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HANNISH AND BETHIA had been on the move for more than two hours by the time Laird Ferguson’s second in command found him, still in his bed, with his own sword driven through his heart. A square of MacGreagor plaid covered his tormented face and the meaning was clear—there was a price to pay for betrayal. Still, how did the assailant get in with no less than twenty Ferguson guards protecting their laird?
Maybe the MacDonalds were not the only ones being haunted by dead MacGreagors.
And so it was that the MacDonald laird, who coveted the MacGreagor land and attacked to get it, and the Ferguson laird who joined with him were both dead. Only the laird of the Camerons, who declined to give sanctuary to homeless MacGreagors, remained. Yet as soon as he heard Laird Ferguson was murdered, he doubled and then tripled his guard. Nevertheless, the dead MacGreagors invaded his dreams and he was not to enjoy a peaceful night’s sleep for many years to come.
*
BETHIA WAS GLAD THEY were moving at a good pace. The farther away she was from James and Baron Giffart, the better. However, it was painful and she caught herself holding her breath often. She could have used more rest stops, but each time he lifted her back up on her horse, the pain seemed worse, so she just kept going and was grateful he did not glance back at her often. Enduring the ride was one thing, pretending to be happy about it was another.
It wasn’t long after they left MacGreagor land that they found a well-traveled path leading east. It took them across meadows, up and down rolling hills, through the trees and then into other meadows. Hannish was always careful to stop, look and listen each time he took them into the next clearing
Only once did they have to hide to let Cameron warriors pass, and that was late in the afternoon. The Cameron warriors seemed unconcerned with who might hear them, and Bethia could hear them very well. Word had already reached them—they talked about the death of Laird Ferguson and the patch of MacGreagor cloth found on his face.
Hannish glanced at Bethia, but if she guessed he did the killing, she was not bothered by it. He noticed she never said a word the whole day except when she needed to stop and even then, she only cleared her throat to get his attention. He thought she was being very brave, and he knew he was probably pushing her beyond her level of endurance. Still she did not complain.
When he finally stopped for the night, it was almost dark. He helped her down, watched her disappear into the woods and made a bed for her between two trees. As soon as she came back, he offered her a chunk of bread and his flask of wine. He smiled when she took several hearty swallows of the wine first. She wanted to stand up and eat. After riding all day, it was understandable. Still she was uncommonly quiet and it bothered him. “Bethia?”
“What?”
“Are you afraid of me?”
She rolled her eyes. “I have never been afraid of a MacGreagor in my life.”
“Good.” He hoped that would start a conversation, but she seemed content just to eat. “Do you wish to tell me why the Englishmen have come so far north?”
“Nay.”
He finished his bread and made a bed for himself at the foot of hers. Then he decided to make a wide survey of their surroundings. He saw her watching him and thought she knew where he was, but when he came up behind her and lightly put his hand on her back to get her attention, she abruptly arched it as though his hand was on fire. Hannish was horrified. “I have hurt you?”
She quickly moved away, turned to face him and then tried to smile. “Nay...you frightened me.”
“I frightened you?”
“I did not know you were behind me.”
She was lying and he knew it. He took a step toward her and when she backed away, he was convinced. “I have hurt you.”
“Nay.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me your back.”
She was just as determined as he was, “I will not.”
“I will not let you rest until you do.”
“You know very well ‘tis not proper. Do not ask such a thing of me.”
“‘Tis not proper unless you are hurt. When a lass is hurt, ‘tis not only proper, ‘tis required. You would show Neil if he were here.”
“Aye, but he is like a father.”
“Then think of me as your father.”
Bethia rolled her eyes. “You fret for nothing and I need not show you when there is nothing to see.”
Hannish took another step toward her and again she backed away. “If that is so, then allow me to put both my hands on your back.”
She almost let him. He moved closer and she stared at his shirt, trying to muster all her strength so she would not react to his touch. As soon as he began to lift his arms, she once more backed up. “Please...please do not touch me.”
“Bethia, turn around. I will unfasten your...whatever you call that.”
“‘Tis called a gown and if you must know, I have a bruise, but ‘tis nearly healed.”
“I will see this bruise.”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “You are not going to give up, are you?”
“Nay, turn around.” She stared into his insistent eyes for a time. She might as well let him see, the pain was excruciating and if he touched her once more, she would either pass out or scream. Reluctantly she turned her back to him.
The buttons and loops were cumbersome for a man with large hands and he struggled with each. First, he undid her gown and then her under garment until he could at last, pull the material apart enough to see most of her back. Then he gasped, “You have been beaten.”
Bethia took a deep breath. “The English call it a flogging. It has already stopped bleeding and it will heal.”
He could not stop staring at it. Some of the marks were welts that had not yet lost their swell, but others were cuts and two were quite deep. He slipped the material off her left shoulder; saw that the back of her arm was not affected and then checked the other arm. “Are there cuts farther down?”
“Nay, please fasten me back up.”
“Bethia, this is serious. Are you telling me the truth?”
“Of course I am.”
He pulled the material together again and started to button her under garment. “You said you were not hurt and you lied. Are you being honest now?”
“I am just as honest as you are.”
He decided to ignore that comment. He doubted she could stay on the horse if she were hurt further down so she probably was telling the truth. “Who did this to you?”
“‘Tis not important.”
“‘Tis important to me.” Fastening the buttons again was even more difficult and especially now that he wanted to avoid touching her back. “With what did they beat you?”
“A leather strap. Truly, ‘tis not that sore.”
He finished with the last button and then walked around to see her face. “Did I hurt you when I lifted you?”
Exhausted and humiliated, she finally let her head drop. “You did not mean to hurt me.”
He wanted desperately to hold her and comfort her, but even if she let him, there was no way to do it without hurting her. Suddenly he remembered how he grabbed her from behind at the loch and closed his eyes. “I am very sorry.”
“I know.” She did not trust herself. She wanted to go into his arms, but she could not bear holding him for a little while, knowing she could not have him forever. “Perhaps tomorrow we can find a place to bathe. The water will soothe my back.”
“Does the wine help?”
“Aye, but we will run out soon if I drink more.”
“I will get us more.” He helped her sit down and then untied the flask from around his waist again. He let her drink while he sat down on his own bed and when she handed it back, he left it nearby in case she wanted more. Then he watched her try to undo her braids. He could tell it hurt to lift her arms that high. “Would you like some help?”
“I can manage.” She was beginning to feel sorrier for him than for herself. He seemed to be feeling her pain more than she was. Hannish just saved her life and the least she could do was try to calm him down. “You might pull my hair and then I would have to hurt you.”
He half-heartedly returned her smile. “Who hurt you?”
She knew he would keep asking, but she also knew the truth would enrage him, he would want to go back to seek revenge, and that was the last thing she wanted him to do. She stopped working with her hair and looked into his worried eyes, “Hannish, I want to go home where I can feel safe again.”
For a long moment, he thought about her words. He would honor her wishes. She was hurt, she needed to feel safe and he intended to see that she did. All his life he heard there were men in the world, who hurt women, but he had never seen it and he was horrified. Indeed, he would honor her wishes and take her to safety—then he would kill the man who did that to his beautiful Bethia.
