Highland Moonlight (3 page)

on Mary. She looked pale and thin. Being with child was proving difficult for

her. The damp chill permeating the cave could not be good for her or the

bairn.

The Chief of the MacLachlan Clan did not trust him, that was plain

enough. He watched as several men assumed subtle posts to keep watch

over him.

“Why are the two of you so eager to give her what she wants?” Duncan

asked with a frown.

“She’s like a hurt animal lashing out at anything that moves. She

needs time.”

“Time for what, Alexander. A bit of swyving did not harm her.”

Rage flared hot within him. His gaze swung to his younger brother’s

face as he lashed out to grab the front of his shirt. “I will warn you to keep a

civil tongue in your head. Say one more disrespectful word and you may find

yourself unable to say anything for a very long time!” He shoved Duncan

away. “This is no common slut you are discussing, but the woman to whom

I am betrothed.”

“You’ve been like a hurt boar ever since you had her,” Duncan

complained as he straightened his clothes, a disgruntled look on his face.

Alexander remained silent. He knew better than Duncan; he didn’t

have to be told. Regret gnawed at his insides like a festering wound. Every

time he thought he had found a way to put it aside it rose back up to smite

him.

He had done the thing to protect himself and his men, but it had been

to protect her as well. To explain his actions would do no good. She would

not believe him without proof.

He raked his fingers through his hair and ran a hand over the bristly

stubble along his jaw. “Morning will be a long time coming. Assign the

watch, then turn in.”

His brother rose to do as he was bid.

****

remarks, Alexander chose a spot midway between the two camps. He

positioned himself within the forked roots of a large oak and leaned back

against the trunk. Placing his sword beside him, he wrapped the woolen

fabric of his kilt around his shoulders and folded his arms. Breathing in the

smell of the peat fire, he watched the familiar routine of men digging in for

the night.

How many nights had he spent camped beneath the heavens waiting

for dawn to come and the next battle to ensue? He had raised his sword in

defense of his clan. He had raised it at the behest of his King. His soul was

weary of fighting and bloodshed. Of late he had felt the need for some small

haven of peace where he could rest his head and his heart. From the first

moment he had seen her, Mary had represented that haven to him. Had he

destroyed with his own hands what he had wanted the most? His fingers

followed the course of the scar that cut down one side of his face to his

chin. He was a man of one score and ten years, but had behaved as a

callow youth. He had been too eager and had given himself away to Collin.

His gaze found the pale hair of the older man. Impotent anger roiled within

him. Had he been able to trust the MacLachlan Chief, there would have

been no need to pursue such a course.

The men stationed before the mouth of the cave rose in force.

Alexander followed suit, his gaze fastening on the entrance where Mary had

appeared.

Her gold hair, covered with a red and green tartan shawl, looked pale

as moonlight. Soft tendrils escaped from beneath the fabric to curl against

the edge surrounding her face. The flickering light of the torches jammed

into the ground around the entrance of the cave illuminated her slender

form as she stood just inside the opening.

Alexander strode forward to see what had driven her from the safety of

the cave.

“Will you not join us closer to the fire, Daughter?” Collin motioned to

the fire in invitation.

She shook her head. “If I could trouble you for another tartan, ‘tis all I

need.”

Alexander found himself flanked by two large MacLachlans, intent on

keeping a close vigil on his movements. Duncan had no such problem. He

had almost reached the opening of the cave before a clansman grabbed

his arm. The dark green tartan he carried spilled to the ground. A struggle

ensued until Collin stepped forward calling a halt to it.

“‘Twas my intent to give the lass what she requested,” Duncan said,

jerking his arm free of the clansman’s grasp. He bent to retrieve the tartan.

Collin’s signal had the MacLachlan clansmen backing away. He

moved close beside Duncan as he approached the cave entrance.

Mary held the crossbow ready as they approached. “Leave it on the

ground and back away.” Her voice echoed through the chamber behind her.

Duncan did as she requested.

The aim of the bow never wavered from his chest as she moved

forward and crouched to pick up the tartan.

“Would you be needing anything else, Mary?” Collin asked.

“I would know what your intentions are for the morrow. Do you intend to

give me over to them?”

Collin shook his head. “Alexander has agreed you should return to the

abbey until the bairn is born. You do not have to fear anyone will harm you.”

She fell silent for several moments, her head bent. Her face looked

pale and drawn when she looked up. “I am grateful for that.” She turned

away to return to the inner chamber of the cave.

Alexander’s gaze met his brother’s across the distance between them.

Two MacLachlan clansmen dogged Duncan’s steps as he returned to the

Campbell camp. The anger Alexander read in the men’s faces elicited no

response. He could not blame them for being angry with him when he felt

the same toward himself.

Duncan spoke after a long silence. “I did not expect her to be such a

wee lass, nor so wounded by what has happened between you.”

Alexander flinched inwardly. “If she stays at the abbey, she’ll be

cloistered with the nuns and I will not be allowed to speak with her.”

“She will not speak with you civilly anyway, Brother.”

“It does not matter what she says to me, be it with a civil tongue or not.”

He would deal with that when they were once again together.

“Do you mean to take her then?” Duncan asked.

“Aye.” He nodded after only a brief pause. “There will be no other way.

She will not come on her own.”

“‘Twill be dangerous with so many MacLachlans about. They’re feeling

less than friendly toward you, if you have not noticed.”

A wry smile crossed Alexander’s lips. “‘Twill be a last measure.

Mayhap Collin will be able to change her mind about the marriage on the

morrow. If he can not, I will insist on escorting her to the abbey with them.

We will take her then.”

Duncan’s gray eyes probed his face. “Do you value her so much?”

Rarely did he allow his private feelings to be known, not even to his

brother. “Aye, I value her.”

Duncan gave a nod of ascent. “We will plan with care then. You will not

want to put her, or the bairn she carries, in anymore danger than is

necessary.”

Collin’s white hair stood out against the dark green brush as he spoke

to one of the men. To ensure the paleness of her own would not be as easy

to identify, Mary wrapped the Campbell tartan more securely about her head

and neck.

She watched the men’s movements for some time, familiarizing

herself with their routine. Several men lay asleep on the ground wrapped in

their tartans, while others squatted close to the fire, keeping warm between

patrols.

Her legs aching from kneeling, she shifted her weight and the brittle

snap of a twig beneath her heel echoed through the darkness. She froze

and waited for one of the men on watch to rise and investigate. One of them

looked up, but went back to his reverie after a passing show of interest. She

breathed an inward sigh of relief.

She eased down the tree-covered bank a step at a time. Her

movements cautious, she circled the camp. Neither Collin’s nor

Alexander’s men had found the back entrance of the cave. She had been

waiting hours to slip away once the men had settled for the night. With luck,

it might be dawn before they discovered her escape. Reaching a safe

distance from camp, she quickened her pace.

She stopped to change her apparel under the early morning sky then

adjusted the buckle of the wide leather girdle about her waist and arranged

the fabric over her shoulder as she had seen the men do. Unaccustomed to

the short length of the kilt, her legs felt bare though her boots came to mid-

calf.

She appreciated the freedom the shorter garb offered when she

climbed the steep incline of the brae without the usual long skirts to hinder

her. She shifted the small bundle of possessions she carried from hand to

hand. Since she was traveling alone, the weight of the crossbow hung over

her shoulder boosted her confidence, and eased the anxious feeling

lodged in the pit of her stomach.

She topped the rise and the abbey stretched out below her. The long

roughly hewn stone building, and the small kirk attached to it, looked

desolate in the first light of dawn. The nuns began to stir. Several of the

women crossed the courtyard, going in the direction of the cookhouse at the

back of the structure.

She had thought to sneak down and ask the sisters for food, but

decided the risk was too great. Her escape had probably been discovered

by now. Alexander’s men could be lying in wait to capture her as she came

down from the hillside. She squatted behind a clump of heavy brush that

afforded her an unobstructed view of the abbey, but offered her cover. She

settled in to watch and wait.

Collin and a troop of twenty men galloped over the rise within minutes.

The men spread out over the church property to search the kirk and the

adjoining buildings.

Father Patrick’s tall, shrouded form appeared from the interior of the

church. His hands moved in angry gestures and he waved a finger in

Collin’s face.

The sound of her own appreciative chuckle seemed loud in the quiet

of the hillside. Though she couldn’t hear a word of it, she relished the angry

tirade to which he subjected her father.

Her attention focused on the horses left unattended at the gate of the

churchyard and another smile curved her lips. Mayhap she would not have

to walk after all. She rose to her feet and started down the slope.

The sound of the men’s voices raised in anger reached her, though

she couldn’t distinguish their words. Hunching down behind the low wall,

she circled the courtyard and the adjoining graveyard. By following its

course, she reached the gate and the horses without detection.

Her father’s large chestnut gelding, arraigned with an ornate saddle

and a water bag, stood at the gate. It would be small justice should Collin

lose a prized possession for his attempts to give her away so carelessly.

She hazarded a quick glance over the rock wall to check the position of

all the men. The argument between the priest and their chief held their

attention. Easing forward, she grasped the reins that dragged the ground.

The closest cover of brush and trees lay across the road. Mary trotted

the horse over the open ground, keeping the cover of the gate between her

and the men within the courtyard.

Despite the horse’s nervous dance, she placed her foot within the

stirrup, and managed to swing herself astride its broad back. A flick of the

long end of the reins against the animal’s haunches, and the gelding

leaped forward. She smothered a surge of exuberant laughter as she rode

away from the abbey, keeping to the cover of the hillside brush.

****

watched Mary’s escape from the spot where she had stood watch earlier. “A

lass bold enough to steal her father’s mount may need protection, though.”

“Nay,” Alexander shook his head. “‘Twill be Collin who will need

protection from her.”

Duncan laughed aloud as did the other men.

“We will follow close enough to offer her assistance should she have

a need of it, but far enough behind to make her feel she has nothing to fear.

I wish to know where she is going.” Alexander motioned for the group to

follow. The group of twenty horses surged forward at his signal.

****

After two hours of hard riding, Mary’s legs ached with the strain. She

left the dirt road to cut upward into a grove of trees. The gelding, though a

young horse, needed to rest, as did she.

Fearful of being followed, she dismounted and stood listening, her

body tense as she scanned the road below. After some time, she relaxed

enough to remove the water bag. She poured water into her cupped hand to

offer the horse, then took a small drink herself. Leaving her mount to graze,

she withdrew a small loaf of bread from the bundle tied to the saddle. She