The Laird (31 page)

She lifted his face with both hands. She wanted to see his reaction. “You, my handsome and stalwart husband, are going to be a father.”

“Huh?”

She grinned at his bemused expression. “Come spring you will be a Da.”

His beautiful steel blue eyes grew wide. “How ken ye? I mean are ye absolutely certain, lass?”

“Oh, aye, I’m very sure.” She was late, had suffered her first bout of nausea as the sun rose, and then again right before her bath.

“Aye, she says!” His laughter exploded and rolled like barrels falling down a long flight of stairs. He wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her in great circles before kissing her soundly.

Before she could catch her breath his expression shifted to concern. “Why did ye not tell me sooner, love? God teeth! Had I kenned, I’d not have ridden as I had, jolting ye from the Bruce’s to here.”

She patted his check, loving the concern in his eyes. “I’m fine. Trust me. There wouldn’t be so many illegitimate babes in the world if a ride could so easily dislodge them.”

He continued to scowl but nodded, obviously wanting it to be so. Then a gleam came into his eyes and he stroked the top of her breast. “Would a wee bit of tuppin’ hurt the babe?”

She laughed. And here she’d thought he’d been an avid tupping fan only because he wanted a babe.

~#~

Duncan scowled at his prisoner as she stood in the bailey before the clan. From betwixt two guards, Flora Campbell glared back, head high and dressed in the gown she’d worn when thrown in the dungeon. Why, he wondered, had he acquiesced to Beth’s plea to give the damn woman food and water?

“My lady has begged for yer life, though why I dinna ken. So it is by her good graces and not mine—-for I would have hung ye from the nearest mast--that ye will be sent back to yer sire in chains. Ye will be transported not by sea but by land, so all the world can see as ye pass what a foul, lying bitch ye be.”

His guards had reported her ravings. She’d done all to avenge his refusal to marry her. That she swore she would gladly do worse if given the opportunity made hid blood boil. Now she wisely remained mute.

He kicked the cloth bag at her feet. “That is what ye came with and all ye take away.” The elaborate gowns she favored--and he had foolishly had made for her--would remain at Blackstone, where they would be appreciated.

He turned Beth toward the keep and ordered, “Take Lady Campbell away, out of my fair lady’s sight.”

As he passed Angus he murmured, “Is all in readiness?”

Casting a wary eye toward Beth, Angus said, “Aye.”

Tomorrow the Bruce would awaken to find fields afire, his kine and favorite child gone. No man should blatantly lie and then swear it true on his child’s head.

The lad would not be harmed, but ransomed. Coffers emptied, the Bruce would be hard pressed to feed his sept, let alone pay his taxes, something Albany will not find amusing. Then in two weeks time he would humiliate the bastard before one and all.

M
uch to Duncan’s chagrin, Beth had insisted on accompanying him to Sterling, the sight of the tournament. Beth’s argument—-that she’d be safer with him then alone in a half-guarded keep—-prompted him to give way, but they’d traveled slow and with as many creature comforts as his sumpters could haul without expiring.

If not for needing to humiliate the Bruce in public, Duncan would have remained at Blackstone.  He didna need coin since capturing the Bruce lad, and had no desire to participate in a spectacle hailed as a tribute to their rightful King when Albany had yet to ransom the poor lad from Sassenach hands.

Looking at the tournament site, Beth excitedly pointed to the hundreds of colorful banners and tents scattered for miles around the jousting fields. “Oh, look! Are they the King’s tents, the ones with the lion pennants?

“Aye, but ‘tis Albany.” Which posed a major problem. His ladywife was not the bride—-the King’s cousin--Albany had insisted he marry. Beth, curious to a fault, would want to experience all, and he had yet to ken how he’d keep her from Albany’s view.

“There must be thousands here. Where will we make camp?”

Cradling her to his chest, he kicked his mount forward. “We settle wherever we find room.” The early arrivals had seized the choicest places, which was just as well.

She pointed toward a distant hill. “Over there near the grove-—copse. We’ll have shade, at least.”

He grinned. ‘Twas a good place and a healthy distance from Albany and the Bruce, a man currently in a sore state of mind, having paid dearly for his son’s return. “So be it, my lady.”

An hour later they had the rudiments of a home-away-from-home set up. Beth, looking a bit hollow-eyed, kissed him. “I need to rest. Can you ask Rachael to assume my duties for a wee bit?”

“Of course.” He shooed her toward the tent. “While ye sleep I will be yon.” He pointed to the elaborate tent near the jousting field. “I need learn the order of events.”

“Be careful.”

She kenned the Bruce was now out for blood. “Aye, and ye, as well. Keep Sean in view at all times.”

“I promise.”

As he made his way through the throng he was hailed by many and stopped repeatedly.

Seeing his old liege lord the Campbell, Duncan--out of old habit--thumped his chest in greeting. “Sir, how go ye?”

“I could be better. These weary bones have been paired with the MacDonald.” He looked about warily before adding, “I have taken Flora to task, MacDougall.” He cleared his throat as his already florid countenance heightened in hue. “I apologize to ye for the harm my daughter brought to yer hostile.”

Duncan kenned his friend had naught to do with Flora’s scheme. “‘Tis over. All ended well for my ladywife is still with child.”

“’Tis good to hear. I hoped to visit with her one day.”

“You will. Beth is with me.” He grinned at Campbell’s startled expression. Hoping it would ease the old man’s mind, he muttered, “‘Twas wiser to give in to her luste than listen to her complaints.”

Campbell sighed in sad fashion. “‘Tis often the way, if a man wants any peace.”

“Aye, especially if the woman is as ox-minded as Beth.” Seeing Isaac already in the long line before the Mistress of the Lists, Duncan felt no urgency to leave. “’Twould be an honor if ye’ll come to meat this night.” Getting ready for a guest would keep Beth occupied and out of sight. Seeing his old friend shake his head, he added, “She harbors nay ill will, Campbell.”

“If that be the truth, then I will come.”

Grinning, Duncan slapped the old man’s shoulder. “Splendid. But I must warn ye, though Lady Beth is learning, our ways are new to her. She often speaks verra quick and odd. Dinna hesitate to ask her to repeat herself. I need do it as often as six times a day. Makes it damn difficult to have a good row.”

The Campbell grinned. “Ye’ve not changed. Ye are still a fool.”

“Nay, ‘tis the making up that spurs me on.”

The Campbell laughed. “Tonight then. Now, away with ye.”

A moment later the hairs on the back of Duncan’s neck stood. Feeling eyes boring into his back, he turned to find the Bruce ten paces away.

He nodded. “Bruce.”

“MacDougall, I hereby issue a challenge.”

“Accepted.” Did his enemy fear they might not face off in the finals? Interesting.

The Bruce, now a thousand pounds sterling poorer, glared as he spit, “Put yer matters in order for in three days time ye die.”

Duncan’s lip curled. “Yer arrogance and ambition willna be the death of me, ye bastard, but of thyself.” He turned his back and stalked away. In only moments he could hear a buzz, a tense anticipation of the impending challenge moving through crowd.

His ladywife wouldna be impressed.

 ~ # ~

“
Are you out of your mind?
” Beth paced before her husband who wisely or stubbornly remained mute as he sharpened the metal point of his lance. She cast a quick glance at Jacob, who--looking decidedly uncomfortable--tried to make himself invisible in the far corner of their tent as he studiously polished armor.

Knowing their tent walls offered no sound barrier—-that all they said would soon spread through the clan anyway--Beth dismissed the youngster’s presence from her mind and directed her ire back where it belonged. Toward her husband.

  “You could be killed!” Instinctively she placed a hand on her swelling abdomen. “And if you are, then what? Do I point to your portrait—-which, I might add, is dreadful--and tell your son, ‘That was your father. As best I can recall, you favor him’? Merciful Mother of God!”

When he refused to look at her, she screeched in frustration and left in search of a saner head. Namely Isaac’s. Surely her husband’s advisor could talk some sense into her stubborn husband.

Ten minutes later, and witnessing no less than a dozen people placing wagers on the upcoming challenge, she found Rachael.

Hands on hips she demanded, “Where’s Isaac?”

“And a pleasant good afternoon to ye, as well.” Rachael put down the shawl she was embroidering for Jacob’s upcoming Bar Mitzvah. “What has yer man done now? Surely he’s not ordered ye back to Blackstone?”

“Nay. That fool I married has accepted a challenge from the Bruce. If I can’t stop him, I want to be sure he at least left a will.”

Rachael stood and wrapped an arm around Beth. “
Mon ami
, even if ye do find an honorable retreat, yer husband willna take it. He had plans to issue a challenge on the morrow himself.”

The revelation knocked the wind out of Beth and she dropped like a stone onto a nearby trunk. “Why? I suffered no permanent damage. He has the Bruce’s money.” Tears began to cloud her vision. “We have a
child
on the way. What does he have to gain besides an early death?”

“His pride.” Rachael settled before her and clutched her hands. “
Mon ami
, is it so different in yer world? Do men not have to
humilier
—humble their
l’ennemi
before all whom they hold dear?”

“He’s already done it!” Tears coursed down her cheeks.

Duncan had stolen the Bruce’s son right from under the man’s nose. Wasn’t that enough?

“Ye ken the Bruce and our liege have both held quiet about what transpired these past weeks, being uncertain how Albany would take their hostilities so close to the games, but the tale has still spread among the clans. Some believe the Bruce will attack after all this.” She waved toward the hundreds of tents surrounding them. “Your husband must prove he is the stronger, the best, or all ye have becomes vulnerable to all those wishing to expand their holdings. Yer husband canna appear weak or men will die.”

Beth didn’t want to believe it, but she’d seen the gleam in some men’s eyes as they placed their bets against her husband.

“Yer time,
mon ami
, would be better spent convincing
yer
husband that he is without peer than in trying to convince
mine
that this is madness.”

Beth heaved a heavy sigh, knowing Rachael probably had the right of it. She had little understanding and even less influence over Duncan when it came to matters of clan politics.

She’d been appalled learning Duncan had stolen the Bruce’s heir, a lad of only eight, and had done everything in her power to comfort the boy until his father could claim him. That Duncan had also been kind to the child, had played darts and read to the boy, helped little in eradicating her guilt over being the cause of such vengeful feuding. Had she been more alert, less gullible, Flora never would have had the opportunity to lead her into a trap and set Duncan on this path of revenge.

The fires the MacDougall clan started on Bruce land she refused to think about. She couldn’t imagine the angst the Bruce women felt watching their lives’ work—-their homes, handmade furniture, and crops--going up in smoke. She thanked God nightly that no lives were lost. That the Bruce clan still had some resources to get through the upcoming winter—-but just barely—-brought little comfort. She was sure possessions were lost in the fires that could never be replaced.

She heaved a heavy sigh and brushed away her tears. “Since there’s nothing I can do to stop my idiotic husband, I suppose I should start getting ready for the Campbell’s arrival.”

“Take heart,
mon ami
. You have a courageous and strong man who’ll not take any unnecessary chances.”

Beth snorted. Everything Duncan planned for the next week was--to her mind--totally unnecessary and chancy.

 ~ # ~

In the gallery, wedged between the Campbell and her best friend, Beth prayed. Her heart tripped as Duncan, decked out in his finest armor—-carrying his gleaming red and gold shield with his family coat of arms on his left arm and his red lance with its potentially fatal steel tip glistening in his right--rode into the long makeshift arena to face his enemy.

Her gaze instinctively flew to the opposite end of the lists, her heart hoping to find the Bruce smaller—-frailer--than she recalled. But the man was as she remembered; only more lethal-looking dressed in dark armor. To her dismay, she saw the Bruce’s mount was dressed not in trapper--chain mail--from head to tail as Duncan’s horse was, but in metal plate. The enormous black warhorse looked like something out of a futuristic movie.

Rachael tugged on her hand and Beth turned to find Duncan smiling at her. As the Bruce’s herald started touting his lord’s prowess, Rachael whispered, “Blow your husband a kiss,
mon ami
. ‘Tis what his heart needs.”

“Aye.” With tears in her eyes and a pounding heart, Beth brought shaking fingers to her lips and blew Duncan a kiss. She then whispered, “I love you. God’s speed.”

To her monumental relief he understood and mouthed, “I love ye,” in return.

In what seemed like only the time between two heartbeats, trumpet blasted. The crowd roared as the warring titan’s dropped their visors, and the horses reared, and then charged.

Beth held her breath as their lances struck wood. Her heart nearly stopped when Duncan’s shield, absorbing the impact of the Bruce’s strike, split in two. Her worries multiplied as Duncan shucked the steel band that once held his shield and turned his mount at the opposite end of the arena.