Highland Champion (4 page)

“Aye,” Keira replied, too tired to even open her eyes to look at him. “I just wish it had warned me of the attack upon you. We may have been able to stop it.”

“Ye saved me from dying. ’Tis enough. Do ye often have visions?” When she did not reply, he looked more closely at her and realized she had gone to sleep sitting up. “Och, poor wee lass.”

Cautiously, not wishing to make the bed move too much, Liam sat up. He gently grasped Keira by her shoulders to help settle her more comfortably upon the bed. She nearly fell into his arms, her body so limp and boneless he would think her dead except that he could see that she was still breathing. When he leaned back against the pillows, tucking her up against his side, she murmured something that sounded very much like a very courteous thank you. He then nearly groaned aloud when she wrapped her arm about him and nestled even closer, her soft cheek pressed against his shoulder. Every lustful urge he had sprang to attention, as did one certain mindless, impertinent part of his body.

Keira Murray MacKail was soft and warm, and she smelled nice. Lavender and, he grinned, a touch of honey. He was failing so miserably in remaining only distantly courteous to her, he wondered why he did not just give up. The idea appealed to him, as she did. Too much so. He now believed God had sent her a vision, one allowing her and Brother Matthew to save his miserable life. He could trust her. That did not, however, change any of the other reasons why he had felt it best to keep some distance from her. She was far above the reach of a cousin of a minor laird who was, in many ways, not much more than a common man at arms. He simply could not believe the Murrays’ habit of allowing their women some choice in the matter of gaining a husband extended to one such as him.

“Keira!” Brother Matthew called as he hurried into the cottage.

Liam silenced the man with one sharp move of his hand. As Brother Matthew approached the bed, Liam noticed how the look of concern upon the man’s face began to change into an expression of dark suspicion, and he sighed. It stung a little that his old friend would think him capable of seducing a woman who cared for him so well, but Liam suspected even the cloistered monks may have heard a few tales about him.

“She fell asleep sitting on the edge of the bed,” Liam explained and fixed the frowning monk with a cool, unwavering stare, “after she had eased the pain in my leg.”

“Putting salve upon your leg shouldnae weary her so.”

So, they were more secretive about her healing hands than her visions, Liam mused. “Nay, no salve. Her hands.” It was probably for the best that this particular Murray kinsman was a cloistered monk, Liam decided, for Brother Matthew’s face was far too easy to read. “Come, old friend, we may nay have seen much of each other these
last few years, but do ye truly think I could condemn the lass for her gift or nay have the sense to ken that it must be kept a very closely guarded secret?”

Brother Matthew sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Nay, of course ye wouldnae.”

“Nor would I seduce a weelborn lass such as she, a new widow, and one who nay doubt sits higher above the salt than I e’er will.” Liam smothered a pinch of guilt, for it was not a complete lie. He had every intention of trying to hold fast to that gallant attitude, but he was beginning to think that fate was working against him.

“Forgive me for the insult.” Brother Matthew shook his head.

“None taken. I will confess that I havenae been verra saintly since I left here.” Liam shared a brief grin with his old friend. “Nay, I mean her no harm. I but forgot to take care of my broken leg. When I saw that fool pinning her to the ground, I was so enraged I acted as if I had two good legs.”

“He will be harshly chastised, though mayhap not as harshly as we might like. Did he hurt her?”

“Nay, though he handled her roughly enough to leave bruises. He was struggling to toss up her skirts when I saw them and rushed to play the hero. After I tossed him aside and the anger began to fade, the pain was excruciating. She did whate’er it is she does with those wee hands, ate like a piglet, then fell asleep in the midst of a conversation. She took the pain into herself,” he murmured with a lingering wonder.

“Aye, ’tis how it often works. It takes her a while to cast it aside, and then she sleeps hard for a few hours. We are cautious about her visions, but such things are acceptable to many people. Healing hands, the ability to ease pain with a touch?” Brother Matthew shrugged. “That too often stirs dangerous fears and whispers of sorcery. I think her husband kenned about her gift, though she hasnae said so. I believe it is one reason he sought to wed her.”

“He was unweel?”

“Och, he looked hale enough, but he was a troubled mon. She was told so by those of our clan who can sense such things, but she married him anyway. Keira can be stubborn. I ken I may worry o’er her too much. She is one of my favorite cousins, and these last few months have been verra trying for her. Aye, and she faces more trials in the months ahead. She is strong, but mayhap, too tenderhearted and nay verra worldly.”

“Did she love her husband weel then?”

“I think she would have if they had been given more time, or at least, cared for him weel and been a good wife to him. She chose him because she was o’er twenty and had ne’er been much moved by any mon. She craved a family of her own, ye ken. Sadly, they were wed but three months, and he left behind no child.”

“How did he die?”

“Murdered by Rauf Moubray, who also did her some harm. She managed to escape, but swore to her husband ere he died that she would help the people of Ardgleann, would wrest the land from Rauf’s thieving hands.”

“The mon set a heavy burden upon her wee shoulders by making her promise such a thing. How could he expect this fey lass to do that? I have heard of Rauf Moubray—dark tales of brutality.”

“And probably all true. As for how she can fulfill her vow to her poor, ill-fated husband? I dinnae ken, and neither does she, especially as she is loathe to drag her family
into this trouble.” Brother Matthew lightly touched Keira’s thick hair. “At such times, I can almost regret my calling for I am nay a warrior, I have few fighting skills to lend her, and yet I would like to be her champion.”

“Then I
will
be,” said Liam and tried not to be insulted by Brother Matthew’s obvious look of surprise.

“Ye have a broken leg, Liam.”

“’Twill heal. She willnae be rushing off to save Ardgleann on the morrow, will she?”

“Weel, nay, but—”

“I owe the lass my life. The least I can do is try my best to make sure she doesnae get herself killed trying to fulfill the vow her husband pulled from her.” He winked at Brother Matthew. “Aye, and I rather like the idea of being a champion. Mayhap, in years to come, someone will compose a song about me.” He chuckled along with his friend.

“’Twill make me rest more easily kenning that a strong mon stands by her in the battle ahead.”

“Then ’tis settled.”

“Aye, between us. Ye may find that wee lass isnae so quick to agree. As I said, she can be stubborn.”

“So can I, my friend. So can I.”

An odd scraping and thumping noise came from just beyond the cottage door. Liam looked across the table at Keira and smiled. She was concentrating very hard on the chessboard set between them, plotting a move that would probably defeat him yet again. He wanted to drag her across the table and kiss those lips she was gently worrying with her teeth. What few scraps of resistance he still clung to after a month of being with her day and night were rapidly shredding. His growing feelings for her refused to be cowed.

“I believe Kester has just stumbled by for a visit,” he said, grinning when she gave him a stern frown, for the silent scold was belied by the laughter in her beautiful eyes.

Keira stood up, moved one of the finely carved chessmen, and said, “Checkmate.”

As she walked to the door, she grinned when she heard Liam softly curse. He had not beaten her yet, but he was good enough to present a real challenge. She doubted he would be pleased if she told him so. It might also sound very vain, she thought as she opened the door to find Kester brushing the dirt from his robes.

Kester smiled at her, and she smiled back. He was going to be a big, handsome man when he finally grew into those feet he kept tripping over. She also had the strongest feeling that Kester did not really want to become a monk, that he would do his best but would never be really happy. That bothered her, but as yet, she had no ideas of what, if anything, she could do about it. If nothing else, she had far too many concerns of her own to deal with, troubles that left her with neither the wit nor the strength to deal with someone else’s.

“M’lady, someone has come looking for Sir Liam,” Kester said, his dark blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“Who?” demanded Liam as he moved to stand behind Keira.

“A woman named Maude, Lady Maude Kinnaird.”

Liam cursed softly, his anger enhanced by the way Keira tensed. “Has anyone told her I am here?”

“Not as yet, but I fear someone will soon. Is she your enemy?”

“Nay, she is but a nuisance. I believe her husband is, however.”

“Her husband?” Keira turned to face Liam. “She is wed, yet she chases ye about the country?”

Liam found it a little daunting to be stared at by Keira and Kester, both looking shocked. It was also irritating to see the glint of censure in their eyes. He did not have the time to explain matters, however, nor did he feel particularly inclined to. He briefly savored a few very dark thoughts about Lady Maude Kinnaird, who seemed unable to understand the word nay, then the sound of approaching horses drew his gaze beyond Keira.

“Someone told her, curse their eyes!” He yanked Kester inside, nudged Keira out of the way, and slammed the door shut. “Bar it,” he ordered and limped over to retrieve his sword from where it had been set upon a heavy chest at the foot of the bed.

Keira turned from barring the door and gaped when she saw Liam donning his sword and scabbard. “’Tis just a woman! Do ye often greet your cast aside lovers with a sword?”

“She isnae my lover,” Liam snapped.

“Ah, weel, sir, at the monastery she said—” began Kester.

“I dinnae care what the woman said. I begin to think she is mad.”

“Liam, m’love!” called a woman from just outside the door. “I ken ye are in there!”

For a brief moment, Keira saw a very beautiful face peering in the small window by the door. Then Liam slammed the thick shutters closed on both the cottage windows. Kester hurriedly lit a candle on the table to ease the sudden darkness. Keira winced as the pounding started on the door, loud and a little frantic.

“Liam, my sweet prince, please speak to me! How can ye treat me so unkindly after all we have meant to each other?”

“We havenae meant a cursed thing to each other,” Liam replied. “Not now. Not ever.”

Compared to the woman’s strident voice, Liam’s tone seemed almost pleasant, but Keira could hear the hard, cold bite of anger. She rubbed her forehead as a sharp pain started between her eyes. She wanted to blame the woman’s pounding on the door for the rapidly blooming ache in her head, but she knew it was born of far more complicated things.

“I have left my husband for ye, sweet Liam!”

“Curse it, woman, I ne’er asked ye to do that!”

“’Tis the only way we can be together. I have money. We can flee to France!”

This, Keira decided, was a sign that it was far past time for her to leave the shelter of the monastery. She had let this man slip into her heart. Keeping a distance had not shielded her at all. Listening to this woman speak so fulsomely of her love for Liam and hearing his cold, angry replies made Keira wonder if she had actually been drawn to a man who did not really exist except in her imaginings. This was certainly not the smiling, teasing man she had come to know, nor the gallant knight who had ignored his pain to save her from Brother Paul. She was ashamed that she had allowed herself to forget the needs of the people of Ardgleann, to convince herself constantly that Sir Liam still needed her care just so that she could remain close to him. It was obvious he could choose from a vast array of women to care for him and shelter him. Keira grabbed her saddle packs and began to pack her things.

“Jesu, Maude, will ye just go away?” Liam lightly pounded his head against the wall and wondered if the madness that seemed to have taken possession of Maude was now afflicting him.

“Ye have a woman in there, dinnae ye? How can ye turn from all we shared with such ease? How can ye break my poor heart so? But I shall forgive ye, my dearest love. I wasnae here to comfort ye after ye were hurt, so I ken I bear some of the blame for your fall from grace.”

“Ye daft woman, I fell from grace years ago. Fell so hard and fast I am surprised the ground didnae shake.” Liam heard some men laugh and realized Maude had a few of her personal guard with her. Then he grasped the full import of her words. “How did ye ken I had been hurt, Maude?” he demanded, and abruptly, Maude was silent. “Maude, how did ye ken I was hurt?”

“The monks told me,” Maude replied.

Liam looked at Kester, who shook his head, and then he frowned at the door. “I ask again, Maude, how did ye ken I was hurt?”

“Robert taunted me with the tale, Liam! He tormented me day and night with talk of how badly he had hurt ye, of how he had seen to it that ye would ne’er beguile a lass
with your beauty again. I had to come to ye, to help ye! Can ye nay see that?”

What Liam could see was that Maude was lying. He was almost certain of it. Ignoring her continued pleas to let her inside so that she could make amends for her husband’s crimes against him, Liam turned to look at Keira and nearly gaped. She was busy stuffing all of her things into her saddle packs, which had sat in a far corner of the cottage, untouched, for the entire time he had been there.

“Keira, what are ye doing?” he demanded.

“Leaving,” she replied. “Ye are weel able to care for yourself now, and if ye need anything, ’tis evident ye can find all the aid ye need. I have a vow to fulfill, and ’tis past time I saw to the doing of it.”

“
That
isnae aid,” he said, pointing toward the door. “That is the reason I was near beaten to death and left to rot.”

“Then, mayhap, ye shouldnae have meddled with another mon’s wife.”

“I didnae meddle with her!”

“Nay? She just imagines that ye are her love? Her sweet prince? ’Tis all in her head, is it?”

It was, but Liam could see that Keira was in no mood to listen. Even Kester, who had lately taken to dogging his heels like a faithful, adoring puppy, looked doubtful. Liam could not really blame them for their disbelief. He was in the middle of this insanity and still had trouble believing it. Nothing he said or did dissuaded Maude from her rabid pursuit of him. It would sound undoubtedly vain if he said so, however.

“Liam! Ye must let me in now! Robert is coming!”

Liam cursed and moved to the front window. He cautiously opened one of the heavy, iron-banded shutters just enough to peer out and cursed again. The burly Laird Kinnaird could be seen rapidly approaching the cottage, six equally large men riding hard at his heels. For a woman who claimed to love him, Maude was doing a very fine job of getting him killed. He slammed the shutter closed as Laird Kinnaird reined in before the cottage.

There was a part of Liam that wanted to breaksomething, wanted to have a long, exhausting temper tantrum. He had spent the last fortnight wooing Keira with a patience he had never used before, winning her trust, and gently pulling confidences from her. It was wrong of him, of course, but he had not been able to stop himself. He had even planned to try and steal a kiss this very night. All his work was for naught now, and he was a little surprised at how furious that made him, furious and heartsore. Glancing at Keira, Liam rather doubted she would even shed a tear for him now if Laird Kinnaird gutted him on the threshold of the cottage they had shared for a month.

“Cameron, ye bastard!” bellowed Laird Kinnaird. “Cease cowering in there, and come out to face me like a mon!”

Keira frowned at the door. Angry and hurt though she was, the arrival of this enraged husband made her afraid for Liam. She told herself it was because Liam was in no condition to fight anyone, that her sense of fairness was offended. It was a lie, but she tried her best to cling to it.

“I mean to make sure ye have naught left to cuckold another mon!”

The way both Kester and Liam paled slightly and glanced at Liam’s groin would have been amusing if the threats being hurled were not so heartfelt. Keira knew she could not simply walk away and leave him to his fate. The woman was, to Keira’s way of
thinking, as guilty as Liam, but no one was threatening to maim her. Although Lady Maude’s arrival had revealed a side of Liam she did not like and had shattered the few dreams she had been foolish enough to indulge in, Keira knew she would hate herself forever if she did not do all she could to save him.

“Best ye leave now,” she said.

“If I step out that door, I am a dead mon,” said Liam, “or will soon wish to be.” Liam could not believe Keira truly meant to usher him coldly out of the cottage to face the raging Laird Kinnaird.

Something heavy crashing against the door made Keira wince. The little cottage was built of stone, and the door was of thick, iron-banded oak, but she did not think it could take too much of that sort of punishment She tossed aside the sheepskin rug upon the floor, revealing a hatch door set into the floor. Beneath it was a tunnel that would lead them to the stables. She looked up at Liam, idly wondering how she could have been so stupid as to ignore the possibility that such a handsome man could be a licentious swine.

“Hurry and collect your things, my sweet prince,” she said.

Liam gritted his teeth against the urge to demand Keira never call him that again and hurriedly gathered up his belongings. “Where does that lead to?”

“The stables. This cottage was built to withstand a great deal, but the ones who built it kenned that it wasnae impregnable. So, a way to flee whilst the attackers weary themselves trying to break in.”

“If we ride out of the stables we are sure to be seen. That could put ye in danger as weel.”

“Then ’tis a verra good thing there is a back way out of the stables, aye?” Although Liam had become quite good with his crutch, Keira suddenly realized he would have great difficulty getting down the small wooden ladder into the tunnel. “Kester, take Sir Liam’s things for him. Ye and I will go down first so that we may be ready to help him if he stumbles upon the ladder.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to proclaim loudly that he did not require the help of a small woman and a too thin boy just to climb down a ladder, but Liam bit back the caustic words. One look at the ladder told him it was not going to be possible to climb down nimbly with his stiff right leg. He tossed his crutch down to Kester and carefully began to climb down, gritting his teeth against the pain every time he had to put weight on his bad leg. Once at the bottom, he leaned against the ladder and willed away the pain. He had no time for it now. The sound of Laird Kinnaird working hard to batter down the door was almost deafening.

“We had better shut the hatch door,” Keira said when Liam finally moved away from the ladder. “It can be weel secured from this side. That will slow down any pursuit.”

“I will close it after ye leave,” said Kester. “And cover it o’er again.”

“Nay, Kester, ’tis too dangerous. That mon out there sounds nearly blind with rage. Ye must come with us. Ye can flee to the monastery from the stables.”

“E’en blind with rage, no one will mistake me for Sir Liam, if only because my hair is brown, nay red. Ye go, m’lady, and I will hold their attention here. ’Twill give ye a better chance of fleeing unseen.”

“Lad, at some point e’en that fool will ken that ’tis too quiet in the cottage,” said Liam.

“Oh, that fool will think that ye are still within, Sir Liam,” said Kester, and then he
grinned.

Keira knew Liam was probably staring at Kester with as much amazement as she was, but she could not tear her gaze from the boy in order to confirm that. Kester had sounded just like Liam. The fact that Kester’s voice usually ranged from high to low several times in a sentence when he spoke made it all the more astonishing.

“How did ye do that?” she finally asked.

Kester shrugged. “I just do it. I can mimic most of the monks. ’Tis just a wee game I play.”

“Keep playing it, lad,” said Liam. “’Tis a true skill ye may find some use for one day. I am just nay sure that ye will be too safe playing that game now. Laird Kinnaird isnae too sane at the moment.”

Kester frowned. “I willnae stand near the door. ’Twill give the mon a wee bit of time to look about and see that I am nay you.”

“Ye do that,” said Keira, “and as soon as that door looks to crack open, ye start yelling in your own voice. That will certainly make him look about, for ’twill make him think that there are several people inside.”

“Aye, m’lady, I will do that,” agreed Kester.

Keira watched as the boy scrambled up the ladder. When the hatch door was shut, she hastily beat back a sudden wave of fear. She truly hated small, dark places. She especially hated small, dark places under the ground. They reminded her a little too much of the grave. The light from the lantern did not penetrate the dark all that well. She shook her head when she heard Kester yell something extremely obscene at Lord Kinnaird in Liam’s voice.