Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero (7 page)

They had to be Scots. His hair black as his eyes, the man in charge eyed Isobel with suspicion, most likely because Rob’s men surrounded her in a protective way.

“Who be the lad?” the man asked, his voice a command.

Good, they did not know she was a woman.

“Marcus’s nephew. He wants to see him at once, to give him the order personally that he should not be here attempting to fight the Sassenach on Marcus’s behalf,” Rob said.

She had never heard Rob use that term in referring to the English before, but she supposed he had to, to show which side he was on. She hoped the man was unaware that Marcus did not have a nephew.

The Scot smiled a little. Was it because he thought her a wild lad to attempt to fight in the battle on behalf of his uncle, or that he didn’t believe Rob?

“You have too small a party. We will ride with you to the tavern.”

“My thanks be to you,” Rob said and he and his men sheathed their swords.

“Dwyer’s the name.” He looked at the
sgian dubh
clutched in Isobel’s fist and she finally slipped it under her cloak. Why would a lad not be carrying a sword, she feared Dwyer would wonder.

She was glad that Rob and his men had not had to fight the English, and that the Scots would help them gain safe passage.

No one spoke any further as they headed again for the village, and when she saw the scattered cottages, the two shops and the one tavern, she felt both relief and apprehension.

When they reached the two-story stone tavern, one of the men took hold of her reins while Rob helped her down.

What surprised her next was that the man who was in charge of her Scots’ escort joined her and Rob. She was afraid he knew just who she was and what her business here entailed.

“My lady,” Dwyer said with admiration. “Do ye plan to leave with the laird and his kin when he is well enough to travel?”

Assuming he knew very well who she was, she shook her head. “I fear what would happen to the laird and his kin if my father were to learn of it.”

“Then you only wished to see his lairdship and return this day?”

“Aye. I shall not be long. I do not want anyone to learn I have gone.”

“Then with your permission and Rob’s, we would feel honored to return you home again once you are done.”

“But the risk—”

“Nay. The clan of the McEwan and their kin, the MacNeill clansmen, have fought alongside us numerous times. We know his lairdship was wounded because he had been with you and was turned out of the castle. We only wish the two of you the best. We pledge ourselves to returning you safely.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling choked up.

“Aye, my lady. We will be waiting.” Dwyer and the other men moved off then to water their horses.

Rob walked with her to the door of the tavern.

“He was cut on the back and is weak,” Rob said, preparing her for what she would see. “He was sitting up earlier and eating some. He may be sleeping now.”

“He is not with fever?”

“Nay.”

She felt some relief at his words, but until she saw him or knew he was fully recovered, she would worry.

They entered the tavern where men were eating and drinking, though the noise from their conversation visibly died down when the new arrivals appeared, everyone checking to see if they were friend or foe. Many nodded a greeting to Rob, and she suspected they were some of the men sent to watch over Marcus.

A few regarded her with a discerning eye. She hoped she looked like a young man and not like a woman dressed in men’s garments. She wondered if that’s what had given her away with the Scots across the border was Rob and his men circling her to protect her and that she had no sword, only a
sgian dubh
to protect herself in a fight.

They moved to the stairs and she felt strange when she didn’t have skirts to lift while she ascended the stairs. She kept her cloak closed so that no one there would see her trewes. She felt too exposed in them, having never worn a tunic that would show off the shape of her legs. Her father would have had a fit.

When they reached the landing, she saw two men standing on either side of a door. Both straightened when they saw her and bowed their heads in greeting. She returned their greeting with her own.

Rob knocked on the door. “I have returned with the bundle.”

“Good.” Finbar sounded vastly relieved. The bolt slid back and then the door opened. Finbar gave her a small smile. “He is asleep, but do come in, my lady.”

Isobel entered the room, then saw Marcus, his face peaceful in sleep, his blanket resting at his hips, his chest bare. She had seen many men like this when she tended to the wounded, so she was not shocked. And she had seen Marcus’s chest before when he fought his cousins in playful combat. She swore it had been just to show off his muscles. She had loved them and him for showing them off.

She hurried across the floor and placed her hand over his forehead, but his skin was cool to the touch. No fever. Thank God.

Finbar pulled the chair over to the bed so that she could sit beside Marcus.

“We will be outside the room. If you need anything, just let us know,” Finbar said.

“Aye, thank you.”

He bowed his head and he and Rob left, then shut the door.

Isobel leaned over and kissed Marcus’s cheek. He didn’t stir and she knew she should let him rest. That sleep would help to heal him. But she also believed that if he knew she was here, sitting beside him, encouraging him to get well, he would mend all the faster. If only the situation could be different between them and she was sitting at his bedside in his chambers back home. She would not leave his side until he was well again.

Then again, if things were different, he wouldn’t be suffering from any kind of wound inflicted by the English.

She worried that she didn’t have much time to stay.

She ran her hand over his arm, loving the feel of his muscles, his skin. She looked back at his face and was startled to see him staring at her as if he were seeing a ghost.

“‘Tis me,” she quickly said.

“What are you doing here?” Marcus attempted to sit up.

She jumped up and helped him sit. “I came to see you. I had to know that you were well. I had to tell you that I love you with all my heart.”

“You crossed the border? With the skirmishes going on? What were you thinking?”

She scowled at him. “I was thinking that I loved you, and I had to be with you. That was what I was thinking!”

He smiled a little, though he grimaced also and appeared to still be very much in pain.

“You shouldna be here. It will be as difficult for you to return as it was to get here.”

“‘Twas not difficult coming here.” She wouldn’t admit how scared she had been when they had come across the group of Scots looking to fight them, until Rob had told them who they were. Or how hearing the fighting going on in the distance had made her heart race with fear. “I would not have stayed away. I had to see you for myself.”

“You have seen me.” He sounded furious. “Tell Rob you wish to return now. Before you are missed. Before you are in further danger.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I will not leave just yet.” She rose and found a flask of mead and brought it to him, then sat back down as she watched him drink it. “I am so sorry that my father sent you away. And that you were injured. If your cousins had met back at the keep at the appointed hour so that there were three of you riding together, the attack would never have happened.”

“One of your suitors had to have hired the men,” Marcus said angrily.

“What? One of my suitors?” Her heart began to pound furiously. “The man who attacked you was not a thief? Lord Wynfield said he was but that they did not know more than that. How…how do you know he was not a thief?”

“The timing, the close proximity to the castle. They lay in wait like a pack of wolves, like they knew just when I was leaving because they knew I would be forcibly sent away. Then they attacked. The last one who struck me in the back had been too cowardly to face me man to man in a fair fight. They were paid in gold. But the three brigands have paid for their crimes. The man who hired them hasna.”

“Three men?” She scarce could breathe, imagining Marcus fighting for his life against three armed men.

She couldn’t believe the English could be so bloodthirsty, and yet here they called the Highlanders savages. What concerned her most was that her father was the one who had given the order to have Marcus sent away. He could not have had anything to do with the men attacking Marcus. She wouldn’t believe it of him.

“You do not know who hired them?” Overwhelmed with the truth of the matter, she had assumed the man only a thief, who would attack anyone he believed would make it worth his while.

“Nay. There were too many attacking to hold polite conversation.”

“I…I am so sorry, Marcus.” She bit her lip and took his hand and squeezed it.

“Dear lass, you had naught to do with it.”

“If I had not held you so close, flaunting the way I feel about you in front of the others, showing them that I love you—” Her eyes filled with tears and she hated that she could not hold them back, but it was all her fault that he had been sent away and then attacked.

“Ahh, Isobel, come here.” He reached out his arms to hold her, though he grimaced as if the movement caused him much pain.

She willingly went to him, wanting to hold him close, and pressed herself gently against his chest, trying to be so careful not to hurt him further. She needed his touch as much as she suspected he needed hers.

“You had naught to do with this,” he repeated. “‘Twas my fault for holding you close at the dance and stirring your da’s ire.”

“He was angry with me over it. Not with you,” she said vehemently.

He stroked her back and sighed deeply. “Though I shouldna wish you were here, you canna know how much it means to me to hold you like this. But you shouldna have come.”

“‘Tis the same for me. I wished to see you, to feel you, to know you were…were going to live.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Three brigands couldna get the best of me.”

She frowned at him because one had.

“And live,” he amended with a small smile.

“Can I see your wound?” She couldn’t help worrying about him, though he furrowed his brow at her and she could see he didn’t like being fussed over.

“I havena seen it, but I imagine it doesna look pretty,” he warned.

“I just want to see if it is healing well.”

He let his breath out. “You shouldna be here.”

She thought he said so because he was afraid of how she’d view his fresh wound and be sickened by it.

“I must leave soon,” she admitted, “as much as I would love to stay with you until you are fully recovered.” Then she smiled a little. “Mayhap if I did stay with you, my father would change his mind about us.”

Marcus snorted. “He would know I couldna have you, no’ as wounded as I am.”

Disappointed that they could not make her staying with him work in their favor, she made him lean forward a bit and ran her finger over his uninjured skin—the wound not bright red as if it were infected, but a lighter pink. “The healer did well with her stitches. It appears to be healing.”

“Good.”

“Are you really angry that I have come to see you?” She sat back down on the chair. If she had it to do all over again, she would do naught differently.

“Aye, lass. ‘Tis no’ safe for you with the fighting going on. If anyone was to learn who you were, he could ransom you for concessions from your da. Besides, thieving brigands are out there who could harm you.” He glanced down at her trewes and shook his head. “You shouldna be dressed like that.”

She pulled her brat over her legs.

“I had your men escort me here and there were others who joined us and will help me to return home.”

“And they are just as much at risk. Beyond that, I dinna want
them
seeing you dressed thus, either.”

“The brat covered my clothes.” Though not all the way as she rode there. She sighed and took his hand and lifted it to her lips and kissed him. “I would not have stayed away.”

His beautiful eyes gazed at her, and she knew he was only worried about her, trying to pretend he did not wish to see her. “Isobel.” He looked away. “It can never be.”

Her heart took a dive and she bit her lip. “Do not say that. My father
will
change his mind. I will make sure of it.”

Marcus considered her again, his expression weary. “His title and lands are too important. Dinna you see? He will never agree that we should wed.”

Isobel fought the tears welling up in her eyes. She would never give Marcus up. Never.

He reached out to her again, and this time she sat next to him on the bed. He folded his arms around her and held on tight, despite his injury, for one last time. She treasured feeling his arms around her, and she would cherish this moment forever.

Then he kissed her forehead. “You must go.”

She felt safe here in his arms. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to be with him like this always.

Someone knocked on the door. Rob said through the closed door, “I must return our guest.”

“Aye.” But Marcus sounded like he truly didn’t wish it.

Rob opened the door. “Come, we must go.”

She kissed Marcus then, with the passion she felt for him, and he returned the kiss just as passionately. Then she reluctantly left the bed, their hands clasped. “I will wed no other,” she vowed again to have Marcus for her husband.

She pressed her lips against his warm and willing mouth one last time, her heart weighing heavily. With the fear of returning safely to her keep, that they would be in the midst of a fight where men on either side would be killed or badly injured, and trying to slip back inside the keep without anyone noticing, she felt anxious all over again. At least she knew that for now, Marcus was alive and on the mend.

She assumed that he would give his cousins hell after she was returned safely to the keep. She loved them for helping her to see him, and she vowed to repay them someday.