Highland Moonlight (4 page)

broke off a chunk from one end and settled on the ground to eat the meager

meal.

Believing she would be on foot for some time, she had taken only what

she could carry. Now with the horse to carry the burden, she wished she

had attempted to escape with more of her possessions. It was too late and

too dangerous to return for them, so the small supply of food and clothing

would have to do until she reached Lorne.

Her eyes followed the gentle rolling hills in the distance. It would take

two days of hard riding to reach the castle. Two dangerous days. She would

have to be constantly alert to the threat of robbers. She had dressed as a

lad to disguise her gender, for that in itself was an invitation to harm. Taking

her father’s mount had been a mistake. A fine saddle would be a temptation

to every Scottish highwayman for miles.

Thoughts of her father had her drawing an uneven breath. She had not

been fooled by his concession for her to go to the abbey. Eventually, he

would find a way to use her or the bairn against Alexander and his

Campbell kin. Or worse, he would separate her from her bairn and give it

away as he had his own. Without a husband to protect her, he could force

her into some other odious union as well. The threat of Bearach MacDonald

came to mind. She would never allow that to happen.

Even with a man who professed some small hint of affection for you,

the joys that went with such a joining could be used against you. Used to

make a woman feel less than what she had been before. Collin had made

certain she understood that with every lash he had delivered.

Her father needn’t have bothered. Alexander’s actions had shamed

her before three clans, and he had readily admitted that he had done so

deliberately. The pain of his betrayal twisted like a blade between her ribs

every time she thought about it, and every time she experienced the pain,

she knew how little he thought of her.

Never again would she allow a man to treat her in such a manner.

Never again would she lower her shields with such abandon.

Rising, she caught the horse’s reins, determination in every step. She

would ride to Castle Lorne and petition Laird Campbell himself for

protection and shelter until the birth of her bairn. And if he refused—if he

refused, she would do whatever she had to protect herself and her babe.

Mary pushed her mount as hard as she dared. Exhausted by late

afternoon, she stopped to rest atop a craggy hillside scattered with trees.

She nibbled another crust of dry bread to ease the sickness that plagued

her, but could not eat the meat she had saved from her evening meal the

night before. She decided to rest for a wee bit, and lay on the ground.

A short time later, she awakened to the warm moist breath of the

horse as he nuzzled her neck. She laughed at his amorous attentions and

raised a hand to stroke the velvety softness of his nose. The queasiness

had eased and the short nap had rested her. But as she struggled to her

feet, she nearly groaned aloud for her muscles had stiffened and protested

every movement.

She straightened with difficulty and turned to check the horse. “The

saddle is growing heavy no doubt.” She patted his sleek neck. “Let us be on

our way and we will soon stop for the night.”

Traveling the road was dangerous. Cutting across country strange to

her could prove more so. Mary decided to stay on the rocky stretch of road

for a while and swung herself gingerly into the saddle.

Several times she thought she heard the beat of horse’s hooves

behind her and sought cover to wait for them to appear. After the third delay,

she decided her fears were playing her for a fool. Lest she saw the

brigands on her tail, she would not stop again.

It had grown dark before she came upon the widening slopes of the

valley that opened to Loch Awe. In the dusky light, the hills appeared to rise

to mountainous proportion in the east. The purplish black expanse of the

loch stretched before her. The rising moon reflected on the breeze-rippled

surface of the dark water, like the myriad dance of fireflies.

The valley narrowed and the mountains to the east hugged the banks

of Loch Awe like some mythical beast come to drink from its waters. She

found shelter in the glen beneath a small canopy of trees nestled at the

base of a steep hillside.

She lit a small fire to hold the animals at bay then turned to see to the

horse. It took all her strength to drag the heavy saddle from his back and

place it close to the fire to use as a backrest.

“‘Tis sorry I am that I have no oats for you, for you have toiled hard for

me this day.” She spoke to the horse as she wiped him down with the tartan

pad beneath the saddle. The animal nickered in reply, bringing a smile to

her lips. Suddenly, tears burnt her eyes and she rested against the warmth

of the animal to draw fresh strength from its closeness. Since discovering

she was with child, she seemed to swing between tears and laughter with

irrational regularity.

“If ‘twas that men showed half so much affection or care for their

women folk as they do their horses, I would not mind so much being bound

to one.” She stroked his nose then turned to guide him forward to the edge

of the water to drink. “You are used, but you are valued. Not so we lasses.

We are just possessions to be used, without a word of kindness or

affection. ‘Tis that I can not abide. ‘Tis better to be alone for all eternity than

to live in such a way.”

She sat on a flat stone next to him and dipped the cuff of her sleeve in

the water to bath her face. “Men have fought these many years against a

tyranny they can not abide. Then they turn their own tyranny against those

weaker than themselves. Do you not believe that those who bear their

young and ease their hurts deserve better?”

The animal tossed his head, as though in agreement, and she smiled

again. A memory of tender, sweet kisses and heated caresses made her

smile falter and her anger with it. A hollow ache that had little to do with

hunger throbbed beneath her breastbone. It had meant nothing to him. For

a moment the loss was almost more than she could bear.

Swallowing against the tears, she straightened her shoulders. She

would one day learn to dismiss it as nothing as well. Wiping her face with

her shirtsleeve one last time, she grasped the reins and led the horse back

to the fire. She hobbled his front hooves so he would not stray while he

grazed on the lush grass growing close to the water.

The meat, she had been unable to eat earlier, and another small

chunk of bread barely stayed her hunger. If she did not reach Castle Lorne

by midday tomorrow, she would have to take the time to hunt. Exhaustion

weighted her movements as she curled close to the fire. Using the bowed

seat of the saddle as a pillow, she fell asleep in moments.

****

camp. Their movements stealthy, they each found a place well covered by

brush to stand watch.

If Mary wished to travel to Castle Lorne on her own, Alexander saw no

purpose in interfering with her, as long as he could keep her safe.

From his position several feet away, he could see her features clearly.

Against the dark fabric she wore as a liripipe to cover her hair, her skin

glowed creamy and warm in the firelight. From a distance she could pass

for a young lad. On closer view, her face appeared too delicately wrought to

be anything but feminine. Her lips, full and finely shaped, were parted, her

features relaxed in sleep. She looked very young curled on her side with her

hand tucked beneath her cheek

The memory of how she had grasped the tartan about her to hide her

nudity from her father’s men rose up to smite his conscience and he drew a

deep breath. He had known they would be coming, but had not offered her a

warning. Her virgin blood had been smeared bright red on the sheets and

between her thighs for all to see. He had spared her nothing. Nothing.

He had not just taken her innocence when he possessed her body, he

had crushed it beneath his admission of betrayal. He remembered how the

color had leached from her skin as though she had received a mortal blow.

Shame and regret brought a hollow feeling to his gut. He had been a

warrior too long. He had known nothing but fear and death, blood and

ruthlessness. But even when he killed in the name of his king and his

country, he had believed himself to be an honorable man. But that night, he

had not behaved as one. His belief that his actions would force Collin to

honor the betrothal contract had given him an excuse to act with as little

honor as the Mac Lachlan Laird. And he had done so. He hadn’t wanted to

lose her, but his own actions had insured he would.

Raking his fingers through his hair and pushing against his temples

with the heel of his hands, he bit back the warrior’s yell of frustration and

pain that built inside him. There had to be something he could do to make

amends. Regaining some control, he folded his arms across his chest.

His attention moved back to Mary. It was a miracle she had conceived

so easily. It would take another for him to win her back.

“If I had to bock as often as she, and you were the cause of it, I’d hate

you myself,” Duncan whispered. “She has spent more time in the brush

than she has upon her mount this morn.”

Alexander flashed Duncan a warning look. He could see for himself

how ill Mary was and how miserable because of it.

“‘Tis the way of it sometimes in the beginning, Alexander.” Derrick

Campbell said from behind him. “‘Twill ease in time.”

Reappearing from the brush, Mary leaned against her horse for

support. She filled her mouth from the water bag then spat it on the ground.

With obvious effort she dragged herself atop the gelding.

“Should she fall from her mount, she could bring harm to herself and

the bairn.” He voiced a concern that had plagued him since she had gotten

sick the first time.

Like distant thunder, the rapid rumble of horses approaching from the

south sounded. As they appeared from around a bend in the road, the pale

gleam of Collin MacLachlan’s hair came into sight. Mary whipped the reins

against the haunches of her mount, sending him forward with a leap.

Alexander swore and crashed through the underbrush in quick pursuit.

“Slow them, if you can,” he yelled to his brother.

****

her with each steady stride. She swung away from the road and charged up

a steep slope, then veered to the left, following the winding trail of a well-

used path. The pursuing horse’s hooves pounded behind her with the

same furious beat as her heart’s. She urged the gelding to a faster pace.

Dogs bayed nearby, drawing her attention and she turned her horse in

that direction. The path became a rain gully running downward. The horse’s

footing uncertain, they slid down the bank to a flatter plain. The smell of

damp vegetation hung strong in the air. The creek bed proved marshy with

only a narrow trickle of water running down the center. The horses splashed

through, sending up clots of mud, and then bound up the bank and across

a field.

The open spaces allowed her to give her horse full rein. Hazarding a

glance over her shoulder, she found the black horse trailing by only a

length. Recognition of the man on his back urged her to panicked

recklessness. She sawed back on the reins with such force it caused her

horse to rear and almost fall.

Alexander prevented the two animals from colliding as he swerved

past with only inches to spare.

Turning the gelding into a gully between two rock-strewn hills, she

rode back toward the trail and the loch. On the road, the larger group

rounded a bend behind her. She grabbed the bow secured on the saddle

horn. Turning her mount to face the on-rushing band of horses, she aimed

the bow above the heads of the men and loosed the bolt. They scattered for

cover on either side of the road.

She turned her horse and kicked it forward and nearly rode into

Alexander, as he turned his mount to face her. Whipping past him, she

encouraged the horse to stretch out into a full, unfettered run.

They rushed upon a village of stone huts roofed with thatch. Geese

and cocks, pups and goats, scattered as they wove with dangerous haste

through the stone strewn trail curving down the valley.

Castle Lorne perched atop the center of a narrow strip of land jutting

out into Loch Awe. The bare limbed trees surrounding it clawed at the sides

of the gray stone structure. She had only seconds to acknowledge the