurie’s bedside.

  “She was tortured. Beaten. Cut with a knife,” Archibald said.

  Pain coiled in Patrick’s chest. He felt as if he was experiencing Laurie’s torture. He barely remained in control, feeling incredible guilt.

  He clenched his fists. Her black and blue body enraged him. Welts and oozing sores covered her back and arms where she’d been whipped. Damn Maclay. Patrick pressed his lips together, damning himself as the biggest fool. He’d seen the cut on Laurie’s breast when Aine cleaned and tended her wounds. He could only imagine the other horrors she’d faced because of him.

  How many times had the bastard taken what belonged to him? How many times had he taken her? Maclay would pay. He’d suffer before he died. He’d learn the meaning of pain.

  His brother watched him through wary eyes. “Who is she? When we were told your lady had been taken and held captive, I expected to rescue Isobell. Instead I find this woman, a stranger to us.”

  Patrick turned away from his brother to gaze at Laurie. “’Tis a long tale. She is mine. I must take care of her now. However, Isobell is also in the castle.” He ran a hand through his hair. “’Tis complicated.” He faced Archibald once again. “Please, dinnae speak of this to anyone until we talk more. See that Alexander keeps silent as well. I beg this of you.”

  His brother nodded, his lips held in a grim line.

  Laurie opened her eyes. She shook her head. Grimaced. Then closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath before opening them again.

  She attempted a smile and winced. “Patrick, there are two of you,” she muttered.

  He stepped forward and grasped her hand, holding it protectively in his much larger one. “Nae, lass. There are, in truth, two of us. ’Tis my brother Archie you see. He found you and brought you home.”

  Laurie moistened her split lip with her tongue. “You…” She had difficulty speaking and ground her throat. “Have a twin?”

  Patrick watched Archibald leave the chamber, thankful for the privacy. “Aye, I have a twin. We shared our mother’s womb.” He helped Laurie to sit against the pillows.

  Pain flared in her eyes, yet she didn’t cry out, enduring the agony in silence.

  “You must rest now. Aine will give you something to ease your hurts.”

  Laurie’s fingers fluttered near her throat.

  “Aine!” She came quickly at his summons, bringing with her a potion for Laurie.

  “Here, lass.” Aine held the cup to Laurie’s lips, forcing her to drink the bitter liquid by pinching her nose. When she’d taken most of it, Patrick helped her lie back against the feather pillows.

  The old woman left the chamber, but Patrick stayed. Seated at his lady’s side, he held her hand while her eyes fluttered closed and she drifted into a potion-induced sleep. When he was sure she slept soundly, he called for Aine to return and watch over her. Then he went in search of his brother.

  Annoyed he hadn’t been the one to find Laurie and vexed Archibald rescued her, Patrick swallowed hard, pushing his frustration deep within him. He unfairly directed his anger at his brother. He owed his twin an apology.

  He found Archibald in the great hall. “Join me in my private chamber. I wish for us to speak.”

  “Why are you keeping both your mistress and betrothed under the same roof? You had better have a good excuse for your heartless behavior.”

  Patrick pursed his lips. “I do.”

  “Then explain.”

  “Not here. Join me in my private chamber.” Patrick was well aware that at times, the hall had ears. None should overhear this conversation.

  Archibald glanced around before nodding his agreement and silently followed Patrick to his study.

  “How is Duncan?” Patrick asked.

  “He will come around. Though he will be sore for quite some time, recovering from the beatings he suffered.”

  Patrick paced the chamber while Archibald leaned against the wall watching him. Finally, he stopped and faced his twin. “How did you find them? I had several parties out searching. I searched myself. We found nary a trace. Nary a trail.”

  “A mysterious woman came to us.” Archibald smiled. “She was enchanting. The most beautiful woman I have had the pleasure to gaze upon. She rode a white steed with golden trappings. Alexander recognized her cloak as the work of the Campbell weaver or we never would have followed her. We took a chance, never considering she may lead us into a trap.”

  “I thank Our Lord that you did. Follow her, that is.”

  “Aye. Thank the good Lord,” Archibald agreed. “She told us your lady had been abducted and held captive. She said we would find the lass near the caves of the gray women. When we found your lady, she lay naked, broken and bleeding in the filth of one of those dank caverns. Who would do such a thing?”

  “Maclay. You did not capture him?” Patrick’s voice strained.

  Archibald glanced away. “If ’twas he, he escaped into the fog. As did the beautiful woman, I fear.”

  Patrick roared his frustration, the sound bouncing off the stone walls.

  * * *

  Days passed before Patrick could question Duncan thoroughly.

  Much improved, the lad whined and complained and argued, claiming he was well enough to get up from bed. Aine wouldn’t stand for such nonsense. She practically kept him prisoner in one of the bedchambers.

  Learning Laurie’s abduction was part of his uncle’s intrigues made Patrick heartsick. Donald MacLachlan and his whore Moira both had gone missing from the castle. Donald had left a message he was off to another of Patrick’s holdings, one that was under the stewardship of Patrick’s father and uncle’s cousin, Allain of Dunadd. Everyone in the castle assumed Moira snuck away to follow Donald. However, Patrick had his doubts. More than likely, Donald cast her aside, forcing her to run on her own. The wench feared his wrath, having played an integral part in Laurie’s abduction.

  Donald, on the other hand, remained a problem. His political maneuverings and interference in Patrick’s life was something Patrick could no longer tolerate.

  He would need to deal with his uncle, and soon.

  As for Maclay, Patrick sent a small party of warriors to hunt him down. Once found, they would bring him in to stand trial. Patrick would like nothing more than to kill the bastard, slowly, inflicting an incredible amount of pain.

  However, Patrick was a man of the law and he’d see justice served.

  There was still the problem of Isobell and their upcoming nuptials to deal with. For now though, he had an immediate crisis. Laurie remained fevered and incoherent. He feared she fought for her life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Isobell inhaled sharply, horrified at the sight of the fevered woman’s abused face. She found it difficult to look at her, to see her as a victim instead of Patrick’s whore. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for the woman. In reality though, they were both merely pawns in the game the men played.

  She could well believe Malcolm Maclay had done this. More than once, she’d witnessed his brutal treatment of serving women at her home. When she interceded, the man glared, though retreated. Why didn’t her father better control his henchman?

  Patrick’s woman’s eyes opened slightly. The fever held her in its grip. Glancing around, Isobell located an ewer of water on a nearby tab
le. She poured some into a cup and tried to get the woman to drink a wee bit.

  A small amount passed her lips. The rest dribbled down her chin and onto her chest to soak her linen nightrail. Isobell turned to leave the chamber, planning to slip out unseen.

  Too late. Patrick and Archibald stood in the doorway.

  Rage radiated from Patrick, freezing her in place. He moved across the chamber with long, quick steps and grabbed Isobell by the wrist. “You poison her.”

  She franticly tried to pull away, but he held her in a tight, painful grip. She winced, tears coming to her eyes. “Nae. Nae. I but gave her water to quench her thirst.”

  Archibald strode across the room. He sniffed near the sick woman’s mouth then tasted the liquid in the cup. “Release Isobell. ’Twas but water.”

  With a frigid glare, Patrick freed her from his hold and tossed her away. “What are you doing in Lady Laurie’s chamber? Where is Aine?”

  Isobell wiped at the few tears on her cheek with the back of a shaky hand. “I came to see what your whore looked like,” she said before she thought better of sounding so mean.

  “Get out.” Patrick stared at her with icy hatred. “Get out before I strike you.”

  He went to the French woman’s bed and swept her hair away from her bruised face. Sitting on the bench at her side, he grasped her hand and murmured to her.

  Isobell couldn’t believe how gently he handled the woman. He’d never been kind to her. She caught Archibald’s eye before she fled the chamber.

  “Isobell wait. I must have words with you,” Archibald called.

  If only it was he whom she was to wed.

  * * *

  Laurie leaned against the down pillows and raised her hand a few inches before the effort became too much and she dropped it back to the mattress. Her fever had broken, but she remained weaker than a newborn kitten, and when she moved too quickly, felt twinges of uncomfortable pain.

  Time passed slowly. Nightmares haunted her. She often feared Maclay would sneak into the castle and abduct her again. For weeks, she’d remained in bed dependent on Aine and Elspeth to care for her. They forced bitter tasting potions on her to relieve the pain and to help build her strength, cajoling her with soothing words and praise. Patrick sat with her often, holding her hand and whispering gentle words of encouragement.