Highland Promise (42 page)

        "Her foot is caught in the ice. I'll have to free her first." Faith knelt by the girl to better assess her predicament.

        "Be careful freeing her or both of you will go under," he cautioned.

        Faith waved to acknowledge his words. Sabina's ankle had twisted under the ice. Faith had to turn the child's leg to make her foot come back through the hole. The movement with their combined weight proved too much strain for the thin ice. A groan beneath her was followed by a grinding, rumbling sound and a big pop. The ice splintered. Faith threw her arms around Sabina and screamed Brendan's name.

        Just as she plunged into the frigid currents, the rope jerked tight, cutting into her waist. She and Sabina flew from the water and glided across the ice to the shore. The worried faces of Brendan's warriors whirled above her. Before she could thank God for their timely arrival, Faith found herself wrapped in dry plaids on Brendan's lap atop his trusty steed racing across the field with the child in her arms.

~ * ~

        Damn if his wife wouldn't be the death of him. Arriving at the keep, Brendan leapt from his mount, grabbed his wife and the child, and rushed up the steps. The keep doors were thrown open. He hurried inside and headed straight to the hearth where he lowered Faith and Sabina into the tub of warm water awaiting them.

        "Brendan!" she shrieked.

        "Do not protest, Faith," he chided, as he pulled the scarf from her head and tossed it on the floor where her cloak soon landed. "You don't understand the danger you are in. You could have frozen to death out there. If you take an ague from this, so help me—"

        She placed her fingers over his lips and gave him an exasperated look. "It warms my heart that you care, but I will not take an ague from this. You put us in the water with our clothes on. Do you know how long it will take them to dry at this time of year?"

        "They were already wet from your spill in the loch," he said exasperated.

        "You are going to scare this poor child witless with your ferocious glare," she grumbled. "My own hair may turn gray from it."

        "Oh thank you, milady." Annis rushed toward them from behind the

buttery screen. "I knew you would save her."

        "Your laird saved her," Faith corrected as the woman hugged her shivering child.

        "Only because you got to him in time. 'Twas a brave thing you done, and I'll not be forgetting it," the cook vowed. "Why, when Alfrid told me you took the laird's mean stallion, I was as afeared for you as for my own lass."

        "Oh, Lord." Faith's face drained of color. "I rode your horse, Brendan. I am going to be sick."

        She pushed against the rim of the tub, heaving herself upward. Her plaid fell into the water. Brendan caught her by her upper arms before she could fall on her head. She sagged against him.

        "Why are you trembling so?" He kissed her brow. "Are you just now feeling the cold?"

        "I rode your horse."

        "You already said that."

        She gazed up at him through cloudy eyes and clutched his arms. "I must have been momentarily crazed. I rode your horse."

        "You did what had to be done." He smiled at her belated reaction and tenderly caressed her cheek. "That is valor. You are not daft." He couldn't resist a little goading though. "Did you happen to notice he didn't bite or kick you?"

        "Brendan, take me to our chamber now," she ordered.

        "You should stay in the warm water longer." He pushed against her shoulder to ease her back down.

        She held onto him and shook her head, refusing to sit in the water. "Nay, you will warm me and you need to be warmed too." Faith raised a shaky hand and rubbed her brow. "Oh Lord, I cannot believe I rode your horse."

        Brendan smiled and lifted his soggy, dazed wife in his arms. She was such a blessing. He was glad he had kept her.

Twenty Six

          Soon.

          His hunger would be sated.

          His strength would be restored.

        The timing was almost right. The Sutherland rarely allowed his wife out of his sight, but there were ways to correct that situation. She would soon be his for the taking.

        His craving would be satisfied forever. Ultimate power would be his. And so would revenge.

        Soon.

        Aye, very soon. And Brendan wasn't quick-witted enough to know the coming revenge had been planned over a lifetime.

Twenty Seven

         Faith peeked beneath the pelt that covered her bedchamber window. Blankets of fluffy white snow lent the earth an ethereal, pristine elegance. The fairies had indeed taken over the world. They had billowed in four snowstorms over the past three weeks. The wee creatures must use the blistering cold to protect their adorning labors from the trampling of man. She certainly had no desire to destroy their achievement. A fire was more to her liking.

         A shiver rippled through her. She dropped the pelt into place, then hurried over to the hearth where she lifted her skirt and let the warmth caress her legs. Brendan paced a worn path across their chamber. He had built up the fire for her, and she spent most of her days huddled near it. At least until the last few mornings. The cold must be affecting her more than she realized, because she tired easily and had lost her appetite. Well, she had lost her morning appetite. She even felt a wee bit queasy when she got near food before the nooning. Then her nausea would mysteriously pass, and she would eat like a gluttonous hog for the rest of the day.

         "In the name of all that's holy, when will you be ready to adjourn to the hall?" he asked impatiently.

         Faith dropped her skirt and smoothed her plaid, careful not to pull out any pleats. "I am ready now. I am sorry my indisposition has made you so surly."

        She didn't get a chance to say more. Brendan ushered her down to the hall where most of the warriors had gathered along with Heather and Alfrid to watch the latest match over the chess table. Brendan's men had made a habit of challenging Faith each day.

        Michael rushed to pull out a chair for her. "'Tis my match today, milady. You will not find me so easy to defeat as the others."

        "Not yet, Michael." Heather hurried over to Faith and tugged on her plaid, causing all the pleats to fall.

        "Heather!"

        "Do not scold me, sister," the young lass scoffed. "Your plaid would have fallen off when you stood up again. I cannot understand why you have so much trouble keeping it on."

        Her husband chuckled, so Faith shot him a glare. "I will simply fix it when I stand like I always do. Or better still, I shall quit wearing the ridiculous garment altogether."

        Brendan snapped his brows together. "You will do nothing of the kind. You will learn how to keep the plaid on."

        "'Tis really quite simple, so watch again." Heather pleated the garment.

        Faith stifled a sigh and held up her arms to ease the child's access. She would start tying one end of the infernal garment around her waist. Then she could tuck the pleats in before she put on the belt. Surely the double grip would secure the thing. Lord knew she was tired of all the jests about her inability to wear the infernal blanket properly.

        Once the plaid was secured to Heather's satisfaction, Faith took her seat across the gametable from Michael. "I think you should know I intend to play mean to get revenge for all your insults about my heritage."

        "I will still win," Michael boasted. "'Tis a matter of superior Highland skill."

        Suppressing an unladylike snort, she moved her pawn to start the match. "Huh, I learned the game from my sister, whose skill at strategy is unmatched by men."

        "We'll see." Michael grinned.

        As the game progressed, she determined Michael was skilled indeed. A distraction strategy was called for if she was going to win.

        Resting her elbow on the table, she leaned her chin into her palm and sighed. Michael glanced up.

        She favored him with her most radiant smile. "You are a worthy opponent, Michael."

        The warrior blushed crimson, returned a distracted gaze to the game, then made a ludicrous move.

        Faith moved her bishop. "You must train long hours to build up such muscles and make your mind so keen."

        Michael grunted, moved a game piece, and looked away from her. "I train long enough."

        "I just thought I would mention I noticed your exceptional skill and wits." She moved her bishop, took his rook, and grinned. "Check."

        Michael wiped a hand over his face, looked at her, and turned red again.

        "Damn it, Faith, quit smiling at Michael," Brendan ordered. "I never thought to see the day a smile would replace a wart. Michael, are you so naive you cannot see her ploy?"

        "What are you talking about?" Michael demanded.

        Faith sent her husband a vexed frown. "Brendan, 'tis not fair for you to help him by giving away my sound strategy."

        He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "I have no intention of standing by and watching my wife flirt with my warriors just so she can win a damn chess match."

        "I am not winning by flirting," she grumbled defensively. "I am winning by distraction. A very sound war strategy. Caesar thought highly of it. And my sister said it is a sound strategy for conquering an opponent."

        He nudged up her chin and captured her gaze with stern cobalt eyes. "I don't give a damn where you learned it. You will cease using wiles on my men. If you wish to win, then do so with sound tactics other than distraction. I have watched you play enough to know you can win without resorting to trickery."

        "You think I play well?" she asked, surprised by the compliment.

        "You could win against most." A twinkle lit his gaze, and he caressed her jaw with his knuckle. "But not me."

        "Huh! I shall trounce you next," she challenged and pulled away, trying to hide her reaction to her husband's touch.

        "Nay, after you finish this game, you will break your fast. You have to eat to fight the cold."

        "I am not hungry," she groaned.

        "You will be with your first bite," he predicted. "I only hope we have stores enough to sustain your appetite through spring."

        "Michael, will you make your move so we may end this?" Faith demanded, thoroughly vexed with her husband.

        She quickly won the match. Gemma served Faith warm bannock bread, shaved mutton, and a cup of cold milk near the hearth.

        "My thanks, Gemma." She took a drink of milk and glanced around the hall. "Where is Roland?"

        "Gone ice fishing." Alfrid snorted. "Daft young fool."

        "I cannot believe he went out in this weather." Faith took a bite of the mutton and her stomach began to rebel.

        Tormey chuckled. "He'll probably not be able to break through the ice."

        "And if he does, the fish are likely to be frozen solid in the chunks," Luthias added.

        Faith's belly roiled. She moaned and pushed the food away. Placing a fist over her middle, she gulped to stifle her rising bile.

        Brendan rushed to her side. "What's wrong, sweet?"

        "The mutton doesn't agree with me." She swallowed hard and wiped a hand over her face. "I'm a bit queasy."

        "'Tis the same mutton I served the others at the nooning meal, laird," Gemma said. "The meat is good."

        "I do not think it is the mutton, Gemma," Faith replied. "I think it is me. Can you please move the food away, so I cannot smell it?"

        Brendan knelt in front of Faith and cupped her face in his strong hands. The concern that drew his brow tugged at her heart. "You cannot go without food."

        "Do not let your head ache on my account. I will eat later," she promised. "For some reason, I just cannot be around mutton right now."

        The rear door to the keep slammed open and Aiden, the Sutherland stable master, rushed inside. "Laird, I need help! Part of the stable roof caved under the weight of the snow and fell on Cleit."

        Michael, Luthias, Jamie, and the other warriors raced toward the door.

        Faith knew Brendan was in a quandary. He felt duty bound to help his clansman, yet didn't wish to leave her. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I need to lie down. Dog can stay with me while you see to Cleit."

        Brendan nodded. "Aiden, I will be there as soon as I escort Lady Sutherland to our chamber. Dog, come."

        He lifted Faith into his arms. She leaned against him as he carried her to their chamber. He set her on the bed. "We'll talk about this weakness of yours when Cleit is safe." He donned his outdoor garb and went to the door. "Dog, guard your mistress."

        The wolfhound barked and jumped up on the bed, preparing for a comfortable nap with Faith.

        "He is not a very good substitute for you," she quipped.

        "Keep the door barred and don't open it for anyone until I return."

        "All right." She closed the distance between them and placed a hand on his chest. "Be careful. I'll warm you when you get back."

        He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Now I have sound reason to hurry."

        After he left, Faith barred the door and removed her plaid. She lay upon the bed and welcomed the warmth of the wolfhound beside her. She dozed a short while. Her nausea passed, but the room grew chilled. She gazed toward the glowing embers in the hearth. Lord, she felt weary, but she had to raise the flames and warm the chamber.

        She glanced at the lazy wolfhound. "What think you, Dog, about building up the fire for me?"

        Dog barked without lifting his head from the mattress.

        Faith chuckled and scratched behind his ears.

        A thunderous pounding on the door startled her. "Who is there?"