Highland Captive (46 page)

“Parlan?”

“Is
he dead? I was unable to see.” He fought to regain some strength but realized
that, for now, he had none left.

Although
she did not want to, she cautiously moved to the edge of the ravine and looked
down. Her stomach was turned by what she saw, despite the knowledge that the
threat to her and those she loved was now ended. Rory lay upon the rocks below,
his body broken, twisted grotesquely, his blood staining the stones. Hastily,
she moved back to Parlan’s side.

“Aye,
quite dead. Broken beyond repair. How is it that your fall didnae do much the
same to ye?”

“There
were no rocks at the bottom.” He smiled crookedly. “I near to broke more than I
care to think on though.”

“Are
ye sure ye havenae broken anything?”

“Nay,
not fully sure. I may have cracked a rib or twa. ‘Tis naught. But let me catch
my breath and we will head back to Dubhglenn.”

“On
foot? Ye will never make it.”

Before
he could argue, she left him. He gave in to the need to lie down as he watched
her collect up a few things to tend to his wounds. After a few moments of
thought, he decided she was right. He would not be able to walk to Dubhglenn.
He was fairly sure he would not have been able to ride either, even if they
could find their mounts. What he was not really sure of was what to do next.

The
moment Aimil returned and started to do what little she could to tend his
wounds, he stopped puzzling over the problem. Pain combined with curiosity
about what wounds he had suffered diverted him. He soon saw that he was a lot
worse off than he had thought. It had indeed been mostly his fear for Aimil,
his need to try and save her, that had been all that had carried him on.

“Ye
will have to go back to Dubhglenn and get help, Aimil.” He watched her closely
as she knelt by his side.

Tossing
aside the scrap of cloth she had used to bathe his wounds and sitting back on
her heels, she grimaced. She had been afraid that he would say that. Leaving
him here alone was the last thing she wanted to do but she could see no other
course open to her. He needed more help than she could give him. So too there
was no way to get him back to Dubhglenn without aid or, at least, a mount, both
of which were at Dubhglenn.

“I
hate to leave ye here alone.”

“The
weather is fine and the dark is hours away, sweeting. I think ‘tis the least
dangerous course for me.”

She
hated to admit it but she nodded. “I certainly cannae carry ye back to
Dubhglenn.”

“Nay,
and I fear ye would have to but a few steps down the road.” He reached out to
touch her cheek, the bruises Rory had inflicted becoming livid. “Are ye sure ye
are able? He didnae hurt ye more than I can see or ye have told me?”

“Nay.
He but slapped me about, was rough. Ye rose up like some avenging angel before
he had a chance to do his worst.”

“I
feel it was a fine show. A shame I couldnae see it myself. Go on, dearling. Hie
to Dubhglenn but dinnae push yourself too hard. I will be safe enough here.” He
patted the sword she had placed at his side.

Bending
forward, she kissed him then got to her feet. There were not that many dangers
about, especially now that Rory was dead, yet it worried her to leave him alone
when he was so weak. The unexpected could always happen and, for now, Parlan
could put up little defense against anything. After tending his wounds, she was
surprised he had faced Rory that final time and won. The only way to end her
worry was to get help as fast as she could. As she started out for Dubhglenn,
she prayed that someone had been given reason enough to come and look for her
and Parlan.

“Not
dead? Are ye sure?” Lagan stared at Lachlan in horror. “But, Parlan buried the
man.” Malcolm and Artair, who flanked him, nodded agreement.

“Someone
was buried, but it wasnae Rory Fergueson. I couldnae believe t’would end so
simply, so bloodlessly. I had them dig up the body.” He smiled grimly at the
shocked surprise of the three younger men. “There was enough left for me to be
certain that it wasnae Rory. Aye, t’was Geordie but not Rory.”

“He
has played us a fine trick. Even killed the only friend he has ever had to make
it work. We hunted him too weel. He had to shake us off his heels.”

“And
he did.” Artair cursed viciously. “Parlan set aside his doubts as foolishness.”

“So
I had feared. Where is he? Where is my daughter?” Lachlan asked worriedly.

“They
have traveled to a secluded spot to be alone for a wee while, the same spot
where Rory found them before.”

“Then
I suggest that we ride there as swiftly as we can. He could weel find them
there again and, since a man usually has but one reason to get his woman alone,
they may be less than alert.”

In
but moments, Lagan, Artair, and Malcolm were riding out of Dubhglenn with
Lachlan, Leith, and their men. Artair found some grim amusement in riding with
men he had raided so often in the past. He also felt a deep fear for Parlan and
Aimil. In bettering his relationship with Parlan and coming to know Aimil, he
had gained a sense of family he had no wish to lose.

Aimil
heard the approach of several mounts and nearly panicked, so strained were her
nerves. She realized that they came from the direction of Dubhglenn but decided
some caution would be wise. Seeking cover behind a tree, she watched as they
drew into view and felt weak with relief when she recognized them. The instant
they had passed, she darted out of her hiding place and called to them, almost
able to smile when they reined in and turned back with a little confusion and a
lot of swearing.

“He
found you,” Lachlan stated flatly as he saw his daughter’s bruises.

“Aye,
but I am not too sorely hurt. Parlan remains back at the Banshee’s Well for he
didnae fare as weel.”

Artair
helped her mount behind him, a little astounded at the depth of the relief he
felt and suspecting that he was a little bit in love with his brother’s tiny
wife. “He lives? He won?”

“Aye,
he won. Rory lies dead and shattered at the bottom of the ravine. Parlan needs
tending to though.”

“Then
we best hie to the big fool and fetch him back to Old Meg’s less than tender
mercies,” Lagan said, even as they all spurred their mounts into a gallop.

Parlan
half sat up with surprise when the horsemen came into view. His grip on his
sword was instantly released when he recognized Lagan in the lead. He not only
wondered how help had arrived so soon but why Aimil had brought back so many
men.

“Ye
must have flown to Dubhglenn, lass,” he said with a weak smile when she hurried
to his side.

“Nay,
I have never been that swift. I met them hieing here. It seems my father
insisted upon viewing what we all thought was Rory, and he kenned that it
wasnae.” She glanced at the men peering into the ravine. “He is dead for certain
this time?”

“Aye,
lass,” her father replied then he looked at Parlan. “If ye can wait but a
moment, Leith will go down to be sure.”

“I
can wait for that. For that and the burying. Aye, buried with a lot of rock
piled atop his bones so he cannae rise again.”

Shivering
at the mere thought of a resurrection of such evil, Aimil moved so that Parlan
could rest his head in her lap. “Are ye certain, Parlan? Ye are looking
somewhat wan.” She placed her hand upon his forehead but could detect no hint
of fever.

“I
am but weary, dearling. A good rest and I will be much improved. Aye, and that
rest will come easier when I have seen Rory Fergueson set deep in the ground,
closer to the reach of the Devil whom he will reside with now.”

She
did not try to argue with him but was relieved when the men worked quickly to
bring Rory’s body up and bury it. Parlan’s weakness troubled her greatly. He
could have hurt himself more in the fall he had suffered than he knew, and she
was not skilled enough in the art of healing to judge the extent of his
injuries, injuries she knew might easily be fatal in the end.

Her
fears were not eased until they had Parlan back at Dubhglenn. In truth, the
journey had only added to them for Parlan had needed help to stay in the saddle
and was parchment-white by the time they put him into Old Meg’s capable hands.
However, Aimil fought to hide her fear from Parlan as she lent Old Meg a hand.
Not until she got a moment alone with the woman in the hall outside of Parlan’s
chambers did Aimil give voice to her fear.

“Will
he die?”

“I
dinnae think so, lass. I could find naught wrong with him that I couldnae fix.
I will speak true though. I am no judge of whether he has done his innards a
real hurt. We can only wait and pray.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“What
are ye doing out of bed, ye great fool?”

Aimil
stared at her husband with a mixture of amazement and amusement. It had been
nearly a month since they had fought Rory and finally beaten him. Parlan had
taken a long time to recover. She did not think he ought to be up and prancing
about the room. Her eyes narrowed as she decided that prancing was the only way
to describe it.

“Preparing
to take a wee trip, loving.” He walked over and kissed her on the nose.

“A
wee trip? Are ye daft? Ye were near to death not a month back.”

“Weel,
not that near.” He decided that she was adorable when she was trying to be
stern.

“And
when did ye start getting out of bed and stomping about?”

“As
soon as my nursemaids werenae hanging about me night and day.” He turned her
toward the door and patted her backside. “Go ready yourself. Ye are coming with
me.” He smiled at her when she turned round to glare at him.

“I
dinnae think ye ought to go anywhere—with or without me. Ye are still on the
mend.”

He
tugged her into his arms, lifting her off her feet. Although it strained his
control, he gave her a kiss that revealed all the hunger nearly a month without
her had brewed in him. When he slowly released her, he was hard pressed not to
pick her up, toss her onto the bed, and make love to her immediately but he
forced himself to smile at her.

“There
now, sweeting. Was that the kiss of a man still on the mend or one who is fair
mended and past cosseting?”

She
stared at him dazedly. What she felt inclined to do was to push him back into
bed and make love to him, but he seemed set upon doing something else, despite
the heat of his kiss. With great effort she pulled herself together and frowned
at him.

“Ye
have been playing us all for fools then, have ye?”

“Nay,
lass, I but wished to surprise ye. Now, ye go and ready yourself to ride with
me for I plan for us to celebrate my return to good health.” He opened the door
and nudged her out. “And, ye tell Maggie to bring your things back in here. The
bairn too. Since I am healed, there is no longer a reason to worry that I might
have my night’s sleep disturbed.”

That
was something she did not mind doing, she decided, as she finally left. She
hated sleeping alone but, in the beginning, Parlan had been so easily awakened
that she and the baby had left his chambers. He had needed his sleep. Even he
had not protested too much at the start. It had bothered her that he had done
little complaining as he had grown stronger. To have him order her back into
his bed was almost a relief no matter how high-handed it was.

What
she was not sure of was whether she should let him have his way in the matter
of going out. He had been as battered as any man could be without breaking any
bones. Although his wounds had quickly begun to close and had remained free of
infection, he had lost a lot of blood, leaving him very weak. He had looked
strong and healthy, but she was not sure she could trust in that.
Unfortunately, she could not find anyone to talk to about Parlan’s health,
Artair, Lagan, Malcolm, and Old Meg having strangely disappeared, and without
an ally, she could not see any chance of changing Parlan’s mind. Even Maggie
seemed to have found some place to go. It made Aimil very suspicious about
Parlan’s part in it all.

Parlan
whistled jauntily as he saddled his and Aimil’s horses. For several days he had
planned the little trip they were about to make. At any moment he expected her
to join him, looking none too pleased for she would have discovered that there
was no one about to gain as an ally to stop him.

“How
much longer do we have to hide up here?”

Glancing
up at Artair and Lagan who peered down at him from the hayloft, Parlan smiled. “Not
much longer, Artair.”

“Dinnae
see why we have to carry this game so far.”

“Because,
if she found any of you, ye ken weel that she would soon have ye convinced to
help her keep me confined, being so near death as I have been.” He grinned when
the two younger men made derisive sounds.

“Ye
arenae really taking her back to the Banshee’s Well, are ye?” Artair asked,
surprised.

“Aye,
I am. ‘Tis a fine spot and I willnae let bad memories spoil it. This time we
will have no trouble or grief there.”