Highland Scandal (11 page)

She flexed her thighs, signaling to the palfrey to halt and swung him down to his feet. He lifted his
leine
and gave a sound of relief. Rowen swung down to her feet. She held onto the saddle as her muscles protested, beating her from the inside out, and blood rushed to her toes. She swallowed her gasp of pain.

Rowen looked behind her. Murray lands loomed too close for her to ease her tremors. The men could come upon her. She had to hurry. Not that her body cared, and she collapsed in the snow.

Kenny ran to her. “Ma!” His wails bounced in her ears and through her skull.

She forced herself to clasp his hand. “I am well. Do not fret.” Her voice was thick with exhaustion.

“Ma, I wanna go home.” He tugged on her hand.

“Nay, we are off to visit a friend. We have need of him.” She struggled to smile.

“I dinna wanna see him.” He tugged at her plaid. “Home.” He slammed his hand into the snow.

“Soon, my love. First, let’s eat.” She climbed to her knees and drew bread and cheese from the bags. She ripped a chunk of bread and cheese.

“I wanna porridge.”

“Later. But you must eat this for now.” She held out the bread. His little teeth dug into the day-old bread and ripped off a piece. He chewed it with a pout on his face. He looked like his father.

She took a bite. “Come here. I do not want you sitting in the snow.”

“You are.” He came and plopped down on her lap. She dizzied. She held onto him to steady herself.

“Ma, ouch!” He squirmed in her arms and went straight and stiff. “You dropped cheese.” He picked it up and blew off the snow.

She took deep breathes through her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes. She ached, feeling as if she had been clawed, torn to shreds. She swore she must be bleeding, feeling wetness then realized it was the snow soaking through her garments. She lifted her plaid about her head to capture some of her heat.

There was a way to go, through mountains and across rivers. “Kenny, come along. We must get going. Eat in the saddle like a true highlander.”

“Aye, ma. I’m Murray.” He puffed his little chest. With the scant reserve of strength and mostly, MacKenzie will, she lifted him into the saddle and tucked him among the skins. “Do not shrug them off, keeping them tight about you.”

She saw his baby-fat rounded chin move in agreement. She grabbed the reins and walked alongside the horse. “I’m cold.” She halted and tucked the skins tighter about him. “Ma, you ride horseee?”

“Not now.” Rowen needed to stretch her legs and rid herself of the stiffness. The snow had eased some pain, but she felt the wetness against her skin.

“Ma, where are da men?”

“Do you see the eagles flying overhead?”

He tilted his head back to see. “I wanna un.
Seanair
promised.”

She tensed as he spoke of Laird Murray. Kenny spoke with all the warmth and affection a grandson held for his grandfather. That man wanted to kill this boy…this innocent boy. The same boy Murray had held close and wiped away tears from at Eacharn’s funeral.

“Aye, it shall be great fun.”

“I want a dog.” He kept up a steady stream of conversation about everything and anything. He pointed out the oddest things. The way a Scot Pine’s trunk looked like a crooked old man or a face. He asked why it snowed…why it was cold…why his hands turned red…why his breath steamed up…and more.

“Ma, why are you stopping?”

“There is the river.” In mere hours, she would ride up to Gordon castle. She swung up behind her son and with a surge of energy, she sent her palfrey across the icy crossing. The peaty water splashed up from the fast moving current. Shingles and rocks littered the bed and the shore and once back on land. Rowen breathed a little easier.

Patches of brown earth broke through the snow and bare trees dotted the vista. The land stretched out before them.

“Ma, you’re makin’ me shake.” He laughed between the chatter of his teeth.

His little body felt much warmer. A cold settled in her chest and deep within her bones. Her limbs were heavy, but she forced them to wrap around Kenny. Her palfrey moved along the drover trail that was a scant wider than an animal trail.

The snow glittered from the light broke and cast outreaching shadows of bare branches. The wind rushed from her right, stirring the crisp scents of decaying fauna and damp earth made sharp by the cold. The horse shied, whining as its ears twitched. She tightened the reins before her mount sprinted away. Then she heard it. Wolves.

A streak of gray caught her eye. On the edge of the trail a wolf stood, watching her. The beast was thin with matted fur. Its slanted, yellow eyes met her own. Two more trotted forward. Their hackles rose. The low growl rumbled as they bared fangs.

“Ma.” She hushed him as he clutched her and a handful of her flesh.

From behind her, a throaty rumbling snarl vibrated. Slowly, she turned her head while trying to keep an eye on the others. Two wolves prowled closer. She inhaled a sharp breath at the largest one, the alpha male. The beast was the size of a small boy and as thick as a young man. His head was low. Its hackles were high. White circled the yellow eyes, which were made more frightening by the trim of black fur about its thick head. It snarled, revealing its sharp teeth and red gums. With shaking hands, she wrapped her fingers around her bow. She hooked two fingers around the loop of her quiver.

The alpha leapt onto the horse’s flank. Her palfrey reared up. She fell. She tightened her hold on Kenny’s and twisted so she landed with him atop her. The air flew out her chest. Her head slammed against the frozen earth. Kenny’s cries blended with the snarls of the wolves. Dazed, she hurried to her feet. A mother’s instinct to protect her child gave her strength.

She tucked Kenny behind her. These beasts were hungry and though they might make a meal of her horse, they weren’t feasting on the flesh of her and her son. She hadn’t risked their lives to be a meal and have their bones pick clean the animal’s fangs. Under the watchful glare of the pack, she reached out a hand and grabbed an arrow from her quiver. She fumbled, from fear and lack of strength, to notch the bow. She grimaced as she primed the arrow. Her arms shook. She unfurled her fingers letting the arrow fly. It landed at the alpha’s front paws.

Its yellow eyes landed on it. His hackles rose. She had enraged him. That was fine. Beneath the layer of her icy fear, she was enraged, too. She groped for another one. She shot.

The arrow embedded in the eye. It wasn’t the alpha. The small one had leapt over its leader and now lain strewn in the center of the trail. The alpha leapt over its fallen pack member and prowled forward.

She used the distraction to grab her quiver and looped it on her shoulder.

Calmer, she notched another one. “Hold tight to me and start backing away.” She took a step back. Her senses primed. Around the scent of blood, fur and fear was as the thick cold. Her hairs on her nape crackled. Though, her skin was covered in goose bumps, sweat broke out along her hairline. Kenny gripped and pulled on her
leine
. His childish footsteps crunched snow and blended with his cries. The wolves’ claws scraped the snow and ice as they prowled closer. Her bottom lip trembled. Her blood pounded around her skull.

A grey blur burst from the corner of her eye. She swung toward it and shot the wolf. Not bothering to look, she heard the injured whelp’s cries. She primed another one and shot at another wolf. She notched and shot. Time again. Until only her, Kenny, and two wolves remained.

She reached for another arrow. She felt nothing. There were no more.

Chapter Six

The journey had been uneventful and mostly dull. The boat trip up from MacLean lands to the firth had been the worse. He couldn’t find a place to himself. Semias was always at his side, telling him every detail of Clan Gordon. Lachlan had thought of throwing the auld man into the loch. That seemed rude. Instead, Lachlan aimed his gaze on the scenery and made grunting sounds of agreement. He was starting to regret being Laird.

“Do you remember anything about your time here?”

“Nay.”

Semias frowned, drawing down the leathery skin of his face. A suspicion nagged at Lachlan. Semias appeared wounded at his lack of memory. Truth was he did everything within his power to forget that place and that life.

“Perhaps when I arrive at the castle some might return.”
What?
For some tender and useless reason, Lachlan felt as if he owed the man, to protect his feelings. He shook his head.

“What can you tell me?” He motioned with a wave of his hand to the land.

“You know nothing about your—the clan?”

“I know I was not welcomed.”

“Have you not kept up with the clan news?”

“Semias, I heard, of course, but I never bothered to listen, so why don’t you tell me.”

He nodded. “The harvests are very plentiful since the land is lush. The best
uisge beatha
is produced here.” He pursed his lips and his nostrils flared, making his long, sharp nose appear larger on his thin face.

“Speak, Semias.”

He turned his watery gaze to the men riding behind them. “I understand your…distaste for the clan however, I wish you will not be mistreating your followers.”

“I may be a bastard. I have cut men without a care for my soul. However, I am not a cruel man.”

“No insult, Laird. However, I have more years than you and anger has a way of festering. Do not bring it to your leadership. There is unrest among the clan as it is.”

“Unrest?”

“Your father’s murderer must be dealt with. You must secure your position. Your cousin Jonty has split the clan. Some men have gone to follow him and he plans to usurp you from your position.”

“I have a cousin. I doubt he considers me in such kindred terms.”

“His words to describe you have not been so genial.”

“Good. I would not want to think the Gordons are softening. Tell me of this Jonty. Shh.” He held up his finger. His horse tossed back his head. Wulver’s nostrils flared, catching the scent of danger that Lachlan failed to detect. A palfrey galloped by.

A child’s cry carried on the rushing wind racing through the glen. The snarl of wolves chased behind it.

He loosened his seat and set off toward the sound. A plaid-cloaked figure struggled to flee the two beasts on his heels. Lachlan drew his claymore.

“Behind me,” he screamed. He gave his horse his head. Wulver lengthened his stride, ready for a fight. Lachlan swung his sword in an arc and chopped the beast in mid-hurl. The other one skidded to a halt and turned around running with its tail tucked between its legs.

Pulling up his mount, he leapt from his saddle. The figure had crumpled to the ground and hunched over, seemingly buried his face in the snow.

“Are you harmed?” He craned his neck to see beyond the furs covering his head.

The furs shook and a face looked up. He fell to his knees. “Rowen.”

Cold had burned her skin, turning her creamy hue to a blistered red but for the tip of her chin and nose, which was bloodless. Tears had frozen on her lashes. Her lips were cracked and blood froze in their cuts.

The furs moved and a muffled grunt came from it. Then a dark haired boy—her son—appeared from the nestle of furs Tears tracks marred his round cheeks. He appeared in better health than Rowen, but not by much.

“Help me.” She crumbled in the snow.

He scooped her and her son into his arms. A rush of cold permeated the layers of fur, plaid and linen. He hissed as it spread across his flesh. Gordon men formed a half-circle behind him. One man held his horse. He hadn’t even realized he had walked by him.

“Is she harmed?” Semias peered down at Rowen.

“I do not believe so, but she is in danger. Hurry to the castle.”

Reluctantly, he handed Rowen over while he mounted. “Have the lad ride with you.”

Her son screamed and clutched at Rowen, grabbing her hair, her
leine
and anything he could wrap his tiny fingers around. “Nay, Ma! Ma! Stay with my ma!”

“Son, you have to ride with Aindrea. We must hurry and get her cared for. I will not allow anything to befall her.”

He blinked up at him and sniffled. He released her. “You take care of my ma or I’ll run you through.”

“I shall.”

He already felt as though he had been sliced from throat to groin and the claymore caught in his ballocks. He galloped away, leaving the others to follow. Semias called out to him. He gave no response, not even a glance. He had never wanted to get to Gordon lands more than now.

“Rowen, do not die.”

“I won’t.” Her eyes fluttered. A sliver of white peeked out from her near-white lashes before they fell and rested against the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

Wulver hooves flew over the earth as it galloped across the land, not losing his long held stamina that was the envy of every man. The drumming beat was slower than his heart rate. The thump-thump of his blood notched his impatience. He hugged Rowen tightly to him to share his heat with her, and not because for the first time in years, he felt an ease within his soul.

At the meeting of the two lochs, Gordon Castle stood guard over the strath. Morning sunlight cut through the cloud cover and danced over the motte castle before flitting away across the strath. The stone tower rose from the mound and was surrounded by a thick defensive stonewall.

He charged into the courtyard. The drum of a dozen hooves heralded his arrival. Stillness came over the space. With no help, Lachlan dismounted. “See to my horse,” he ordered over his shoulder.

He took the stairs two at a time to the great hall. A young servant girl was on her knees, cleaning the floors. She gaped up at him.

“Get me a healer and set water to boil.” He rushed by her to the Laird’s Chamber at the other end of the hall. He kicked open the iron-banded door. He laid Rowen in the center of the bed. She mumbled and curled onto her side. He threw off his fur then he added more peat to the small fire.

He wiped his hands on his plaid and perched on the bed. He grasped her hand and rubbed it between his own. He never felt the cold like a true highlander. He rubbed and rubbed, scraping her flesh so warmth returned to her bones.