Highland Captive (27 page)

Hearing
the hate in Maggie’s voice, Aimil sensed a possible ally and asked, “Help me?”

“I
can give ye a potion that will take ye out of his hands.”

“Nay,
I dinnae mean that.” Aimil was shocked that the girl would offer something so
cowardly and sinful. “Help me escape.”

“I
will be slain the instant ‘tis found that ye are gone.”

“Then
come with me. Black Parlan or my family will take ye in gladly if ye aid me.”
She saw that the young woman was pondering the move, knew that such an offer
would be a sore temptation for the girl. “He will kill me if I stay here. ‘Tis
my life I am asking of ye, my life ye will save.”

“Nay
doubt he will kill me soon as weel. His sort of loving does that. I could be
saving me own life, too.”

“Will
ye help me then?”

“Aye,
I be willing since ye offer what I have always lacked, a place to go, but I
dinnae ken how.”

“If
I can get into the bailey, can ye get us out without us being spotted?”

“That
isnae any trouble. ‘Tis the getting out of this room that will be difficult.”

“Nay,
it willnae. Just get me a sturdy rope to reach the court below this window.”

“Ye
mean to go out the windy? Ye are daft,” Maggie gasped, her hazel eyes wide.

Although
she was unable to change Maggie’s attitude concerning the sanity of such a
venture, Aimil was finally able to get the girl to fetch what was needed. Aimil
tried not to think of how weak she was now. Knowing what faced her if she
stayed had to be enough to give her the strength to escape. If she was to die,
she would much rather do it in an attempt to save herself than in cowering
beneath the blows of a madman.

As
she rested, trying to recoup the strength the beating had stolen from her, she
thought on Maggie. The girl was young and very attractive with her chestnut
curls and large hazel eyes. It was no surprise that Rory had taken notice of
her. All Aimil could hope was that the girl was as sincere as she was pretty,
that her hatred of Rory was real. A betrayal now would cost Aimil dearly.

When
Maggie crept back into the room with a set of clothes and a rope concealed
under her voluminous skirts, Aimil felt almost guilty about her lack of trust.
The girl watched in amazed admiration as Aimil dressed in lad’s clothing
without a blink and then secured the rope. It was quite possible, Aimil mused,
that the girl was thinking that all the gentry were at least slightly mad.

“Where
is Rory?” Aimil asked as she tested the knot she had made.

“Drinking
in the hall. He willnae be moving this night.”

“That
is one thing in our favor then. T’will be a long while before he knows that we
are gone.” She straddled the window ledge. “Weel, off ye go. I will meet ye
below in but a moment.” When Maggie frowned, she smiled reassuringly. “I have
done this often. Dinnae fash yourself. If I do fall, better to die quickly this
way than slowly by Rory’s hand and giving him pleasure by doing so.”

That
made great sense to Maggie despite her continued opinion that to lower oneself
out of a window so high from the ground was madness. “Shall I steal us a horse?
I cannae ride but ye can, cannae ye?”

“Aye.
If ye can, that would do us weel indeed but dinnae risk much for it, dinnae
chance discovery.”

After
Maggie left, Aimil sent up a brief prayer that the girl would be successful in
stealing a mount. Her pain sapped her strength. She knew they would both have a
better chance of succeeding in their escape if she rode than if she tried to
walk.

The
climb down the wall was sheer agony. It seemed as if every muscle she used caused
a fiery pain in her back. Her body trembled with the effort to remain
conscious, her skin clammy with the sweat her efforts squeezed from her. She
hardly gave a thought to the chances of being caught in her descent. All of her
concentration was on reaching the ground. When she reached it, she collapsed
there for a long while, afraid that what strength she had had was now used up.
Her body shook and felt about as solid as water.

“Are
ye all right, mistress?” hissed Maggie from where she lurked in the shadows. “Did
ye fall? I got us a horse.”

“Nay,
I didnae fall.” Aimil struggled to her feet, using the wall she had just
descended as support. “I but collapsed with weakness for a wee while. Ye must
help me onto the horse.”

Maggie’s
strong arms proved more than adequate for that chore. She then led the horse
out a side entrance in the outer wall. It was not until they reached the trees
to the east of the Fergueson tower house that Maggie mounted with a great lack
of skill and grace. By then Aimil had recovered enough to lend a hand and then
take control of the reins.

“We
are riding to the Highlands,” ventured Maggie after a short while of riding.

“Aye.
I go to the Black Parlan. Thinking on it, I realized that Rory would seek me at
my kin’s first. ‘Tis closer.”

“They
be a fearsome lot I hear.” A fear prompted by dark rumor could be heard in
Maggie’s voice.

“No
more than any other, Maggie. On the border as we are, we are more akin to them
than to Lowland folk.”

“The
Black Parlan roasts wee babes and picks his teeth with their wee bones,” Maggie
whispered tremulously.

Aimil
giggled weakly. “Poor Parlan. Nay, Maggie, he doesnae. The man can look
fearsome as the Devil but he has a gentleness in him. His men are beaten if
they abuse a woman.” She heard Maggie gasp softly in disbelief. “He doesnae
hold with the brutal handling of the weaker such as children and women. Trust
me, I have been as close to the man as any, and ye will find no cruelty at
Dubhglenn. Now, heed me weel. I will tell ye how to handle the horse. I am
verra weak, and ye may yet need to take the reins before we reach Dubhglenn. We
dinnae want to lose after having come so far because I faint and ye cannae prod
the horse onwards.”

To
Aimil’s relief, Maggie revealed a natural aptitude for horse-riding that with
training could become an admirable skill. So too was the horse a gentle,
easily-ruled beast. Maggie could manage nothing too intricate, but she could
get them to Dubhglenn if the need arose. It took a great weight from Aimil’s
abused shoulders.

The
need for Maggie to take over came far sooner than Aimil would have liked. By
the time the sun rose, Aimil’s eyes had swollen shut, her head swam with
exhaustion, and her stomach churned. At Maggie’s urging, they dismounted for a
while. Aimil promptly emptied her stomach, then her bladder, and then passed
out. She awoke to a cool cloth across her eyes and to the sure knowledge that
many hours had passed, hours they had not had to lose. Groaning, she sat up
slowly, finding that she still could not see.

“Ye
should have tossed me over the saddle and kept riding, Maggie,” she said weakly
but with no real censure in her voice.

“Ye
needed to rest, mistress. I had hoped that your eyes would get better but they
havenae. They are still swelled tight shut.”

“Aye,
using them all the night has finished what Rory started. I can see but a slight
line of light and that hurts. Where is the sun?”

“Straight
overhead, mistress. Is it far yet that we must travel?”

“T’will
be dark before we near the place if we ride without ceasing at a walk as we
have been. Rory will ken I have slipped away by now.”

“Mayhaps.
T’will depend upon how urgent the one who discovers your escape feels it is.
The laird isnae one ye like to wake. Nay, especially not with news ye ken weel
he doesnae want to hear.”

“Let
us pray that the one who discovers us gone is a thorough coward then. We must
ride east. Help me onto the horse.”

“Ye
had best stay before me on the beast. T’will be easier to catch ye if ye feel
weak again.”

Even
getting up on the back of the horse drained Aimil but she fought it. It was a
relief, however, to feel Maggie’s strong, young body behind her, her arms
reaching around so that she could take the reins and acting as a secure cage.
Falling from the horse would surely finish her, Aimil mused.

“I
would give my father’s fortune to ken who betrayed us,” Aimil muttered as they
started out.

“T’was
a woman,” Maggie replied. “I saw her. Aye, and heard her tell Rory how to find
ye.”

“Who
was it? What was her name?” Aimil had a very good idea who it was but fearing
jealousy tempered her view wanted it confirmed.

“I
didnae hear the name but I can tell ye of her looks. She was lovely with rich
brown hair. Said she wanted ye out of the Black Parlan’s bed so that she could
crawl back into it. She was staying at Dubhglenn. Felt that once ye were gone
she could have the man.”

“Catarine.
It could be no other. Nay doubt the bitch is nursing Parlan’s wound so that she
can then nurse something else.”

Catarine
decided that she was not receiving the gratitude that she felt she deserved for
her tender ministrations to the Black Parlan’s leg. Between the Black Parlan’s
rage at being wounded and having lost Aimil and Old Meg’s constant
interference, Catarine was very near to losing her facade of gentle, patient nurse.
Only the thought of what Aimil would be suffering at the hands of Rory
Fergueson kept Catarine in a good humor. She felt certain that Rory would put
the girl firmly in her place if he did not kill her first. After savoring that
vision for a moment, she turned her attention back to a foul-tempered Parlan.

Twice
Parlan had risen from his bed only to set the wound in his leg to bleeding
freely again. Common sense and the threat of being bound and drugged finally
held him to his bed. It was hell to lie there knowing what might be happening
to Aimil, and he made life miserable for all those around him, his sense of
helpless fury causing him to lash out at all who ventured near.

“Railing
at friend and kin willnae help the lass at all,” snapped Old Meg as she dressed
his wound after curtly ordering Catarine from the room so that she and Parlan
were alone.

Parlan
sighed. “I am sorry, Meg. ‘Tis just that I ken weel how the bastard can hurt
her but I am stuck here abed, helpless.”

“Send
your men out. Malcolm and Lagan can plot and plan near as weel as ye. Aye, ye
can plot as weel. Your head and mouth work just fine.”

“I
should go. ‘Tis I that gain if she returns.”

“That
doesnae matter to your men. They will gladly take up sword against a Fergueson
nay matter what the cause.”

“Ye
are right, as always. I must swallow my pride and let others fight for me.
Fetch me Lagan. Aye, and Leith if the lad still lingers here. ‘Tis past time to
fetch Aimil back.”

A
force left Dubhglenn riding hard for Fergueson land but a few hours later,
aiming to arrive under the cover of nightfall. Volunteers for the venture had
been so numerous that some had had to be turned away. Leith rode between
Malcolm and Lagan, smiling grimly as he wondered what his father would think
about his joining a MacGuin raid. He found that he cared little about that.
Aimil was far more important to him than his father’s approval. He only hoped
that they had not waited too long.

Maggie
sat staring sadly at the girl upon the ground. She was surprised that they had
gotten as far as they had. For a while after Aimil had fallen unconscious,
Maggie had continued to ride. Aimil’s dead weight had become too much, however,
forcing her to stop.

She
had dressed Aimil’s injuries then sat down to wait for the girl to wake. There
was nothing else she could do. She could not go home, did not even want to.
Neither could she move on, leaving Aimil behind. Her future, if there was one,
was tied to the girl lying at her side.

When
she heard the horses, Maggie’s first thought was to run away. Then she realized
that the hoofbeats headed toward Fergueson land. Keeping to the shadowy cover
of the trees, she moved closer to the path they rode. When she recognized the
colors the men wore as those of the MacGuin clan, she leapt from her cover,
waving her arms, and shouting without thought of danger to herself.

There
was a moment’s hectic confusion as the force of hard-riding men reined to an
abrupt halt then Malcolm dismounted, bellowing, “What are ye about, ye fool
lass? We near raced over ye. Have ye nae an ounce of sense in your wee head?”

“Ye
are from Dubhglenn? Ye are MacGuin men?” she asked urgently.

“Aye,”
replied Lagan. “Who are ye?”

“Maggie
Robinson. Ye neednae ride any further. I have what ye seek, I be thinking.
Aimil Mengue?”

“Where?”
Leith was dismounted and at her side in an instant.

“Through
here.” Maggie adroitly avoided the men as she led them to Aimil, Rory’s
attentions having left her terrified of a man’s touch.

“Oh,
my sweet God,” groaned Leith as he fell to his knees by Aimil’s side, followed
by Malcolm and Lagan. “Did he rape her as weel?”

“Nay.
I dinnae ken why unless he meant to fash her by making her wait for it to
happen. He is a madman.”