Highland Warrior (19 page)

And Ewan is like Connor in many ways
, she mused. That same hard outside with a soft inside that he fights to keep hidden from everyone. Ewan would probably never be a man of soft, pretty words and open affection. She was going to have to accept that. Fiona knew it would not be so hard if just once in a while he would whisper that he loved her.

She was sighing with pleasure over the image of Ewan whispering vows of undying love into her ear when a cry went up from the men watching the gates. Her eyes widened when she saw Sigimor and Gregor come racing into the bailey with an elderly couple clinging desperately to a third horse and a small boy clinging to Gregor. Then she recognized the third horse and her heart nearly stopped.

As soon as Sigimor dismounted, she raced to his side. “Ewan? Where is Ewan?”

Sigimor put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a light squeeze. “He is alive, lass, so ye can set aside that fear.”

“Then why have ye brought his horse back without him?”

“Because he fell into a trap set by the Grays,” said Gregor. “Ye explain it, Sigimor. I will get the men we need.”

Fiona kept her gaze on Sigimor as Gregor hurried off shouting orders. “Explain.”

Her eyes widened with each word he said. Here was the problem that had been gnawing at Ewan for the past few days. Helena, his first love, had returned to his life. She had given him a child, never told him, and then tossed the boy into his lap. And it had all
been a trap set by Hugh and Helena Gray, two people who loathed Ewan. The same people who had captured him once before and tortured him, nearly gelded him. She felt the chill of her fear for him reach deep into the marrow of her bones.

“We were able to help the old people and the lad escape,” Sigimor said, and added in a whisper, “The poor lad doesnae have a name. Just call him lad or laddie for now. Your husband can explain all that later.”

“If he survives,” she said.

“Oh, he will survive.”

There was such cold certainty in Sigimor’s voice that she felt compelled to believe him. Slowly she turned to look at the child. It hurt that Ewan had not told her about him, but she pushed that aside. The boy looked terrified and needed comforting. She suspected he also needed some assurance that he was welcome.

“Ye look like your father,” she said softly and gently touched his hair. “His eyes and his hair.”

“He was going to bring me here today,” the boy said, rubbing away the tears on his cheeks with a dirty hand.

“I am glad. He should have brought ye here the verra first day, but I shall scold him about that when we get him home.”

“Hugh and my mother are hurting him. They are always hurting people.”

“I can fix his hurts. I am Fiona, his wife.”

“He said ye were bonnie and would be kind to me, but ye dinnae have to if ye dinnae want to.”

“Oh, I want to. Who wouldnae want to keep such a bonnie lad about, eh?”

“My mother. And Hugh. Tis because I am a MacFingal.”

“Aye, ye are,” said Gregor as he stepped up beside them, his father at his side. “Lad, this is your grandsire and he is going to show ye your new home.”

The boy cautiously gave his hand to Fingal to hold, then looked at Sigimor. “Ye will bring my father back here?’

“Aye, lad,” replied Sigimor.

“My mother?”

“I am afraid ye will ne’er see her again.”

He just nodded and let Fingal lead him away. Fiona sensed that Ewan’s son was going to need a lot of gentle handling. The look in his eyes, his quiet, tentative nature, and the fact that he apparently had never been given a proper name told her that he had probably paid dearly for being Ewan’s child every day of his short life.

She stood by, listening carefully as Sigimor and Gregor made their plans while the men and horses gathered. Their plans sounded good, their confidence in their success was comforting, and she felt her fears ease a little. She saw only one small problem. There was open space that needed to be crossed before they could reach Ewan and his tormenters.

“Ye are going to need something to divert their attention as ye draw near enough to strike them down,” she said.

“I hope ye arenae about to suggest what I think ye are,” said Sigimor, frowning at her.

“I fear your hopes are in vain.”

“Ewan wouldnae be happy with us if we used ye, put ye at risk, just to save him,”
said Gregor. “One of the men can do something.”

“The Grays recognize your men. The only diversion they could create is a brief fight, or a squabble amongst Hugh’s men as to who will get to kill them. They willnae recognize me,” said Fiona.

“Some of them did see ye the day Simon got injured.”

“They saw a dusty lass in boy’s clothing and that only during a fight for their lives.” She nodded when they both looked a little surprised, then thoughtful.

“And what will stop them from squabbling o’er who will get to kill ye?”

“Simple curiosity. Mayhap lust. It doesnae matter what will make them hesitate to kill me, just that they will. E’en if they somehow recognize who I am, they willnae kill me for they will think I will be useful to torment Ewan with. Ye dinnae need much time to slip o’er that open ground and get close enough to be a real threat to Hugh and his men, do ye?”

“I fear she is making sense, Gregor,” Sigimor said. “She can give us those few short minutes we need to cross the clearing and do so better than anything we could think of. The minute they glimpse a MacFingal, they will be alert and battle ready. A wee lass tripping up to them will just puzzle them. I also think most of the men will watch her, even the most conscientious of them needing a few moments to recall that they ought to be watching for a threat.”

“And those few moments will be enough to put your swords at their backs,” Fiona said.

“Ewan is going to flay me alive for this,” Gregor said then asked her what her plan was.

This was not going to be pleasant, Ewan thought as he stared down at a smiling Helena, who stroked the stout whip in her delicate hands as if it were a lover. He began to understand why she loved Hugh. They were of the same ilk. What he did not understand, had never understood, was why they had such a deep, abiding hatred for him. That he was laird of the lands Hugh coveted did not really seem reason enough.

“Ye should have given the lad a name,” he told Helena, and almost smiled when he saw how his words startled her.

She shrugged. “I ne’er thought the little bastard would survive. Jesu, but he was stubborn. I couldnae clean him from my womb ere he was born, and after he tortured me with his birth, he just seemed to grow stronger. I thought once that a fever would take him, but Hugh’s crippled sister Mary nursed him back to health.”

“We MacFingals are hard to kill.”

“I am pleased to hear it for I want ye to take a long time to die.”

It was strange to hear such vicious words spew out of such a tempting mouth. Ewan could still look at her and see that she was beautiful, but that beauty no longer moved him. He could now see the rot beneath her fair skin. It ran so deep and was so strong, he was somewhat surprised that she could still be so beautiful to look upon.

He knew what true beauty was now. Fiona might be scarred, her form not so lush, but in all ways she was far more beautiful than Helena could ever hope to be. Fiona had the softness, the kindness, and the generosity of spirit that Helena lacked and would probably see as only weak and foolish. Ewan was a little embarrassed that he had allowed lust to so completely blind him to the sort of woman Helena truly was.

“I do have one wee question ere ye begin your play,” he murmured.

“Weel?” Hugh pressed when Ewan said no more.

“I confess I am a wee bit curious as to what has stirred this hatred ye and Helena have for me. Except for the land ye wrongly believe was stolen from ye, Hugh, I cannae recall any particular sin I may have commited against either of ye.”

“Scarglas should have been mine!” yelled Hugh. “Your mad father slithered into his cousin’s good graces and took it from me. I should have been the one to inherit it, nay you. I should have been its laird, nay you. From the moment ye were born, the child of that fool Fingal and the old laird’s daughter, we lost all chance of getting this land. Ye were the old laird’s grandson. It didnae matter what Fingal was or what we did to him, ye are the rightful heir in the eyes of the king, the church, and the law. It wasnae to be borne.”

“Ye dinnae need these lands. Ye are laird of your own.”

“Miserable, useless stretches of rocky moor. With these lands added to mine, I could have been a verra powerful laird.” He glanced in the direction of Scarglas keep. “Tis a much finer keep, as weel. One more worthy of a mon like me. I could have been a respected, wealthy mon if I had that keep.”

It still did not make much sense to Ewan. Hugh seemed to think he had become heir to Scarglas out of pure malice, and had robbed him of some glorious future that only existed in his mind, at least in part. Ewan still had the feeling that there was more to it, more twists to Hugh’s thinking that probably made sense only to him. At some point in his life, Hugh had decided that the loss of Scarglas was the reason for everything that had gone wrong in his life, and since Ewan was the heir, he had to suffer. The fact that Ewan
had bred a son upon Hugh’s lover when he had been unable to had undoubtedly strengthened that strange reasoning and sense of grievance.

“And ye, Helena?” he asked.

“Ye killed my family,” she replied. “My mother and sister.”

“Nay, I didnae.”

“Nay by your own hand, mayhap, but ’twas your clan who did the deed. They were slaughtered during one of your raids. My father found their savaged bodies and, in his grief, hanged himself. I lost everyone because of the MacFingals.” She smiled at Hugh. “I was utterly lost and alone until I found Hugh.”

“My men dinnae kill women.”

“Ye MacFingals were raiding Hugh’s lands. Your men were seen near my home. Ye just insult me with your denials. Who else could have done it?”

Your father
, Ewan thought, but said nothing, just stared at her. Instinct told him that a part of Helena knew that, but rather than face that gruesome truth, she blamed his clan, thus him. It had been their ill luck to be close at hand on that dark day.

It was almost funny in some grim, twisted way. He had done no real harm to either of these people. He would be tortured and murdered for wrongs he had never commited, for crimes and hurts only their twisted reasoning could possibly have blamed upon him. He was their demon, the one they had chosen to bear the blame for their own faults, pains, and losses. For years he had been trying to reason with people who lacked all reason.

“Enough talk,” drawled Hugh as he stepped nearer to Ewan, his dagger in his hand. “Tis but a waste of time.”

“Killing me willnae gain ye Scarglas,” Ewan said.

“True, but it will make me verra happy.”

“Ye said I could go first, Hugh,” Helena said, a slight whine in her voice. “Tis why I brought my whip. If ye start carving on him, he will be all bloody and senseless ere I can pay him back for touching me.”

“Ye touched me,” Ewan murmured. “I wasnae spitting out my secrets fast enough for ye, so ye crawled into my bed and tried to seduce them out of me. Ye can cease acting as if ye are some virtuous lass debauched by a filthy MacFingal. Twas quite the other way around.”

And now she was not beautiful at all, Ewan thought, as he watched her face twist into ugliness with hate and fury. Now one could clearly see what was in her heart. It had probably not been wise to say what he had, but he was weary of being called a vile seducer by this whore.

“Let me make him pay for that, Hugh,” she hissed. “Let me make him bleed.”

“I will stop ye if ye go too far, my love,” Hugh said as he stepped back. “I will let ye have your vengeance, but not at the cost of my own. Turn him round,” he ordered his men.

And so it begins
, Ewan thought as, despite his struggles, he was finally turned so that Helena could wield her whip upon his back. He prayed he had the fortitude to endure it without giving them the pleasure of seeing his pain. The longer he could endure, the more the slight chance of rescue grew as well. Someone would soon notice that he had been gone longer than ever before, that he had gone away alone. Gregor knew he would be here, something the Grays were obviously unaware of. As Helena’s whip seared
across his back, he gritted his teeth against a cry and began to pray that someone came looking for him soon.

“I want ye to kill them both,” Fiona said as she stared at her husband, naked and bleeding, yet still attempting to struggle as the men turned him around upon their strange scaffold so that he was facing Hugh Gray.

“Tis what we intend to do,” said Gregor.

“We could do it slowly,” murmured Sigimor, watching her closely. “Give them a wee taste of what they deal out to your mon.”

“Ah, how ye tempt me, Sigimor,” she said, taking a deep breath to control the fury that had ripped through her at the sight of her husband. “But nay. E’en if it is weel-deserved justice in a way, we willnae act as they do.”

“As ye wish. Ready?”

Fiona tugged her bodice down just a little and ran her fingers through her hair to make it look more tousled. “Aye, I think so. How do I look?”

“Delicious.”

“Ye cannae see any of my daggers?”

“Nary a one.”

“Then I am ready.”

“Be verra careful, Fiona,” said Gregor. “If ye e’en think they are about to grab ye, hurt ye, run. I have seen ye run and ye ought to be able to keep free of their grasp, at least until we can turn their attention away from ye.”

“Agreed.”

Fiona was glad of the rage that heated her blood, for it burned away her fear as she picked up her basket and started toward the Grays. Although everyone thought her plan a good one, she knew it could all go horribly wrong. None of them could be sure just how much the Grays may have heard about her. If they knew too much, she would be quickly recognized and that could put her in even more danger.

“Uncle Robbie,” she sang out as she skipped toward the cottage. “Hallooo! I have brought ye cakes.” She stumbled to a halt and looked at the Grays as if she had only just noticed them. “Oh, my, my, my. I hadnae realized Uncle Robbie was having guests. I would have brought more cakes.”

Ewan blinked. That could not possibly be Fiona he saw standing there. His pain had made him delirious.

Then he looked at Hugh and his men, at their lusty expressions, and realized that it was indeed his wife standing there. His wife looking so sweetly confused, her beautiful hair swirling around her slender body, and her bodice pulled so low that he could see the slightest hint of her nipples. One deep breath or wriggle and her breasts would be bouncing about in front of everyone’s eyes. When he was free, he was going to find out who had allowed her to do this and kill them—slowly.

Then she looked at him, and for one brief moment he saw rage and pain in her eyes before they turned somewhat cloudy. Her face held an expression of simple curiosity, not a glimmer of recognition to be seen. In fact, considering she was staring at a bloodied, naked man, her expression was so sweet and calm, one would have to wonder if she was in possession of all her wits. He idly wondered how many knives she had tucked away upon her person.

“Who the hell are ye?” demanded Hugh.

The way Hugh was staring at Fiona’s breasts made Ewan hope someone would come and kill the man soon. After a quick look around at the lust-filled expressions on the faces of Hugh’s men, Ewan nearly told his wife to go home. Then he saw Helena’s face. The woman looked from Hugh to Fiona and back again. The way her expression hardened and her grip tightened upon her bloodied whip made Ewan feel that she was the one who had to be watched closely.

He kept his gaze fixed upon Helena as Fiona played her game. If nothing else, it kept him from looking for the men he hoped were coming. Impetuous though she was, Fiona would never attempt to rescue him on her own. She was too intelligent for that and, he realized, too well versed in the ways of battle. Ewan struggled not to give in to his pain, to do his best to watch the Grays for any sign of a threat to Fiona or that one of the fools might suddenly remember that he ought to be keeping a guard.

“Why, I am Old Robbie’s niece,” Fiona replied, smiling at Hugh. “I oftimes come to see the mon and his sweet wife.”

“He doesnae have any kin,” snapped Helena.

“Weel, I am nay blood kin, but we still consider each other family.”

“This is wrong, Hugh,” Helena said, moving next to him and grabbing his arm, scowling when he barely looked at her but kept his gaze fixed upon Fiona’s lithe body. “Send this skinny bitch away or kill her.”

“Oh, how unkind!” cried Fiona.

Ewan watched as every man’s gaze followed her hand when she pressed it against her bosom. If rescue did not come quickly, they would fall upon her like a pack of slathering wolves. Or a jealous Helena would attack her. Then Ewan almost smiled. Helena would be making a very grave mistake, perhaps even a deadly one, if she did that.

“But I forgive ye,” Fiona said, “for I suspect those spots are verra uncomfortable and make ye ill humored.”

“Spots?! I havenae any spots,” said Helena, even as she ran her hand over her face.

“Oh, pardon. It must have been a shadow or two. My mistake.” Fiona glanced at Ewan. “Ye really should put some clothes on this poor mon. Tis nay right for ladies to be subjected to such a sight. To see so much manliness displayed can sorely upset our delicate sensibilities.”

“Ye are an idiot.”

“Shut your mouth, Helena,” said Hugh. “And ye, wench,” he said to Fiona, “what do ye do here?”

“I wait,” replied Fiona.

“For what?”

“For ye to die.”

Hugh was not the only one surprised by the abrupt change in Fiona’s voice. Ewan did not think he had ever heard a woman sound so hard, so cold and threatening. He tensed as she began to ever so slightly back up toward him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of red hair and nearly smiled. All he had to worry about now was that his brave little wife did not get injured in the battle that was about to begin.

“Ye are mad. Surely ye cannae think that one wee lass like ye could do me any harm.”

“Weel, aye, I could, but I believe I will let someone else do it.”

“Who?”

“Me,” said Sigimor, and he grinned when Hugh whirled around to face him.

Fiona moved to stand close to Ewan as the battle began. She put her basket down and armed herself, a dagger in each hand. She wished she could reach his bonds and get him down, but not only were they up too high, she could not afford to take her attention from the Grays.

“I will beat ye when I am free and healed from these injuries,” Ewan said.

“Ye may try,” Fiona said. “It will be a quick battle.”

“Verra quick.” Then he saw Helena turn to glare at Fiona, as if she had only just realized the trick that had been played upon them. “Ware, lass.”

Fiona tensed as Helena approached. The woman had obviously been in the midst of the battle. Fiona now recalled hearing that whip crack a few times. Since Helena no longer carried it, she had to assume that one of Ewan’s men had taken it away. She was sorry they had not killed the woman when they had done so. Helena did, however, now hold a large, sharp knife.

“Ye are the one he married, arenae ye,” hissed Helena.

“Aye, I have that honor,” Fiona replied.

“Honor? To marry him? I suppose ye couldnae get anyone else since ye are marred.”

“And ye are an idiot.”

“I am going to kill ye,” Helena said, “and then I am going to cut this pig up into small ugly pieces. Ye had best run, ye wee fool, as I am the one who gave him many of those scars.”

“I ken it, but I will be merciful and nay make ye suffer when I kill ye.”

Ewan cursed his bonds when Helena attacked Fiona. An instant later he calmed and watched his wife with admiration. Her skill was easy to see, her grace in battle a wonder to watch. It took several moments for Helena to realize she was just being toyed with, that the smaller woman could have killed her already if she had chosen to. For a brief moment, fear flickered in her expression, but then she glared at Fiona.