Chapter 32
The second day on the road, light snow began to fall. The wet flakes didn’t stick, but they turned the paths into a churning morass of mud. Elspeth and her father rode at the head of the Stewart column, but their pace was slowed by those at their heels. She was surprised when Lord Drummond picked his way around the Stewart fighting men to catch up to them.
“Since Lady Stewart is still awaiting us at my stronghold, I assume ye’ll be going there to collect her before ye return to your own land,” Lachlan said, pointedly ignoring Elspeth as if she wasn’t riding alongside her father.
That was fine with her. She hoped never to speak to the man again.
“No doubt she’ll be thrilled to see the Lady Elspeth safe and sound,” he continued.
Elspeth didn’t meet his gaze, but she watched him from the corner of her eye as if he were a hound she wasn’t sure was quite safe.
“We’ll no’ be imposing on your hospitality longer than necessary, Drummond,” her father said.
“Ye’re welcome to stay under my roof as long as you like, of course, but frankly, I’m thinking your men would welcome returning to their own hearths as soon as may be,” Lachlan said. “The way divides just up ahead, and if they take the right fork, your fighting men can be on Stewart land in another day’s ride and by their own fires in two.”
“I am aware of it,” Stewart said stonily.
Lachlan looked pointedly at the leaden sky. “The air smells of snow.”
Elspeth’s father nodded.
Lachlan bid them a pleasant good day and turned back to join his own force. Once he was gone, Elspeth’s father called his second in command to join them. He gave orders for his men to turn aside and make for Stewart land at the coming fork in the road.
“Pick a contingent of ten to remain with us as a guard, and lead the rest home,” her father said. “Winter’s hard upon us. I would not have my men away from their women and children when the snow flies in earnest.”
Once the man left to do his laird’s bidding, Elspeth screwed up her courage.
“Father, ye know I’d not question your judgment, but I have to wonder if it’s wise for us to be so few when we must return to Lord Drummond’s stronghold.”
“Whether or no’ our clans are bound by a marriage, the man is still our neighbor. We must find a way to live in peace with him,” he said softly so as not to be overheard by any other ears. “Besides, if his intentions are ill, Lord Drummond has just reminded me that he holds my wife.”
Elspeth gasped. She hadn’t considered that. If Drummond was still intent on wedding her, threatening her mother was one thing that would make her yield.
“But if his intentions are good, he was asking me not to flood his keep with my men. They might be trapped there by heavy snows for a long while and so deplete his larder,” her father said. “No man wishes to admit baldly that he canna support so many mouths. By turning my men aside, I save Drummond’s dignity and earn his gratitude.”
“Is every conversation such a chess game between the pair of ye?”
“More often than not,” he admitted. “It comes with leadership. Ye never really know when a man’s ‘yea’ means ‘yea.’”
Rob MacLaren was as much a Scottish laird as Drummond or her father, but she had yet to see him engage in such crafty plans that someone had to decipher what his words meant. Even his abduction of her was straightforward, his goal of single combat with Drummond the stated outcome from the beginning.
An uncomplicated man with a boatload of stubbornness might be trying at times, but his lack of guile was restful to her spirit.
Her chest ached from missing him so. She wondered what he’d done when he realized she was gone. He was probably furious that she’d used the secret passage. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t come after her. Of course, it would be folly in the extreme to brave two armies to reach her, but part of her wished he’d try it.
Surely he’d come for her at her father’s stronghold.
Unless he believed she’d left him because she still intended to wed Lord Drummond. Her heart sank with hopelessness.
“Sometimes, ye must give a man trust in order for him to behave in a trustworthy manner,” her father said, interrupting her despairing thoughts. “I withdrew from the MacLaren field without his leave. Ye have spurned Drummond as husband, and yet he’s behaved with courtesy toward us both. I can afford to give the man a sop now.”
They plodded on side by side. The horses’ hooves made such loud sucking noises in the mud Elspeth almost missed her father’s soft “I hope.”
***
Elspeth enjoyed a tearful reunion with her mother, but their joy was short lived. Before they could speak ten words to each other, there was a scuffle and a clash of blades outside their door. Drummond and a dozen armed men broke into their guest chamber. Elspeth’s father’s sword was out of its scabbard in a blink.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” he demanded.
“Sheath your blade, friend. The quarrel is no’ with you,” Lachlan said smoothly. A priest peeked around the doorjamb and then scuttled in behind Drummond. “We war no’ against flesh and blood but against the powers of darkness itself.”
Stewart’s sword didn’t lower one jot. “What nonsense is this?”
“Tell him, Father,” Drummond said to the priest.
The priest glanced at Elspeth’s father then hastily averted his eyes. Instead they fastened on her. “Elspeth Stewart, ye stand accused of the sin of witchcraft, of consorting with the devil and leading others into the grave errors of sorcery and magic. Ye must answer for yer crimes. Arrest her.”
“By God, ye will not!” her father bellowed and slashed at the men who tried to approach.
“Stewart, your men are dead. Ye canna hold out against so many,” Lachlan said. “If your daughter is innocent, I promise she will come to no hurt.”
The accusation of witchcraft was as good as a conviction, and everyone in the room knew it. Her father didn’t back down, flailing away at all comers.
“Father, no!” she shouted. “I will surrender, Lachlan. Call off your men.”
“I forbid it, Elspeth,” her father said.
“Ye have naught to say in the matter.” She broke free of her mother’s arms and ran to stand before the priest.
“Disobedient to parents,” the priest muttered, and she realized she’d given him another bit of evidence against her.
“Drummond,” her father said as his sword clattered to the floor, “I’m begging ye. Dinna do this thing.”
“The trial will commence as soon as the witnesses arrive. Tomorrow probably, Father Kester assures me,” Lachlan said. “For your own safety, ye and Lady Stewart will remain under guard in this chamber. Once the court’s decision is reached, ye’ll be free to go.”
“And what of Elspeth?” her mother sobbed.
“I’ve a chamber in the tower for her for now,” Lachlan said. “’Tis quite comfortable, with a window that opens onto the bailey.” He marched her out of the room and then hissed into her ear, “Ye’ll have a good view of the stains left on the cobbles by MacLaren’s wife.”
***
He hadn’t seen her in so long, it took Rob a moment to realize who it was that appeared overhead in the thatch. Fiona wavered before his eyes and then sank slowly to the floor, her long gown fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. She halted her descent before the tips of her bare feet brushed the cold flagstone.
Fiona drew near his bedside. She smiled, and the room brightened around her.
“Lazing in bed when ye’re needed elsewhere.” She reached out to cup his cheek, and for the first time in all his lovely dreams of her, Rob couldn’t feel her fingertips. “What are ye doing, my daftie man?”
“Daftie man,” he repeated, though he realized his lips hadn’t moved. “Ye always called me so. Ye must have known I’d come to this. D’ye ken they say I’m mad in truth now? Mad or witched.”
“Aye, but ye’re no’ mad. Nor witched either,” she said. “The one caring for ye now has slipped a net o’er your mind. She spoons it in each time ye wake.”
He turned his head and saw Margot Beaton as though through a thick mist. The lass was propped in a chair, her head lolling to one side, her mouth gaping in sleep. A cup balanced on her lap.
“Aye, that’s it,” Fiona said when he frowned at the cup. “Dinna accept another drop. There’s one who needs ye, and ye’ll be no use to her wandering among the poppies.”
“Who needs me?” He wouldn’t stir a muscle for Margot Beaton, whatever her need.
Fiona settled a hip on his bedside, but the feather tick didn’t sink an inch under her weight. “Elspeth Stewart, of course.”
“Ye know of her?”
She smiled sadly. “Aye, Rob, I know she has your heart in her keeping as I used to.”
“Ye still do,” he said.
“I know that too, but there is a great divide between us. I canna hold on to ye anymore. I must let ye go.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead. Her lips were light as angel’s breath on his skin. “And ye must let me go.”
He knew she was right, but his chest still constricted.
“Aye, that’s love,” she said, still naming his feelings for him. “That willna end, though all else does. Dinna feel sad, Rob. ’Tis the way of things.”
She began to float away, and he strained against his bonds to reach for her.
“Even if ye were unbound, ye canna hold me here longer,” Fiona said. “Ye must wake, Rob. Ye must hie yourself to Drummond’s stronghold before it’s too late.”
“Too late? Elspeth isna there. She left with her father. What’s happened?”
“Wake, Rob.” Fiona hovered near the ceiling then began to pass through the thatch as if it weren’t there. She faded completely from his sight, but her voice whispered into his ear as if she rested her head on the pillow beside him. “Open your eyes, love, but this time, truly see.”
He came to full wakefulness, but he didn’t open his eyes immediately. Instead, he slitted his eyelids and checked his surroundings. He was in his own bed. Margot Beaton was sitting in the chair exactly as he’d dreamed her, complete with the foul cup in her lap.
His tongue felt too large and thick for his mouth. He tried to move his arms and legs and found that he was bound as tightly as in his dream. His stomach was queasy, and his bladder ached to be relieved.
He opened his eyes completely, wincing at the light even though the room was shuttered.
“Ha…Hamish,” he said, shocked at the disembodied sound of his own voice.
Margot snorted and woke. She skittered to his side. “My lord, be at peace.”
She tried to spoon some of the tea into his mouth, but he spat it back out.
“Hamish,” he repeated.
“Now, my lord, ye mustn’t excite yourself.” The spoon wavered before him again, beckoning him to oblivion.
“Pish,” he said.
She flinched.
“I haf to pish.” He formed the words carefully, but they still came out slurred. “Call Hamish.”
“My lord, I was ordered to—”
“I gif oders here,” he roared, and her eyes rounded. “Unbine me, or when I free mysel’, I’ll eat yer liffer for supper.”
Sometimes being thought mad was a good thing. Margot leaped to do his bidding. She unstrapped him and then scuttled away to find Hamish. Rob rose from the bed shakily and stalked to the chamber pot, hoping to piss the rest of drug-laden tea out of his body.
He threw open the shutters and inhaled the snow-fresh air. Then he began pacing the room, trying his body for signs of weakness. He seemed to be in possession of all his limbs. His head felt clearer, but there was an aching knot on the back of his skull. His tongue still felt oversized.
Hamish rapped once and then came in. He folded his arms over his barrel chest and curled his lip. “Ye’re no’ any the prettier for three days’ rest.”
A yellowish bruise purpled his friend’s jaw. “Look who’z talkin’.”
Three days. Rob pulled a shirt out of his trunk and drew it on over his nakedness. He put a hand to the back of his head. “Pounds like a…hammer.”
“Good. Is it knocking any sense into ye?”
“Aye, but I havena changed…toward Elspeth.” His tongue was settling. The slur faded. “She had a notion that there’d be a battle if she stayed. Ye canna deny she broke the siege. And now she needs me.”
“Ye’ll be wanting me to come with ye,” Hamish said matter-of-factly.
“Aye, I’ll need your help.”
“And ye’ll have it, so long as ye dinna plan on getting yourself killed.”
“I try to avoid that whenever I can,” Rob said as he wrapped a kilt around his loins. He chose a length of fabric that had belonged to his mother’s clan, a soft brown and tan weave. It would probably be wise not to announce his presence with a MacLaren plaid, since he intended to beard Lachlan Drummond in his own den. “But I’ll have your promise that ye’ll no’ clout me on the head again.”
Hamish grinned at him. “If ye promise ye’ll no’ deserve it.”