Highland Honor (20 page)

What he ached to do now was make love to her. Part of him desperately wanted to caress away all memory of Vachel's touch, to stroke away the man's mark upon her. It was an act of possession, and he knew it. Like some beast of the wood he wanted to put his scent back on her skin. What softened that feral attitude was that he also wished to remind her, through a sweet, gentle sharing of passion, that not all men were like the DeVeaux. She needed to know that if she were ever going to conquer her bad memories. Nigel was just not sure that she was in any mood to be reminded, however.

Cautiously, he slid his hand inside her chemise. When she did nothing to stop him, did not even tense beneath his caress, he breathed a silent sigh of relief. Vachel had not harmed her enough to kill her passion or make her want to shy away from any touch. It was mostly a selfish relief, he admitted to himself. He had feared losing all chance to savor Gisele's passion again. Hand in hand with that selfishness, however, was a deep gratitude that very few scars had been added to the ones Gisele already carried. She did not deserve such cruelty.

“I cannae understand how your parents could give ye to such a family,” he murmured as he slowly tugged off her chemise. “'Tis hard to believe that no one kenned that the DeVeaux are all mad.”

“That it is,” she agreed, smiling at him as he shed his own clothes. “My parents are long dead, God rest their souls. It was my guardians, an aging uncle and a distant cousin, who made the marriage agreement.” She readily accepted him back into her arms. “My
grandmére
had much of the raising of me, but she, too, died ere this catastrophe befell me. I like to believe that my parents or Nana would have never made such a betrothal if they had survived. They would have at least helped me when Michael's true nature revealed itself.

“In truth, I begin to think this path I have been forced down was my fate from the day I came screaming out of my mother's womb.” She shrugged when Nigel looked at her doubtfully. “The youth I was first betrothed to died at a very young age, and my parents arranged nothing new before they, too, died. One other betrothal was made by my guardians, but that man got himself killed by a jealous husband. My guardians were having some difficulty in arranging yet another marriage for me when Michael saw me at the king's court and approached them. My guardians, indeed my whole family, could not believe their good fortune. I was seen, bid upon, and sold before I barely realized what had happened.”

“'Tis a wrong that can ne'er be righted, but now that your kinsmen see the error of their ways and intend to help you, mayhap the sting of it will ease some.”

“I pray that it will.” She curled her body around his. “Now, my gallant Scottish knight, do you really wish to keep talking about my family and my troubles?”

Gisele was surprised at how eager she was to make love to Nigel. After all she had endured she ought to shy away from a man's touch, if only for a little while, just long enough for the fear Vachel had instilled in her to fade. As she rubbed her body against Nigel's, though, silently encouraging him, she realized that this time her passion was born of purely selfish reasons. Gisele felt confident that Nigel's touch could wipe away the memory of Vachel's cool, soft hands against her skin. Surrounding herself with Nigel's scent would take away the last vestiges of Vachel's perfume, and in a way both she and Nigel could enjoy. It would also strongly remind her that not all men were the heartless, soulless beasts the DeVeaux were, that passion did not have to be about power and pain.

Nigel made love to her slowly and thoroughly. Gisele eagerly returned his every kiss, his every touch, aching to soak herself in the feel of him. With a soft cry of greed and desperation, she accepted him into her body. She savored the way her body shook with the strength of her release, the way Nigel tensed and groaned her name as he shared in that deep pleasure. When he collapsed in her arms, she held him tightly against her, wrapping her body snugly around his. She mumbled a protest when he finally ended the intimacy of their embrace.

“Did that help?” he asked as he tugged the blanket around their chilling bodies.

She laughed slightly as he pulled her back into his arms and she snuggled against his warmth. It should probably alarm her that this man knew her so well, could seem to guess her every thought and mood with ease, but it did not. Gisele just felt closer to him, more comfortable in his presence. She knew she could tell him anything, and that he would still understand even if she could not find the words to correctly express what she felt. The only thing that troubled her about such a rich companionship was the fear that he could look deeper into her heart than she wanted him to, that somehow he could guess how much she loved him. She prayed that he would be kind enough to conceal his knowledge if he did discover that he held her heart in his big hands, especially if he could not return her feelings.

“
Oui
, it helped. I did not mean to make you feel used,” she added quietly, suddenly feeling a little guilty.

“If that is the only way ye use me, then feel free to use me all ye wish.” He smiled briefly when she giggled and then grew serious as he combed his fingers through her thick curls. “I shall now confess that, in a small way, I was using you for the same reasons ye were using me. I wanted that bastard to be completely gone. I wanted to take away all thought of him, all feel of him upon your bonny skin, and, aye, even all smell of him. To be painfully truthful, lass, I wanted to take his mark off of your sweet body and put mine back on there.” Nigel waited a little tensely for her response to his confession, feeling both relieved and surprised when she just grinned and kissed his cheek.

He sounded jealous, and Gisele took great pleasure in that. She knew she should not get her hopes up, but that strong hint of jealousy meant that he was not without some strong feeling for her. It was a far cry from the love she needed from him, but she would gladly accept this small salve to her vanity and bruised heart.

“We stumble down the same path,
mon cher
,” she murmured. “What you reluctantly admit to is exactly what I wished you to do. I, too, wanted Vachel's touch rubbed away, wanted the smell of that man gone from my skin. And I have discovered something since we became lovers.”

“Oh, aye? What?”

She winked at him. “That rolling about on the ground with you is a very good way to clear my head and heart of all troubles and fears.”

“I am glad that I can be of some service to you, m'lady.”

“Well, since you insist upon staying around, I suppose I must put you to some use.”

Gisele squealed with laughter and mock fear when he sought retribution by tickling her. She was breathless by the time he ceased playfully tormenting her, and suddenly very tired, as well. As she curled up in his arms she fought against a yawn, and loudly lost the battle.

“Go to sleep, loving,” Nigel urged, stroking her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Ye have had a long and eventful day. And, ye had verra little sleep last eve, for ye spent it running away from me and straight into your enemy's grasp. It can be exhausting to make such a large mistake.” He grunted in feigned pain when she punched him lightly on the chest.

“You do not intend to allow me to forget that, do you?”

“Nay. It may be needed from time to time to keep ye humble.” He kissed the top of her head. “Rest. We have a long road to travel yet ahead of us.”

And I have just made it even longer
, she mused as she closed her eyes. Although Nigel clearly loved to tease her, he did not say that, at least not aloud, and she was heartily relieved. Her stupidity could easily have gotten them both killed, and although she still did not know where they were she was sure she had added at least a day to their journey toward a port they could sail from. She had been headed in the opposite direction that Nigel had chosen for a whole night and part of the next day. She prayed they could easily recover all of that lost time.

 

Nigel cursed as a small, hard fist connected soundly with his jaw. He caught Gisele by the wrist before she could complete her second swing at his face. Her eyes were still closed, and he realized that she was caught in the tight grip of some dream. It was not hard to guess what she dreamed about, and the dream was certainly not a pleasant one, not if he correctly understood some of the rapid French she was spitting out.

When he caught the full force of her knee against the inside of his thigh, only a swift move to the right saving him great pain, he cursed and decided he could no longer wait for her to pull herself free of her nightmare. He turned so that she was neatly pinned beneath his body. The moment he ended the flailing of her arms and legs she began to grow calmer.

“Gisele,” he snapped. “Wake up, lass. Heed me,” he said more calmly, softening his tone as well as easing his hold on her. “'Tis Nigel ye are trying to bloody. Wake up, sweeting, so ye can see who is truly here and cast the shadows from your mind. Come now, look at me and nay at the ghosts in your head.”

Gisele felt her terror ease as she slowly woke up. Then she cursed. She had thought herself strong enough to cast aside the memory of what Vachel had done and of all he had threatened to do, but it was clear that she had not done so. Her mind did not care that he had not succeeded in raping her, that Nigel had saved her from that horror. The fear was still there, the chilling memory still near at hand, and ready to darken her dreams. Worse, the memory of Vachel brought forth all the memories of Michael. All the fear and shame she had endured under his cruel fists was new and sharp again. She cautiously opened her eyes and recalled that in her dream she had delivered a sound punch to Vachel's jaw, just as she had ached to do when he had held her captive. Tentatively, she reached out to touch Nigel's jaw.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I struck you, did I not?”

“Aye, ye did, and it was a good, sound blow. And,” he added, kissing the tip of her small nose, “there isnae any cause to beg my pardon. 'Twas just a dream. Ye werenae truly hitting me. I just got in the way of your ghosts.”

“
Oui
,” I guess that bastard Vachel is not gone yet. Neither of them are,” she whispered, fighting the urge to cry as she wondered if she would ever be free of the fear and bad memories.

Nigel held her close and kissed her cheek. “Weel, I am still insisting on staying around.”

It took Gisele a moment to recall the conversation she and Nigel had had just before she had gone to sleep. She laughed and curled her body around his in silent welcome. “It is obvious that your job is not yet done. You shall have to work harder to push all these demons from my poor tormented head.”

As he turned, settling her beneath him, Nigel drawled, “I am nay sure I can work much harder and still be alive come the dawn.”

She just giggled in response, then heartily returned his kiss. It might not be right to use the passion she and Nigel shared to push back the dark memories she struggled with, but there was no ignoring how well it worked. Gisele prayed that this time it would work well enough and for long enough that she could fall into a deep, dreamless sleep until dawn, when it would be time to mount her horse and flee her demons in a more practical way.

“Where did all of these people come from?” Gisele asked as she peeked around the corner of the building.

Nigel yanked her back into the shelter of the shadows. “I believe it may be market day. Sadly, I also believe Sir Vachel awoke from that blow I gave him in an evil temper and vengeful humor. Many of those men weaving in and out of the market day crowd are weel armed. 'Tis verra clear that they are searching for something, and I dinnae believe it is cloth or ale.”

“It is me,” she whispered.

Despite her brief attempt to leave Nigel and all the trouble it caused them, they had reached the port in only two days. She had been feeling pleased with their success, almost hopeful. They had even accomplished it without seeing or needing to flee from any DeVeaux. Now she knew why they had not seen any of her enemies. The Deveaux and their many new allies were all here, waiting for her and Nigel to try to leave France.

“How can they be so certain that we will be trying to leave, that we will attempt to sail away and out of their reach?” she asked as she slumped against the cool stone wall of the little building. “We only told our plans to Guy and David, and I do not wish to think that either of them would betray us and tell the DeVeaux.”

“Rest easy, lass. They didnae tell anyone. They didnae have to.” Nigel leaned against the wall by her side. “Once the DeVeaux learned that ye were with me it didnae take much wit to ken where I would try to take you. And ye did say that ye thought Vachel was a clever mon. If he has been the one leading this hunt, this shouldnae surprise us at all. In truth, I should have planned for this. I did in a way, but I ne'er thought the numbers guarding the ports would be this great,” he muttered as he dragged his hands through his hair.

“You do not think we can get through or around them?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Nay, and it doesnae do us much good to linger here if we cannae find out who might be setting sail for Scotland. That information is to be found at the docks themselves, or in the alehouses near them.”

“And the DeVeau men would know that too, would they not?”

“Aye, and they would watch those places much more carefully than they do anywhere else.”

“So, must we now go and find another port to sail from?” she asked, sensing his anger and wishing she could do something to ease it.

“We can, but I dinnae think any of the ones near here will be any safer than this one. We may have to take a verra long journey to reach a place the DeVeaux havenae thought to guard, or, at least, guard as well as this one. And I fear not every port has the chance of offering us someone who is sailing to Scotland. Again, not as good a chance as this one does.”

When he fell silent, scowling down at the muddy ground of the narrow, dark alley they had sheltered in, Gisele forced herself to be quiet. He did not need any more questions. He needed to think and plan what they should do next. Gisele prayed that he could solve their grave problem, for she did not really want to do any more riding over the countryside. She wanted to be done with running and hiding, and she had allowed herself to hope that reaching this port finally meant an end to it all. It did not really lighten her mood any to know that Nigel had to be at least as disappointed as she was. He not only wished to flee the DeVeaux, but to return to the home and family he had not seen in seven long years.

She idly brushed the dirt from her padded
jupon
and was surprised to find that she missed the gown she had been wearing when Nigel had rescued her. It was strange to want anything Vachel had touched, but she did. Gisele realized that she was weary of being a boy, that at least once she would like Nigel to see her dressed in a woman's finery. It was all vanity and she knew it, but she could not discard the urge so easily. Not even when she reminded herself that Nigel clearly had no trouble thinking of her as a woman, and a desirable one. She even found herself wondering if the woman who had claimed Nigel's heart had worn elegant gowns for him.

Hoping that she could push such nonsense from her mind, she turned to look at Nigel again and gasped in fear. Two men had entered the narrow alley from the other end, and were creeping toward her and the yet unaware Nigel. Both men already had their swords drawn, so there could be little doubt that they meant trouble. She sharply nudged Nigel as she unsheathed her dagger.

Nigel cursed and drew his sword just as the first man charged him. The battle was a quick one, his foe proving to have very little skill with a sword. The man had been hoping surprise would win the day, but had not even been very skilled at surprising a man, either.

His gaze fixed firmly on the second man, Nigel wiped his sword clean on the dead man's ragged jupon, then slowly straightened up. That the tall, red-haired man had stood back, making no effort to give his companion any aid, puzzled Nigel until he looked the man over more carefully. The man held firm, sword in hand, but what caught most of Nigel's attention was the clan badge on the man's padded
jupon
. Nigel felt a stirring of hope, but tried to suppress it and remain calm and wary. The man might be a Scot, but he was still armed, still confronting him, and still ominously silent. If he only had himself to consider, Nigel knew he would take a chance on his fellow countryman, but he did not need the feel of Gisele gently trembling at his back to remind him that he had a great deal more than himself to consider.

“Ye are a Scot,” he said.

“Aye,” replied the man.

“I am nay sure of the clan though I recognize the badge ye wear.”

“MacGregor.”

“Ah, of course. I am Sir Nigel Murray of Donncoill.”

“I ken it,” the man drawled, smiling briefly. “Ye are well kenned by many in this land. I am Duncan. I am nay kenned well at all.”

Nigel slowly began to relax, although he was not sure why. Just because the man seemed amiable enough, even showed a little bit of humor, did not mean that he and Gisele were now safe. Neither did it mean that this man would help them in any way. It was not only the French who could be tempted by the vast bounty on Gisele's head.

“Have ye come here to try to take the lass to her enemies?” he demanded.

“Weel, now, I did think on it. 'Twas why I was here with this wee fool.” Duncan moved close enough to nudge the dead Frenchman with the toe of his boot. “'Tis a great deal of money, and we MacGregors have e'er had a yearning for coin.”

“So I have heard. I willnae let ye take her.”

“Nay, I dinnae think ye will. What did she do to her hair?”

Gisele gaped as she peered around Nigel to look at the man. She felt she would not be blamed if she began to think that all Scotsmen were mad fools. The two men faced each other with swords drawn, the port swarmed with her enemies, a dead man sprawled at their feet, and yet they just kept talking. Now the man named MacGregor wanted to know why she had cut her hair. Even stranger to her was that Nigel did not appear to be surprised, insulted, or even amused by the odd question.

“Well, she is trying to look like a wee lad,” replied Nigel.

“She doesnae. Dinnae think she would e'en if she had scraped every last curl away.”

“Nay, neither do I. Are ye going to try to collect the bounty?” he asked again.

The man hesitated a moment, then sighed and sheathed his sword. “Nay. I have gained a full purse from fighting here for three years. I dinnae need to add any blood money to coin gained in honest battle. Especially not when that money is being offered for such a wee lass and one of my fellow countrymen. Are those your horses round the corner?” he asked, nodding his head toward the way he had come from.

“Aye,” Nigel slowly sheathed his sword.

“That wee grey mare is a fine beast.”

Nigel almost laughed. The man was not going to collect what he called blood money, but he obviously did not wish to go away empty-handed. Since he had every intention of trying to get the man to help them get onto a ship, he decided it was good to know that Duncan MacGregor coveted something he had. Payment would not be asked for, but he risked offense if he did not offer some.

“Aye, she is. Do ye think she is fine enough to pay for slipping two people on board a ship headed for Scotland?”

“She may be.”

“I need to get the lass out of this country. I also wish to smell the heather again. It has been seven long years for me.”

“Too long, lad. Much too long.”

“I agree.”

Duncan frowned for a moment, then nodded. “There is a ship leaving in but a few hours. There are near to a dozen of us. I think they will be willing to help a clansmon and a wee lass.”

“Even though she is worth a great deal of coin?”

Nigel was not sure he wanted too many people knowing he and Gisele were here. That increased the chances that someone would let greed lead them, and instead of sailing for Scotland he and Gisele would find themselves captured by Sir Vachel. This time the man would not be so easily defeated, and Gisele would undoubtedly pay dearly for not staying in his bed.

“Dinnae worry so, laddie. These are good men and they willnae want blood money, either. Nay, especially when they see that the ones these French fools are hunting are a Scot and a tiny, thin lass with no hair.”

“I have hair,” Gisele muttered, but neither man paid her any heed.

“Wait here,” ordered Duncan.

“I am nay sure this place is safe for us now,” Nigel said.

“Safe enough, and far safer than many another place. Me and that fool only saw ye because I was hungering after the horses. He felt a need to see who the beasts belonged to, saw ye hiding here, and got verra excited. As I said, for a wee moment I was tempted by the coin, and he convinced me to give him a hand.” Duncan shrugged. “Fear I had already begun to change my mind when we entered the alley, but I didnae get a chance to tell him.”

“Then we will wait here until I feel the danger grows too great.”

The moment Duncan slipped away, Nigel turned to Gisele and was not surprised to see her looking at him as if he had lost his mind. He was not sure that she was entirely wrong to worry. If she had heard some of the tales he had about the MacGregors, she would be even more concerned. There was no reason to trust in Duncan, but he did. Nigel just prayed that he was not being ruled solely by the fact that the man was a Scotsman.

“You do not know this man, do you?” she asked.

“Nay. This is the first time I have e'er seen him,” Nigel replied.

“I see. Was there something about the way he held his sword at your throat that told you he was just the man you wished to trust with our lives?”

Gisele knew she sounded snide, even mildly insulting, but she could not help herself. From what little she had seen Duncan MacGregor had given no one reason to trust him about anything, let alone a matter of life and death. He simply shared a language and birthplace with Nigel.

Nigel half-smiled over the sharpness of her tongue. When Gisele decided to put a bite in her words, she put in an enviable one. He was almost tempted to look himself over carefully to be sure she had not drawn blood with her words.

“I wish I could tell ye why I think we can trust him, loving, but I cannae. I have no reason that can be put into words. I just do.” He shrugged. “Mayhap it is because he really did not attack us, revealed his reluctance to do so from the beginning.”

“Let us say that I allow you that weak reasoning to trust in Duncan. Can you safely use the same to trust in all he may tell? He admitted that he was tempted by the bounty offered for me. There may even be one for you now. May there not be more men who will be tempted? Men amongst those he is, even now, telling about us?”

“There could be.” He pulled her into his arms and gave her a brief kiss. “We are trapped, lass. Aye, we may be able to slip away from here unseen, but each port we go to will be the same. We are here. A ship is soon to sail for Scotland. I may have found someone who will help us get to that ship. Can we really give into fear and mistrust and flee from what might be our only chance to escape this land?”

Gisele cursed, and briefly paced the ground in front of him. “
Non
, we cannot. Is there any way we can protect ourselves just in case he is about to return with some greedy friends?”

“We can run.” He tried to soothe her glare with a quick grin, then grew serious. “Nay, there is no way to protect ourselves and trust him at the same time.”

She stared at him for one long minute before slumping against the wall again and softly cursing to herself in French. It would be wonderful to believe they had found someone to help them, but they could not trust anyone. Nigel was also right to say that they really did not have many choices left to them. There was a ship there ready to sail to Scotland. There was a man who said he would get them on it. All they had to do was wait and pray to God that he was not trying to get them to stay in one place until he could bring enough men to capture them. Gisele did not like the odds.

When Nigel leaned against the wall at her side, she sent him a crooked smile. He shared her concerns. She could read that in his amber eyes. There was no gain to be had in badgering him with them. She reached out and took his hand in hers. In truth, she was more afraid for him, but she did not want to tell him that, either. If they were about to be betrayed, they would die together. If they were taken to Vachel that death would be most unpleasant, especially for Nigel, who had struck the man. She wished she could think of some way that Nigel could better protect himself while they gambled on Duncan MacGregor, but nothing came to mind. In her heart, she knew that Nigel would not take it even if she did think of a way.

“I keep having to face the fact that I and all of my troubles could get you killed,” she murmured.

“Nay, the DeVeaux in all their madness could get me killed,” he said, gently squeezing her hand in a gesture of comfort. “Ye must cease blaming yourself for all of our difficulties. Ye are not at fault in all of this.”