Highland Conqueror (18 page)

Moving through the passageway was slow work and Sigimor cursed the dark every step of the way. Then a faint light began to pierce the dark and he smiled. Harold was near and it took every scrap of control he had to keep moving slowly. His well-trained men needed no signal to press close to the wall as the sound of voices reached them. Inching along until he reached the end of the passage, Sigimor chanced a peek inside. He counted six men, and Harold and the man he was standing with, a man Sigimor recalled from Drumwich called Martin.

Just as he was about to pull back into the full shadows, Sigimor heard a soft sniff. He glanced to the right and nearly gave himself away with an abrupt cry of joy. Jolene sat on the floor barely two feet away. She was set snug in the corner made by the wall of the chamber and a large stone coffin, holding Reynard in her lap, and watching Harold closely. Sigimor quickly pressed himself back into the shadow and closed his eyes, feeling nearly weak-kneed with relief. Jolene did not appear to even have a bruise.

“Your idea has some merit,” Harold said. “I must think about it.”

“What is there to think about?”

“I need to think of a way to do as you say, but keep hold of Jolene.”

Martin swore. “That woman isnae worth dying for!”

“I do not intend to die for her.”

Sigimor gave the signal to attack, smiling with satisfaction as his soft blackbird’s call brought two swift echoes. He quickly left the passage, immediately positioning himself in front of Jolene. He watched with pleasure and pride as twenty other Camerons suddenly appeared, encircling Harold and his men. Grim-faced and with swords drawn, they made a fine sight, he decided. When Harold’s startled gaze settled on his, Sigimor smiled at the man.

“I fear your intentions are for naught, Harold,” Sigimor said. “Ye are going to die.
Right here. Right now.”

It pleased Sigimor when Harold suddenly screamed in fury and drew his sword. He had been hoping the man would not want to surrender. Moving away from Jolene, and sensing one of his men quickly taking his place to shield her, Sigimor stepped up to meet Harold’s challenge before the man recovered his senses and withdrew it.

Jolene kept a wriggling Reynard’s face pressed against her and flinched at the sound of sword meeting sword echoing through the stone chamber. She watched her husband and Harold for only a moment before she felt calm banish the chill of fear. Harold was good, but Sigimor was much better. Harold
was
going to die. Right here. Right now.

She looked around to see what else was happening. Martin and two of the other men had surrendered immediately. They stood unarmed near Liam watching the fight. Four others had made the mistake of drawing their swords. Two were already dead and, although she was no expert on fighting, she felt sure the other two soon would be. The Camerons had met these attacks one on one, but Harold’s men were obviously outmatched.

Just as she turned her gaze back to Sigimor, the fight ended. Harold moved awkwardly, leaving an opening, and Sigimor took swift advantage, burying his sword deep in the man’s chest. The way Harold died so quickly, barely gasping as the blade entered his body, told Jolene that it had probably been a clean thrust to the heart. The end of the other two men’s lives was very nearly as abrupt and silent. She watched while Sigimor cleaned his blade on Harold’s elaborately embroidered jupon and then resheathed it. Sigimor looked at her, then nodded when she smiled at him and turned his attention to Martin and the last of Harold’s men.

“Since my woman is unharmed, I feel a wee bit merciful,” Sigimor said. “Get out. Dinnae pause to rob the dead, dinnae linger to e’en water your horses until ye are far off my lands. Keep running until ye are out of Scotland. My good mood could fade. Ranulph, lead them out so that our men set outside dinnae kill them. Tait, Gilbert, ye follow and if they e’en twitch, kill them.”

This was Sigimor the warrior, Jolene thought as she listened to his cold, hard voice ring through the room. He even said the word mercy in a tone that offered none. Knowing the men Harold had placed outside were probably dead and having seen how easily and coldly he had killed Harold, Jolene suspected she ought to be feeling nervous. In many ways this man was a Sigimor she did not know, a man she had never met before. Instead, she felt only pride, in him and herself, for he was hers. She smiled at him again when he crouched in front of her and gently, tenderly, stroked her cheek with the very hand that, moments before, had wielded a deadly sword. It was hard to subdue the fierce urge to throw herself into his arms and kiss him.

“Ye arenae hurt?” he asked.

“Nay, Martin was trying to convince Harold that I would be very useful in dealing with you. Martin wanted to get out of this alive. At least he got what he wanted.” She glanced toward the wall where the bodies of Barbara and Clyde lay. “I fear Lady Barbara and her companion did not.”

Sigimor winced as he saw the bodies, and quietly signaled his men to take them out. “Donald wants them, to take them home.”

“I had the feeling he had guessed how dealing with Harold might end.”

“Yet, he did naught to help you.”

“He did help you, though, did he not?”

“Aye, after I guessed the right question to ask. Ye can smile at that?”

She smiled as Tait took Reynard from her and left with the boy. “Now, aye,” she replied. “I heard how very carefully he worded his promise to Barbara and thought it was done apurpose. I do not blame him for not helping as we were taken away. He was in some danger himself, I believe.”

Sigimor nodded and helped her to her feet. He pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment, simply breathing in the scent of her hair. Slowly, the last of his fear for her faded away. Keeping an arm around her shoulders, he led her out of the chamber, grabbing a torch to light their way and leaving a few of his men to clear away the bodies and collect anything of value.

Jolene wrapped her arm around his waist and pressed herself close to his side as they walked. She told him all that had happened since she and Reynard had walked into Barbara’s bedchamber. The only thing she held back was the news that, not very far away, was her cousin Roger. His presence meant a decision would soon have to be made, and, for the moment, she just wanted to savor being safe, free, and back with Sigimor.

“Oh, your cousin William, the priest, was the one who told Harold about our marriage,” she said as they stepped out of the passage and both paused for a deep breath of fresh air. “Harold said that he had to persuade the man to do so and that he beat him near to death afterward. He did not linger to see if the poor man actually did die.”

“I will get a few men and go to him,” said Gilbert. “If needed, we can take the man to Scarglas and let Fiona and Mab tend to his injuries. They will soon put him back on his feet.”

“Good lad,” Sigimor said and sighed as Gilbert hurried off. “I wouldnae be surprised if there are a few more along Harold’s route who suffered at his hands, but there is naught we can do about it.”

“Nay,” agreed Jolene. “Harold did have a skill at leaving a bloody trail where’er he went. Someone should have killed him years ago. There was ne’er any proof, though, and he was high enough born to make that be very important.”

“Aye, the poor mon can get hanged on naught but a suspicion. The rich mon needs to be caught with a bloody hand and e’en then he may ne’er pay for his crime.” He set Jolene up on his horse and mounted behind her. “I still feel a wee bit merciful, so I will let Donald stay the night and toss him out in the morning.”

“You are a true saint, husband,” she said and exchanged a grin with him.

She snuggled back against him as he started to ride, placing her hands on his arms. It was a little hard to believe it was all over, that Harold was no longer a threat. It had not been that long since she had fled Drumwich, but the weight of that threat had made the time go by so much more slowly. He was no longer a constant shadow at her back, a knife held at Reynard’s throat, or the one who might actually be able to make her wish for death.

There was a new shadow, however, but she refused to study it just yet. Roger and the need to make a choice lurked at the edges of the happiness she felt right now. She had until the dawn. For a few hours more she would pretend all was well.

Breathing deeply of the soft scent of lavender rising from her hot bath did little to ease the tension in Jolene. She had succeeded in ignoring what now faced her for as long as she could. It had insisted upon intruding into her mind for most of the time since returning from what was now Harold’s grave, and all her attempts to push such thoughts away had caused her to be a little distracted. She was certain Sigimor had noticed that, but he seemed to accept that it was just a result of the things that had happened while she was a captive.

This was her last night with him, she thought, and fought the urge to weep. There really was no other choice for her. Reynard was a child, his needs greater than a man’s or hers. She had sworn to her dying brother that she would care for his child. It could hardly be called caring if she simply handed him to someone to take back to Drumwich for her and never looked back.

A part of her urged her to speak to Sigimor about it, to tell him of Roger and the meeting, but she ignored it. She was afraid he could convince her to stay with him, to turn her back on her vow, her duty, and little Reynard. Even worse, she was afraid he might not even try.

Stepping out of her bath, she rubbed herself dry. When she picked up the delicate night shift Fiona had given her, she had to swallow another welling up of tears. She would never see Fiona again, either. Never see Fergus’s freckled face. Never hear Old Nancy tell one of the huge Cameron men that he was acting like a child. Never see any of the Camerons or the MacFingals.

And never feel the joy of Sigimor’s kiss, she thought, and had to sit down on the bed. Jolene took several minutes to beat down her sense of overwhelming grief. Sigimor would see it, would sense it, if she did not conquer it. It could be dealt with later. She could weep later. In truth, she would have year upon empty year to indulge herself with weeping for all she had lost.

When she felt a little more in control, she donned the night shift. Tonight she was going to soak herself in memories. She was going to exhaust herself and Sigimor, make love until they could not move. Jolene had a few thoughts on what she wanted to do. It made her blush even to think of them, but she would not allow modesty to halt her tonight. That wild, sensuous woman inside her, the one who would burst free when Sigimor made love to her, was going to be in full control tonight.

Standing before the fire, she brushed her hair dry and waited. This was the sight she wanted Sigimor to keep in his mind after she was gone. Jolene knew he would be angry, his pride lacerated, but at some time in the future, he might be able to think of her with some kindness. When he did, she wanted him to remember her standing here, waiting to make love to him.

Sigimor stepped into the room and slowly closed the door behind him. The way Jolene looked made him catch his breath. He had sensed something troubling her since their return from the church, but she had said nothing. He decided she had been shocked by the killing of Barbara and Clyde, that such cold cruelty had left its mark, but he was not entirely satisfied with that answer. It was almost as if she was keeping something from him, but he could not think of anything she would have to keep secret.

Moving toward her as she smiled at him, he decided he could puzzle over it
tomorrow. The way his blood was heating up and his body hardening, he would not have the wit to remember his own name soon. He took the brush from her hands, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. There was the hint of desperation in her kiss, but he decided that was because she had faced death today. Such a thing always gave a person a greed for the joys of living.

When he stepped back and began to remove his clothes, she put her hands on his and took over the chore. Sigimor gritted his teeth as her soft hands brushed against his skin. She took every chance she could to caress him as she removed his clothes and he was not sure how much of that game he could endure.

Jolene knelt by his feet to unlace his boots. Once he was completely naked, she eluded his attempt to pull her into his arms as she stood up. She pressed her lips to the hollow at his throat as she stroked his big, strong body, trying to memorize every ridge and hollow. Ever so slowly she began to kiss her way down his body, occasionally using her tongue to soothe whatever small sting she may have inflicted with a small love bite here and there. The way he was beginning to breathe hard told her he was enjoying her attention as much as she was enjoying the giving of it.

A soft grunt escaped him as she ignored what jutted out from between his legs and began to kiss her way down one leg and slowly up the other. As she nipped and kissed his inner thighs, she curled her fingers around his erection and gently stroked him. He cursed softly and she smiled against his thigh. It had been one of her little dreams to pleasure him in the way he had pleasured her several times, and now she knew he wanted that as well.

“Lass, ye are about to make me crazed,” Sigimor said.

“Mayhap that is my intention,” she murmured against his taut stomach as she drew a circle around his navel with her tongue.

“Then ye are succeeding beyond your wildest dreams.”

“Ah, husband, you have no idea what my wildest dreams are like.”

He was about to respond to that, when she licked the tip of his staff and the first word of his comment came out as a squeak. Sigimor threaded his fingers through her hair, and groaned softly as she began to make love to him with her mouth. The feel of her warm, soft lips and the heated strokes of her tongue were making him blind with need. He struggled to rein in his passion, determined to enjoy this pleasure for as long as he could. Then she took him into her mouth, and he felt that control begin to shatter.

Although he desperately wanted to savor the way she was making him feel, Sigimor finally had to put a stop to it. He was too close to release and he needed to be inside her. Pushing her down on the rug, he stripped off her night shift. He kissed her with all the hunger he felt and slipped his hand between her legs. To his surprise, and relief, she was already hot and wet. The flattery he tried to whisper in her ear came out as a soft growl as he joined their bodies. As her tight heat surrounded him and her lithe body rose up to meet his, he decided there was no need to talk, or think, just let passion rule them.

“Wife,” he managed to say after he had finally roused himself from a sated stupor and carried her to their bed, collapsing at her side, “do ye mean to kill me?”

“Only with pleasure,” she said, curling up next to him and stroking his stomach.

“Hah! I could make your eyes roll back in your head if I wanted to.”

“A challenge, is it?”

Feeling newly invigorated, Sigimor pushed her onto her back and crouched over her. “A challenge indeed. I bet I can make ye get too weak to lift a finger ere ye could put me in such a state.”

“Oh, nay, I think not.”

“Are ye sure ye want to accept this challenge, wife?”

“Are you sure you can handle defeat?”

“I have no intention of losing.”

“Neither do I.”

Sigimor opened one eye and noticed the fire was burning low, then groaned and closed his eye when Jolene wagged a finger in his face. “I concede,” he said.

“Tis about time,” said Jolene from where she was sprawled on her back at his side and let her hand fall to her side.

It was an effort to do so, but he curled an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “I think we best limit these challenges, wife,” he said, then yawned.

“It might be wise.”

“I
would
like to live to a ripe old age.” He smiled sleepily when she laughed.

Jolene soon felt his body grow lax. A moment later he made that odd little sound that was not quite a snore. It was a strange thing to make her want to cry, she thought, as she eased out of his arms to sit by his side.

Her body felt sated and pleased, but her heart ached with sorrow. He was everything she had ever wanted in a husband and she had to leave him. Glancing toward the window, she knew she could not even stay here and watch him sleep for a while. It was going to require a great deal of stealth to get out of Dubheidland unseen and stealth could be very time consuming. There was also a long walk ahead of her. She looked back at Sigimor and struggled against the urge to kiss him, afraid that might make him stir.

Wincing a little at the various little aches in her body, she cautiously got out of bed. Never taking her eyes from him, she got dressed and collected her small sack of belongings from under the bed where she had hidden it earlier. For a moment, she just stood there, unable to take that first step, but she forced thoughts of Reynard and promises made to the fore of her mind. As silently as she was able, she let herself out of the room.

Collecting Reynard was relatively easy. He slept near the door in the room with several other boys who slept like the dead. She wrapped him up in his blanket, grabbed his little sack of clothes and hurried out of the room.

Slipping into the room Barbara had used, she set the still-sleeping Reynard down on the bed and dressed him. He was just starting to wake up when she began to put him in a blanket sling she then hefted onto her back and secured around her chest. Out of the corner of her eye she caught his eyes widening slightly when he looked around and realized where they were.

“Hush, m’love,” she whispered. “There is no danger. We are going to go and visit someone.”

“Who?”

“Cousin Roger.”

“Oh. I like Cousin Roger.”

“He likes you too.” She picked up their small sacks in one hand and moved to the
fireplace to open up the passageway.

“Why are we going this way?”

Grabbing a torch in her free hand, she replied, “Because it is very early and I do not want to disturb everyone. They are all very tired after saving us yesterday.”

He fell silent and she slipped into the passage. The lie she had just told was a small added weight to the guilt she was already feeling. She pushed aside all thought of guilt, lies, a peacefully sleeping husband who would wake to find himself alone, and how her grief was growing deeper and deeper with every step she took on the journey that would take her away from Dubheidland. There was a long walk ahead of her and, if only to be sure she did not get lost, she had to concentrate on the journey alone.

It was a little later than an hour after dawn when Jolene stepped into the clearing where Roger was supposed to be waiting. For a moment she feared he had already given up and left, but then, one by one men appeared from the surrounding trees. She looked for Roger and smiled when she saw him. He looked absolutely stunned, but a moment later he was hugging her.

With an admirable efficiency a fire was made, Reynard was tended to, and Jolene found herself seated on a folded blanket before the fire sipping wine. She told Roger all about Harold’s death and he told her all he had done since hearing of Peter’s murder. When he told her that he had been appointed Reynard’s guardian, that his wife was already at Drumwich waiting for the boy, she was stunned. She finished her wine, stood up, and stared in the direction of Dubheidland.

“I hope you are pleased,” said Roger as he moved to stand beside her.

“Very pleased,” she replied. “It is all exactly as I wanted it to be.”

“About this husband I have heard you now have. It will be possible to get an annulment, you know.” He frowned when she shook her head.

“I am going back,” she said, and, despite the fact that she would have to leave Reynard, she felt the hard knot of grief she had suffered since yesterday begin to unravel.

“Go back to Sir Sigimor? But, Jolene, he is a Scot.”

“Aye, a big, rough, redheaded Scot. He is my husband.” She suddenly smiled, with joy and at her own idiocy. “And I love him.”

“Ah, well,” Roger dragged a hand through his hair, “after all you have been through you may be mistaken in your feelings. Some time back at Drumwich and you will see that this is not the marriage for you.” He cursed softly when she shook her head again. “Does he love you?”

“Perhaps. He gets jealous and is very possessive.”

“Most men are, but it doesn’t have to mean much.”

“He is always seeing to my comfort and will not stand for any insult to me.”

“As any gentleman should.”

“Oh, Sigimor is not really much of a gentleman.”

“There, you see, a woman of your blood should have a true gentleman as her husband.”

“He talks with me, about a lot of things, and he listens to what I have to say.”

“Jolene—”

“If I ask him, he will explain himself to me. He tries to understand my moods and will ask me the why of them.”

“He is a Scot!”

“He is as at ease with me as he is with his brothers and he laughs with me.”

“He sounds like a good friend, but—”

Jolene looked at her cousin and even though she blushed, she whispered, “And the passion is hot and fierce and he holds me in his arms all through the night.” She was a little surprised when Roger blushed, too.

“You really intend to go back?”

“Aye, I have to go back to him. I love him, although it may be a while before I tell him so. I think he could come to love me, may already do so in some ways. It does not matter. I have to go back to him. Even if he does not love me now, he is still the only husband I want.”

“But, what about Reynard?”

Jolene looked at her nephew as he came to stand with them. “Reynard, you are going to have to be a brave little man. I am going to go back to Dubheidland to live with Sigimor and you are going home to live with Cousin Roger and Cousin Emma.”

“No, I don’ like that.”

She crouched in front of him and kissed his cheek. “I do not want to leave you, my sweet boy, but I must. I have a husband now. I have to be with him, but you have to be in England.”

“Is it because I am an heir?”

“Aye, you are an heir, you are an earl and a baron and there are a lot of people depending on you to be there, to grow up and be their lord. Sigimor is a lord and he needs me to watch out for him. That is what a wife does.”

She pulled him into her arms as he cried. It was hard not to cry with him, but she knew she had to stay calm. She just kept repeating what she had already said. After a few minutes he sniffled and walked over to be with the other men. She rose and looked at Roger.