Highland Captive (37 page)

That
was true but Aimil had no intention of admitting it. “We are taking it most
carefully. In truth, we go along as if we ride old weary nags instead of the
fine, swift mounts we have. What harm in that? If Parlan decides he must rage
about it, I shall take all the blame. After all, I did talk ye into it against
your better judgment.”

“Aye,
ye did and I dinnae ken why I let ye do it.” He shook his head.

“‘Tis
because ye are sweet.”

“Am
I or am I but stupid? Aimil, ‘tis undoubtedly mad to let a woman so far gone
with child go for a ride. But ye forget that Rory Fergueson has yet to be found
and brought to justice?”

“I
am not about to forget such a thing. Surely he wouldnae come so close to
Dubhglenn and Parlan’s sword?”

“Who
can say? The man isnae right in his mind. T’would seem foolhardy indeed to come
so close to a place where so many ache to kill him but it was foolhardy for him
to take ye and do as he did. He couldnae have hidden ye there and carried on so
for verra long. Then too, a man who suffers madness can be verra clever.”

“Ah,
but Geordie, Rory’s man, is clever. He wouldnae let Rory come near here.”

“T’would
be fine if that is how it goes but”—Artair shrugged—“in such cases, who can
tell? Geordie may seem to lead Rory at times but that doesnae mean that Rory
isnae the master still.”

Aimil
shivered and could not stop herself from looking all around her. She told
herself her fear was nonsense. Pure nonsense. Rory had always been very careful
about keeping himself safe and coming so close to Dubhglenn was not.

Despite
that reassurance, she felt a chill ripple up her spine. She could not stop
herself from thinking about how totally helpless she was in her present state
nor about how any threat to her was also a threat to her child. Her hand instinctively
went to her abdomen as she thought on that. No matter how sternly she told
herself not to let her fears rule nor to let Artair’s dour words upset her, she
felt as if Rory did indeed lurk nearby, as if he watched her. The fear she
could not dismiss annoyed her, and she glared at Artair.

Artair
eyed her warily. They were slowly working toward being friends, but he could
not yet claim to know her well. He wondered if Parlan really knew her or ever
would. Never had he met a woman who seemed to so delight in acting contrary. He
had hoped to evoke a little common sense in her by voicing his honest concerns
but she seemed to be annoyed.

“Ye
were trying to frighten me, werenae ye, Artair MacGuin?” She scowled when a
fleeting look of guilt crossed his face, confirming her suspicions.

“I
was but trying to stir a wee bit of common sense in you.”

“Your
idea of common sense.”

“It
should be yours as weel. I wasnae feeding ye lies. I spoke of my honest worries
I hold about all of this.”

She
sighed, reined in her annoyance and nodded. “Fair enough. I rather wish ye
hadnae though.”

“Weel,
I didnae really mean to frighten ye badly. Do ye feel all right?” He warily
eyed her bulging stomach.

“Ye
didnae scare the bairn out of me if that is what ye fear.” She could not
restrain a laugh when he flushed. “Artair, a bairn doesnae come out with such
speed. Nay, especially not a first one. Even had ye scared me into labor,
t’would be hours before Parlan’s heir arrived. Dinnae fash yourself over it so.”

“Weel,
ye are a wee bit late.”

“Aye,
mayhaps, but being late doesnae mean the bairn will come any faster when it
does decide to leave me.”

“I
think I would still feel more at ease if ye were back at Dubhglenn nearer to
your bed and the women to help you.”

“I
begin to think I would too. Try as I may, I cannae ignore your warnings about
Rory. The taste of fear he left me with is still too strong. Your words have
made me feel that eyes watch us from every bush and tree.”

He
grimaced and reached out to squeeze her hand briefly. “I am sorry. That really
wasnae my intent.”

“I
ken it. Your intent has succeeded. We will return to Dubhglenn in a moment.”

“Why
hesitate?”

“Because
when I return to Dubhglenn, I ken weel that t’will be a long time before I can
leave again. As ye say, the bairn is late. He will bring me to my bed verra
soon, and I shall be tied to it for a while. Aye, and then to him and his
hunger. For just a moment longer I wish to sit here, breathing the fine, crisp
air and seeing no walls about me.” She smiled crookedly. “Ye can busy yourself
looking to find all those eyes I now think are peering at us.”

“Aimil,
I dinnae think he is that close.”

“Now,
dinnae back down. ‘Tis only wise to be cautious. I let myself forget that for a
moment. That is something I cannae do. Nay, I cannae relax my guard until Rory
Fergueson is dead.”

Rory
glared at the pair in the clearing. “T’will be a long time before that happens,
my pretty slut. Look at her, Geordie. Do ye see her?”

Hate
poured through Rory’s veins with a heat as strong as any passion he had ever
tasted. Aimil Mengue sat there proud and beautifully clothed as if she were
some fine lady but he knew better. She was no better than a base whore.

His
gaze fell to her bulging abdomen, and his hands clenched so tightly they hurt.
As Kirstie had done, Aimil had allowed her body to take and to nurture the seed
of another. Worse than Kirstie, however, Aimil had let one of the MacGuins he
so loathed to possess her and to round her lithe shape with child.

With
Kirstie, he had gained only the satisfaction of avenging her scorn with her
death. In killing Aimil, he could accomplish so much more. He could avenge her
scorning of him, repay them all for the ruin they had brought him, hurt Lachlan
Mengue by depriving him of the clearest memory of Kirstie the man had ever had,
and bring the great Black Parlan to his knees for, in one stroke, he could
deprive the man of his wife and his heir.

From
where he lay at Rory’s side, Geordie peered through the bracken. “Aye, I see
her. Now can we leave this place?”

“When
she is so close I need but reach out and take her? Dinnae be a fool.”

“I
begin to think a fool is just what I am. ‘Tisnae wise our being so nigh to
Dubhglenn without even a horse to flee on. The land crawls with men aching to
spit us on their swords. Aye, and now there will be more since ye killed that
Dunmore wench.”

“She
deserved to die. She was naught but a whore who never let a moment pass wherein
she didnae complain or whine. I doubt there is any who will miss the
ill-tempered slattern.”

“True,
but even if every Dunmore alive hated the wench, she was kin and they will
demand blood for blood.”

“Let
them demand. They willnae catch me. None has in all these months. Do ye expect
me to crawl away like some whipped cur? I have lost everything. I am hunted and
haunted at every turning. Someone must pay for that.”

“Aye,
but there isnae any need to set yourself in their hands. Look, ‘tis Artair
MacGuin himself who rides with the lass. Do ye think he will let ye take the
lass without a fight? She is his laird’s, his brother’s, wife and she carries
the heir to Dubhglenn. If he even catches scent of ye, he will seek ye out,
howling for your blood.”

“Let
him seek. Let him howl. He is naught but a drunken boy. I neednae fear him.”

“‘Tis
said he changes. Aye, for the better, growing stronger and more like the Black
Parlan every day. He looks verra sober now.”

“Ye
fret as badly as any old woman, Geordie. Look at the slut. She sets there with
her belly swollen by that whoreson’s bastard, and smiles at his brother.
T’wouldnae surprise me to learn that she services them both. Just like her
mother. Kirstie turned from me to another, let that fool Lachlan fill her belly
with his spawn over and over. Weel, she paid for her slighting of me. Now I
shall make her daughter pay as weel, and t’will be a double victory for me. I
will take the Black Parlan’s woman and his child in one stroke.”

“Aye,
if the Black Parlan doesnae arrive to take ye in one stroke.”

Geordie
heartily wished that he had deserted Rory Fergueson years ago. The man was too
mad to heed sense or to be controlled now. Rory would lead them both to the
slaughter, but it was far too late for Geordie to turn away now and he knew it.
He may not have struck the death blow to the women, and some men, that Rory had
murdered but he had aided the man so that his own hands were as bloodstained as
Rory’s. The men now hunting them knew that and would not allow him to escape.
His fate was irretrievably tied to Rory’s. Geordie simply wished the man was
not so set on making that fate a swift, bloody death.

“Let
that whoreson come. Aye, let him come. He shallnae find me to cut down. Nay, if
the Black Parlan comes here, he will find only corpses, only grief and blood.
God willnae deny me my rightful vengeance upon that whoreson and the bride that
scorned me.” Rory unsheathed his sword and left his hiding place, his gaze
fixed upon the couple in the clearing.

Thinking
to himself that God had long ago denied Rory, Geordie reluctantly followed the
man. He really had no wish to kill Aimil for he dreaded the thought of how
firmly that would set the Black Parlan upon their trail. The man would never
relinquish the hunt. Nevertheless, he made no attempt to stop Rory nor stop
himself. He was no longer sure that he knew how.

Aimil
stretched and then smiled at Artair. He was trying very hard to be patient with
her. His eagerness to quit the place and hie back to Dubhglenn was evident in
every line of his body. She decided it was probably past time for her to
consider his point of view and position with more sympathy. He had given her
her brief taste of freedom and so it was only fair that she return to him his
peace of mind.

She
smiled, acknowledging that she was not acting selflessly. She was very weary of
sitting on Elfking. It was no longer comfortable for her body was too awkwardly
shaped. So too was she still unable to shake the feeling that they were being
watched. Pleasant as the place was, she could no longer feel safe in it.

“All
right, Artair, I am done with freedom. We may return now.” She smiled when he
breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“Are
ye sure? We could linger another moment or twa if ye wish.”

“Nay,
there is naught here for me now.”

“Ah,
but there is where ye are wrong, my pretty slut. Death is here for ye now. Aye,
death is here.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Aimil
sat as if frozen and stared at the ragged, dirty man before her. Despite the
loss of his finery, she had no trouble recognizing Rory. His was a face that
would never leave her nightmares. He was the cause of the fear that had never
left her since the day he had taken her from Parlan and revealed the monster
that lay beneath his beauty. His words seemed neither fanciful nor mad to her.
In her eyes, he was death in all its horror and pain.

“Get
behind me, Aimil,” hissed Artair as he drew his sword and prepared himself to
face the rather poor odds of two against one.

Shaking
free of her fear, she moved to obey Artair. They could flee, she thought. They
had horses. Then she realized that Geordie lurked to the rear of them. Artair
stood his ground for fear that Geordie would block the horses, startle them and
probably unseat her. If she were not so large with child, they would have no
fear of such things. Her condition stole their chance of bolting for freedom.
Even as she thought that they ought to try it anyway, Geordie moved with a
speed that was astounding and, with only a few moves, had knocked Artair from
his horse, wounding him and forcing the younger man to fight for his life.

“So
quickly does your gallant knight fall.” Rory lunged to grab for Elfking’s
reins.

Cursing,
Aimil kicked at him, but her foot barely grazed his face. She then found
herself clinging for dear life to Elfking. The horse, sensing the danger to
her, reared and struck out at Rory. The man dodged the first strike, but the
second caught him on the side of the face. As he screamed and tried to scramble
out of reach of Elfking’s deadly hooves, the horse struck him again, Aimil felt
sickened by the sound of hooves striking flesh.

Each
time Elfking came down before rearing again, Aimil felt the jarring throughout
her body. She knew that Elfking was accomplishing what Artair had feared from
many another source. Her labor had begun. She made no attempt to halt the
horse’s attack, however. It was undoubtedly keeping her, her child, and Artair
alive.

She
finally dared a glance Artair’s way. Geordie was deserting the battle to race
to Rory’s side. Artair sank to his knees, clutching his side which bled far too
freely for Aimil’s liking. She had to get him away before Geordie could renew
his attack. The wound might not be fatal but the weakening from the loss of
blood made Artair easy prey. Since his horse had fled, she had to stop
Elfking’s attack at the safest moment to allow Artair to mount. She could only
pray that Artair would be strong enough.