Читать книгу Highland Warrior - Hannah Howell - Страница 7

“She is muttering,” said Gregor as he leaned against the tree next to Ewan and joined him in watching Fiona.

Ewan almost smiled. The moment they had camped, he had ordered Fiona to prepare a meal. She had obeyed him, but made no secret of her annoyance. The fact that only Simon, the youngest of his men at sixteen and his half-brother, was helping her seemed to have added to her irritation. She was, indeed, muttering, when she was not sweetly telling an obviously infatuated Simon what to do. Ewan had caught only a few words of her disgruntled litany, and had decided it would be best to distance himself.

“I suppose that, because she believes she is a mon, she finds the chore demeaning,” continued Gregor.

“Oh, I dinnae think she believes she is a mon,” murmured Ewan.

“But her skill with weapons—”

“She has been purposefully trained. I have nay doubt of that. And she has been trained weel.”

“Why would someone train a lass to fight?”

“I can think of many reasons. Mayhap a dangerous shortage of fighting men, mayhap she comes from a place where battles are frequent, danger all round, or mayhap she was reared mostly by men who didnae ken how else to deal with her. I favor the latter. She moves about in the lad’s clothing as if she is accustomed to such attire.”

Gregor watched Fiona closely for a moment and nodded. “Aye, she does. She e’en moves more as a lad does than a lass.”

“She also shows little fear about being amongst us, a lone woman amongst a dozen men.”

“Oh. Mayhap she is no maid, is accustomed to men in all ways.”

“Nay.”

“Ye sound so certain of that.”

“As certain as I can be. I make my judgment based upon how she acts.” And, he reluctantly admitted to himself, because he felt a strange, but fierce, loathing of the possibility that Fiona had been touched by any man, let alone many. “She has faced us with weapons, burned our ears with insults, and tries to thwart our plan to ransom her by simply refusing to tell us her full name or where she comes from. There has been nay one small attempt to flirt with any of us, to use any feminine wiles. And look ye at how besotted our Simon is, yet she makes no use of that weak spot in our ranks. There isnae e’en the hint of seduction in her actions.”

“Ah, aye. She appears to treat him as a younger brother or the like.” Gregor smiled faintly. “Tis fair certain that is why Simon is so enthralled. Shy and virginal is our Simon. A few maids at Scarglas have sought to catch his eye, but he is proving verra skittish. I was thinking I should take him to a whore soon who will teach the lad a thing or two.”

Ewan thought of the time his father had thrust him into a woman’s bed, insisting it was time he became a man. He had been fifteen, tall and bone thin, and painfully shy. He had also already begun to be appalled by his father’s apparent attempt to breed his own clan, keeping his current wife and far too many other women pregnant year after year. Ewan shuddered at the memory of the night he had lost his virginity. It had been a night full of failures, embarrassments, and awkwardness, all performed in the arms of a hard-eyed woman who outweighed him by at least five stone and badly needed a bath.

“Nay,” he said sharply and pretended not to see Gregor’s look of surprise. “Leave the lad be. He will take that step when he is ready and ’tis best done that way.”

Gregor shrugged. “As ye wish. It just seemed to me that he was a wee bit slow to get the itch.”

“I am sure he gets the itch, but ’tis best if we let him choose his own time to scratch it.” He studied Simon, who reminded him a great deal of himself at that age. “He probably just needs to get beyond seeing himself as naught but sharp bones and a pair of too big feet.”

“Is that how ye felt?” Gregor just smiled when Ewan scowled at him.

“Nay all of us are blessed with your confidence and bonnie face.”

“Thank ye for nay saying vanity.”

“Ye are welcome. Of course, ye might consider resting your parts now and again ere ye wear them out.” He almost smiled when Gregor cast a startled glance at his groin, then glared at him.

“We cannae all be the monk ye are,” Gregor grumbled.

“I am nay a monk,” Ewan snapped.

Gregor rolled his eyes. “Bedding a woman once a year is monkish. I dinnae ken how ye can do it.”

“Tis called restraint. Tis better than breeding a bushel of bastards.”

“I only have two. We have all tried to do as ye have asked. A mon has needs, however, and we dinnae all have your strength. Some of us cannae help but wonder if that restraint is why ye are so dark of humor.”

Ewan sighed and shook his head. It was an old argument. It was difficult to teach restraint when the patriarch of the clan showed none. The fact that Scarglas had far too many women within its walls who were free with their favors did not help, either. He had had some success since wresting the laird’s seat from his father five years ago, but not as much as he would have liked. Ewan looked at Fiona and could not stop himself from wondering what she would think of Scarglas and its people.

“Mayhap that lass will give the lad confidence,” murmured Gregor. “If Simon can learn to be at ease with a lass as fair as that one, he may gain some ease with others. Weel, if that lass will be staying with us for a while.”

“Oh, I think she will be our guest for a long while, unless ye can think of a way to get her to tell us exactly who she is.”

“Ye could always try to seduce the truth out of her. Where are ye going?” Gregor asked when, after one furious glare, Ewan started to stride off into the woods.

“Hunting,” Ewan replied. “Better I try to kill some beastie and put meat on our table than run my sword through ye. I might just start to regret that in a year or two.”

It did not surprise Ewan when he soon heard Gregor trailing him. The dangers surrounding him and his family meant that he was never allowed to go off on his own. He also knew he would do no hunting, would only catch something if it was unfortunate enough to stumble across his path. It annoyed him to admit it, even if only to himself, but he was trying to escape the temptation of Gregor’s suggestion.

Seduce a woman as beautiful as Fiona? It was laughable, or would be if it did not stir up so many thoughts and feelings he was trying so hard to bury deep within himself. He was a big man, dark of looks and nature. Fiona was all sunlight, beautiful, spirited, and so very alive. She was so far above his touch, it was almost dizzying to look at her. Only hours in her company and he was already fighting a craving for what he knew he could never have. Somehow he was going to have to find out who she was, ransom her, and get her out of his life before he succumbed to his desires, tried to reach for her, and made an utter fool of himself.

“Where did a weelborn lass learn to cook so weel?” asked Simon, taking a deep, appreciative sniff of the rabbit stew Fiona was making.

“Now, why would ye think me weelborn?” Fiona asked as she stirred the stew, wondering if it would be enough for so many people. She had two full pots bubbling over the two fires Simon had made, but twelve men could probably devour it in minutes.

“Ye may nay be dressed as a lady or act much like one, but I ken ye are one. Your clothes and weapons, e’en your mount, are those of a weelborn lass or lad. Ye e’en speak verra weel. And”—Simon blushed—“ye are clean and smell verra nice.”

“Ah, weel, aye, I am weelborn, but the first years of my life were spent living like the poorest crofter.” She tossed the wild onions one of the men had gathered into the stew, and smiled at Simon, who obviously expected a tale now. “For too many years our clan and two others tore each other apart. Finally, there came a time when there was naught left but rubble, burned fields, slaughtered livestock, widows, and orphans. We who survived the last battle which killed the lairds and too many of the grown men rose up from the destruction and swore that it would end on that day. No more feuding, killing, raiding, and all of that. And so it was. Howbeit, for many years, survival and rebuilding took all our few resources. All of us, from the poorest to the laird himself, turned a hand to whate’er work needed doing.”

“Is that why ye were taught to fight?”

“Aye, although, praise God, the peace held and there was little of that. Howbeit, we were so weakened, we would have been easy prey for anyone. It was a hard life, verra hard, yet I can see that some good came of it. We all have gained a wide array of skills, and I believe we are, weel, closer than others. We no longer have to fight each day just to survive, but we ken we can do so if we must, and we ken that every mon, woman, and child in the clan can do the same, willingly and skillfully. Tis a good thing.”

“Aye,” agreed Simon. “Yet, ye must have a laird, aye? One who stands above the others?”

“One who leads the others, aye. But because of what we suffered, everyone is certain our laird will, if necessary, work side by side with his people, whether tilling a field or thatching a roof. They also ken that he will ne’er fill his belly whilst they hunger or sit warm in his great hall whilst they shiver in the cold. There is also the rather comforting knowledge that their laird willnae thrust them into war at the slightest hint of insult, that he willnae allow pride to stop him from trying to reach some compromise or less bloody solution. That, too, is most comforting.”

“Twould be nice. Our old laird fights with everyone, or did. Five years ago Ewan took o’er as laird, and he works mightily to make alliances. Tisnae going weel. Our father made some hard enemies.”

“Oh, ye are Sir Ewan’s brother, too?”

“Half-brother. Bastard born. There are a lot of us. Near three dozen at last counting.”

And what could one say to that? mused Fiona. Since her brother Diarmot had five bastard children, it would seem somewhat hypocritical to condemn such a thing. Yet, the old laird seemed to have gone a bit too far. Such rampant profligacy was probably one reason Sir Ewan was now the laird. That and the hint Simon gave that the old laird had a true skill at offending people, thus leaving his clan surrounded by enemies. Fiona wondered just what sort of place she was being taken to.

For a brief moment, she considered telling Sir Ewan exactly who she was so that she could be quickly ransomed and returned to Deilcladach. Then she inwardly shook her head. Her clan was not so rich it could afford its coffers being emptied because she had been fool enough to get lost and captured. Her family would worry about her, but there was no way she could let them know she was all right without exposing them to what could be some rather exhorbitant ransom demands. There was, actually, one small advantage to the difficulty she now found herself in, although she felt a little guilty for even considering it. Menzies would not find her, could not possibly know where she was. For a little while, she decided, she would be selfish and enjoy that fact.

Declaring the meal ready, Fiona took her share and forced Simon to take his as well. Sir Ewan and Gregor were just walking back into the camp when she told the men they could eat. She quickly moved out of the way, sitting with her back against a tree. She smiled her thanks to Simon when he slipped up next to her and gave her a chunk of bread.

“Your laird travels weel supplied,” she murmured.

“Ah, weel, this bread was given us by two sisters who were quite taken with our Gregor,” said Simon. “The lasses do like our Gregor.” Simon shook his head. “He has two bastards, ye ken. Tis a mon’s way, but it troubles me. It marks a lad. Tis a mark ye can ne’er be rid of. It marks the lass who bears the bairns, as weel.”

Fiona nodded. “It does, true enough. I have a brother who has five bastards, although he may nay be the father of them all. The women said he was when they left the bairns at his door and he accepted them. He is a verra fortunate mon for his new wife has also accepted them.”

“Och, that is fine. My mother found herself a husband, but he didnae want me about, so Ewan took me in. I was just a wee bairn, only three years, and wasnae any use to the mon. Just another mouth to feed, ye ken. Twas for the best. If he had kept me, I would be struggling to make a crop grow in poor land or trying to keep a few beasties alive to sell for a pittance. Instead, I am being trained as a warrior.”

It was not easy, but Fiona murmured an agreement. Fiona would never allow him to see the strong surge of pity she felt for him. It was born of the thought of a small fatherless boy tossed aside by his own mother. Simon was right to say he had a better life than he might have had otherwise. She also suspected he had found acceptance, perhaps even a rough affection, amongst his half-brothers and the others. There had to be some scars upon the boy’s soul, but his sweet, shy nature made her believe that they were not deep ones. Simon had survived and was thriving. That was, in the end, the most important thing.

She was distracted from her thoughts on Simon’s sad beginnings by the other men. One by one, they dropped their emptied plates in front of her. Fiona supposed those grunts they made as they did so were intended as thanks or compliments. It was clear that they expected her to clean up after them. That was irritating, but not unexpected. The look of amusement upon Sir Ewan’s face, however, acted upon her temper as stinging nettles did upon her skin. Only Simon’s quick offer to help saved the man from having his ears vigorously clouted. Grumbling under her breath, she worked with Simon to clean up after the meal she had been ordered to cook.

“What are ye about?” Ewan asked Gregor when his brother carefully studied his back as they walked away from Fiona and Simon.

“Looking for the daggers,” Gregor drawled, and grinned.

Ewan briefly smiled. “Tis indeed fortunate I found all her knives. I suspect I owe Simon a boon for speaking up so quickly and saving me from a sound thrashing.” He chuckled and felt almost as surprised as Gregor looked.

“Ye find her looking as if she wants to gut ye amusing?”

“Aye. Tis a clean, clear anger. Much like a mon’s or a lad’s. I can see it and, I suspicion, soon I will be able to tell what will stir it. That could prove helpful.”

Gregor nodded. “Ye might be able to get her to spill out a few truths if ye get her into a rage.”

“That I might. Tis a far better plan than the one ye had,” he added in a soft growl.

“Seduction is a proven way to pull secrets from a woman,” said Gregor. “If ye havenae the urge to try it, I could—”

“Nay.” Ewan inwardly grimaced over how quickly and vehemently he had spoken. “We dinnae need any more enemies, and I think we will gain some if she is used ere she is ransomed.” Ewan decided that sounded very reasonable and stoutly ignored his brother’s look of amusement.

“So be it. Shall I secure her for the night? Nay sure how to do so, but ’tis needed, I believe. I suspicion that lass could cause us a great deal of trouble if she put her mind to it.”

Ewan cursed softly as he turned to look at Fiona. Gregor was right. She needed to be secured in some way. It would not be that difficult to alter the guard schedule he had arranged, ensuring that she was watched closely throughout the night. To his dismay, he could not bring himself to enact that very sensible plan. He did not like the thought of any man remaining so close to Fiona as she slept, or having the opportunity to gain her interest.

Utter madness, he thought crossly. And a weakness that could easily bring him a great deal of grief. If he were back at Scarglas, there would be places he could go, work he could do, in an attempt to put her out of sight and mind. There was no place to hide here.

He sighed, accepting his own contrariness. He did not want another man too close to her for too long, so he would have to be the one to guard her during the night. It could answer a few questions, such as just how great a weakness he suffered and how difficult it would be to fight the attraction he felt for her. It could also prove to be a very long, sleepless night.

“I will guard her,” he said. “The night guard has already been arranged. Tis easier to just leave it as it stands. I just need a wee bit of rope.”

“Rope?” Gregor asked as he followed Ewan to where their supplies were. “Ye plan to tie her up?”

“That would be the better plan, but nay. If naught else, I wouldnae wish to try and explain to the men why a mon of my size feels the need to tie up such a wee lass just so that he can sleep. I will just leash her to me so that she cannae slip away in the night.”

Without another word to Gregor, Ewan walked toward Fiona, who was just finishing the chore of cleaning up after the meal. Her lovely eyes widened at the sight of the rope he held, then narrowed. Before she could retreat, however, he caught both her slender wrists in the grip of one hand. He saw her leg tense as she slowly drew it back.

“I willnae be pleased if ye kick me, lass,” he drawled as he dragged her toward the spot where Gregor hastened to spread out a blanket for them to sleep upon.

“Weel, that would certainly keep me weeping for most of the night,” Fiona said, giving up her futile attempts to free her wrists. The man’s grasp was not really painful, but it was unbreakable. “Just what do ye plan to do with that rope?”

Ewan did not reply. He secured one end of the rope around her wrists and the other end to one of his own wrists. After checking that the bonds were secure, he met her gaze. She looked as if she wanted to wrap the rope around his neck and strangle him—slowly. He wondered why he found that amusing and decided that lust was disordering his wits.

Fiona silently called him every foul name she could think of as he gently, but firmly, pushed her down onto the blanket. He sprawled at her side, then spread another blanket over the top of them. When he crossed one arm beneath his head and draped the one she was bound to over his stomach, she found herself forced onto her side, facing him.

“I dinnae suppose ye would accept my vow to nay try to escape?” she asked as she shifted around a little in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position.

“Nay. I dinnae ken who ye are and ye dinnae plan to tell me, do ye, Fiona-of-the-ten-knives?”

She almost smiled over the name he gave her, then grimaced. Fiona-of-the-eleven-knives would be better, for that would mean that she still had one hidden away and could cut herself free. There were worse things he could have done to make sure she gave him no trouble during the night, but this would make sleep difficult.

So would this enforced closeness, she realized as she suddenly became aware of a few disconcerting facts. She was far too aware of the big, strong body so close to hers. He was enticingly warm and smelled nice, clean and with his own personal scent that she found dangerously attractive. Fiona abruptly recalled their wrestling together as he had relieved her of her weapons. A blush singed her cheeks as she realized she wanted to feel those big hands on her again; only this time they would linger and caress. It was madness, but she instinctively knew it would be very difficult to cure herself of it.

Closing her eyes, she tried to revive the fear of strangers, of men, that Menzies’s perverted pursuit had bred in her, but it would not come. For reasons of its own, her heart would not allow her to fear this big, dark man. Feelings she had never experienced before, for any man, were stirring to life within her. A part of her wanted to let those feelings grow and soar. A saner part of her wanted to bury them. Not only was this a very bad time to discover she could be attracted to a man, could even feel passion for one, but it could prove to be a very unwise choice. After silently cursing long and hard, Fiona fought to clear her mind of all troubling thoughts. Perhaps after some sleep, she could find the strength to stand back and see everything more clearly.

Ewan chanced a look at the woman he was leashed to. His gaze lingered when he realized she was asleep. The softness sleep brought to her face and the moonlight made her only more beautiful. He silently cursed as he was forced to admit that he could look at that small heart-shaped face for a very long time and never tire of doing so. Ewan knew that a lot of men would find her flawed because of the scars upon her face, but in his eyes, they did nothing to lessen her beauty.

He clenched his hands into tight fists as he fought the urge to touch Fiona. The memory of the silken warmth of her skin beneath his hands as he had searched her for weapons was a hard one to banish. Nay, it was impossible, he admitted. He ached to feel that warmth again, to linger over it, from the soles of her small feet to her smooth brow.

Simply thinking of touching her soon had him aroused to the point where it was painful. Ewan wanted to feel those firm, plump breasts nestling into his palms. He wanted those long, strong legs of hers to be wrapped around his waist. He desperately wanted to hear her cry out his name whilst caught fast in the throes of the passion he would stir within her.

It was madness. The dreams of a fool. He was big, dark in looks and in humor, and badly scarred. Women did not flock to him as they did to Gregor. Once a year he spent a night with a whore, who took his coin and never begged him to return soon. If a woman ever cried out his name, it was in fear.

Ewan closed his eyes and swore he would kill this attraction. For many reasons, he had decided to remain a man alone. If he was not careful, did not guard his feelings, he feared his lovely hostage could easily change his mind, could make him try to reach for what he could never have.