His Bonnie Bride (2 page)

Storm looked at this sign of rebellion in the ranks with contempt and half raised her fist. "Ye will or your stub of a nose will be peeping out of the curls on the back of your head."

Andrew went but tried to salve his pride with a lot of grumbling concerning his sister's many faults. Storm busied herself getting a bowl and clean water and tearing her petticoats into clean strips. She washed her hands, washed the wound and cleansed the needle she would use. When Andrew returned she made her poultice, neatly stitched the laird's wound after dousing it with whiskey, treated it and expertly bound it, even to tying a sling for the laird's arm.

The MacLagans watched with amused admiration. Not only was the child not made squeamish by the ugly wound, but she had a definite skill. As she worked she talked to the dark, scarred Scottish laird just as a nurse to a child, much to the amusement of him and the other men.

Tavis, having recently reached the manly age of nineteen, was fascinated. Storm Eldon was an elfin child, small and slender. Her small, long-fingered hands held a grace far beyond her years. The thick hair speedily escaped the restraint of her braids and looked startling against a skin of alabaster hue. Her face was heart shaped, and the wide, slanted, amber eyes, set beneath tilted brown brows and heavily lashed, seemed to fill it, leaving little room for the delicately shaped nose and full mouth. He could not even begin to catalogue the many facets of her character.

"How old are you, child?" he asked as she washed her hands.

"I turned ten a month past." She handed Iain the remainder of her homemade salve, instructing, "You keep the wound clean, change the dressing thrice each day, and dab a bit more of this on it until it begins to close. In about a week or ten days ye can cut the stitches. I hope Papa did not get hurt, for he likes me to tend to him. The others fuss over him too much."

"There was no sign that he had been," Sholto MacLagan, the youngest of Colin's three sons, said.

They were brought some food, for it was thought that it would take some time for the Eldons and the Fosters to gather the ransom. The six children sat quietly eating, unaware that the MacLagans discussed them. Hilda glanced toward them every now and then, but the captive men needed her attention more.

"Do ye think the lass has poisoned ye?" Sholto jested when he saw the laird touch his bandage.

"Nay. I was just thinking it a job well done. Never seen such neat stitches. The lass has the touch. I have seen me a muckle lot of wee lasses in my years, but none the like of her."

"Aye," Tavis agreed. "I was thinking much the same. Hard to believe she is an English lass."

Colin grinned. "Aye. Too much spirit in her. Stick ye like a pig indeed." He laughed but stopped suddenly, his eyes on the children. "Oh ho. Trouble in the ranks."

Robin Foster was suffering from bruised pride. It was a sore point to recall how he had cowered behind Storm's skirts when faced with the enemy. Now it rubbed to have her holding sway over all of them, a position he felt should be his. When she told him to take his sister's plate it was one thing too many. He leapt to his feet, tossed his plate to the ground and glared at Storm.

"No, I will not. I do not have to take orders from you. 'Tis an insult."

Storm slowly rose to her feet, hearing the insult to her behind his words. "How so, young Robin?"

"I am destined to be an English peer and I'll not take orders from a half-Irish bastard."

"I'm no bastard and well ye know it. My father married my mother ere I was born."

"Minutes before," Robin sneered. "We have all heard the tale. Well, Robin Foster takes no orders from the spawn of some Irish whore," he yelled, his words echoing in a suddenly quiet camp.

His words were barely spoken when Storm's fist sent him sprawling to the ground. She flung herself upon him and began the fight in earnest then, her skirts not hampering her in brawling as well as any lad. They were equally matched. The men moved in closer to watch, thus stopping Hilda from putting an end to it. Matilda watched silently, but Storm's brother and cousins were highly vocal in urging her on to victory. Even the captives took sides.

"Irish blood, eh?" Colin mused as he watched the children fighting. "That explains it. I wonder where and how his lordship found himself an Irish lass?"

"She has him now. This will sore wound his pride," Tavis said, laughing.

Storm had Robin pinned to the ground. "Do ye yield?" she asked with one fist raised near his face.

For an instant Robin hesitated, but his body had already suffered too much from those punishing little fists. "Aye, aye. I yield. I yield."

"Now take back those words ye said about my mother."

"Taken. Will ye get off?" he wailed, sure that his nose was broken as well as a few other things.

Tavis lifted the little girl off her defeated foe and Hilda rushed over to help Robin, moaning, "Lass, lass, it ain't right for ye to be tussling about like a stablehand."

"He called my mother a ... one of those," she cried, defending her lapse from gentility.

"And bad it was for him to do so, there's no denying, but it wasn't right for ye to answer the insult with yer fists. That ain't the way of a lady."

"No," Storm snarled, "the way of a lady is a bit of poison in the meal. So much more refined." She tried to yank free of Tavis's grip, but he ignored her struggles, seating her next to Colin.

"My mother was no whore," she grumbled as Tavis began to clean her up, checking her for anything worse than a scrape or a bruise, "and I am no bastard. I could not let him get away with those lies."

One look at her troubled, beseeching face told Tavis that Robin's words were an often flung insult. "If your parents were wed before ye were born then ye are no bastard and she no whore." He knew that was far too general a statement, but he would not try to explain that marriage did not always stop a woman from being a whore. "It looks like ye just missed having this eye swell."

She shrugged. "I have had one or two before. They were late wedding for Papa was off to battle, but ere I saw the light of day they had taken their vows. My mama was beautiful and a lady."

"'I'm sure she was," Tavis murmured as he continued to bathe her face.

With that fine sense a child often has, Storm realized the man was murmuring soothing nothings. "Well," she drawled, "I cannot see what her being Irish has to do with it."

Tavis paused in his ministrations, saw her dancing gaze and grew wary. "Quite right."

"After all," she looked at him, appearing quite innocent save for the twinkle in her unusual eyes, "she could have been Scottish." She met his disgusted look with a peal of laughter so light, carefree and lovely to the ear that many a mouth smiled in response to it.

Unraveling what remained of her braids so that he could free her hair of twigs and leaves, Tavis grinned at her. "You are a wretched wee lass that ought to have been beaten thrice a day."

" 'Tis what Papa says, yet he never does it." She eyed him as he combed his fingers through her hair, ridding it of foreign clutter, and began to adeptly rebraid her hair. " 'Tis a skill ye have for that. Do ye have a wife then?" Tavis shook his head, and she looked at Colin with a grin. "Frisky, is he?"

"Sit still." Tavis gently yanked on her hair as his family laughed. "Why the name Storm?"

" 'Twas the weather the night I was born. They had expected a son, so had no girl's name chosen. So, too, did my Mama believe that as I was born midday on the summer's solstice in the midst of thunder, lightning, wind and rain that my character, perhaps even my life, would be stormy so 'twas a fitting name. I fear I have too oft proven her right." She looked down at her dirty, tattered dress and sighed. " 'Tis plain for all to see that I have been in a tussle. Papa will be angry."

"I think your papa will note little save that his bairns are well and whole," Tavis predicted.

The great hall at Hagaleah was the scene of hectic activity as the highest-ranking men of the Eldon and Foster households gathered in various states of health. The squires saw to the care of the armor and the weary men relaxed in their shirts and breeches. Conversation centered around what had gone wrong in the battle.

"Leave it be," Lord Eldon snapped at the young maidservant who had started to see to his small wounds. "Find my daughter. Storm has the touch I need, and where the hell is my wife? Find her." When the young girl fled to do as he commanded Lord Eldon turned his brown eyes upon Lord Foster. "Did they catch many of our men? A heavy ransom would be unwelcome at this time."

"Not many, and few of any standing." Lord Foster ran a grimy hand through his blond hair. "We may have lost the battle, Eldon, but our loss of men was not as high as I had feared," he said half-heartedly, and the talk turned to trying to recall exactly who had fallen that day.

"What mean you her ladyship cannot come?" bellowed Lord Eldon when the maid returned with no one. "Where is my daughter then? Or Robin? He e'er rushes to his father when the man returns."

"I cannot find them, m'lord. The ladies are abed and looking pale. Aye, as are their maids. I cannot find Hilda, nay, nor none o' the wee ones. They weren't any o' the places they oft go."

"Get her ladyship and Lord Foster's fiancee down here, wench, if you have to drag them. Now," Lord Eldon snarled and watched the girl race off before turning to Lord Foster. "I cannot like it. Not at all."

He liked it even less when the ladies arrived. They looked ill and terrified. Their personal servants huddled near them, acting as if they were headed to the gallows. He exchanged a look with Lord Foster, and they both began to tense, especially when the women began to weep piteously.

"Where are the children?" demanded Lord Eldon in a voice that silenced everyone. "Cease that damnable caterwauling and answer me."

"We do not know," whimpered Mary, and she cringed when her husband leapt to his feet.

"When did you last see them?" Lord Foster barked as he moved to tower over the women.

"On the knoll near to the battle." The dark looks growing on the men's begrimed faces caused Mary to cringe and begin to babble. "We just wished to watch the battle. All was well until suddenly the Scots were coming from all sides. We fled for our lives but, once safe, Hilda and the children were gone." Her words ended on a scream as her husband's open hand connected with her cheek, snapped her head back and sent her sprawling into the other women. "There was nothing we could do," she wept as she shielded herself behind the others.

"Sweet Mother of God! Nothing you could do?" he bellowed. "Your recklessness has handed the enemy our heirs. My brother-in-law's as well. If they let the children live, the ransom they will ask could ruin us. You managed to save your own precious neck though, didn't you?"

"It all happened so quickly." In an attempt to pacify him, Mary moved closer, saying softly, "I am so sorry, but you can have other children. I can give you children."

He grabbed her by the hair and hissed, "Have no fear, wife, you will an I can stomach seeding you." With an oath he flung her away. "Heed me, if my children are returned, they, and any future ones I may have, will not come into your care. I will choose who cares for them and they will answer only to me."

Lord Foster strove to shake free of his shock. "Are you sure Hilda is with them?"

"We think so, m'lord," replied one of the maids. "Mistress Storm kept the wee ones to the back near the shrubs, and they were gone when the heathens stormed the knoll. Hilda was with us, but when she saw that the children were not she was like a madwoman. She leapt from the cart whilst it was moving and disappeared." The girl began to weep quietly. "Lord, it looked as if she ran straight into the enemy."

"Be gone," roared Lord Eldon, sending the errant ladies scurrying for their quarters. "My God," he groaned as he sat down, "how could I have wed such a woman? If she were not so incapable of thought, I would wonder if this action was planned to rid her of the obstacles 'twixt my estate and any children she and I may have. I hope old Hilda comes to no harm."

Nodding, Lord Foster sat down next to him. "If she and Storm are with the babes, they'll not be so afraid." A smile suddenly broke out on his face. "Now, I wonder what the Scots make of Storm?"

A laugh, weak but true, broke from Lord Eldon. "Sweet Jesus, she no doubt told them in great detail of the many ways she would alter their anatomy." A sadness came and went in his eyes. "She is so very much like her mother. 'Tis glad I am she is but a child and not a woman grown."

Thinking of Storm as a woman grown, Lord Foster shuddered, knowing full well how the girl would be used. "God, yes. Even now a man can see that the lass will be a true beauty."

"I pray they do not harm them. I feel a wretch for I seem more worried for Storm than the others, but there is no denying she is dearer to my heart. Mayhaps 'tis the matter of her birth, that I was there to help her into the world. Ah, then, too, there's that temper of hers, her healing touch, the way she can cut to the heart of a matter, be so adult one minute then so delightfully childlike the next."

"I know. Feel no guilt, my friend, she touches us all. Even I, though she will insist on shaming me by thrashing Robin." He exchanged a weak grin with Lord Eldon. "Come let us decide what we have to meet the ransom demands that must come soon."

They were working hard on that when the MacLagan messenger arrived. Both men ground their teeth as the Scot was ushered in. It was hard not to race up to him, demanding to know the children's fate.

"The children are unharmed?" Lord Eldon demanded before the man had begun to speak.

"Aye, m'lord, as is the nurse, though there was no need o' the woman rushin' at us and demandin' tae be taken tae the bairns. The wee lass with the odd-colored hair was managing. The demands?"

"Aye, aye. Tell us what is asked for." Lord Foster frowned as the messenger related all that was asked for the safe return of all whom they held; although it was not as bad as they had feared, it was steep. "Tell MacLagan he shall have it. We will deliver what he asks on the morrow, an hour after first light."