Highland Vow

by Hannah Howell

  Elspeth could see the struggle Cormac was caught in. His anger was winning, and that was just what Sir Colin wanted. A part of her was thrilled that Cormac could be so enraged at the idea that some other man had touched her, but she had watched enough lessons in the art of fighting to understand the risk of such uncontroled emotion. A clear head and a cold heart, Payton had always said, and he well understood the value of those words, for he had struggled long and hard to learn the lesson. Somehow, she had to dim the power of Sir Colin’s venom. She had to break the spell the man was so cleverly weaving.

  “Oh, do be quiet, Sir Colin,” she scolded, her tone one of pure irritation. “Ye boast of false conquests like some untried lad who spewed on the sheets when faced with his first woman.”

  The look of astonishment on Sir Colin’s face almost made Cormac laugh. His anger was still there, but Elspeth’s tart and somewhat crude words had brought him back to his senses. She would not be helped if he got himself killed while lashing out in a jealous rage. This was his chance to end the threat to her and he would not fail her.

  Sir Colin lunged and Cormac easily deflected the blow. And then Cormac was so caught up in the fight, he had no time to think of the insults inflicted upon Elspeth. At one point in the battle he found a moment to cut the ropes binding one of her wrists to the bed. Then, hoping she could now free herself, he pressed Sir Colin as hard as he could until the man was far away from the bed.

  Ignoring the aches and pains in her body, Elspeth struggled to loosen the ropes on her other wrist. She fought against the need to watch Sir Colin and Cormac fight each other, the need to see that Cormac remained unharmed. The clang of the swords, the grunts and curses of the men, made for a distressing background as she slowly undid her bonds. Her arms and legs ached, her bruises throbbed, and her wrists and ankles stung from the rub of the tight rope, but Elspeth ignored it all. When she was finally free, she found her chemise on the floor, where Sir Colin had dropped it, and tugged it on. Sitting on the bed, she looked at the two men who appeared evenly matched, and she wondered if there was something, anything, she could do to help Cormac.

  She clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out when Sir Colin’s sword slashed across Cormac’s right arm. It was a shallow wound running from his shoulder nearly to his elbow, but it bled freely. Elspeth knew all too well how that loss of blood could weaken a man. Even if it did not completely weaken Cormac, it would soon steal the strength from his sword arm, giving Sir Colin a deadly advantage.

  Even as that concern passed through her mind, Cormac shifted his sword to his left hand and kept fighting with no evident loss of skill. She nearly laughed at the look of astonishment on Sir Colin’s sweat-drenched face. Elspeth knew it was too soon to stop worrying, however. Cormac was still bleeding freely from his wound.

  Her eyes began to hurt from watching Cormac so steadily, blinking as little as possible for fear of missing something. Then she saw what she had dreaded—a slight falter in Cormac’s step, a faint loss of the deadly grace he had shown until now. Sir Colin saw it, too, for he smiled. Before she could do anything to help Cormac, Sir Colin slashed his leg. A scream was caught chokingly in her throat as Cormac stumbled and fell. Sir Colin hurried closer, eager to deliver the death stroke, but Cormac rolled out of the way. Sir Colin cursed and lunged again, seeing Cormac as already defeated, for he lay on his side, obviously struggling to move out of harm’s way. That proved to be a mistake. He raised his sword for the deathblow and then Cormac moved so swiftly even Elspeth gasped. He flipped over and sat up in one swift, clean move, plunging his sword deep into Sir Colin’s exposed chest.

  Elspeth felt as if everything stopped along with her ability to breath. For one horrifying moment, Sir Colin stood there, his sword still raised to strike, staring in amazement at the sword piercing his body. Then his sword tumbled from his lax hands, and he fell. Cormac barely got his sword free of the man’s flesh before he was pulled along in Sir Colin’s descent.

  “Cormac,” she cried, racing to his side as he slumped back down onto the floor.

  When she knelt next to him, Cormac grasped her hand. Groggy, weak from loss of blood, and becoming all too aware of the burning pain of his wounds, he was still interested in only one thing. Everything else could wait until he had the reassurances he needed from Elspeth’s own lips.

  “Was I too late?” he asked.

  “Nay,” she replied. “For all I was splayed out like a gutted salmon, Sir Colin did nay more than fondle me a wee bit. It was quite disgusting, but I shall recover. He was too busy gloating and then he gave me one slap too many. Unconsciousness didnae appeal to him.”

  “Thank God.” He closed his eyes. “I believe I will rest now.”

  “Do ye think ye could get to the bed ere ye faint?”

  “Help me.” He barely stifled a groan as she put her arms around him and helped him to his feet. “And I said rest.”

  “Of course.” Staggering a little beneath his weight, she got him over to the bed and barely escaped falling on top of him when he collapsed on top of it. “There, now ye may rest and I will tend to these wounds.”

  It was not until he opened his eyes to find Elspeth wrapping a linen cloth around the cleaned and stitched wound on his leg that Cormac realized he had passed out. He took note of the fact that he was naked and clean and also that he had a bandage on his arm. It was clear that he had been insensible for a lot longer than he had thought he was. A quick look around the room revealed the blanket-shrouded body of Sir Colin.

  “Ah, good,” he murmured. “I won.”

  Tucking a clean blanket around him, Elspeth shook her head. “I grow verra weary of trying to keep the blood in your body, Cormac. I begin to think ye are trying to see how much ye have by spilling it all out upon the ground.”

  He smiled faintly and lifted his left hand to gently stroke her bruised cheek. “Ye fought hard, didnae ye, angel mine?”

  “Of course.” She sighed as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I kenned I couldnae win, but, aye, I fought him. ’Tis why he kept hitting me. Once he hit me too hard, and when I regained my senses, I realized he had taken quick, ruthless advantage of my unconsciousness. When I found myself trussed up and naked,” she shivered, “I felt so helpless. I realized that, although I thought I had resigned myself to being raped, most of my calm came from the fact that I was fighting him. I dinnae understand why, but I kenned that, if he raped me whilst I was so helpless, it could easily destroy me. He robbed me of all chance to comfort myself with the fact that dishonoring me had not been easy for him.”

  “Mayhap by fighting to the bitter end, ye wouldnae feel as if ye had lost all your honor. He could ne’er have taken that from ye, Elspeth, no matter how much he violated you.” He returned her somewhat tremulous smile. “Did he e’er say why?”

  “’Twas all because I refused him. He felt he was doing me the greatest of honors by asking me to be his wife, and I spit on it. He told me what a poor choice I was and he obviously felt the sacrifice he had made by even thinking of wedding me deserved my most humble gratitude. My refusal was an insult he couldnae bear. He also thought I had some special gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “Aye.” She grimaced. “I do seem to be able to, weel, sense what people feel. ’Tis why I could almost always tell when someone lied to me. Still can. With Sir Colin I could sense when I was enraging him despite how pleasantly he spoke and how sweetly he smiled. ’Tis difficult to explain.”

  “I ken what ye try to say. Ye feel more keenly than others. Or see. Or smell. What matter? Ye can see behind the masks. ’Tis a fine gift.”

  “Oh, aye. ’Tis a gift from my mother, although she says mine is much keener than hers. It has helped my family elude a trap or two. It sometimes helps me in my healing work, for although pain isnae an emotion, I can sometimes sense where it is. Sadly, I can also sense when a person or an animal is dying. There is a look in the eyes, a smell, a feel to the skin, something that tells me tha
t, even if the person is fighting with everything they have, they cannae win. They are soon to die. I try not to let too many people ken about that part of it. But Sir Colin kenned most of what I can do and he wanted it for his own, wanted to use it to gain power and riches.”

  Cormac nodded. “I can see how it might help a mon do that.” He struggled to sit up only to have Elspeth hold him down, and the ease with which she could do so was dismaying. “We must hie back to the village. I left all of our belongings, the bairn, and the cat there. Aye, and your horse.”

  “How far are we from the village?” Elspeth asked as she rose to mix him a very mild sleeping potion.

  “A mile, mayhap less. I was verra surprised that he stayed so close.”

  “Then I will go and get everything.”

  “Nay, we cannae stay here. Unless…Did Sir Colin murder the poor soul who lived here?”

  “Nay, the villagers did that. This is the witch’s home.”

  “Her name was Anne Seaton. So ’tis probably the bairn’s now.”

  “Aye, and we shall use it until ye are strong enough to travel.” She slipped an arm around his shoulders, helping him sit up enough to drink the potion she had made for him. “Sir MacRae camped here so that he could be more comfortable as he committed his crimes. It seems Mistress Anne was a cousin of his.”

  “Blood will tell. She wasnae a good woman, lass, though she didnae deserve the death she was served with.”

  “Weel, I am nay so sure she didnae. Sir Colin said there are bodies buried here. That wee bairn was surely meant to be. His mother cleaned her womb of a few bairns, and if ’twas too late for that, she killed them ere they lived long enough to be seen. Sir Colin implied that there is a mon or two buried here as weel. For some reason she wanted this bairn to live. Drink this.”

  “What is this foul brew?”

  “Something to ease your pain.”

  He drank it, grimacing at its bitter taste. “She kept this bairn to torment his father. She didnae christen the lad because, as she told the priest, bairns often die and she wanted the father to ken that his son had died unnamed and unshriven.”

  As she made him more comfortable in the bed, she shivered at his words. “Nay, not a good woman at all.”

  “Are ye going to tell the villagers?”

  “I do hate to give them cause to think that what they did was just, but, aye, I will. If there is a mon or two buried behind this cottage, he or they may have a family who worry o’er what happened to him, who hunger to ken their fate, be it good or bad.”

  Cormac began to feel very groggy. “That brew wasnae just for the pain, was it?”

  “Nay, ’twill make ye sleep for a wee while,” she replied, smiling a little when he almost immediately went to sleep, and then she hurried to get dressed.

  Elspeth decided to get rid of the bodies first. Using the blanket she had covered Sir Colin with, she dragged him and then the two guards into the woods. Despite what they had tried to do to her, she was sorry she did not have the strength to bury them. If her tale of bodies buried at Anne Seaton’s cottage brought any of the men in the village out to investigate, she would have them see to it.

  In her search for Cormac’s horse, she found the other two guards and sighed. Her troubles had put a lot of blood on Cormac’s hands. She tried to console herself with the knowledge that it had been self-defense, a battle for life and honor. The men had been mercenaries, and the worst of their breed, the sort who cared only about the coin. No man with any honor left would have joined with Sir Colin. She was glad that he had used such men and not dragged his own clansmen into it.

  The ride to the village took all of her courage. It was more night than day and she had to fight against seeing danger in every shadow. As she walked into the inn, she almost smiled at the way the innkeeper and his wife gaped at her. She knew she looked appalling with her tattered dress and bruised face, but she calmly settled the account and went up to collect her things, the baby, and Muddy.

  “Oh, m’lady,” cried Dorcas as Elspeth stepped into the room. “What happened to ye and where is your bonny mon?”

  “A long and troubled tale, I fear, Dorcas. I was taken and Sir Cormac rescued me. He has a wound or two and so I have come to get our things, the bairn, and the cat.” Elspeth smiled as she stepped up to the bed and a loudly purring Muddy demanded her attention. “Ye are a good cat,” she told him as she scratched his head. “Ye tried to protect the bairn, didnae ye?”

  “He did that.” Dorcas showed Elspeth the scratches on her arm. “E’en from me.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Nay, he meant no harm and your mon soothed him quick enough.”

  “Ye are a good soul to care for the bairn as ye have.”

  “He is just a wee bairn, isnae he? Black as the devil hisself, true enough, but just a bairn. It was wrong what they did.”

  “To the bairn, aye. I begin to think his mother was long o’erdue for a hanging. ’Tis just a shame it was done for all the wrong reasons. Could ye fetch me your priest, Dorcas? I have a few things I must tell him.”

  By the time Dorcas returned with the young priest, Elspeth was packed and very ready to leave. As she told him all she had learned of Anne Seaton, and all that had happened to her and Cormac, she was a little afraid he would swoon. It was clear he had never thought to deal with such dark events in such a tiny village. He told her he would come to the cottage in the morning with a few men and, perhaps, someone from the laird who held most of the land in the area. She then got him to christen the baby, whom she called Alan, naming her cousins Payton and Sorcha as godparents. Elspeth thanked Dorcas, gave the priest some money, and headed back to the cottage, battling exhaustion every step of the way.

  “Where have ye been?” demanded Cormac as she stumbled into the cottage, carrying Alan and the cat.

  Elspeth blinked and stared at Cormac, who had man aged to sit up and was obviously thinking of getting out of bed. “Ye didnae sleep verra long at all,” she said, setting Muddy down and handing Cormac the child. “Let me see to our things and the horses ere ye begin to scold me.”

  Feeling dizzy and weak from struggling to sit up, Cormac feared he would drop the child. He cautiously lay back down, settling the baby against his chest. When Muddy got on the bed to sprawl purring loudly at his side, he smiled. It was strange, but despite the pain of his wounds, he felt content, as if all was now as it should be and he could rest.

  As soon as Elspeth finished unpacking, seeing to the horses, settling Alan in his bed, and checking Cormac’s wounds, she stripped down to her thin chemise and crawled into bed next to Cormac. There did not seem to be any part of her that did not ache. She was glad that, despite the lurid bruises and ugly marks left by her bonds, she had no wounds that needed tending. She was simply too tired to do it. Taking hold of Cormac’s hand, she told him everything she had done while in the village.

  “Alan. A good name,” Cormac said as he tugged his hand free, slid his arm around her shoulders, and tucked her up against his side. “Poor lass.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “And poor me. I had such lovely plans for this night.”

  Elspeth laughed softly then yawned. “So did I. E’en if I didnae ache all over, I am just too tired.”

  “And I would probably bleed all over you.”

  “Aye, ye would.” She kissed his chest, then rubbed her cheek against his warm skin, reveling in the fact that he was alive and by her side. “’Tis over.”

  Cormac rested his cheek against her hair. “Aye, ye are safe now.”

  “Ye dinnae think his heir or his clansmen will seek revenge?”

  “Nay. His heir is the lad my cousin Mary is probably wed to by now. He seemed a fair-minded lad. And although I wasnae there for verra long, I didnae get the feeling that his clan will be weeping much o’er Sir Colin’s grave. ’Twas no secret amongst them what he had done to ye and intended to do. They willnae be surprised that he was killed because of it. Get some rest, angel. It sounds as
if ye will be busy on the morrow. I fear I may not be of much help, either.”

  “Ye should be able to talk weel enough. If anyone needs to have some questions answered, I shall send them to you.”

  “Fair enough. Are ye going to tell Alan about his mother when he is old enough to ask about her?”

  Elspeth sighed. “I dinnae ken. ’Tisnae a tale anyone would wish to hear about their mother. Then again, everyone here will ken the truth, so what will be gained by hiding it? I think I am just too weary to e’en worry about it just now. Good sleep, Cormac.”

  “Good sleep, angel.”

  Cormac stared up at the ceiling, smiling faintly at how quickly Elspeth fell asleep in his arms. His life had become very complicated since meeting her. When he had seen her tied to the bed, naked and helpless, he had known what Sir Colin had intended or what he had already accomplished, and his rage had been nearly blinding. It was not only Elspeth’s troubles he had gotten himself deeply tangled up in, but Elspeth herself as well. He dared not even look into his heart. He was not free to do so. Yet he knew even now it was going to hurt when she left.

  A part of him wanted to give up on his vow and run off with Elspeth. He could barely recall the emotions that had prompted the vow to Isabel years ago. Yet he could not do it. His parents continuously did all they could to blacken their name and that stain spread to their children. They gambled, whored, bred children, and cast them aside, nearly beggared their people, and were widely known as liars and cheats. Cormac had long ago decided that he would show the world that not all of his family were so lacking in honor, and had done his best to make his siblings understand the value of keeping one’s word. He had given his word to stand by Isabel, vowed to love and honor her. She counted on him to keep his word. He could not fail her. He could not fail himself, either. Although he was deeply confused about his feelings at the moment, he was sure of one thing. He had made a vow and he would stand by it. He could only pray that he did not destroy them all by doing so.