Highland Captive (29 page)

“I
ken now why I was disarmed,” Lachlan bellowed, his hands curling into fists. “Ye
bastard! Ye swore ye wouldnae harm her.”

“I
havenae, have I, Aimil?” Parlan asked, his voice soft as he ran his hand
through her hair.

“Then
ye deal in a rough wooing, ye bastard,” Lachlan snarled as he neared the bed.

“Papa,”
Aimil gasped, forgetting her cowardice and looking at her father, suddenly
realizing that his fury had not been due to her place in Parlan’s bed but her
wounds. “These marks werenae made by Parlan.” Without thought, her hand sought
Parlan’s in a gesture meant to soothe the sting of her father’s assumptions. “T’was
Rory Fergueson who left me so.”

Lachlan’s
expression changed with alarming speed from anger to a fearful disbelief. He
moved to Aimil’s side of the bed. Leith, who had arrived with him and Lagan,
hastily produced a chair. Lachlan sat down heavily, suddenly showing his age.

“Ye
dinnae mean it, lass,” he rasped, but his knowledge of her honesty weighted his
words with doubt.

“I
do. T’was Rory not Parlan. Parlan has never hurt me, never raised a hand
against me even when he was in a fury spurred by my tongue which often runs too
free and with a sharp edge.” She swallowed nervously. “Papa, how did Mama die?”

Tensing
at her soft question, Lachlan replied, “Birthing Shane, as I told ye.”

His
reaction made her fear that all Rory had told her was true. “Is that true or a
tale to ease our pain for the truth would have been too great a horror for a
child to bear?”

“What
have ye heard, lassie, and who has told ye the tale?”

“Did
ye not tell him what happened, Leith?”

“Nay,
Aimil. It never occurred to me that he would think your wounds were delivered
by Parlan. I thought to speak before he saw ye.”

“I
will tell that part, sweeting,” Parlan said, his anger over Lachlan’s
assumption gone as he realized the man had made it due to a lack of
information. “Save your strength for the telling of what has been troubling ye.
I ken it will cost ye dearly to tell all that has made your dreams so dark and
frightening.”

In
a voice that revealed his simmering fury, Parlan told of the treachery that had
resulted in Aimil’s capture by Rory. Parlan left out nothing including her
rescue of him and then herself with Maggie’s aid. By the time he had finished,
it was clear that Lachlan shared his rage. Parlan mused that it would take Rory
Fergueson a great deal of running to escape death.

“What
is it that ye must tell me, lass?” Lachlan asked in a voice hoarse with anger
at Rory.

“Rory
Fergueson told me a tale of my mother’s death that doesnae match yours,” she
answered quietly.

Rising
slowly, Lachlan went to the window, turning his back to her, and clenching his
fists at his side. “Tell me. Do ye remember it all?”

“I
cannae forget. He told me as he beat me. With each stroke, he released another
sickening detail. She was murdered.”

“Aye,”
Lachlan murmured. “Go on, lass. Tell it all. Dinnae think to spare me.”

“He
said I would die in the same way, but t’would take longer for he kenned how to
make the pain last now. I would survive long enough to give him the vengeance
he felt his right. His revenge for her spurning of him.”

Lachlan
nodded heavily. “‘Tis right so far. She did spurn him. I always felt I had
wronged the man by taking her from him. That was foolish for he was five years
younger than she, barely grown. T’was a lad’s first love. She didnae return it.”

“He
seems to think she would have. He said he found her alone that day. She refused
his offer of love, told him she loved only ye. He said he meant to change her
mind, to show her how much more a man he was than ye.” Aimil began to shiver,
the tale Rory had tortured her with spilling from her lips uncontrollably.

By
the end of her tale she was so choked with tears she found speech almost
impossible. “She never stopped calling for ye, Papa. He told Mama that he would
finish avenging himself upon me, for she was dying. He said she damned him with
her dying breath, told him that if he hurt me the Devil would rise up and drag
him into hell. He said he left her there, in the wood, dead and no longer
beautiful.”

Parlan
held her face against his shoulder for she began to weep. His gaze rested upon
Lachlan whose hands gripped the window frame and whose head was bent. He was
sure that the man wept as well. Remembering the nightmare Aimil had suffered,
Parlan wished he had heeded it more closely.

“Papa?”
Leith rasped. “Is that the true tale? Did our mother die that way and not of a
sickness of the birthing bed?”

“Aye,”
Lachlan answered in a choked voice, his back still to them. “I couldnae tell
ye, ye were all so young. T’was a tale that would have badly frightened a
child. I never suspected Rory. He wept like a bairn at her burying. We never
found the one who did it. He searched with us, didnae he?” He gave a shakey,
harsh laugh. “Her slaughterer rode amongst us.”

“Her
killer was to wed her child come the summer,” Leith cried out. “Ye were to hand
her over to him like a sacrificial lamb.”

“I
didnae ken he had killed Kirstie.” Lachlan finally turned to face his son. “God
forgive me my blindness, I didnae ken that it was Rory.”

“But
ye were aware of all that has been said about the man.”

“Many
a man has a rumor spread about him, an evil word or twa said. I had no proof,
son. T’was a marriage contracted at cradleside. My old friend, a man that was
as a brother to me, asked for the match. Even as a bairn, Aimil bid fair to
look as her mother did. He thought t’would soothe the hurt Rory had felt when
Kirstie had chosen me.”

“She
did look like Kirstie,” he continued softly, his gaze fixing upon Aimil, “even
to her nature. When she walked in that night all gowned and budding, looking
the woman she was becoming, I couldnae bear to look upon her. She was Kirstie
reborn and this time Rory would have her.”

“So
ye have ignored her,” Parlan said as he felt Aimil stiffen in his arms.

“Aye.
T’was easiest. I kenned she didnae care for Rory even then. She could have
turned me against my word so verra easily. I also thought t’would make it
easier to give her up. T’would not be like losing Kirstie all over again.” He
looked at Parlan, his eyes narrowing as his mind began to take in the fact that
his daughter shared the man’s bed and both appeared to be naked. “When this
rogue got his hands on her, I found myself hoping that Rory would break the
betrothal. Many another man would have. I wouldnae break my word over rumors
but they did haunt me.”

“But
he wouldnae withdraw,” Parlan said, his voice cold.

“Nay.
He said only that someone would pay if she were no longer a maid. I ken now
that he meant for Aimil to pay.” He reached out his hand to touch Aimil’s hair
lightly, hair exactly like that of the wife he had loved so dearly and had
lost. “How much did he make ye pay?”

“He
didnae rape me, Papa,” she replied, looking at him with her mother’s eyes. “He
wanted me to fear and fash myself over when he would.”

Looking
at her delicate features, bruised and swollen by Rory Fergueson, Lachlan saw
his wife as he had found her that day. The image still churned his stomach and
tore at his soul. He felt like weeping knowing that he had nearly given the man
another Kirstie to kill.

“I
will clear all trace of the man from the face of this earth.”

“Nae
alone, Mengue. I have a debt or twa to extract from the bastard myself,” Parlan
growled. “My cousin’s life for one. This,” he nodded at Aimil, “for another.”

“I
am to ride against my wife’s murderer with my daughter’s debaucher at my side?”

Aimil
stiffened, her swollen eye widening. “He didnae debauch me.”

“Nay?
Ye lie naked at his side, lassie.”

She
blushed deeply even as she puzzled over her father’s apparent lack of anger. “I
came here willingly.”

“T’was
him or Rory?”

“Weel,
in a way, Papa. Actually, t’was me or Elfking. T’was a bargain.” She prayed her
father would not question it.

“That
cursed horse,” Lachlan drawled. “I kenned t’was a mistake to give him to ye,
but I sought to ease the guilt I felt over the way I treated ye.”

Parlan’s
eyes narrowed. He began to grow very suspicious of Lachlan Mengue. The man
should be ablaze with righteous anger. Some demand or sword-rattling should occur
under the circumstances. Instead, Lachlan looked calm and considering.

“I
think I have been playing your game and not my own,” he said quietly.

“Mayhaps
our games merely collided.” Lachlan made no attempt to deny Parlan’s
suspicions.

“Ye
were that confident?”

“I
was wed to one like her. Aye, that confident. Was I wrong to be so?”

“Nay.
Ye have won the game.” Parlan could not help but return the man’s grin. “Do ye
wish to finish playing?”

“Aye.
Allow an old man his fun.”

Confusion
was a mild word for what she felt, Aimil decided, as she looked from Parlan to
her father and back again. Even Leith and Lagan knew what was going on, judging
by the grins on their faces. That it was something to do with her that caused
their amusement was all Aimil was sure of and it irritated her. They were
playing some male game and leaving her out of it. She scowled at them even as
she continued to struggle at guessing what was going on.

“So
ye gave him your innocence in exchange for your horse?”

“Aye,
Papa.” She tried to search his gaze for a clue to what game he was playing, but
there was only amusement to be read there which was so unexpected that it left
her even more confused.

“I
think ye have paid more than the beast is worth.”

Again
she blushed furiously and stared at him helplessly, unable to think of any
reply. The ones that did come to mind would tell Parlan far more than she
wanted him to know. She had the sinking feeling that her father knew the state
of her heart.

“Elfking’s
a verra fine mount,” she said, and grimaced when her father smiled.

“I
think the debt is now MacGuin’s.”

“Aye,
Mengue, it is and I mean to pay it in full. T’will only be by a priest.”

“My
thoughts exactly. Handfast isnae firm enough.”

“Papa,”
Aimil gasped, realizing that they spoke of marriage. “Ye cannae make the man
wed me. I willnae stand for it.”

Callously,
if gently, Parlan pressed her face into the pillow so that she could not speak.
“How soon can we find a priest?”

“As
soon as it takes to bring him from my keep where he has suffered my hospitality
for this past month,” replied Lachlan.

“Ready
for the wedding that was to take place between Aimil and Rory?” asked Parlan
idly, not believing it for a moment.

“Of
course,” Lachlan replied smoothly, and started toward the door.

“I
ask a boon for this sacrifice I make.” Parlan grinned at Aimil’s clearly
outraged, if muffled, squeal.

“And
what is that?”

“That
ye hold seeking revenge against Rory Fergueson until I can ride at your side.”

“Agreed.
Coming, Leith?”

“The
old rogue,” Parlan murmured with admiration after Lachlan and Leith had left.

Released
from the silencing folds of the pillow, Aimil snapped, “Ye didnae let me have
my say.”

“Nay.
‘Tis a matter between men, lassie. Now that your father has seen what a beast
parades as Rory Fergueson ye are left no maid and with no husband. Ye came to
my bed a virgin, and he calls upon my sense of honor to see things set right.”

She
consigned his honor to a dark and uncomfortable place. When he simply chuckled
and kissed her forehead, she cursed and turned her face into the pillow. To
talk a man like Parlan out of what he saw as the honorable thing to do was
impossible, but she struggled to think of a way to do it. She wanted to be his
wife but not for honor’s sake. It was his heart she ached for, his love, not
simply his good name.

“Come,
Lagan, help me up. I must test this leg. I willnae take my vows before a priest
whilst on my back.”

Startled
out of her sulk by her concern for him, she cried, “Ye will open the wound, ye
great ox.”

Gritting
his teeth as Lagan helped him stand, he said, “I willnae push it that far,
sweeting. Walk me to my dressing room, Lagan. Even if I must be in bed when I
marry, I will be dressed fine. I will send Old Meg to ye, lass. Ye too will be
done up as fine as possible.” He frowned and glanced at her back. “There must
be something ye can don that willnae hurt your back.”

By
the time he reached the chair in his dressing chambers, Parlan was awash with
sweat but his wound stayed closed. That showed him that, despite his weakness,
he was on the mend. He collapsed into his chair and made quick work of the
drink Lagan passed to him. When he saw Lagan frowning, he raised his brows in
query.