Highlander's Sword (18 page)

   "Perhaps you hit her harder than you intended."

   MacLaren shook his head. "I dinna even ken what language she's at now."

   Chaumont listened for a moment. "Greek," he said definitively. "I recall it from my days at the Abbey. You've married an educated lady, at least."

   "Aye. Whether she's right in the head is another matter."

   "Touched or not, I rather like her."

   "Like her? She ran away wi' McNab!"

   "You don't know the truth of that. Perhaps you should ask her what happened."

   "Humph," snorted MacLaren and stomped off to finish preparations to leave. He had decided to pull back, since the light was fading, and he wanted to be off McNab's land before making camp for the night.

   Soon they were all mounted and on their way. Some of Graham's men acted as rear guard. MacLaren trusted them to do that much, but those guarding Aila were his own men. With Rory in charge, he was confident Aila would not be able to escape. He led the party at a quick pace. He wanted to get back to Graham lands and find a safe place to make camp. His men needed rest and he felt safer in the woods than going back to Dundaff.

   Finding a sheltered spot near a stream, they made camp with the efficiency of men accustomed to a soldier's life. Though they had not brought provisions, MacLaren's men were familiar with living off the land, and soon a variety of game had been caught and roasted over an open fire.

   Throughout the meal, MacLaren watched Aila from afar, noting how much she ate and how she interacted with the men. She looked a little worse for wear. Her gown was torn and covered in grime, her thick hair she had tried to plait into one long braid down her back, but it stuck out in all directions. Yet she held her head high and her eyes blazed. Both his warriors and the ones from Dundaff treated her with the utmost respect, and she them, which pleased him. Dirty as she was, she was still beautiful.

   MacLaren shook his head. It was best not to think that way. She had betrayed him, like he had feared she would. She had made her feelings toward him perfectly clear by refusing to dine with him on their wedding night and running away the next day. His stomach churned to think of being married to such a woman, yet they had made their decision. She had agreed to the marriage, and it had been blessed by the Church. There was only one thing left to do, and regardless of what either of them thought about the situation, it needed to be done tonight.

AILA FOUND HER "RESCUE" FROM MCNAB TO BE quite disappointing. She and her maid were taken on horseback by four of MacLaren's warriors and "guarded" all day long. The soldiers were exceedingly polite, professional, and watched her every move ment. Different emotions pulsed through her as she waited for a chance to speak with her new husband. At first, she dreaded seeing him again. His behavior had been so cutting, perhaps her mother was right, and he would be cruel to her once she was in his power. Every time he returned, MacLaren completely ignored her, refusing even to acknowledge her exis tence, referring to her when speaking to others only as "her." As the day slowly passed, irritation crept in, and soon her anger overwhelmed her fear. After all she had been through in the past few days, to be treated with utter disrespect and accused of running off with McNab was unbearable.

   The sun sank low in the sky and with it sank Aila's hopes of making it back to Dundaff that evening. She attempted to stay centered and calm, focusing on her breath or conjugating a variety of calming words. Closing her eyes, she sat on the fallen tree stump provided for her to rest and worked through "peace" then "calm" then "serenity." When Latin failed her, she moved to Italian and then tried to recall what little she knew of Greek and Hebrew. It was of dubious comfort.

   When the light started to fade, the entire group moved south and made camp for the night. Aila grate fully accepted the meat provided. At this point, she did not care what was roasting on the stick; she ate raven ously. She met briefly with Warwick and Pitcairn and told them of her kidnap and escape. MacLaren's watchers and the tall French knight, who had gallantly introduced himself as Chaumont, stood nearby. The men listened to her tale without comment, which she appreciated, since explaining why she was out of the castle in the first place was difficult.

   While Aila felt more relaxed to be among her own kin, she noticed Senga was not. The maid appeared nervous throughout the day, and when the men came back to camp, she looked increasingly frightened. Aila did not wish to falsely accuse, but her suspicions about her maid had been raised. Having the day to think on her situation, Aila recalled the courier Senga had spoken to prior to their leaving the convent. Could she have given him a message to take to McNab? When the men gave the women a brief moment alone by the stream to prepare for the night, Aila took seized the opportunity.

   "Are ye working for McNab?" Aila asked, her voice soft.

   Senga looked up at her mistress, clearly surprised, but did not try to hide the truth and nodded.

   "Why?"

   "I'm sorry, m'lady. It was ne'er supposed to be like this, but now I'm afraid no' to do what he says."

   "If ye fear McNab, we can protect ye."

   "Nay, no' him, m'lady."

   "Then whom do ye fear?" Aila asked, her pulse quickening. Did Senga know the identity of the man McNab had mentioned? Was there a traitor within Dundaff? Aila walked closer to Senga, whispering, "Is there one at Dundaff who has betrayed Graham to McNab?"

   Senga nodded, wide-eyed.

   "Tell me who." Aila was unsuccessful in her attempt to keep the edge from her voice.

   Senga shook her head, unsure.

   "I will protect ye." Though Aila knew her present situation did not give her much credence for authority. "But ye must tell me who it is."

   "Come now, that's long enough," called a male voice. Aila's chance to speak with her maid ended abruptly with the return of MacLaren's soldiers.

   Aila and her maid were taken to the edge of the camp where a bedroll had been prepared. Aila expected to sleep there with her maid and hoped to query her more during the night. Instead, Senga was told to stay, and Aila was led on through a maze of men bedding down for the night to the center of camp. MacLaren was waiting for her. To her embarrassment, she real ized he expected her to sleep next to him. Not wanting to create a scene, she gingerly sat on the ground.

   "Here," said MacLaren patting the side of his tartan bedroll.

   "I'd rather sleep wi' my maid," said Aila nervously.

   "Ye'll be safer here."

   Aila doubted that. MacLaren was still wearing his linen tunic, but since his tartan was now being used as his bedroll, she guessed he was wearing nothing beneath the blanket. His shoulder-length hair hung down around his face, and he watched her with cold eyes. "And take off that kirtle. It's covered in filth."

   "'Tis yer fault if it is," Aila snapped, her eyes flashing.

   MacLaren shrugged. "Take it off."

   "Nay." Aila glanced around, saying in a whisper, "Yer men will see me."

   "Turn away now," called MacLaren in a loud voice, and the men obligingly turned their backs on the couple.

   "But ye…" added Aila in a small voice.

   MacLaren gave her a hard look and also turned around. Taking advantage of her privacy, Aila loosed her stays and pulled off the dirty kirtle, something she had wanted to do all day. She kept on the linen chemise and pulled her cloak over her as a blanket. Edging onto a small amount of MacLaren's tartan, she lay down with her back to MacLaren, trying not to think of what part of his body the cloth she lay on had covered during the day.

   MacLaren wrapped his arm around her and drew her to him. She gasped, enveloped by his heat. He pulled her closer, and for a moment, she wanted to sink back into him, feeling his warmth and his strength. Recalling his treatment of her, she pulled away.

"What are ye doing?" she whispered.

   "Putting my arm around ye… wife." MacLaren gently but firmly pulled her toward him so she was lying on her back beside him. He leaned over her, and slipping his hand under her cloak, he ran it along her side to her thigh and slowly began to pull up her chemise.

   Aila's eyes widened and she tried to stop the upward progression of MacLaren's hand with her nightdress. "Nay. What are ye doing?" asked Aila in a fierce whisper.

   MacLaren sighed. "Yer father offered ye to me in marriage. I accepted. We both took vows before the priest, vows I intend to keep. We both have a respon sibility, ye to yer father, I to my men. Whatever our personal feelings on the matter may be, the marriage must be consummated."

   It was fortunate Aila was already lying down, since the shock of MacLaren's statement would have laid her flat.

   "Here?" squeaked Aila.

   "Here."

   "Now?"

   "Now."

   "Nay! I dinna want to," gasped Aila a little more loudly than she had intended. She could not decide what was worse, that MacLaren wanted to bed her now or that the whole camp would know it.

   "Come, lass, dinna fight me. I'm yer husband." MacLaren drew her closer.

   "But everyone can hear us." Aila was desperate to make him stop.

   "Nay, they are all sleeping. They will no' hear a thing."

   "I can hear you fine." Chaumont's rich voice floated through the darkness. "Perhaps your bride would like a little more privacy for her first time with you." Aila was utterly embarrassed at the Frenchman's words.

   "Aye, Chaumont is right," came another low voice.

   "Nay," came another, "'tis best a wife learns her place. If he wants to bed her now, she shoud'na fight him."

   "A wife should ne'er fight against her husband."

   "Aye," agreed several men.

   "But then a husband should not be giving his wife a reason to fight him on her wedding night," said Chaumont again.

   "That's enough," shouted MacLaren.

   "Lady Aila has always been a good lass. If she's fighting him, I warrant MacLaren's doing something wrong." Aila recognized the voice as belonging to one of her father's men at arms, and she blushed down to her toes.

   "'Tis been a while for our laird. Maybe he's out of practice."

   "My wife likes her shoulders rubbed. Ha' ye tried that?"

   "Ye need to woo her wi' poetry."

   "Poetry? Nay, 'tis kisses a lass likes."

   "Ah, but where should those kisses be placed?"

   "Oh, Lord, take me now," whispered Aila and fervently hoped God would take pity on her and let the ground swallow her whole.

   "As ye wish," said MacLaren and rolled on top of her.

"Nay, no' ye!" cried Aila and tried to push him away.

   "Dinna hurt the Lady Aila," growled a low voice Aila knew belonged to Warwick.

   "He's no' hurting her, just bedding her."

   "'Tis hardly the place or the time, lad," said Pitcairn.

   "That's enough!" roared MacLaren, standing and pulling Aila up with him. "Get yer cloak." MacLaren quickly wrapped his plaid around him. "Ye want privacy, I'll give ye privacy."

   Aila was half led, half dragged out from the middle of camp and into the thick forest. After a short hike, MacLaren stopped in a small clearing surrounded on two sides by large rock formations. A full moon peeked over the trees. It would have been a pleasant night except for the tall Highlander glaring at her.

   "Will this be acceptable to ye?" MacLaren asked the question like a statement and proceeded to once again remove his plaid and lay it on the ground for them. Before Aila could think of a response, he grabbed her cloak from her, pulled her down onto the plaid with him, and spread her cloak over them like a blanket. They lay there for a while, not touching.

   "I ken ye dinna wish to be married to me," MacLaren began, his voice emotionless. "I ken ye'd rather be wi' another, but we're wed now, and we need to fulfill our responsibilities."

   "Ye ken what I feel?" cried Aila, shaking with fear and anger and fatigue. "Ye ken what it is to have yer whole life change in a moment? To have everything ye thought ye understood about yer life to be suddenly, completely different?"

   MacLaren said nothing but made no move to touch her. They lay side by side, watching the moon slowly rise above the tree line.

   "I ne'er meant to hurt ye, Aila." An odd tingle went through her when MacLaren said her name for the first time. "Maybe this marriage is no' what either of us wanted, but the truth is we are married now, and we must make this marriage fully legal. I dinna wish to worrit myself about ye running off to the nunnery or wi' another man. After tonight, I'll leave ye alone for a time, if ye wish it."

   MacLaren rolled onto his side toward her and softly ran his hand down her side and slowly started to pull up her chemise once again.

   "Nay," Aila whispered and tried to push his hand away.

   "It would be easier for ye if ye calm yerself and dinna fight me."