Highland Captive (22 page)

“Then
tell me what ye wish. I cannae think what bargain we can strike however.”

“I
can give ye Aimil Mengue.” Catarine nodded with satisfaction when Rory tensed with
interest and she quickly told him of the plan she had devised.

“And
what do ye gain?”

“Parlan.
I want him. Alive,” she hastened to add. “A bargain?”

“A
bargain. Where will they be and when?”

“I
mean it,” she said after they had made their final plans and she prepared to
go. “I want Parlan alive. Do as ye will with that girl but leave Parlan to me.”

“Of
course. My word upon it.” A smile eased over Rory’s face after Catarine left,
and he turned to Geordie. “Ten of our best marksmen are to be ready to ride on
the morrow. I will get my bride back and I will see the Black Parlan dead.”

Leith
tried very hard not to feel like an errant child as he faced Parlan. He was,
however, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had been allowed to stay at
Dubhglenn on Parlan’s good graces. His attempt to escape with Aimil was akin to
an insult to that hospitality. Leith hoped he would not be sent from Dubhglenn
as a result.

“How
fares Aimil?” he asked quickly, thinking to divert Parlan.

“Fine.
She sleeps. She will most likely sleep through the night.”

Inwardly,
Leith winced. That was a circumstance that would not improve Parlan’s mood at
all. He watched the man warily.

“How
did you find the door?” Parlan demanded.

“I
was kicking a ball around, and it went back there. I then explored its
suitability as an escape route.”

“It
didnae prove too suitable, did it? Aimil was nearly drowned.”

“Aye,”
Leith rasped, “I ken it, and the guilt lies heavy on me for I pressed her into
leaving.”

“I
told ye I wasnae taking all the ransom.”

“Ye
did yet ye still let it be gathered.”

“Because
I have naught on that hellhound Rory yet. If I give ye your sister back, she
will be wed to the man, and if this ransom game ends, I have no rights to hold
her. She is only my captive and all hold I have flees when the ransom is paid.”

“The
ransom my father sweats to gather for ye.”

“It
willnae break him to gather it. In truth, he will learn something. He will
learn who his true friends are.”

Leith
suspected that there was a great deal of truth to that so did not bother to
argue but went directly to the next point of contention. “And as my father
learns who his friends are, ye continue to bed my sister as ye will.”

“She
and I made a bargain.”

“Aye,
months ago. That cursed horse has been ransomed ten times over.”

“‘Tis
a fine mount.”

“Dinnae
play with me, MacGuin. I have been more than patient but I cannae sit by any
longer and let ye make a whore of my sister. ‘Tis no longer a matter of using a
hostage. It has gone far beyond that.”

“Aye,
it has.”

“Then
ye mean to put her from your bed?”

“Nay,
I mean to wed her if she will agree.” He smiled faintly at Leith’s surprise
which the younger man made no effort to hide. “On the morrow, if the weather is
fine and if she doesnae sicken from her swim, I will take her for a wee ride
and talk to her.”

“What
of Rory? God’s teeth, what of my father?”

“I
care not. They willnae be able to do verra much about it after a priest has
done the vows. Mayhaps t’will even drive Rory to act. T’will depend upon how
badly he wants Aimil. Mayhaps it willnae be enough to bring him to sword point
with me, though, by God’s bones, I wish it would be. I have long ached to come
to sword point with him.”

“As
have many another but Rory guards himself verra weel. Enough of him. I care not
for the swine. There is still my father to consider. Ye cannae up and wed his
daughter with nary a word to him. ‘Tisnae done.”

“Then
I shall break with tradition. Heed me, Leith. Aimil stays in my bed. Does she
stay there wed or unwed?”

“Wed,
curse ye.” Leith spoke rather mildly for he knew Parlan was the one Aimil
wanted. “T’will brew a mighty storm though.”

“I
have faced down one or twa in my time. I will speak to you again after I have
had my say with your sister.”

Parlan
left before Leith could think of any further objections. He hoped Leith would
continue to be persuaded. It would not make an auspicious beginning to his
marriage if he had to lock the younger man up until the priest had finished
wedding him and Aimil, he mused.

His
thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Artair suddenly stopped in front of
him. Parlan met his brother’s nervous gaze with coolness. Anger over what
Artair had done to Aimil still lingered. He was not sure he was quite ready to
forgive, if that was what Artair sought.

“I
have come to apologize for what I did to your woman.”

“‘Tisnae
really me ye must apologize to.”

“Aye,
‘tis. Weel, and the lass too. See, she told me she was yours, but I paid her no
heed. I shouldnae have tried to take what was, is, yours. That wasnae right and
I ken it.”

“Nay,
it wasnae right but ‘tisnae the real wrong ye did. ‘Tisnae right to reach for
another man’s lass but, if she proves willing, weel, so is the game played. She
wasnae willing though, Artair. There is your wrong. Ye didnae heed her nay. Ye
hit her.”

“She
bit clean through my lip,” Artair said in his defense, but it lacked strength
and he knew it.

“So
ye cuffed her one. I still wouldnae have been pleased, but that I could have
understood. ‘Tis a man’s nature to strike out at what strikes him. But ye hit her
again and meant to keep on hitting her. That was your other wrong, Artair.”

“Being
a man and one who can fight weel with sword and fist, if ye are sober, ye are
stronger than a lass. ‘Tisnae right to turn that against her. ‘Tisnae right to
take what a lass doesnae want to give. I ken many think me a soft fool for such
beliefs, but I dinnae think it has weakened me. Nay, nor has my bed been empty
too often because I choose to wait for a willing lass. Ye cannae just grab as
ye will. Woo it, seduce it, or pay for it, but dinnae beat it out of a wench.”

He
stared at Artair, but his brother was neither speaking nor returning his gaze.
Parlan began to wonder if any of what he had said had been heeded. It was a
gain of sorts that Artair had even attempted to apologize, but Parlan knew it
meant nothing if Artair did not really mean it nor had learned anything from
the whole business. His hopes lifted when Artair finally looked at him for
shame was clearly written upon his face. For the moment at least, Artair understood
that he had been wrong.

“I
dinnae ken what possesses me at times.”

“Drink,
laddie. ‘Tis a Devil no man can let get a hold upon him. There is a brutal side
to a man, ‘tis what lets us pick up a sword and hie to battle. Aye, even enjoy
it. What a man has to learn is when to let the beast free and when to rein him
in. No man can do it when drink clouds his mind. Ye must learn to control the
drink and not let it rule ye.”

“Aye,
I ken it. Might I speak to Aimil now?”

“Nay,
not now. The fool lass nearly drowned herself. She needs to rest. On the
morrow.” He started to move toward his chambers.

“Parlan?”

Stopping
to glance back at Artair, Parlan asked, “There is more ye have to say?”

“Aye.
Do ye mean to wed Aimil Mengue? I have heard talk of it.”

“Then
ye have heard right. Aye, I mean to speak to her of it on the morrow. I
shouldnae have hesitated as long as I did. If I had spoken up when first I had
decided on it, I wouldnae have been fishing her out of the loch for she
wouldnae have tried to run.”
Or, at least
, he mused with an inner
grimace as his confidence wavered,
I dinnae think so
. “Do ye object?” he
asked coolly when Artair frowned.

“Nay,
though I will say that I am a wee bit surprised. I never thought of ye as a man
to don the yoke of marriage.”

“With
Aimil I dinnae feel as if t’would be donning a yoke and that, mayhaps, is the
best reason to wed her.”

“Aye,
mayhaps. For your sake, I hope it never feels so. The why nor even the wisdom
of it isnae why I mention it.” He nervously cleared his throat and ran a hand
through his hair. “I have been with Catarine or, shall we say, she has been
with me.”

“Take
warning, Artair, she is a sly wench and she seeks a husband but would make a
man a verra poor wife.”

“I
ken that she seeks a husband, but she wants the laird not the heir. She seeks
ye, Parlan.”

“Aye,
she has made that clear enough though she thinks not. I have made it clear that
I am not interested in aught she has to offer. Dinnae fash yourself. I ken the
games her sort plays and they willnae work with me.”

“That
much I am sure of. I wouldnae waste the time of either of us by speaking on it
if that was all I suspected. Aye, she plots but it isnae against ye, I think.
She plots against Aimil.”

“How
so?”

“She
didnae really say, and I fear I paid little heed until, weel, later. She
distracted me.”

“She
is skilled at that.”

“Aye,
verra skilled. Still, I did sense that she plots against Aimil. She wishes
Aimil gone. I but thought ye should ken it.”

“‘Tis
good to ken it. I thank ye for speaking on it. I will be certain to look more
closely, to keep an eye upon the slut. I begin to think ‘tis far past time for
the wench to be gone. She takes sore advantage of our hospitality. If there is
more ye want from her, best ye gain it now, Artair. I will seek my chambers now
for t’was a long ride home. Aye, and the swim I took wearied me some.”

“I
hope Aimil fares weel. Good sleep, Parlan.”

“And
to ye, Artair.”

With
a slight frown, Parlan watched Artair walk away. There seemed to be a change in
his brother, but Parlan dared not let himself hope. He had done so in the past
and tasted disappointment too often. It would take awhile before his wariness
disappeared.

Striding
into his chambers, he found Old Meg dozing in a chair by his bed. It pleased
him to see that the woman had personally taken over Aimil’s care. Gently he
roused the woman, smiling faintly over her sleepy grumbling as she woke and
stood up.

“How
fares the lass?” He stood by the bed and studied the restlessly sleeping Aimil.
“Do ye think she will sicken at all?”

“Nay,
she be too hale a wee lass to be felled by a wee cold swim. There be no hint of
fever.”

“Her
sleep is an uneasy one.”

“Nay
doubt the lass be troubled with the memory of them dark waters.”

“Has
she roused at all yet?”

“Enough
to grumble that she didnae need to be tended like some wee bairn. I paid her
temper no heed.”

Parlan
laughed softly as he escorted Old Meg to the door. “She would no doubt have
been verra surprised had ye done elsewise. Get your rest, Meg. I pray I willnae
have need of ye again this night.”

“I
dinnae think ye will, laddie. Good sleep to ye.”

After
the woman left, he got ready for bed. He kept a close watch upon a continually
restless Aimil as he undressed and washed. It did seem that her sleep was
troubled, and he hoped she had been badly frightened. A good scare was often
the mother of caution, and he felt it would not hurt if Aimil had a little more
of that. He would find it comforting if she did.

It
still pinched at him that she had tried to leave him, even if Leith had had to
prod her. He had thought her more than content in his bed. While he knew that
she desired him, he found himself wondering if the passion they shared was as
strong in her as it was in him. While he craved it, she might simply enjoy it.
All the reasons Leith had given for trying to escape were very sound and easily
understood, but they were not strengthening his confidence as he wished they
would.

Cursing
as he snuffed the candles, he told himself not to be a fool. Her trying to
escape was perfectly understandable and no real indication of how she felt. It
had been a matter of choosing honor and duty over a man who offered her nothing
more than passion. By remaining silent about his plans, he had given her no
choice. To stay when escape was possible was to be marked as his whore, and
Aimil had far too much pride to allow that to happen.

Carefully,
he eased into bed. He ached to make love to her but knew there would be none of
that. Even if she woke, she would still be suffering from the effects of her
near drowning. Recalling how he had felt when the same had occurred to him in
his youth, he knew that she would be feeling little inclined even to try for a
taste of passion, and he did not want her unless she could share his pleasure.
He could wait until the morrow when she would be recovered and more responsive
as well as more receptive. When he gently tugged her into his arms and she
nestled near him, he decided that the morrow was going to seem very slow in
coming.