The Border Lord's Bride (7 page)

For a moment he looked befuddled, and then his brow cleared. "She‘s known other men? Then how can I be certain the wench carries my bairn?" His look was now one of perfect outrage, and Ellen almost laughed aloud.

"If she says she does you may be certain the bairn is yours," Ellen replied dryly. "Anice is no fool, and it would appear she is very ambitious."

"She‘s my whore," he responded, "but ye‘re to be my wee wife, Ellen, my hinny."

"Aye, Balgair, I am to be your wife," Ellen soothed him. "Now go and find your own bed, my lord. It is past late."

"Nay," he growled. "I want to fuck ye so ye willna run away from me. Ye won‘t run if I fuck ye.

Ye‘re too proud a lass to run to another wi‘out yer virginity."

"There is no place for me to run," Ellen insisted.

"I saw the way that laird of Duffdour looked at ye, my hinny," Balgair told her.

"Duncan Armstrong is a decent man, Balgair. He was concerned by what he saw when he

entered the hall. Do you think he shouldn‘t have been?"

"Did he kiss ye?" Balgair demanded. "Did he fondle yer titties?" Reaching out swiftly, he yanked her into his embrace. "Answer me, lass! Did he hae ye?"

"I never met the laird until the day the king told me he was to be my escort," Ellen said, fighting back her fear. "I told you I am a virgin, and I was saving myself for Donald. There was—is—

nothing between me and the laird of Duffdour."

"But ye wish there were, don‘t ye?" Balgair persisted. Putting his hand into the neck of her chemise, he ripped it open and grasped one of her breasts.

"Nay, I do not!" Ellen insisted. This was ridiculous. Balgair was jealous of something that never existed, never happened. What had put such a thought into his head? And then she knew. Anice!

Anice was attempting to cause trouble between Ellen and Balgair, to fuel the man‘s jealousies, because she had discovered he was a possessive man who would defend what was his. "Balgair, let me be, I beg you!"

"Ye‘re going to be fucked, lass. Well fucked before this night is ended. Ye‘ll ne‘er run from me, Ellen, my hinny. Ye belong to me, and I mean to hae ye!"

His mouth found hers in a hard kiss. Her first kiss, and it was horrible! His tongue pushed into her mouth, and she tasted sour wine and rotting teeth. She was pushed back into the pillows as he struggled to climb all the way onto the bed. He was kneading her breast with one hand, and seeking to get beneath her chemise with the other. Ellen struggled against him with all her might, shrieking with both terror and outrage when that second hand slid up her leg and a finger pushed between her nether lips.

"Now we‘ll see if ye‘re telling me the truth," he growled, his fetid breath assailing her nostrils.

And his finger pushed into her a short way before he crowed with delight as she squealed. "Ye dinna lie to me, my hinny. Ye‘re a virgin, and tight as any I‘ve known before. My cock is more than ready for ye!" He shifted his body to straddle her, licking his lips in anticipation of what was to come as she twisted and struggled beneath him.

Ellen hit him with a balled-up fist while her other hand reached beneath her pillow, where she had put her dirk. Yanking it out, she stabbed him with it, almost laughing at the look of total surprise upon his face. "You will not have me, you rutting pig! You will not have me! You won‘t!" she told him as her anger at all that had happened to her, to her grandsire, to Donald MacNab, was finally unleashed. She could barely see through the red haze before her eyes. Her heart was pounding with her fury. Her arm fell again and again, the dirk plunging into his thick flesh as it found its mark. She didn‘t know how many times her knife fell, cutting him, but suddenly he collapsed with a loud groan, rolling from atop her and onto the floor.

Ellen lay upon her bed for how long she did not know. There was no sound from Balgair

MacArthur at all. Had she killed him? Finally she sat up as the anger drained away. She was covered in blood. Ellen shuddered at its wetness and its smell. Quickly she arose from the bed, keeping to the far side, away from her victim. She tore her chemise off, letting it lie where it dropped. She fetched the basin and washed her hands, and then her body where his blood had splattered. She was shaking now, and struggled to gain mastery over herself. This was no time to go to pieces.

Slowly she drew on clean clothing, realizing as she did that she was dressing herself for flight.

Aye! She had to run. There was nothing else to do. When Balgair‘s men discovered their master dead, she would be killed. There were not enough Lochearn men to protect her, and frankly she had noted that there was no resistance to Balgair MacArthur from them at all. She suspected that they really would prefer a MacArthur, even a foreign MacArthur, as their laird rather than a MacNab, and the death of her grandfather had allowed them to express their preference—a preference they would have never voiced when Ewan MacArthur was alive.

Where could she go? Ellen considered. The laird of Duffdour was about twelve hours ahead of her on the road south. She would endeavor to catch up with him, beg his protection, and plead for his escort back to the king. If she left Lochearn now and rode the rest of the night, she might find him sooner than later. There was certain to be initial confusion when Balgair‘s body was discovered, and then a messenger would probably be sent to Skye for instructions. That she was missing would certainly confirm her guilt, but she knew that the men in the keep, and even Anice, would consider that she couldn‘t escape them forever. They would believe she had fled into the woods, and that they could catch her.

Ellen went to the door and, opening it, peeped out into the hall. There wasn‘t a sound to be heard. Taking up her heavy woolen cloak—and as an afterthought the round cottage loaf—she slipped from the chamber, quietly closing the door behind her. She turned the key in the door‘s lock, and then put it in her pocket. Tiptoeing down the narrow stone stairs she peeped into the hall. It was empty of all life but for an old dog that snored by the fire. Ellen followed the stairs down into the kitchens, for she knew the door there was less likely to be barred, and she found she was right. The smell of baking bread assailed her nostrils as she slipped through the kitchens.

The cook appeared to be sleeping at the table, her head upon her folded arms. She did not stir as Ellen crept past her, but she was awake. Her loyalties had not yet been turned, and so she remained where she was, silent and motionless as she heard the door into the yard open and click shut. "Godspeed, lass," she whispered softly, and then dozed again until her bread would be finished.

Outside Ellen kept to the shadows as she hurried to the stables. She could see that the main gate was guarded, but she knew it was unlikely that the postern gate would be. Once inside the stables she moved cautiously, for she could not be certain where the stable lads would be, but hearing giggles from the hayloft she smiled. Finding her own horse, she quickly saddled the beast and led it from the building across the courtyard, keeping again to the shadows as she moved toward the postern gate. She could hear her own heart hammering as she slowly walked the short distance.

And then she gained the gate, and to her relief the key was where it had always been, and the gate hinges made no sound as she opened it and led her horse through. She locked the gate from the outside and pocketed its key with the other. Mounting the beast, she guided it carefully along the edge of the loch until she reached the narrow trail that would lead her south. She stopped a moment before urging her horse onto the trail, looking back across the water at the grim, dark outline of Lochearn Keep. Then, digging into her pocket, Ellen took the keys out and threw them one by one as far as she could out into the loch.

With the postern gate locked, and seemingly without a key, no one would think she had exited the keep that way. They would at first believe she was either still in the keep or had been helped by someone on the main gate. Few, if any, had ever used the postern gate, and fewer knew it had a key. It didn‘t matter if they finally figured it out or not. She would be long gone. As for her bedchamber, it would first be believed that Balgair MacArthur had locked the door from the inside and was enjoying his victory over the young heiress of Lochearn. But eventually sometime during the day Anice would become suspicious. She would demand that the door be opened, and when knocking produced no results, when no sound was heard from within the bedchamber, the door would finally be broken down. Balgair MacArthur‘s body would be

discovered, and all hell would break loose. But Ellen MacArthur would be long gone.

She urged her mount up onto the trail. A late waning moon had now risen, and the track was just barely visible as the horse picked its way up the hill. The night was cold but still. Above her the stars blazed in the black heavens. Ellen rested the animal a few moments when they had completed the steep climb. She gazed down through the trees, half-bare of their leaves with the coming winter. The keep stood out in stark relief against the night. Lochearn. Her home. Her home no more. Ellen knew with a deep certainty that she would never see it again. There was nothing left for her there. It was both frightening and exciting to realize that she had absolutely no idea of what the future would hold for her. If indeed she even had a future. The peaceful, settled life that she had always known would be hers was gone, and she could not imagine what would arise in its place. For now, however, her future entailed getting far away from Lochearn, and as quickly as she could. Balgair‘s men would not be kind if they caught her. She kicked her horse gently, urging it onward, hoping she could find Duncan Armstrong quickly.

Ellen MacArthur rode slowly through the chill, dark night, the scant light from the waning moon just barely illuminating the path through the forest. Just before dawn, when the sky had lightened to a pale gray, she crossed the meadow where they had camped the night before she reached Lochearn. She was gratified to have made such progress despite her slow pace. She stopped by the stream on the border of the meadow to water her horse and let it crop some of the green grass, while she tore off chunks of her loaf and slowly ate the bread. Then, relieving herself behind a bush, she mounted up again.

She rode the day long, never seeing a soul. Now and again she would see a deer, or a rabbit would dash from the underbrush into the deeper wood. There was sun, but it was a cold sun.

Ellen could already feel the Highland winter coming, and there was snow on the tops of the far, high bens. She did not relish spending the night alone, but as the autumn day began to wane she considered that she had best seek shelter. Ahead of her she saw a fox on the hunt, a sure sign of day‘s end. The light breeze that had teased at her hair all day disappeared, and above, in the blue sky, a hawk skreeked.

Then ahead of her Ellen heard voices. Her first instinct was increase her horse‘s gait, but she realized that while she might have finally caught up to the laird and his men, she might not have.

Dismounting, she led her animal forward, keeping to the wood on the edge of the track so she would not be easily detected. There was a clearing, a stone overhang, a fire, a group of travelers.

She counted the horses tied to the trees. Seven. Aye, that was right. The laird and his six men.

And then she saw him. He stood three inches over six feet, and when he turned Ellen saw his face—his handsome, familiar face.

She stumbled forward with a glad cry, dragging her horse behind her. At once the party of clansmen were on the alert, but the laird recognized her at once. He hurried forward to greet her.

"Mistress Ellen, what has happened? Are you all right?" And then he saw the bruise on her cheek. His blue eyes darkened with anger.

"Help me!" Ellen managed to gasp out the two words, and then she collapsed.

He caught her as she fell, gathering her up in his strong arms. "There, lass, there. Tell me what has happened." His face showed his concern as his arms tightened about her. "Give me some of your whiskey, Jock," he said to one of his men.

"I have killed Balgair MacArthur," Ellen said, and then she began to cry.

The laird nodded. "Are you sure?" he asked her. "Here, take a sip of this," he said, holding his clansman‘s flask to her lips. "You looked chilled through."

Still sobbing, Ellen swallowed twice, and then coughed hard. "He wasn‘t moving when I left him," she said. "Nor was he making any sound."

"Start from the beginning and tell me everything," Duncan Armstrong said. He set her down on her feet and helped her to sit on one of the large stones about the fire.

"After you left, the women and I prepared Grandsire and Donald for burial. Father Birk said the words just before the sunset. When I went back into the hall I found Balgair with Anice, a foundling raised in our village who had been my servant. I had to send her home from court for her wanton behavior. He has made her his mistress, and she is already with child. I asked Balgair if I might retire, as my day—the last few days—had been difficult. He agreed. The servants fed me, and I went to my chamber, where I washed and then went to bed. I had probably been sleeping no more than an hour or two when I was awakened by Balgair entering my chamber. I asked him to leave, and he laughed. He said he had promised not to wed me for my month of mourning, but he had not promised not to bed me. And then…" Ellen faltered. "I killed him," she finally managed to say, and then she began to cry.

He had to ask it. It wasn‘t the gentlemanly thing to do, but he had to ask. "Did he rape you, Ellen?"

She looked up at him, startled. "He tried," she finally replied. "But I have always kept my dirk beneath my pillow, my lord. While he fumbled and groped at me, I took it out, and I stabbed him. I don‘t know how many times my blade pierced his flesh, but when he fell to the floor with a single groan he made no further cry; nor did he move. I killed him." She began to cry again.

"God and his Blessed Mother forgive me, for I have killed a man! How will I ever atone for such a sin?"