Highland Captive (13 page)

Lachlan
appeared even as the pleasantries were ending and Parlan was about to ask for
him. “What do ye want now?”

“I
have come to invite ye and your family to dine at my table this eve,” Parlan
replied quite pleasantly, unperturbed by Lachlan’s crossness.

“Will
Aimil be there?” asked Giorsal, thinking that the man’s voice was as dangerous
to a woman as his looks.

“Aye.
Aimil isnae confined verra tightly. She has free access to all within the walls
of Dubhglenn. Do ye join me or nae?”

“Aye,
we will be there.” Lachlan then bid Parlan a curt farewell and strode back to
his tent.

“The
man is oppressed by many worries as ye ken weel,” Iain offered in apology for
Lachlan’s rudeness. “He must be excused.”

“For
this, aye.” Thinking of Aimil’s pain, Parlan’s expression hardened slightly. “For
other things, nay, not until I ken the reasons.”

“What
did he mean by that?” Giorsal asked after Parlan had left.

“I
cannae be sure. I think he refers to Lachlan’s coldness to his daughter. Aimil
may have revealed how it pains her.”

“He
should think more on how he could hurt Aimil. She is such a wee lass and he is...he
is...”

“Such
a great lad?” Iain finished with a grin, which widened when Giorsal blushed.

“‘Tisnae
a matter of jest. ‘Tisnae just his size I speak of either, but him. I mean, he
is so much a man. Even I kenned it.”

“I
noticed,” Iain drawled. “Dinnae scowl. I ken what ye mean but I think ye are as
fooled as many by Aimil’s delicacy of looks. Aye, she is a wee lass and comely
enough even for the likes of the Black Parlan. She is also made of steel. She
can be as tough as Lachlan. The Black Parlan willnae find her bending to his
will easily. Nay, nor petting his vanity as so many women have done.”

Although
Parlan enjoyed the way Aimil did not quail before him, at the moment he was
viewing her with a distinct lack of amusement. He saw her refusal to dine with
her father as pigheadedness. Parlan did not feel that avoiding unpleasantness
was the way to solve anything. Despite that, he did admire the way she met his
growing annoyance squarely. Too few did.

“Ye
will come down, lassie, even if I must drag ye down by the hair and tie ye to a
seat.”

Aimil
glared at him, unaware that she was doing anything unusual by not cowering
before his displeasure. “Ye wouldnae dare.”

“Try
me,” he purred.

She
did not think that would be a very good idea but refused to go down without a
fight. “I cannae sit before my family and act as if naught has changed. That is
a lie too large for me to play out. Someone will say something that will set me
to blushing and they will ken weel what has happened.”

“Ye
worry over naught.” He started out of the door. “Ye best be at that table when
the serving begins.”

She
stuck her tongue out as the door shut behind him. It was an ill-timed gesture
for he quickly reopened the door to look at her again, catching her childish
response to his command. Hastily, she drew her face into the lines of sweet
innocence, refusing to be embarrassed.

“Ye
have ten minutes,” he growled, but lost his stern expression as soon as he was
out of her sight. “Little witch,” he murmured, laughing as he started down to
the hall where his guests were gathering.

Cross
but resigned to her fate, Aimil finished getting ready. She still wore boy’s
clothing but she had an extensive wardrobe of them. The red and black outfit
she wore suited her very well she decided, smiling faintly over her touch of
vanity. Brushing her hair and securing it with a red ribbon, she squared her
slim shoulders and started toward the hall. She was determined not to reveal
anything to anyone. If her family discovered that she was no longer a maid, it
would not be from her. Taking a deep breath in a last effort to strengthen her
resolve, she marched into the hall.

“She
looks quite elegant,” murmured Iain as Aimil approached them.

Even
though she agreed, Giorsal made a scolding noise. “‘Tis not right for her to
dress so. There is no need to make a scandal of her.” She moved to greet Aimil,
giving her a hug and a kiss. “How fare ye, sister? Is all weel? Ye have come to
no harm?”

Pleased
with her calm, Aimil smiled. “I am verra fine. I am always watched but not too
obtrusively. I have stayed at far worse places.”

“The
Black Parlan hasnae hurt ye?”

Meeting
her sister’s worried gaze directly and proud of her control, Aimil replied, “Nay,
not at all.” She then scowled at Parlan, who met her look with a smile. “Although
he is an arrogant, impossible man who thinks far too much of himself,” she said
loudly enough for him to hear.

Giorsal’s
eyes widened at this daring and widened even more when Parlan stepped closer,
kissed Aimil’s hand, and murmured, “Such a tart tongue for such a honied mouth.
The sweetness of your face is indeed deceptive, love. Come and sit down.”

Ignoring
that the seating might have been arranged, Giorsal hastily took the seat next
to Aimil, who was placed upon Parlan’s left and across from their father. There
was an air between Aimil and Parlan that disturbed Giorsal. She hoped that by
being near them during the meal she could dispel that uneasiness, perhaps see that
she had misread matters.

Shrugging,
Iain sat at her side across from Lagan who was placed between Lachlan at
Parlan’s right and James Broth. “I think ye have mucked about with the seating
arrangements, dearling,” he remarked calmly.

“I
dinnae care. I intend to watch this pair verra closely. They dinnae act as
captor and captive should. She talks to him much as she does to Leith, Calum,
or Shane,” Giorsal whispered in awe.

Iain
chuckled. “Aye, Aimil always did have spirit. Always faced a man square no matter
how he blustered and roared.”

“I
think they are lovers already.”

“T’wouldnae
surprise me, love. The Black Parlan is weel kenned to have a healthy appetite
for a comely lass, and Aimil is that.”

“How
can ye be so calm? Ye are her kin through marriage, and I ken weel that ye have
always been fond of her.”

“Love,
look about you. This is a male household. Aimil is a captive, clear and simple.
Mayhaps she already occupies Parlan’s bed, and, if ‘tis so, I sorely feel for
her loss of honor, but better that than to be left unprotected. If she is his
lover, none will touch her. She could weel be safer in the Black Parlan’s bed
than out of it. She shows no signs of being ill-treated, and that is what
matters most. Leave it be for now. Her honor, if lost, can be avenged later.”

“Aye,”
she agreed but hating it. “Does my father nae see it, or is he holding his
tongue because he thinks as ye do?”

For
a moment Iain studied Lachlan. “I cannae say. ‘Tis odd but I get the feeling he
plays a deep game. Dinnae ask me what though.”

As
the meal dragged on, Giorsal began to share her husband’s feeling. Even Lachlan
could not ignore the attitude that existed between Parlan and Aimil yet he
seemed to be doing just that. Parlan made no attempt to act coolly toward
Aimil, to disguise the heat of his glances, and Aimil simply did not know how
to.

“And
why is Aimil’s husband-to-be not amongst your numbers?” Parlan asked as soon as
the covers on the dishes of food were removed and more drink set out.

“He
was verra busy,” Lachlan replied offhandedly. “As ye ken weel, there was some
recent damage to be repaired.”

“What
happens if ye dinnae ransom Aimil by summer’s end, the time set for the
wedding?”

“Then
t’will be set for another time. The man will wait for his bride. He has waited
years, a few added months willnae matter.”

As
Rory Fergueson watched his man carry out a young maid who had suffered badly at
his hands, Rory thought of Aimil. The way matters were being handled it could
be months before she was freed. Thinking of Aimil with the Black Parlan had
made his lust even crueler than usual. The young maid would be a long time
recovering from her spell in his bed.

“Ye
near killed that lass,” groused Geordie, a burly, sourfaced man who was the
closest thing Rory had to a friend.

“What
care I?” snarled Rory as he flung himself into a chair and snatched at the
drink Geordie held out to him.

“Ye
will care weel enough if word of how ye treat the lasses reaches Lachlan
Mengue’s sharp ears.”

“Do
ye think he is deaf to what is already whispered about me?”

“Nay,
but ‘tis rumors yet. If ye keep cluttering up Scotland with dead and battered
lasses, he may soon have fact.”

“Aye,
ye are right. I must tread warily. I lost my head. I must not supply the
rumormongers with fact. All I could think on was Aimil in the Black Parlan’s
hands.”

Geordie
hid a grimace. He had no doubts about how Parlan MacGuin would use such a fair
captive. The bride Rory had waited so long for would not come to her marriage
bed a virgin. Even though Rory only meant to use the girl for vengeance, he had
wanted her to be untouched.

When
Rory suddenly demanded another wench, Geordie protested. Rory had spent all his
time drinking and wenching since Aimil’s capture. Geordie knew that Rory hung
upon the very brink of madness and began to fear that thoughts of the Black
Parlan enjoying Aimil would push him over the edge. Only when Rory promised
that Geordie could stay to insure that Rory was in control of himself did
Geordie fetch a girl. He came back with a lusty wench, buxom and full of
avarice, who was quite capable of handling two men.

Rory
lay sprawled on the bed, drinking and watching Geordie gain his pleasure even
as the whore pleasured Rory. Though his body reacted in all the appropriate
ways, his mind was on Aimil. He would have her, share her with Geordie, and
humiliate her. He would break her in spirit, mind, and body before he took her
life. Thinking on how he would abuse her increased his current pleasure. Aimil
Mengue would crawl and beg for an end to her life before he was through with
her.

Aimil
suddenly shivered. She tried to tell herself that it was cold in the hall, but
she knew she lied. The chill had come from deep within her. All she could
think, despite her efforts to shake the image, to resist superstitious fancy, was
that some dark, foreboding shadow had briefly covered her soul, that some evil
had reached out to touch her with its icy fingers. It took all her willpower
not to cry out her fear.

“Are
ye ailing, Aimil?” Giorsal murmured. “Ye have gone verra white.”

“A
goose walked over my grave, ‘tis all.”

“Dinnae
say such things.” Giorsal shivered. “Come, let us go for a walk outside, away
from all this talk of old battles. ‘Tis most like the tales of blood and death
that have turned your humor dark.”

Lagan
trailed them as they went out into the bailey. He did not stay on their heels
for there were many eyes to watch them besides his own. Giorsal was glad that
she and Aimil would be able to talk freely as they strolled arm in arm.

“How
fares Jennet? She must be far along with child now.”

“Aye,
Aimil. The bairn should make his or her appearance at any time. She fares weel
though ‘tis tired she is.” She looked closely at Aimil. “I will ask it again.
How fare ye, Aimil? Ye cannae tell me the man’s nae touched ye. I have eyes.”

“Do
ye think Papa has seen it?” Aimil asked in sudden panic, not even attempting to
deny anything to Giorsal.

“Nay,
it seems not. I think I wouldnae have seen aught save that, weel”—Giorsal
blushed—“Iain and I are much closer now.”

“Oh?
How did this come about?”

“Ye
mean ye kenned there was a fault in my marriage?”

“Nay,
not a fault, just nae a loving or a close bond.”

“And
that is nae a fault?” Giorsal drawled. “I didnae want to wed Iain. I thought
him a plain, rough man. I held that feeling since the day we were wed. Now, I
didnae deny him or betray him, but I gave him little. T’was after ye were
taken. I took a close look at the man ye were going to have to wed and I opened
my eyes and looked at my own man. ‘Tis a fool I have been. For all my coolness,
the man has never strayed, and for all he is rough, he has never been cruel.
Weel, I said a few sweet words and put myself in his bed where I belonged
instead of making the man come asking and ‘tis love I have found now.”

“T’was
there all the time, Giorsal.”

“I
ken that now, but my eyes were long turned inward, seeing only my
disappointment and that the choice wasnae my own.”

Aimil
hugged her sister. “I am verra happy for you. Aye, and for Iain. He is a good
man. A lot of his roughness is only shyness.”

“Aye,
I see that now. ‘Tis to my shame that my wee sister saw it before I did. Now,
tell me of ye and the Black Parlan.”

“Are
ye going to insist upon it?” Aimil discovered that she really did wish to
discuss Parlan with her sister.