Highland Captive (28 page)

“Och,
the poor wee lassie,” Malcolm mourned, his light brown eyes awash with tears.

“Dinnae
touch her back,” Maggie warned when Malcolm moved to pick Aimil up. “She be
sore beaten there.”

As
a way to carry Aimil with the least pain to her was sorted out, Maggie told how
they had escaped Rory. She never mentioned Aimil’s promise of a place but was
given the same promise by the men who fretted over the unconscious girl. With
those assurances warming her, Maggie remounted her horse with equanimity,
politely refusing all offers to ride with one of the men.

Some
of the MacGuin men stayed behind as the rest began the return to Dubhglenn.
Those who remained would check to see if any Ferguesons trailed the women and,
if they did, that they got no further.

The
trip back to Dubhglenn was taken easily in deference to Aimil’s injuries. None
wanted to cause her any more pain than they knew she must already be suffering.
They ached to avenge her but knew it was more important to get her to the care
and safety of Dubhglenn. So too did they know that Parlan would wish the
pleasure of seeking vengeance.

“Malcolm,
that lass is falling behind again. See if ye cannae get her to ride with one of
us,” said Lagan after a while.

Aimil,
waking to find herself in Leith’s arms, heard the order and said, “She willnae.
She cannae bear the touch of a man.”

“Aye,
I could see the fading bruises.” Malcolm’s square face darkened with anger. “Fergueson’s
had at the poor lass.” He started to turn back toward the faltering Maggie. “I
will take her reins. T’will be enough to keep her with us.”

“How
do ye feel, Aimil?” Leith asked, each look at her battered face increasing his
hatred of Rory Fergueson.

“Like
the verra Devil.” She sighed. “I wouldnae have made it as far as I did without
Maggie’s aid. We must find a place for her.”

“We
will, m’eudail. Never fear of that. I ken by looking at ye that I owe her your
life.”

“How
fares Parlan?”

“Weel,”
replied Lagan, “now that we have threatened him into staying in bed. He sore
ached to ride with us.”

A
little smile touched her bruised mouth. She could just picture Parlan tied to
his bed by his wound and making life a misery for all. As the blackness
overtook her again, she recalled that there was something she needed to tell
Leith, but it would have to wait.

Parlan’s
roar could easily be heard even before the raiding party had entered the tower
house. He had heard the men returning far earlier than they should have and was
anxious to know why. Catarine’s pleas for him to lie still earned her only
curses. She wished she had obeyed her desire to leave when the men entered with
Malcolm carefully carrying the girl Catarine had thought dead.

Maggie
espied Catarine trying to slip out of the room. “‘Tis her. ‘Tis the one who
told Rory where to find mistress Aimil.”

Catarine
fled, and Lagan moved to pursue her, but Parlan stayed him. “She willnae show
her lying face about here again or elsewhere we go to. She willnae dare. She
will be in fear for what remains of her natural life. So too will her treachery
become weel known thus closing many a door to her. ‘Tis enough. Tell me what
happened.”

Maggie
was urged to retell her story as Old Meg tended to Aimil who was placed beside
Parlan in his huge bed at his insistence. His dark gaze never left Aimil as
Maggie spoke. The extent of the beating Aimil had endured became evident as Old
Meg stripped her. Even though he was filled with a blind rage against Rory
Fergueson, Parlan felt like joining young Leith in weeping over his sister’s
injuries.

“Poor,
poor wee lassie,” Old Meg crooned then fixed her keen gaze upon Parlan. “Could
have been worse. She could have lost the bairn.”

“What?”
Parlan’s question was but a soft croak in the silence of the room.

“The
bairn, ye great gowk. Ye certainly have been working at one hard enough. ‘Tis
weel past time, too.”

“Aimil
carries my child?” His stunned gaze was fixed upon Aimil’s slim waist, the
covers drawn up only to her hips.

“Aye.
‘Tis time ye stopped tossing good seed to the four winds. I ken what ye planted
at the verra first took root or near to. She will be rounding before long now.
‘Tis set in there good and tight. Fergueson couldnae shake this fruit from the
tree for all he tried to.”

“Why
did she tell me naught?” Parlan’s unsteady hand brushed the hair from Aimil’s
bruised face.

“I
dinnae think she kenned it,” spoke up Maggie. “She was sick a time or twa, and
I guessed it, but she thought t’was from the beating. I noted a thing or twa
whilst I tended to her as weel. Nay, I be fair certain that she doesnae ken it.”

“Ye
must wed her now,” said Leith. “Ransom be damned.”

“Aye,
I must wed her. Recall that I had set my mind to it before Rory took her.”
Leith nodded and Parlan’s big hands suddenly clenched into fists. “I wish to
God that I could kill that bastard Fergueson more than once. By faith, he will
beg for death before I finish with him.”

Aimil
heard that familiar, if muted, roar through the receding haze of
unconsciousness and was comforted by it despite how the voice trembled with
fury. “Parlan?”

He
caught the small hand that reached out to him. “Aye, little one. Ye are safe at
Dubhglenn now. Tucked up in my bed again.”

“T’was
Catarine, Parlan. She betrayed ye.”

“Aye,
we ken that now. She will never give us any further trouble. The bitch will
keep herself weel out of sight.”

She
nodded wishing that she could see him. “Are ye still angry about the trick I played
on ye? He would have killed ye.”

“Aye,
he would have for all he promised Catarine he wouldnae. Nay, I am not angry
though ‘tis furious I was at the time.”

She
managed a little smile. “I didnae think he would try to kill me so it seemed
the thing to do at the time.”

“Aye.
I should have told ye about him, but I didnae want to frighten ye and I thought
ye safe here.” He looked at Lagan and Malcolm. “I can hear the other men
returning. See if there was any incident. Old Meg, show Maggie to a room.”

“Humph,”
Old Meg grumbled as she ushered Maggie out of the room, “sitting in that lewd
bed, barking out orders like some king.”

“Is
Leith still here?”

“Right
here, Aimil.” Leith immediately turned from leaving and returned to her side.

“I
must speak to Papa.” She shivered as she recalled the tales Rory had related as
he had beaten her.

“Aye,
Leith,” growled Parlan, “fetch your father. Best he sees how the man he chose
to wed Aimil treats a lass.” He shook his head. “Here is the proof we sought of
the man’s madness though I wish to God it hadnae come into our hands this way.”

Leith
was gone before Aimil could say anymore. He was anxious to show his father that
the dark, whispered tales about Rory Fergueson were not rumors. There would be
no wedding now. Even Lachlan Mengue could not send his daughter to such a man.

“Aimil?
Did he rape ye?” Parlan asked, realizing that no one had mentioned that and he
feared the worst.

“Nay,
Parlan. He kenned that, for all my brave talk, I feared that, and he planned to
torture me by nae letting me ken when he would do it.”

“It
wouldnae have mattered to me save that it would be one more hurt to make him
pay for.” He lightly traced her bruised cheek. “He will pay for each and every
bruise he put on ye. I swear to it.”

“He
isnae one to fight fair, Parlan. Ye mustnae think he will face ye square like
an honorable man.”

“Och,
I ken that weel enough. Fear not for me, little one. I have fought snakes like
Rory Fergueson before. I ken their ways weel.”

“Dinnae
go,” she cried when he tried to draw his hand from her grasp.

“Now
where would I be going with a great hole in my leg?” he teased gently. “Ye
rest, Aimil. ‘Tis the surest cure.”

“I
cannae seem to do aught else,” she murmured even as blackness yet again
embraced her.

While
she slept, he studied her closely. It seemed a miracle that she was still alive
let alone had been able to get free of her prison. Carefully, so as not to
touch any of her wounds, he ran his fingers over her waist, tracing the side of
the area that held his growing seed. So too was it a miracle that all she had
been through had not robbed them of that precious gift. Their child clung to
life with all the stubbornness his or her parents had. If Rory had known of the
child or had held Aimil any longer, Parlan was sure the child would have been
lost.

“Is
it right for her to sleep so often, Meg?” he asked when the old woman returned
with a cold meal for both of them.

“‘Tis
a natural sleep,” she reported after a careful look at Aimil. “‘Tis the wee
lass’s way of healing. The bairn could have a wee bit to do with it.”

“Ye
mean ‘tis hurt in some way? I thought ye said the bairn was fine.” Parlan
wondered how he could panic so over a creature he had not even known existed
until only a few hours ago.

Old
Meg rolled her eyes in disgust. “Keep still. ‘Tis natural for a woman to sleep
a fair bit at the start.” She set a plate of bread and meat before him and
pushed a tankard of ale into his hand. “Eat up, laddie. I think ye will need
your strength.”

“‘Tisnae
a matter of jest,” he grumbled. “Do ye think she will be all right? Such a wee
lass to be beaten so badly.”

“Aye,
she will be fine and bear ye a bonnie bairn. The lass is a wee one, but there
is steel in her bone and sinew. This has lain her low for now, and there will
be a scar or twa upon her fair back, but she will be hale before too long. That
be when ye will have a great deal of trouble.”

Parlan
chuckled. “Aye, keeping her from carrying on as ever. And what do ye think of
my choice of wife?”

“As
if ye care what this old woman thinks. Aye, but I will tell ye despite that.
She be a good lass and she willnae cower before your every scowl. Ye couldnae
abide a weak woman. More important, she has the approval of your people. They
have all asked after the lass, fashing themselves over her.”

That
left Parlan feeling quite content. He did not let his clan rule his life to the
extent where they could choose his wife, but their approval of Aimil meant a
lot. It would, if nothing else, make life much easier for her. She would have
no trouble finding a place for herself at Dubhglenn.

Lying
beside her, lightly holding her hand, Parlan contemplated the step he planned
to take. With marriage and fatherhood staring him in the face, he was surprised
to feel no qualms. He was, in fact, quite content. It seemed natural to picture
the future with Aimil in each scene.

Aimil
stirred restlessly, reliving the recent horror of being Rory’s captive in her
dreams and calling out fretfully, “Parlan! Parlan, where are ye?”

He
spent several moments easing her fright with murmured words of reassurance that
finally penetrated to her sleeping mind then, glaring at the ceiling, hissed, “Ye
will pay for putting the darkness in her dreams, Rory Fergueson. I swear it. Ye
will pay dearly.”

Chapter Sixteen

A
grin broke out upon Lagan’s face as he entered Parlan’s chambers. The two
invalids were playing dice, and Parlan’s grumbling told him that Aimil’s good
luck at the game was holding true. He then recalled what he was there to
announce and frowned slightly.

“Lachlan
Mengue is in the hall and ready to see Aimil.”

Parlan
saw Aimil shiver as the shadow he had seen several times before passed over her
face again. He had wondered what troubled her but, with uncharacteristic
patience, had held off asking her about it. That it would be revealed in time
had been enough to restrain him.

“Weel,
send the man up. Ye best disarm him.” Parlan propped himself up on his pillow
to await the visitor.

“Ye
arenae intending to stay here, are ye?” Aimil gasped as a chuckling Lagan left
and Parlan gave no indication that he would also leave or even get dressed.

“‘Tis
my bed and do ye forget that I am sorely wounded? My leg, ye recall.”

“As
if I could forget that tree stump. Parlan, ye cannae stay here. What will my
father think?”

“That
we are twa invalids sharing a bed so as to ease the work of our nurses?”

She
thought his innocent look far too overdone. “Ye ken verra weel what he will
think when he sees us abed together and naked.”

“Aye,
he might think that especially”—he lifted the covers and peered beneath them—“if
he catches a glimpse of this poor fellow what’s a mere shadow of his former
mighty self.”

Aimil
could not resist a peek and rolled her eyes. “Some shadow. ‘Tis plain to see
that your wound hasnae dimmed your appetite.”

“I
begin to think that my appetite for ye will never be dimmed.”

Her
gaze flew to his and widened slightly for there was no twinkle in his eyes. His
obsidian eyes were warm and serious. As she was about to inquire just how
serious he was, a choking sound reached her ears. She looked toward the door,
and her eyes grew even wider but with horror as her gaze locked with her
father’s. Seeing how his face was turning a choleric red, she buried her face
in the pillow with a soft moan. It was cowardly but she could not help herself.