The Highland Wife. Lyn Stone
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they came from.”
“Rest now, Andy,” her husband ordered as he returned from where he’d laid his unconscious burden against a tree. To her, he said, “Go to sleep.”
“Sleep?” she all but screeched. “Ye ride in here, dragging one of those devils, say there are four more out there and expect me ta sleep?” Mairi threw up her hands. “Why, they could ride down on us at any moment! Or are they truly dead? Five against one and ye’d have me believe ye slew them all? If not, the least ye can do is tell me—”
He placed his fingertips to her mouth and impatiently shook his head. “You are safe.”
She shook off his hand. “Safe? And that is all ye say? Why do ye never answer me straightly, MacBain? Why do ye treat me like a stray bairn unworthy of regard? Ye might as well strike me as ignore me the way ye do. I despise that! I would know what transpired in the woods this night and why ye come back with only—”
“I ken nothing!” he said through gritted teeth. “Nothing you say!”
“Well I know that!” she shouted, leaning toward him, shaking one fist. “And do not wonder at it! Ye never listen to me! It’s as if I do not exist for ye half the time, and the other half—”
“Leave off, woman!” he thundered, drawing up to his full height, his fists clenched, causing the muscles in his arms to bunch. The flickering light from the campfire played over his features, lending them a menacing, otherworldly glow.
Fear greater than any she felt for Ranald’s hirelings skittered up her spine. Here was true danger and all too immediate. He looked fit to strike her down.
Silently, Mairi backed away from him, gripping her trembling hands together, sorely afraid she had tread too far. Never before had he exhibited real anger toward her. But she had seen the effect of his rage at Craigmuir during that battle with Ranald’s men.
Wives held no immunity from the ire of their husbands and she had certainly courted MacBain’s with her loud demands just now. Righteous, she might be, but she should not have shouted at him.
Neither should she have refused to sleep beside him earlier, but she had not wanted to grant him forgiveness all that quickly for hauling her away from Craigmuir as roughly as he had done. To admit to him how profoundly he affected her would surely have given her husband the upper hand.
Which he certainly had now anyway.
Without another word she quickly retreated to her blanket, lay down upon the grass and turned her back to him. She would not be able to sleep, but she would pretend for all she was worth. Hopefully by morn, his surly mood would have improved. If the other four men Ranald had sent after them did not slay them all before then.
Silence reigned in the clearing behind her, which seemed odd. Why was he not telling Wee Andy what had happened? Or making plans in the event they sustained an attack? Surely he would not ride in that way and simply lie down and fall asleep! But she dared not turn over to see for herself.
Mairi closed her eyes as tightly as she could and prayed she would be alive to open them come the morn.
A pelting rain woke her soon after daybreak. Though the ground beneath her felt relatively dry, the covering above her, supported by a framework of branches, did leak a bit. She brushed the droplets off her hair and face.
How had he managed to build that thing right over her without her waking?
Mairi raised herself to her elbows and peered out into the soggy morning.
Across the clearing, Wee Andy lay beneath a makeshift tent much like her own. She spied the hindquarters of the gray MacBain rode disappearing into the trees.
“Wait!” she cried, quickly crawling out of her cover and dashing after him. “Dinna leave us! Where is it ye go?”
Before she could get halfway to the tree line, he had disappeared.
“Gone back to bury them what he killed,” Wee Andy called, “and see what he can find amongst their packs.”
Mairi released a pent-up breath. For a moment she feared he had gone on without them, then realized he was headed in the wrong direction for that.
Besides, he would not have left his man behind. Now she was a different matter. After the way she had railed at him last night, she admitted she wouldn’t much blame him.
The rain was letting up, but she was already wet. Hopefully, the sun would be out soon to dry her clothes and hair. Bedraggled and aching from her night on the hard ground, Mairi made her way to the packs that lay sheltered by a small shelf of rock.
Wee Andy joined her there, accepting the portion of bread she tore off a loaf and handed to him. “He’ll be back afore noon. Said we was to stay put and guard the prisoner.” Taking a bite of the bread, Andy nodded toward the unfortunate man still tied to a tree and soaked to the skin. The wretch looked miserable.
“I suppose we are taking him with us?” Mairi asked, slicing off a portion of cheese with her eating knife and offering it.
Andy thanked her with a smile and a bob of his head. “Aye. Rob—Lord Rob, that is—plans to have him questioned. Find out more about your cousin.”
“To what end?”
“I did not ask,” Andy admitted. “And he seldom announces his reasons. Nonetheless, they are always sound.”
Mairi hesitated to talk about her husband with a man who served him, but she had to find out about him somehow. “I do wish he’d answer my questions, if not yer own! He rarely speaks to me and never seems to hear a thing I say.”
Wee Andy shot her a worried frown. She realized she should never have criticized her husband’s behavior to one of his men. “I do not speak ill of him,” she assured. “Truly. I but wonder why he seems so stern. Is he always like that?”
“Stern?” Andy repeated with a gust of laughter. “Aye, I suppose he can be when there’s a need for it.” His eyes sparkled then. “But Rob loves a good jest. None of us was safe from him as lads and he’s not much improved since then.”
“Jests?” Mairi asked, unable to imagine the stoic MacBain playing tricks for fun.
“Oh, aye,” Andy assured her, warming up to a tale. “Why just last month he smartly humbled one of his knights, Sir Belden—he’s a God-cursed temper, that man. Ever one to pick a fight for no good cause.”
“Go on,” she encouraged. “What did the MacBain do to him?”
“Goaded the man past bearing. Did it exactly the way Sir Belden would do to another. Niggling, smirking, poking fun. Kept at him until he demanded Rob fight him.”
Andy chuckled and shook his head. “The man will think twice afore he strikes up another match over some piddling words.”
“MacBain defeated him soundly, did he?” she asked, ripping off another chunk of bread.
“You might say that. They was squared off, y’see.” Wee Andy demonstrated, standing with his short legs spread, stretching his arms as if about to draw his blade for attack.
“Go on, finish it!” Mairi encouraged, eager to hear the outcome.
Andy nodded and shifted his stance. “Then Robbie slides that huge sword of his out of its scabbard and holds it gleaming in the sun, evil grin on his face, looking ready to fight to the death.” He narrowed his eyes at Mairi, but his lips quivered with barely contained mirth, spoiling the effect.
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