Highland Vow (2 page)

“Did ye do it?”

“Nay.”

“And why should I believe ye?” Balfour asked even as he eased his tense, cautious stance a little.

“I can only offer my word of honor.” Cormac hoped someone would decide on his fate soon, for he was not sure he could remain conscious much longer. “I am innocent.”

“The lads are here with a litter,” Nigel announced.

“Weel, best see that it is a sturdy one,” Balfour said. “We may yet be dragging the lad back to Donncoill.” He looked back at Cormac. ‘Who are ye accused of killing?”

“A Douglas mon.” Cormac was not surprised to see both Balfour and Eric jerk as they immediately tensed in alarm.

“A Douglas mon, eh? Do ye have the strength to tell the tale?”

“I will try. I was courting a lass. Her family decided to wed her to a Douglas mon. He had more land and coin to offer. Aye, I didnae take the loss weel. I let my tongue
clatter too freely and gave too loud a voice to my anger and, aye, to my jealousy. So when the mon turned up dead, with his throat cut, but a six month after the wedding, all eyes turned my way. I didnae do it, but I have no proof that I was elsewhere when he was killed nor do I have anyone else I could turn the suspicion on. So I ran, and I have been running ever since. For two long months.”

“And the Douglases chase ye?”

“Some. One of the smaller branches of the clan, but I willnae be welcomed by any Douglas, nor will they who aid me.”

“’Tis a hard choice ye give me, lad. Do I believe ye and risk angering the powerful Douglas clan by keeping ye alive? Or do I leave ye to die, mayhap e’en turn ye o’er to the Douglases e’en though ye might be innocent? Ye ask me to risk a lot on nay more than your word.”

“He isnae asking—I am,” said Elspeth. “And ye do have one other thing to weigh in his favor, Fither.”

“Oh, what is that?”

“From the moment I found him, he has been trying to get me to go away, to just leave him to his fate. He hasnae once ceased to warn me that he could be trouble.”

“But ye are a stubborn lass.”

“Aye, I am.”

Balfour smiled at his daughter, then moved to stand at Cormac’s feet. “Come, Eric. Lend us a hand. We will set this young fool on the litter and drag his leaking carcass back to my Maldie so she can mend him.”

“Are ye certain about this, Balfour?” asked Eric as he moved to help carry Cormac.

“Not fully, but what murderer, what hunted mon, turns aside an offer of aid because he fears a silly wee lass will be hurt?”

“I am nay silly,” Elspeth muttered as she followed her father.

Eric and Balfour briefly exchanged a grin; then Eric said, “None that I ken. Aye, I feel the same as ye do. I just pray we can get this lad healed and away from Donncoill ere the Douglas clan kens what we have done. It sounds cowardly, I ken, but…”

“Aye, but. He isnae kin, isnae e’en a friend or the son of a friend.” Balfour glanced down at Cormac as he and Eric settled the youth on the litter. “Ye will be mended and made strong again, lad, God willing, but then ye must walk your own path. Do ye understand?” he asked as he studied the youth’s gray, sweat-dampened face.

“Aye, I havenae swooned yet,” Cormac answered.

“Good. Ye have seen the riches I must protect.” Balfour briefly glanced toward the children. “We Murrays are but a small clan. E’en if we call upon all our allies, we are still small—too small to bring the wrath of the Douglas clan down upon our heads.” Balfour signaled Donald to attach the litter to his own horse.

“I dinnae think anyone, save the king himself, could pull together enough allies for that battle.”

“And mayhap nay e’en him. Ye picked a verra powerful enemy.”

“Ah, weel, I have e’er believed that one should strive for the verra best in all things,” Cormac whispered, then swooned.

“He hasnae died, has he?” Elspeth asked in a soft, tremulous voice as she touched Cormac’s pale cheek.

“Nay, lass.” Balfour picked up his daughter, and after Donald and his brothers set
the smaller children on the horses, he took his mount by the reins and started to walk back to Donncoill. “The poor lad has just fainted. I believe he will be fine, for he showed a great deal of strength just to stay awake and speak sensibly for so verra long.”

“And when he is strong, will ye send him away?”

“I must, lass. ’Twould be fine to raise my sword and defend your poor bloodied laddie, for I feel certain he has been wronged, but the cost would be too dear. It could e’en set us against our king.”

“I ken it.” Elspeth twined her thin arms around her father’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Ye must choose between all of us and a lad ye dinnae ken at all and have no bond with. And I am thinking, in this trouble, ’tis best if he goes on alone. He is the only one who kens where to look for the truth that will free him.”

Cormac stood on the steps of the Donncoill keep as his saddled horse was brought over to him. The Murrays had healed him and sheltered him for two months as he had regained his strength. He felt a deep reluctance to leave and not solely because he would have to face the trouble with the Douglases once again. Cormac could not recall ever having stayed at a livelier or more content place. He and his brothers were close, but his own home had never felt so happy. Some of what had pulled him and his brothers together was the unhappiness that had too often darkened the halls of their keep, shadows caused by parents who loathed each other and by too many deadly intrigues.

He inwardly stiffened his spine. He could not hide at Donncoill. He had to clear his name. Turning to face Lady Maldie, he gracefully bowed, then took her small hand in his and touched a kiss to her knuckles. Even as he straightened up to wish her farewell and thank her yet again for her care, a tiny, somewhat dirty hand was stuck in front of his face.

“Elspeth, my love,” Maldie said, fighting a grin, “ye must ne’er demand that a mon kiss your hand.” She bent a little closer to her tiny daughter. “And I think ye might consider washing a wee bit of the dirt off it first.”

“She will be back,” Balfour said as he draped his arm around his wife’s slim shoulders and watched Elspeth run off. “Ye shall have to play the courtier for her.”

“I dinnae mind. ’Tis a painfully small thing to do for the lass,” Cormac said. “I would be naught but food for the corbies if she hadnae found me. Truth to tell, I have ne’er understood how she did.” He idly patted Elspeth’s one-eyed dog Canterbury as the badly scarred wolfhound sat down by his leg.

“Our Elspeth has a true gift for finding the hurt and the troubled,” Maldie replied.

Cormac smiled. “And ye are expected to mend them all.”

“Aye.” Maldie laughed. “’Tis our good fortune that she has e’er understood that not all wounds can be healed. Ah, and here she comes”—Maldie bit her lip to stop herself from giggling—“with one verra weel-scrubbed hand.”

Elspeth stood in front of Cormac and held out her hand. Cormac struggled not to give in to the urge to glance toward Balfour and Maldie, for their struggle not to laugh was almost tangible and would ruin his own hard-won composure. Little Elspeth was still somewhat dirty, with smudges decorating her face and gown, but the hand she thrust toward him was scrubbed so clean it was a little pink. He dutifully took her tiny hand in his and brushed his lips over her knuckles. After a few moments of reiterating his gratitude, he hurried away, braced for the battle to clear his name.

Balfour picked up his solemn-faced daughter and kissed her cheek. “He is a strong lad. He will be fine.”

“Aye, I just felt sad because I think he will be fighting this battle for a verra long time.”

Scotland—Ten years later

“My fither will hunt ye down. Aye, and my uncles, my cousins, and all of my clansmen. They will set after ye like a pack of starving, rabid wolves and tear ye into small, bloodied pieces. And I will spit upon your savaged body ere I walk away and leave ye for the carrion birds.”

Sir Cormac Armstrong stopped before the heavy door to Sir Colin MacRae’s private chambers so abruptly his muscles briefly knotted. It was not the cold threat of vicious retribution that halted him, but the voice of the one who spoke it. That soft, husky voice, one almost too deep for a woman, tore at an old memory—one nearly ten years old, one he had thought he had completely cast from his mind.

Then doubt crept over him. There was no reason for that tiny Murray lass to be in Sir Colin’s keep. There was also the fact that he had not had anything to do with the Murrays since they had so graciously aided him, nothing except to send them word that he had cleared his name, and sent a fine mare for a gift. He could not believe the little girl who had saved his life was not still cherished and protected at Donncoill. His memory could be faulty. And how could Sir Colin have gotten his hands on her? And why?

“Weel, we ken that at least one of your wretched cousins willnae be plaguing us again,” drawled Sir Colin. “That fair, impertinent lad who rode with you is surely feeding the corbies as we speak.”

“Nay, Payton isnae dead.”

Such deep pain, mingled with fervent hope, sounded in those few words that Cormac could almost feel it, and he cursed. It was hard to recall much after so many years, but the name Payton seemed familiar. The name and that voice—a voice that brought forth a very clear memory of a tiny, well-scrubbed hand thrust out for a kiss—finally made Cormac move. He was not sure what he could do, but he needed to know what was going on. This was clearly not a friendly visit, and that could mean that the tiny Murray girl was in danger.

In the week since he had brought his young cousin Mary to Duncaillie for her marriage to Sir Colin’s nephew John, Cormac had made an effort to learn every shadowed corner of the keep. He did not like Sir Colin, did not trust the man at all. When his cousin’s betrothal had been announced, he had been almost the only one to speak out against it. He had not wanted his family connected by marriage to a man he had learned little good about.

After assuring himself that no one could see him, he slipped into the chamber next to Sir Colin’s. No guard had been placed at the connecting door between the two rooms. Sir Colin was either too arrogant to think anyone would dare to spy on him or the man simply did not care. Cormac pressed himself against the wall next to the door and cautiously eased it open. He glanced quickly around the room he was in, carefully noting several places he could hide in the event that someone noticed the door was cracked open. One thing he had learned, and learned well, in two long years of running from the wrath of the Douglas clan was how to hide, how to use the shadows and the most meager cover to disappear from view. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he peered into the room.

“That untried lad is of no consequence now,” snapped Sir Colin.

“Untried?” The scorn in that husky voice made Cormac flinch. “Even the beardless
amongst my brothers and cousins has had more women than ye e’er will.”

When Sir Colin bounded out of his heavy oak chair and strode toward his tormentor, Cormac had to tightly clench his fists to stop himself from doing anything rash. To his relief the man halted his advance directly in front of the woman, raising his hand but not delivering the blow he so obviously ached to inflict. Cormac knew he would have lost all restraint if Sir Colin had struck the tiny, slender woman facing him so calmly.

There was no denying what his eyes told him, although Cormac tried to do just that for several minutes. It was hard to believe that Elspeth Murray was standing in Sir Colin’s chambers, alone and far from the loving safety of Donncoill. Cormac was not sure he was pleased to see that he had been right all those years ago: Elspeth had definitely grown into a disarmingly beautiful woman.

Thick, wildly tousled hair tumbled down her slim back in heavy waves to stop teasingly at the top of her slim legs. Her hands were tied behind her back and Cormac had to smile. Those hands did not look all that much bigger than they had on the day she had soothed his brow as he had lain bleeding in her father’s dirt. Her figure was almost too slender, too delicate, yet just womanly enough to stir an interest in his loins. The way her arms were pulled back clearly revealed the perfect shape of her small breasts. Her waist was temptingly small and her slim hips gracefully rounded. Elspeth’s face still seemed to be swamped by her thick hair and wide, brilliant green eyes. There was a childish innocence to her gentle, heart-shaped face, from the small, straight nose to the faintly pointed chin. The long, thick lashes rimming her big eyes and the soft fullness of her mouth bespoke womanhood, however. She was a blood-stirring bundle of contradictions. She was so close to the door he felt he could easily reach out and touch her. Cormac was a little surprised by how hard he had to fight to resist that urge.

Then she spoke in her rich, deep, husky voice, and all hints of the child, all signs of innocence, were torn away. She became a sultry temptress from her wild, unbound hair to her tiny booted feet. Cormac felt the sharp tug of lust. It struck as hard and as fast as a blow to the stomach. Any man who saw her or heard her speak would have to be restrained from kicking down the heavy gates of Donncoill to reach her. If his heart was not already pledged to another, Cormac knew he would be sorely tempted. He wondered if Sir Colin had simply succumbed to her allure.

“What? Ye hesitate to strike a lass?” Elspeth taunted the glowering Sir Colin, her beautiful voice heavily ladened with contempt. “I have long thought that nothing ye could do would e’er surprise me, but mayhap I was wrong.”

“Ye do beg to be beaten,” Sir Colin said, the faint tremor in his voice all that hinted at his struggle for control.

“Yet ye stand there like a reeking dung heap.”

Cormac tensed when Colin wrapped one beefy hand around her long, slender throat and, in a cold voice, drawled, “So that is your game, is it? Ye try to prod me into a blind rage? Nay, my bonny green-eyed bitch, ye are nay the one who will be doing the prodding here.” Three of the five men in the room chuckled.

“’Tis to be rape then, is it? Ye had best be verra sure when ye stick that sad, wee twig of flesh in me that ye are willing to make it your last rut. The moment it touches me, ’twill be a doomed wee laddie.”

Sir Colin’s hand tightened on her throat. Cormac could see the veins in the man’s
thick hand bulge. His own hand went to his sword, although he knew it would be madness to interfere. Elspeth made no sound, did not move at all, but kept her gaze fixed steadily upon Sir Colin’s flushed face. Cormac noticed her hands clench behind her back until her knuckles whitened. Cormac had to admire her bravery, but he thought it foolhardy to keep goading the man as she was. He could not understand what she thought to gain from the man, save for a quick death. When Cormac decided he was going to have to interfere, no matter how slim the odds of success, Sir Colin finally released her. Elspeth gasped only once and swayed faintly, yet she had to be in pain and starved for breath.

“Some may try to call it rape, but I mean only to bed my wife,” Sir Colin said.

“I have already refused you,” she replied, her voice a little weaker, a little raspy. “Further discussion of the matter would just be tedious.”

“No one refuses me.”

“I did and I will.”

“Ye will have no more say in this matter.” He signaled to the two men flanking her. “Secure her in the west tower.” Sir Colin brushed his blunt fingertips over her full mouth and barely snatched them away, out of her reach, before she snapped at them, her even white teeth clicking loudly in the room. “I have a room prepared especially for you.”

“I am humbled by your generousity.”

“Humbled? Oh, aye, ye too proud wench, ye will soon be verra humbled indeed.”

Cormac gently pushed the door shut as far as he dared, stopping just before it latched. A moment later he was in the hall again, using the shadows cast by the torchlight to follow Elspeth and her guards. Only once did someone look back, and that was Elspeth. She stared into the shadows that sheltered him, a frown briefly curving her full lips; then she was tugged along by her guards. Cormac did not think she had seen him, but if she had, she clearly had the wit to say nothing. He followed his prey right to the door of the tower room, all the while struggling to devise some clever plan.

Elspeth stumbled slightly when one of the guards roughly shoved her into the room, but she quickly steadied herself. She swallowed her sigh of relief when the other guard cut the rope binding her wrists. Then she fought the urge to rub them, thus revealing how much they hurt as the blood began to flow to them again. As the heavy door shut behind the two men and she listened to the bolt being dragged across it, she began to rub her chaffed, sore wrists and make a quick but thorough survey of the room.

“It appears that the only way out of this room is if I succumb to the sinful urge to hurl myself from the window and end my poor life,” she muttered as she sat down on the huge bed that dominated the room. She frowned and idly bounced up and down on the mattress. “Feathers. The bastard plainly intends to be comfortable as he dishonors me.”

Weary, sick with worry over Payton’s fate, and knotted with fear, Elspeth curled up on the bed. For just a moment she fought the urge to weep, not wishing to give into that weakness. Then, as the tears began to fall, she shrugged. She was alone and a good cleansing of her misery could help her maintain her strength, especially later.

After what she feared was a disgracefully prolonged bout of weeping, Elspeth flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She felt drained, as if some physician had placed leeches all over her—leeches that sucked all the emotion from a body instead
of the blood. It was going to take a while to get her strength and wit back—two things she would sorely need in the days ahead.

She thought of Payton and felt as if she could weep all over again if she had had any tears left. Her last sight of her cousin had been that of his bloodied body lying alongside the two men-at-arms who had accompanied them. Elspeth had needed only one look to know that their two guards were dead, but she could not be so certain about Payton. She did not want to be. She wanted to cling to the hope that he was still alive, no matter how small that hope might be. If nothing else, Elspeth could not bear to think upon the pain her uncle Nigel and aunt Gisele would suffer over the loss of their son. Even though her mind told her that it was not her fault, she knew she might never be able to shake free of the guilt she felt, for it had been her rejected suitor who had brought about the tragedy. It struck her as appallingly unfair that the chilling memories and nightmares she had suffered for three long years might finally be pushed aside by the sight of her cousin’s murder—an old nightmare replaced by a new one.

Elspeth closed her eyes, deciding it would not hurt to seek the rest her body craved. She would need it to be able to endure what lay ahead. Although she had no doubt that her family would come after her, in force, she also knew they might not arrive in time to save her from all Sir Colin intended. That was in her own hands.

As she felt sleep creep over her, she heard a faint noise at the door. Either someone was bringing her some food and drink or some poor fool had been sent to check to be sure she was still where they had put her. Elspeth resisted the urge to look. She was too tired and too battered to do anything just yet. In truth, she felt almost too tired to even open her eyes. Then someone touched her arm and she tensed, her weariness abruptly shoved aside by alarm even though she felt no real threat from the person she now knew stood next to her bed.

Cautiously, Elspeth opened her eyes just enough to see her visitor through the veil of her still damp lashes. He was a beautiful man. His long, leanly muscular body was bent over her in a strangely protective way. His face was cut in clean lines and unmarred. A high, wide forehead, high-boned cheeks, a long, straight nose, a handsomely firm jaw, and a well-shaped mouth made for a face that easily took a maid’s breath away. His creamy skin was almost too pale and fine for a man, although many a woman would envy it, and the healthy warmth of it begged for a touch. It was the perfect complement to his deep auburn hair. His eyes, however, were what truly caught and held her attention. Set beneath neatly arched brows and ringed with long, thick lashes, they were the rich blue of clean, deep water—a color she had seen but once before in her life. They were eyes that had filled many a maidenly dream and some that were very far from maidenly.

“Cormac,” she whispered, smiling faintly at the way his beautiful eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Ye remember me?” he asked softly, a little shaken by the warm look in her rich green eyes and the soft, enticing smile of greeting she gifted him with.

“Ah, ye dinnae remember me. Ye are but tiptoeing through the bedchambers of Duncallie to see if any hold something ye like. I am devastated.”

Cormac straightened up and put his hands on his hips. Her drawled taunt had quickly yanked him free of his bemusement better than a sharp slap to the face. She was even more beautiful close to, and for just a moment, as he had stared into her wide, slumberous eyes, he had been seized by the overwhelming urge to crawl onto that bed
with her. The way she had whispered his name in her rich, sensuous voice had reached deep inside of him, dragging his tightly controlled lusts to fierce, immediate life. The feeling still lingered, but now he struggled to cool his heated blood.

“Aye, I recall you,” he said. “Ye are a wee bit bigger and sharper of tongue, but ye are certainly Elspeth—my tiny, begrimed savior from years past.”

Slowly, Elspeth sat up, then knelt on the bed facing him. Some of those not so maidenly dreams she had had about him were crowding her mind, and she fought to push them aside. He had come to rescue her. Elspeth inwardly smiled as she mused that it was a poor time to tell a man that she had loved and lusted after him for ten long years. For all she knew, he was a wedded man with a bairn or two to bounce on his knee. Finding that thought painful, she forced her mind to settle on the matter of rescue.