Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero (13 page)

“Will they attempt to follow us?” Rob asked.

“They are welcome to try,” Marcus said.

At first, Marcus headed in the direction north toward his hunting lodge, though it was four days away. He knew his men would be watching to see if anyone was following them. It seemed Kerr’s men would not try to stop Marcus and his men, but he presumed they would tell MacLauchlan where Marcus was headed.

“They will know we are going this way,” Rob warned.

“Aye. That is why we are headed this way. At first.”

“Ah.”

“He is the one who worries for us all,” Marcus told Isobel.

She gave him a wan smile, and he noted she was shivering even more. “Do you wish to ride with me?”

“Nay.” Her voice was shaking with the cold, the rain not letting up. “I would tire your horse overmuch.”

“It willna be long,” he promised her. But if she looked too cold, he was making her ride with him.

When they headed west, Rob brightened. “‘We will stay with our kinsman in the mountains.”

“Aye,” Marcus said. “It willna take us too verra long.” It was still half a day’s ride. “But no one will ken we are distantly related to Ulicia and her brood. ‘Tis the perfect place to stay.”

“Will she remember us? She left so long ago, when she was but a wee lass herself, way before she had four bairns.”

“Aye, she will remember us.” At least Marcus hoped. And he hoped she had enough room in her shieling to house Isobel and the rest of the men while some of the horses stayed in the attached byre.

For five hours, they rode over grassy glens, rocky terrain, moving around a loch, spying mounded cairns used as a burial ground, and crossed several streams when they neared the narrow trail they would have to navigate to reach the valley on the other side.

Rob had been riding to the left of Marcus until the trail up the mountain became too narrow, and then he rode behind. Marcus had to allow either Isobel to take the lead or himself. He wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t look steady in her saddle, but the horses would have a hard enough time making it up the mountain without having to carry two passengers. Still, he worried she might fall. He took a deep breath and dismounted.

“What are you going to do?” Rob asked, hesitating to dismount.

Isobel was so cold she didn’t even seem to notice they had stopped.

“She is going to fall.”

“Nay.” Her voice was merely a whisper, the shake of her head so slight it was barely noticeable.

Marcus couldn’t carry her all the way to the shieling, but he had no other choice. She was too cold and needed his body heat.

“We can take turns carrying her,” Rob said, as if reading the doubt in Marcus’s thoughts.

“Come, lass.” Marcus held his arms up to her, and when she turned slightly and she leaned toward him, looking frozen to the core, he lifted her from her horse.

“Take our horses, will you, Rob?”

“Aye and when you need a respite, let me ken, and I will take the lady off your hands.”

Even if it killed him, and Marcus knew it was madness, he didn’t wish his men to hold the lovely lass close like he would.

For what seemed an eternity, he trudged up the narrow winding path as the horses faltered and the men walked them along the ridge. Then through the gray sheets of icy rain, he spied the shieling down below. After what seemed like forever, they finally reached the abode. But there was no smoke in the chimney, no smell of peat mixing with the rain, no children laughing or talking inside as he would expect.

He glanced back at Rob who gave him just as wary a look.

Isobel had actually fallen asleep in Marcus’s arms. She might be light under normal circumstances, but with gowns sodden with water and the ground slick and muddy, he was having a devil of a time making any headway. His arms and back ached, but he was no longer cold. Isobel was still shivering, but not as badly now.

“Let me get past you and check out the shieling,” Rob said.

Marcus nodded. “Aye, go.” He leaned against a tree and waited while the rest of his men remained with him, wary and watchful.

Rob left the horses with one of the other men, then headed the rest of the way to the shieling, nestled against a cairn.

Rob had already pulled his sword out and crept toward the house, keeping to the rocks until he reached the door and listened. Then he turned to Marcus and shook his head.

He pushed the door slightly, his weapon readied. And was attacked by a young boy slicing the frigid, rain-soaked air with his sword, screaming like a banshee.

“Whoa, laddie, we are kin,” Rob said, fending off the shrub-sized warrior. “He has a good swing, dinna you agree, Marcus?”

“Aye,” Marcus said, smiling. “His da has taught him well.”

The boy stopped attacking and looked in Marcus’s direction.

“Is Ulicia here? I am her cousin, Laird Marcus McEwan,” Marcus said. He was her distant cousin, but the lad didn’t need to know that. He hoped his cousin had told her children of their relationship. “I must get the lady out of the rain. Will you permit us to enter?”

The boy’s jaw dropped and he quickly made a clumsy bow. “Aye, my laird. Come in.” He sounded so young, Marcus didn’t remember a time when he was so small and would have defended his home single-handedly like that against an armed Highlander. The lad would someday make a fine warrior.

“I was worried about you, Rob,” Marcus said as Rob gave him a small smile, then helped the others move the horses into the covered shelter next to the shieling.

When Marcus entered the one-room building with a soaking wet Isobel cradled in his arms, he hadn’t expected to see three little faces peeking out at him from behind a bed. One of them, a girl about the age of the boy, was holding a
sgian dubh
.

“Where is Ulicia?” Marcus didn’t like what he was seeing. The children all looked scrawny, but the place was neat and tidy.

“She went to the village and never came back,” the boy said.

“How long ago?

“Seven days.”

“Your name, lad?” Marcus set Isobel in a chair. He had to get her out of these wet clothes.

“Druce,” he said, holding his head up proudly.

“Your da?”

“Dead.”

“I am sorry.” He helped Isobel out of the wet brat, and she looked up at him, her eyes tired, and she was still shaking too much. “Let us start a fire. The lady needs to be warmed. She is chilled to the bone.”

“Our mother told us not to use the peat too much until she returned,” the girl said.

“Your name, lassie?”

“Fiona.”

“All right, Fiona. We need a nice warm fire. We have food and will share this with you. But I must warm the lady before she becomes ill.”

“Aye,” both the girl and her brother said.

His men soon walked into the shieling and noticed the urchins hiding behind the bed.

“Rob, start a fire, will you?” Marcus needed to get Isobel out of her wet clothes, but he didn’t wish to do so in front of so many eyes.

“Aye, what about the lass?” Rob said, again as if he knew the dilemma Marcus was facing.

Finbar said, “We can take the wee lass and lads with us to help with the horses.”

Marcus knew the men would have already taken care of them.

“We have food that we will need you to help us carry into the shieling,” Finbar continued.

The youngest lads looked to their older sister, Fiona, for counsel.

“Go with them.” She sounded like she was their wee mother.

“You and Druce also,” Finbar said.

“I will help.” Rob soon got a flame going in the hearth.

All of them went to see to the horses and packs.

With the sound of the rain pouring down heavily on the thatched roof, all else was quiet. Except for Marcus’s labored breathing as he hurried to strip Isobel of her gowns, then tucked her into the bed that had to be Ulicia’s and her deceased husband’s. The children had made straw mats on the floor with thin wool blankets to cover them.

He wasn’t sure how his men would manage, but Marcus had to warm Isobel in any way that he could. Modesty aside. After all, they
were
married.

Before the others returned to the shieling, he heard his men telling all kinds of tales and was certain the children were already eating some of their foodstuffs while they waited for Marcus to let them know when it was all right to return to the shieling.

In some smaller keeps, the laird and his lady had naught but a curtain to separate them from the rest of their people, though he had a chamber of his own as did his lady when he took a woman to wife, and his men who were not married slept with the other men in the barracks.

Many did not have much in the way of privacy.

After removing his tunic, hosen, boots, and trewes, as they were wet, he climbed into bed with Isobel and wrapped his arms around her, felt the tremors racing through her body, and prayed she would not become ill.

“We are tucked in.” Marcus wanted to warn his men that he was in bed with Isobel and not to make any comments about it.

His men ushered the children back into the shieling and made sure they each ate enough to fill their bellies, then herded them to their beds.

“I am afraid there doesna seem to be much in the way of sleeping space,” Marcus said.

“We will manage.” Rob looked concernedly at Isobel. “Is she with fever?”

“Nay, but she still trembles without end.”

“She willna die, will she?” Druce asked, sounding alarmed.

“Nay, lad. When did your mother leave you alone?” Marcus asked.

“‘Twas in the morn, seven days ago. She went for food, and she shoulda been back by now.”

“We will talk about it in the morn. Sleep,” Marcus said.

“Can he tell us a story?” Druce pointed his finger at Finbar.

The flames in the hearth offered a soft glow as the men laid out their bedrolls and wrapped themselves in their plaids, their swords close at hand.

“Only if it is a really short story,” Marcus warned, “and isna scary.”

He could envision all four children climbing into bed with him and Isobel because Finbar had scared them with some horrible recanting of a day of battle. Sure, braw warriors loved to hear his tales, but they were not suitable for the tender ears of the wee lass and lads.

“I dinna ken any stories that dinna have wild beasties in them,” Finbar said.

Marcus noticed then all the children turned their attention back to him. God’s wounds, he didn’t know any bedtime stories either!

“Tell what Lady Isobel did to the Norman lord that had you wanting to make her your wife even at a young age.” Rob curled up in his plaid. “No beasties in that story.”

The children looked hopeful, though he noticed the youngest lad’s heavily lidded eyes, and Marcus figured if he said one word, he’d drop off to sleep just like that.

Marcus gave Rob a look of annoyance. He had never told anyone what had happened that day, although his clansmen had tried unsuccessfully for years to learn the truth. He wondered how Rob had even learned that much.

“Did you have to fight evil knaves to free her?” Druce waved a pretend sword in the air.

“Did you kiss her?” Fiona placed her hands on her heart.

“What
did
happen?” Finbar asked, his tone of voice amused.

To Marcus’s astonishment, Isobel snuggled closer, her eyes still closed as she said, “Do you wish
me
to tell what happened?”

She was still shaking from the cold, though he thought she’d fallen asleep. “Nay, lass. You might no’ get the story right.”

She opened her eyes and her mouth curved up. “Mayhap we will have to tell them both versions, aye?”

“There is only one version to tell.”

His men chuckled.

Before Marcus could start the tale, Isobel said, “Laird McEwan came to see my mother because his mother and mine had been friends since the time they were wee lassies. So he would come and visit my mother to tell her all the news from home. The first time I met Marcus, I had just turned one and ten, and he was six and ten. I fell in love with him right at that moment. Not that he saw me in any way other than I was a young lass, too young for his attentions.”

“No’ true,” Marcus said. “Even then I knew you belonged in the Highlands with us. You were no’ shy or reserved, but welcomed me with your bright smile.”

“You made my mother happy. I loved hearing you speak. You did not treat me like I was a bother. And then later when I met your cousins, they taught me how to use a bow and fight.”

“Aye, lass.”

“But about the incident with the Norman,” Rob persisted.

“I was three and ten and my mother and father had invited some guests to celebrate.”

“They were no’
your
friends.” Marcus was still disgruntled to an extent by what had happened. He had loved her for her actions, but he had wished he had been the one to carry them out.

“Well, nay. They were suitors, I should say.”

“Ah,” Fiona said, sounding intrigued by the idea.

“Was there fighting?” Druce asked.

“Aye,” Marcus said.

“Good,” the lad said.

“Well, one of the Norman lords who was eight and ten like Laird McEwan did not like that a Highlander was in attendance. Marcus was charming and…daring. Daring because he made it a point to show them he much admired me when the others were not as interested in making my acquaintance.”

“Because you were only three and ten,” Fiona guessed.

“Aye. But when Marcus began to show how much he enjoyed my company, the Norman and English lords did not like it. They thought he should not have been there. They did not know my mother was from the Highlands.” She paused, then added more softly, “Nor that my father was.”

Hearing her words, Marcus kissed her cheek and pulled her tighter into his embrace. He worried that she had not had the time to grieve properly over her da’s death, not when she’d been on the run from her own attackers, and then to learn that he was not even her da.

“So they wanted to fight our laird and he yanked out his sword and—,” Druce said.