Highlander's Sword (12 page)

   As Aila mounted her horse to leave, the courier mounted quickly and brushed her out of the way in his haste to leave the stables. Surprised and irritated by his rude behavior, Aila watched him gallop away, resisting the urge to ride after him and give him a stern talking to or, better yet, nudge him off the road. She sighed, suppressing her uncharitable thoughts, and reluctantly accepted the easy walk that appeared to be Senga's top speed.

MACLAREN AND HIS WARRIORS TRUDGED BACK THROUGH the castle gates that afternoon after a long night. When dawn had restored their courage, they had tracked the trail of the two raiders northward until they reached the border of McNab's land. It seemed Graham was correct in suspecting McNab was the culprit behind the arsons. It had been a strange, cold night, but MacLaren was satisfied to have prevented the burning of more fields and to have found the likely culprit. There was still much to do and McNab's cowardly attack must be answered, but MacLaren's thoughts frequently wandered to his new wife. MacLaren was tired, dirty, and hungry—hunger that had little to do with food. He sent Chaumont to give a report to Graham. It was time he dealt with his wife.

   This time MacLaren did not stop to make himself presentable before going to her. He was protecting Aila's clan from starvation this winter, and she could damn well deal with the dirt. MacLaren burst open the door to her chamber without knocking, but much like the last time he had entered the room, it was devoid of habitation. MacLaren growled.
Would it be too much to ask for her to
be waiting in her room so I could ravish her senseless? No, o
f course not. She was doing this on purpose to drive him insane. Now he would have to go search for her, which would make him look even more the fool.

   A maid with an armload of linens obscuring her face entered the room.

   "Where be my wife?" he barked at the maid. She dropped her linens and stared at him, horrified. Honestly, he knew he was a little dirty, but he could not look that bad.

   "She's… I dinna ken," squeaked the maid. That was clearly a lie. What was going on here? He walked toward her with determined intensity. She shrank away until she had backed against the wall.

   "Where be my wife?" He spoke slowly, but his voice rose with every word, saying "wife" with a menacing snarl.

   "G-gone, m'lord," stammered the hapless maid, who burst into tears.

   "Gone? What do ye mean by gone?"

   "She's gone to St. Margaret's. I'm so s-sorry, sir," choked the maid between frightened gasps.

   That his wife had gone to visit the convent did not seem overly upsetting. Yet the maid was acting so guilty, he was sure there was more to the story. Patiently, he watched her sob and shake until she calmed down a little and looked up at him once more. She cringed, and he wanted to know why.

   "What is yer name, lass?" he asked in a calm tone.

   "Maggie," she replied in a small voice.

   "Now, Maggie, tell me why my wife went to the convent."

   Maggie looked furtively right and left as if trying to find a way to escape. MacLaren took another step forward, placing his hands on his hips, one hand by his dirk.

   Maggie's eyes opened wide, and she began to tell all. "She went to St. Margaret's, sir, to ask for yer marriage to be annulled so she can join the convent."

   "What?!" MacLaren grabbed the maid by her arm and dragged her down the stairs and across the upper bailey, ignoring her wails. Was Graham trying to play him false? This spectacle caused quite a stir in the castle, but MacLaren cared not and continued to drag the maid to Graham's study, where he found the old man sitting in contentment, a glass of whiskey in one hand, the bottle in the other.

   "What's this?" Graham stood and glared at MacLaren.

   "Tell yer laird what ye told me," growled MacLaren to the maid. Chaumont, Warwick, and Pitcairn, roused by the commotion, burst into the room.

   The poor maid shook, saying, "L-lady Aila went to St. Margaret's to seek an annulment and join the convent."

   "Impossible," roared Graham. "I've no' given her leave."

   "S-she went d-dressed as a soldier."

   "This canna be," said Graham and looked to his Master of Arms, Warwick. "Go find her."

   "I dinna ken what yer playing at Graham, but I'll have none o' it," growled MacLaren. It was the same deceit, the same trickery the countess had played on him. He was being betrayed once again by someone he trusted. MacLaren shook with the effort it took to prevent himself from doing the old man harm. Chaumont stood between him and Graham, as if to prevent MacLaren from doing something rash, which, he might at that. The last man who had betrayed him, MacLaren had killed.

   "Have no' our clans always been allies?" MacLaren seethed. He felt his control slip, and molten rage coursed through his veins. "I dinna seek yer daughter. I tell ye the truth, if ye were being attacked, I would have fought for ye. All ye had to do was ask. Ye dinna need to offer yer daughter as a bribe. But ye offered an alliance, and I accepted. Have I no' kept my word? I'll no' be deceived. I'll no' be having ye treat my men, who are willing to die for ye, wi' disrespect. And I'll no' tolerate betrayal from anyone."

   "Exactly what are ye accusing me of?" snarled Graham, his face turning red. "Did I no' give my daughter to ye in marriage afore ye spent more than an hour in my home? This be nonsense. My daughter woud'na defy me."

   "Then why did yer obedient daughter leave?"

   "I tell ye, she'd ne'er leave."

   A breathless Warwick returned with the sad news that Aila had not been seen by anyone that day. She had even failed to provide the pages their lessons. Graham sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Maggie," said Graham in a soothing voice, as if he were calming a spooked horse. "Why did Aila leave? Tell us the truth now, lass."

   "L-lady Graham told me Aila would be hurt bad by the MacLaren and we had to get her to safety or he'd lock her in the dungeon and most horrible things would happen to her."

   Graham sank down in his chair with another sigh. "Thank ye, Maggie. That will be all."

   Maggie dashed from the room like a lost soul released from purgatory.

   "My wife, gentlemen." Graham crossed his arms across at his massive chest. "I fear we've fallen victim to her conniving ways. Dinna worrit yerself, I'll get Aila back."

   MacLaren shook his head. He used to know whom to trust, but he no longer felt secure in his own judg ment, let alone others'. "I'll ride to St. Margaret's to find her. If she comes wi' me, I'll return. If no', I'll be taking the lads home."

   "Go," Graham commanded Warwick and Pitcairn. "Bring her back to Dundaff."

   "And if she's claimed sanctuary from the abbot?" asked Warwick.

   "I'm her father, her kin. What's she need to claim sanctuary from? Bring her home."

   "I swear I'll find a way to return her to ye, my laird," said Pitcairn in a soft voice.

   "Good man," said Graham. "I know ye will no' fail me."

   The men left Graham's study, each knowing if Aila had been granted sanctuary from the abbot, there was very little any of them could do while she remained inside the cloister. But if she were ever to leave, she was fair game.

   Pushing aside frightening thoughts, she focused on her calming breath prayer. They were walking through dense forest now, thick brush on either side of the road. The sunlight filtered through the trees, and Aila appreciated the beauty of it. They sauntered along steadily, the clopping of their mount's hooves muted by the packed dirt road.

   
Abscondita est in terra pedica eius et decipula illius
super semitam.

   Aila pondered the verse from the book of Job, wondering what it could mean.
A trap lies in his path.
Perhaps her decision to return to Dundaff would be more perilous than she expected. Perhaps there were those at Dundaff who planned to do her harm. Or maybe there would be detractors, like her maid or her mother, who would discourage her from doing what was right. She sat tall in her saddle, determined not to let fear weaken her resolve to return.

   
Corripiat me iustus in misericordia et arguat me oleum
amaritudinis non inpinguet caput meum guia adhuc et oratio
mea pro malitiis eorum.

   
Men have hidden a snare for me. They have set traps
for me along my path.
Aila considered the verse from Psalms. Perhaps the snares were her old nemeses, inde cision and fear, that eroded her confidence, challenged her faith, and robbed her of joy. No, she would not give in to fear. Shadow nickered and pranced, pulling at the bit. Aila leaned forward to stroke his neck. He was impatient to be free to run. She was too, but since her maid behind her rode at a snail's pace, that was not an option. Besides, she was determined to enjoy the day, at least until she reached Dundaff.

   Aila was so focused on her self-motivational musings, she was knocked off her horse and hit the ground hard before she knew what was happening. She lay on her back in the road. A man on top of her pinned her arms to the ground and leered at her. She was so shocked, she wasn't even afraid. Lying motion less she gaped at him as though he were an apparition. What had just happened?

   Shadow's high pitched shriek slammed her back to reality. The horse reared and sliced through the air with his hooves, striking the man's head above her. The forest erupted in confusion. Men were shouting, emerging from the bushes. The man on top of her crushed her to the ground with his weight, holding his bleeding head and screaming. She pushed the man off of her, rolled to the side, and got up, running. More men appeared before her, and she swerved off the road into the brush, beating a path as fast as she could through the dense foliage. Branches sliced at her, tearing her gown.

   Her head snapped back as merciless fingers grabbed her wimple and dragged her backward. Screaming in pain, she struggled to break free from the pins, but she was almost back to the road before she escaped. Shadow continued to buck and paw at the men who surrounded him. Aila ran into the trees, men shouting behind her.

   "Get the wench. After her. Hurry!"

   "Enough of this. Shoot the damn horse."

   Aila froze. Not Shadow. Not her brother's horse. She turned and ran back to the road.

   "No!" Aila screamed and dashed between Shadow and the archer taking aim.

   A tall man stepped forward and pushed up the archer's arm, causing the bolt to soar into the sky.

   "Lady Aila," said the tall man with a bow. "How good of you to join us."

   Aila was surrounded by ten men. Senga stood at the side, eyes wide, her arm being held by one of the men. At the lecherous looks of the men, Aila felt unbearably exposed. Her gown was torn and dirty, her wimple gone, her hair unleashed and flowing down around her in fire-red ringlets. She had been attacked by robbers.

   "I have no coin to give ye," she stammered.

   "Ah, but yer father does," said the leader with cool detachment. The leader was dressed in a dark brown surcoat, tan breeches, and a black cloak that was pinned at the shoulder and hung down to his brown leather boots. His dark hair was cropped and his face covered by a beard also trimmed short. In different circum stances, Aila might have found him attractive, but as it was, decidedly not. He appeared vaguely familiar, and she stared at him, trying to place the face.

   "Archie McNab?"

   "'Tis laird now, since my father's death."

   "I'm sorry for yer loss." Aila responded before she remembered this was no time for social niceties.

   "And I for yers," replied McNab, but he smiled when he said it. "I've come to take ye home, Aila."

   "I was going home. There be no need to knock me

from my horse." Aila's sense of indignation rose. Even she had her limits.

   "No' to Dundaff, my lady." McNab slowly walked to her. "To my home."

   Aila opened her mouth to argue with McNab, but behind her, Shadow spooked again, rearing up against the men who had tried to grab the reins.

   "Stop!" said Aila, rushing to Shadow's side to calm him. "Ye're scaring him."

   McNab watched while Aila calmed the beast. "I'll make ye a deal. Ye may ride yer mount, but ye must come wi' us and do what we say, or we'll shoot yer horse out from under ye, ye ken?"

   Aila nodded, though she could not understand why McNab would wish to abduct her. She remembered her father's comment about McNab. Was he going to ransom her? How did she get in this predicament? With a sudden flash of clarity, she remembered the verses. Enemies set a trap on the road. It wasn't meta phorical; it was an actual trap set on the real dirt road. She looked heavenward and could only imagine the Good Lord's aggravation at her stupidity. Somehow it struck her as humorous, and she began to laugh. Knowing this was hardly the appropriate time, she tried to suppress the urge, which made her laugh only harder. Aila giggled uncontrollably as McNab helped her back into the saddle.