The Highland Wife

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?