When a Laird Takes a Lady: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel Page 19
“It was Daniel,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“He took everything.”
That, too, he knew. “Where has he gone, Isabail? How did he escape?”
“The marsh. His plan was to guide the horses down the burn to the marsh.” Her eyes drifted closed, whether from weariness or a relived memory, he didn’t know. Nor did he dwell on which it was. It was a vicious blow to hear her speak of their plans to escape. Still, he knew Isabail had expended precious energy to tell him what she did.
“Rest now, lass. I will find him.” He turned to leave.
“He has Jamie.”
Aiden spun around. “What?”
“He has the lad.”
Aiden swallowed tightly. Of course. Jamie would have been able to gather the horses without alarming the guards. But, by God, why did it have to be him? Jamie had already been through so much.
He sank on his haunches at her side and picked up her hand—the slim hand that felt so perfect clasped in his. “I must go now, Isabail. I must hunt down de Lourdes and punish him for what he’s done. But while I’m gone, you must remain strong. I’ll not have you die. Understand?”
Isabail smiled faintly. “Even the healer will tell you that God is the only one who can decide who lives and who dies. I bow to His will.”
“No,” Aiden said firmly, staring deep into her eyes. “I’m the chief. You bow to my will. Be here when I return, or I’ll shake the life back into you. I swear.”
She nodded. “As you wish.”
Unable to voice a goodbye for fear that it would be the last word he said to her, he stood abruptly and walked to the door. He grabbed Ana’s arm. “Do everything you can to save her,” he said, and then he left the hut.
“Mount up,” he called to the Black Warriors. “We ride for the marsh.”
* * *
The marsh was a perilous tract of land that cradled a bend in the burn near the northern edge of the forest. In most places, the mud was simply a thick ooze that sucked at the horses’ hooves. But in others, the mud was a deep bog that could swallow a man whole. They picked their way carefully through the marsh for hours, searching for any sign that Daniel and Jamie had passed that way. Twice they spied hoofprints in the mud . . . only to lose the trail when the water deepened.
Aiden split up his men to cover more ground. He sent Cormac to the east and Hamish to the west, while he continued to ride north. He combed the marsh through and through, mowing down sheaves of dried reeds as he went, but he failed to find the wretched cur. When Cormac and the others rejoined him, they reported similar failures.
The late-January sunset was one of the prettiest Aiden had ever seen, but he could not summon a single ounce of pleasure over the glorious splashes of orange and purple that colored the sky. Jamie was out there with a man ruthless enough to run his accomplice through and leave her for dead. All Aiden could do was pray the lad proved useful enough to be kept alive.
He returned to the hill fort with a knotted gut and a fiery determination to track down his nephew simmering in his veins.
A candle was still burning in Niall’s hut when Aiden entered the close. He prayed that meant what he thought it meant—that Isabail yet lived. Niall was standing outside the door, and as Aiden approached, he stepped into his path.
“Did you recover the treasure?”
“Nay.”
Niall gave him a level stare. “Ana has expended extraordinary effort to keep this woman alive. To what end?”
Aiden settled back on his heels. Isabail had lain close to death for hours, and it pained him to know she’d fought that battle without him at her side. Right or wrong, he’d come to care for her.
He released a heavy sigh. “She made an error in judgment aligning herself with de Lourdes, but no one deserves to be run through. Least of all a woman.”
“She betrayed us.”
Although his brother’s accusation echoed the ache in Aiden’s gut, he shook his head. “Reserve judgment. We’ve not yet heard the tale from her lips.”
“She led him to the tomb.”
A difficult statement to refute. “Whatever the facts, her fate is mine to decide, not yours.”
Niall studied him for a long moment, then stepped aside.
Aiden entered the roundhouse.
His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. Ana was crouched over the pallet, spooning broth into Isabail’s mouth. Both women looked up as he crossed the wooden floor.
“Did you find them?” Isabail asked.
“Nay.” He gave Ana a pointed stare, demanding that she give them some privacy.
With a reluctant frown, Ana put the bowl aside and vacated her spot next to Isabail.
Aiden hooked a three-legged stool with his boot and drew it over to the bed. He sat, but avoided meeting Isabail’s eyes. He had trouble looking at her face and seeing anything other than his sweetly beguiling lover. “Daniel successfully eluded us in the marsh,” he said. “We were unable to catch him or recover his trail on the other side.”
“Poor Jamie. He must be so frightened.”
“Indeed.” Her sympathy for the boy shook his resolve, but gaining the truth was paramount. He pressed on. “Are they headed for Lochurkie, Isabail?”
She frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Aye, you do. You know him better than anyone. Where will he go now that he has the necklace?”
Her lips twisted. “Apparently, I did not know him as well as I thought I did.”
The acknowledgment of their closeness stabbed him deeply. “He betrayed you,” he said with a sharp nod. “But your knowledge of him still exceeds that of anyone else. In all your conversations, did he ever give a clue where he might go?”
She closed her eyes, and for a moment Aiden believed that there would be no answer, but she finally said, “Not Lochurkie. There’s nothing for him there but bitter memories.”
“Then where?”
“I suppose he might return to the Continent,” she said, doubt tugging at her words. “But he is a third son, and my understanding is that there was some sort of trouble and he is no longer welcome in Bigorre.”
Aiden waited, but impatience clawed at him. He was a man of action, not a man of softly spoken words. He needed answers.
Her eyes popped open. “There is one place where he might go. . . .”
“Name it,” he demanded.
“My dower estate, Tayteath. It lies on the eastern coast, six leagues south of Arbroath.”
“Quite a distance,” he said. “Why would he go so far?”
“He and my brother spent a month there every spring,” she explained. “He knows the castle well, and my retainers know him. He could settle there for some time without suspicion. If not there, then I have no idea where he would go.”
Aiden sat back. If they pushed hard, they could make the coast in two days. But if de Lourdes wasn’t there, it would be a wasted two days. “What does he intend to do with the treasure?”
Isabail licked her very dry lips. “He told me it would enable him to right a grave injustice. He suggested he had a contact in the king’s court who could help.”
He handed her a cup of ale and watched her wet her parched mouth. A mouth he had kissed numerous times—and still desired to kiss again. Her frailty only enhanced her delicate beauty. “So he planned to meet with someone from Edinburgh?”
“So he said.” She grimaced. “But everything he originally told me was a lie. Before he ran me through, he confessed that he was the one who killed my brother.”
A pang of sympathy shot through Aiden. He well understood how Isabail must have felt receiving that news. The stab of betrayal reaches deep. “At that point he had no reason to lie,” he said. “His true nature had been revealed. Tayteath is an easy day’s ride from Edinburgh, and a coastal castle would mak
e a suitable place for a clandestine meeting.”
He stood. Even if de Lourdes had been spouting lies, the choices were limited. There were no other clues to follow. He turned to leave.
“Is that all you’ve come for?” Isabail asked. “Information? Not a word of sympathy or good wishes for a swift recovery?”
Aiden halted, but he did not turn to face her. Knowing the truth about what she’d done did not make it any easier to distance himself. He still wanted her desperately, craved to draw her into his arms, bury his face in her bosom, and forgive her. But he was the chief. It was his responsibility to mete out justice. No matter how much it cost him. “Why would I offer well wishes to de Lourdes’s accomplice?”
She gasped. “You think I helped him willingly?”
He spun. “He never left his hut until today. The only person he saw, other than Muirne, was you. You have a long-established relationship with the man. Of course you helped him willingly.”
“Nay,” she cried. “You accuse me falsely. I aided Daniel only because he threatened to kill Jamie if I did not.”
“Do you deny that you and de Lourdes are lovers?”
Isabail’s eyes darkened, and her mouth twisted in a poor mimicry of a smile. “I do. Even had I suffered a tenderness for him, it would have remained unrequited. I am not what Daniel finds attractive. He and my brother were lovers.”
The ache in Aiden’s heart eased. She did not love de Lourdes, nor he her. “You still aided him. He could not have known about the tunnels or the location of the tomb had you not told him.”
“Label me a fool, if you must, but not a traitor. He was my brother’s companion for more than five years. I trusted him. Did I tell Daniel about the tunnels? Aye, I did. But only in passing, as I explained where the stores were kept and shared the tale of my misadventure. I never told him of the crown.”
“So you say.”
Isabail broke eye contact, and she stared at the glowing coals in the brazier. “It appears you have little respect for me.”
“Actually, I have the deepest respect for you,” he said quietly. “I believe every word you’ve told me this eve, because you’ve never given me cause not to. In spite of everything that has happened to you in the past sennight, you’ve remained forthright in your comments, helpful in your suggestions, and unwavering in your opinions. You’ve shown genuine affection for your maid, your dog, and even your brother’s traitorous lover. If I did not wear the mantle of chief, I would be begging your forgiveness for doubting you, even for a moment.”
She stared at him, mouth agape.
“But I am the chief,” he said. “And a chief must do everything in his power to protect his clan, even if it means hurting those he cares for. As such, I must withdraw my promise to return you home. Names or no names, you know too much.”
“What are you saying? That I’ll forever be a prisoner here?”
He shook his head. “Not a prisoner.”
“What then?”
“Wife. My wife.” The words felt good on his tongue, even though he suspected they didn’t sound quite so appealing to Isabail. There wasn’t much about being wed to an outlaw laird that prompted a smile.
“Wife?”
“Aye,” he said. “When I return, we’ll say the proper words before a priest.”
“And if I choose not to say those words?” Her expression was suspiciously calm.
“Do not be hasty,” he urged. “Think on it.”
“I will have a hand in choosing my husband,” she said slowly. “Whether it suits you or not. Simply being a wife is not enough for me. My mother was a wife, and that did not save her from my father’s fists. She ended her life at the bottom of the castle steps, a blossoming bruise upon her cheek.”
Aiden’s gaze dropped to his large hands. Ah, that explained so much. How brave his lass had been to face his wrath under such circumstances. “I’ve told you before, I’m not a man who beats women. I will never hurt you, Isabail. You have my word on that.”
She smiled faintly. “I know.”
“Then why caution me with a tale of your father?”
“Because I want more than a simple vow before a priest. I married once for practical gain, but I am a woman of means now. If I wed again, it will be for love.”
He smiled. “We’ll speak again on my return.”
Then, to avoid the argument he could see building in her eyes, he turned on his heel and left.
Chapter 13
Isabail lay back on the blankets and stared up at the thatching. Had MacCurran truly just offered to wed her? Without a single mention of love or devotion? Was he mad? Offers of marriage were supposed to be delivered on bended knee and accompanied by some sweet-smelling bouquet. Not delivered in the form of a threat.
“Did he truly say I could never leave?”
“He’s not thinking straight at the moment,” Ana said. “He’ll come to his senses in time.”
Isabail turned her head to look at the other woman. A woman she had falsely accused of killing her brother and condemned to die in a pit. The very same woman who had just healed a near-fatal wound in Isabail’s gut.
“How can you be so forgiving?” she asked.
Ana wielded her pestle with mastery, crushing handfuls of dried leaves in a small wooden bowl. “I’ve been on the wrong side of a judgment or two,” she said ruefully.
“I accused you of a crime you did not commit. Why would you agree to heal me?”
Ana paused to wipe sweat from her brow with her sleeve. “There is no room for intolerance in healing. I simply do what I am called upon to do. I can no sooner turn from a wounded person than I can cease to breathe. Whether the patient lives or dies is a decision to be made by God, not by me.” She smiled. “I am not worthy of such power.”
Isabail blushed and looked away. During the trial, she had called Ana Bisset a godless demon. Now she was writhing in shame.
“Do not feel any blame, Lady Isabail,” Ana said. “You, like many others, fell victim to the twisted mind of Friar Colban.”
Isabail shook her head. “Surely you must feel some anger toward me. No one can be as understanding as you profess to be.”
The other woman chuckled. “Aye, I felt anger. And aye, I cursed your name when I was wasting away in that pit. But before John’s death, before I was accused of poisoning him, you were kind to me. When I tended to the talon strike on your arm the day you got your merlin, you blessed me and pressed a gold coin into my hand. First one I’d ever seen.”
Isabail smiled. “Aye, well, I was rather certain I was going to lose the arm. When you told me it would heal within a fortnight, I was overjoyed.”
All that seemed so long ago. It was as if it had happened to another person. Isabail felt no connection to the young widow who’d lived for nothing more than to hunt at her brother’s side. So much had happened in the last year, not much of it pleasant. John’s death, the trial, the arrival of Cousin Archibald to take up the reins of the earldom.
Before that she’d been happy. As happy as any woman can be who had lost her husband prematurely and been left without children.
“Did Daniel truly threaten to slay Jamie?” Ana asked, her expression frank and serious.
Isabail nodded. “Choked him to near death right before me. He would have killed him if I hadn’t opened the tomb.”
“He’s a good lad,” said Ana. “And he’s already been through much.”
Meeting her gaze, Isabail swallowed heavily. “I fear for him. I truly do. Daniel will not hesitate to end his life if he feels the need.”
“Niall and the laird are going after him,” Ana assured her. “They will see to his safety.”
An image of MacCurran approaching the gate at Tayteath sprang into Isabail’s mind. She pushed herself weakly into a sitting position. “Tayteath has never fallen to a siege.”
Isabail groaned in frustration. “If I could accompany them, they could enter the castle freely. My soldiers will open the gates to me.”
“You are not well enough to travel,” Ana pointed out, setting her pestle on the table. “And I do not believe the MacCurran would want you in his party.”
Isabail put a hand on the bandages wrapped about her waist. She felt surprisingly well, considering the grievous wound she sported. Only a wee bit weary. “Please,” she begged. “Ask the laird if I can accompany them. It would save many lives on both sides if the castle can be entered peacefully.”
Ana looked dubious.
“Please. I will never forgive myself if I don’t make the attempt.”
Heaving a heavy sigh, the healer nodded and ducked under the fur panel over the door.
Isabail downed the rest of her cup of ale, then set it aside. She was feeling stronger by the minute. Whipping aside the blanket, she swung her feet to the floor. The MacCurran would never agree to take her along if she could not stand on her own feet.
Gathering her resolve with a deep, indrawn breath, she shoved against the straw mattress and thrust herself upright. All might have gone well had a wave of dizziness not washed over her at that moment. She teetered to one side, reached for the wall, and missed. Crashing to the wooden floor, she narrowly missed landing on the brazier.
“You foolish lass,” growled the MacCurran as he strode across the room and scooped her into his arms. The comforting warmth of his chest competed with the throbbing pain in her hip from the fall. “You lay near death only a few moments ago. You should yet be abed.”
Isabail gave in to her desire and pressed her cheek against his chest. “You cannot go without me. Tayteath is unbreachable.”
“No castle is unbreachable,” he said gruffly.
“If I accompany you, it will not be necessary to try.”
To her regret, he lowered her to the mattress and stepped back. “You cannot come. Speed is of the essence, and you will only slow us down.”
She pushed to her elbows. “What good is speed if you can’t get past the castle gate?”