True Highland Spirit (12 page)

“This will pain you, I am sorry to say,” said Dragonet, his eyes large and dark in the deepening gloom of the tent. Night shrouded the camp, though from the shouts and cheers of the soldiers it had only increased the revelry.

“Aye,” said Morrigan. “Whatever I say next, I do want to thank ye for ye troubles.”

Dragonet poured whiskey on her wound and Morrigan cursed him, his manhood, and his mother with abandon.

“Your creativity is without rival, my dear,” laughed Chaumont. “Did I ever tell you how MacLaren got his wicked scar?” He proceeded to tell the story of MacLaren’s time in France and his marriage to Aila Graham. He even had the audacity to tell how Archie had kidnapped Aila and tried to force her to marry him. It was not a story Morrigan wished to be remembered, but Chaumont gave the tale a humorous turn and had both Morrigan and Dragonet laughing.

In the warm light of the lantern, Morrigan was increasingly aware of the attractiveness of both French knights. In truth, they were both remarkably handsome, their faces close to hers as they focused on their work. Chaumont was older, perhaps by ten years or more, but was still handsome with his laughing eyes and long, thin nose. Dragonet was younger, probably around her age, and his striking blue eyes often seemed to hide more than they revealed.

“And that is how I met my Mary,” said Chaumont with a warm glow to his eyes. He may have been strikingly attractive, he may have flirted shamelessly, but he was not available. Even Morrigan could see he was hopelessly in love with his wife. “We have four little ones now, along with Gavin. We’ve been blessed, very blessed. How do you feel now, my lady?”

Morrigan realized Dragonet had completed his task and was binding the wound. Chaumont had done an admirable job distracting her through the pain.

“Thank ye both,” said Morrigan in a soft voice. Things had gone much better and considerably less painfully than she had expected with Willy wielding the needle.

“I see my work here is done.” Chaumont stood and placed the lantern back on the table. “I best be after Gavin. This is his first celebration of victory, my lady, and I fear he may not have heeded your sage advice. Best find him and knock some sense into him.”

“If ye woud’na mind doing the same for Andrew if ye see him. I believe the lads are together,” said Morrigan.

“It would be my pleasure. I know how I was at that age, and if Gavin is half of it he is bound for trouble.”

“Ye are reformed now, are ye?” asked Morrigan.

“Oh yes, quite domesticated. I have daughters now, you see, and I live in fear they may someday run across a scoundrel like me.” Chaumont shuddered. “That is why I keep this on hand.” He patted his sword hilt. “When you feel better, my lady, I would invite you to come and train my daughters to use a sword. Not for war mind you, but I would like them to defend themselves if need be.”

Morrigan smiled at him. Somehow Chaumont made her feel more like a lady and less like an abomination.

“Nice work tonight, Dragon,” said Chaumont, pinning on his cloak. “The scar will be small indeed.”

“Dragon?” asked Morrigan.

“A name some call me.” Dragonet shrugged and looked away.

“It does not seem to fit ye,” said Morrigan.

“Then you have not seen him with a sword in his hand,” said Chaumont. “We had a friendly competition earlier today. Truly I have never seen such fine sword work in all my days. None can best him.”

“Ye fought?” Morrigan asked. “But why?”

“A friendly competition I assure you. He offered his share in the ransom if he lost. How could I refuse such temptation?” asked Chaumont with an impish grin.

“Ye offered your share o’ the ransom?” Morrigan asked Dragonet. Her head hurt trying to understand why the two Frenchman had fought.

Dragonet busied himself cleaning up the bloody rags and said nothing.

Morrigan glared at Chaumont. “Why did ye fight?” she demanded.

“He was most determined to win my silence on a certain matter. You have yourself a defender, my lady.”

Morrigan’s jaw went slack. “Ye fought to keep my secret?”

“I assure you, your identity as McNab’s sister will not be revealed by my lips, nor Gavin’s either,” said Chaumont. “Though unless I very much mistake myself, I warrant Dragonet will recommend you leave now for home. I suggest you follow that advice.
Mademoiselle.
” Chaumont bowed with a brilliant smile and left the tent.

Morrigan turned to Dragonet and realized they were very much alone. It was dark in the tent, the only light coming from the glowing lantern. “Why would ye fight for me?”

“How does your shoulder feel, my lady?” asked Dragonet, ignoring her question. He was straddling the bench beside her. It was a better position for his ministrations, but Morrigan felt awkwardly close to him. Memories of their last kiss flooded her.

“Fine.” Morrigan coughed. Her throat was rough and dry. “Ye did well.” A different emotion and new question emerged with every beat of her racing heart. What was she to say to him?

Dragonet handed her a flask and she drank deep. If ever there was a time to drink it was then. She handed it to Dragonet, but he merely put the cap back on without taking a sip.

“Ye fought to protect me.”

He looked away. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I feared something in my manner may have betrayed you. I would not wish you any harm because of me.”

“Ye dinna need to fight for me. I can take care o’ myself.”

He turned back to her, the flickering lamplight dancing in his eyes. “It is done.”

She reached out her hand to his. “Then I thank ye.”

He put his other hand on top of hers, warm and protective. “I have something for you.” Dragonet reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a jingling velvet pouch. “Your share of the ransom.”

“The governor made ransom already?”

“No, but he will soon. I talked to the Douglas about the price. This is your share.”

“But if he has not yet paid the ransom, then where did this…” Morrigan peered into his dark eyes. They merely reflected her face back to her. “This is from you.” She picked up the bag. It was heavy and jangled deliciously with coins.

Dragonet paused. “Yes.”

A ripple of excitement coursed through her at his simple reply. “I canna accept this.”

“It is yours. I am giving to you an advance. I will accept your portion when the ransom is paid.”

“I have no need of an advance. I can collect from Graham when the time comes.”

“You do not trust me? You think I am trying to rob you? Count it if you wish.” Dragonet sat up straight and leaned away from her, offended.

“Nay, I did no’ say that. I’m sure ’tis the correct amount.”

“Then accept it!” Dragonet challenged.

“Fine, I will!” shouted Morrigan.

“Good,” said Dragonet with a warm smile.

Morrigan frowned. What just happened?

“And now I would like for you to leave,” said Dragonet, the smile disappearing from his face.

Morrigan inhaled sharply. The force of his rejection stung worse than her shoulder.

“What I mean is, I do not wish you to get hurt.” He motioned toward her shoulder. “Again.”

“I have given my word to stay and fight.” The McNabs had been branded cowards by many. They were many things, but cowards they were not, and Morrigan intended to prove it.

“Go home, Morrigan.”

Morrigan shook her head. “Everyone expects us to turn tail and run. I winna bring shame to my clan.”

“You have proven to all you are no coward. Now it is time to return to your home.”

Morrigan shook her head. “I have no reason to return.”

“You are injured.” With a hesitant hand Dragonet touched her bare shoulder, slowly tracing around the bandage. Her skin burned beneath his gentle caress.

Morrigan’s lips parted to speak, but no words came to mind.

“You must heal,” whispered Dragonet. The wound was deep, and the risk it would fester was real.

“I will be well.” Morrigan reached for his hand and it trembled in her fingers. “Are ye cold?”

Dragonet shook his head, and indeed his hand was warm.

“Then why do you tremble?”

Dragonet looked down and said nothing.

Morrigan leaned forward, unsure what to say but certain she needed to be closer.

His eyes found hers. “Today when I saw you pinned to the tree, but a moment from death, I felt—how do you say? I felt a fear, a sickness. I do not ever wish to feel that way again. If you please go home, it would be to me a great comfort.”

Something inside Morrigan’s chest cracked open, painful, but sweet. This man spoke words of kindness as she had never heard before. With horror she feared the waves of emotion churning inside her might leak out in tears. Something must be done and quick!

And so she kissed him. He did not move at first, but his hand holding hers tightened. His lips were warm and soft, yet shot slivers of lightning through her at their touch. Slowly he encircled her with his arms and drew her into his embrace. Her shoulder stung but it was nothing compared to the raw pleasure his lips offered. She moved back to catch her breath, her heart galloping hard. He also was breathing shallow and fast.

She had never before desired a man—she thought herself immune to it—but she was surely afflicted now with a fever from which she had no wish to recover. The sensations he roused in her with a single touch were confusing, intoxicating, and dangerous.

She leaned in again, but he pulled back and shook his head. “You are hurt. I would not take the advantage.”

“I am no’ hurt, I assure ye. Naught but a scratch.”

“I am glad of it.” He kissed one cheek, then the other, resting his cheek against hers for a moment before he whispered in her ear, “Go home, Morrigan. Please.”

Before she could think of a response, Dragonet stood and strode out of the tent, leaving her with an open mouth and a bag full of coins.

She should have gone home. Anyone with any sense would have. But she, along with a long line of McNabs before her, had no sense. Besides, Andrew was still among the war party, and Morrigan was not about to let him march off to war without being there to protect him.

Morrigan marched her men into the main camp, her mind focused once again on the wrong thing. After their success at Nisbet, they were joining a larger force to prepare for the assault on Berwick. Despite the pressing concerns of war, she knew Dragonet would be in the camp, and his reaction at seeing her comprised the majority of her thoughts.

Dragonet had occupied her thoughts so frequently he had become a sort of mental companion. She remembered their kisses more than was healthy. As unlikely as it seemed, he wished to protect her. It appeared he may even care for her. The feelings this reflection arose were conflicting, alternating between wanting to throw herself into his arms and vowing to never see him again. One thing was for sure, he was good to his word and did not reveal her identity. The secret could not stay hidden forever, but before she was discovered, she hoped she would have a head start out of camp away from the angry mob.

The weather had grown cold as it was late fall. The sky was low with heavy clouds, threatening snow, an improvement from the freezing rain. Given the cold and the damp, everyone was starting to look the same, bundled in multiple layers of clothing. She was currently wearing most of what she owned, nor was she the only one, given the amorphous shapes of the men surrounding her. It may be better for her disguise, but she wished she could feel her toes.

The camp itself was a sprawling expanse of a field, which had either not been planted or had been ruined by the tramping soldiers. The clans and the French knights each had their own section identified by their own banner.

Setting up camp was exhausting, and nobody was happy with the close quarters. Morrigan hoped for a rest, but was informed that there would be a meeting to discuss invasion strategy. Each clan was expected to be represented.

“State yer clan!” demanded a gruff, well-fed man at the entrance to the main tent, clearly chosen for the duty for his size rather than his disposition.

“McNab,” answered Morrigan. If she expected a poor reception she was not disappointed. Carriers of the black death would have been given a cheerier reception.

“McNab, is it? We dinna want yer kind round ’ere.”

Morrigan pressed her lips together, preventing a blistering retort from escaping her lips. “Yer opinion means little. So unless ye’d like to explain to the duke why ye prevented one of his guests from attending, move aside.”

“Get lost, I tell ye, before I run ye through!”

Morrigan blinked. His response was more hostile than she expected. They just helped the Scots claim an important victory. Did that not afford them any good will? Morrigan sized up her opponent until the pieces of the unfortunate puzzle came into place.

“McGregor,” said Morrigan.

“Aye,” said the large man with a malicious wink. “Now bugger off.”

Morrigan sighed. Perhaps they should not have raided the McGregors quite so often nor quite so effectively. Honestly, if the man wanted to keep his sheep, he should have kept better watch over them. Morrigan took a quick step to the left as if to go around. He countered and she spun back around to the right and slipped past.