The Touch 0f Her Hand (Highlander Heroes Book 1) Page 4

  When the heavy-handed woman finished, Tess thought to rest her head upon the back of the tub for a moment. She settled back and closed her eyes, thinking never again to take a bath for granted.

  "Do you ken I've more to do than coddle you?" The woman said and Tess reluctantly opened her eyes to find the sour faced woman standing tubside with a large bath sheet.

  Sighing, Tess rose and stepped out of the bath and into the towel just as another woman entered the room.

  This one was younger, prettier, and offered Tess a shy, hesitant smile.

  "Good day to you, my lady," she said and laid some garments upon the sole table within the room. "My name is Serena. The MacGregor had asked that I share some of my wardrobe with you." Tess then recognized her as the girl from the main hall yesterday morning.

  "That is unnecessary," Tess responded coolly. "I have my own dress to wear, if I could have it laundered."

  "'Tis not much to recommend laundering, my lady. I'm afraid it is much beyond hope," Serena answered lightly. "This will do." She shook out a soft blue velvet kirtle from the pile atop the table but first offered Tess a crisp white chemise. "Are you dry?"

  "I can manage to dress myself, thank you."

  "We know you’ve got your airs, me lady," the older woman said shortly with a brusque chortle. "You’re used to having everyone do for you and were it up to me, you’d no see that here. If the MacGregor's temper tells me anything, it says I'm right about this and you’ll no be having that style of life again."

  "You may leave now," Tess informed the old witch with as much aplomb as she could muster.

  "Oh, and here she be, still giving the orders," laughed the witch. "Not here, me fine lady. you’ll no more be the one to say, but you will be the one to do."

  "Dorcas, thank you," Serena said, her tone not sharp but Tess was happy to see the old witch depart. When she was gone, Serena smiled at Tess, "Dorcas is..."

  "A witch?" Tess could not help but supply.

  Serena laughed, a quiet little titter. "Sometimes," she agreed, "but she works hard and is loyal to the MacGregor." Serena then offered the chemise to Tess.

  "Thank you," and she donned it hurriedly to ward off the chill, which had returned quickly since she stepped from the tub. She followed with the blue velvet and the tunic, which seemed to fit her rather well, save that they were a bit long, the velvet skirt pooling a few inches on the floor.

  "You have beautiful hair," Serena said. "May I brush it for you?"

  Tess only shrugged for her eyes were trained on the open and now empty doorway. Serena stood behind her, at the table, fishing a brush from inside a beaded bag. Without considering the consequences, Tess picked up the long skirt of her kirtle and darted through the doorway, down the flight of stairs and into a corridor, vaguely recalling she did not want to descend further, to the main hall. She turned left where the corridor split in two. Breathing heavily, she raced through the dimly lit passage and came upon only two options, both doors, before the corridor ended at an exterior wall. Frantically, hoping for an outlet, she pushed open the first door and felt her heart sink upon finding only a private solar with no escape. Undeterred, she opened the second door to find yet another private chamber and still no outlet.

  Her shoulders fell as she pulled the door closed again and slumped her back against it, considering her options.

  There were no options. The MacGregor stood at the far end of the corridor watching her, one shoulder propped casually against the wall, arms folded across his massive chest. There was, however, nothing casual about the expression on his face. While it did not exactly portray a man motivated to extreme anger, it showed a man very shy of patience. The lesser of two evils, Tess hoped.

  "Had you a destination in mind?" His voice was deceptively calm.

  "Home," she responded automatically, suddenly acutely aware of her exhaustion. She wanted only to lie down, to close her eyes and let the weakness invade her fully. She would court sleep and lose her fear to dreams.

  "You'll no get there from here."

  "Will I ever get there?"

  He shook his head.

  Tess squeezed her hands in helpless frustration. "You mean that I will marry you and never leave or be murdered for my refusal and never leave."

  He said nothing immediately and Tess took that as an indication that she had the truth of it.

  "But I am willing to allow you time to get used to the idea," he finally said and pushed away from the wall to approach her.

  He spoke not a word as he strode toward her, but locked her gaze, his eyes the only shining thing in the shadowed corridor. One large hand flattened against the stone beside her head, the other taking her jaw to raise her face to his.

  Tess closed her eyes and held her breath, not wanting to look into those blue eyes. She was quite sure they might steal her soul if she allowed it.

  "I was prepared to offer you a bit of freedom within the castle," he said quietly, his voice floating over her like cold, clear water on dark, mossy stones. "Obviously, that will no happen now. We shall return to the tower."

  Tess found herself nodding and opened her eyes to find him staring, his eyes moving from mouth to eyes to hair and back to her lips. She thought immediately of his kiss. Abruptly, his countenance hardened, and he released her and walked away, clearly expecting to be followed. She did so haltingly, half of her still expecting punishment for her attempt to escape.

  He continued toward the dreaded tower room, but Tess thought her cell now seemed immensely free. Free from him and his eyes. He’d threatened much but had yet to truly harm her. She had only the danger of his kiss to fear.

  LONG AFTER THE EVENING meal had been eaten and the trestle tables had been moved to the outside walls to allow room for those who would later make their beds inside the main hall, Conall found himself seated alone at the only remaining table. He stared pensively into his tankard of ale, ideas swarming through his mind. Ways to make Tess of Marlefield accept that which he’d desired for so long. He’d have liked nothing better than to retake Marlefield the way it had been wrested from his family. He dreamed of returning and waging war with Sir Arthur, killing him slowly, having his vengeance.

  But that would risk the lives of the few remaining MacGregors and put into jeopardy not only the safety of the MacDonnells but also the trust he'd worked so hard to gain from them. He’d become their laird not because they shared his vision of revenge, but because they thought him the man to see them safely into an uncertain future.

  The MacGregors, on the other hand, entirely supported any plans he'd made for Sir Arthur and Marlefield. However, they were possessed of long memories and hard hearts and likely now a bit discontent with this pale version of retribution.

  There were times when Conall often felt torn between his loyalties. First and foremost, he was a MacGregor and his duty—his honor—demanded he avenge his slain father and kinsmen. Conall had never considered abandoning this responsibility and knew in his heart that if he ever hoped to be free of the horror of that night so long ago, he needed to finish this.

  Battling for attention within was his commitment to the MacDonnells. They were one family now. The old MacDonnell, having no sons, had reared Conall as his own from the age of seventeen for one purpose: to be laird of Inesfree, to be father and defender, provider and protector of both clans.

  Conall sipped lazily at his ale and considered these burdens—nay, not burdens, he'd never considered them so. But he was ever aware of the utter disquiet within him. It had little to do with the weight of responsibility upon him, this much he knew.

  He wasn’t so soft as to name the discontent as loneliness, but he recognized there was indeed an emptiness. This, he knew as truth, stemmed entirely from the massacre at Marlefield all those years ago. And curiously, while he strove mightily for revenge, Conall could never completely convince himself that the vengeance he sought, once had, would alleviate the pain or restore that missing piece of himself. So much of him would always
refuse to be happy, would always deny him the simpler pleasures in life. A nagging insistence deep inside warned him never to betray his murdered kin by enjoying his own life while they had been so cruelly cheated of theirs.

  "Ach, now here is a man either so deep in his cups, he is beyond the powers of the peripheral visions, or a man who chooses to ignore my august presence."

  Conall turned to his captain, who sat not more than three feet away from him. His huge booted feet were propped atop the table, his back pressing into the chair, tipping the front legs off the floor. Conall guessed that John had been sitting beside him for quite a while. His captain's tankard sat nearly empty upon the table.

  Conall acknowledged his captain with a tip of his head.

  "Well, now," John began, holding his drink upon his belly, "I was watching you and wondering what might be keeping you so quiet and thoughtful like and then I got to thinking and decided it must be that piece o' fluff up in the tower, the one that thinks she'll survive past a score of years if she dinna accept your proposal."

  Conall pursed his lips thoughtfully, debating if he truly wanted to have this conversation with John. Tonight.

  "There must be a way to convince her that it is in her best interest to wed me," he finally ventured.

  "Boy," John said, bringing his chair onto four legs, leaning his elbows on the tabletop, "she dinna give in at the threat of death. She dinna seem to be changing her mind while you keep her locked away."

  "It has only been a few days. Maybe she needs a good month up there to change her mind." But he knew he'd not be able to give that order.

  "Listen, boy. She dinna yield with a blade at her throat. What makes you think a few bugs and itchin'll make her concede?"

  "I have no idea."

  "Have you thought of wooing her?"

  Conall turned to John, one of the few men remaining of his father's guard and the only man at Inesfree he would trust with his life. He stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

  "Woo her?"

  "Woo her. Court her. Romance her. Whatever it takes."

  "She is Arthur Munro’s daughter."

  "Aye, and a beauty at that!" John said with a pointed look. Another man might have grinned at this, his own cleverness, but Conall knew John Cardmore rarely smiled.

  "She is the enemy," Conall argued.

  John stared at Conall as if he should know better than to believe that this would have any bearing on the situation.

  "But you already find yourself thinking on her."

  Conall sighed. There were few things he had ever been able to hide from John.

  "Thinking of ways to coerce her...or—”

  "For whatever reasons," John interrupted with another knowing look, "you are thinking on her. It'd be hardly a man who was no taken in by beauty like that. We've nothing like that here at Inesfree. Haven't seen that kind of beauty in many a year. Your mam had it. You’d probably no recall. She was one to turn your head, was Muriel."

  "Beauty has nothing to do with my plans for Tess."

  "Aye, but sure it does help things along."

  "Christ. You are speaking as if it is necessary for me to desire her, to care whether she has warts on her nose or no. I need to wed her, that is all."

  "Wed and bed her, and dinna be forgetting it, boy."

  "That is a given."

  "And easier to do when the wench is as bonny as she. And then that brings me to another idea I was mulling over. You ken these women, they think so highly of their purity and whatnot. If the wooing dinna work, just take her and surely she'll be screaming at you to marry her."

  Conall stared at John with a hearty frown.

  John waved a hand. “Aye, no rape. More like, coercion—which brings us back to the wooing.”

  Shaking his head, Conall considered this. Sure, she had responded encouragingly to his kiss but that was under false circumstances, and he'd not likely evoke a similar response any time soon.

  "Time," he said absently. "Time is all I need."

  John shook his head, clearly sensing that he'd not made his point as neatly as he'd have hoped. "Time is what you've little of, boy. Arthur Munro will no sit back on his arse and wait for you to snatch Marlefield out from under his nose."

  "He'll have no choice. He will no dare storm Inesfree, knowing I am prepared for him. He has no option, save that he wait."

  The old soldier was quiet for a moment, then addressed again a subject they had discussed several times over the last few months. “You need to be declaring for Edward," John reminded him firmly. “Aye, and I dinna care if you mean it or no. Only inviting English to come insisting if you don’t.”

  Conall snorted, his response would be the same as it had been. “Let those highborn nobles scrape and claw to save their necks, picking out lands and heiresses in England for their ‘loyalty’—I’ll no betray—”

  “It is about no having your head separated from your shoulders, boy.”

  “We haven’t been bothered as of yet,” Conall reminded him. “Inesfree’s position is out of harm's way.”

  John only shook his head, his craggy features settling.

  Leaning back on his chair, Conall once again considered the frightened woman two floors above him. He'd thought long and hard over this revenge he planned. One did not arrive overnight at such an undertaking. Abducting Tess, marrying Tess, made the most sense. Marlefield would be his and when Sir Arthur challenged him for its ownership, as Conall knew he would, he could kill him without repercussions.

  He'd thought—admittedly little—over the prospect of wedding with one who was born of a murderer. But any doubts in this regard were easily put to rest. As he'd said to John, he need only wed her and bed her—the bedding, he now knew, would prove no hardship. When complete, when his child grew in her belly, he needn't have any more to do with her. She could be ignored, be sent back to her own clan when the birthing was done. No child of a butcher would raise his own children. Tess would be sent away.

  CHAPTER 5

  "Lady Tess?"

  Someone called her name.

  "Tess? Wake up."

  Sweet voice, soft hands upon her shoulder.

  "Mother?" Tess lifted her head, opening her eyes, pushing herself up from the fur throw. The woman Serena knelt beside her, a gentle smile upon her pretty face.

  "Good morn," said the woman. "I truly am sorry to rouse you at such an hour.”

  Tess considered the pre-dawn gloom that shrouded the bleak tower room, then turned her gaze back to Serena, a question in her eyes that she was too tired to put into words.

  "We must move quickly, my lady," Serena cautioned, helping Tess to rise from the floor. "I've brought you what I dared from my own morning meal for we are lucky that I have always been up and about before dawn."

  Tess, still groggy, perhaps even wondering if she might be dreaming, was led to that solitary table within the room and pushed down into the chair. Upon the table sat a trencher of bread and cheese and a mug of mead. Bewildered, Tess could only stare at it, the implications of what Serena was doing yet to rouse her.

  "Eat quickly, Lady Tess," Serena advised. "I dare not be here longer than necessary."

  Tess needed no further urging. She ate, happily and heartily. Until she thought to ask of the woman, "Why are you doing this for me?"

  "Because it is wrong, for whatever reasons, to starve you so," Serena answered softly. The blue eyes watched Tess steadily and it was apparent that she was aptly named. Everything about her was serene. There was—even now as she defied her laird—a calmness about her, which Tess guessed was rarely rattled. "Make no mistake, Lady Tess," she warned. "I do this because it is right, but I'd not help you escape Conall."

  Tess did not question this. Serena's loyalties were her own and not subject to Tess’s examinations.

  "I do apologize if my...deed yesterday brought any trouble to you." When Serena smiled charitably, Tess added, "But please understand, I will try again. If that means at your expense, I do apologize
now."

  "You are foolish if you think to escape Conall, my dear," said Serena with a matter-of-factness that unnerved Tess. "He is intent upon his goal. You are the tool to achieve it and he shall not be denied."

  "Does this strike you as honorable? Is what he does to me acceptable because he is certain and clear on his path?"

  "Do not judge Conall by this one act, Lady Tess." Seeing that Tess was about to interject, Serena went on, "And do not judge him by that which you do not know to be true."

  "There is, in every rumor, a base of truth," Tess defended, having finished the sparse offering of bread and cheese. She sipped slowly of the mug of ale.

  "You will soon discover what is truth."

  Tess shook her head as she swallowed. "I'll not be here that long."

  "Then I wish you luck in your endeavor, my lady. But know I do believe that Conall's wish of a marriage would not truly make you unhappy."

  "You cannot possibly know that,” Tess argued, but quickly waved a dismissive hand. “It matters not, as it will never happen."

  Serena considered Tess for a long moment. Then she removed the empty tray from the table and moved toward the door. "Conall believes in this," she said at the door. "He believes that he wants you for what you can bring to him. I predict that it will take little time for him to realize that he needs you for what you can give him."

  With that ambiguous prediction, Serena left Tess alone.

  SHE WAS NOT GOING TO change her mind.

  Conall decided to face this probability after more than a week of keeping her locked in the tower. She was stubborn and proud and not of a mind to appease him. She obviously cared little for her own life, as his threats to end it had not produced the desired end—or perhaps her loyalty to Sir Arthur was greater, Conall could not yet be sure.

  Sitting atop his huge destrier, watching the practice field where a dozen or more young lads were presently tutored in the proper use of the quintain, Conall wondered how deep his supply of patience actually was. He'd not thought himself possessed of this much, that was sure. Had Tess Munro been a man he needed to break, a warrior who held information he sought, or any other person of Scotland’s larger war, he'd certainly not have shown such forbearance.