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SHE WAS ALONE AGAIN with a lot to think about. Neil and the MacGreagors were not dead and for that, she was overjoyed, but of all the men to find her, why did it have to be Hannish?
Time had not mended her broken heart at all. Just seeing him again stirred the memory of his touch. At least she was glad to have this time to get a grip on her emotions. He was married and he would not break his vows, nor would she want him to. Bethia had seen enough of men who thought nothing of forgetting their marriage vows. She wondered if he was happy with Iona and deep down inside, she wanted him to be happy. Yet for her, happiness was just an illusion and now she had to suffer being alone with him...without being in his arms. Of a truth, she could think of no worse fate.
Bethia put the necklace in her sack, sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. How could she still love him so much? More importantly, how was she going to keep from wanting him? The obvious answer was to avoid looking into his eyes or thinking about his touch. Perhaps she could think of him as a friend. As long as he kept himself under control, and he would, she could do the same. She had to.
Then she remembered how he covered her trembling hands with his. Did he realize who she was and if so, was that just comfort or something more? Bethia pushed the thought out of her mind. If she kept that up, she would go daft.
Determined not to think about it anymore, she looked around the cottage. Considering the amount of dust on everything, it was easy to tell the place had been deserted. There were no wall hangings, no weapon displays and no personal belongings. Nor was there any food and it occurred to her Hannish had gone to hunt for some. Cautiously, she opened the door and peeked out. Her horse was gone but she was not concerned. Hannish probably took it.
Again she noticed how eerily quiet it was. People must make a lot more noise than she thought. Sometimes the clansmen kept fruit and vegetables stored in caves where the animals could not get to it, and it would be easy to find the one behind this cottage. When she inched out the door and went to look, it was empty. A water source was always nearby too and when she found it, she knelt down and splashed her face. It wasn’t the bath she longed for, but it would have to do. She looked around a little more, went back inside the cottage and closed the door.
She spotted her MacGreagor white shirt and blue plaid on the bed and wondered if she should change. Before she left England, she carefully chose the green gown hoping it would help her hide in the forest. Hannish said there were other dangers and perhaps the gown would still be of benefit. With that in mind, she put her MacGreagor things back in her cloth sack and drew the strings.
*
HE DID NOT COME BACK and it concerned Bethia, but only a little. She trusted him to know what he was doing. Meanwhile she was alone with too much time on her hands...time to remember the pitiful look on Greer’s face when she left.
Half Scottish, Greer knew just enough Gaelic to help translate and they soon became good friends. Tiresome cousin Luella was not impressed, however, and from the beginning resented the two women speaking in a language she did not understand. While Bethia was not accustomed to the ways of jealousy and bickering, she soon learned conforming to Luella’s wishes made life a bit less harrowing. After that. she only spoke to the maid in Gaelic where her cousin could not hear.
Yet Greer could seldom please Luella, Bethia’s aunt was of no use, having indulged Luella for years, and James was a twit in all things save his horse...which Bethia managed to steal. There was some satisfaction in that.
Bethia originally planned to go home, talk to Neil and beg him to send two warriors back to rescue Greer. There was no possibility of that now. She greatly feared getting caught by James and Baron Giffart, but on the other hand, as long as they were following her, they were not at home bothering Greer.
It grew dark and she was tired, so she set her worries aside, pulled her plaid out of her sack, stretched out on the bed, covered herself and went to sleep. At least she could enjoy a softer bed and her painful back didn’t keep her awake for long.
*
IT WAS VERY DARK WHEN he got back. Hannish slept on the floor beside her for a couple of hours, but it was not a restful sleep. Every noise woke him, especially her soft moans. She did not appear to be hurt, so he decided it was fear that troubled her mind and caused her to moan. Hopefully, he could ease her fear in another day or two, once they were far away from the hostile clans and the two Englishmen.
Unable to rest, he sat in a chair watching her sleep and knew this was as close to paradise as he might ever get. He could not take a married woman into his arms and kiss her the way a man in love longs to, but he could sit beside the bed and watch her sleep. It was very little, but it was something.
The hard part would be to resist holding her. The journey ahead was long and it was going to take every ounce of his strength to keep his desires in check, but he would ...he had to for her sake. He would rather die than be the cause of her unfaithfulness.
He wondered if one of the men who followed her was her husband. She did not protest being saved and whisked away, so perhaps not. Still, for what other reason would they follow her into hostile land—unless she stole that necklace. Hannish wrinkled his brow. He had never known Bethia to steal.
It wasn’t until the sunlight began to filter through the small open window that he realized he had blood splatters on his kilt. He quietly stepped outside, went to the creek and knelt down. He undid the front of his kilt and washed as much of the blood out as he could. When he glanced back, Bethia was watching him and he could see the concern in her eyes. “I am not hurt.” He tucked the pleats back under his belt and stood up.
She did not ask about the blood; MacGreagor women knew better. He might have killed the Englishmen and that would be a good thing or it might have been someone else. Whomever he killed, he would tell her if he wanted her to know.
When he walked past her and went back into the cottage, she did not interrupt his thoughts. Instead, she followed him in, grabbed her sack and then followed him deeper into the woods where he had both their horses tied to a tree. He tied her sack opposite his on his horse and then went to her. She tried not to wince when he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up on her horse, but she was in a lot of pain and had to look away to hide it.
The hard English saddle with the high back was gone and at least she did not have that discomfort to contend with. Yet every movement was painful and it seemed more so today than yesterday. She noticed he carried a flask and wondered if it contained the precious wine that would dull her pain. Yet she did not ask. He would start questioning why she wanted it and he must never know about her injuries.
He did not see her pain, but he did notice she was not willing to look at him when he lifted her. He wanted to keep his voice low, so Hannish took hold of her arm to get her attention. “The Fergusons are our enemy now and we do not trust the Camerons. To get home, we must cross Cameron land.” He waited for her nod, mounted his horse and led the way.
*
ONCE A CLAN OF EIGHT hundred, the attack on their homeland forced the MacGreagors to scatter in all directions. Yet now that Laird Neil MacGreagor established a new home for his clan farther north, strips of blue plaid had been tied to trees hoping to lead the lost to the new land.
Hannish was one of eight men Neil chose to go back and look for lost MacGreagors, and he was happy to do it. Posting more strips of plaid on trees along the way soon became mundane, but thinking of new and better ways to punish Laird Ferguson for his debauchery never got old. It was not until their last night together before the men split up, that they decided on exactly what would be Laird Ferguson’s punishment, and who could best see that it was carried out.
The men unanimously chose Hannish and he was honored. First, he wanted to make sure all the MacGreagor land was void of MacGreagors and for a full week, he scoured the countryside. Already he sent twenty-three, including Gill’s brother and family, on their way and was convinced there were no more. Once those few were gone, the land truly did feel haunted. It was, of course, not true that many MacGreagors died in the fire the night the MacDonalds attacked. All escaped through a hidden tunnel, but some were later captured, and thus began to tell tales of seeing dead MacGreagors on this path or that one late at night. Soon stories of the hauntings spread all across the Highlands.
Laird Ferguson’s wife, Kenna, died in the plague. Afterwards the man was filled with bile and drank from sunup to sundown, neglecting the children she gave him and all but the most unworthy of his followers. It was Taral MacGreagor who witnessed murders the day after the attack and saw Laird Ferguson order the death of MacGreagor men.
Therefore, Laird Ferguson deserved to die.
