CHAPTER 16 #2
Margaret did not want to believe Finn had bedded his brother’s unpleasant wife—or even worse, given his heart to her—but she had to admit Curstag was the sort Finn liked.
Though better dressed, she had the same blatant sensuality and voluptuous figure as the tavern maid who had flung herself at Finn when they went to find a boat.
Before Margaret could dwell any longer on that ugly thought, she caught sight of Ella and gasped.
Her wee daughter was curled up on the ground with her hands covering her ears.
After the violence the child had seen in her home, seeing Margaret get pushed and shouted at must have frightened her badly.
“Get out of my way!” Margaret shoved Curstag so hard she fell on her rear end, which served her right for frightening Ella.
Margaret rushed to her daughter, dropped to her knees, and gathered Ella in her arms.
“’Tis all right. You’re safe. I’m here,” she murmured. “I’ll not let anything bad happen to you.”
“Find your own way back,” Curstag said, and stormed off.
Margaret ignored her and continued rocking Ella and murmuring reassurances until the bairn finally stopped shaking.
“She’s bad,” Ella said, looking up at her with watery eyes.
“I’m sorry I let her frighten ye,” Margaret said, wiping Ella’s tears away. “Curstag has a foul mouth, but she can’t hurt us.”
Ella did not look persuaded.
“Come, let’s go back to the castle, and I’ll find a special treat for ye in the kitchen.”
Margaret looked around then and realized Curstag had left them in the middle of the wood. Worse, she had gotten turned around and was not at all certain which way led back to the castle.
She gave Ella what she hoped was a reassuring mother-knows-what-she’s-doing smile, and the two of them started off, hand in hand.
After a while, the wood seemed to grow darker, and then a long, doleful cry that sounded like a wolf or wild dog stopped her in her tracks.
Ow-oooo, ow-ooo. She picked up Ella and held the bag of broken onyx in her fist as she tried to hear where the sound was coming from over her pounding heart. Ow-ooo, ow-oooo.
Then, behind them in the distance, she heard the cry of seagull, a welcome sound that would lead them to the sea—and back to the castle.
The path back split twice, but she knew which way to go by the cry of the gulls.
Though Ella grew heavy in her arms, Margaret ran until she finally saw the clearing at the end of the wood.
“We’re almost there,” she told Ella, and pointed. “See, there’s the castle.”
The men were in the field between the wood and castle practicing with their claymores, the heavy two-handed swords Highlanders favored.
Curstag stood watching them with her back to the wood.
When she looked over her shoulder and saw Margaret and Ella, her expression turned sour.
Apparently, she was disappointed they had found their way out of the wood.
Margaret wanted to strangle her, but she forgot about Curstag when she caught sight of Finn.
Even for a Highlander, he was tall, but it was his skill with the sword that made him stand out among the men.
He was simply breathtaking in motion, the ideal of masculine beauty and prowess, as he swung the deadly weapon with smooth, rhythmic strokes.
Clang, clang, clang.
Despite the chill wind coming off the sea, he had removed his shirt, and his muscles rippled and bunched as he swung his sword.
He fought as if he knew instinctively where his opponent did not expect the blow, striking high and low and high again, but always pushing the other warrior back and back and back.
With one final, powerful swing, he knocked the other warrior to the ground with the flat of his sword. No sooner had he defeated him, than another came at him. Only then did Margaret notice there was a line of warriors waiting to fight him.
“Finn!” Ella danced with excitement and pointed at him. “Finn!”
He glanced up, and a thrill went through Margaret when his gaze caught on hers and held. His opponent took advantage of his distraction, however, and knocked him flat.
Finn took it with good humor and was laughing as his opponent offered him a hand. Finn took it, flipped the other warrior onto the ground, and stood over him with a wide grin. After signaling to the next man in line to wait a moment, he waved at her and Ella.
Margaret had forgotten Curstag was there until the woman looped her arm through hers and waved back at Finn with a bright smile. As soon as he returned to the practice, Curstag released her arm and flounced off toward the castle gate. On her way, she passed Una without a word.
“Mind that one,” Una said when she joined them. “She thrives on trouble like seed on a dung heap.”
“What’s between her and Finn?” Margaret asked.
“’Tis not me, but your husband ye ought to ask.” She paused, then added, “If you’re certain ye want to know.”
If there was nothing, surely Una would have just said so.
When Alex, who had been practicing with the men, came over to greet them, Ella let go of Margaret’s hand and ran to meet him. Margaret was relieved that her daughter seemed to have recovered from the incident in the wood. Alex, however, was limping.
“What happened to you?” Margaret asked.
“My horse got a thorn in his hoof and threw me,” he said. “’Twas my own fault for riding near the brambles.”
“We ought to go inside and see to your leg,” she said.
“Nay, it barely hurts at all.” He paused to lift Ella high in the air, which made her laugh. “Don’t tell my father. The way he’s been lately, he’ll question everyone in the castle over a wee thorn.”
To her mind, the earl behaved like a man with lands and responsibilities who had only one heir.
“Ach, look at Finn!” Alex said, turning to watch the practice. “He’s better than all of them.”
“Why are the other guards lined up to fight him?” Margaret asked.
“Because he’s the best,” Alex said. “And they’re angry with him—but he’s already winning them over.”
She could see his impressive fighting skills and good humor were bringing them around.
By the time Finn faced the last warrior in line, however, he had welts on his arms and torso from the blows he had taken.
Though he must be exhausted as well, he moved with grace and speed, as if he could do this all day.
She swallowed hard when the last man stepped up to challenge Finn. He was huge, with legs the size of tree trunks and a vicious look in his eyes.
“Treat?” Ella interrupted, tugging on Margaret’s skirts.
Margaret beamed at her. Just a few short days ago, Ella was afraid to draw attention to herself or to ask for anything. In Ella’s home, she had learned it was safest for a child to be neither seen nor heard. It would take a long time to overcome her fears, but this was a good sign.
“Of course, sweetling,” Margaret said, though she wished she could watch Finn a little longer to be sure he survived his last fight without serious injury.
“I’ll take the wee lassie inside,” Una said, then leaned down to speak to Ella. “Cook has made a plum pudding, and it’s still warm. Shall we have some before your nap?”
Ella nodded with a shy smile.
“Warm plum pudding?” Alex said. “I’ll go with ye.”
Margaret’s heart swelled as she watched her small daughter walking between the old woman and Alex, holding their hands. Despite the incident in the woods with Curstag, Ella was learning to trust—or rather, she was learning who she could trust, and that was still better.
###
Finn winced as he pulled his torn shirt over his head.
“Mercy!” Margaret gasped. “What have they done to you?”
“For the men to accept me,” he said, “I must prove myself—and take a wee bit of punishment for leaving to fight with the Sinclairs.”
“This is a wee bit?” She raked her gaze over his bare chest and back as she circled him.
If he’d known a few cuts and bruises would overcome her shyness, he’d have asked the men to beat on him sooner. This was nothing, but why tell her that?
“I’d like to give those men a piece of my mind,” she said. “I’ll see if Una has a salve for those cuts, but we’d best get ye washed first.”
This was sounding better and better. The notion of Margaret sliding her soapy hands all over his body was verra appealing.
“Can’t wait to get clean,” he said with a grin.
“Good,” she said in a clipped tone. “You wash up while I get the salve.”
The cuts stung like hell as he washed, so he made quick work of it and was sitting on the stool with the drying cloth wrapped around his waist when she returned.
She took a long and thorough look at his bare torso and legs, which made her blush and him get hard.
Pretending that had not happened, she smoothed her expression and set about tending to his wounds.
“How long do ye suppose it will take to prove yourself?” Margaret asked as she dabbed the salve on his cuts with gentle fingers.
“The men respect my skills as a warrior, and most of them have known me since I was a lad,” he said. “But ’tis a serious offense to fight for an enemy clan.”
“Even if that clan is also your blood relation?”
“My Sinclair blood is what makes me suspect in the first place,” he said with a smile.
As Margaret leaned across him to apply salve to a cut on his shoulder, her breasts were barely an inch from his face, and he blessed the man who struck that particular blow. The lavender in her hair filled his nose, and he could almost taste her skin on his tongue.
“They ought to understand ye fought for a chance to gain your own lands,” she said.
“These men are content with the honor of serving in their laird’s guard, and some of them resent me for wanting more,” Finn said. “Being close kin to three earls, though it gains me little, also sets me apart.”
“So they make you pay by battering you?” Margaret blew out her breath and shook her head. “What about your uncle? Is there more ye must do to win his trust?”
“I suspect there is, but he hasn’t told me yet.”