by Barbara Bard
“If we be leaving,” Idina said, her eyes scanning the moors, “we best be on our way. I dinnae like nae kenning where he be. He may come back wi’ soldiers.”
“She’s right,” Myra said. “We all need to get back to the castle. It will take us the rest of the night to get there.”
Choosing to walk rather than ride, as no one else save Idina could, Myra led her discouraged band home in the darkness. Rather than feel triumph that she had wounded the evil Primshire once again, and knew he had run from them like a craven beast, she felt weary and dispirited. She couldn’t even cheer herself with the thought that if she had cut him deep enough, he still might die a slow and agonized death.
“Serve him right,” she muttered.
More and more her thoughts turned to Greer and how angry he would be. She refused to lie to him about what they had done, and tried to do, and hoped his anger would not turn on her friends. “Perhaps you should let his anger fall on me,” Myra said to them. “After all, I got you into this.”
“Nay,” Idina said, her tone hot. “We got ourselves intae this. And we wi’ get ourselves out the same way.”
“Ye nae be alone, Myra,” Kelly added.
Just as dawn peeked over the horizon, Myra and her friends stood atop a hill and gazed at the MacEilish castle, little more than a huge pile of stone in the faint light. “He is going to be so angry with me.”
“Ach, he wi’ get o’er it,” Idina replied, leading the way down the hill.
Fearing Greer’s anger more than she feared facing the murdering Earl of Primshire, Myra strode into the bailey, her black mare’s reins in her hand. She predicted to herself that Greer would be in it, shouting orders, Jared and Gavin with him, gathering men for a search party to locate her. Nor was she wrong. With Idina at her right hand, Carin on her left, the others spread out in a fan shape behind her, Myra waited for the explosion.
Greer saw her. Dropping the reins to his horse, he ran to her. “Myra! Where in heaven’s name ye be? What happened tae ye?” He lightly touched the swelling on her cheekbone. “Ye fall from yer mare?”
Behind his shoulder, Myra saw Kerr and Fiona striding toward them, relief and worry warring across both their expressions. “Myra,” Fiona said, “thank God ye be safe. We found ye missing and feared the worst.”
Myra drew in a deep breath. “We set a trap to kill Primshire.”
Greer’s hand fell away. His jaw slackened. He took a pace back from her. His brilliant green eyes ranged from her set face to Idina, and then roamed over the rest of her friends. Fiona muttered what sounded like a prayer while Kerr stood over them, his expression tight, yet emotionless.
“Ye what?” Greer asked, his voice soft.
“We stand wi’ Myra, Laird,” Idina said to Kerr. “Dinnae be angry wi’ her alone. We all agreed to this plan, we were all in it together.”
“I was used as a bait, Greer,” Myra said swiftly, recognizing the danger signals in his tense countenance, his thinned lips. “It almost worked. I wounded him, but he hit me and ran.”
“He ran like his tail were on fire,” Carin told him.
“Ye wounded him, lass,” Fiona said, her smile growing slowly. “Where?”
“His belly. If we’re fortunate, he may die of it. I went for his throat, but he is a fast bugger.”
“You set yerself up tae be the target of that hellish monster wi ‘oot tellin’ me?” Greer demanded.
Myra lifted her chin. “Had I told you, you would have stopped us.”
“Damn straight I would hae!” he bellowed, his face dark with his rage. “Ye hae nae right.”
“I had every right!” Myra snarled. “He tried to kill me. He’s killed God knows how many people, and someone had to try to stop him.”
Greer advanced on her, his fists clenched. Myra stood her ground, meeting his hot, furious eyes, but she had no way of knowing what might have happened. Gavin and Jared both grabbed him, seized him by the arms and dragged him back, away from her. “Let me gae,” he howled, struggling against their weight.
“Nay, nae until ye calm doon,” Jared told him. “Ye acting the fool, ye bloody bugger. Nae cease. Ye leave her be, or I wi’ knock ye oot.”
Greer flung them off of him, and stood glaring at Myra. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing emerged. Jared and Gavin stood close by, watching him, ready, if he flung himself at Myra again. He did not. Instead, he spun on his heel and stalked from the bailey.
Myra watched him leave, then settled her gaze on Kerr. He stared back at her, his eyes cold, hard. Then he, too, turned and stalked from the bailey without uttering a word.
Fiona clicked her tongue. “They wi’ get o’er it, Myra. Ye wounded their pride ye did.”
“I’ve ruined everything,” Myra replied, her tongue numb, staring in the direction both Greer and his father had vanished in. “It’s my fault.”
“Hush now.” Fiona gave her a quick hug, then examined the swelling on Myra’s cheek. “That is a bad bruise, lass. Come wi’ me, ye need food and care. All o’ ye come, get hot food in ye.”
Myra didn’t budge. He eyes finally wandered to Fiona. “I should go. Leave here. Maybe one of the villages will take me in.”
“Nay, Myra,” Jared said, offering her a quick smile. “Ye belong wi’ us. This be yer home now.”
“Me family be proud tae hae ye, Myra,” Morgana said, stepping to her shoulder.
“Mine, tae,” Carin chimed in.
“But I should go –”
Fiona set her hands on her hips, scowling. “There be nae more talk of that, lass. Ye be staying right here where ye belong. Now come. All o’ ye.”
Her legs and feet as numb as her mouth, Myra followed Fiona across the bailey and into the keep. She saw nothing of Greer or Kerr, and the mostly empty hall soon filled halfway up with clansmen, as well as Jared and Gavin, wanting to hear the story of how they nearly killed the vicious Primshire. Forced by Fiona to sit at a table, Myra stared at its planks, her heart empty. I just lost Greer. I should go, leave here before he tells me he never wants to see me again.
Under her eyes, a full plate appeared as though by magic. “Eat,” Fiona ordered. “Then we wi’ hear the story.”
Seeing her eight friends devouring the hot food, and observing Fiona’s determined expression, Myra picked up a piece of bread and bit into it. Her hunger soon took control, and she rapidly finished everything. Though chewing hurt her upper jaw, she managed to swallow much without biting down very hard. “I didn’t know I was so hungry,” she admitted.
“Now,” Fiona said. “Tell us everything.”
Thus, Myra told the crowd of listeners of how she and Idina hatched the plan, then recruited Morgana, Carin, Kelly, Flanna, Lina, Eithne, and Lina, and practiced their fighting skills as a team. “Since we were not permitted to ride out alone,” she said, guilt at her deception poking her in the ribs, “we asked Greer to ride with us. Then we found a location that might serve to hide them,” she gestured toward the seven, “while you all thought they went home. Idina and I sneaked out last night.”
“We hid while Myra stood clearly out as bait fer the murdering devil,” Idina continued. “We watched him following her, and I swear, I thought she be dead. But she moved fast, and ducked his blow aimed to knock her oot. Then she slashed him across here.”
Idina drew an imaginary line across her upper belly. She chuckled. “He looked like a wee bairn who just had hi toy taken.”
“We all ran fer him,” Carin added, picking up the story. “But he hit Myra, knocked her doon. We be distracted, hesitated, and he bolted.”
“He clearly isnae Scottish,” yelled a warrior from the group at the tables. “Tae run from a bunch o’ women.”
“He be a bloody coward,” Jared called back, laughing. “We should march on him now. Nae tae fight, just tae watch him wiggle like a worm.” Jared widened his eyes and waggled his fingers in front of his face. “Make him shiver in his boots at the Scottish lasses coming fer his arse.”
> Raucous laughter met his sally as the clansmen erupted the hall with yells and jeers at what the Sassenach coward who ran from a fight. Myra exchanged a smile with Idina and Carin as the men roared with more coarse and lewd jests at Primshire’s expense. “These gentlemen approve of what we did,” she murmured.
Fiona took her hand. “Greer wi’ come aroond, Myra. Gie him time. He wi’ be proud o’ ye, as I am.”
“You’re proud of me?”
“Aye. Ye be Sassenach by birth, but ye be Scottish in yer heart.”
Fiona stood, raising her cup, her voice lifted in a shout to drown out the laughter. “Tae Myra, lads, our own wee lass with the heart o’ a lion!”
“Myra!”
The hall shook with the sound of the warriors’ bellowing out her name, slamming their cups to the tables. Dust drifted down from the rafters under the accolade, the tables vibrating under the force of their voices. Myra blushed, exchanging sheepish grins with her friends, and tried to halt the roar with her hands in the air.
“We all did this,” she cried, standing up. “They deserve your praise as much as I do. They were as brave, if not braver than me.”
“Aye, we love them as much as we dae ye,” Gavin yelled, grinning. “But ye led, Myra, and they followed. Ye be a true lady o’ Scotland. Tae Myra!”
Chapter 26
He was certain he was going to die.
As the agony tormented him for the long miles to his castle, he began to fear he would not die.
“God help me,” he muttered into the darkness as he rode, sweating, terrified. “God help me.”
He did not believe in the spiritual world, nor in a God who reigned over all the people and creatures on earth. Yet, he clung to the words like a drowning man clutching a piece of wood, something to cling to, to see him into the light once again. His right hand held the reins to his horse as his left arm pressed against the gaping wound in his gut, fearing his innards would spill out onto his saddle.
Primshire recalled the moment when the black-haired wench, the one he thought he had killed and who sliced his cheek open, spun around with a blade in her hand. His own blow missed her completely while hers ripped him open. Only by the sheerest chance did he step away from the one that should have left him bleeding out on the moors through his gashed throat.
Then wenches, not warriors, poured from nowhere with sharp knives in their hands, ready to tear him apart. Craven, fear riding him like an evil witch, he ran from them. Only luck saved his life this night, he knew. Had he not run when he did, they would surely have killed him. He gazed up at the moon as he rode, his fingers lax on the reins. His horse knew the way home to food and stable, and thus needed little direction from him.
“I kill wenches,” he mused, his head spinning from blood loss, “wenches kill me. I kill wenches. Wenches kill me.”
Muttering seemed to help as he peered into the darkness, his mind unable to focus on where he was going or what he was doing. “Am I dying?” he asked the stars. “I am not afraid of death.”
He laughed aloud, then realized what a painful mistake that was. And how he had just lied. He was terrified of dying. “I cannot die,” he muttered. “I am invincible. I am the Earl of Primshire, powerful lord and master.”
Lights twinkled invitingly on the distant horizon. His castle. He dared not spur his horse into a faster pace than the quiet walk he was on, as he feared he would leave his intestines flying behind him. “What would the Duchess think?” he asked himself, then chuckled. “She will laugh herself silly over this.”
Dawn lightened the eastern horizon as his mount carried him under the portcullis and clattered into the bailey. By that time, Primshire was barely conscious, swaying in his saddle. Through a red haze, he saw Lord Avery and several men-at-arms run toward him, Avery bellowing orders. Though what those orders were, Primshire had no idea, for they meant nothing to him, like the jabbering of a jackdaw. His horse stopped as men surrounded them both, and hands pulled him from the saddle. Just before unconsciousness claimed him, he clearly heard Avery say, “You are going to be all right.”
***
He woke in his bed.
His agony awakened when he did, the flesh of his belly burning as though he had stood far too close to a roaring fire. Staring up at the canopy above, his mouth dry and his tongue thick, Primshire absently wondered how long he’d been there.
“Two days and counting.”
Not realizing until then that he had spoken aloud, he rolled his head on the pillow and found Jessica seated next to it.
“You should be more careful of the victims you choose,” she commented, examining her fingernails for possible dirt. “Some of them obviously have teeth.”
“Scots,” he muttered. “Warriors beset me.”
Jessica eyed him sardonically. “Are you sure about that?” she asked, her tone prim. “You talk in your sleep, my dear Marsden. I listened as you spoke of, what was it? Scottish wenches, I believe. A horde of them, waiting for you to fall into their little trap.”
Primshire closed his eyes. “Will I live?”
“Well, as you haven’t died yet, I expect so. The cut in your belly missed your vitals by a hair, Lord Avery said. Any deeper, and your horse would have stepped all over your precious intestines.” She tittered. “Imagine that.”
I will live. I will live to attain my vengeance.
“I must say, Marsden,” Jessica said. “You certainly live a charmed life. Pity the Scots will kill you next time.”
“There will be no next time.”
“Oh? Are you giving up on your hobby, dear? Such a pity if that were to happen. I daresay I have enjoyed watching you work.”
Primshire opened his eyes, staring at the canopy again. “I will kill them all.”
“What’s that, Marsden, dear? Did I hear you say you will kill them?”
“Yes.”
“That should prove amusing at best. I wonder how you will manage that.”
Primshire turned his head to smile at Jessica. She must have seen something in his face, for her beautiful face flinched, her lips twisting, for an instant so brief he thought he imagined it. “Watch,” he said, still smiling. “I will show you.”
Chapter 27
Greer had no idea what to do. After storming away from the defiant, unrepentant Myra in the bailey, he vented his rage on the rugs and hides of his chambers, pacing back and forth, shouting obscenities. He loved her and hated her. He wanted to hug her, he craved to throttle her with his bare hands. Howling his fury to the ceiling did nothing save release some of the demented, pent up rage within him.
“How dare she?” he yelled to the tapestries. “She could have gotten herself killed.”
“Would ye care if she had?”
Spinning around, Greer stared at his mother in the opened doorway. In his rage, he had not noticed it open, nor her presence. While he wanted to scream at her as well, too much respect for her was mired into his bones, and he choked it back. “Of course,” he muttered, turning away.
“Then act like it. Instead o’ a five year old bairn in a tantrum.”
“She went behind me back, Maw,” he thundered.
“Nay.” Fiona crossed her arms over her bosom, leaning against the jamb. “She did what ye would’nae.”
His fists clenched, Greer swung toward her. “I dinnae dare risk her life,” he gritted. “I would’nae risk any lass’s life.”
Flustered, still furious, he continued his pacing, dashing his hands through his thick hair. “It gae against me honor tae put a lass in danger o’ that monster. Cannae ye understand that?”
“Nay,” Fiona replied calmly. “It were her choice, and ye should hae listened tae her. Now she did it on her own, and may well hae succeeded if she hae a bit more luck. Fer all we ken, Primshire be dead.”
“I just wanted tae keep her safe,” he groaned. “If she were tae die, I would die as well.”
“She dinnae, lad. She be an honor tae ye, an honor tae yer clan.”
> “I dinnae want her honor, Maw,” he shouted. “I want her alive.”
“Dae ye listen tae yerself, Greer?” she asked, walking into the room. “We live by our honor. The honor o’ family, o’ clan, o’ Scotland. Why wi’ ye nae see that Myra hae her own honor, and she bring it freely tae ye, tae us?” Fiona strode to the window and pointed. “Look outside, Greer, look out the window. Any warrior out there be willing tae hae her tae wife. Already, her friends be asked by dozens tae marry them.”
Greer turned his back on her, his head bowed, his eyes closed. “Then let her marry one of them. I wi’ hae none o’ her.”