Highland Captive (42 page)

“Aye,
but I begin to think that Leith Mengue is a man who can fit any boot he slips
on.”

“I
think ye might be right in that, Artair, and ‘tis a gift that could serve him
verra weel one day.” Parlan mounted and sat staring back at the burned-out
cottage as the others did the same.

“Second
thoughts or a few doubts mayhaps?”

“Nay,
just wondering over the ease of it, Lagan. Weel, best we hie on back to
Dubhglenn. Aimil has surely roused by now and shall wonder where I slipped away
to with nary a word to anyone.”

By
the time Parlan rode into Dubhglenn the relief, even the joy, over the ending
of Rory’s threat to him and his family had conquered all his regrets and
doubts. He jovially greeted each person he met as he took his mount to the
stables. On his way to the keep, he met Old Meg who greeted his happiness with
a severe frown.

“And
what have ye been up to, me fine rogue? Creeping off before dawn like some
thief? Eh?”

He
kissed her cheek. “I had to go view a body, a corpse I have long hoped to see.”

“The
hellhound is dead?”

“Aye,
verra dead. How is Aimil?”

“Gnashing
her teeth. Best ye hie on up to your chambers. She is suckling that greedy son
of yours, but I doubt that has stopped her from watching for ye. If ye dinnae
get up there quick, she will be down here to greet ye with the bairn still
dangling from her breast.”

Aimil
heard the increased activity in Dubhglenn and tensed. Idly patting her nursing
child’s back, she listened more closely, trying to hear something that would
tell her it was Parlan’s return that had stirred things up. She had just
decided to go and see for herself, detaching her son who immediately began to
wail with fury, when Parlan strode into the room.

“Where
did ye slip away to?”

Staring
at his screaming son in mild astonishment, Parlan replied, “Eh? I cannae hear
ye over the din. What ails him?”

“He
wasnae done but I stopped him for I meant to come see if ye had returned.” She
frowned at her son whom she held at a distance.

Sitting
on the bed, Parlan gently pushed the baby back toward Aimil. “I beg of ye, let
him have his fill before he deafens us all.”

She
put the child back to her breast, and after a few convulsive sobs, he quieted
down. As she was about to question Parlan again, something about the way Lyolf
nursed distracted her. Curious, she looked down at her son and saw that he was
not nestled against her breast in the usual way. His small hands clung tightly
to her bodice, and his eyes, the color matching hers to a shade, were open. His
gaze was fixed upon her face, and his brows, so like Parlan’s, met in a vee
over his tiny nose. Diverted, she tried to loosen the grip of one of his small
hands only to have him grunt, frown even more, and cling more tightly. It was
clear that he did not intend to be moved again until he was finished.

“Your
son looks verra much like ye at this moment, Parlan.”

Leaning
over to look at Lyolf, Parlan drawled, “I have never looked so discontented
when savoring that sweetness.” He bent forward to kiss the curve of her breast
only to jerk back with an oath when a small fist struck his nose.

Aimil
tried not to laugh. She looked at Parlan who scowled and rubbed his nose. Then
she looked at Lyolf who scowled in exactly the same way as he clung tenatiously
to her bodice. Despite her best efforts not to, she began to giggle. When that
only deepened the scowls on her husband’s and son’s dark faces, she laughed
harder.

“Wheesht,
ye are equally bad-tempered.”

Lying
on his side next to her, he glanced at his son. The child’s gaze followed him,
and the fierce expression remained on the tiny face. Slowly, Parlan started to
grin. Along with amusement, he felt pride. Even though so young, the boy already
showed spirit. He laughed softly.

“‘Tis
a good thing he is still a wee bairn or I might be in a lot of trouble.”

“Aye,
ye might at that.” Aimil’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Ye might be
anyway. Why did ye creep away without a word?”

“Ah,
back to that, are we?”

“Aye,
back to that. ‘Tis that ye left no word, not with anyone. Ye were simply gone.”

“Och,
lass, I didnae mean to worry ye. Artair burst in shortly before dawn. He will
enter more carefully now.”

“Nearly
skewered him, did ye?” She was well aware of his increased watchfulness, of how
his sword was ever at hand as they slept.

“If
he hadnae stopped inside the door, aye, I might have. ‘Tis not something I care
to think on.”

“Nay,
of course not. I didnae even hear him.”

“This
ill-tempered child had exhausted ye with his fretting half the night away.”

She
grimaced and nodded knowing that it would take far more than a sudden rude
intrusion into their chambers to wake her when she was exhausted. “What did he
want that couldnae wait ‘til a more reasonable hour?” She tensed as she
realized the only thing it could have been since Dubhglenn had neither been
raided nor attacked. “T’was Rory.”

He
took her hand in his. “Aye, sweeting, but ye have naught to fear. He cannae
hurt ye any longer. Nay, never again.”

“Ye
have slain him?”

“I
fear it wasnae I who had that pleasure. Artair had heard of twa men that
sounded much akin to Rory and Geordie at a village but twa hours ride from
here. He tracked them down only to find that they had perished in a fire. He
sought me out thinking I could better vouch that t’was truly Rory Fergueson and
his faithful hound, Geordie.”

“And
it was them?”

“Aye,
though t’was Leith who determined it. I could do no more than agree that the
shapes matched those of the ones I sought. Leith was certain t’was Geordie and
he recognized Rory by a few of his belongings that werenae destroyed in the
fire. He has gone to tell your father, and I ken that the man will be sore
grieved that he wasnae the one to end Rory’s murdering life.”

“He
will but I cannae help but think that ‘tis the best way. Father isnae a cruel
man yet, if he reached Rory, I think he would have acted verra cruelly. There
was so much anger in him, so much hate. When it left him, he would have
suffered. I fear he would have seen himself as little better than Rory and,
aye, if he had gained hold of the man, I think my father would have gone a
little mad.”

“T’would
be easy to understand.”

“For
we who didnae do it but mayhaps not so easy for the one who did. He would have
to face the beast within himself and that cannae be easy. Nay, ‘tis best this
way though my father may be some time in seeing that.”

“Aye,
it took me a wee while to see it. I felt as if something had been stolen from
me, as if he had escaped me.”

“I
am just as glad that no one had to face him. He was a snake.” She smiled
faintly at Lyolf who was finally done and held him at her shoulder, rubbing his
back to release any air he may have swallowed. “I feared he would play some
loathesome trick that would cost one of ye your life. Fair fighting wasnae Rory
Fergueson’s way. A man cannae always watch his back or all the shadows.”

“Mayhaps
not. We will never ken now. The man is dead.”

“Are
ye verra sure of that, Parlan?”

“As
sure as any can be. Do ye have some doubt of it, dearling?” He reached out to
stroke her cheek. “I had a few myself but they have faded away.”

“As
mine will, no doubt. ‘Tis that the end came so abruptly, so unexpectedly. I had
never thought it would be this way.”

“Nay,
nor did I. It was a surprise and I did fear the way of it would leave ye still
afraid, still uncertain.”

“A
wee bit but I shall get over it.”

The
baby was falling asleep so she reclined more on the bed, settling Lyolf more
comfortably against her chest. She suspected that being a mother made her less
able to shrug off her fears, to accept an end to the danger. There was so much
more at risk if it proved to be a false safety. The child might not become a
victim, but she dreaded the thought of being parted from him. She wanted to see
him grow into a man.

Lying
there quietly, the baby sleeping on her chest and Parlan stroking her hair, she
felt drowsy and content. At times like this, it was nearly impossible to recall
all her fears and worries. It seemed that nothing would intrude to shatter her
peace but she knew that was foolish. Rory had done so before. What she had to
do now was believe that he could not do it again.

“Are
ye sure he is dead, Parlan?” She hated herself for the fear that prompted her
repeating of the question, for needing the reassurance.

“Aye,
loving.” He kissed her forehead, smiling faintly when her eyes closed. “We will
celebrate on the morrow. T’will be a fine day.”

She
smiled but did not open her eyes. “Angus says so, does he?”

“Aye.
He promises sun to bask in.”

“It
seems wrong somehow to celebrate a man’s death.”

“If
it troubles you, we can find something else to celebrate. Weel, if Old Meg says
what I wish her to, that is. Tomorrow makes near to twa months since this wee
rogue was born.”

Knowing
what he referred to, she forced herself not to blush and not to look at him. “My,
my, he is growing apace, isnae he?”

“Aye,
and ye will be running apace if Old Meg says ye are healed from the birth.”

“Mean
to chase me, do ye?”

“Until
we fall. Preferably with ye on your back but I am nae too particular after near
to three months.”

“Near
to three months of what?”

“Of
naught, and therein lies the trouble. I thought ye paid the highest price for
bearing our son but I begin to wonder.”

She
lazily opened one eye to peek at him. “Regrets?”

Gently
touching the thick raven curls decorating his son’s small head, Parlan said
quietly, “Nary a one but I do have an itch that screams to be scratched.”

“And
ye mean to do some scratching on the morrow?”

“Aye,
a lot of it so”—he kissed her cheek—“ye best get some rest, lass. Ye will be
sore pressed to keep pace with me.”

She
doubted that for she was as hungry for some lovemaking as he was but she was
not inclined to tell him. He would discover it quickly enough on his own. Once
Old Meg deemed her healed from the birth, Aimil knew she would probably be
running after him. The image that invoked made her smile and lingered in her
mind as she finally gave in to sleep.

As
soon as he was certain that she was asleep, Parlan gently took the baby from
her lax hold, causing a murmur of protest from both of them. Smiling faintly,
he put the child back into his cradle. For a moment he crouched there, watching
his tiny son sleep, and feeling unabashedly proud. It was going to be easy to
love the boy, as easy as it was to love his mother.

Startled,
Parlan rose and went to stand by the bed to look down upon a sleeping Aimil. He
did love her. It was the only explanation there was for so many of the things
he had done and felt. He wondered when it had happened then decided that it did
not really matter.

Reaching
out to take a lock of her hair between his fingers, he then wondered when and
if he should tell her. She still spoke no words of love to him yet some
instinct told him that she cared, could quite possibly love him. There was the
possibility that she did not speak because he had not. Aimil had more than her
share of pride. So too did he, he admitted with a crooked smile, and it was
making him reluctant to be the first to bare his soul, to take the chance of
revealing how he felt when it might not be returned.

Shaking
his head over the uncertainty she could stir in him, he left the room and met
Lagan in the hall. “I thought ye would be resting after such a long night.”

“Aye,
I am weary but I need to fill my belly first.”

“That
is where I head to.” Parlan started on his way.

Falling
into step beside Parlan, Lagan asked, “How did Aimil take the news?”

“With
a touch of doubt as we all did but she means to be rid of it. It cannae be easy
to dismiss the fear that Devil bred in her heart.”

“And
yours,” Lagan murmured.

“I
didnae fear him.” Parlan bristled, hearing the insult of cowardice in Lagan’s
words. “I was ready to fight that hellhound.”

“Ye
mishear me. I didnae speak of the fear that makes a man run from a fight but of
your fear for Aimil and your child. T’was that fear that has driven ye so hard
these last weeks and that fear was stirred and heightened by something I begin
to think ye will never see.”

“Is
that so? Mayhaps I am not as blind as ye think, old friend. Tell me, do ye
still think Aimil would like to hear a few sweet words?” He smiled over his
friend’s obvious surprise. “Even more important, do ye think she will give a
few back?”

“If
ye cannae tell that for yourself, mayhaps ye are blind. Aye, she must be thinking
the sweet words will never come. I should be sure to speak them in the right
place at the right time or the shock might kill her.”