The Highlander's French Bride Read online

  With a last look past her at Lucienne who clung to Melisende’s waist like a frightened child, Kinnon hobbled toward the waiting men. Two soldiers dismounted and pushed him roughly toward the wagon. Kinnon shrugged their hands away with obvious annoyance.

  “They will hurt him!” Lucienne whimpered.

  Melisende pulled her to her side. “Hush, ma petite. It is a misunderstanding. All will be well.”

  A shout rose amid the men as they laid hands on Kinnon. He struggled against them but one knocked his staff away and Kinnon fell against the wagon. Jean-Baptiste sprang to his feet, barking. Melisende slipped the coins into her pocket and tightened her grip on the dog’s collar.

  One of the men delivered a crippling blow to the back of Kinnon’s head. He crumpled and fell to the ground. Bâtard! Melisende wrenched free of Lucienne’s grip, snatching her dagger from her skirt pocket. She released Jean-Baptiste as she darted forward and the great beast covered the ground to Kinnon’s side with a mighty roar. A few yards away, Melisende loosed the dagger, her forward momentum giving deadly force to the blade’s flight. It burrowed deep beneath the chin guard of the mounted man’s helmet and he fell to the ground with a groan.

  Jean-Baptiste stood over Kinnon’s still body, snarling at the two men to keep them away. Melisende grabbed his collar and spoke to the soldiers. “You have abused an honorable man. Return to your camp and I will send him after I have seen to his wound.”

  “He will answer to Hervé”—the man looked past her—“as will you, mademoiselle.”

  She shook her head. “Be that as it may, I will waste no more time with the likes of you. Be gone from here before I release Jean-Baptiste to do his work keeping vermin off our farm.”

  Suddenly the dog whirled, a snarl on his lips. He broke free from Melisende’s grip and she released him with a pained cry. The captain loomed over her, eyes wild with fury, dark blood dripping from the wound in his neck. He seizedher by the throat and squeezed hard, shaking her violently.

  Jean-Baptiste lunged at the man, his teeth making no purchase on the heavy leather and linked mail. An arrow twanged and Jean-Baptiste fell away. Lucienne appeared in the darkening edges of Melisende’s sight, screaming as she flew at the man. He swatted her away with the back of a gloved hand, and Melisende choked on a sudden rush of air as he partially released her.

  With an angry roar, he tossed her to the ground. Her vision sparkled with tiny darts of light and she coughed, struggling for breath.

  The man’s voice rasped with anger. “Chargez-le dans le wagon!”

  Scuffling sounds ensued, then a thump and a groan. Melisende propped herself shakily on one arm in the dirt, heedless of the tiny pebbles and debris clinging to her sleeve, fighting to regain her senses enough to see to Kinnon. The snap of reins and the creak of wheels told her she was too late.

  Chapter 15

  Rumbling sounds grated beneath his head and sunlight streamed hotly on his skin. One side of his face burned as though it was on fire, each breath the agony of red-hot knives through his chest. Wee bastards dinnae hesitate to take their revenge. He lifted his head a few inches, but a stab of pain exploded in his skull, warning him against movement. The muscles in his back and shoulders took up answering clamors, and he settled grimly to the floor of the wagon, struggling to keep his breathing shallow.

  Worry for Melisende and Lucienne rose in his mind. Hervé willnae take kindly to hearing a wee lass took on his soldiers in my defense. There had to be a way for him to warn Melisende to take her sister and run far away from Hervé’s brand of justice. He groaned as the wagon wheels lurched over a rock in the road and pain took up permanent residence all over his body. Kinnon closed his eyes and gave himself up to thoughts of home.

  In his mind, the rumble became the rush of waves breaking on the shore beneath the walls of Scaurness Castle. Lightning tore at the sky beyond the great tower and Kinnon could almost smell the sharpness of the air before the storm. Somewhere in the castle, his little sister would be lighting candles. A fond smile touched his lips. At sixteen, she wasnae so little anymore. Was she still afraid of storms?

  The clop of the horses’ hooves and rattle of the wagon across cobblestone broke through his reflections. He groaned and tried to move, but chains rattled and manacles gripped his wrists, holding them in place. A wave of dizziness swept over him, highlighting the pain in his head. No longer able to keep his memories at the front of his mind, he gave in to the darkness.

  Jarring motions slammed his head into the floor of the wagon, bringing him rudely back to wakefulness. His eyes squinted against the glare of sunlight, vision in one narrowed to a mere slit. Garbled noises fouled his ears, but he ignored them for the burst of pain in his leg. He moved his hand, disgusted by the faint rattle of a chain against wood.

  He lay there for hours as the sky darkened. His stomach growled and his bladder ached. Stupid bastards havenae care about me. They are likely waiting for me to piss myself.

  He cursed under his breath, then louder, hoping to gain someone’s attention.

  “Shite!”

  The sounds around him did not change. No one approached to see what he needed. He distracted himself by isolating and identifying the different noises. The stamp of a hoof and jingle of harness was likely the team hitched to his wagon. The subdued talk made him believe they had arrived back at camp. The sharp crackle of a fire heralded the scent of the evening meal.

  His stomach growled again. His abdomen cramped. Pain shot through his leg.

  “St. Andrew’s balls!”

  A shadow fell across the wagon. “Sit up,” someone commanded.

  Kinnon heard the rattle of a key and his manacles opened. He tried to sit, but his ribs grated in his chest, the pain stopping his progress. He groaned, his hands seeking purchase on the rough edge of the wagon.

  “Do not try to jump out.”

  Kinnon grimaced. “I dinnae think I’ll be jumping just now.”

  An age-gnarled face met his bleary gaze. “I am to allow you to prepare for your appearance in the commander’s tent.” He gave Kinnon an assessing look. “I would suggest you do not waste any time.”

  Kinnon moved his legs but fell against the side of the wagon, gnashing his teeth as pain stabbed like shards of glass once again. Sweat popped on his brow and slid down his neck. Getting himself somewhat under control, he gripped his leg, trying to hold the pain at bay. He pulled one hand away and blinked at the thick, un-clotted blood glistening on his palm. “Do ye think we could waste a wee bit of time summoning a cirurgian?”

  * * *

  Lucienne collapsed to the ground beside Jean-Baptiste. His tail thumped feebly as she cradled his face in her palms. Melisende eyed the big dog’s form critically. A long gouge creased his head from ear to poll, and the shine of fresh blood matted his fur. A heavy-shafted arrow protruded from the ground less than a foot away.

  “He is lucky, Lucienne. The arrow stunned him and will likely make him a bit wobbly for a day or so, but he should regain his strength quickly.”

  “He will not die?” Lucienne quavered.

  “I do not think so. But he would likely benefit from the wound medicine we have at the house. Can you see to it?”

  Hope bloomed in her sister’s eyes. “Oui! I can make him well!” She placed her cheek on the dog’s muzzle, crooning to him.

  Melisende gently touched Lucienne’s shoulder. “Let us see if he can rise and walk. I do not wish to have to drag him to the house on a litter.”

  Lucienne stood, and together they helped the dog to his chest. After several moments, he got his bearings and climbed clumsily to his feet. He swayed, feet splayed, as he balanced precariously.

  “Come, Jean-Baptiste. You can do it,” Lucienne said, tears in her eyes.

  “Let him take his time,” Melisende admonished. “Help him to the house and dress his wound. I will tend to the goats and cattle.”

  “I will collect the eggs when I am finished,” Lucienne told her.

 
; Melisende gave her a fond look. “That would be a great help.”

  Lucienne nodded absently, her attention already back on the great dog at her side. He picked up one front foot, jerking it upward far enough to throw himself off balance again. Lucienne sucked in a breath of alarm and put her hands on either side of his shoulders. He steadied. Step by cautious step, they made their way to the house.

  Melisende stared after them. What are we to do? I attacked a soldier. She shook her head. And meant to kill him. It will not go un-remarked, or un-punished. She looked at the small house that had been their refuge for so long. And at the tumble-down barns and neatly weeded garden. A cow lowed nearby. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  I cannot simply leave the animals to their fate. But the cows’ udders would eventually dry up—as would the goats’—and the chickens’ eggs would lay snug beneath the hens and eventually hatch. There was grass aplenty and seeds and bugs enough to keep them for the summer, at least. Or until someone else took over their care.

  We must leave. And soon. I do not know when someone will be sent to arrest me, but I cannot let that happen.

  She took a step toward the barn, as she did every day, then halted. I have no time to milk the cows today. We must pack. She turned to the house, her mind instantly focusing on the necessities. Lucienne will fuss, but it cannot be helped. Where will we go? She halted again, suddenly unbearably tired. Mayhap the butcher and his wife will know of a place. Once we get our bearings, mayhap we can find Father’s family.

  She opened the door to the house and caught sight of Lucienne as she slathered the wound salve on Jean-Baptiste’s head. Her sister looked up, startled.

  “Why are you here? Is something wrong?”

  Melisende carefully hid her fears as she reassured her sister. “I threw a knife at a soldier, Lucienne.”

  “You were only protecting Kinnon,” Lucienne protested.

  “They will not see it that way.”

  Lucienne’s face paled noticeably and Melisende sank onto the chair beside her. “Ma petite, we must leave here—now.”

  Her sister pulled back, a look of dismay on her face. “For how long?”

  “I do not know. At least until the army has secured the village and moved on—and people no longer care what became of us.”

  Lucienne frowned. “That could be a long time. Where will we go?”

  “I thought to stop a night or two at the butcher’s home. He and his wife are kind. After that, we may go on to Puy-en-Velay. Father’s family may be there.”

  “Back to the town…” Lucienne’s voice faded and her eyes widened, showing her strain.

  Melisende offered a brave smile. “Do not worry, ma petite. It is my hope we are back here before the end of the summer.”

  Lucienne slowly nodded, though it was clear she put up a courageous front.

  Melisende patted her shoulder, becoming brisk and assured. “Pack what is necessary. We must leave soon.”

  “Jean-Baptiste is going with us!” Lucienne declared, her eyes hot with challenge.

  “He will have to come,” Melisende agreed. “He tried to hurt the soldier also.” She stood. “Let him rest for now. Pack only what you must. We can send for the rest later.” She ducked her head so Lucienne would not see the lie. It was unlikely they would return anytime soon. Her eyes took in the contents of the small house, lingering on the pottery, infused with the memory of her mother’s careful hands. And the buckets, brimming with her grandfather’s patience and skill.

  She blinked against tears of regret and grabbed a sack, stuffing it with enough food to see them on their way. A thump and a muffled word Melisende wasn’t sure she should approve of drifted from the bedroom where Lucienne filled her own bag. Against her better judgement, Melisende picked a metal cup their mother had favored from the cupboard. Her fingertip traced the delicate etching on the side—now nearly worn away by years of use. The bluish hue had been her mother’s favorite color. She wrapped it in a scrap of linen and added it to her bag.

  She met Lucienne in the doorway. “Have you all that you need?”

  “Oui, but what about you?” Lucienne glanced at the nearly empty bag in her sister’s hand.

  “I will add some clothing. Take one more look around, and then we will leave.”

  Lucienne’s eyes grew wide and she swallowed hard with a nod. Tears glistened, but she did not give in to her fears.

  Chapter 16

  Kinnon slumped back to the bed of the wagon, his breaths short and shallow. The other man watched him impassively, fading in and out of Kinnon’s sight as dizziness roiled over him. Voices buzzed in his ears and someone grabbed him beneath his arms and dragged him from the wagon. The sky darkened and the flames of a fire grew brighter as the sunlight faded. Kinnon lay on the ground, staring hypnotically through swollen eyelids into the crackling blaze.

  “The wound has reopened.” A new voice, low but distinct.

  Aye. Yer men took great delight in kicking the hell out of me. Kinnon groaned as the man prodded his leg, but could not summon the strength to resist.

  “Shall we take him to your tent?” The watchman was back, questioning his next move.

  “I do not have time to treat this man. Bishop de la Tour wishes to bless Bertrand’s body. I leave for the cathedral shortly.”

  The voices lowered, murmuring below Kinnon’s level of hearing.

  Then dinnae bother coming back. Ye can take my body to be embalmed with his. For some reason, this amused Kinnon, and he chuckled. The movement shook his body and he ground his teeth at the fresh pain.

  “Let us be about it quickly, then. Grab that dagger and place it in the fire. Heat it and bring it to me.”

  The thought of something warm was quite agreeable to Kinnon as chills swept through him again. But then the realization of what the cirurgian meant struck him with an unlooked-for burst of energy, and he rose on his elbows with a bellow. Strong hands clasped his shoulders and his ankles, stretching him flat on the ground. He bucked his hips in protest, but someone sat astride his middle, holding him in place.

  Suddenly the air filled with the acrid stench of burning hair and hide. Kinnon gave a hoarse shout as the fire seared deeper and deeper into his flesh, until blackness rushed in and he knew nothing more.

  * * *

  Lucienne plopped down on the bed, a scowl on her face. “I do not like it here. I miss the farm.” Her hand scratched Jean-Baptiste’s head and his tail thumped the floor.

  Melisende turned from hanging her cloak on a peg by the door. “I know you do not like the confines of town, but we need to distance ourselves from the army for a bit.” She brushed a golden curl behind her sister’s ear. “We will go to le Puy-en-Velay soon. But you must be patient. The butcher has offered me work here until travel is safe, and we need the money.”

  Lucienne sighed and slid to her feet. “But Kinnon gave us money. And at home, we have our own food.” She wrinkled her nose. “I did not like what we had for supper tonight.”

  “You are entirely too spoiled, ma petite!” Melisende chuckled. “Let us get ourselves in order and we will see if we can find Father’s family. ’Tis a bit of a walk from here, but we will do fine. This is a good place to wait until no one seeks us. The extra money will be a blessing.”

  Jean-Baptiste licked her hand and she gave him a fond look. “My brave one. ’Tis good to see you on your feet.”

  “He is very lucky and very brave.” Lucienne knelt and pulled the dog to her chest. The enormous beast allowed the hug, a silly grin on his face as he panted gently. “He protected us from them.”

  “Unfortunately, that is not a defense with the soldiers. They were doing their job.”

  Lucienne shot her an enraged look. “They shoved Kinnon to the ground! And punched him! Jean-Baptiste should have eaten them all!”

  “They should not have been so brutal,” Melisende agreed. She nodded to the dog. “You will need to keep him with you at all times. And you will spend much of your time up here.
I will take you and Jean-Baptiste out a few times a day. The town is still too dangerous for you to stroll about on your own.”

  Lucienne slouched to her feet, disgruntled and obviously displeased with the new rules. “I told you I liked home better.”

  * * *

  The only sense of time was a faint patterning of light through the holes in the tiny barred window in the circular tower room. Narrow strips of sunlight made their daily trek from one side to the other. Buried behind the thick stone walls of Châteauneuf, the days were terribly short. And the nights agonizingly long.

  For weeks, Kinnon did not care if he lived or died—he thought the odds of death far greater than survival. Each breath he took grated along the inside of his chest like a rusty blade carving its way through to the surface. Food and drink were passed through the door to him, but he paid little attention. He shook with fevered chills, and moving from the thin blanket he huddled beneath on the thin mattress on the cold floor was more bother than the stale bread and stagnant water were worth.

  His eyes drifted to the small bag tucked against him, the remnants of his possessions and his only proof that he hadn’t yet descended into hell. His little talismans nestled inside, the dirk he’d kept with him long gone. It was a mystery why Hervé had allowed him to keep these small items—though no surprise he’d lifted the weapon. Their presence was a tiny comfort in his isolation, yet he was unable to take them out and face them—and admit his failure.

  Occasionally voices could be heard, arguing as the strident tones drifted into his prison. At those times, a pot of what he assumed to be a warm broth—judging from the aroma—was his daily meal, but his stomach had long since given up its desire for food.