Highland Moonlight (5 page)

formidable sight before she rode to it. The gates closed against her, she

turned her horse to the left to follow the wall of the castle seeking entrance

elsewhere. The rock-strewn bank of the loch hugged the west wall. The

horses pace slowed, its footing uncertain.

Alexander’s shout behind her spurred her on. She turned the horse

toward the loch. The bank grew steep as they approached the water. Her

mount balked and she grabbed the crossbow and dismounted.

The bank along the castle was purposely fortified with stones the size

of fists or bigger. She hugged the wall as she staggered over the uneven

terrain. Coming to a spot where the loch had eaten away the ground she

halted and looked over her shoulder. Having dismounted, Alexander

followed only a short distance behind. What was his intent should he catch

her? Would he hold her prisoner until the babe came? The unrelenting

determination she read in his features had her swinging back to study the

problem at hand. Seeing no other solution, she stepped off the bank and

immediately plunged hip deep into the icy water. She caught her breath and

scrambled to reach the other side of the depression.

The saturated woolen tartan about her hips and thighs seemed too

heavy a weight as she dragged herself free and stumbled up a knoll of

ground to the dock at the back of the castle. She found her way blocked on

the left by two clansmen as Alexander stalked toward her from the right.

Mary quickly spanned the crossbow and raised the weapon to ward

them off bracing her back against the steps. “Stay back.”

He halted only a few paces from her. His wet trews clung to his

muscular thighs and calves and outlined the bulge of his manhood.

“I demand to speak to the Laird of this castle!” Her voice, shaking from

cold, sounded breathless and weak.

“And what would a lass dressed in such a fashion have to speak of to

me?” A deep voice demanded from behind her.

Shifting around the steps to the dock until the stone supports of the

structure stood at her back, she glanced at man who had spoken. She

caught her breath at the striking resemblance between father and son.

Though heavier than Alexander, John Campbell had the same tall,

muscular build. His deep chestnut hair, sprinkled liberally at his temples

with white, lay in waves against his head and brushed the collar of his shirt.

His beard grew thick and red along his jaw. Lines fanned out from the outer

corners of his eyes, the same tawny color as his son’s.

“I have come from Lochlan to ask for your protection, John Campbell,”

she said with difficulty for her teeth had begun to chatter.

“Protection from whom?”

“From my father and your son.”

His brows rose.

She tugged at the liripipe covering her hair and tossed it to the ground.

“‘Tis Lady Mary MacLachlan, I am.”

“Aye.”

“I carry your son’s bairn and I ask for your protection and shelter, until

the birth.”

John Campbell’s gaze swung to his son. “Is this so, Alexander?”

“Aye.”

Mary leaned back against the stone wall behind her as a wave of

nausea rolled over her. She swallowed in an attempt to control it, and

pressed a hand, trembling with cold, against her forehead praying it would

ease. Her stomach rebelled and she turned aside hating the helplessness

of it as she heaved up the small amount of water she had been able to

keep down.

Alexander jerked the crossbow from her hand and tossed it to one of

the clansmen standing near.

Tears blurred her vision as she accepted defeat. She hugged the

stone support too weak from the sickness to fight.

Alexander braced himself for a struggle as he scooped her up and

was surprised as she curled against him and buried her face against his

shoulder. The fragile feel of her, as he hefted her slight weight, punched

fear into his gut. He climbed the steps to the dock and strode past his

father.

“You will tell me what this is about, Alexander,” John demanded,

keeping pace with him as they crossed the courtyard to enter the castle.

“Aye.” He gave a short nod. Mary’s pale skin and icy legs were more a

concern to him than his father’s displeasure. “After Mary has been tended.”

****

she went down the stairs from the gallery. The violent shivers that plagued

her earlier had subsided. Food and rest had lessened the after effects of

the journey as well. Worry over what havoc her father wreaked below had

driven her from the comfort of the bed. The tartan that had served her as a

kilt now covered the threadbare gown and, she hoped, made her

appearance more acceptable. Her stomach felt as though a flock of

sparrows fluttered within it as several pairs of male eyes followed her

progress down the stairs of the great hall.

John Campbell stepped forward to meet her at the bottom. “‘Tis a

pleasure to have you here in my home, Mary.”

“‘Tis pleased I am to be here, Lord Campbell,” she said with a curtsy

then accepted the hand he offered her as she straightened.

The evening meal is ready. We have been waiting for you.” He tucked

her hand into the bend of his arm and escorted her to one of the tables.

Collin strode toward her. His cheeks flushed, eyes alight with anger,

he lashed out at her with an open palm.

Alexander grasped his arm from behind preventing the blow from

landing. “I can not allow you to abuse the lass, Collin. You strike her, you

strike the bairn.”

“She is my daughter.” Collin jerked his arm free. “What right have you

to stop me?”

“She is to be my wife, and I do not need a wife unable to do her duty

because she has been beaten.”

Heart beating high in her throat, Mary faced her father. “Is there any

wonder I do not feel secure with you?”

“You are my blood, Mary. That alone should be enough to insure your

trust.” Collin jaw worked furiously with temper.

“Aye, striking me for certes will inspire my trust,” she said, her tone

dripping sarcasm. “Hugh Mac Pherson never raised his hand to me or my

sister. And I had no such problem feeling safe with him.”

Collin’s face grew more flushed by the moment. “He was not your

father, I am. Do you feel no loyalty for your own kin?”

She raised her chin and fought the urge to spit in his face. “Loyalty is

not a birthright, but is earned. You have done nothing to earn or deserve

mine.” Rage spawned from years of neglect and abuse rose up within her.

“My sister and I were beneath your notice until we came of age. You took us

to your bosom only long enough to pass us along to those you thought

would bring gain to your clan and to yourself. That is why I am here. I will not

see you use my child, as you have used my sister and me.”

“You are a fool.” Collin’s his voice sounded hoarse with emotion, his

expression a grimace of frustrated rage.

“Not so much a fool to think you followed me here out of concern for

my well-being. I will see to myself. You can be on your way now.”

“Not until I have been recompensed for the damage done to you and

your honor.”

She fell silent a moment, too stunned by his audacity to speak. “Do

you not mean I shall be recompensed, Collin MacLachlan?” she asked as

outrage tightened the muscles of her neck and shoulders.

Something sly flickered behind her father’s face. “Aye, that is what I

meant.”

She studied him, a niggling of distrust and wariness bringing a chill to

her skin.

“Speak now and tell us what it is you want.”

“‘Tis to be spoken in private, before a council of arbitration.”

A quiver of fear worked its way through her innards. “Think I will allow

you to shame me before this clan, Collin?” She raised her chin and

wrapped the tartan more closely about her. “I will not speak before such a

council.”

“You will daughter.” His tone held a threatening note.

“Enough!” John’s deep voice traveled the depths of the room. His

tawny gaze bore into Collin, and then his son with equal enmity. “I have

accepted Mary’s request for protection until the meeting of the council. I

suggest you both heed that.” His features grew more threatening as his

eyes settled on her father. “You will not disturb the peace of my table again,

Collin, lest you find yourself eating alone outside the gates of the castle.”

He guided Mary to the table and seated her at his right then took his

place at the head of the table. Alexander took a place next to her as John

motioned for the men to sit. Servants appeared with bowls of water for the

guests to wash their hands.

After some moments of silence, Mary’s interest settled on the only

other women present, those few who served the food among the greater

number of male servants. Her eyes traveled down the length of the table in

search of any others, then settled on her host’s face.

“‘Tis a household of bachelors you have been brought into, lass,” John

explained. “My wife died some years ago and I have been reluctant to marry

again. ‘Tis better to leave such matters to the young.”

“Mayhap being older and experienced could bring something

worthwhile to a marriage,” she offered.

John shook his head and smiled his amusement. “‘Tis a kind thought,

Lady Mary, but I am too old.”

“I did not think men thought themselves too old for anything, lest they

were in the grave.”

He threw back his head and laughed, and the other men joined him.

“Your chamber was to your liking, I trust?”

“Aye. It has been some time since I have had the luxury of a bath and a

bed. I am grateful for your hospitality.”

“Did you not sleep upon a bed at the abbey?”

“Nay, a pallet upon the floor. Sister Esther was kind enough to share

her small cell with me.”

“T’was most fortunate you were able to make your way to the abbey

without mishap.”

For the first time, she sensed her host had a purpose for questioning

her actions. “The priest and the sisters were attending my sister’s betrothal.

‘Twas an easy thing to join their ranks when they left the next morn. Once

there, I convinced Father Patrick to allow me to stay.”

He nodded. “‘Tis good you were secure.”

She studied his features, so similar to Alexander’s. The pain of having

her honor questioned because of his eldest son’s actions made her

defensive. “I have not been out of the sister’s company since that night, Lord

Campbell. The bairn I carry is your son’s, no others.”

A momentary scowl touched his face. “Alexander has already assured

me of that, Mary.”

A woman appeared at his side with a large tureen of stew. The Laird

filled a couple of wooden bowls, first for Mary, then one for himself.

The stew proved rich and well seasoned. Despite her emotional

upset, she found the hearty broth soothed her queasiness and warmed her.

She looked up to find Alexander’s men watching her from farther down the

table as she sopped a piece of bread in the gravy and put it to her mouth.

“They are relieved to see you eat so heartily, Mary,” Alexander

commented from beside her. “All have noticed how little you have eaten

these days past.”

She stiffened, outraged. How dare he. “I should have known you would

stay close enough to spy on me.”

“We followed you to offer you protection should you need it.”

His quiet tone made her comment seem petty and shrewish. She

shifted uncomfortably as her cheeks grew hot with shame. “They should not

fash themselves about me.” She directed her attention to her food.

Alexander’s hand rested against the small of her back in a gesture

both comforting and possessive. Straightening her spine, she drew away

from his touch.

“‘Tis our way to care for each other, Mary. When one member of our

clan is ailing, it affects us all.”

What cure could he offer her for the things he had done? The touch of

his hand made her want to weep. “I am not a member of your clan. You

proved that well enough at Lochlan.”

Alexander withdrew his hand and cupped the tankard of ale at his

elbow, his features set. She felt like weeping all over again.

At the end of the meal, cheese, cakes, and a variety of dried fruits were

served. After weeks of nothing but water to drink, she enjoyed the hot

aleberry placed before her. She sipped the sweet drink as she listened to

Alexander, John, and her father discussing the journey to Loch Awe.

“I did not appreciate having my daughter loose an arrow in my

direction,” Collin commented.

“My aim is true, Collin. Had I wanted you dead, you would be.”

“‘Tis grateful I am you did not mean us any harm then, Lady Mary,” a

man spoke from across the wide table.

His face thinner and his eyes pale gray, his features still bore an