Highlander’s Dark Enemy: A Medieval Scottish Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  "I am past all that," she sighed. "I have had so many miscarriages, one stillbirth and only one live child. Ruaridh and I did not conceive once in the last five years. I am past childbearing, my love. Be at ease."

  He cupped her breasts in his hands. She was still clothed, but that could not be helped; there was no time for dressing and undressing. She lay back on the straw and he pushed his hose down to his ankles. she wrapped her legs around his hips and soon felt his manhood easing inside her.

  It was glorious, and soon she was looking into his eyes, begging for fulfilment. When it came, wave after exquisite wave of it, she wept with joy, her body shuddering against his. Mungo could not believe it was happening. Here he was, a glorified stable hand, making love to a noblewoman who owned a great estate, her soft breasts pressing against him, driving him mad with desire. He had never felt like this before, not even in his youth when he had been potent and strong. His climax was fierce, but then he saw the tears running down her cheeks.

  "Lass, what's wrong?" He was pulling his hose up again. "Did I hurt ye?"

  "No," she smiled through her tears. "No, darling. These are tears of happiness. I had forgotten how good it was to be loved."

  "I had an' a'," he admitted. "There has been naebody for me since before I went tae jail." He gathered her into his arms. They lay in contented silence for a while, then Una sighed.

  "I have to go," she groaned, "Davina will be wondering where I am." She stood up, and he looked at her lovingly as she straightened her dress and tidied herself. "We must find somewhere better than this." Una laughed as Mungo helped her to pick pieces of straw out of her hair. "I look like a scarecrow."

  "Naw ye don't, lass. Ye look like a lady who has jist been loved." He smiled at her. "An' that is jist whit ye are." He kissed her one last time before she left. He had to. He couldn't help himself.

  The smile she bestowed on him was radiant. She parted from him with great reluctance and felt bereft as soon as she got back to the castle, which seemed so big and empty. The bed was empty too. With its cold crisp ironed sheets and perfectly laundered pillowcases, it was pristine, beautiful and sterile. But oh, how she missed the warmth and scent of another human being. She was unable to sleep that night and ordered a cup of valerian tea to help her, then she imagined Mungo's arms around her, and she finally drifted off, contented.

  38

  Another Death

  Davina had been searching for Una for half an hour before she saw her coming in the main gate. "Where have you been?" she demanded, "Grant and Athol have just arrived, starving as usual. Mother, you have straw in your hair." Then she froze. "Have you been at the stables, Mother?" Davina asked frowning with suspicion.

  Una thought for a moment before answering. She was an adult and had done nothing wrong. "Yes, I have," she replied, "and before you ask the question, save your breath. And yes, I have been with Mungo, and he makes me happy."

  Davina looked at her mother in horror. "But he is a servant!" She cried.

  "And a very good man," Una's voice was calm but dangerous.

  "Mother, have you… Have you been with him? You know what I mean," Davina asked desperately. "Please tell me you have not."

  "I cannot tell you that," Una replied, "because it would not be true."

  "Mother!" Davina's hands were trembling as she poured them whiskey. "Why?”

  "Because I love him." Una smiled at the look on her daughter's face. "He is strong, trustworthy, capable and very attractive, at least to me. Davina, as I told you before, I am an adult, and I make my own choices. I want Mungo."

  "You will not marry him, will you?" Davina asked, horrified.

  "Davina, I will do as I please." Una's voice had taken on a sharp edge of anger.

  Davina frowned. "But Father has only been dead a few months!" she protested.

  Una's face darkened with rage. "Your father meant everything to me!" she cried furiously, "but I love someone else now too. I have not stopped loving Ruaridh and I will miss him for the rest of my life. Just because I care for someone else does not mean I love him any less." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "The only difference now is that I love two men instead of one. Life is for the living, my daughter. I can still honor your father, and I do, but he is no longer a living, breathing man."

  Davina nodded slowly. "I suppose I think it is too fast."

  "I understand that," Una reached up to cup her daughter's face. "You know what it was like when Athol was not in your bed that night? Do you remember how cold it was? Imagine that every night, not just in your body but in your heart, too." She sighed. "I miss Ruaridh, every minute of every day, but Mungo has eased the pain. We talk, mostly, and kiss, but today we became lovers."

  "You should not be talking to me like this, Mother." Davina was embarrassed. "But I will try to be happy for you. I hope everyone else does."

  "Say nothing yet," Una begged, "I need to get used to the idea myself first. It is very new for me too."

  She linked her arm through her daughter's. "Let us eat," she suggested. "I always think better on a full stomach."

  Maura was very quiet at the table, but she did manage glowing smiles and whispers for her husband, and Grant was loving it. Davina wondered if it was an act or if she had really come to realize the sheer evil she had wrought. Athol had noticed too and exchanged a glance with his wife.

  "What do you think is going on?" He asked as they moved away from the table to pour the wine. The tone of his voice was suspicious but confused. "She is like a different woman."

  "It's as if she is trying to make up for lost time," Davina replied. "Perhaps she has got a conscience after all."

  They returned to the table.

  "You look happy, Mother," Athol observed, smiling at her. Davina had told Athol nothing, indeed, there had not been time, but Una was glowing.

  "Oh, riding in the fresh air cheers me up," she answered quickly, then changed the subject to one of her neighbor’s daughter's betrothals.

  Athol took Davina outside under the pretense of looking at the moon, which was a perfect, full disk that night. "I heard them talking - she and Ewan Taggart, Davina." His voice was grim. "They were talking about it. They were happy about it. Maura was making plans for the money she was going to receive and they were already thinking of ways to kill your mother. They were going to wait a few months to avoid suspicion."

  Davina was speechless for a moment.

  "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he sighed. His heart ached for her, but as Davina looked over at Maura, hers smoldered with hatred.

  Eventually, she sighed. "There is nothing we can do now," she said sadly, "and we knew the truth anyway, but oh, how I hate her!" Just then, they noticed that Una was walking towards the main gate. Davina knew where she was going after that.

  Grant and Maura went straight to their bedroom without wishing anyone goodnight. Davina made for the parlor, but Athol grabbed her hand. "I missed you last night," his words were a husky growl as he looked at her and his pupils were dilated with desire. He kissed her long and tenderly, straining her against him.

  "You'll have to wait," she whispered. "Oh, by the way, we are being observed."

  Athol looked up to see two of the young housemaids gazing at them, spellbound. When they met his gaze they turned and fled, giggling. "There is the gossip fodder for tonight." He laughed. "That will be all around the kitchen in very short order!"

  "I have some gossip of my own," she said, eyes alight with mischief.

  "You are not with child?" he asked hopefully, placing a hand on her stomach.

  "Not as far as I know." Davina kissed away the disappointment on his face. "No, the big news is that Mother has a lover."

  "What? Already?" Athol shook his head in disbelief. "Davina, are you sure?"

  Davina nodded. "She told me so herself," she informed him. "Have you noticed she is in pale green today? No more mourning colors."

  He thought for a moment, looking into her eyes. "Your mother is a headstrong woman,"
he observed, "she cares little for people's opinion."

  "Why do you say that?" Davina frowned, pouring out wine for both of them.

  "Because I think I know who her lover is," Athol replied.

  "Who is he?" she asked, laughing.

  "Mungo McLean from your stables," he answered, smiling at her astonished expression.

  "How did you know that?" Davina asked in amazement.

  Athol shrugged, and his eyes twinkled as he looked at her over the top of his wine glass. "It's obvious," he answered. "I saw them talking one day - just talking - but very close together, very intimate. And whenever his name is mentioned she always changes the subject. It was just a feeling I had."

  "Your hunch was right," Davina replied, "she is very much in love with him, she says. But Athol, he is a servant!"

  "It bothers me too." Athol frowned. Then he pulled her down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. "But sweetheart, maybe we created all these divisions ourselves. Where is it written that they cannot be together?"

  "But if they got married, where would they live? And would he become laird?" Her voice was at once angry and puzzled. "She is a laird's widow, but he is a nobody. He cannot step into a laird's shoes from the position of a stable manager!"

  "No, he cannot inherit it through her," he stated, "but I can inherit it through you and if we have a child."

  She leaned against his shoulder. "A little boy just like you would be lovely."

  "Or a little girl just like you," he murmured into her ear. "I just wish it would happen faster."

  They kissed, then wrapped their arms around each other. There was a definite chill in the air, even though it was still summer. Soon it would be autumn, and then their first winter together, and the warmest place would be bed.

  Maura had felt unwell as soon as they got up from the table. She had ordered some valerian tea to help her sleep, but it had come straight back up again, along with most of her food. She lay in the dark, trying to breathe deeply and ignore the nausea that was plaguing her.

  Just then she felt a painful twinge in her stomach, low down towards her thighs. She was about to cry out when it died down and disappeared. For a few seconds lay still, not daring to move in case it came back again, then it eased and was gone. She sighed with relief, then a thought came to her. This was the Anderson house. This was the house of the laird whose life she had taken. Perhaps they were poisoning her in revenge.

  A moment later it came back, even more strongly and this time, it lasted longer. She groaned in agony, her breath coming in quick gasps. Then, at last, the pain faded away, and she lay back on her pillow, panting with relief. She felt nothing for a while and began to drift off to sleep. Then it was back, stabbing, excruciating, and she felt wetness creeping from between her legs. She put a hand down to find out what it was, and her fingertips came back smeared with blood. Her heart leapt with terror and she screamed.

  Grant woke up with a start. By the moonlight shining through the window, he could see a dark stain spreading on her nightgown. She was gasping and howling as if unable to breathe, and her eyes were round with fear.

  "My love," he said in anguish, "what's happening?"

  "I think I am losing the baby," she whispered hoarsely, "get some help, please!"

  Grant lit a candle then dashed onto the landing. For a moment, he panicked, not quite knowing what to do. He ran towards Una's bedroom and knocked the door furiously. She got up and answered it, looking disheveled and irritable.

  "Una." He was frantic with fear. "It's Maura. Something is wrong, she's bleeding!"

  "I'm coming," Una pulled on a gown and rushed out.

  When she got to the bedroom she bade Grant light another candle. By its light, she could see a spreading stain on the bed underneath Maura's thighs.

  "What is happening?" Maura asked desperately, "am I losing the baby? Am I going to die?" She tried to sit up, but Una pushed her down again, then put a pillow under her buttocks. It was immediately soaked with blood.

  "Get blankets, towels, anything you can find," Una instructed him, "then send for the midwife." She pointed Grant in the direction of a cupboard in the corridor. He came back a moment later with an armful of towels. "Get Athol and tell him to get Bets, " Una's voice was grim, "although I think it is too late. She has lost the baby."

  And she is going to lose her life, she thought. At that moment she did not feel triumphant, as she had thought she might at the thought of Maura dying in agony. She did not even register the fact that it was Maura. It was someone who needed help.

  Grant came back with Athol and Davina. Athol looked at Una, a question in his eyes. She gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head, then beckoned them both out of the room.

  "Go and get Father Anthony," she told Athol. "Nothing can help her now, she has lost too much blood."

  "What's happening?" Maura asked weakly. Her eyelids were drooping and her hands were ice-cold. She felt as if the room was spinning before her eyes and she began to shiver. A terrible feeling of foreboding came over her, then an awful fear. "Am I going to die?" she asked. Her voice was weak and hoarse.

  "Of course not, sweetheart." Grant was weeping silently. He picked up her hand and kissed the knuckles, then looked into her beautiful eyes.

  Her face was ashen pale, but she was smiling at him. "The best husband…" she whispered, and then she was gone.

  39

  Grant’s Grief

  Una and Davina stood watching for a moment as Grant stood up. "She is sleeping. I think we should let her rest." He was smiling as he tiptoed out of the bedroom and shut the door behind him with the utmost care. It closed without a sound.

  "Shush!" Grant whispered and beckoned them all to follow him.

  "Why do we not have a drink?" Una suggested. She put an arm around Grant's shoulders and led him downstairs. He was obviously in shock.

  While Athol built up the fire, Una and Grant sat down and Davina poured them all whiskey. No-one said anything at first, then Grant tipped the whole measure of fiery spirit down his throat in one gulp. He coughed, wiped his mouth, then burst into tears. "She's dead, isn't she?" he wailed. "She's really dead."

  "Yes," Una wrapped her arms around him. "I am so sorry, Grant."

  Davina and Athol sat silent, feeling helpless and useless. It was nearly dawn, the coldest time of the day, and Davina was shivering. Athol put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She was weeping and clung to him as if her life depended on it. Una looked across the room at them and sighed heavily.

  Presently, Grant composed himself and stood up. "I would like to sit with her for a while," he said, his voice was expressionless.

  "Do you think that is wise? There is a lot of blood," Una asked. "It is not pretty, Grant."

  "She is beautiful!" he snapped. He said nothing more, but hurried out of the room, banging the door behind him. A moment later they heard his footsteps thumping up the stairs. There was a moment of silence when each of them was lost in their own thoughts.

  "I don't know why we are all so upset," Davina pointed out at last, "we all hated her. She hurt every one of us. We should all be glad she is dead."

  "I think it's for Grant's sake," Athol replied, "he loved her, probably because he had no idea what kind of person she really was. I am sorry for Grant. I care nothing for her."

  Una was silent.

  "Mother, are you quite well?" Davina asked, concerned. She put her arm around Una's shoulders.

  "I'm fine. It is just very upsetting to see someone leave this life, especially in that way." She sighed and patted Davina's hand where it lay on her shoulder. "Even if she deserved it."

  "Grant didn't, though," Athol said sadly.

  No-one could sleep after that, so they waited for dawn and sent for Father Anthony to pray over the body, and the women from the village to wash and lay it out.

  "The body," Davina said to Athol, "all that was Maura, good and evil, is just a thing now, not a person. Is it not dreadful, At
hol? And the poor baby."

  "Yes, it is," he agreed, "but it comes to us all, my love. The only thing we can do is enjoy life while we are here."

  "Shall we enjoy it now?" Davina asked him. "I need to remind myself how good life can be."

  Athol needed no second bidding. He picked her up and carried her upstairs, then laid her with great tenderness on the bed. It was the last tender thing he did.

  Davina was like a wild animal. She grabbed him and crushed her lips against his, hauled him on top of her and dug her fingers into his flesh as she strained him to her. He laughed and cried out in pain, but he did not restrain her; he had no wish to. He loved her in this mood. When they came together she held him so tightly he could hardly breathe, and when they reached fulfilment at the same moment screamed her pleasure like a wild animal howling at the moon.

  Later, Athol would reflect that this had been her way of reassuring herself that she was still alive and capable of experiencing the most life-affirming feeling there was.

  Afterwards, as she lay in his arms, Davina said, "I think we were upset tonight because of the nearness of death, not because it was Maura's. I pity poor Grant, though."

  "Aye, he will be in pieces today," Athol agreed, then he leaned on one elbow and looked down at her. "You know, I love it when you are like a wild thing." He showed her a scratch on his arm, and she kissed it.

  "I wanted to… Oh, I don't know what I wanted," she replied, then she looked outside to where the first gray light of dawn was brightening into daylight. "Look, the sun is nearly up, and I am very hungry. It has been such a strange night."

  Athol smiled at her. "Just when I think I know everything about you, you surprise me again. We have been rough with each other before, but that was savage! I love everything about you, Davina Anderson."

  "Davina Murray! "she reminded him indignantly.

  "Of course." He smiled. "It's just that sometimes I can't believe you're mine."