Fearing more trouble, she tensed.
“We need to leave. I overheard Kerr say something to a young man about taking word to MacLauchlan. Do you think he kens who the lady is?”
“Aye, it sounds to me that is so. As much as I hate to take Isobel out in this weather, I dinna wish to be caught here should MacLauchlan send his men to fetch and bring her to him. Kerr will tell him how many strong we are and MacLauchlan will send more than enough of his men to outnumber our own.”
“I will see if someone has anything for the lady to wear so that she will be warmer when we travel again in this rain. It hasna let up in the least.”
“Do so then.”
“I will wear my own things. ‘Tis mostly just my cloak that is wet,” she said, not wishing to delay them. She did not want to end up being her real father’s pawn next. She felt only animosity toward the laird for getting her mother with child when he was already married and denying that Isobel was his own flesh and blood.
Rob didn’t make a move to leave and Marcus didn’t shut the door. “Is there something else you wished to speak to me about?”
“Did she agree to marry you?” Rob sounded hopeful.
“Oh, aye, willingly.” Isobel heard the smile in Marcus’s voice before he added, “Go. Tell our men to be ready. We will tell Kerr on the way out. I dinna want to leave the lady alone while we prepare to leave.”
“Aye.” Rob hurried off.
Marcus closed the door and turned. “Will you be all right in this rain?”
She hmpfed and grabbed her chemise. “I am all Highlander. So aye, I am ready.”
He smiled at her, his expression one of pride, but also he looked like he did not really believe she was that hardy. He nodded, then folded his arms while he watched her.
She raised her brows. “We are not married, yet. You will have to leave so I may dress.”
He sighed. “I will turn around.” He did indeed turn then and faced the door and continued to speak. “But we are as much as wed as you and I both have agreed to it. We dinna need witnesses, parents’ consents, a kirk, or banns to be posted, my lady. We dinna even need to consummate the marriage for it to be legitimate. You and I both agreed. As we have always wished this. And that is all that is necessary.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure if this pleased her or worried her more. She thought there would be more to it than that. Something that would legitimize the marriage so that no one would say later that they were not man and wife—like King Henry possibly. Her Norman suitors also.
As soon as she was dressed and her damp cloak covering her, she hurried for the door. “I am ready.”
***
Marcus hated taking Isobel out in the cold rain again, disappointed that they could not stay at the Kerr hunting lodge at least until the morn. But he would not risk getting into a fight with MacLauchlan should he learn about Isobel’s father’s death and that Marcus was taking her to his home. MacLauchlan would be dastardly enough that he would try to take her from him. Until now, Marcus hadn’t concerned himself with the notion, because he was certain if he could have gotten Lord Pembroke’s approval to wed his daughter, Laren wouldn’t have taken any steps to fight him for her.
But Marcus was glad Isobel had agreed to wed him, as he had always hoped it would be, and somehow he was determined that they would make it work.
She shivered in the damp clothes and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and headed out into the corridor. “Hopefully, they willna try to detain us. I suspect they willna wish to fight us, but rather warn MacLauchlan that we have you and then let him deal with us. I also suspect Kerr wanted us to hear of what was happening and give us the chance to leave so that we would run into MacLauchlan’s men on the road and not within his minor fortifications.”
“So what do we do?” She snuggled up to him.
At that moment, he wanted her as a man wants a woman—as he’d always wanted her and now he could have her. If only they had the means.
“He will ken where we are going. We willna go that way.” That was all he would whisper to her. Castles had ears and he didn’t want to alert the laird as to their change in plans.
He hadn’t made it far when Rob joined him and the laird’s steward headed for them, his red brows furrowed deeply. “Ye are leaving, Laird McEwan? Ye are no’ staying the eve? We thought ye would at least break your fast in the morn before ye left. Ye have not even eaten the meal with us that should be ready soon.”
“‘Tis trouble we will cause you if we stay,” Marcus said shortly.
“But the lass,” the man implored. “She shouldna be out in this weather.” He hurried after them as Marcus didn’t slow his stride with Isobel still tucked under his arm, trying to keep her dry as best he could.
Maybe Kerr hadn’t intended for them to overhear that he was sending word to MacLauchlan that Isobel was here. And now Kerr would fear Laren’s wrath once he learned the lass and her party had left.
Before even Kerr himself could see them off in the drenching, chilly rain, Marcus lifted Isobel onto her horse. Then he, the lady, and his men were off as the steward stood in the downpour before he hurried back to the keep.
“Will they attempt to follow us?” Rob asked.
“They are welcome to try,” Marcus said.
At first, Marcus headed in the direction north toward his hunting lodge, though it was four days away. He knew his men would be watching to see if anyone was following them. It seemed Kerr’s men would not try to stop Marcus and his men, but he presumed they would tell MacLauchlan where Marcus was headed.
“They will know we are going this way,” Rob warned.
“Aye. That is why we are headed this way. At first.”
“Ah.”
“He is the one who worries for us all,” Marcus told Isobel.
She gave him a wan smile, and he noted she was shivering even more. “Do you wish to ride with me?”
“Nay.” Her voice was shaking with the cold, the rain not letting up. “I would tire your horse overmuch.”
“It willna be long,” he promised her. But if she looked too cold, he was making her ride with him.
When they headed west, Rob brightened. “‘We will stay with our kinsman in the mountains.”
“Aye,” Marcus said. “It willna take us too verra long.” It was still half a day’s ride. “But no one will ken we are distantly related to Ulicia and her brood. ‘Tis the perfect place to stay.”
“Will she remember us? She left so long ago, when she was but a wee lass herself, way before she had four bairns.”
“Aye, she will remember us.” At least Marcus hoped. And he hoped she had enough room in her shieling to house Isobel and the rest of the men while some of the horses stayed in the attached byre.
For five hours, they rode over grassy glens, rocky terrain, moving around a loch, spying mounded cairns used as a burial ground, and crossed several streams when they neared the narrow trail they would have to navigate to reach the valley on the other side.
Rob had been riding to the left of Marcus until the trail up the mountain became too narrow, and then he rode behind. Marcus had to allow either Isobel to take the lead or himself. He wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t look steady in her saddle, but the horses would have a hard enough time making it up the mountain without having to carry two passengers. Still, he worried she might fall. He took a deep breath and dismounted.
“What are you going to do?” Rob asked, hesitating to dismount.
Isobel was so cold she didn’t even seem to notice they had stopped.
“She is going to fall.”
“Nay.” Her voice was merely a whisper, the shake of her head so slight it was barely noticeable.
Marcus couldn’t carry her all the way to the shieling, but he had no other choice. She was too cold and needed his body heat.
“We can take turns carrying her,” Rob said, as if reading the doubt in Marcus’s thoughts.
“Come, lass.” Marcus held his arm
s up to her, and when she turned slightly and she leaned toward him, looking frozen to the core, he lifted her from her horse.
“Take our horses, will you, Rob?”
“Aye and when you need a respite, let me ken, and I will take the lady off your hands.”
Even if it killed him, and Marcus knew it was madness, he didn’t wish his men to hold the lovely lass close like he would.
For what seemed an eternity, he trudged up the narrow winding path as the horses faltered and the men walked them along the ridge. Then through the gray sheets of icy rain, he spied the shieling down below. After what seemed like forever, they finally reached the abode. But there was no smoke in the chimney, no smell of peat mixing with the rain, no children laughing or talking inside as he would expect.
He glanced back at Rob who gave him just as wary a look.
Isobel had actually fallen asleep in Marcus’s arms. She might be light under normal circumstances, but with gowns sodden with water and the ground slick and muddy, he was having a devil of a time making any headway. His arms and back ached, but he was no longer cold. Isobel was still shivering, but not as badly now.
“Let me get past you and check out the shieling,” Rob said.
Marcus nodded. “Aye, go.” He leaned against a tree and waited while the rest of his men remained with him, wary and watchful.
Rob left the horses with one of the other men, then headed the rest of the way to the shieling, nestled against a cairn.
Rob had already pulled his sword out and crept toward the house, keeping to the rocks until he reached the door and listened. Then he turned to Marcus and shook his head.
He pushed the door slightly, his weapon readied. And was attacked by a young boy slicing the frigid, rain-soaked air with his sword, screaming like a banshee.
“Whoa, laddie, we are kin,” Rob said, fending off the shrub-sized warrior. “He has a good swing, dinna you agree, Marcus?”
“Aye,” Marcus said, smiling. “His da has taught him well.”
The boy stopped attacking and looked in Marcus’s direction.
“Is Ulicia here? I am her cousin, Laird Marcus McEwan,” Marcus said. He was her distant cousin, but the lad didn’t need to know that. He hoped his cousin had told her children of their relationship. “I must get the lady out of the rain. Will you permit us to enter?”
The boy’s jaw dropped and he quickly made a clumsy bow. “Aye, my laird. Come in.” He sounded so young, Marcus didn’t remember a time when he was so small and would have defended his home single-handedly like that against an armed Highlander. The lad would someday make a fine warrior.
“I was worried about you, Rob,” Marcus said as Rob gave him a small smile, then helped the others move the horses into the covered shelter next to the shieling.
When Marcus entered the one-room building with a soaking wet Isobel cradled in his arms, he hadn’t expected to see three little faces peeking out at him from behind a bed. One of them, a girl about the age of the boy, was holding a sgian dubh.
“Where is Ulicia?” Marcus didn’t like what he was seeing. The children all looked scrawny, but the place was neat and tidy.
“She went to the village and never came back,” the boy said.
“How long ago?
“Seven days.”
“Your name, lad?” Marcus set Isobel in a chair. He had to get her out of these wet clothes.
“Druce,” he said, holding his head up proudly.
“Your da?”
“Dead.”
“I am sorry.” He helped Isobel out of the wet brat, and she looked up at him, her eyes tired, and she was still shaking too much. “Let us start a fire. The lady needs to be warmed. She is chilled to the bone.”
“Our mother told us not to use the peat too much until she returned,” the girl said.
“Your name, lassie?”
“Fiona.”
“All right, Fiona. We need a nice warm fire. We have food and will share this with you. But I must warm the lady before she becomes ill.”
“Aye,” both the girl and her brother said.
His men soon walked into the shieling and noticed the urchins hiding behind the bed.
“Rob, start a fire, will you?” Marcus needed to get Isobel out of her wet clothes, but he didn’t wish to do so in front of so many eyes.
“Aye, what about the lass?” Rob said, again as if he knew the dilemma Marcus was facing.
Finbar said, “We can take the wee lass and lads with us to help with the horses.”
Marcus knew the men would have already taken care of them.
“We have food that we will need you to help us carry into the shieling,” Finbar continued.
The youngest lads looked to their older sister, Fiona, for counsel.
“Go with them.” She sounded like she was their wee mother.
“You and Druce also,” Finbar said.
“I will help.” Rob soon got a flame going in the hearth.
All of them went to see to the horses and packs.
With the sound of the rain pouring down heavily on the thatched roof, all else was quiet. Except for Marcus’s labored breathing as he hurried to strip Isobel of her gowns, then tucked her into the bed that had to be Ulicia’s and her deceased husband’s. The children had made straw mats on the floor with thin wool blankets to cover them.
He wasn’t sure how his men would manage, but Marcus had to warm Isobel in any way that he could. Modesty aside. After all, they were married.
Before the others returned to the shieling, he heard his men telling all kinds of tales and was certain the children were already eating some of their foodstuffs while they waited for Marcus to let them know when it was all right to return to the shieling.
In some smaller keeps, the laird and his lady had naught but a curtain to separate them from the rest of their people, though he had a chamber of his own as did his lady when he took a woman to wife, and his men who were not married slept with the other men in the barracks.
Many did not have much in the way of privacy.
After removing his tunic, hosen, boots, and trewes, as they were wet, he climbed into bed with Isobel and wrapped his arms around her, felt the tremors racing through her body, and prayed she would not become ill.
“We are tucked in.” Marcus wanted to warn his men that he was in bed with Isobel and not to make any comments about it.
His men ushered the children back into the shieling and made sure they each ate enough to fill their bellies, then herded them to their beds.
“I am afraid there doesna seem to be much in the way of sleeping space,” Marcus said.
“We will manage.” Rob looked concernedly at Isobel. “Is she with fever?”
“Nay, but she still trembles without end.”
“She willna die, will she?” Druce asked, sounding alarmed.
“Nay, lad. When did your mother leave you alone?” Marcus asked.
“‘Twas in the morn, seven days ago. She went for food, and she shoulda been back by now.”
“We will talk about it in the morn. Sleep,” Marcus said.
“Can he tell us a story?” Druce pointed his finger at Finbar.
The flames in the hearth offered a soft glow as the men laid out their bedrolls and wrapped themselves in their plaids, their swords close at hand.
“Only if it is a really short story,” Marcus warned, “and isna scary.”
He could envision all four children climbing into bed with him and Isobel because Finbar had scared them with some horrible recanting of a day of battle. Sure, braw warriors loved to hear his tales, but they were not suitable for the tender ears of the wee lass and lads.
“I dinna ken any stories that dinna have wild beasties in them,” Finbar said.
Marcus noticed then all the children turned their attention back to him. God’s wounds, he didn’t know any bedtime stories either!
“Tell what Lady Isobel did to the Norman lord that had you wanting to make her your wife even at a
young age.” Rob curled up in his plaid. “No beasties in that story.”
The children looked hopeful, though he noticed the youngest lad’s heavily lidded eyes, and Marcus figured if he said one word, he’d drop off to sleep just like that.
Marcus gave Rob a look of annoyance. He had never told anyone what had happened that day, although his clansmen had tried unsuccessfully for years to learn the truth. He wondered how Rob had even learned that much.
“Did you have to fight evil knaves to free her?” Druce waved a pretend sword in the air.
“Did you kiss her?” Fiona placed her hands on her heart.
“What did happen?” Finbar asked, his tone of voice amused.
Chapter 11
To Marcus’s astonishment, Isobel snuggled closer, her eyes still closed as she said, “Do you wish me to tell what happened?”
She was still shaking from the cold, though he thought she’d fallen asleep. “Nay, lass. You might no’ get the story right.”
She opened her eyes and her mouth curved up. “Mayhap we will have to tell them both versions, aye?”
“There is only one version to tell.”
His men chuckled.
Before Marcus could start the tale, Isobel said, “Laird McEwan came to see my mother because his mother and mine had been friends since the time they were wee lassies. So he would come and visit my mother to tell her all the news from home. The first time I met Marcus, I had just turned one and ten, and he was six and ten. I fell in love with him right at that moment. Not that he saw me in any way other than I was a young lass, too young for his attentions.”
“No’ true,” Marcus said. “Even then I knew you belonged in the Highlands with us. You were no’ shy or reserved, but welcomed me with your bright smile.”
“You made my mother happy. I loved hearing you speak. You did not treat me like I was a bother. And then later when I met your cousins, they taught me how to use a bow and fight.”
“Aye, lass.”
“But about the incident with the Norman,” Rob persisted.
“I was three and ten and my mother and father had invited some guests to celebrate.”
“They were no’ your friends.” Marcus was still disgruntled to an extent by what had happened. He had loved her for her actions, but he had wished he had been the one to carry them out.