Sweet Revenge

  The word had spread of course. You couldn't keep something like that quiet. Now, one and all were looking for any signs that Lady Kyla's fevers had rushed along the heriditary madness that supposedly plagued the women of her line--and they were finding them in everything.

  They pointed toward every little thing she did. Foolish things even. Some claimed she looked at them all with a suspicious sort of gleam in her eye, an odd gleam, for what did she have to fear in the home of her husband? Others pointed to her lack of agility, and Duncan had to admit she did appear to be uncommonly clumsy. Even he had noticed the way she kept dropping her food the last three days, and it was something that seemed to be growing worse with each passing meal. Last night she had left more food on the floor than she had managed to get into her mouth. Even the dogs had noticed. Rather than roam the length of the table in search of the occasional spill or drop of food, they now positioned themselves firmly at her feet where they could lap up the constant flow of droppings from her trencher. Aye, she was clumsy.

  Still, that was not a sign of madness in his mind, no matter what the others claimed.

  Not that anyone treated her badly because of it. Everyone had been extra patient and friendly with her. Well...all but Robbie's wife. Aelfread. She was still steaming a bit over Robbie's being stabbed and whacked up the side of the head by the lass. As the man had feared, his wee wife had taken a right fit upon seeing the wound, then had gone on to hold a grudge. No amount of talking on Robbie's part seemed to change that, and he had refused to allow her anywhere near the keep lest she go out of her way to insult their laird's new wife.

  Duncan shook his head mournfully. Women were a difficult breed.

  And it wasn't as if Kyla hadn't given them reason to fear for her sanity. For instance, the more friendly everyone was to Lady Kyla, the more nervous she seemed to grow. Added to that, she had developed the distressing habit of talking to herself. It had begun after the first time she had disregarded the laird's orders and tried to leave the keep. Got up, she did, and walked right out of the keep, calm as ye please. Robbie had been watching her the first time she did it. He swore that he thought she was heading above stairs. Instead, she had walked to the door and tugged it open. He had hurried after her, only barely catching her arm as she tried to slip out. Robbie had been polite about it, but he'd informed her firmly that he could not allow her to leave and reminded her that the laird had ordered it.

  Duncan shook his head now as he thought. Lady Kyla did seem to have difficulty remembering that order. The very next day, while Angus was watching her, she had tried to leave again. Angus had responded much the same way as Robbie, stopping her, explaining that she was to stay indoors, then escorting her back to her seat. According to him, Lady Kyla had dropped back into her seat with a huff and taken to muttering to herself under her breath. She had been muttering to herself off and on ever since.

  Still, Duncan was positive that if Lady Kyla would just show another example of courage and intelligence, this talk of madness would die down. The people didn't want to think her mad, they just expected to. Unfortunately, the woman who sat glaring at the embroidery in her hands, muttering to herself, then acted so nervous at the supper table, was not helping. Duncan wanted to see again the woman who had charged off in a cart, her back sorely cut, then bravely faced down the entire MacDonald raiding party with naught but a dirk. There was a fiery lass who would never just sit back and listen to Laird Galen's commands.

  Nay, he thought now glumly. He was sore unhappy to have to admit it, but that Lady Kyla had been laid low by the fever. It seemed her senses had been stolen along with her spirit. He would give much were it not so, but even he was unable to argue the point. Duncan had hoped she would rally against the orders Galen had left, to escape. The woman who had rambled on in her fevered state about wanting to run barefoot through a stream was not a woman to be caged up like a bird. But other than trying to walk out the door under the very nose of her guard, she had not even attempted escape.

  He had expected more from her. He still did, in fact. Mayhap he had expected too much. And perhaps he was a fool to do so.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the click of a door down the hall. Seeing a servant slip out into the hallway and turn her back to him to close the chamber door, he started to turn away once more, but paused as her image stuck in his mind.

  It was the state of her dress that had his eyes narrowing blindly on the floor below as he reviewed her image in his head. It was the sloppiest attempt at wearing a plaid that he had ever seen. The item was lopsided, its creases varying in size from wee to huge, then back to wee. Worse yet, it was well littered with bits and pieces of rushes; they stuck out from both her hair and the material of the tartan she wore as if she had rolled on the floor in it.

  It was not a true Scot wearing the weeds, Duncan knew, for no Scot would be caught dead garbed so. Recalling the door the woman had come out of, he realized it was the laird's bedchamber. He stiffened where he stood. There was only one person in the laird's chamber.

  Lady Kyla! Duncan nearly whirled around at his realization, then caught himself and paused to ponder what she was about. The answer seemed easy enough. The spirited lass was trying to escape.

  He nearly crowed aloud at that, but caught it back and sent up a prayer of thanks instead. A show of spirit was just what he had been pleading for and here it was. She was boldly attempting escape. At least, he hoped she was. The possibility that she may simply be trying on Scottish garb arose and he frowned unhappily, then shrugged the unpleasant thought away. Nay. She was attempting to flee. He wondered what to do. Should he stop her here and now, it would be sorely demoralizing to one and all. Every man, woman, and child in the keep was aching for a sign that their mistress was more than just a madwoman. All were hoping that her old witch-woman of a maid was wrong and that their new lady was worth the battle fought to capture her. Mayhap this attempt would be a sign to them that she was sane. It would certainly show that she had spunk and was clever. Or at least it might if she had done a better job of donning the plaid.

  But she hadn't done a better job, and this was a bad attempt. A good idea, he had to admit to himself, for if the plaid had been well set and unlittered by rushes, he should not have known it was her and most likely would have paid her little heed. But that was not the case--and anyone she passed would know at once that something was amiss. Then she would be discovered and everyone in the clan would be convinced once and for all that she was as daft as the day was long for even trying it.

  He would have to help her escape, he decided resolutely. It would prove to one and all that she was not just an English fancy with nothing between her ears but what boiled brains the fevers had left her. First, however, he had to find a way to fix her up a bit so that no one else would discover her. He would somehow have to seem not to recognize her, while still managing to straighten her plaid and de-rushing it. It would not be an easy task.

  Kyla quietly closed the door, keeping her back deliberately to the man at the end of the hall. She had been working carefully at donning the plaid when she had heard his footsteps move away from the door. Her first reaction had been relief that her plan was going so well. But then she had considered the possibility that he had not retired below to watch the stairs and door, but had simply left briefly to use the privy or to fetch himself a beverage.

  That possibility had sent her into something of a panic and she had completed donning the plaid as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, in her haste, she feared she had not taken as much care as she would have liked and she was now quite distressed at the state of the garb. It did not seem nearly as pristine and well done as Morag's had been, but, more than aware that her guard might return at any time to bungle her plans, Kyla had decided well enough would have to do. She had spared a bare moment to try to straighten it the best she could, then she had quickly let down her hair to further her disguise before hurrying to the door.

  Peering out to see her guard stand
ing at the top of the stairs had been a distressing discovery. But, fearing he would not move much farther away than that, she had decided to risk discovery and make the attempt anyway. Taking a deep breath, she had slid out into the hall and turned her back to the man--ostensibly to close the door, but really to shield her face from his view as much as possible and gain a moment for a steadying breath.

  Kyla had just managed to close the door when she heard him approaching from behind. Her heart squeezed its way right up into her throat at the sound of his footsteps and Kyla unconsciously clenched her fingers, her mind in a panic.

  "Ho there! Leave her ladyship alone. She rests."

  Kyla nearly sighed aloud at those words, relief pouring through her like cool water through a dry river bed. Bobbing, she turned, careful to keep her head bowed as she directed herself toward the end of the hall. "Aye, sir. Sorry, sir."

  "Look at ye. Ye've hay all over ye, lass. What have ye been doing? Rolling in the stables with the stable master's son? Ye should be ashamed."

  Kyla gasped in surprise as her arm was taken firmly in one hand and Duncan began brushing her down with his other.

  He removed the worst of the rushes for her and managed to straighten her plaid a bit without being conspicuous. It was just enough, he hoped, that at a glance no one would notice the poor job done in the donning.

  "Be on about yer business," he ordered then and Kyla charged down the hall without even a nod, her face flaming under the tendrils of her hair.

  Duncan waited until she had started down the stairs before allowing his amusement to show in a wide grin. She was back. Their courageous little English miss. Yes sir, he'd told them she--

  His joy stalled when he realized that he had let her escape. It was grand that she still maintained her courage and some wit--and that he could prove it--but it was a sore trial that he had allowed her to show it by letting her escape. Galen would be fair angered at him for it. What a quandary. Catch her and let everyone keep thinking her daft, or let her go and be in trouble himself?

  Mayhap he should follow her. Let her escape so far, then catch her back. Bringing her back would redeem him for letting her escape, he decided. Aye, it would prove to one and all that she had courage, yet keep him out of trouble.

  Mind made up, he hurried after her.

  "Ye don't think they're right, do ye?"

  "What?" Robbie glanced at Angus. "That she's not quite right in the head now? No." He shook his head, but with less conviction than he would have liked. He could not forget the odd way she acted around him. Sometimes she appeared alarmed to be near him and other times he spied something akin to pity in her gaze. It was as if she could not make up her mind whether he were to be pitied or feared.

  Sighing, he leaned back against the rock wall surrounding the bailey and glanced toward the keep doors as a woman hurried out. She seemed in quite a rush, he noted absently and started to turn away, only to pause to watch her when she suddenly halted on the steps, an air of uncertainty about her.

  "I don't think so, either," Angus said with about as much conviction. "It'd be a real shame if it turned out she was."

  "Aye," Robbie murmured absently, his gaze trained on the woman's face. She seemed familiar, but he could not place her. Starting to move again, she suddenly set off at a much slower pace than the one in which she had exited the keep and headed across the bailey toward the gate.

  Shrugging inwardly, Robbie started to turn away when the keep doors opened once more and Duncan stepped out. The other man let his gaze run briefly about the bailey until it settled on the woman now making her way toward the castle gates, then he started down the steps after her.

  "I'll be damned," Robbie murmured under his breath, straightening away from the wall as he was suddenly able to put a name to the woman's familiar face.

  "What?" Angus glanced around curiously.

  "Look there."

  He peered toward where Robbie pointed, eyebrows rising when he saw Duncan hurrying across the bailey. "What the Devil is he about? He's supposed to be guarding Lady Kyla."

  "Aye." Robbie moved his finger further along the path. "Now look there."

  Angus shifted his gaze to the woman Duncan was following and frowned. "Who is that? I don't think I recognize her."

  "Nay, neither did I 'til I saw Duncan."

  Angus raised his brows. "It isn't that lass he's sweet on, is it? What's her name? Alice? Nay. Her hair's red. Is it--By the saints!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Yer not thinking that that there is Lady Kyla?"

  Robbie hesitated briefly, then nodded. "I think so. I'm no' sure. I didn't get a good look at her face, but what I did see seemed familiar. 'Sides, who else would Duncan be following?"

  "By Jesus, yer right." Straightening away from the wall, he grinned widely as he strained to see her better. "It just may be. Damn me. Isn't that grand!"

  When Robbie raised an eyebrow at that, Angus gave a laugh and said, "Well now, all those fools claiming she's daft will have to take their words back. The clever little wench is escaping." Admiration clear on his face, he added, "'Twas damned crafty of her to don a plaid to escape in. I never would have looked at her twice." He shook his head now and leaned back against the wall once more. "Damned crafty. They won't he able to say she's daft now."

  "Nay, they'll say we are for letting her escape," Robbie commented dryly.

  The other man's amusement came to a dead halt. "Say! Ye don't think--I mean, well, Duncan will bring her back, he--"

  "Couldn't catch a hare were it sitting on his chest?" Robbie supplied, one eyebrow cocked.

  "Damn me!" Angus straightened abruptly. "Well, come on, Robbie. Should Duncan lose the wench, Galen'll have our hides."

  Chapter Seven

  Kyla peered about at the people she passed, taking in their expressive faces and returning the few curious smiles of greeting sent her way as she meandered along through the village and continued down the path. She had been walking for several minutes when she came to a fork in the path. She followed the divergent road without hesitation. It was a lovely day. The air was fresh, the sun shining, the way edged by wildflowers, and she paused to pick one or two as she strolled along. When the road finally ended, she found herself on the edge of an empty beach. Stopping, Kyla glanced out over the sand and the wide open water it led to, briefly breathing in the smell of the sea with pleasure before moving forward again.

  She had taken several steps onto the beach before realizing that it was not as empty as she had first thought. There was a woman seated on the shore, sitting so still that Kyla had not even noticed her. Fingers tightening nervously around the flowers she held, Kyla was about to turn and leave unnoticed, when the woman suddenly turned her head and peered toward her. Her first instinct was to flee, but before she could, the woman offered a smile of greeting and got slowly to her feet.

  Biting her lip uncertainly, Kyla glanced back the way she had come, fear of being recognized nearly sending her sprinting back up the path. She had managed her escape up to now only because no one had gotten a very good look at her. She very much feared that if anyone got more than a passing glance, her disguise would not hold. Fleeing, however, did not seem a viable option. The woman was already moving toward her and would surely be made suspicious should she suddenly turn and flee back up the path as she wished. Sighing, Kyla moved forward, hoping her disguise, such as it was, would hold for her.

  "Oh, hell," Robbie muttered as he recognized his wife, then rubbed at his nose when a sprig of grass tickled it briefly. He and Angus had caught up with Duncan shortly after leaving the bailey. The man had immediately tried to explain himself, claiming he was unsure whether the woman they followed was their laird's wife or not. Robbie and Angus had merely rolled their eyes at that and gestured him to silence as they continued to follow the wench, keeping a respectable distance to prevent her realizing she was being trailed.

  That distance had nearly been their undoing. The fork she had taken was midway between two bends in the main path
. Had Robbie not happened to glance to the side as they passed the off-shoot, he would have missed the glimpse of the green and blue plaid she wore and they would have continued on down toward the docks, truly having lost their mistress. But luck had been with them. He had seen her, and they had followed her down this small path to the beach, grinning foolishly at each other as they had watched her pick flowers, test their scent, and continue on. When she had reached the beach, they had found a nice little patch of high grass into which to drop and watch her. And none too soon, for she had peered back just after they had reached the cover where they now lay on their stomachs, the three of them spying on her through the grass curtains hiding them.

  Robbie's first worry about what was to come did not crop up until he spied the second figure on the beach and recognized his wife. Of all the people Kyla might have run across on this little excursion, Aelfread was the worst. His wee wife was not above holding a grudge and was still quite angered at the small wound he had gained in stealing Kyla from the MacGregors. No matter the wound itself had all but entirely healed, Aelfread's outrage at Kyla's attack had not. Now, here the two women were, face-to-face. His only hope was that, having escaped from the keep, Kyla would have the sense not to reveal her true identity. Aelfread had only been at the keep herself a short while and did not know everyone yet; she would most like accept any false name Kyla offered. But should the woman say who she really was, Aelfread would leap upon her like a cat on a mouse.

  "Mayhap we should catch her now," Angus murmured uncertainly as he watched the women approach each other.

  "Nay. Not yet," Robbie rumbled in response.

  "But, if Aelfread recognizes her--"

  "She's ne'er seen her up close. I don't think she'll recognize her."

  "Well, what if Lady Kyla tells her her name? Aelfread'll--"

  "Let us hope that, despite her madness, she has the good sense to lie about who she is," Robbie interrupted grimly.

  "Lady Kyla lie?" Duncan looked outraged at the very idea.