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When accosted on the wall walk by the intruders, the poor fellow had taken a blow to the ribs that left him badly bruised despite his generous padding of fat. Riding in such a state must be painful, indeed, and no just reward for the man’s valorous deeds. Rob felt he could stand a short rest himself.
Surely his new wife would not be foolish enough to risk returning to Craigmuir alone, but he meant to keep close watch on her. He knew she had hated leaving her father immediately on his death, and Rob greatly sympathized. However, the old man had the right of it. Mairi must be well away before the laird’s successor arrived.
That cousin of hers must have been extremely impatient to have both Craigmuir and the lady to mount such a vicious attack. He would have been laird eventually anyway. Mairi’s impending marriage must have led him to the act. Rob had formed an instant dislike of Ranald MacInness when introduced to him, and had not been at all surprised to hear he was behind the deed.
It greatly disturbed Rob to leave Mairi’s home and people under such leadership, but there was naught he could do with only one nearly disabled man at his side and the very law of the Highlands against him.
Craigmuir, he could not hold safe from the new laird at present, but the woman, his wife, he would protect until his last breath. He would not risk having her widowed and wed to a kinsman who placed no value on the lives of his future tenants and clan. Later, once Rob had Mairi secured at Baincroft, he could return with more men and set matters to rights for them.
Telling her this would serve no purpose at present, however. She was not ready to hear it. In her need for immediate action against her cousin for his treachery, she would not welcome the necessary delay.
He dismounted and reached up to assist her down. She allowed it, glaring at him balefully as he set her on her feet.
“Untie me, ye fiend!” she ordered, presenting her hands to him.
Rob did so in a perfunctory manner and stepped back, gesturing toward the water. “Drink and wash.”
He watched her regard her sleeves—the ends still covered with the dried blood of her father—and saw the effort it took for her to quell a surge of grief. How he would love to hold her again, comfort her, gentle her anger and explain more fully why he had dragged her away so swiftly.
She would not thank him for it, he decided with a shrug and turned away to lead his mount to the edge of the swiftly flowing stream they would shortly need to cross.
“Do you hurt?” he asked as he joined his friend and lay a hand on his shoulder. Lank blond hair, darkened with sweat, clung to Wee Andy’s forehead just beneath his tight-fitting leather helm. His face always looked ruddy, but pain had paled him.
“Nay.” Andy shook his head, but the tightened lips and furrowed brow told the truth of it. Rob had tightly bound the injured ribs for him, but he knew that did little to prevent the pain of jostling in the saddle.
He recalled the times he had suffered the same after tourneys himself. Regretfully he made the signs to say they must ride again soon. They will follow, he added.
Andy nodded, glanced at Lady Mairi to show he understood why, and knelt carefully at the water’s edge to scoop up a drink.
Rob also looked at his wife who was leaning over the bank to dip and scrub fitfully at the sleeves of her gown. Her face and the golden hair around it were wet where she had washed away her tears.
Aye, her anger did serve better to overcome her sorrow than his attentions would, so he would continue to let her be. He turned his regard to satisfying his own thirst and that of his horse.
Suddenly, Andy grabbed his arm and pointed. Rob leaped to his feet, his first thought of attack. Then, following Andy’s frantic gesture, he spied the billow of fabric and one small boot kick out of the water.
With a roar, Rob jumped in. The strong icy current dragged unmercifully at his legs as he lunged to grasp a handful of her gown. And missed.
Throwing himself full-length into the stream, he recalled too late the weight of his mail. He sank like a stone, then struggled to the surface and kicked with all his might toward the rapidly moving tangle of skirts and flailing limbs.
At last! He wrapped his fist in the folds of her gown and dragged her along toward the far edge of the burn. Undecided whether to curse or pray, he did both.
Crawling out of the water himself was no mean feat, but he managed and quickly turned to haul his burden ashore. Flipping her onto her stomach, he lifted her at the waist, hoping to empty some of the water that must be filling her.
Thank the Good Lord, he immediately felt the racking of her cough. Rob collapsed beside her, his head on one arm, near done in himself. Next to him, she shuddered as if thoroughly chilled. Though the late summer sun shone mercifully and warmed the day, the water had been damned cold.
With a heartfelt sigh of relief that she still lived, he pulled Mairi into his arms, holding his own breath, carefully feeling the expansion of her ribs to assure himself that her breathing was returning to normal.
She said something, for he felt the rapid movement of her lips against his cheek. Whatever it was, he figured it was just as well he did not understand it. It might possibly be thanks for his saving her from death by drowning, but more likely it was curses, blasting him for his bringing her to this stream in the first place.
In answer to either, Rob simply held her closer and pressed his lips to her temple. She did not fight him or squirm away, so he hoped for the best.
He turned his head enough to see how far they had drifted downstream. Not the leagues it had seemed, apparently. Even from here, he could see Wee Andy cautiously making his way across to join them. He had their mounts in tow, water splashing against their withers, threatening to sweep the sturdy beasts off their feet.
Mairi pushed away from him and sat up, raking her hair out of her face. Deftly ignoring him, she struggled to stand and began wringing out the folds of heavy, sodden cloth. Her lips worked rapidly, her teeth gritted together, as if she grumbled to herself. Rob wisely hid his smile.
“Andy comes,” he said. “You can change.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands and shaking them at the sky, her temper more evident than ever. “He speaks! Answer me, MacBain, do ye ever utter more than three words in a row?”
“Not very often,” he replied in three words just to vex her.
He probably should have rewarded her instead. At last she had said something that he fully understood. Difficult not to, since she flung the words at him one by one, like rocks.
Rob felt satisfied he had gotten the meaning she intended. Sarcasm was not that hard to recognize, since he often employed it himself.
She huffed with frustration, rolled her lovely blue eyes, and went back to wringing out her garments, muttering again.
He smiled to himself, glad she was holding up this well after her fright. If he were honest, he felt a bit shaken himself. However, making more of the accident and coddling her any longer only would have upset her more.
Again she took refuge in her anger, and he did not mind bearing the brunt of it. He began to see a pattern in Mairi’s behavior. She would never admit to fear, but masked it immediately.
For now, he thanked providence for her bravado. Better that than for her to suffer hopelessness. That he could not bear to see and would not be able to assuage with words until he knew her better.
Rob tried to not dwell on regrets of any sort, but at the moment he did wish he had more to offer his new wife. Once he became more accustomed to the way she spoke, he might venture into a prolonged conversation. For now, he had no time for the total attention and tremendous effort that would take on his part as well as hers. Yet he was loathe to try to explain that to her just now. She might decide he did not wish to take the trouble, ever.
He could not blame her for a lack of compassion. It must be very trying for her if she’d never before encountered anyone who lacked hearing.
As Lady of Craigmuir, she must be well used to the people around her minding her every utterance. Well, he would make up for the inconvenience as soon as he got her safely home to Baincroft. For the nonce, he must dwell solely on accomplishing that and allow no distractions.
Wee Andy plodded toward them, looking paler than ever. Rob waited patiently and helped him dismount. “Rest,” he ordered, and began plundering through the pack for dry clothes for himself and Mairi.
He pushed aside a red garment and fished deeper for something of more natural color that would better blend with their surroundings.
Still dripping, Mairi stood by and waited until he handed her a grass-green gown. “Go there,” he suggested, pointing to a leafy tree that would give her seclusion to change. As for himself, he needed none.
He toed off his soaked boots. Then, without any compunction at all and no thought to modesty, he shucked off his chain-mail shirt and the heavy water-logged gambeson beneath it. Next came his chausses and loincloth. Naked and still shivering a bit, Rob let the sun warm and dry his skin for a while as he tended the weary horses.
Mairi’s brush with death had doused her fury and somehow made her see more clearly, past her grief. MacBain had saved her life in more ways than one, she admitted.
If they had stayed, Ranald would have arrived soon. Craigmuir’s people would have had no choice but to honor that traitor as their new laird and follow his orders. He would have had MacBain killed. Then would have tried to make her his own wife. She would have died resisting that. While her death might have roused the clan enough to go against Ranald, she would still have been dead.
MacBain told her he had promised to leave, and she knew what and to whom he had given his word. In all truth, it was for the best, his taking her away from Craigmuir. But that did not absolve her from her own vow of vengeance. She would simply have to persuade MacBain to help her honor that.
Mairi peeked through the leaves that now concealed her to see whether he was brooding about her harsh words to him after the rescue.
“God’s Holy Mercy!” she whispered when she saw him. He was naked as the day he was born! Eyes wide with fascination, she watched MacBain as he checked the horses for injury and resettled the packs on their saddles. The man had no shame whatsoever!
Of course, he thought there was none to see him save his manservant who appeared to be sleeping, Mairi reminded herself. But did he not remember that she must come out of the woods soon? Did he want her to see him so exposed?
She shivered out of her wet gown and chemise, letting the dry one fall over her from where she had gathered it ’round her neck. Not for a moment would she bare herself to possible view as he was doing.
And yet, she did wonder what MacBain would think if he looked upon her as she now saw him. She was small and had no great attributes to boast about, but would he find her winsome?
She found him so, right enough! Her face flamed at the sight, but she could not tear her gaze away. What muscles he had, she thought, as they flexed in his arms, shoulders, and even his backside. Ah, that backside was something to see!
Her hands clenched, imagining the smooth feel of all that sun-kissed skin. The desire to touch him all but overcame her. Would he allow it when they stopped for the night?
A jest that was, she thought with a smirk. He would likely insist upon it! Her trepidation warred with anticipation in a battle that left her breathless and confused.
“Hoo!” she huffed in surprise as he turned. Her eyes slammed shut, but immediately opened again for a wicked squint through her lashes.
Well made, she noted before forcing herself to face in the opposite direction. Extremely well made. Mairi fanned her face with her hand while she held on to a tree branch with the other. Her reaction to MacBain disturbed her more than a little.
Determined to not return to the edge of the stream until he had covered himself decently, Mairi used the time to wring out her wet clothing and remove her boots. The cold water running over her hands and arms did nothing at all to banish the persistent fever stirred by the sight of her husband.
Every few moments she would risk another peek. Finally he donned another loincloth. She watched shamelessly, highly intrigued by the unfamiliar garment.
Highland men wore nothing beneath their plaids. She had briefly caught sight of many a bared bottom and less frequently, one of the men’s true pride. Not one she had glimpsed had such cause to boast as did the MacBain.
A small hum of disappointment escaped before she could stop it when he pulled on his braies. She trudged out of the woods a few moments later, making much noise to announce her return. He had finished dressing by the time she reached him.
“Your man’s asleep,” she whispered, pointing as she observed the fellow who accompanied them.
MacBain nodded and prodded the fellow with his foot until he awoke.
“Time to go,” he announced to Mairi. “They follow.”
“Ranald’s men?” she demanded, casting an anxious glance across the burn in the direction they’d come. “How do you know?”
With a shrug, he took her wet clothes from her and draped them across the back of his saddle. “He wants you,” he replied.
Mairi waited as MacBain slipped the mail hauberk back on over his shirt and buckled on his sword belt. This time when he reached for her, he set her upon her own mare and handed her the reins.
She watched as he gave his man a hand up and noticed for the first time that their companion seemed to be injured.
He was a short, stout fellow with stringy blond hair and cheeks round as apples, though they lacked in color. She quite appreciated his merry smile, especially since she knew he must not feel much like smiling at the moment.
“What happened to ye?” she asked him. “Hurt in the battle?”
“Aye. A cudgel to the ribs, my lady,” he said, obviously stifling a groan. “Lord Rob wrapped ’em. They pain me some, but I’ll do.”
“Verra brave of ye,” she commended, pleased that he was not a complainer. She sought Rob’s agreement. “Aye, m’laird?”
MacBain never answered or looked in her direction. He simply rode past her and led the way into the woods from whence she’d just emerged. She followed, but not too closely.
“He’s busy thinkin’, my lady. Hard thinker is our Rob,” the man explained as he fell in just behind her. “Thinks damned near as hard as he fights.”
“Surely ye have a name,” she said, sensing she might have found an ally, or at least someone who would talk to her. “No one has thought to tell me what that might be.”
“I am Wee Andy,” he replied, grinning when she looked over her shoulder. He went on to explain, “That’s to distinguish me from Braw Andy, the miller’s son. Now there’s a lad with girth! Wait’ll you see him! Rob’s hard put to keep that one fed.”
“Ye called yer laird by his forename?” she asked. “He allows this?”
“Nay. He just don’t hear it, so I figure he won’t mind now and again. No lack o’ respect to him. Sometimes I forget. We’ve known each other since we was bairns at the breast.”
“Ah, he’s a good laird, then, is he?” she probed, anxious to know more about this enigma she had wed. “A fair one?”
Wee Andy sighed. “Aye, he is that. Fair in his judgment, fair in his dealings, and…muckle fair to look upon, eh, m’lady?” He chuckled wickedly and issued an almost inaudible, “Hoo!”
Heat swept over her face and neck. “Fair indeed,” she admitted under her breath as she nudged her mare to a trot and left the portly eavesdropper several lengths behind her.
Fair, MacBain might be of face and body, but she was still not certain about the fair dealing Wee Andy had mentioned. Wise or not to do so, and all promises aside, any Highland husband would have insisted on remaining at Craigmuir and paying Ranald MacInness in kind for his betrayal and greed.
She must believe that wisdom had led MacBain to his decision to leave. He was so different from the other men she had known, Mairi determined to not judge him unfairly.
If any justice existed, Ranald would follow and provide her the chance to exact the vengeance she had sworn. She prayed for that, and for the strength to see it done herself if her husband seemed unwilling to take her part when the time came.
Could she be a good wife to the MacBain if he did refuse to help her? The man prompted feelings in her that she could not sort out no matter how hard she tried.
He had saved her life. That should count for much, she supposed. On the other hand, he had taken her away from her father’s deathbed by brute force. She misliked being forced to do anything. She much preferred a man employ simple reason. If he had taken the time to do that, she might have agreed to go quietly.
Nay, she could not ken what drove him to be so kind one moment and to act so heartless the next. But she could be absolutely certain of one thing about her husband: he was not about to explain.
Chapter Four
Rob could not say how he knew for certain they were being followed, but he did know. He could feel it in his bones. If Ranald MacInness did not come himself, he would send others, just as he had hired men to rid him of Mairi’s father.
Rob knew that if anyone had deprived him of this woman, he would go to the very ends of the earth to retrieve her and would never trust the task to underlings. He hoped Ranald would risk himself. That would save a journey back to the Highlands to get rid of him later.
To pass the time as they traveled, Rob forced himself to think in words instead of images. Though it never came naturally for him to do so, he had made it a regular habit since he had learned to read. Early on he’d discovered that it provided good practice for forming speech, getting words in the proper order so that he would not appear unlearned.
He did that now, making lists of possible ways the eventual attack might occur if they were overtaken. Countering with exact accounts of his probable response to each and every one. In his experience, such preparedness often made a difference in dealing with any problem.
When dwelling upon Mairi, he had to make an even greater effort to prevent his mind’s collective vision of her overpowering all his senses at once. He put her into words.
Rob purposely gave name to her delicate fragrance of roses that blended so enticingly with her own sweet scent. Syllable by syllable, he inwardly described her tresses, like honey-colored silk sliding over his fingers. He spelled out the tangible hum of her voice as she spoke when he was touching her, and silently narrated his joy in the act of simply looking at her.
He composed poetry of epic length to celebrate her beauty and her courage, seeing the letters unfold upon an imaginary scroll of parchment as he did so.
Separating and enumerating her charms occupied a large portion of his time, he realized. So much time that he wondered whether it helped or hindered his attempt to reduce the stunning effect she worked upon him.
His dreams of her, of course, he would not be able to control. There she would likely spring to mind in her entirety. Given the way Mairi had reacted to their first kisses, Rob could not pretend he dreaded sleep during which thinking in words was impossible.
All day they had trekked through the Highlands, moving at a steady pace, halting to rest whenever the horses seemed weary. Though they were well away from Craigmuir, Rob did not alter their pace. Her kinsmen’s men could not move any more rapidly than this and hope to preserve their mounts.
He cast a brief glance behind him and noticed how proudly Mairi rode. She had her chin raised and her back straight as if she had not ridden the day long through terrain that would daunt the hardiest of travelers.
They had plodded up and down hillsides and through gorges so narrow his shoulders nearly touched each wall as they passed. And yet Mairi continued to endure without a protest. Or at least Wee Andy had not seen fit to pass it on to him if she had. Rob had a feeling she would not have waited for him to gain the news secondhand if she meant to issue any complaint.
