Highland Conqueror (14 page)

“Oh, Fiona, how I would like such a marriage, but—”

“Nay, dinnae think on why he said he was marrying ye. The beginning isnae important. They are usually lying to themselves about the why of it all anyway. Now, when the time comes to make your choice, ask yourself some questions. Is the passion fierce and shared?” Fiona nodded when Jolene blushed. “I thought it was. I could see it in Sigimor’s eyes when he looked at ye.”

“Tis just lust.”

“Sigimor isnae so verra different from my Ewan. He fed the need when it grew strong, but nay more than that. He would buy himself a tussle now and then. He had no lemans and didnae woo the better born lasses. He slept alone. Save for what was a young lad’s idiocy with that Lady Barbara, he has ne’er done elsewise. Yet, he cannae seem to keep his hands off ye. Dinnae excuse that as just lust.

“Now, it looks as if Sigimor is ready to leave, so I had best spit out the rest of the questions ye must ask yourself. Does he do all he can to see to your comfort? Does he seem possessive and suffer from jealousy? Does he talk with ye? Does he bristle at the verra hint of an insult to ye? Does he explain himself if ye ask him to? Does he listen to ye? Does he ken your moods and ask ye the why of them? Is he at ease in your company and does he laugh with ye? And, does he hold ye in his arms throughout the night?”

“These things are important?” Jolene asked even as she committed the questions to memory.

“Verra important. I wish I could tell ye more, but promise me that ye will ask yourself these questions ere ye make your choice between the lad and the mon, and that ye will think verra hard on the answers.”

“I swear.”

Fiona hugged her, then looked at Sigimor as he stepped up beside Jolene and draped his arm about her shoulders. “Ready to slip away?”

“Aye,” replied Sigimor. “Fingal says the lads have Harold and his men weel occupied.”

“It seems unfair to put them at risk,” murmured Jolene. “Tis my trouble, not theirs.”

“They arenae at risk,” said Ewan as he stood behind Fiona and wrapped his arms around her. “They but taunt and tease, turning that Sassenach about until he is dizzy. Aye, and they will do so until the dawn. Ye ought to have a fine lead on the fool by
then.”

“Aye,” agreed Sigimor, “and then he will have to find himself some new horses.”

The fact that the men heartily enjoyed that circumstance caused Jolene to roll her eyes in disgust. She saw Fiona do the same, revealing yet again, how in harmony they were. Then Ewan surprised her by moving away from Fiona and giving her a brief, but not very brotherly, kiss. The moment he stepped back, Jolene found herself hurried over to her horse and tossed up into her saddle by a fiercely scowling Sigimor. Ewan and Fiona stood arm in arm, grinning widely at what Jolene could only see as Sigimor’s jealous reaction to that farewell kiss from Ewan. And, Jolene thought, she would not be at all surprised if Fiona and Ewan had planned it just to see how their cousin would react.

As they started to ride out of Scarglas, Jolene looked back and saw Fiona hold up one finger. Jolene could only smile as she waved, then quickly turned her full attention to keeping up with the Camerons. She supposed she did now have the answer to one of the ten questions Fiona had insisted she ask herself. That had been one of the easy ones for Sigimor had revealed such possessiveness before. However, Jolene suddenly realized that the answers to the ten questions would draw her a very adequate picture of what her husband felt for her. She had promised Fiona she would consider all ten questions simply because the woman was a friend, but Jolene knew that she would do so for her own sake now.

The stealth used to leave Scarglas reminded Jolene very strongly of the threat to her life and Reynard’s, however, so she put such puzzles aside. Sigimor had set Reynard with Liam just in case something went terribly wrong and they had to ride hard to shake Harold off their trail. Another strong sign of the uncertainty that surrounded them, and would continue to do so as long as Harold lived.

“Stay close, lass,” Sigimor said as he slowed a little to ride by her side. “The sun willnae rise for a few hours yet and ye dinnae want to lose us in the dark.”

“Nay, I will be sure to stay close,” she assured him. “If I think I am falling behind, I will tie my reins to your horse’s tail.”

“And if ye do lose sight of us?”

“I will stop and not move another step,” she replied, reciting the lesson he had repeated to her over and over again since she had fallen into Harold’s hands that one time. “Mayhap sing a little.”

“Ah, and ye do have some sense of tune and tone, do ye?”

“Some.” She grinned at him. “More than you, leastwise.”

“A toad has more than me.” He winked at her when she laughed, pleased to see her sadness easing away. “Ye liked Fiona, aye?”

“Oh, aye. Have you ever met someone and just known that you were a perfect match?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he had indeed and that it was her, but it was the wrong place and the wrong time. “Aye. Ye mean someone ye ken is a friend from the moment ye meet him?”

Jolene nodded. “Exactly. The sort of person who makes ye realize that most of the people you know and refer to as friends are really not much more than pleasant acquaintances. That is what I felt with Fiona, a true bonding. I realized that I had never truly had a friend before.” She grimaced. “That sounds rather pitiful. After all, I did have Peter.”

“Peter was your brother and the earl. Aye, I dinnae doubt ye were close, but ’tisnae the same. My brother Somerled is my twin, my womb brother, and I dinnae think any two siblings can be closer than that. I also have a verra big family and we are close. Yet, I ken what ye mean by that occasional one ye meet whom ye immediately feel a bond with.”

“And you have met someone like that?”

“Twice. Liam, though he is a cousin, and Nanty. Actually, I must include Ewan as weel. I felt it, but with the breach between the families and the way he got his hands on Fiona, I had to be wary. It did mean, however, that, e’en though he had taken Fiona hostage and had married her without e’en meeting her kin, I didnae just kill him.”

“Very good of you, m’lord. I suspect Fiona was pleased.”

“Aye, although her brother Connor was a wee bit disappointed that I didnae at least bruise the fool a wee bit.”

“Oh, dear. He did not do so, did he?”

“Nay, for Fiona had already written to him about the mon, that she had chosen him.”

“Ah, and, of course, the possibility that Fiona would hurt you if you hurt Ewan had no part in your restraint.”

Sigimor laughed. “Och, aye, she would have, too. Nay doubt about it.” He saw her glance behind them, narrowing her eyes as she tried to peer through the pre-dawn gloom. “Nay, lass, he isnae following. S’truth, I suspect we will be safe at Dubheidland ere he can e’en take up the hunt again. If naught else, he and his men will be on foot until they leave MacFingal lands.”

Jolene smiled faintly and shook her head. “It feels as if he has been holding a knife to my throat for months instead of but days. He has proven far better at this than I would ever have thought him to be.”

“At first he just wanted to catch ye both because of all his grand plans. Now, I think he has grown desperate, needs ye and the lad to protect himself. He must ken that, as each day passes, there grows a greater chance that your kinsmen have discovered his game and might already be hunting him.”

“Oh, I do hope so.”

“Heed me, wife, if Harold discovers he is being sought by your kinsmen, your life may be in even greater danger.”

“How can I be in greater danger? The man wants to kill me.”

“But nay right away, aye? He has been thinking of using ye to tighten his grip on Drumwich. Howbeit, if he kens that your kinsmen have learned of his crimes and seek to make him pay, marrying ye willnae save him. Then, lass, his thoughts will turn to revenge. I have nay doubt at all that he will blame ye for all of his failures.”

“Reynard, too?” she asked in a near whisper, fear for her nephew stealing the strength from her voice.

“From all he has done and all ye have told me about the mon, I believe I ken weel the sort of devil we deal with, and, nay, not Reynard as weel. Once Harold thinks he has lost this game, he willnae e’en think of the boy unless he comes up with some plan to buy his life with that of the boy’s. Nay, he will want ye. Ye are the one who eluded him, the one who took the boy and fled Drumwich, and the one who has kept him running o’er this country until he lost whate’er chance he might have had of gaining all he covets. I suspicion ye will be seen as the cause of every ache, every bruise, every moment of
discomfort, every coin spent, and every humiliation and indignity.”

If she did not know better, Jolene would think Sigimor had known Harold for years, so accurate was his judgment. Harold would indeed blame her for everything that had gone wrong since he had murdered Peter. He would want to make her pay dearly, to suffer for his own mistakes. It was a chilling thought and even the knowledge that Harold’s attention would be pulled away from Reynard did not ease that chill much.

She quickly shook aside the fear that seized her. It was a poor time to falter. One way or another, the end of their trial drew near. Jolene knew that she and the Camerons had done, and were doing, all they could to keep her and Reynard safe. She also had boundless faith in Sigimor. If he could not defeat Harold, she doubted anyone else she might have chosen could, either. She would fix her thoughts only upon the battle to come and not fret over all the possible outcomes.

“You are right,” she said. “He will want to make me pay. Harold was always best at blaming others for whate’er went wrong. But, we are almost to Dubheidland and then it will be his turn to look over his shoulder.”

“Aye, wife, it will be. Tis why I am eager to get ye there.” He reached out and patted her leg. “Tis why we will be riding from now until we reach the gates,” he said, then quickly moved away to rejoin his brother Tait.

Jolene sighed and tried not to think of how her backside was going to feel at the end of this ride.

“Jesu! She is English!”

Jolene glared at the man Somerled who looked so much like her husband. She had just spent almost two days in the saddle for Sigimor had pushed them hard. She was tired, dirty, sore, and hungry. The appalled look the man wore, one reflected in the faces of all the other Camerons gathered around, was more than she could bear.

“Aye, I am English. A Sassenach. In fact, I am the sister of an English Marcher lord. What of it?” she snapped and angrily shoved a stray lock of hair off her face.

Although he was tempted to laugh, Sigimor forced himself to be serious. It was hard. His kinsmen now looked more startled than appalled, as if a mouse had suddenly grown fangs and leapt at Somerled’s throat. Jolene did look a little inclined to kill someone.

“Ah, now, Jolene,” he began in as soothing a voice as he could muster.

“What?!” She briefly glanced at him, before returning her glare to Somerled. “I am very, very tired of seeing this reaction every time I meet someone on this side of the border. You would think I was a plague carrier. What about all one hears of Scottish hospitality, hmm? This is just
rude
, that is what this is.”

“Ah, here is Old Nancy,” Sigimor said, gently pushing his furious wife toward the plump, graying woman who stepped up beside Jolene. “She will see ye to your chambers where ye can have a hot bath and put on some clean clothes. We can finish the introductions later, after ye have had a wee rest, mayhap? Aye, a wee sleep ere we dine is just what ye need.”

“Do not talk to me as if I am crazed, husband,” she hissed at him. “Where is Reynard?”

“The lad was asleep, so Liam took him up to the room where the children are bedded down.”

“Good.” She curtsied to the gathered men, took a grinning Old Nancy by the arm and started out of the crowded great hall. “Mayhap by the time we gather to dine some people will have found their manners.”

Sigimor watched carefully until he was sure she was out of earshot and then started to laugh. Chuckling to himself, he moved to the head table, sat down, and poured himself some ale. By the time he had soothed his dry throat, his brothers were all seated at the table and his cousins were crowded around behind them.

“Mayhap I was, er, rude,” said Somerled, “but, curse it, she is English! What were ye thinking to take to wife an Englishwoman?”

“That I wanted her as my wife!” Sigimor sighed when his family just stared at him and then he told them the whole story from the moment he had ridden through the gates of Drumwich until he had arrived back here at Dubheidland. “Any questions?”

Before anyone could say anything, Liam strolled into the great hall. He grinned at all the dour faces as he walked to the head table. Nodding a greeting to everyone, he sat down, leaving the chair he usually took on Sigimor’s left empty for Jolene.

“Have I missed the customary
Oh, m’God, she is English!?
” he asked as he helped himself to some ale.

“Aye,” replied Sigimor, “and the whole tale of our wee adventure.”

“Weel, I had to speak to Nanty. He returned but a few hours ago thinking we
would be here already. He said most everyone had heard of the Englishmon and that he was traveling hard and fast. They would, however, keep watch. Nanty said he would tell ye all about it in the morning. He was asleep ere I left the room.”

“E’en though Harold isnae within their reach, ’tis still good that they were warned. If the bastard gets hold of Jolene or the boy, he will flee to England. Then they will all be a great help.”

“Aye, ’tis what he thought.”

“Ye have no concerns about him marrying an Englishwoman?” Somerled asked Liam.

“Nay,” replied Liam. “Why should I object to a wee lass who saved me from rotting on the gallows?”

“She saved ye so that ye could help her.”

“Oh, I think she would have done it e’en if she hadnae needed our help or if we had refused it for she kenned that her brother had sent for us. She also kenned that we had done no wrong.”

“But, to marry a lass, any lass, just to keep her from having to marry another doesnae seem a verra wise thing to do.”

“Weel, ’twas a wee bit more than that,” said Sigimor, ignoring the small snort of laughter from Liam. “She is a bonnie wee lass, of good blood, stronger than she looks, and good company.” Sigimor could see that his twin ached to press him harder on the question of why, but he held his tongue.

“She has a temper,” Somerled said and several of their kinsmen murmured their agreement.

“Ye insulted her, didnae ye. S’truth, ye are lucky she got angry, nay hurt, or twould be my temper ye would be dealing with now. She doesnae understand why everyone acts so appalled and neither do I.”

“Mayhap they are appalled that a laird would wed an Englishwoman, nay one of our own. If they kenned she was kin to a Sassenach Marcher laird, they would be e’en more so.”

“Best
they
get o’er it,” Sigimor said, casting a hard look at all his kinsmen. “She is just a wee lass. Aye, a wee lass who saw her brother die screaming in pain, who grabbed that bairn and spent three days hiding from her brother’s killer in the bowels of her own home, and who spent part of that time listening to the screams of her people as Harold tortured them, trying to get them to betray her. And, a wee lass who saved my life, as well as Liam’s, Tait’s, David’s, Marcus’s, and Nanty’s.”

“True, but she wanted something from you.”

“Aye, she did. She wanted us to help her get that bairn away from Harold, out of his murderous reach. She ne’er asked for more than that. And I agree with Liam. She would have freed us anyway. I have no doubt of that. I will see Harold dead because I want to, because he killed a mon who once saved my life and wants to kill a woman and bairn for naught but greed. I married the lass because I wanted to. Harold’s plots just gave me a good reason to drag her afore a priest, one she found hard to argue with, though she
did
try.

“So, heed me,
she is my wife
, a Cameron now.” He was pleased to hear Liam second that claim. “All I care to hear about now are some plans concerning Harold The Usurper.”

In the taut silence that followed, a boyish voice said, “We are going to kill the bastard ere he touches our lady.”

Sigimor looked at his youngest brother Fergus who was not quite thirteen. Tall for his age, and nearly bone-thin, Fergus was the only one of his brothers, aside from Somerled, who looked most like him. When he saw how the boy began to shift nervously in his seat beneath the scowls of so many of his kinsmen, Sigimor gave him a broad smile. The boy’s quick acceptance of Jolene touched him deeply. He would make sure that none of the others made the boy pay for that.

“Weel,” muttered Fergus, encouraged by Sigimor’s smile, “she
is
just a wee lass trying hard to keep that bairn alive.”

“Exactly,” said Sigimor as he stood up. “I need to bathe, rest a wee bit, and find some clean clothes ere we gather for our evening meal. Mayhap by then ye will have set aside your fool prejudices and have a few suggestions about how I can keep my wife and that bairn out of the hands of their enemy.”

Somerled fixed his gaze on Liam the moment Sigimor was gone. “Ye truly find naught to trouble ye about this?”

“Nay,” replied Liam. “Watch them for a wee while and ye will see why I dinnae.”

“Keeping her out of another mon’s hands is still a poor reason to wed a lass.”

“Aye, unless, of course, ye grab that reason with both hands to get a lass to say
aye
.” Liam smiled crookedly at a still-frowning Somerled. “Remain wary, if ye must, but ye will see that all is weel. Cease trying to make Sigimor see his choice of wife as a bad one. Old Fingal has beaten that to death, e’en tried to turn Sigimor’s eyes toward Lady Barbara MacLean, a widow who has been asking about Sigimor, a Scottish lass. At the moment, Harold is the darkest shadow o’er their marriage. He will be sniffing about on Dubheidland lands verra soon.”

“And he will die for it,” said Somerled, most of his kinsmen loudly agreeing with him. “Ye outran him, did ye?”

“Wasnae difficult. The mon seems to have lost his horses whilst on MacFingal land.” Liam laughed along with the rest of his kinsmen.

Harold sipped at the tankard of bitter ale the plump serving maid had brought him. Everyone in the dimly lit tavern part of the inn watched him and his men warily, unwelcome carved deep into their hard expressions. He could not fully blame his men for not wanting to linger here for long. If not for the desperate need to get more horses, he would not have stopped.

“M’lord,” said Martin as he hastily sat down on the bench across from Harold, “we may have trouble.”

“May? May?” Harold took a deep drink of the ale to still the urge to scream. “We have had to enter this nest of barbarians. We were robbed of our horses and supplies by those filthy MacFingals. We are being robbed again and again as we try to get more horses and more supplies. Oh, and every man in this place would take great pleasure in slitting our throats. And,
now
you say we
may
have trouble? What, by the devil’s foul breath, is
this?
”

“A minor annoyance if what I hear is true,” Martin replied calmly as the serving maid set a tankard of ale in front of him.

“Have the Camerons finally decided to face us like men?”

“Nay, but someone is hard on our trail. Word has it that we are not the only Englishmen riding toward Dubheidland.”

Harold propped one elbow on the scarred table between him and Martin and rested his forehead in his hand. He swore, softly and profanely, for several minutes. Everything was falling apart. He had taken over Drumwich and rid himself of Peter. It had all been so remarkably easy and it should have been enough. Instead, he was dragging himself and his increasingly mutinous men all over this cursed country, paying as much for a toothless mare as he would for a well-trained destrier, and paying a king’s ransom for oats and cheese. Harold knew who was following him now, knew that somehow the other Gerards had discovered what had happened at Drumwich. One brief taste of all he had dreamed of for so long was obviously all he would ever have and he knew exactly who to blame.

“I will kill the bitch,” he whispered in a voice hoarse with fury. “Slowly.”

“Ah.” Martin nodded. “The lusting has finally burned away, I see.”

Sitting up straight again, Harold finished his ale and signaled the maid for more. “Nay, ’tis still there.” He fell silent until the woman filled his tankard, collected her coin, and left again. “I must make some plans. That bitch has ruined everything. I held it all and would have kept it save for her. God’s bones, she has set me in the shadow of the gallows, but I will at least thwart her in that. Aye, and use her hard ere I cut her throat.”

“These Englishmen may not be after us. There are other reasons for their presence and the tales told may be wrong.”

“You know they are not and you know as well as I do that they are after me. If not me, then Jolene and the boy. E’en that will only gain me a short respite for she will quickly send them after me. Now what?” he grumbled when there was a disturbance at the door which quickly drew everyone’s attention.

Harold’s eyes widened when a woman strode over to the fire he and Martin sat near. She yanked off her cloak and threw it to the slender young man close behind her. She was the first pleasing thing he had seen in this country. A little taller than most women, she was voluptuous in a way that made a man immediately hard with lust. Her hair was a pale blond, her features were perfection, and her eyes were a clear, startling blue. Judging by the richness of her deep blue gown and the jewels she wore, he suspected that she was no common wench. He was suddenly very glad he had indulged himself with a bath and a change of clothes while his men sought out the horses they needed.

“We can probably get a room here, then get a fresh start in the morning,” said the young man. “Twill be good to return home.” He hung the woman’s cloak on a hook near the fireplace.

“We will make one more stop, Donald,” she said as she held her hands before the fire to warm them.

Donald cursed and glared at her. “Will ye nay give up this foolish quest? The mon isnae rich, ye ken.”

“Richer than I am.”

“
I
am richer than ye are now.”

“We will ride to Dubheidland, and that is final. I need a husband, Donald. Verra soon I shall need a roof o’er my head. And, if
I
do then so shall you.”

“Nay, I shall go to my sister. She will let me stay with her for as long as I wish.”
Donald shook his head. “Ye can just cease looking so hopeful, Barbara. After ye bedded her husband, my sister will only savor the thought of ye begging in the streets. I cannae see Sigimor Cameron welcoming ye with open arms, either, not after the way ye treated him. From all I have heard of the mon, he isnae one to forget a betrayal. Aye, and ye didnae have much luck catching his eye the few times ye have seen him o’er the past ten years.”

“Remind me again of why I am suffering your company.”

“Because e’en
ye
ken that ’tis verra unwise for a woman to travel about unchaperoned.”

“We are going to Dubheidland. As soon as I am warm again and have eaten, we will travel there. We should make it there ere the sun sets and so willnae have to spend coin in this wretched place.”

“Sigimor Cameron will close the gates on us.”

“Nay, he wouldnae do that.” Barbara smiled and brushed some dust from her skirts. “He will recall some of the ties I have and to whom and willnae wish to risk offending any of them.”

“Ye dinnae think he will ken that ye have broken near all those ties? The mon isnae a hermit, Barbara.”

“He
will
let us in. I just have to think of some way to make him allow us to stay for longer than a night.”

“Mayhap I may be of service, m’lady,” Harold said, causing the couple to look at him in shock.

“But, ye are an Englishmon,” Barbara said. “How can ye help me? And why should ye e’en want to?”

“Because I, too, seek something at Dubheidland.”