Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero

by Terry Spear

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I will not leave just yet.” She rose and found a flask of mead and brought it to him, then sat back down as she watched him drink it. “I am so sorry that my father sent you away. And that you were injured. If your cousins had met back at the keep at the appointed hour so that there were three of you riding together, the attack would never have happened.”

  “One of your suitors had to have hired the men,” Marcus said angrily.

  “What? One of my suitors?” Her heart began to pound furiously. “The man who attacked you was not a thief? Lord Wynfield said he was but that they did not know more than that. How…how do you know he was not a thief?”

  “The timing, the close proximity to the castle. They lay in wait like a pack of wolves, like they knew just when I was leaving because they knew I would be forcibly sent away. Then they attacked. The last one who struck me in the back had been too cowardly to face me man to man in a fair fight. They were paid in gold. But the three brigands have paid for their crimes. The man who hired them hasna.”

  “Three men?” She scarce could breathe, imagining Marcus fighting for his life against three armed men.

  She couldn’t believe the English could be so bloodthirsty, and yet here they called the Highlanders savages. What concerned her most was that her father was the one who had given the order to have Marcus sent away. He could not have had anything to do with the men attacking Marcus. She wouldn’t believe it of him.

  “You do not know who hired them?” Overwhelmed with the truth of the matter, she had assumed the man only a thief, who would attack anyone he believed would make it worth his while.

  “Nay. There were too many attacking to hold polite conversation.”

  “I…I am so sorry, Marcus.” She bit her lip and took his hand and squeezed it.

  “Dear lass, you had naught to do with it.”

  “If I had not held you so close, flaunting the way I feel about you in front of the others, showing them that I love you—” Her eyes filled with tears and she hated that she could not hold them back, but it was all her fault that he had been sent away and then attacked.

  “Ahh, Isobel, come here.” He reached out his arms to hold her, though he grimaced as if the movement caused him much pain.

  She willingly went to him, wanting to hold him close, and pressed herself gently against his chest, trying to be so careful not to hurt him further. She needed his touch as much as she suspected he needed hers.

  “You had naught to do with this,” he repeated. “‘Twas my fault for holding you close at the dance and stirring your da’s ire.”

  “He was angry with me over it. Not with you,” she said vehemently.

  He stroked her back and sighed deeply. “Though I shouldna wish you were here, you canna know how much it means to me to hold you like this. But you shouldna have come.”

  “‘Tis the same for me. I wished to see you, to feel you, to know you were…were going to live.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Three brigands couldna get the best of me.”

  She frowned at him because one had.

  “And live,” he amended with a small smile.

  “Can I see your wound?” She couldn’t help worrying about him, though he furrowed his brow at her and she could see he didn’t like being fussed over.

  “I havena seen it, but I imagine it doesna look pretty,” he warned.

  “I just want to see if it is healing well.”

  He let his breath out. “You shouldna be here.”

  She thought he said so because he was afraid of how she’d view his fresh wound and be sickened by it.

  “I must leave soon,” she admitted, “as much as I would love to stay with you until you are fully recovered.” Then she smiled a little. “Mayhap if I did stay with you, my father would change his mind about us.”

  Marcus snorted. “He would know I couldna have you, no’ as wounded as I am.”

  Disappointed that they could not make her staying with him work in their favor, she made him lean forward a bit and ran her finger over his uninjured skin—the wound not bright red as if it were infected, but a lighter pink. “The healer did well with her stitches. It appears to be healing.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you really angry that I have come to see you?” She sat back down on the chair. If she had it to do all over again, she would do naught differently.

  “Aye, lass. ‘Tis no’ safe for you with the fighting going on. If anyone was to learn who you were, he could ransom you for concessions from your da. Besides, thieving brigands are out there who could harm you.” He glanced down at her trewes and shook his head. “You shouldna be dressed like that.”

  She pulled her brat over her legs.

  “I had your men escort me here and there were others who joined us and will help me to return home.”

  “And they are just as much at risk. Beyond that, I dinna want them seeing you dressed thus, either.”

  “The brat covered my clothes.” Though not all the way as she rode there. She sighed and took his hand and lifted it to her lips and kissed him. “I would not have stayed away.”

  His beautiful eyes gazed at her, and she knew he was only worried about her, trying to pretend he did not wish to see her. “Isobel.” He looked away. “It can never be.”

  Her heart took a dive and she bit her lip. “Do not say that. My father will change his mind. I will make sure of it.”

  Marcus considered her again, his expression weary. “His title and lands are too important. Dinna you see? He will never agree that we should wed.”

  Isobel fought the tears welling up in her eyes. She would never give Marcus up. Never.

  He reached out to her again, and this time she sat next to him on the bed. He folded his arms around her and held on tight, despite his injury, for one last time. She treasured feeling his arms around her, and she would cherish this moment forever.

  Then he kissed her forehead. “You must go.”

  She felt safe here in his arms. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to be with him like this always.

  Someone knocked on the door. Rob said through the closed door, “I must return our guest.”

  “Aye.” But Marcus sounded like he truly didn’t wish it.

  Rob opened the door. “Come, we must go.”

  She kissed Marcus then, with the passion she felt for him, and he returned the kiss just as passionately. Then she reluctantly left the bed, their hands clasped. “I will wed no other,” she vowed again to have Marcus for her husband.

  She pressed her lips against his warm and willing mouth one last time, her heart weighing heavily. With the fear of returning safely to her keep, that they would be in the midst of a fight where men on either side would be killed or badly injured, and trying to slip back inside the keep without anyone noticing, she felt anxious all over again. At least she knew that for now, Marcus was alive and on the mend.

  She assumed that he would give his cousins hell after she was returned safely to the keep. She loved them for helping her to see him, and she vowed to repay them someday.

  “I have to go. I…I love you, Marcus. Get well so that I may see you again soon.”

  He didn’t repeat her sentiment. She swallowed hard, afraid he had decided they had no chance to be together and after this last incident, he no longer would fight the inevitable. But she would.

  Rob closed the door after her and hurried her down the stairs and out of the tavern. Before long, they were riding once again across the border with the Scots at their side and were headed back to her keep.

  When they were only a mile or so from her castle, a force of a dozen men—her father’s men—led by Sir Halloran, captain of the guard, charged her and her escort. Her heart couldn’t have beat any faster with fear.

  Rob and his escort and that of the Scot’s quickly drew swords and encircled her as before, only with a larger force this time.

  “Nay!” she shouted as loud as she could manage and rode t
hrough her escort to reach her men. “Hold! ‘Tis me! Lady Isobel! They are not here to fight, but to escort me home safely! Let them return to the border without a fight!”

  Rob and some of the others had rejoined her, not allowing her to face the Englishmen alone, should they not believe who she was. She pushed back the cloak, some of her hair loose and falling about her shoulders.

  Her men looked furious with her, maybe a little worried. “I will not return to the keep and will fight you myself if you battle with these men,” she warned.

  “Aye, be off with you then,” Sir Halloran said to her escort. “We will not fight you here. Come, Lady Isobel, we will escort you back to the keep.”

  “After the Scots and the Highlanders are gone,” she said. She didn’t want them to be pursued after she was returned to the keep.

  “Aye.” Sir Halloran scowled at her, looking highly displeased.

  She hurried to dismount and handed the reins to one of Rob’s men. Then she said good bye to Rob, telling him in private that she would wed Marcus and that he better not marry a Highland lass in the meantime or he would wish he hadn’t.

  Rob smiled and bowed to her. The party turned and headed back toward the border.

  Sir Halloran rode forth then and she knew he meant to lift her into his saddle, but she feared that once he had hold of her, he’d return her to the keep and the other men would go after her escort.

  She quickly pulled out her sgian dubh and took a stance that said she was serious about this. She would not be thwarted in her task.

  “My lady,” Sir Halloran said, trying to persuade her to listen to reason and sounding perfectly disgruntled. “If your father knew what you have done, he would have all our heads.”

  She wouldn’t budge and he finally waited for her to agree to let him take her home. When the horses’ hooves had faded off in the distance, and she turned to see that her escort was long gone, she sheathed her sgian dubh. The knight dismounted and lifted her onto his saddle.

  “I could have taken you,” he said, “easily. But I wished to show goodwill toward the men who returned you safely.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But your father will be most displeased.”

  She knew she could only further displease him if she continued to want to be with Marcus and her father denied her the chance to do so.

  Now that she knew Marcus would live, the next time she left the castle, it would be to find a safe haven far from her father’s reach, and she prayed he would change his mind about wedding her to someone other than Marcus.

  Chapter 6

  Marcus couldn’t believe that Isobel had managed to see him alone and while the fighting was going on. Though he had been glad to share a moment with her, he wouldn’t stop worrying about her safety until Rob returned safely himself. Marcus scowled at Finbar.

  “Mary said her charge would find a way to slip out somehow to see you as determined as she was. She thought it safer for her if she had an escort,” Finbar explained, his arms folded, his demeanor as stubborn as any of his kinsmen.

  Still feeling tired, Marcus couldn’t agree or disagree with Finbar’s comment. But if Isobel didn’t make it safely back, or his own kinsmen died en route…

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. As soon as he heard voices speaking low in the room, he woke to find candlelight reflecting off the walls and Rob had returned safely.

  “Isobel?” he asked immediately.

  “She protected us.” Rob smiled. “With her sgian dubh, she threatened her da’s people if they should ride into battle against us. They left us in peace. The good news is that Pembroke arranged a tentative peace between the Scots and the English. I spoke with him myself, and he sends his regrets about your injury. He asked if there were any more men who attacked you, or just the one. When I told him there were three, he fully intended to find the others and hunt them down.”

  “Three was enough. Why would he know of only the one?”

  Rob shrugged. “I wonder if whoever paid them tried to get rid of the bodies to hide the evidence. Since the men who attacked you are dead, he felt the matter closed.”

  “You told him what the one man said, aye? These men were doing a task for another, most likely a lord vying for Isobel’s hand in marriage.”

  “Aye. I told him just that. Pembroke did not feel that was the case. No evidence exists to back up the claim.”

  “‘Tis as plain as the tusks on a wild boar.” Marcus grunted. “If a peace agreement of sorts has been reached, the bad news is Pembroke doesna need me to convince the Scots to stand down in exchange for my wedding Isobel.”

  “Aye. The other good news is that before we parted ways, he said he willna have Isobel wed anyone for a couple of months. He wouldna say for certain why, but I got the impression he was rethinking the situation as far as your injury was concerned and wouldna want his daughter to marry a man who would have had you killed. But know this, the lass will wed you—her words—and if you wed another in the interim, it will go badly for you.”

  Marcus smiled. He loved her and if it was in his power to do so, they would be wed.

  ***

  After returning to Lochaven, and for two months, Marcus had continued to beseech Pembroke to allow him to marry his daughter. He wasn’t about to give up his clan, nor did his people want him to, but if it was the only way to have Isobel, he had to consider it might be his only choice. Still, he didn’t believe Pembroke would want a Highlander to take his place should he die, or that Marcus’s child would someday hold the title and lands. For all that time, Marcus had corresponded with Isobel as well. Though it was rare for Highlanders—and many of the English and Normans did not know how to read or write—Isobel’s mother had learned, and she had been adamant that both Isobel and Marcus acquire the craft so they could send missives to each other to keep in touch.

  Thankfully, Pembroke had allowed the correspondence between them to continue. Marcus often thought he did so because it was easier to keep them apart that way. Pembroke had to know that if he had not allowed them to write to one another, Marcus would have showed up in person. If someone had tried to kill him again?

  More skirmishes would have ensued. Better to keep the peace this way. Marcus didn’t mind, well, overmuch, that her da was breaking the seals on her missives to Marcus, nor that he did the same with Marcus’s letters to Isobel, as evidenced by Lord Pembroke’s seal affixed to both—as long as they were allowed to correspond.

  Following the hunt that morn and while his people who had grievances gathered to speak with him about them, Marcus once more read Isobel’s words.

  My beloved,

  Even though my father has said I must soon see the men who wish to court me, he has made no mention of a pending date. I think he is softening his views to allow us to wed. Though you know the way he is. He will not say so in so many words, but he has mentioned about his nephew, John, a number of times. I believe if he allows the two of us to wed and me to leave here, my cousin will fill my place should my father no longer wish to manage the estate. ‘Tis good news, aye? With all my heart and forever yours, Isobel

  Finbar stalked into the great hall, his dark blond hair disheveled, his blue eyes shifting to the missive in Marcus’s hands. His cousin knew the only missives he ever received were sent by messenger from Isobel.

  “The first of our clansman wishes to lodge a complaint about one of the sheep herders allowing his sheep to graze near his cottage. And the others are all waiting to see you.”

  “Aye, call them in.”

  Finbar did so, and his people lined up one by one to hear how he would resolve their difficulties with their neighbors or family members.

  He had only listened to two complaints when he heard footfalls in a rush headed for the great hall. Thinking it was another clansman with a gripe, who worried he’d missed the time that Marcus had set aside for dealing with the issues, he listened to the next one.

  When Marcus saw a red-faced Rob hurrying to see hi
m, and a quick comment to those waiting in line that they must vacate the great hall at once, Marcus raised his brows at him.

  It was not Rob’s place to send his people away. At once, Marcus knew the matter had to be of grave importance for him to do so. Still, his people did not vacate the room, moving somewhat toward the doorway, but still waiting to hear if Marcus wished them gone.

  Marcus motioned to them to leave. “Go. I will see to your complaints as soon as I can.”

  “Not today, but several days from now,” Rob said.

  Marcus lifted his head a bit. This did not sound good. “We will let you know when I can meet with you again.”

  “Aye, laird,” several said and made their way slowly out of the great hall.

  He was certain they wished to learn what the trouble was as much as Marcus did.

  “What is the difficulty, Rob?”

  “Lord Pembroke’s daughter could be in grave danger, Marcus,” Rob warned, his blue eyes flashing with indignation as he paced about the great hall, his hair unkempt as if he’d been outside in the cold wind recently. He hadn’t been on the hunt earlier, but instead in the village. “‘Tis your duty to secure the lass and bring her here before anything untoward can happen to her. You promised her mother you would.”

  Marcus stared at his cousin in astonishment.

  Rob continued as if he couldn’t speak fast enough. “Lord Pembroke always had a kind word to say about our clan and his Lady Pembroke had been a good friend of your mother’s. God rest their souls. We owe it to his daughter to keep her safe. She loves you and we know how you feel about her.”

  Her father would not allow Marcus to protect the lass. Rob knew that. Her da would protect her.

  “Has someone taken her from her castle?”

  “Nay, ‘tis worse.”

  When he was riled, Rob often got his facts out of order and Marcus was attempting, without success, to understand what the truth of the matter really was without interrupting him and asking. Had Lady Isobel been betrothed to someone when she had vowed to wed Marcus instead? ‘Twas what Marcus suspected Rob was saying. If Marcus rushed him in his attempt to get at the truth, he knew Rob would make even more of a muddle of it.