Highland Surrender (6 page)

Cedric nodded and took the wine from his brother. “I will be if Tavish shares his bounty.” He drank and then passed it to Myles, nodding at him with a wink. “Your bride held up well today. Once she stopped crying.”

Her tears had been an embarrassment. She’d kept them silent, but for a mile or more, they’d streamed down her face and left her nose bright red in the sunlight. He’d not abused her in any way, yet she acted as if he’d dragged her behind the pony instead of letting her ride on one. Tomorrow, he’d put her and that scarecrow maid in the back of a cart. Let them bounce about in one of those for a day and she’d have something to cry about.

“Thank you for letting her bring the maid, Father. I’ll make sure they don’t slow down our travels.”

The earl nodded again. “’Tis slow enough on rocky roads with these carts, but with a few good hours in the morning, we should reach Inverness and the boats. Help young Darby with your women now. They look ready to keel over. Oh, and you and your bride may have the tent.”

Myles looked toward Fiona, who had at last dismounted with the aid of his squire. Smudges of exhaustion were dark against her pale face. She was dusty and disheveled, but ever defiant as she shook away Darby’s offer of further assistance. Myles had avoided her much of the day, preferring the pleasant company
of his uncle and father to her forlorn sighs and red-rimmed eyes. But he’d face her now. Exhausted or no, she was his wife and his responsibility.

Her body ached like joints pried apart with fire tongs. But Bess was even worse for wear, her arthritic hands bent as if they still held the reins. Fiona rubbed Bess’s back lightly, trying to ease the woman into standing straight.

She ceased when her husband approached.

“’Twas a long day in the saddle, ladies. But tomorrow, we reach Inverness. From there, we’ll take barges down Loch Ness and the traveling will be easier.”

Faster, he meant. Today had been harsh, but at least she’d had the open Highland air to breathe and a fool’s chance of riding away into the mountains. And every mile brought her plan closer to fruition. But tomorrow, if she boarded a boat, all her scheming would come to naught, for by the time they disembarked she’d be too far away.

“Will there be food soon, or is it your plan to jostle and starve us to death?”

Her husband stared a moment; then his lips quirked into a smile and he turned to the wide-eyed squire. “Darby, get the women something to eat while we set up camp.”

“Yes, Lord Myles.”

Myles rubbed his hand across his jaw. “And see to it that the old maid has a thick pallet near the fire, and an extra blanket.”

“Yes, my lord,” the boy said again and scampered away.

Unease prickled over Fiona’s skin. “And what of me? Am I to have no pallet near the fire?”

“We’ll be in the tent. I shall keep you warm myself.”

No, no, no. That wouldn’t do. Her plan would not work if she must lie with him throughout the night. There must be another solution.

Myles chuckled. “You needn’t look so distressed, Fiona. Appreciate my offer of a soft bed, if not my affection.”

“But my maid is stiff from riding in the cold. I’d rather sleep near her, to offer my warmth and ease her sore muscles.” What a fast and clever liar she could be.

“You show an unusual concern for your maid.”

Oh, not so clever after all. She could tell by his tone she’d not duped him. “She’s old,” Fiona protested further. “Only the heartless would refuse comfort to an old woman.”

Myles crossed her arms. “Very well. She may join us in the tent.”

“No!” Fiona’s voice was sharp as a dagger, but little could she alter that now.

Her husband’s expression hardened.

“I could not have her with us. I...” she faltered, looking up at the trees and pressing her lips tight. “No. I refuse.”

His eyes widened for the briefest second, then narrowed with a deep frown. He leaned forth to murmur in her ear so only she might hear. His breath was warm, his words hot. “Do not test me, girl. I’ll not stand here bickering in front of my men. You sleep with me inside the tent. The maid sleeps by the fire. Press this issue further and you’ll find yourself in a storm of regret.” He turned and strode away.

She’d been a fool. Of course he’d want her next to him so he might paw and thrust and stain her with his touch. He was his father’s son after all. What respect would he have for her dignity? He’d think nothing of molesting her with only thin tent walls to muffle her complaints. It looked as if her plan would have to wait.

CHAPTER 6

M
YLES’S TEMPLE ACHED
at her reaction. ’Twas pure generosity, the offer of the tent, but she’d come at him, growling like a badger and making demands. As if she had a say in how this night went forth. As if her tears were not humiliation enough. Already, his father and uncle were winking at one another as if he were some green lad with no idea how to woo a wench. That was absurd. He’d pleased women aplenty. Why, he’d half a mind to drag her into that tent this minute and kiss her senseless. And this time, he’d be sure she reached that sweet oasis. There’d be no complaints from her after that.

He ripped off a chunk of brown bread. Thankless girl. She had no idea how gentle he’d been. Or how grateful she should be that they’d let her bring that scrappy maid. Yet she’d not said one word of gratitude about the beautiful palfrey she’d ridden today. Or that he’d ordered one of his best men to ride an edgy old gelding so she might have a fine mount. No. From her? Nothing but scorn.

Well, enough was enough. He’d not chase his tail like a crazy dog. This woman would learn her place. Maybe he should let her sleep with the crone, out in the cold air and on hard ground. He took a bite of bread and chuckled to himself.

Darkness descended and sounds of the forest filled the air as some woodland creatures settled in for the night and others awoke. The fire crackled near the men’s feet as Myles, Cedric, and Tavish finished their evening meal and the other men bedded down.

“Father, thank you again for the tent.”

Cedric scooped up a bit of gravy with his bread. “Of course.”

“Shall I take first watch?”

Tavish, sitting on the other side of him, rumbled with quiet laughter, but his father smiled. “That won’t be necessary, son. I think you’ll have your hands full enough for tonight.”

Myles bristled at the innuendo. Did they think he could not handle her?

One simple wench?

Well, not so simple, but still, there was just one of her. He ripped another bite from his bread.

His father clamped him on the shoulder. “I would not think to keep you from your bride. You may not see it yet, but the king did you an honor.”

He could not help the wistful tone from slipping into his voice. “You never saw Odette, Father. She would have been an honor.”

His father nodded knowingly. “And I’m sorry for that. ’Tis no easy thing, giving up a woman you love. But the politics of men often overrule the politics of love, though both are equally complex.” He chuckled at the last. “Give this girl a chance, though. She’s frightened still, but not so rough. Her mother could cut diamonds with her speech.”

Myles saw his opening and plunged forward.

“How well did you know Aislinn, Father? Until this journey, I’ve rarely heard you speak of her.”

Cedric poured himself more wine and a cup for Myles. “We were together at court when King James was still a boy. You knew that.”

“I think I’ll see to the horses,” Tavish said, hoisting his expansive girth up from the log where he’d been sitting, leaving father alone with son.

Myles took a sip of wine and spoke carefully. “I imagine there were lots of people at court.”

Cedric drained his cup and stared into the fire, saying nothing.

Fresh curiosity tingled at the base of his spine, piqued by the earl’s long silence. “I don’t mean to be impertinent, Father, but surely you’ve heard the rumors surrounding you and Aislinn Sinclair. It gives me cause to wonder why the king chose this bride out of all the families in the North he could’ve bound us to.”

“You were betrothed to Fiona the day she was born.”

“Aye, seventeen years ago when our clans were allies. But much has occurred since then.”

“Leave it alone for now, lad. Go make peace with your bride.”

Myles waited, hoping his father might relent and tell him more. But Cedric returned to his food and his silence, and Myles knew he’d get no answers this evening.

“’Tis the only way,” Fiona whispered to Bess as they sat together, heads close.

The maid’s thin lips puckered. “You’re a fool, and likely to perish in the trying. But I’ll do my part if your mind is set.”

“It is set, Bess. And better to die by my own hand than a Campbell blade.”

“Shh, quiet, girl. Your husband approaches.”

They peered at Myles from their seats on an old log, dinner cold and forgotten on their plates.

“Say good night now, Fiona. ’Tis time for bed,” he said.

Bess started to rise. “I’ll assist her.”

Myles put a hand on the old woman’s narrow shoulder, ceasing her movement. “No need. I’ll see to her myself.”

Fiona’s insides quivered with fear and an odd anticipation. In one way or another, she meant to free herself from him. She rose, pulling her green cloak tight. “I’ll see you in the morning, Bess.”

Bess nodded, ducking her head and staring fixedly at the ground.

Myles led Fiona to the tent and held open the flap. It was unadorned inside, small but dry, with a decadent pile of colorful blankets, animal furs, and pillows. It would indeed be a soft place to lay her head, if she had a mind to rest.

To one side sat a basin and pitcher, along with a washing cloth. No Campbell luxury could be more tempting. The longing to bathe her face and hands proved overwhelming. She dropped her cloak and crossed to the basin, dipping her fingers in the fire-warmed water.

He watched her as he removed his belt and scabbards, laying them near the door, but she closed her eyes to the vision of him and let the cloth scrub away some of her tension, along with grit from the road.

“Are you sore?” he asked.

Her eyes opened. Given the circumstances, she could not decide if the question was solicitous or rude.

But he added, “From the riding. On the horse.”

She set down the cloth and turned to face him, surprised he had the decency to blush at the innuendo. “I stopped being sore somewhere near Dornoch. Now I am raw. Does it matter?”

He looked perplexed for a moment and then sighed, folding his hands in front of him. “If it didn’t matter, I would not have asked. In spite of what you think, your comfort is of concern to me. And to my father. Thus, the tent.” He spread his arms out wide and circled around. “I could’ve let you sleep on the ground
like a serving wench, but instead, here you are, in a nest of pillows and softness.”

“I’d sooner sleep on rocks than next to you.”

He tilted his head. “So, we’re back to that again, aye? Let me save us time. You hate me. I’m starting to dislike you quite a bit as well. Now lie down on your belly and pull up that skirt.”

His words slapped, hitching breath painfully in her lungs.

But her husband turned his back, relaxed as a cat, and walked to a small trunk in the corner of the tent. He knelt down and lifted the lid, shuffling the contents until he pulled out a vial. “Ah, here it is.”

He turned back to her with no malice in his expression. “Do you need help with that dress? If I tear it, there’ll be no one to fix it until we reach Dempsey. Come over here and lie down, I said.”

He sat down and patted the blanket, just as he’d done the night before, only this time he gestured with the container in his other hand.

She could articulate no protest, though several raged inside her mind. The wood of the table where the basin rested dug into her palms as she clutched it. His intent seemed plain enough, and yet his demeanor was benevolent, as if he offered some sweet bit instead of more callous treatment.

“What’s in the vial?” she asked at length when he said no more but simply sat and stared.

A smile crooked his mouth. “Salve. For your backside.”

“My backside?” She could not contain the gasp.

Her husband’s smile broadened, and she knew he laughed at her expense. “Aye. I don’t imagine you’re accustomed to so many hours in the saddle. This will ease the ache.”

“You keeping your filthy hands off would ease me more.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that? Come here, now.”

The teasing lilt softened his command, but command it was. She saw the glint in his eye. He’d not be defied. And if her plan was to work, she needed him sated and deep in slumber. It was a small price to pay. One more night of abuse for an eternity of freedom.

She walked to the bed of blankets and lowered to her knees, keeping her gaze on him. He tipped his head, gesturing to the pillows, and slowly, she sank, until her belly was flat against the surface. She folded her arms up near her face and shut her eyes, praying fervently that her deaf God might finally hear her.

That went more smoothly than he’d anticipated. Though her thick-lashed eyes were wary as a doe’s, she’d done as he asked with little complaint. And now she lay on the blankets, still as a tree stump. He eased her skirt up toward her knees.