Highland Conqueror (10 page)

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Jolene muttered, not even wanting to think of how much she would have missed if she had ever tried to follow such advice. “Just what
is
the wife supposed to do?”

“Endure.”

Jolene shook her head, half in disbelief, half in denial. If that was the sort of advice that was given to new brides, it was no wonder so many marriages never became more than a cold alliance of wealth, land, and power. She briefly felt a little foolish for wanting so much more than passion from Sigimor. At least they shared that. Then, she inwardly shook her head again, throwing off that thought. There was no harm in wanting the richest union possible or hoping that her husband would feel as she did. Jolene was afraid that she already felt a great deal indeed for this man. It would certainly explain how he could make her feel so crazed with desire that, even if she had been raised with such restrictive rules, she knew she would have broken them all. She felt nothing but pity for all the women who had lived by those hard rules for, although their piety and modesty may have been preserved in the eyes of others, they had lost far more than they ever gained.

What the older women, those women who were supposed to be so much wiser, should tell young brides is how to hold fast to their husband’s passion and respect, how to win his love. That was certainly what she could use some advice about. The fact that she was so anxious that Sigimor care for her, even love her, told Jolene that she was already caught tightly in his snare, even if she did not put a name to what she felt.

“Weel, lass, are ye feeling inclined to endure a wee bit?” Sigimor asked as he kissed her throat.

Pleased to be distracted from her thoughts, she hummed her pleasure as he nibbled her ear. “If I must,” she said in a tone of voice worthy of a martyr.

“Ye did vow to obey me.”

“I believe I mumbled that part, making the words as unintelligible as possible.”

Sigimor was about to argue that point when there was a pounding on the door and David urgently called his name. He was impressed by Jolene’s swift reaction. She was out of bed before he had even begun to push her aside and raced behind the privacy
screen, grabbing her belongings on the way. Sigimor yanked on his braies and told David to come in.

“Harold is on his way,” David announced as he strode into the room. “Liam, Tait, and Marcus just brought the word.”

Cursing viciously, Sigimor began to get dressed. “How close is the mon?”

“Liam is readying our horses as the others grab our belongings.”

“Go,” ordered Sigimor. “The rest of ye take the laddie and go now. Ride for Scarglas. Jolene and I will meet up with ye there. I said go,” he growled when David opened his mouth to speak.

Jolene stumbled out from behind the privacy screen still lacing up her shift as she heard David run off. “Sigimor,” she began.

“Nay, lass, dinnae argue o’er this. E’en if we rush, we will be several minutes in the leaving. The fact that Liam returned and immediately started preparations to leave means that Harold is verra close. If the rest leave now there is a chance they can flee the village without being seen. There is no time to find out how near Harold is or why Liam is so urgent. I suspicion Liam’s urgency is also born of the fact that Harold has
all
of his men with him now. If we are lucky, we, too, can leave without being seen. If not, we can draw Harold away from the others at least. Aye, he can weary himself and his horses chasing us about whilst the wee lad is brought safe to Scarglas. Harold willnae get round my cousins the MacFingals.” He moved to help her finish dressing.

“Are you certain of that?” she asked, fighting her fears. “Harold has proven quicker and more clever than I e’er thought he would. Oh, I knew he had cunning and all, but I did think we could at least outrun him.”

“And we will.” He braided her hair as she laced up her gown. “Trust me about the MacFingals. There isnae the time to tell the tale now, but my cousins have learned weel how to watch an enemy. As for cunning, few can beat them. Wheesht, they could steal a body out of a coffin whilst the poor soul’s kinsmen are still carrying it to the grave.”

“I am not sure such a recommendation makes me all that eager to meet them.”

Sigimor grabbed their belongings, took her by the hand, and started out of the room. “Aye, they can be a wee bit odd, but they are fine men for all that.”

The innkeeper’s wife waited at the bottom of the stairs and handed Jolene a waterskin and small sack of food. “Your horses are ready and waiting just outside of the kitchen.”

“If the mon asks after us,” began Sigimor.

The woman crossed her arms over her expansive bosom. “Och, as if I will be telling some puling Sassenach how to catch such fine, braw laddies. Get on with ye. That bonnie lad of yours has already paid me most handsomely. Off with ye now.” She waved her apron, shooing them toward the rear entrance of the inn.

Sigimor pulled Jolene along at a near run, and she did her best to keep pace with him without stumbling. The horses were waiting just where the woman had said they would be. Sigimor secured their belongings to their saddles as Jolene mounted her horse. She braced herself for the hard ride ahead of her. She was a good rider and felt confident she could keep up with Sigimor. What she was not confident about was her ability to endure a long hard ride. Even after days of travel and the hardening she had gained from it, she worried that she could slow Sigimor down if they had to try and outrun Harold for too many miles.

After mounting his horse, Sigimor led her on a winding, stealthy route out of the village. She caught him carefully looking all around as they rode and she realized he was keeping watch for Harold and his men. It was as they reached a spot where the only choice left them was the road that ran straight through the village that Sigimor moved close enough to the road to be able to get a clear view either way. The soft curses he uttered told Jolene that he had been wise to send the others off ahead of them.

She edged up beside him, looked in the same direction he was, and almost repeated his curses. Harold and his men were not far away. Even if he had not had a dozen heavily armed men with him, he would have been impossible to miss. Jolene had seen enough of Scotland and its people to know that Harold proclaimed himself a stranger in both his manner and his dress. He also looked very, very English. Until her time with the Camerons, she never would have realized how clear the difference between the people was. In fact, if he had not had such a large force of men with him, Jolene was sure Harold would have been attacked, robbed, and, perhaps, killed days ago.

“Weel, we have no choice,” said Sigimor. “We will start out slow, act as if we are but ordinary travellers or e’en villagers just going about our business.”

Looking at the big man beside her with his colorful hair, Jolene had no doubt that the plan would fail. With her cloak to conceal her in so many ways, she might be able to slip away unnoticed. However, a six-foot-four-inch redheaded man was impossible to ignore or miss. Since Sigimor was not stupid, Jolene knew he was aware of how slim their chances were, so she silently followed him as he rode out onto the road.

“If the chase is on, lass,” Sigimor said, “keep your eyes on me. Dinnae look back. Twill only slow ye down, and, mayhap, e’en cause ye to falter.”

“Do you believe we can outrun them?” she felt compelled to ask.

“Aye. I ken this land far better than he does, or any of the men with him do. He loses sight of us and he will have to slow to find and follow our trail. I also ken a place or two to hide if need be. If he doesnae guess that we may go to Scarglas, all the better.”

Jolene did not have as much confidence in that last statement as she did the rest of what he had said. Harold had stayed close upon their heels with a remarkable tenacity. Since he had obviously learned where Sigimor lived, she suspected he had learned a great deal more about her husband as well, including the fact that Sigimor had kinsmen at Scarglas. She found herself hoping that Sigimor’s kinsmen were as sly and dangerous as he said they were.

They rode along undisturbed for several minutes and Jolene began to think fate was smiling upon them. As if that same fate decided to punish her for such vanity, a cry went up from behind them. Jolene froze as she heard Harold bellow her name and then hurl vicious threats against Sigimor. She suspected Harold had recognized the Cameron laird first as, thoroughly wrapped up in her cloak, she was absolutely sure there was nothing recognizable about her or the plain cloak she wore. Pushing aside that inconsequential puzzle, she looked at Sigimor only to catch him making a rude gesture at Harold. When he caught her looking at him, he grinned and Jolene got the feeling that, in some ways, Sigimor was enjoying this.

“Stay close, wife,” he said as he spurred his horse into a gallop.

As if she had any choice, she thought, spurring her horse to follow him and struggling to ignore the sound of Harold and his men chasing them.

The chill of the steady rain was beginning to seep into Jolene’s bones. They had been most fortunate in the weather since fleeing Drumwich, although she suspected some farmers were ill-pleased with almost a sennight of no rain falling upon their newly planted crops. She supposed that, with her ill luck of late, she should be surprised that they had not spent the whole time knee deep in mud. The only good thing about the wretched weather at the moment was that Harold and his men suffered as well.

Her husband, on the other hand, seemed almost oblivious. He sat tall and straight in his saddle, the thick woolen plaid he had draped around himself the only hint he gave that he had even noticed how cold and wet it was. It annoyed her if only because she would soon have to tell him that she could no longer endure it, that she needed to rest, to get warm and dry, before she could continue. Her hands were growing too stiff with the cold to skillfully use the reins.

They had pulled far enough ahead of Harold to be out of sight, but she knew they had not lost the man. Every now and again she caught the sounds of pursuit. For Harold to continue on in such miserable weather indicated a frightening tenacity, and, perhaps, a touch of desperation. Her cousin might well share Sigimor’s feeling that once they reached Dubheidland, they would be safe. Harold would certainly be at a great disadvantage then. Jolene hoped both men were right to believe the walls of Dubheidland meant safety for her and Reynard, if only for a little while. She would be in need of a rest, or in need of a place to recover from the lung fever she would probably contract after today.

She suddenly thought of Reynard and prayed that her nephew was safe. Harold might not be hunting the boy right now, but such dismal weather could be as great a danger to the boy. Jolene pushed aside her fears, knowing they were fruitless for she could do nothing for Reynard now. She also trusted the Cameron men to take very good care of the boy.

Peering through the rain, she saw that Sigimor had led them deep into the hills while she had been lost in her thoughts. She could also see that, if he did not go very carefully, they would soon be out in plain view. Even with the rain, she suspected two riders on a barren hillside would be visible. Despite a pinch of doubt over where he was leading her, Jolene said nothing, however. Questions could all too easily ring of criticism and he did not deserve that after all he had done to keep her and Reynard safe. He undoubtedly had a plan. She was just too cold and weary to guess what it was.

Sigimor signaled her to stop and she looked around as he dismounted, but she could see nothing except the rocky hillside. When he helped her dismount, she had to cling to him for a moment before her cold, shaking legs would hold her up. She wanted to curl up in his arms, but, since he was as wet as she was, she doubted she would find much warmth there at the moment.

“Ye will have to walk now, lass, and lead your mount,” Sigimor said.

“The path ahead is too treacherous to ride over, is it?”

“Aye, tis a rough path, but twill lead us out of this rain.” He kissed her on the forehead, then returned to his horse and grabbed the reins. “I am thinking ye will be pleased with where it will lead us. Tread warily. The ground is rocky and slick with rain.”

Inwardly cursing, Sigimor led Jolene along the narrow rocky path. He cursed
Harold and he cursed the weather. Jolene had made no complaint, not even after the rain had begun to fall, but he knew she was very near collapse. When he had kissed her, the skin beneath his lips had been icy cold. She was a lot stronger than he would have thought by looking at her, had proven herself so time and time again, but he knew she was at the end of that strength now. He was bigger, stronger, and more accustomed to such weather and even he felt chilled to the bone. His wife had felt dangerously cold.

He led them into a cave, the entrance well hidden by the curve of the hillside and a thick growth of brambles. The dark was nearly inpenetrable. Reaching into his saddlepacks, Sigimor extracted a candle and flint. Once he had it lit, he brought it closer to Jolene and looked her over.

She was soaked through to the skin and, even as he took note of that, she began to shiver so badly he could hear her teeth click. He was sure it was not just the poor light that made her look so ghostly pale. Knowing the dangers of such a chill, he felt a rising alarm, but quelled it. What she needed was to be put into warm, dry clothes, set before a roaring fire, and given hot food, but he could give her none of those things until they reached Scarglas.

Locating a small niche in the rock wall of the cave, Sigimor dripped some wax onto it and secured the candle in it. He then turned his full attention to his wife. Ignoring her muttered protests, he stripped her out of her wet clothes. Pulling a shirt from his pack, he used it to dry her off, rubbing vigorously to try to warm her. After dressing her in dry clothes, he wrapped two blankets around her and urged her to sit down near the candle. Despite her first attempts to protest his aid, she had succumbed meekly to his care of her and that worried him.

Sigimor led the horses to the far back of the cave and made them as comfortable as he could since he did not dare remove the saddles. He then changed out of his wet clothes. Although he dared not light a fire until he was certain Harold was not near enough to see any light it shed or smell the smoke, he checked inside the oiled leather sack tied to his saddle to reassure himself that the peat he carried was still dry. Unpacking his blankets, he hurried back to Jolene’s side, sat down next to her, and wrapped his blankets around them both. When he pulled her into his arms, he was pleased to find that she was not shaking as badly as she had been.

“I hope Reynard is well,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed as close to him as she could.

“The lads will take good care of him,” Sigimor replied. “Without the need to shake Harold off their trail, they would have ridden straight for Scarglas and ridden hard. I suspect wee Reynard is warm, weel fed, and safe by now.”

“Do you think Harold will find this place?” Now that she was feeling a little warmer, Jolene felt her fears begin to reassert themselves.

“I dinnae think so. Tisnae an easy place to find e’en in the full light of day. My cousin Ewan showed it to me last year after the breach between our families was healed. It isnae always peaceful here and he wanted me to ken all the wee places a mon could hide from an enemy.”

“Mayhap we should snuff the candle.”

“Nay. Tis but a weak light and soon I will move ye and it to the back of the cave near the horses.”

“And then what do you plan to do? You are not going back out there, are you?”
She was afraid he might be thinking of risking his life in such a way and, she was ashamed to admit, she was also afraid to be left all alone.

“Nay, there is too great a chance of becoming separated from ye just when ye might need my help. I but mean to stay close to the front of the cave in the hope of seeing or hearing something to tell me where that bastard is now.”

“I cannot believe he has clung so tightly to our trail. The moment the rain began, I truly thought he would give up, would seek some shelter, at least for himself. This is most unlike him. Harold hates getting wet or dirty. Always has.”

Sigimor nodded. “Men like him dinnae like to dirty their own bonnie soft hands or muss their fine clothes. They prefer poison and slipping a dirk in a mon’s back, or paying someone to do it for them. But, we draw near to Dubheidland. He kens he could lose this game if we reach it. Aye, and he has to fear that some of your kin may have learned of Peter’s death, of your flight from Drumwich with the lad. He has the wit to ken that the longer ye and the boy elude his grasp, the greater the chance of finding your kinsmen are hunting him. He needs ye and Reynard to shield himself against that threat.”

“And he needs to be back at Drumwich to hold fast to it. I doubt he fully trusts his men to do that.”

“I doubt Harold trusts anyone.” He stood up, then helped her to her feet. “Come, ye had best settle yourself in the back here. As soon as I ken where that fool is, we may e’en be able to light a fire.”

“That would be nice, although I am much warmer now.”

“At least your teeth have stopped their chattering.”

He secured the candle on a new rock, then made sure Jolene was completely wrapped up in the blankets. At her insistence, he kept one for himself, wrapping it around his body as he moved to the front of the cave. Since she had ceased to shiver and he had felt the warmth returning to her skin, he was no longer quite so concerned about her health. Now he worried about Harold finding them. If he stumbled upon their hiding place, it could easily become a trap.

As he listened intently for any hint of Harold’s approach, Sigimor tried to think of ways he and Jolene could escape if cornered. Although he could think of many, only sheer, dumb luck would make any of them work. They could not simply mount their horses and make a run for it as the trail was too narrow. Even though the entrance to the cave was so slender only one man at a time, perhaps two, could attack, Sigimor did not think he could hold out against a dozen or more men if they attacked with any real persistence, or one managed to push him back far enough to let the others into the cave. He was probably somewhat vain about his skill as a fighter, but even he found the odds of twelve against him a little daunting. He could not even draw Harold away from Jolene so that she might flee to Scarglas. Not only did Harold know Jolene was with him, but, considering her abysmal sense of direction, Jolene could easily walk right into her enemy’s arms. She had done it once already.

Sigimor began to think he had made an error in judgment that could cost them dearly, then banished that doubt. There had been no choice. Jolene had been dangerously cold. She had said nothing, but her hands had felt so icy, Sigimor suspected she had clearly begun to have difficulty handling the reins of her horse. At least now, when they had to travel on, he did not need to fear that she would collapse.

The faint sound of harnesses jingling made Sigimor tense. He looked back at
Jolene who appeared to have fallen asleep. He worried about that until he recalled how easily she could be roused from a dead sleep. Although he was not too sure she had completely woken those times he had pulled her from her bed at dawn, she had followed orders well and quickly, which was all that really mattered. It was probably for the best that she got a little rest, he decided as he turned back to face the front of the cave and eased his sword from its scabbard.

As the sound of men approaching grew louder, Sigimor silently urged them to keep on going. He inwardly cursed when the sound stopped only a few feet from where he sat. They were too close for comfort. The noise they made, as well as the sound of the rain, might not be enough to hide any noises his horses made and he could not go back there to try to keep them quiet. He was startled when he heard a man speak. His unwanted company was barely a yard away, obviously sheltering beneath a slender outcrop of rock there. Sigimor waited tensely for some hint of Harold’s plans and any hint at all that the men had discovered his and Jolene’s hiding place.

“M’lord, we must find shelter,” said Martin as he huddled beneath a very small ledge of rock next to Harold.

“I know they came this way, Martin,” Harold snapped, glaring at the water falling steadily from the ledge.

“They could be but inches away and we would still miss them. The rain is bad enough, but ’tis now sunset. What little light there was is fading rapidly. The men are chilled to the bone and weary, as are the horses.”

“Weaklings, the lot of them. What about the two Scots? Those fools must be accustomed to this.”

“Just because a man is accustomed to such weather does not mean he wishes to be out riding in it, or that he does not suffer from it. There is a small cottage back down this trail, at the foot of these hills. It looks as if it has been empty for quite a while, but it will offer us some shelter from this rain. We can pass the night there.”

“Can we now? And what do we do when the morning comes? Our prey will be long gone and there will be no hint of a trail to follow.”

“There is little to follow now save for the occasional horse droppings,” snapped Martin. “And what does a trail to follow matter? We know where they are heading and we have men to lead us there.”

“And then what? Lay siege to the keep with but a dozen men? And what of this other place those Scots said Cameron might go to? This Scarglas? Did you hear
all
they said about the men who live there? We will have no chance of pulling that little bitch and the boy out of there. Jesu, we may suffer if we e’en just ride by the place, simply continue on to this Cameron oaf’s lands. There are some dark things said about those MacFingals and they are Cameron kinsmen.”

“Do you mean all that idiocy about witchcraft?” Martin said, his voice weighted with scorn. “Rumor, no more. I would not be surprised to discover that the men of Scarglas let such tales fester because they keep people away.”

“I, for one, do not wish to risk my well-being upon what
you
think. That was why I was setting such a hard pace. Curse it, I almost had her this time, her and that bastard with her. There was e’en the chance I could have captured him. His clan would have quickly given me the boy to get their lord back.”

“You have been saying that you want him dead.”

“Well, I did not say I would actually give him back to his people once I had the boy, did I? Or give him back alive? If I planned well, I could get all I want—Jolene in my bed, the boy in my hands, and Sir Sigimor Cameron in the dungeons of Drumwich again. And there would be no swift death for that interfering bastard. Nay, I would have him die very slowly. In fact, I might even be able to use him to make Jolene do as I say. He is her champion, and more, if I am to believe that cursed priest. I doubt she would be able to ignore his screams of pain for very long. That haughty bitch would soon be eager to bargain with me.”

Martin vainly tried to wipe the rain from his face with the sleeve of his dripping jupon. “Why not just kill her? She will cause you naught but trouble. Jesu, Harold, no woman is worth this. You should have killed her along with the others right at the start. If you had, we would be sitting comfortably at Drumwich with both the boy and the keep firmly within our grasp.”