The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (12 page)

He could not stay mad at the lad. “Would ye like to be in a warm castle again, Calum?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

Seumas tousled the lad’s hair and turned to Iseabail, ignoring her hesitant smile. “How about ye, m’lady? Does a night in a real bed sound like something ye could handle?”

“Oh, yea, m’lord, I believe I could handle that in a fine way.” She looked relieved, her smile bloomed. “Would you also be appreciating a soft place to lay your head?”

Seumas’s heart skipped a beat. Damn. She could jerk his emotions with a smile. Surely he had mistaken her meaning. She did not seem to notice and slid off the horse. He had a moment to compose himself before she ducked under the horse’s head and stood in front of him. At the expectant look on her face, Seumas bristled with annoyance. He went to work unsaddling the horse.

“It will be good to sleep within four walls again.” He tried to soften the sharpness in his voice. Calum and Iseabail exchange a glance. Seumas rubbed the horse down with the blanket. “Relieve yourselves and return for a rest and some food.”

He snorted as they walked away. Iseabail had only a slight limp. She was on the mend. He headed in the opposite direction to relieve himself but continued to stay away to settle his own thoughts. She had just been teasing. Why did she cause such strong reactions in him? He wanted to take her over his knee one minute then plow into her the next. Damn woman.

When she had pulled up her skirt to get her dagger, the wind was nearly knocked out of him. Like nothing, she lifted those skirts, revealing her slender calf and that God-awful strap squeezing her thigh. He wanted to slide his hand from ankle to thigh, caressing her softness, soothing the dagger’s imprint. The thought of tracing his tongue along that same path and ending at the juncture of her legs had him nearly panting. To even think that way about a woman again was a curse. Damn her.

After the two were situated on the horse, Seumas continued on the road to Fairhaven. By dusk, they had made good time and he tried to force himself to relax as they ate what little they had foraged. He was restless and glad when the two of them finally drifted to sleep. Looking up at the stars, he rubbed his hands together, his breath visible with the dropping temperature. He walked away from Calum and Iseabail.

He was exhausted but could not even think about sleep. After all he had walked today, the idea of taking another trek should have been daunting, yet he found himself following the little path that led to a pond. Perhaps a cool dip might help him settle.

The water soothed, and he began to relax. Steam rose from his body and the surface of the pond. Floating on his back, he allowed his body to drift where it would. He looked up at the boundless sky and followed the milky path that seemed to twist like a pass between the bright lights. The stars were beyond beautiful, and he marveled at their light.

“And He knows them all by name.” Seumas quoted scripture to no one and wondered again at his physical ailment. Had he just imagined his recovery? Or was he still on the mend? Perhaps the mind took longer to be made whole than the body.

Just before sunrise, Seumas was fully rested and preparing the horse for the last part of the journey when Iseabail and Calum awoke. Calum quickly pulled the few items from their camp together to help with the preparation. Iseabail used the fresh water he had collected to make an impromptu soup with what was left of their supplies. With such beautiful weather, they would make good time.

“Does your friend have legal knowledge of his own?” Iseabail called to Seumas, who led the horse.

“His father knew more than most. More importantly,” he turned to her, “Mark knows what he himself does not and keeps counsel for that reason.”

“But his father is no longer among the living?”

“No.”

The night Mark and Seumas had spent huddled together, discussing their fathers’ expectations for them, and how little the old men knew about life, slammed into his brain.

“And you met in the Holy Land?”

Her damn questions. Could she not just leave it alone?

“We were friends for many years.” He fought the rising tension at her questions. She was right to ask about where they were going and who they would be with. For her own protection, she should have been asking questions. He exhaled before answering, wanting to sound confident. “I trust him with my life.”

She nibbled her lip thoughtfully before she spoke again. “Then he must be a good man, too.”

It took him a moment to realize what she was saying. If only she did believe Seumas was a good man, but her actions told another story. She would have shared her story if she had felt safe with him. She told only what she felt she had to and when she had to. That was not trust in someone but a reaction to being trapped. He was the lesser of two evils.

“He is worthy of yer trust.” The reality was that she did not trust him. That was clear. Perhaps with Mark, she could feel safe.

At the next crest, the castle came into view in the distance, glistening as if made of gold.

Iseabail shielded her eyes. “Have you been here before?”

“No, I have not, but I know this is the place. Mark told us how his castle had been built with the stones along the cliff and how it sparkled in the light.” Seumas scratched his cheek. “I have to say I did not believe him.”

“You can believe him!” Calum stated the obvious with his dramatic flair.

Before they had crossed halfway to the castle, a group of armed soldiers approached them. Seumas stopped the horse and helped Iseabail dismount. Stepping ahead of both of them, he approached the men without hesitation.

“Good day.” Seumas raised his hand in acknowle
dgment. “I am a friend of yer laird Mark and have come for a visit.”

The men stopped but did not dismount. Seumas shifted so that he did not have to look up at them on their horses. It seemed odd to him that they would be so ungracious, but perhaps it was for the castle’s protection.

“What is your name?” The apparent leader of the group, a black-haired man whose long hair blended with the rest of his attire, peered down his long patrician nose with obvious irritation.

He scanned the area twice and huffed, perhaps eager to be done with this task. He assessed both Calum and Iseabail, but it was Iseabai
l who caught and held his attention. A smile broke across his face.

Shading her eyes, Iseabail looked up at the man on the lead horse. His eyes seemed to be studying her with great intensity. She tilted her head in acknowledgement, and his smile broadened.

“I am Seumas of Mallaig.” He scowled. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he had a strong sense of foreboding.

“From the MacDonell clan?” someone asked from the back of the group, but Seumas could not tell who had spoken. The well-armed men were tense, their hands resting on their swords even though he stood there with a woman and a small boy. How much of a threat could he be?

“I am. Do ye know of me?” Seumas answered, scanning their faces for someone he recognized.

The leader held out his arm interrupting any possible answer. “You will have to wait here until our return.”

The men started to turn their horses back to the castle.

“Please,” Seumas said, stopping their retreat, “we have traveled a long distance and wish to come in and rest. Surely, Lord Mark would not expect visitors to be left standing at the gate.”

“That may be, but Lord Mark is not in residence at this time.”

“He is not here?” Seumas asked. “When will he return?”

“I am not able to say, Seumas.”

The man used his name with a familiarity Seumas did not care for. His irritation grew by the minute. He had not expected this type of greeting. In Mark’s absence, where would help for Iseabail be found?

The black-haired man crossed his arms on the saddle as he leaned toward Seumas. “Well, do you wait or go on your way?”

Seumas had the distinct impression he had just been challenged. He sized the man up. Same height, perhaps a bit scrawnier than himself. His features appeared French, but Seumas detected no accent. The cocky smirk on his face made Seumas want to find a reason to knock him off his horse.

Iseabail stepped up beside Seumas. “We are very much looking forward to seeing your laird. We will be happy to wait here.” She placed her hand on Seumas’s arm, which stiffened in response. “Thank you for your assistance.”

The man’s gaze took in all of Iseabail, and he smiled again. Nodding, he led the men back to the castle.

Iseabail smiled then turned to face Seumas, who fumed.

“Why are ye smiling?” he asked.

“Surely we can wait a little longer?” she asked. “Do you not have any manners?”

Seumas snorted in answer. “This is not what I had expected. Mark is a kind man, and I would not have pushed the two of ye so hard if I had known ye would be left out here with the sun beating down on us.”

He turned away and began to re-cinch the horse’s saddle. Iseabail and Calum watched Seumas work out his irritation as he cared for the horse. Finally, Calum pulled up a yellow flower and held it under his sister’s chin. Glancing toward Seumas from the corner of his eye, he said, “You like butter.”

“’
Tis true.”

“And are you going to expire if we stand out here?”

“Absurd. I am made of stronger stuff.” Seumas rolled his eyes at this conversation. “And you, Calum? Do you see yourself melting with the sun’s rays?”

Calum shook his head emphatically.

Seumas raised his arm for them to stop. “Enough, enough. I apologize for trying to see to yer comfort.”

“You appeared ready to do battle!” Iseabail stated. “We can wait. We will be fine.”

“It is not the treatment I expected,” Seumas muttered under his breath.

Calum and Iseabail exchanged glances.

She was right. He did not like the way that man had looked at Iseabail. It made him uncomfortable to realize how quickly he had become agitated. Perhaps fatigue was taking a toll. A rest was all he needed, and that would come soon enough.

Still, leaving guests to wait outside the castle walls was not a common occurrence. Surely they had an adequate number of men within to keep an eye on any guests with questionable intent? One of the soldiers had even recognized him.

“Seumas.” Her voice was quiet. “Do we have any other option?”

Seeing both their expectant faces looking at him, he felt chagrined. He had put such high hopes in Mark and his knowledge of the code of law. His stomach tightened into a knot of uncertainty. He kept his head turned toward the horse. Another bad decision? A groan of self-loathing escaped him, but he covered it with a cough. Their faces were full of concern.

Calum reached for the water skin and handed it to Seumas. “We do not blame you, m’lord.” Calum spoke slowly, seeming to choose his words with care. “This is not your doing.”

Seumas drank the water down with his bitterness. Calum’s words reassured him, but Seumas disagreed. There should have been something more he could have done. He did not know what, though.

Iseabail took the blanket from the bag and spread it out a few feet from the horse then settled herself demurely on it. Her hands folded in her lap and her nose in the air, she faced the castle. The little brown rabbit hopped through the grass and plopped down beside her. Calum joined her on the blanket, lying on his stomach. He took a piece of grass between his thumbs and blew. He changed the shape of his lips with mixed results.

An hour later, Iseabail sat a little less straight, irritated by Calum’s whistle. “Please stop, Calum! You are not getting any better!”

Seumas had cinched and re-cinched the saddle, cleaned the horse’s hooves, and even brushed his coat. He looked up with surprise at Iseabail. “Methinks he is.”

Calum took a breath to protest at her insult, but stopped abruptly to beam at Seumas. He stuck his tongue out at his sister and blew again.

Iseabail turned toward Seumas, her eyes bulging and her lips pursed. The noises emanating from Calum were similar to a newborn calf squawking for its mother. The fury in her eyes caused Seumas to stop mid-stroke, relieved to see the men coming from the castle gates.

“Here they come.” Seumas pointed. The three of them stood together in anticipation of their welcome.

“If you would follow me.” The same dark man turned his retinue of three men and the newcomers toward the castle. Seumas helped to seat Iseabail and Calum, Rodney tucked unseen inside his tunic, astride the horse as they followed behind the group. Upon their arrival through the gates, Seumas helped the two down, and a young boy took the reins and led the horse away.

“This way.” Not even a welcome face greeted them into the castle. They followed the man up the back staircase to the second landing. The group disbanded at the Great Hall, where several other armed men sat.

“M’lady, if you would be so kind as to give me your name?” His voice gentler now, he looked expectantly as Iseabail, holding her gaze with twinkling eyes. She appeared to have trouble tearing her eyes away.

Panic flew between the three of them like a living thing. They had not anticipated what they should have. What name should they give? Who would they say they were?

Seumas stepped forward and took her arm. “May I present my sister, Lady Iseabail.”

They turned as one toward their apparent host. The man’s eyes, however, remained on Iseabail.

“This will be your room, Lady Iseabail.” He opened the door to a candlelit chamber with heavy tapestries covering the wall and a wooden tub in front of the fire. Seumas and Iseabail looked at each other at the same time. The naked Iseabail by firelight came instantly to his mind. He glanced down, but looked back when color crept up Iseabail’s neck and she turned away from him—it seemed she remembered as well
.

They left Iseabail behind the closed door after she murmured her thanks. The man led Calum and Seumas to another room just down the hall. Seumas struggled to focus on what was being said and leave the memory of Iseabail’s beauty in its proper place.

“This is where you may wait. They will bring you a bath anon,” the man said.

Was it hospitality he was offering or imprisonment? He fought down his ire to take a page from Iseabail’s book.

“Forgive me, but I did not get yer name.” Seumas spoke in a reasonable tone.

“I did not give it.” Green eyes pierced blue as sounds from the hall drifted up the stairs.

Seumas stood rigid, awaiting an answer to his question.

“Malcolm, m’lord.” He held Seumas’s gaze a second more before continuing, “I am Sene
schal to Lord Mark. I welcome you to his castle on his behalf.”

“Well, Malcolm, ye said this is where I may wait but what ye meant was this is the room I may us
e as my own while I await yer laird. Correct?” Seumas did not care for Malcolm and the lack of common courtesy being shown him did nothing to improve his irritability.

Malcolm dipped his head in acquiescence before he left, shutting the door behind him.

“Seneschal?” Calum asked. “He does not behave very well, does he?”

Seumas walked to the bed to remove his boots before answering. “I would say not.”

Calum closed the distance between them and placed his small hand on Seumas’s arm. “Your faith in your friend is noble.” They looked at each other, and Seumas felt the boy’s perceptiveness. “This is a man who you trust or you would not have brought us here.”

“How do ye know that, Calum?” Seumas was irritated. “Mayhap I am not to be trusted at all. Mayhap I have led ye into a trap to collect the ransom myself.” Seumas tried to keep his face from revealing his true feelings.

“That is not true and I know it. I trust you, and I am right to trust you. I have no doubt about that at all.” Calum marched to the stool beside the fire and sat down to remove his own shoes. “Besides, what would you think of people who looked as ragged as us coming to your castle?”

Seumas considered this. They had been on the road for long enough that they were no longer clean. Calum and Iseabail’s clothing was worn threadbare before they had even started out, and hers were bloodstained from her injuries. And yet, it did not look to Seumas as if Malcolm had seen anything other than a beautiful woman. Iseabail. A woman he wanted.

Perhaps he had overreacted. “Methinks ye are correct.”

Calum hesitated as he started to take off his own shoes, his brow furrowed with concentration.

“Is something on yer mind?”

“I heard Iseabail tell you about when we left home.” His green eyes seemed dark to Seumas. “She told you Iain could not come with us because he had to make sure we got away safely?”

“Yea. That is what she said.” Dread coiled in his gut. Was he about to have more proof of her lack of trust? “Is that not the truth?”

Calum looked at the shoe he held. It had a hole big enough for his thumb to go through. “It is the truth as far as she knows it.”

Seumas became instantly alert. How could Iseabail make good decisions without all the facts? “What was the truth then?”

“He had been beaten.” The silence that followed was thick with all that implied.

“Beaten?”

“Yea. He was barely able to make it across the field to meet with Iseabail.”

“Tell me who beat him.”

Calum’s eyes held Seumas’s, and he knew the answer. Their uncle had beaten Iain so badly that he could no longer go with them to protect them.

“Iain would never have let Iseabail leave undefended if he had any other choice. He would have died rather than let any harm come to her.” Calum’s eyes filled with tears. “He made me promise not to tell her what Uncle Henry had done. She would never have left had she known. She would never have left Iain with no one to care for him. You are the first person I have been able to tell. Oh, Seumas, I am so worried that he died from the beating.”

Seumas took the sobbing Calum into his arms. Things that had seemed bad enough had taken a turn for the worse. Wanting to console the boy, he realized he had nothing to say. “There was no one to care for him?”