Courage Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  We need to leave. Now.

  She looked about the room and hurried into the hallway.

  “Milady?”

  “I'll be back directly,” she called to her maid as she hurried past her, going downstairs. At the office, she stopped. She knew she shouldn't be here listening, but she had to find out what was going on. She tiptoed to the door. Stout and thick dark wood, no sound carried through it. All the same, she leaned against it, listening for words.

  When she heard footsteps, she slipped back into an alcove, drawing a velvet curtain across.

  “You'd do best not to cross my path again,” a voice said tightly.

  “I wish I did not have to.”

  Sean! Marguerite felt her heart in her mouth. She wanted to warn him not to cross her father.

  “What?”

  That was her father. She covered her cheeks with her hands in horror as she heard the cold ice in his tone. As a girl, she would have hidden under the table, hearing that. As an adult, her soul shriveled.

  “I said,” Sean said levelly, “that I will cross your path if I need to. Now I think our meeting is concluded. Yes?”

  Marguerite held her breath.

  “Yes,” her father said.

  Whew.

  She let out a long sigh. She heard two sets of footsteps approach, and then diverge as one went back up the hallway while the other went right, toward the great hall. She peered out.

  “Sean?” She ran to him. He turned.

  “My dear.”

  He caught her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, falling back so that they concealed themselves in the recess behind a post. Their lips met and clung and she held him to her, wishing she could make that firm, lean body part of her own.

  “Sean,” she said, looking up at him. She cupped his cheek. “What did...?”

  “Ssh,” he said gently. “You were right. It was fruitless. But I had to try. Now we should run.” He kissed her palm. “This night?”

  Marguerite nodded. “By the stables. I will ask Rubina if we can borrow the carriage.”

  “Better a cart,” Sean said. “Less easy to recognize.”

  Marguerite nodded. “Yes. Well, then.”

  “Well, then,” he whispered.

  “I will see you tonight. At seven of the clock.”

  “Seven.” He agreed.

  Marguerite wrapped her arms tight around him, feeling a wild elation. They were going to leave this place, once and for all.

  She slipped back to her rooms. “Blaire?” she called.

  “Milady?”

  “Will you fetch my blue gown? And the white?” She was already folding the green one – her favorite – into a small traveling case. She would take only three gowns, a cloak and a necklace – useful for trading should they finish their purse of coin.

  “Yes, milady.” Her maid frowned, but nodded. She hurried away.

  When she took a long time returning with the dresses, Marguerite started to fret. What if she'd been apprehended? She huffed a laugh.

  “Marguerite. Stop being silly.” Why would anyone seek to harm her maidservant?

  All the same, she felt a shiver of apprehension down her spine. When she appeared with the gowns, Marguerite let out a long sigh of relief. “Whew. Thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  As soon as the maid had gone, Marguerite threw her things into the case and hurried down the stairs. She carried it in her arms and stuck to the shadows, her cloak trailing behind her. It was pale dusk, a bird singing a bittersweet chorus to the night outside.

  At the courtyard, she turned left, heading to the stables. There, she paused in the shadow of a wall.

  “Easy, Marguerite. Calm. Breathe slowly.”

  She drew in a shuddering breath. She was about to take the path to the stables when the man jumped out and blocked her path. She screamed.

  Something hit her on the back of the head and she fell into the darkness behind her eyelids.

  Sean heard the scream. “Marguerite!”

  He vaulted out of the stables, feeling his wound pull and hissing through his teeth. He saw the horse disappear into the woods. She was across the saddle, long hair a pale flag. He shouted.

  “No!”

  When the horse streamed past and through the gates, he ran to the cart. “Fergus! Now! After them.”

  The carter, sitting at the reins, blinked and sat up. He didn't think twice. The cart was saddled and ready, the two cart-horses, Snow and Stormy, in the traces. They raced out.

  “There!”

  The carter nodded, seeing the horse – the merest flicker of white in the dusk-dark woodlands. Sean nodded. They slewed sideways, pursuing him.

  “After them!” he shouted.

  The carter seemed to have within him a deep desire to be a knight. He certainly drove the cart as if he were on the tournament-ground, launching them boldly down the track. Sean felt his stomach lurch and clung to the rails, fearing his dinner would revisit him.

  He caught sight of the rider and pointed wordlessly. The carter, Fergus, nodded.

  “After!”

  He drove their team, Snow and Stormy, valiantly ahead. They were closing fast.

  This close, Sean could see the grim, hard face of the man who rode the horse. He had Marguerite slung across the saddle and they rode at aching pace, Marguerite's prone body jolting with the speed. Sean felt his hands clench into fists and his anger choked him.

  “You foul hell-fiend!”

  How dare he treat Marguerite so cruelly? He felt his blood boil and at once he felt helpless. What would he do if he couldn't catch them on time? Couldn't face the man? Couldn't fight them? He felt the frustration and helplessness choke him.

  “Onward.”

  They were almost there. As the road bent through the woods, Sean had an idea.

  “Slow, please,” he called. “I'm getting out.”

  “What?” Fergus looked alarmed. “It's too slow, sir.”

  “Wait you here,” Sean said.

  The carter saw him make a circling gesture and his eyes widened in understanding. “Yes, sir!” he nodded brightly.

  Sean slipped silently through the woods. He ran. He didn't have much time. Heart thumping, legs quivering, breath tight, he ran.

  “Yah!”

  He leaped out of the bushes into the path of the horse. He waved a stick, and the horse, instinctively, reared. The man cursed and Marguerite slewed sideways. The horse crashed down and shied. The man sawed on the reins, turning them back.

  “Och, no, lad!” Fergus yelled.

  The track behind was blocked with the cart.

  The man was trapped.

  He looked down at Sean and sawed his horse to the right again, planning to ride down Sean. His horse reared and almost threw him.

  As the horse crashed down again in a spine-jarring thud, Sean ran forward and grabbed Marguerite. She was unconscious, her pale skin marred with a blackening bruise. His blood boiled.

  “You foul fiend!” he yelled again. Without thinking, he hauled Marguerite from the saddle and passed her to Fergus, who was by his side. The man lifted her tenderly. Sean grabbed his dagger-handle.

  “You will answer for this,” he shouted up at Rodham. The man could have ridden him down – in all truth it would have been sensible had Rodham done so – but he didn't.

  He sneered.

  “You threaten me, you pup?” he made a wry face. “You think you'll survive that?”

  Sean shrugged. “Mayhap not,” he said lightly. “I don't mind right now. She's safe.”

  He saw Rodham's eyes widen and then narrow. “You're a fool,” he sneered.

  “Then I'm a fool,” Sean said, laughing. “If you're a man with all his wits, I'd rather be a fool.”

  Rodham dismounted and slid the dagger out of his belt. He held it in his right hand, his left out for balance. They would usually fight thus with blade and shield. They were both without the shield.

  Sean swallowed hard. This might be letha
l.

  He glanced sideways at Marguerite. She was propped on the cart beside Fergus, who looked down, tense and watchful. Her pale skin shone soft in the moonlight. It was worth it.

  Rodham narrowed his eyes, gauging him. Then he charged.

  Sean stepped aside, wincing as the bulky, powerful man rushed headlong past. He twisted as he turned and ran at him again. His right arm lifted and he prepared to strike. Rodham raised a brow. The dagger-blades met, shivering sparks.

  Sean gasped at the impact and felt warm blood trickle from his wound. He leaned back, the only direction he could go to break the deadlock. Fergus and the cart were to his right and back. He stepped back once and then twice. Rodham followed.

  They eyed each other warily.

  Sean lifted his dagger and Rodham saw the move, thrusting forward. Sean jumped back. He was tiring and could feel the blood starting to flow down his side. He stepped sideways, circling again.

  “You're a fool,” Rodham spat. “You think she loves you?”

  Sean said nothing. He could feel the man probing for his weaknesses. He would not show them. He kept his eye on him, watching him circle.

  “You think she hasn't given herself to me already, eh?”

  Sean blinked. He frowned. Rodham leaned left, and then raised the dagger, moving infinitesimally right. Sean followed.

  “You think she'd wait for you, when she could taste me, eh?” Rodham chuckled. “Where do you think she spent the day, eh? Safely in the tower? Why do you think she was so late?”

  Sean frowned. She had been late. Late enough for him to start to wonder where she was. His concentration broke.

  “Sean!”

  A woman's scream broke the silence. His head went up as Rodham ran toward him with a roar. He shifted, lowered his right hand and swerved desperately left.

  Rodham ran past him at the tree, stumbled and fell.

  Sean stepped out and fell on him. He felt the blood start to trickle down to his knee as they struggled on the ground. Rodham was below him, but he twisted, grimacing, stabbing up viciously.

  Sean hissed and grunted. Heavens, but the man was strong! They rolled.

  He tried to raise his hand, but Rodham had hold of his throat now. He coughed. He couldn't move. The world pulsed and the blood throbbed in his head. He gasped and it felt as if his vision came at him down a long, black tunnel...

  Then, suddenly, just as abruptly as it came, the silence lifted. The hands fell away. The quiet was replaced by someone's yell.

  “Sean!”

  Then sobbing. And a strange creaking, grinding sound.

  Sean doubled up and coughed and coughed. He felt as if his lungs were coming up. He wheezed and gasped, and the mucus streamed down from his nose, his eyes watered and he choked.

  “Sean,” a voice said. A hand clapped him on the back. “Easy, easy. Sir?”

  “Yes, milady?” Fergus said.

  “We need to get him onto the cart.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Sean felt Fergus grip his shoulders. The ground fell away abruptly as someone hauled him to his feet. The world went dark and his vision fractured into stars, then cleared.

  He coughed as he was marched across the grass toward the cart. He felt the rough, cool wooden sides under his hands and then someone pushed him in the back, helping him up, in, and over the side. He fell into the back and coughed, and then clawed his way to the seat.

  “Milady?” Fergus called. “What of the other?”

  “Bind him fast,” a cold voice said.

  “Yes, milady.”

  Sean listened to the sounds as someone hauled a body about with grim efficiency, then there was a grunt, an exhalation and a thump as something heavy was thrown into the cart.

  “Right, milady,” Fergus said succinctly. “Where to now?”

  “Back to Buccleigh Castle,” a voice said tightly. “I think my father will be very interested in the tale I have to tell.”

  In the front seat of the cart, his throat aching like raw fire scalded him, the wound in his side stinging like it was doused in vinegar, Sean felt himself grin. “Milady,” he rasped.

  He felt someone slide lightly up into the cart and then felt a warm, soft presence behind him, a hand touched to his shoulder.

  “Thank Heavens you're safe.”

  He chuckled and kissed her hand. It took all his strength and he leaned back against the boards, wheezing and coughing. “Thank Heavens we're safe,” he murmured.

  “Yes,” Marguerite nodded. She squeezed his hand.

  “Off home?”

  “Yes, Fergus. Take us home.”

  They headed home, to Buccleigh.

  The fire burned low in the grate in the solar. Marguerite was tired. Nonetheless, she tried to focus on Camden's face as she told him her news.

  “So, you say this man made an attempt on Sean's life? Through blackmailing another to carry out the duty of killing him?” He sounded horrified.

  “Yes, Camden,” Marguerite said softly. My, but she was weary! Just the effort of staying awake was draining, never mind the effort of telling an accurate account of occurences.

  “And you didn't tell me?” Camden raised a brow.

  “No,” Marguerite said. She hung her head. She felt like crying. She had faced enough in one day! Camden was a friend – why couldn't he leave her alone?

  “Whist, Camden,” Rubina said. She came in from the hallway outside. “Can't you see Marguerite's had enough?”

  Marguerite felt a sudden relief wash through her. Rubina, at least, understood.

  “Come, my dear,” Rubina said gently. “You come and lie down. No need to tell us now. We'll find a way to address this wrong. But we can do it later. You've seen enough fighting for a day.”

  Marguerite nodded wearily. “Yes. Thank you.”

  She could have wept as Rubina put her arm around her, steadying her as they walked up the stairs together. She was swaying on her feet as they reached the top of the tower.

  “There,” Rubina said soothingly. “It'll all be well now.”

  Marguerite swayed on her feet. But she had to know where Sean was! “Sean..?” she managed to ask.

  “He's well. He's with Father Bruce. He'll fix him up, so he will,” Rubina smiled. “And Mother will fix what he can't, never fear.”

  Marguerite smiled fondly. “Thank you,” she said.

  “There. Now you sit here. I'll send up something to help you sleep?”

  “I can't sleep. Sean...” Marguerite protested even as her eyelids drooped with weariness.

  “He'll be fine,” Rubina assured her. “I'll go down and check on him now.”

  Marguerite smiled. Then, without her conscious volition, she drifted off into sleep.

  Later, she was woken by voices, talking.

  “He's been dealt with?” Rubina asked.

  “Aye.” Camden sounded tense. His voice was harder and more firm than Marguerite had ever heard it.

  “Banished?”

  “Aye. We couldn't prove what he did, so your father suggested we speak to the King about it. That scared the fellow, when we told him – I can tell you!” Camden gave a bitter laugh. “He said he'd take himself off. I told Gaire to take an escort and see him on a ship at Queensferry. He's there now.”

  “He'll sail to France?”

  “I don't care where he sails,” Camden said tightly. “But probably, yes. He has nothing with him.”

  “Well, then,” Rubina said. “Whatever happens to him is up to his own fate.”

  “Yes,” Camden agreed. “I trust whatever it is will be reflective of his choices thus far.”

  “Mm,”Rubina mused. “Which are liable to land him in dire straits before long.”

  “Exactly,” Camden agreed. “I think Sir Rodham will make himself a worse fate than I could make for him.”

  “Indeed.”

  They were both silent for a while. Marguerite nodded silently to herself. Yes. She felt relieved. The man was no longer in Scotland. No long
er a danger to Sean, or to her. That was all she wished to hear. What fate he made for himself, as they had said, would likely be worse in the end than anything she or anyone else could make for him.

  “And D'Arcy?” Rubina asked. “He was informed?”

  “Oh, aye,” Camden said tightly. “He knows now. Fellow was shocked.”

  Marguerite, still half-asleep, felt her eyes widen with surprise. Her father was shocked? Good.

  How he had dared to think of wedding her to such a man, Marguerite had no idea. It had been a harsh betrayal. Now, at least, she knew she was vindicated.

  Her father knew what manner of a man he was, and he likely felt at least some remorse for the choices he had made for her.

  She sat up. Rubina noticed her movement and was soon by her side.

  “My dear?” she asked, concerned, “can I fetch you aught?”

  “I'm well,” Marguerite said softly. “I want to see Sean now.”

  Rubina and Camden looked at each other. Camden nodded.

  “Of course,” Rubina said. “Come on, dear. You must have a lot to say.”

  She did. But when she went to the room where they'd moved him, all she could do at first was look down at him, beyond words. His handsome face was in repose, eyes closed. His soft golden hair was brushed back from his face, and he looked no older than eighteen, so relaxed and at peace was he.

  “Sean?” she whispered.

  His eyes opened. He focused on her face. He smiled.

  “Marguerite,” he whispered. “My dearest.”

  She sat by his bedside with his hand in hers. She smiled into his eyes. He squeezed her fingers and that touch reached into her heart, telling her that she had, at last, found someone she could trust, and love.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A WEDDING AT BUCCLEIGH CASTLE

  A WEDDING AT BUCCLEIGH CASTLE

  The fire burned low in the grate. The flames rose and fell, sending orange-gold light flickering about the bedchamber. Marguerite rolled over and looked up at the ceiling. Beside her, Sean smiled.

  “My lady,” he whispered quietly.

  They were alone in the chamber together. Though it broke with the traditions of the time, they had both insisted on it. It was their wedding night.