Highland Captive (38 page)

“Look
at my face! Look what that Devil’s spawn did to my face!”

Despite
a voice that warned her not to, Aimil looked. As she glanced Rory’s way, he
removed his hand from his face to show Geordie the results of Elfking’s attack.
Even though she wondered how a stomach gripped by contractions could do so,
hers heaved, sickened by the sight of Rory’s ruined face. Elfking had not
struck Rory squarely. The horse’s hooves had dragged along the side of Rory’s
face, taking the skin with them. Nothing could restore Rory’s face to its
former beauty. If the wound healed without infection, the scar would be large
and ragged. Despite her loathing of the man, Aimil found no joy in the sight.

Since
Geordie was busy trying to calm Rory and to tend to the wound as well as avoid
Elfking, Aimil decided the time was right to flee. “Artair, can ye mount?” She
kept her gaze fixed upon the enemy as she fought to quiet Elfking.

“Aye,
I think so though, God’s tears, I feel close to death.” Artair struggled to his
feet.

“Ye
will be far closer than ye wish to be if ye dinnae mount and quickly. Their
attention will again turn our way verra soon.”

Keeping
a watch on Geordie and Rory, she felt Artair falter twice in trying to pull
himself up behind her. Although Elfking was steady, the horse was still
agitated and could flare up at any moment. Nevertheless, she knew she had to
chance it when Artair faltered a third time. Releasing one arm from its firm
grip around Elfking, she grasped Artair by the arm when he made his next
attempt to mount. To her relief Elfking did not rear, and the extra pull she
exerted upon Artair was enough to get him up behind her. She then cautiously
retrieved the reins she had dropped when Elfking had begun to rear and she had
held tightly to his neck.

“Here
is the chance to kill that filth yet I must tuck tail and run.”

“Ye
could do none of us any good dead, Artair. Hold tightly. I cannae catch ye or
lift ye if ye fall.”

As
soon as she felt him grip her tightly, she spurred Elfking into a gallop. The
frustrated cries and curses of Geordie and Rory were like music to her ears. It
meant she had gotten away from them. Now all she had to concern herself with
was getting to Dubhglenn before she had the child or Artair fell off Elfking. She
mused a little wryly that that would undoubtedly prove enough concern to last
her for a lifetime. Then some of Rory’s screaming rage reached her ears, and
she thought of nothing save escaping the madman, of reaching the safety of
Dubhglenn.

“Ye
have lost the chance,” Geordie finally screamed at the raging Rory. “Let us
leave here before ye lose your life, too.”

It
was another moment before Rory gained enough control to speak in a normal
voice. “Are ye telling me to give up?”

“I
am asking ye to flee now, before she has a chance to tell anyone where ye are.
‘Tisnae the same at all.” Geordie sensed that Rory’s madness had reached the
point where even his life was at risk. “Ye willnae have another chance if ye
linger here for there is sure to be someone along soon and they willnae let ye
live.”

“Aye,
aye. Ye are right. I must never risk my chance to seek vengeance.” He lightly
touched the wound on his face that Geordie had awkwardly bandaged. “Here is but
another crime to add to the ones that slut must pay for.”

“And
she will,” Geordie soothed but, as he silently urged Rory on, he felt it would
be a very long time, if ever, before Aimil left Dubhglenn so lightly guarded
and he knew that the hunt for Rory would now become even more determined,
especially if Artair died from his wound.

It
was a long while before Aimil felt safe enough to slow Elfking’s pace. Artair
rested so heavily against her back that it worried her. Her contractions too
were growing stronger. She feared she had erred in telling Artair that even a
baby startled into birth did not come very speedily. Her child felt very
determined to be set free.

“Artair?
How fare ye?” She felt him stir and sighed with relief. “Can ye hold on until
we reach Dubhglenn?”

“By
my teeth if I must.” He frowned as, beneath his hands which rested upon her
belly, he sensed something. “How do ye fare? Has the bairn been hurt? I dinnae
mean to be indelicate but your belly feels strange.”

“It
seems the bairn’s memory has been shaken.”

“Eh?”

“He
has recalled that he cannae always abide in there.”

“Now?
The bairn comes now?”

“Aye.
Now.”

“Jesu.
What do we do now?”

“Go
on.”

“But,
ye must be feeling verra uncomfortable.”

“Aye,
I am but I have no choice, do I?” She was not surprised when he gave no reply
but was rather disappointed that he could offer no other choices.

“Doesnae
this hurt the bairn?”

“Nay.
Artair, he willnae come for a while yet though it would be fitting for a child
of mine and Parlan’s to be born in the saddle, dinnae ye think so?”

“I
may think it fitting but I dinnae want to see it. Does...does it pain ye much?”

She
almost smiled over the hesitant question. He sounded shy and decidedly nervous.
It had never ceased to amaze her that men who so vigorously went about the
business of creating children knew so little about childbirth, what to do, what
should be done, or most anything else. His ignorance was simply another reason
to get back to Dubhglenn as quickly as possible. Aimil did not want to ask
Artair to deliver her child and she was confident that he did not want that
either.

“Aye,
it hurts, but not as bad as it will. Nae as much as your wound, I wager.”

“Oh,
that isnae so bad. I have tied my shirt about my waist, and the bleeding has
eased.”

It
was not only the pain-ridden tone to his hoarse voice that suggested he lied.
He still rested too heavily against her, and his breathing was irregular. While
the suggestion that she was close to birthing her child had roused him some,
Aimil suspected that he was periously close to unconsciousness. He was fighting
that blackness, however. She only hoped that he continued to win the battle
against it until they reached Dubhglenn. If he fainted and fell from Elfking,
she would have to leave him—for she could never move him—and that was not
something she really wished to do. Rory and Geordie may not have fled and could
find the helpless Artair.

Gritting
her teeth, she kept Elfking at a steady pace. Even his smooth gait was a
torture, however. She could not give into the pain, stop, and concern herself
with the birthing of her child. It was tempting but she fought that temptation,
using the spectre of Rory to drive her onward.

“Would
ye like to stop?” Despite his own pain and weakness, Artair was aware of
Aimil’s increasing difficulties.

“If
I stop, Artair, I shall never continue until the child is born. I fear to stop
for neither of us ken much about birthing a bairn. Neither can we be sure that
Rory has left, has run for his life. We thought t’would be foolish for him to
come so near to Dubhglenn yet he did. We cannae think that he will now become
wise. I dinnae think I have to tell ye how it would be if he caught us off
Elfking, me giving birth.” She gasped as a fierce contraction ripped through
her.

“Nay,
there would be no chance for us. No chance at all. ‘Tis just that ye seem to be
growing worse.”

“Aye,
I am, but we are also drawing nearer to Dubhglenn. Dinnae fash yourself. I have
hours to go yet.”

“If
ye say so.” He laughed weakly, the sound drained by his pain. “Parlan will come
home to find himself a father.”

Parlan
knew he was not going to like what he found at Dubhglenn the moment he rode
through its gates. The people gathered in the bailey looked too guilty and
fretful for his liking. Even Malcolm was hesitant to respond when Parlan
dismounted and signaled to him. He felt his worry for Aimil become a hard knot
in his stomach. A glance at Leith and Lachlan did nothing to ease his concern.
They too looked worried. Malcolm’s feeble attempts at a cheerful greeting made
Parlan scowl.

“Where
is Aimil?”

“Ye
cannae expect a lass so heavy with bairn to rush out to greet ye.”

“Malcolm,
dinnae trouble yourself with playing that game. It willnae work. Where is my
wife? I want the truth.”

“Weel,
ye willnae like it.”

“That
much I have discerned for myself.”

“She
isnae here.”

“Aye?
So, where is she?”

“I
fear no one is too sure. She isnae alone. Artair is with her,” Malcolm hurried
to say when Parlan’s anger reflected in his face. “No one would ever let her go
off on her own.”

“She
isnae within Dubhglenn?”

“Nay.”
Malcolm cringed slightly as Parlan hissed out a stream of vicious curses. “She
is out riding with Artair.”

“Out
riding?” Parlan’s bellow made several men nearby jump nervously. “The fool lass
is overdue upon her childbed and she goes out riding? How could ye let her do
such a fool thing? How could Artair? Is there not an ounce of wit left within
the walls of Dubhglenn?”

“Calm
yourself, laddie.” Lachlan placed a hand on Parlan’s arm. “I am as worried as
ye are but be fair. Ye ken as weel as I do that Aimil can be verra clever in
getting her way. Why should they watch for such a thing? As ye said, the lass
is overdue to take to her childbed. No one would ever think she would get upon
Elfking and go for a ride now.”

With
much effort, Parlan reined in his fury. “Has anyone gone to look for that pair
of fools?”

“Nay.
We decided to give them another hour to return. Even if the lass has had some
difficulties, Artair would soon come for help.”

“If
he was able to. Malcolm, ‘tisnae just that she has gone riding when she should
be carefully awaiting the birth. Aye, I can even understand what might have
driven her to such a rash act. She has been kept much fettered. We have strong
proof that Rory and his hellhound, Geordie, are lurking near. Catarine Dunmore
has been found.”

“Dead?”

“Quite
dead. He did to Catarine as he did to my cousin and Lachlan’s wife. Aye, and as
he tried to do to Aimil. That is why I am back so soon. Old Simon Broth was the
one called when Catarine was found. I left as soon as the man told the tale.”

Malcolm
grasped him by the arm when Parlan made to re-mount. “‘Tis still wisest to
wait. No one even kens which way the pair rode when they left here.”

“He
is right.”

“Lachlan,”
Parlan protested even as he stopped trying to mount.

“Aye,
he is. When ye dinnae ken whether they be south, east, north or west, ye can do
naught more than run about blind. We only ken that Rory lurks at the border.
Give it a wee bit more time. They could yet return on their own and safely.”

Although
he hated doing it, Parlan had to agree with Lachlan. It would be a fool’s
errand to charge out to search when no one even knew where to begin looking, an
errand that should not be made use of unless all else had failed. Cursing, he
turned from his mount toward the gates, and stared blindly out at the empty
landscape.

“I
will wait one more hour.”

“That
is what we thought to do,” murmured Malcolm. “Then t’will be too long she and
Artair have been gone, considering that she, weel, she isnae really fit for a
long ride.”

“She
isnae really fit for a short one either.” He strode to the gates and halted
inside of them. “I could use some ale to wash the dust from my throat, Malcolm.
I mean to wait here until she returns so that I may beat her or until the
search begins.”

As
Malcolm hurried to fetch some drink and the others dispersed, Leith moved to
Parlan’s side. “She isnae a helpless lass.”

“Nay,
not for the most part but she is now, and ye ken it as weel as I do. She cannae
even rise from her bed in the morn without aid she has grown so full. Artair is
all that would stand between her and Rory if the man set upon them.”

“Artair
isnae without skill. Nay, in truth, he has a fine skill with a sword and his
fists.”

“Aye,
I meant him no slur. I mean that he would be one against twa and with a
helpless Aimil to protect as he could. Those arenae odds I feel good about. For
all they are but murdering cowards, Geordie and Rory possess a fine skill, too.”

“And
Rory wouldnae hesitate to harm Aimil just because she is large with child,”
Leith said softly, voicing their fears.

“Nay,
God’s beard. He could easily see it as but another reason to do her harm.”

“Come,
let us not weary ourselves thinking of all the worst that can happen. Aye,
there is a chance that Rory could have come upon the pair but there is also a
verra good chance that she and Artair will soon come riding back, safe and
untouched.”

“Aye,
and then all I need concern myself with is which one shall I beat first.” His
words were harsh and cold but, when he looked back out over the empty land, the
lines on his face were those of worry not fury, and he prayed that he would
soon see his errant wife riding toward him unharmed and concerned only that he
had caught her in her foolish act.