Highland Warrior (14 page)

“Ye have found some fool to tell ye what happens at Deilcladach, have ye?” she asked, nearly gagging at the way he preened.

“A bonnie wee lass she was. Sweet and besotted, eager to please me with her knowledge of all that happened at Deilcladach from day to day.”

“Was?” Fiona’s mind had fixed upon that word, and although she had little sympathy for a traitor, she could feel some for a foolishly besotted woman who might not have known who she was consorting with.

“Weel, I couldnae let her cry out a warning once she had kenned who I was. Twas her own fault for lighting that candle. I had told her that it was dangerous for her to ken too much, that secrecy was verra important.” He shrugged. “She obviously didnae think that included her getting a close look at her lover’s face. I couldnae have those cursed brothers of yours guess that I had been close at hand.”

“And ye dinnae think the murder of some poor deluded lass will make them suspicious?”

“Nay. I am nay such a fool as to leave a body behind. She rests at the bottom of the river, tied to a sack of rocks to hold her there. So, dinnae think your brother has scented my trail. He willnae be hieing to your rescue this time.”

“That still doesnae answer the question of how ye found me.”

“Trailed ye, didnae I? Several people recalled seeing that horse of yours. Then I met with a fine group of men called the Grays. They told me the laird of Scarglas had a woman with him near to a month past. This woman killed one of their men, had long golden hair, dressed like a lad, and handled a sword like a mon. Twas easy to guess whom that might be.”

“Easy, was it? I
have
been here a whole month, ye ken.” She tensed when a look of anger tightened his features.

“Aye, and so ye have.” He poked her in the side with the tip of his sword. “Some of the things the Grays told me made me verra angry.”

“And why would ye believe all they had to say? They are the enemies of the MacFingals.”

Fiona could see him thinking that over. She used his distraction to try to gain some laxity in the ropes binding her wirsts. After the first time he had hung her up by her bound wrists, she had had Connor do the same to her and the two of them had worked hard on finding ways for her to free herself or, at the very least, offer some resistance.
Fiona was a little surprised that, after the bruises she had inflicted upon him and his men last time, Menzies had yet again hung her from a tree branch. She then noticed that his men kept their distance from her and she almost smiled.

“Nay,” Menzies said after a moment of deep thought, “there was no deceit or trickery behind their words. In truth, they were curious when they realized ye were the woman I sought. But their interest in ye matters naught. All that matters is what they told me about ye and the laird of Scarglas.”

“Since there is naught to say about me and the laird of Scarglas, I cannae guess what they told ye.”

Menzies sighed and shook his head before he looked at her with an expression of such condescending recrimination that she sorely wanted to kick it off his face. It was a very similar look that had caused her to turn aside his request for her hand in marriage. She had been as stunned and blinded as many another woman by his angelic looks, but then she had seen that look. It was one that said she was only a poor, dull-witted woman who was in sad need of the guidance and wisdom of a man, that she was to be pitied for her lack, but then forgiven and cared for. Fiona had often wondered if the fact that she, a mere pitiful woman, had rejected him was what had twisted him so, then told herself not to be so vain. The man had already suffered this madness. Her refusal had, at best, simply made it stronger and clearer to see.

“Ye have been the laird’s captive for o’er a month,” Menzies said in a tone of voice that implied he was trying to explain a simple fact to a person who had all the wits of a flea. “Despite all my efforts, ye are still lovely enough to stir a mon’s lusts.” He scowled and cast a suspicious look toward his men, who were smart enough to appear completely uninterested in her. “I have also heard that the laird is a dour mon, dark of looks and horribly scarred.”

Fiona bit back an instinctive urge to defend Ewan against that slur. The sly look upon Menzies’s face warned her that he had set a trap for her. Instinct told her she would suffer if he suspected she cared for Ewan. Worse, Menzies would then want Ewan to suffer as well. The last thing Ewan needed was another man hunting him, and Menzies seemed to have the wit and skill the Grays lacked despite his madness. She met his gaze calmly, as if she merely waited for him to continue speaking.

“Such coarse hands should ne’er touch ye,” Menzies said after watching her closely for a minute. “That would be a crime, a sin I would have to see punished. The question would be—who deserved to be punished more, him or ye. Did ye let the mon touch ye, Fiona? Did ye give him your maidenhead, mark his sheets with your innocence as ye refused to mark mine? Have ye let him make ye his whore? The Grays claim ye have.”

“The Grays also claim they have a right to Scarglas e’en though the previous laird was cousin to the new,” she said. “I wouldnae put much weight behind the words of a clan that believes it should have a better claim to something than a mon’s own blood kin.”

She tensed when he slowly walked around her, touching her as if he had the right. Even though good sense told her it was impossible, she began to fear there was some mark upon her that would tell him she was no longer a maiden. Silently talking away her rising fears, she met his gaze directly when he returned to standing in front of her. There was now a glint in his eye that told her nothing she could say or do would convince him
that the Grays had lied. He had been convinced of her loss of innocence before he had come after her.

A chill slithered down her spine as he flicked the ribbon tying her shift closed with the tip of his sword. There would be no more time, no more talk. Fiona was surprised she had held him off for as long as she had. It was difficult to see just how his belief that she was no longer pure had affected him.

“Ye do understand that for each mark ye make upon my skin,” she said, “my brother will make ye pay for it tenfold. He counts each bruise, each pain, as a debt that must be repaid in blood and agony. Each time ye capture me and torment me, ye add another week to the length of time he will make ye suffer.” Although Menzies appeared unmoved by her threats, his men shifted on their feet a little uneasily. “Connor has made a close study of all the ways he can hold ye tight in the bonds of agony yet not lose ye to death’s grasp.”

“Your brother hasnae caught me once in all this time. I dinnae think he is such a great threat.”

“Nay? Do ye think he will give up if it takes too much time to chase ye down? Mayhap ye should pause a moment and think upon the mon my brother is, remember for a minute the tales of his becoming laird at but fifteen, of all he endured and all he accomplished. Hunting ye down, e’en if it takes years, will be as naught to him. Ye will ne’er be able to run far enough or fast enough, ne’er be able to cease looking o’er your shoulder to see if he is there. One day he will be and then ye will begin to suffer, long and hard. Aye,” she added in a near whisper, smiling coldly, “then ye will begin to scream.”

The way he stared at her made Fiona think she might have, finally, scared him. Then he laughed and she felt her heart sink down to her toes and her courage waver. Time had gained her nothing. Threats had not caused Menzies to feel any hesitation or fear. She grit her teeth against a cry when he cut the ribbon of her shift with the tip of his sword. He was not even drawing near enough for her to kick him.

She prayed. She prayed for the courage to endure whatever Menzies did without flinching. She prayed for some miracle, for the hand of fate to reach down and yank her to safety. She also prayed that, having been rescued from this man four times already, she had not run out of second chances or small miracles.

“Where is your wife?”

Ewan sheathed his sword, waved away the men he had been training with, and looked at his father. “I am nay sure. With Mab in the herb hut? Visiting the sick? Why do ye expect me to ken where she is?”

“Because she is your wife.” Fingal scowled at his eldest son. “Have ye lost her, then?”

“Nay, I havenae lost her. I just dinnae ken where she is. I dinnae keep her leashed to my side, do I? What do ye want her for?” Ewan frowned and studied his father closely. “Are ye ailing?”

“Of course I am nay ailing! Do I look as if I am ailing?”

“Then what do ye want with her?”

“Tis the nooning,” Fingal muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The what?”

“The nooning. Time for a meal, ye ken.”

“Oh. Da, the church calls it—”

“I dinnae care what the church calls it.
I
call it the nooning. Tis a fine name. Better than what the church says. Those are prayer times and I am nay praying. I am eating.”

“Of course.” Ewan took a deep, slow breath as he struggled to remain calm, even patient. “And Fiona has to do something about this
nooning
, does she?”

“Aye, she sets down with me and we have us a fine meal spiced with a verra fine quarrel. Weel, I went to the great hall, set myself down, and she didnae come in. She always comes in. And ere ye start asking, she isnae in the keep or the herb shed or the garden. Thought ye might have taken her off to sow an heir, but nay, for here ye stand. So, why cannae your wife be found, eh?”

Ewan looked around him a little blindly, then looked back at his father. This was beyond strange. It was also a little disconcerting. He had thought his father disliked Fiona, did not want anything to do with her because of her Cameron connections, yet they had obviously been taking meals together. It did seem that that was something he ought to have been aware of.

What was even stranger was that his father had missed her, though Ewan suspected the man would never admit it even upon pain of death. In the weeks Fiona had been at Scarglas, she had clearly wriggled her way into his father’s affections. Ewan knew his father had some, but they had never been given to a female before as far as he knew. If Sir Fingal’s scowl was any indication, the man also felt Ewan was sadly remiss because he did not know where his wife was.

Then, abruptly, the importance of that sank into Ewan’s mind. His father had looked in all the places Fiona was usually to be found yet had not seen her. Ewan struggled to subdue a sudden urgency and a flare of alarm. Just because his father said he had looked everywhere did not mean he had.

“Did ye look in the solar?” he asked.

“I told ye, the lass isnae inside the keep,” Sir Fingal snapped. “I may be old, but my wits are still keen, as are my eyes. I also sent the women in the keep to hunt her down and they couldnae find her. Spoke to young Ned and he said he hasnae seen Mab since they broke their fast together.”

“Mayhap Fiona and Mab went to the village.” Ewan’s alarm grew when his father
shook his head.

“A mon just came from the village asking for the lass and Mab. Got a sick bairn he wanted them to come and see. Ye
have
lost her, havenae ye.”

Before Ewan could respond to that, a cry went up from the men upon the walls, followed quickly by another from the men guarding the gates. Ewan ran to the gates, his father close at his heels. Just as he reached them, Mab staggered through them and fell to her knees at his feet. Ewan felt himself sway a little only to be brought to his senses by the painful grip of his father’s hand upon his upper arm.

It took several slow, deep breaths this time for Ewan to regain some sense of calm. It was difficult to hold firm to it as he crouched by Mab. All he could think of was that Fiona was gone, that Mab had returned to Scarglas bloodied and alone. He took a quick look at the woman’s wound and was relieved to see that it appeared to be a shallow one. Later, he knew, it would please him for Mab’s sake alone, but right now, he was only glad that she would be able to answer his questions. He waited with taut impatience as Mab struggled to catch her breath.

“Mab, where is Fiona?” he asked her as the woman finally began to breathe more evenly.

“Menzies,” Mab replied, nodding when she saw how Ewan paled. “We were searching for healing plants and he found us.”

“Ye and Fiona went outside these walls unguarded?”

“Here, lad,” Sir Fingal said as he lifted Mab into his arms, ignoring her protests, “the woman needs tending to.”

“Mama!” cried Ned as he ran up to Sir Fingal and tried to reach his mother.

“Hush, laddie,” Sir Fingal said. “Your mother has but a wee scratch. She will be fine.”

“Aye, Ned.” Mab reached down to stroke her son’s fair hair. “Do ye remember what I told ye one needs to tend a cut?” When the boy nodded, she smiled at him. “Weel, ye go get what I need and bring it to me.”

“Bring it to the great hall,” Sir Fingal ordered, then the moment the boy dashed off, he started toward the keep again. “That lad has verra fair hair. Are ye certain he is mine?”

“Of course he is, ye old fool.” Mab groaned and rubbed her thigh. “That bastard threw me to the ground.”

“Now, dinnae fret, woman. Ye can tell Ewan everything in but a moment.”

“Da,” Ewan protested as he hurried after his father, “Fiona is out there in the hands of her enemy.”

“Aye, and we will fetch her back soon. She has been in the mon’s hands before and wriggled free. As soon as we get Mab tended to, we will go after your impertinent wife and kill that bastard. We need answers first, though, aye?”

Ewan knew his father was right, but that did not make it any easier to accept the delay. He paced the great hall as Bonnie tended to Mab’s wounds, Mab reassured her son that she was fine, and Sir Fingal scowled down at Ned’s fair hair, occasionally muttering vaguely insulting remarks to Mab.

“Get over here and ask your questions, lad,” called Sir Fingal.

“Och, Ewan,” Mab said the moment he reached her side, “we were just standing there talking about what we could do with all the violets we had found and there he was. She called him Menzies.”

“He is the mon who chases her, the one who gave her those scars,” Ewan said. “What happened?”

Stroking her son’s hair as if she needed that touch to calm herself, Mab told Ewan all she could remember. “Poor Fiona must think me dead, that she gave herself into her enemy’s hands for naught.”

“She will soon learn the truth. Did ye see which way they went?”

“Nay, I fear not. I dinnae believe I was unconscious for verra long, though. It should be easy to see where we were, where they caught her as they chased us about on their horses for several minutes ere they took her.” She carefully told him where she and Fiona had discovered the violets. “The ground is quite soft there so whate’er marks they left should be clear to read and follow.”

“Then we shall do so,” Sir Fingal said even as he started out the door of the great hall. “Help your mother up to her bed, Ned,” he ordered the boy as he left.

Ewan picked ten men from the dozens who offered to ride with him. Although he was surprised that his father was coming with him, he realized he was glad of it. At the moment Fingal had the calm and control he himself lacked. He knew what little he had grasped hold of could easily be lost depending upon what he found when he tracked down Fiona’s enemy.

As he led his men to the place Mab had described, Ewan tried to banish the fear that was twisting his insides. He told himself, over and over, that Menzies did not want Fiona dead. The man wanted her for his wife. Ewan prayed Fiona had the wit to keep her marriage to him a secret, for there was no guessing how such news would make a madman like Menzies react. Then he reminded himself that Fiona had proven herself very clever indeed time and time again, and he relaxed a little.

It proved easy to follow Menzies and his men. Ewan had to wonder why. Was the man simply unaware of such things, or did he think no one would try to rescue Fiona? Or worse, was this a trap? From all Fiona had told him of her brother Connor, Ewan knew that man had both strength and intelligence, yet he had failed for almost two years to catch Menzies. That would seem to imply that Menzies was clever yet this easily read trail was the act of a clumsy fool. Ewan quickly halted his men and explained his concerns.

“I will go ahead and see what I can find,” said Gregor, and he left the moment Ewan nodded his agreement to that plan.

“Do ye really think this Menzies is clever enough to hide his trail?” asked Sir Fingal.

“Aye,” replied Ewan. “This is as good as a clearly drawn map. Either it is a trap or the mon has become too certain of success this time. Mayhap his madness has grown so strong it has overcome whate’er cleverness he once had.” Ewan shook his head, then dragged his fingers through his hair. “Tis hard to ken how to step when dealing with a madmon.”

Sir Fingal scratched his chin. “The mon wants your wife. He has spent near two years hunting her down and cutting wee bits off her. Aye, ’tis a madness. Howbeit, mayhap he was so caught up in his pride o’er finding the lass when no one else has that he wasnae thinking. Mayhap he didnae realize that, in his rush to ride away with his prize, he didnae kill Mab.”

“Possible. Are ye sure he meant to kill Mab?”

“Aye. He but hurried it, cut too quick, and didnae pay any heed to the wound he gave her. The mon was so certain he had cut her throat that he ne’er looked back. Tis the way our Mab bled so freely which saved her. Menzies cut her, saw the blood flow, and tossed her aside.” Sir Fingal looked down at the tracks they would soon follow. “Why should a mon hide his trail when he believes no one else kens he has stolen something?”

That made sense, Ewan realized, and he tried to hide his surprise. It was not quite fair. His father was old, made more problems than he solved, and had all the sexual restraint of a goat, but he was not stupid. He had also always been skilled in battle, in both the fighting and matters of strategy. Ewan knew he should heed the man’s words, then he tensed when he saw Gregor riding toward them.

“They are just beyond that line of trees,” Gregor reported as he reined in before Ewan. “There is a small clearing there and they have set up camp. Menzies and six men, no more, and all are within the camp.”

“And Fiona?” Ewan felt his blood chill when Gregor snatched his reins from his hands before answering.

“She is alive. She is wearing naught but her shift, her wrists are bound, and he has strung her up by them to the branch of a tree,” Gregor replied, watching Ewan closely and keeping a firm grip on his brother’s reins.

“She said he liked to string her up like a fresh kill,” Ewan whispered.

“Then best we slip up on them and steal their catch away,” said Sir Fingal. “We plan a raid, nay a battle.”

Ewan nodded as he fought down a fierce bloodlust. A direct attack would put Fiona in danger, especially since she was so helpless. Stealth was needed, the sort of stealth they used when they deprived a man of his cattle or his horses. Once Fiona was safe, however, Ewan had every intention of casting aside all stealth and killing Menzies.

Glancing at Simon, Ewan was now glad that he had allowed the youth to accompany them despite his inexperience. Simon owed his life to Fiona and had desperately wanted a chance to repay that debt in some small way. Now the boy would have that chance, for there was one thing Simon did very well. Simon could move through a wood without disturbing a single leaf upon the ground. He could also climb trees silently and quickly, his skill a wonder to behold. Looking the youth over very carefully, Ewan decided Simon was strong enough to pull Fiona out of harm’s way and he gave the boy his orders.

It took another few minutes to make their plans before they rode toward the trees. When Ewan spoke of needing a diversion, Gregor assured him that Menzies and his men were already well diverted and Ewan did not ask what held their interest. He knew. Any man with blood in his veins would be unable to resist staring at Fiona dressed only in her delicate shift.

They left their horses at the edge of the wood. Ewan gave Simon a few moments to get into position, then signaled the other men on their way. With his father at his side, Ewan crept up to Menzies’s camp. The moment his men silenced Menzies’s men, he and his father would go after Menzies. He was not surprised when his father grabbed his arm the moment the camp came into view. One look at Fiona hanging there, Menzies’s sword pointed at her, roused the bloodlust in him so swiftly and fiercely Ewan knew he was in need of the restraint.

“Your wee wife has a clever way with a threat,” whispered Sir Fingal as Fiona told
Menzies what her brother would do to him.

Ewan was a little hurt that Fiona did not threaten Menzies with him, then told himself not to be such a fool. Fiona had indeed had the wit to know it would be dangerous to let Menzies know she was no longer an innocent maid. Menzies already knew her brother hunted him and why, so that was the man to speak of.

A cold smile curved Ewan’s mouth as he watched his men slip in behind Menzies’s men and silence them. The fact that each one of them needed only a knife to his throat to remain still and quiet as they were all disarmed told Ewan that their loyalty to Menzies probably ran very shallow. The moment Menzies’s men were disarmed, Ewan nodded to his father and they began to stealthily work their way toward Menzies’s unprotected back.

“I dinnae fear your brother,” said Menzies.

“Then ye are a fool,” said Fiona. “And ’tis nay just Connor ye must watch for, but all MacEnroys, all their allies, and all of Gillyanne’s kinsmen. Ye are naught but a walking dead mon. Do your worst. I will ne’er pledge myself to ye. I will say nay and keep saying nay until ye breathe your last and I but pray that that will be soon.”

“Ye
are
mine!”

“Nay, fool, she is mine.”

Fiona could not believe what she was seeing. It seemed impossible that Ewan could be standing there right behind Menzies, that his men now held Menzies’s men captive. She had seen and heard nothing. It was obvious that neither had Menzies or his men. Then she felt strong hands grasp her wrists and she shook aside the shock gripping her so tightly. She glanced up to see Simon grinning at her as he pulled her up. The moment she was able to, she swung herself up onto the branch with him.