In the Laird's Bed (16 page)

“A
nd you’re certain no one has escaped the town walls?” Cristiana asked. Her eyes veered away from her sister to the townspeople, who doused nearby cottages in case the flames sparked back to life.

“I know every one of those men personally and can vouch for their trustworthiness,” Duncan replied. “They would never allow any man to escape the town once they had orders to keep the perimeter secure.”

“My lord?” An older woman had approached them at some point, her cloak singed on one side and her hair tied back in a heavy linen head covering.

Her clothes marked her as someone who worked in the fields during the warm months. She carried an infant in her arms and she bent low with the babe once she had Duncan’s attention.

“Aye?” His tone was polite enough, though Cristiana saw the impatience in his eyes.

How had she come to know him and his moods so well? She surely hadn’t been able to clearly judge his character five years ago.

“I pray for mercy, my lord. A neighbor dropped off a little girl at my hut earlier. He said it was his niece, who was visiting, and he needed someone to watch her—”

“Leah?” Cristiana fell forward, knowing somehow this was her daughter.

The older woman clutched her garments as if to tear them, her face contorted with worry and fear.

“I did not know who it might be! I gave her to my eldest to watch while I went to hear the lord speak—”

“Take us to her.” Duncan lifted the woman to her feet with one hand. “You are safe as long as you speak the truth.”

“I do. I swear it.” The woman stumbled forward, her feet moving fast now that she’d been set in motion. She wove around the burned cottages and hurried through the thick of the town where the huts were packed close together for warmth and protection. “I watch plenty of children often enough. Everyone knows I have an older girl who is good at it.”

Cristiana’s heart hammered so hard she could hardly hear the woman’s words for the roaring of her blood through her veins. Duncan stepped in front
of the older woman as she reached her hut. He pushed open the door.

Donegal of Culcanon stood in the archway.

They had been trapped.

Cristiana leaped back, clutching her sister. Edwina screamed. Duncan’s half brother was much changed from the charming, handsome man Cristiana remembered from five summers ago. He bore some of Duncan’s features, but the green-gold eyes that marked all of the Culcanons had turned darker, the skin around them lined with wrinkles from living outdoors these past moons, prey to the harsh Highland weather. His nose bore a crook that had not been there before, a testament to a lifetime of fighting. Even his expensive garb appeared tattered and careworn, a last vestige of wealth that he’d thrown away along with so much else.

Betrayal swam darkly before Cristiana’s eyes, and she turned blindly on the woman who’d led them here. But instead of finding a target for her rage and fear, she saw her own emotions reflected in the older woman’s gaze as the crofter’s wife peered into the cottage.

Understanding came as she followed the villager’s glance into the cottage behind Donegal.

In the darkness of the small shelter, Cristiana could see a huddle of children, big and small. They were a blur of dark cloaks and dirty gowns, work breeches and blankets as they clung together in a far corner.
A tall girl stood between Donegal and her smaller charges. A dog and a fat pig flanked her sides, as if to help fend off the filthy, treacherous outlaw brandishing a blade.

Perhaps the crofter’s wife had no choice but to bring Cristiana with her—her own children put at risk as much as Leah.

“Mama!” A sweet, familiar voice piped up from under the pile of children, easing Cristiana’s heart with relief so strong she might well have sank to the earth if not for Edwina holding her up. She could not yet see Leah, but she knew her voice.

“You dare threaten children now?” Duncan drew his blade with lightning speed, the sound of steel whipping through the air making a lethal hiss near her ears.

Cristiana guessed Donegal’s only means of escape would be if he took a child with him. What could they do if he threatened Leah, or any of the little ones?

Donegal did not flinch.

“Why not?” he taunted. “I have nothing else to lose. I could not maintain a hold on Culcanon when people who were loyal to you refused to do my bidding any longer. I left with everything I could carry and all the people that I could convince to follow. But what does a man have if not land?”

Duncan shook his head, appearing as stunned at such a shortsighted vision as she felt.

“What of family? You had the support of your
father. Of me. You could have had a strong wife at your side—”

“And always be the second son?” Donegal scoffed as if that position meant less than nothing. “I was better off before your father recognized me. At least as a tradesmen’s son, I was first in line to inherit a business, and all the women in my hometown were quick to barter favors for my skill. I was content until I found out I had been entitled to so much more growing up. As a bastard, I was less than nothing. A second son to a man who never would have recognized me if not for your self-righteous insistence.”

“You weren’t the only one who would have been better off,” Edwina shouted from behind Cristiana.

Cristiana realized her sister was tense with fury. Outrage.

“You may have lost much, but at least your soul is still intact.” Duncan pressed the sword closer to Donegal. “If you step near any of those children, you will lose that, too, along with your life.”

An ugly twist of Donegal’s features was their only warning. He rounded on the children, blade raised.

Cristiana’s heart seized. The mother beside her screamed in unison with Edwina.

The dog within the cottage launched at the madman, but not as quickly as Duncan swung his blade. The blunt side of the sword connected with Donegal’s ear, sending him to the floor in a slump.
Donegal’s shout filled the hut, bringing the entire village into the street outside the cottage.

“It is finished,” Duncan warned his half brother, lowering the point of his blade to the other man’s chest while Donegal’s temple bled onto the dirt floor.

Cristiana whispered prayers of thanksgiving, crossing herself as she vowed to repay Duncan for his unfailing sense of honor, that she had too often ignored.

“I came for my daughter.” Donegal turned his head, to peer back at the cluster of children. His long, matted hair stuck to the ragged cloak that still bore the proud crest of the Culcanon clan.

A crest he did not deserve to wear.

“You have no family,” Duncan told him, keeping his sword leveled at the thief’s chest while Cullen worked his way into the cottage behind him.

From Cullen’s dark glare, Cristiana guessed he would gladly sink his blade between the traitor’s ribs and finish the matter here and now. But from what she knew of Duncan, she guessed that was not something he would allow. Donegal would face a punishment set by the king.

“Perhaps not,” Donegal agreed, his eyes rolling back in his head before he refocused them, hatred still glinting along with the obvious pain. “I could not tell one dirty urchin from another.”

And for that, Cristiana would remain forever grateful. She did not think Duncan’s half brother would
have escaped the town with Leah, not with everyone searching for them. Thanks to Duncan, Donegal had never gotten that far.

She rushed into the hut with Edwina and the older mother who lived at the cottage. The children swarmed them, needing to receive hugs as much as the women needed to give them. Tears clogged Cristiana’s throat as she felt Leah’s arms about her neck. Other small arms.

Behind them, the village streets overflowed with crofters and their families who came bearing simple weapons. Farm implements, blacksmiths’ hammers and lots of clenched fists. Cristiana could hear the mother who’d led them to the cottage muttering a litany of prayers under her breath.

She’d been as much a victim as any of them, Cristiana felt certain.

For her part, Cristiana had faith that no further harm would come to any of the people of Culcanon. As a just and strong ruler, Duncan would protect them all.

“You have been called to your king to answer for your crimes,” Duncan informed him, waving forward the village blacksmith’s son, who carried forth a long, heavy chain with irons at each end. “Attacking Malcolm’s envoys ranked as one of your most brainless acts, but it brings with it the promise of retribution.

Until that time, you will answer your accusers here.
Lady Edwina, do you have anything to say to this man?”

Surprised that Duncan would allow Edwina to come face-to-face with her attacker, Cristiana turned to measure her sister’s response.

Edwina’s jaw tensed. She settled one of the young children onto the floor of the hut and marched up to the figure on the ground in a heap at her feet. Drawing herself up to her full height she pinned her shoulders back and spit in his face forcefully.

“You were never worthy to walk on the same earth as me.” Edwina spun on her heel, but not before she kicked up a bit of dirt which landed on his face.

Cristiana noticed the filth clung to the place where she’d spit, but the craven pig did not dare to swipe at it with Duncan’s sword at his chest.

“Anyone else?” Duncan called to the crowd while the blacksmith and his son put Donegal in irons and handed Duncan the key. “I will lock the outlaw in the dungeon for the night. Cullen of Blackstone will deliver the prisoner to our king in the morning.”

At first, no one moved. And then a handful of young women seemed to find their courage. One by one, four brave females—crofters’ daughters and young wives—followed Edwina’s example. Each one spit in Donegal’s eye, a spectacle that would have been amusing if it hadn’t represented so much hurt.

Cristiana could see Duncan’s surprise. His cold
fury. She wondered if his brother would live the night in captivity.

“Very well,” Duncan said finally. “Cullen, he is yours to secure until morning.”

It was a job Cullen seemed to relish. As the older knight shoved Donegal so hard he nearly fell to the ground, Cristiana could finally breathe easily, knowing Leah was forever out of Donegal’s reach.

Wrapping her daughter in her arms, she wept her relief, all the more so to see that Leah had a circlet of woven willow branches about her wrist, a decoration someone must have made her while she was held captive these past hours.

Apparently, Edwina had already noted the bravery of the girl who had watched over Leah, for she had wrapped the young lady in a hug that made the crofter’s daughter blush and giggle.

“You will be well rewarded,” Cristiana assured the girl as she scooped up Leah and held her tight.

She did not know what role the mother had played in the treachery here, but she had faith Duncan would sort it out in due time.

Duncan stepped deeper into the dark hut behind them—she could tell by the way he eclipsed any sunlight in the cottage with his large frame. More than that, she had grown aware of his presence in a thousand little ways, her whole mind and body—and yes, her heart—uniquely attuned to him.

“The lass looks well, does she not?” Duncan’s
voice was soft, but Cristiana heard the worry. The concern.

Her heart melted a little more for this man who had delivered her daughter safely back to her arms.

“I did not have my sword, Papa,” Leah told him, her green eyes serious as she pouted prettily and tested a new name for Duncan. “But I was a very brave girl just the same. See what Aida made me?”

She held up the woven willow bracelet, far more interested in talking about her time with Aida than the man with the sword. Still, Cristiana would watch over her all the more carefully to be sure there were no lingering fears after the scare she’d suffered.

“Come.” Duncan gestured toward the door of the hut. “I must put my lands to rights. But I will not be able to think about rebuilding until I know you are safe at home.”

Cristiana followed Edwina out, adjusting Leah on her hip as she said goodbye to the children who’d been held hostage with Leah. Then, bracing herself against any tide of envy she’d once felt for the bond Edwina had with Leah, Cristiana handed the child over to her sister.

“I’ll bet your aunt would like to carry you, too, sweeting,” she told her little girl, kissing her forehead as she noted Edwina’s surprise and gratitude. “She worried about you every bit as much as I did.”

Edwina gave her a teary smile as she hugged the girl tight.

“It is true.” She shifted the child in her arms as they walked alongside Cristiana. “I would have helped your mama chase that bad man all the way to London and back to make sure you were safe. But I knew the whole time your mother and father would rescue you.”

In the language of sisters, Cristiana understood Edwina’s simple assurance. She had not come home to take her child back to raise Leah as her own. She was comfortable with the decision she’d made long ago to give Leah to the woman who’d been ready to become a mother.

Cristiana’s heart turned over in her chest.

Leah giggled and showed off her bracelet. Resilient. Strong. So much like her birth mother. Still, Cristiana’s heart knew all the more ease to hear Edwina defer to Cristiana as Leah’s mother.

Shifting her attention back to Duncan, Cristiana hurried to keep pace with him as he escorted them back to the squat keep that was his family’s two-hundred-year-old seat.

“It will be good to breathe easier now that Donegal is captured and his minions are being sought,” Cristiana noted, realizing suddenly how weak she was from the rush of so many emotions through her this day. “And perhaps I can start work on the inside of the keep now that I know we are safe from your half brother.”

There was much to replace and repair. New
tapestries to weave or purchase. With her sister and daughter back at her side and Edwina’s long hardship behind her, Cristiana looked forward to weddings. Edwina’s. Her own.

“Nay.” Duncan did not look her way, his demeanor cool and abrupt considering all they’d been through today. “When I said I want you safe at home, I did not mean here. I meant, you’re going
home.
To Domhnaill.”