Highland Knight of Rapture (Highland Dynasty Book 4)

by Amy Jarecki

  “Heavens.” The chambermaid fanned her face with a brisk wave of her hand. “If only Sir Eoin were our chieftain.”

  Helen looked up, affecting disdain. “Glenda, what a horrible thing to say.” Though Helen admonished her maid, she couldn’t deny she felt the same. Still, some thoughts should never be uttered.

  “Apologies for speaking out of turn, m’lady.” She opened the trunk and held up the kirtle. “Come, ’tis time to dress.”

  Helen took one last swallow from her cup of mead and stood.

  Glenda gasped and stared directly at Helen’s neck. “My heaven’s m’lady, you’ve hand prints on your throat.”

  Curses, the blasted dressing gown slipped. Helen moved to the looking glass and examined the purple bruises. “Only high-collared gowns for the next fortnight.” She tried to sound jovial.

  Glenda harrumphed. “How you can be so unconcerned about nearly being choked to death is beyond me.”

  Helen was very concerned. She was beside herself. Aleck actually had tried to choke her. What would have happened if Glenda hadn’t intervened? A Cold chill slithered up her spine. What might happen if he struck out against Maggie? She hated to think of it.

  After pulling off Helen’s dressing gown, Glenda eyed her expectantly. In no way would it be proper for Helen to share her feelings, so she opted for the adage her mother had always used. “That which we cannot help must be endured.”

  The chambermaid held up a set of stays. “I’m not sure how much more enduring you can do, m’lady.”

  Helen held out her arms and stood patiently while Glenda transformed her into the Lady of Ardnamurchan, the picture of the woman the crofters and patrons had grown to love and respect. After covering her head and neck with a grey wimple, Helen regarded herself in the polished copper mirror. “With a dab of lime, no one will even notice the bruise on my cheek.”

  ***

  After she bid good morn to Maggie, Helen gathered her wits and proceeded to the second floor where she rapped on Aleck’s solar door. Though he would be aware of her usual Saturday trip to the village, she’d always given him the courtesy of letting him know before she set off. Though she would have preferred to avoid him altogether, it was best to maintain her regular routine, lest she create further discourse. When there was no answer, she pulled down on the blackened iron latch and peered inside.

  Odd, Aleck always spends his mornings in here. Where has he gone? Is he still abed?

  She let out a long breath. At least she wouldn’t have to face him. Only heaven knew how he’d respond after last evening’s events. And he’d most definitely find a way to make the candlestick incident appear to be her fault. In the five years of their marriage, Aleck had proven an expert at passing the blame, not only to her, but to anyone who disagreed with him.

  She headed to the courtyard to look for Grant. Surprised to find it unusually quiet, she found no guardsmen whatsoever. The blacksmith shack clanged with the sound of iron striking iron, the piglets in the pen by the stables squealed, roosters crowed, but aside from the few sentries patrolling the wall-walk above, the MacIain guard was not training with weapons as expected. Where are Eoin and his men? Are they gone as well?

  Perplexed, she headed out the main gate to the stables. At last she discovered the MacGregor guard busy at work honing their weapons. Every man wielded a rasp, working blades of swords, dirks and battleaxes into deadly sharp weapons.

  Eoin made an imposing sight, supervising with his fists on his hips. When he spotted her, he smiled and hastened her way. “Good morrow, m’lady, I hope you are well.” He peered closely at the bruised cheek, now concealed by a layer of powdered lime.

  Bless him for not saying a word about last eve’s blunder in front of the men. Helen still held on to a thread of hope the argument hadn’t wormed its way through the castle gossips. “I am feeling very well, thank you.” Aside from the throbbing on the right side of my face and my gravelly voice. She held up her basket. “I usually visit the villagers in Kilchoan on Saturdays, but I cannot find Sir Grant anywhere.”

  “Are you looking for him to provide an escort?”

  “Aye.”

  Eoin’s angled brows drew together. “Did you not know Sir Grant and most of the MacIain men sailed north for a sortie at dawn—ah—with your husband?”

  Helen glanced up at the elderly guard on the wall-walk. “Aleck is away?” They always left the older sentries at the castle.

  “Gone up to Sleat to inspect a report of suspicious activity.”

  “That sounds rather dangerous,” she said absently, wondering whom else she would ask to escort her to town.

  “No more so than sparring in the courtyard every day.” He pointed to his men. “My lads are taking a moment’s respite to sharpen their weapons.”

  “Is that not a daily necessity?”

  “Aye it is, especially to keep a man’s sword and dirk from rusting, however, pikes and battleaxes do not always receive the same care.”

  She looked beyond Eoin to ensure they were out of earshot of his men. “Did you speak to Sir Aleck this morn?” she whispered.

  His blue eyes squinted a little in the morning light. “For a brief moment. After a messenger arrived, he hastened away.”

  “And said nothing about…” She rolled her eyes toward the keep.

  “Nary a word.” He grinned. Blast, how his grin could unravel her wits. “Though I doubt he’d confide anything to me.”

  “Fortunate, I suppose.” With a nod, Helen spotted Mr. Keith up on the wall-walk and waved to catch his attention.

  “Ah,” Eoin’s deep voice rumbled behind her, oddly making gooseflesh rise on her skin. “If it would please your ladyship, I’d enjoy escorting you to the village this day.”

  Mr. Keith waved. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Is all well?”

  “Aye, m’lady,” he hollered.

  Normally Helen would never raise her voice, but she’d needed to act quickly. She returned her attention to Sir Eoin. “Why thank you. It would be an honor to be accompanied by the Chieftain of Clan Gregor. I’m sure the townsfolk would be very impressed indeed.”

  He gestured forward with that handsome grin. “If you are ready, may I carry your basket?”

  “My thanks.” Not even Sir Grant had offered to carry her basket on their many trips to the village.

  Helen led the way along the path she’d traveled countless times. When sufficiently far enough away from the castle gates, she glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one else had followed. “What is the suspicious activity that was reported?”

  “Nothing too alarming, just undue movement of galleys, similar to that which I saw with my men on our last sortie.”

  “I do hope everyone will be all right.”

  He ambled beside her with an easy stride. “I doubt there’ll be any altercation at all, m’lady. Sir Aleck wanted to see things for himself.”

  Helen cringed at the mention of her husband. After last eve, she shuddered at what Sir Eoin must think of her.

  They walked for a bit and he shifted the basket to his far arm. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of my men, but would you mind if I had a look at your bruises?”

  Stopping, she clapped her hands either side of her linen wimple. She and Glenda had chosen it because silk would have been too sheer. “I wouldn’t want to take this off. Without my chambermaid, it would be difficult to secure it back in place.”

  He smoothed his fingers atop the back of her hands. “We don’t need to take it off. I just would like to see the marks now that we’re in the light.”

  “But why?” she asked. “Looking at them will not make them fade any faster.”

  “No.” His eyebrows pinched as if he were very concerned. “However, there may come a time when I need to bear witness to Aleck’s treachery.”

  That made her mouth go dry. Helen nodded and lowered her hands. Yes, people at the castle had made offhand remarks, but no one had ever alluded to helping her. The thought
was rather terrifying, yet liberating. “Glenda said I looked awful.”

  He examined the linen appreciatively. “She did a wonderful job with your wimple. No one will know.” He pulled out the right side and encouraged her to angle her face toward the sun. “Devil’s bones, it does look far worse than it did last eve.” He tried to tug on the neck cloth, but it was wound too tight.

  Helen dropped her gaze to her toes. “’Tis humiliating.”

  “Does it hurt you?”

  “Aye, but only when I smile.”

  He raised her chin with the crook of his finger until their gazes met. “’Tis a folly, for you are most beautiful when you smile.”

  Mercy, must Eoin look so fetching when saying something as nice as that? Didn’t he know Helen wasn’t accustomed to praise of any sort? She cast her gaze to the path and patted her wimple where he’d mussed it. “We should keep going.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Eoin enjoyed the fresh air and walking through the pastoral countryside with Helen more than he should have. The leaves on the trees shimmered, alive with a bright verdant color only seen in the Highlands in spring. The season must have enlivened his very soul, because he felt like humming—not because he’d just examined Helen’s bruise—the fact that Aleck had struck her abhorred him. But walking beside the lovely lady made him a bit giddy. Who wouldn’t want to hum with birds singing while puffs of clouds gently sailed above? The mere idea made him thank the stars his men weren’t there to give him a good ribbing.

  Perhaps that’s why the old hens call it spring fever.

  If only he could talk to Helen more about last night’s incident with Aleck, but she seemed so reluctant and embarrassed. Bloody hell, he hated seeing bruises on her porcelain skin. What had Eoin concerned the most, however, was her future safety. When Glenda had found him last eve, she’d told him Aleck had grown more abrasive since the birth of their daughter. What if, God forbid, Helen gave birth to yet another lass? What reprehensible acts would MacIain resort to then?

  Lady Helen might have the will of a warrior woman, but in stature, she was fragile. In no way could she withstand beatings from that barbarian. Not that any woman should ever be forced to endure Aleck MacIain’s ire.

  Helen pointed ahead. “I always stop at Mistress Cate’s cottage on the way into town. She’s an elderly lady and cannot move about all that well.”

  “Does she live alone?”

  “Aye, but her son and daughter-in-law till her lands. They live in the village and check on her every day.”

  Eoin followed Helen up an overgrown path to a small lime-washed cottage with a thatched roof.

  “Mistress Cate?” Helen rapped on the door. “I’ve brought you some cheese today.”

  Eoin grinned. Lady Helen might be married to the Devil’s spawn, but she was certainly an angel. It was good to see her carrying out charitable activities on behalf of the clan. That was an important role of the chieftain—to provide safety and support for his people. Unfortunate not all chieftains remember that fact.

  “A moment,” a voice called from inside. When the door opened, a haggard face framed by grey hair, crinkled more by a toothless grin. “Good morrow, Lady Helen.” The woman’s gaze inspected Eoin with a hint of unease. “And where is Sir Grant today?”

  Helen graciously introduced Sir Eoin as her dear friend from Glen Orchy. And when she rattled off his title, Mistress Cate’s apprehension spread into an adoring grin. Stepping aside, she promptly invited them inside. The stone-walled cottage comprised one room with a bed on one end and a cooking hearth on the other with a table and benches in between.

  The elderly woman ambled toward the hearth. “I’ve some onion broth over the fire. You will stay and have a bowl with me?”

  “Of course we will.” Helen sat and motioned for Eoin to do the same. “And how is your rheumatism?”

  Mistress Cate bent down and picked up an iron ladle. “Coming good now the weather is warming.”

  Helen nodded with a warm smile. “Och, I am happy to hear it.”

  “And how long will you be visiting Mingary, Sir Eoin?” Cate asked.

  “A month, mayhap two.” He didn’t want to alarm the poor crofter with the reason for his visit.

  The elderly woman placed a wooden bowl of broth with one sliver of onion in front of him. “Do you think those MacDonalds will leave us be?”

  Evidently the rumor mill was as alive and healthy in Kilchoan as it was in every other Highland village. Eoin cleared his throat. “I hope so, mistress.”

  Helen lifted her wooden spoon. “Sir Aleck sailed this morning to inspect the MacDonald lands in Sleat. Are you aware Alexander MacDonald threatened the king?”

  “Aye. ’Tis disgraceful if you ask me.” Mistress Cate tottered over with a bowl for herself and lumbered onto the bench beside Eoin. “Times are changing. The Highlands are now part of Scotland just like Edinburgh or Glasgow or Inverness—No more Lord of the Isles ruling over us.”

  Helen dabbed her lips. “Aye, and the young King James has done much to bring us together.”

  “Unfortunately the MacDonalds do not see it that way,” Eoin said. “And I suppose Clan Donald has lost the most, though they have no grounds for complaint. Their lands are vast.”

  “Too vast if you ask me.” Cate spread her arms wide. “All I need is this cottage and a wee parcel of land to till. Why a man needs a dozen castles is beyond my imagination, even if he is an earl—or a king for that matter.”

  The old woman certainly was sharp for her advanced age. Eoin watched Mistress Cate hold forth while Helen listened, thoughtfully eating his abominable broth—it hadn’t a lick of salt, though that commodity was worth its weight in gold.

  After Helen had eaten every last drop, she stood. “As always, I want to thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

  The old woman rose, wringing her hands. “Must you leave so soon?”

  Helen patted Cate’s shoulder. “I’ve many others to see today, but I’ll come around again in a sennight.”

  “Will you bring Sir Eoin with you?” She batted her eyelashes at him with her endearing toothless grin.

  Helen glanced at Eoin and blushed. His stomach made some sort of irregular jumping motion that must have been caused by the broth. Why on earth would such a question make Helen turn red? But the lady maintained her poise. “I’ll wager Sir Grant will be back from their sortie by then,” she said.

  “Well then.” Mistress Cate grasped Eoin’s hand and squeezed. “’Tis not every day a Highland chieftain comes to call.” She then clasped his upper arm. “And by the size of you, you’re a good fighting man as well.”

  He bowed. “I do what I can m’lady.”

  After picking up her basket, Helen headed for the door. “Hopefully Sir Eoin will return to Glen Orchy without having to wield his sword.”

  Eoin wished it would be so, though with every passing day, war became more eminent.

  Not long after they resumed their journey down the path, the village children came running, calling Lady Helen’s name. Her visage instantly brightened. “Hello everyone.” She crouched to be on eye-level with the littlest one. They all had a barrage of questions from, where is the bairn, to how old is the bairn, to can you bring Maggie to play with us. Helen answered every question as if it were of the utmost importance. Then she fished in that basket of hers and gave each child a coin before she sent them on their way.

  “They adore you,” Eoin said.

  “They are all very special to me. I think visiting the village is my favorite part of being lady of the keep.”

  Eoin cringed inside. Indeed he was a chieftain with lands, but his clan was armigerous to the Campbells. The MacGregors were governors of Campbell lands, but Eoin had no castle of his own. His clan lived in a village of long houses, which by rights were as functional as a keep. However, though his rooms were spacious, it wasn’t a castle akin to that which Lady Helen had been accustomed her entire life. Truly, she would frown upon such meager livin
g quarters as he possessed in Glen Strae.

  Walking through the muddy lane, a beggar hailed them. “Lady Helen, have you a tot of whisky for me today?”

  “Nay, Hamish, but I do have a parcel of food for you.” She handed him a leather-wrapped bundle.

  He took it and pulled the thong. “I’d be a mite bit happier if you brought me whisky.”

  She held up her finger. “Now you know I cannot bring you spirit.”

  He grinned pinching a bit of chicken with grimy fingers. “Och, but I can keep asking, m’lady.”

  Spending the afternoon with Lady Helen was like watching a saint flit about—one who wasn’t entirely aware of the effect she had on others. Everyone she touched smiled at her with their face aglow. It was as if she’d strolled into the village illuminated by her own ray of sunshine. She handed out tinctures for cough and a salve for a burn, and by afternoon, her basket was nearly empty.

  Eoin took note of dark clouds rolling in from the west and pointed. “Are you nearly finished, m’lady? It looks like we could be seeing some rain.”

  “Oh my.” She pressed her gloved fingers over her bow-shaped lips. “We’d best be heading back.”

  Eoin took Helen’s basket and led her out of the village and past the turn to Cate’s cottage. They’d nearly traveled a mile when a sloppy raindrop splashed Eoin’s cheek. “We may have left a bit late.”

  She walked briskly beside him. “If we hurry we might make it.”

  A streak of lightning fingered across the sky, followed by a thundering clap. In the blink of an eye, the skies opened with a deluge.

  “Ack!” Helen lifted her hem and hastened her pace.

  The rain came down in sheets and they hadn’t even traveled halfway to the castle. Worse, Mistress Cate’s cottage was a good half-mile back.

  Eoin peered left then right—searching for anything that could provide shelter. Nestled against a hill was an old lean-to. Eoin grasped Helen’s elbow. “Come.” He tucked her beneath his arm and held his cloak over her head. “’Tis not much, but it will do until the downpour eases.”