At the Highlander's Mercy (8 page)

‘Much of it was during my capture,’ she said. And she left it at that, not wanting to say more. ‘I fought back,’ she could not help but add.

Siusan nodded and then they both became busy with chores. But the woman kept a watch on her, allowing no one to get too close and permitting short rest times throughout the day. By the time the evening meal had been made and served and the pots cleaned, exhaustion claimed her. And the thought of climbing those stairs terrified her.

Lilidh was sitting in the corner as the kitchen emptied, all the tasks of the day completed and the morrow’s begun, when two guards entered and walked to where she waited. Siusan had left, as well, and if Lilidh had possessed the strength, she would have stood. She couldn’t, so she watched their approach.

‘Come with us,’ one of them ordered. She looked from one to the other and knew they were only carrying out their duty in this.

Lilidh tried to push to her feet, but she stumbled and landed hard on the stool. Wincing, she tried again and failed. She was not trying to refuse—her body had simply given out. She did not resist when they took her by the arms, one on each side of her, and lifted her to her feet.

She lost track of herself then, as they hauled her along corridors and up the stairs to Rob’s chambers. Truly, she would never have made
her way without one at each arm. Lilidh leaned on their strength and let them carry her all the way and though they did not relent, they did not do this harshly. They reached the bedchamber and walked her in, releasing her next to the bed. The door had only just closed when she collapsed to the floor.

And she stayed as she fell.

T
he sight before his eyes shocked and horrified him.

He’d seen battles. He’d seen the dead. And he’d seen everything in between. But the sight of Lilidh, on his bedchamber floor, unmanned, undid him. Rob leaned down nearer to her and touched her face.

Thank the Almighty, she was still breathing.

She lay curled on her side, one arm tucked under her head and the other wrapped in her skirts. Though breathing, her chest barely moved. Her face, pale this morn, was ghostly now, washed of all colour. He spoke her name and received no response at all. Then, when he gently rubbed her shoulder, she moaned something he could not understand and rolled away
from his touch. Glancing around the chamber, he found a basin and some water heated by the hearth and brought it closer to her.

When she’d entered the hall, so proud and fearless, his lungs had stopped taking in air. He watched her progress through the others, ignoring the insults and whispers that even he could hear until she stood before them. Everyone else disappeared as he took her in, truly for the first time.

The first thing he noticed was the pallor of her skin and the bruises that marred it. Her neck, chin, even her face, carried the evidence of harsh treatment—from Symon during her capture, no doubt. From the whiteness of her skin, he knew that there would be other marks on her arms and legs from his manhandling.

The first warning that more trouble was brewing for him came when Symon demanded to see Lilidh this morn. Tyra asked about her presence, which surprised him. Surely Symon had spoken to his sister about his plans and that Rob had claimed Lilidh. To speak plainly of her and to summon her publicly was out of character for his betrothed. As he’d told Symon, his choice of women to take to his bed was his own business and Tyra could neither question nor oppose it.

So, he supposed that surprise made him allow the summons to bring Lilidh to happen. The demand that she work for her keep was another surprise. It was as though Symon was calling his bluff over her and over his disregard of the possible tender feelings of his sister.

A challenge, pure and simple, and one meant to call his decision into question.

But Rob had thought to work around that by agreeing—so that Lilidh was seen by all and that his order to have her work would show she was nothing more than a hostage of war and not to receive any special treatment.

What the hell had he been thinking?

He dipped a cloth in the water and touched it to her cheek, wiping away some remnant of dirt gained from her working in the kitchens. He reached for a cup on the table and brought it to her lips. Lifting her head, he tipped it, allowing the ale to flow against her mouth until she opened and took some. Her eyelids fluttered and opened, her gaze confused and indistinct.

Then she realised where she was and who held the cup. He got barely a second’s warning before she pulled away from him and scooted across the floor. Not until she was pressed against the wall did she stop, her eyes now wild and her hands fending off anyone who
approached. Rob followed with the cup, letting her come to full consciousness before speaking. When she took it from him and drank it down, he knew she was awake.

‘Have you eaten?’ he asked, taking the cup and filling it with half as much as before for her. Too much ale on an empty stomach would not be good for her.

Lilidh nodded, as she let her legs slide down in front of her. ‘Siusan saw me fed.’

‘Are you well?’ he asked, rising to stand and holding out his hand to her. She waved it off.

‘Well enough.’

He allowed her to remain there and tended to some letters that had arrived for him. Sitting at the table, he gave her time to gather herself before trying to speak more to her. Tossing the missives aside, he wondered if her father would send something in writing or in armour to answer this action of Symon’s.

‘Why did you do this? Why did you bring me into the middle of this?’ she asked, unwilling to wait any longer for an explanation from him. ‘What do you expect to get in return for me?’

Rob did not know how to answer her because he had yet to figure it out for himself. Some of it was obvious, but some was much
more difficult to think about. His long-dead dreams kept raising themselves, poking and prodding his heart and his honour. For now, he would keep this situation between them as simple as possible. Without facing her, he gave her the easiest answer. ‘Gold,’ he said.

‘Why do you lie to me over this? I deserve at least the truth of it from you.’ How could she tell he lied?

‘Leave it, Lilidh. You are here.’ Rob faced her now and recognised the mutinous gleam in her eyes. She would not let this or much go untouched.

‘Have you sent your demands to my father or the MacGregors yet?’ she asked quietly, as though she could read his thoughts. ‘Or heard from them yet?’

‘Yes. Word of your presence here was sent yesterday to both, though I suspect your father knows already.’

She shifted against the wall, drawing in a quick gasp as she moved. Her leg. She’d limped into the hall and out of it this morn. Now, after a day in the kitchens …

‘Lilidh—’ he began.

‘Rob,’ she interrupted. He paused and nodded to her to continue. His coming to his senses
about her treatment and decision not to let his cousin, or his betrothed, give the orders could wait.

‘Though I suspect the outcome might be no different, there is something you should know,’ she said. The frown on her brow bespoke of news he would not like. ‘I am not certain if your aim is war with both the MacLeries and the MacGregors or not.’ She shifted again, pulling her legs up towards her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She was waiting for him to respond.

‘Taking you prisoner involves both, I think. Neither your father nor your husband will suffer the insult to their honour lightly.’

‘He is dead,’ she said, almost on a whisper.

‘Connor is dead?’ he asked, going to her before he even knew he’d stood or taken a step. ‘Your father …’ Somehow he could never picture the ruthless, unbeatable Highland warrior dead. Regret rather than satisfaction pierced him. So many regrets.

‘Not my father. Iain MacGregor. My husband died recently.’ She shrugged. ‘Though as his widow, I am sure his family will take insult since that’s how you meant this to be.’

Dear God! Knowing the MacGregors, they would declare war against his clan just for the
fun of fighting! This changed many things, especially since it made Connor the only one with whom they would be dealing. No one to argue or to mitigate with him on their behalf. Though Rob knew Connor paid heed to his wife and, now that Rob held Lilidh prisoner, Jocelyn would press for war against him. No mother was more dangerous when defending her young than the wife of the Beast.

Rob rubbed his face and turned away from Lilidh. Could this get any more tangled? Had Symon had any inkling of what they would face when he launched into this folly? And now, as chieftain, it was Rob’s duty to get them out of it and save the clan, as well.

Then the truth of the matter struck him—Lilidh’s husband was dead.

‘When did he pass?’ Rob asked as he faced her. He searched her expression for some sign of grief over the loss.

‘Nigh to a month ago now,’ she said in a calm voice. A tone far too calm for a wife missing her beloved husband, he thought.

If she was returning to Lairig Dubh when taken by Symon, then surely she could not be carrying an heir? Was she returning to tell her parents of the news?

‘And his heir?’ he asked, unexpectedly nervous
over the answer. Somehow the thought of her carrying the child of Iain MacGregor turned his stomach. A political marriage, he had no doubt, but the image of her in that old man’s bed forced Rob to confront many of his old feelings and desires and dreams.

‘His brother has taken his seat as chief,’ she explained without having to say more.

She carried no child of Iain MacGregor in her womb.

The implications ran furiously through his mind now. The problems. The possibilities. So much to consider and so much to make sense of before taking the next step. It was obvious that the MacGregors were concerned over the shift of loyalties in the area or the news of a new laird would have been announced. The MacKenzies could not have known of it or they would have shifted their attentions and attempts for new allies to the larger, more powerful, wealthier MacGregors over his clan. Would they now leave the Mathesons to face the rage of the MacLerie on their own?

He turned his attention back to the woman in the centre of all of this. He’d still not commented on the death of her husband and she did not look as most women who were recently bereaved appeared.

‘My condolences on your loss, Lady MacGregor,’ he said, offering his words to her official title. He’d met and known Iain through his time as foster son to Connor and he seemed a fair man. The only thing he could hold against him was … No, he could not think that. ‘His death was unexpected?’

At her curt nod, Rob understood that Lilidh would not respond well to pity or too much soft sympathy, so he did not offer that. Since she knew that her marriage had made the two clans allies, Rob did not ask more about it or examine his own feelings when they tried to push their way to the front of his thoughts. Instead, he walked to where she sat and held out his hands again, this time not allowing her to refuse.

‘Come. Sitting on the cold floor will only make things worse,’ he said. ‘Did Siusan stay with you all day?’ He’d sent a message to the woman as soon as he’d ordered Lilidh to the kitchens. She was trustworthy and would not torment or abuse Lilidh. He lifted her to her feet and did not release her until she’d taken several steps. When they reached the chair nearest the hearth, she took hold of it and used it to keep her balance.

‘Yes, she did. I do not remember her, but she
said she’d visited Lairig Dubh years ago,’ Lilidh said. Pushing her now-loosened hair out of her face and over her shoulders, she took in and released a deep breath. ‘May I wash?’ she asked, pointing at the basin where he’d left it on the floor.

Rob got the basin, added more hot water to it and placed it on the chair before her. After watching her for a few moments, he turned his back and gave her some privacy. It gave him time to sort out his thoughts.

If he did not take command of everyone in the clan, Lilidh would not be the only one in danger. He had been surprised, much as Symon had been, when he was named his father’s successor, but if he did not step in and fully accept it, so much would be lost in lives and more. Looking back now at Lilidh, Rob knew he would not allow her to be mistreated while in his custody. He might allow others to think what they would, but no one else would give orders about her again.

This might be his first step—it would not be his last.

He would discover the truth about Symon’s involvement with both the MacKenzies and, if any, his father’s death. He would convince the elders who stood at Symon’s side to come to his.
And whether the MacKenzies or the MacLeries held the best opportunities for the Mathesons, he would discover it and make the best treaty for his clan.

Unfortunately, Symon was more entrenched and well established here than Rob was since he had expected and had been expected to inherit if Ailean, his father’s wife, did not give birth to a legitimate son. Only when his father began to question Symon’s loyalty had the elders wavered in their unconditional support for his cousin. Then, when his father had changed his opinion and resisted the MacKenzies’ overture to a better treaty with them and breaking with the MacLeries, had Rob’s name been brought up as a possibility for tanist.

His father and Ailean’s untimely deaths took away most of the choices or the time for the elders to evaluate who should be laird next. When their decision was needed, they chose Rob.

Though tradition called for the chieftain’s chair to move through male heirs, their clan had also looked to female lines if needed and Symon’s claim through his mother would stand. Yet, more than once legitimacy or the lack of it had been overlooked when the clan was in need. Since they were more landowners than
nobles, the Mathesons were nothing if not practical when times called for it and these times did just that. But that did not mean that some would be unhappy or that some would try to change the decision of the elders.

Well, no matter, he was chief. And he had it in his power to remain in that position and to be an even better laird than his father had been. One very much like the man who now wanted his head separated from his shoulders and other bits of him torn apart, too.

‘May I walk a bit?’ Lilidh’s voice broke into his reverie.

‘Walk?’ he asked, facing her. ‘Where?’

‘I just need to walk out some of the cramping,’ she explained. ‘Here would be fine.’

‘And that doesn’t hurt more than sitting or lying down?’ He should have not asked about something so personal, something he had no right to question her about. Her expression exposed how much she hated to speak of her leg, but he wanted to know.

‘Standing in one place. Sitting in one place. Too many steps. All of those hurt the most. Moving slowly, steadily, walking, even some riding is bearable,’ she said.

‘And today?’

She looked as though she had something
to say and then just shook her head instead. Her hair, freed from the earlier braid, fell in waves over her shoulders and down her back, the midnight tresses made even curlier from the form and tightness of the plait. The dark circles under her eyes and the increasing pallor of her skin worried him.

‘Go ahead,’ he said, motioning with his hand across the length of the chamber. ‘Have your walk.’

She gave him an uncertain glance and then bent down and removed her shoes. Lilidh remained leaning over, with her nose nearly touching her knees for several seconds. Then she straightened up and began taking longish strides across his chamber. He watched her for a bit, but decided he should focus his attentions on something other than the beautiful woman gliding along his bedchamber floor.

He picked up the papers that lay strewn across his table and put them in order. The MacKenzies had written, offering their terms for a new treaty, in language that sounded like a good deal. But the words seemed too flowery and too good to be the truth in deed. What he wouldn’t give to have the MacLerie peacemaker look it over and give him advice.