Chapter 4 #2
He straightened his clothing, slid his dirk into his belt and lifted his claymore, ready to defend Fiona if need be, unbolted the door and opened it a few inches.
Finn stood there looking worried. “Thank the saints. Kester picked a fight with one of the Rose men and, well, did some damage. The Rose is no’ pleased. He sends his regrets and demands ye deal with yer man. He wouldna accept that I could take care of the matter.”
Erik growled, but his shoulders dropped.
There were no invaders at his door. He didn’t need to protect Fiona in her own keep.
Nay, he needed to deal with one of his own men.
He set the claymore aside. “Take me to him.” He gestured for Finn to move away from the door.
The man had no business seeing Fiona in her wedding night chamber.
He waved her over to stand behind the door.
“Lock the door behind me and dinna open it until ye hear my voice,” he told her.
“I dinna want anyone to disturb ye while I’m gone. ”
“I will,” she said and put a hand on his arm. “Dinna be too long away.”
The roses in her skin, signs of her arousal and the pink he left with his kisses nearly had him closing the door and staying inside the chamber with her.
But the summons of his host clan chief was not something he dared ignore.
Now that Finn had moved toward the stairs and the way was clear, Erik opened the door, stepped through it and closed it, confident Fiona would lock it behind him as he’d asked.
He heard the bolt slide home before he’d taken two steps. Good lass.
Perhaps the only good thing in his life right now.
Based on Finn’s expression, the Rose had called him from his marriage bed to deal with one of his men in a way that the Rose would not.
Or could not without fear of ruining the relationship the wedding between Erik and Fiona was supposed to repair.
As he made his way down the stairs, Erik forced himself to forget his irritation at being pulled away from his bride, and his fear of what he might be asked to do instead.
He’d never heard of such a circumstance in all the Highlands.
This could not, nay, would not be good for Ross. But he would deal with it.
Instead of leading him to the laird’s solar as he expected, Finn led him to the keep’s herbal, where the healer worked feverishly on a man covered in blood.
His arm, scored from shoulder to elbow deep enough to bisect the muscle down to the bone, bled freely.
Erik fought not to wince. He must remain calm and let her work.
But where was the Rose? And why had Erik’s man done this?
He pulled Finn out of the chamber. “Answers, now,” he said, firmly but quietly. “What happened and why? Kester did this?”
Finn filled him in as best he could, but admitted, “I wasna there when it happened. Rose is talking to his men who were. ’Tis why I brought ye here, to see the import.
That man may lose his arm, if no’ his life, this night.
Ye wouldna want to be in that solar right now. At best, they might do the same to ye.”
“Where is Kester?”
“Rose’s men took him to whatever passes for a dungeon in this place. He has some injuries, but none so bad as that. I heard ’twas a fierce fight.”
“Why?”
“Why the fight? Too much ale and a buxom serving wench without the sense to stay out of the middle of a group of very drunk soldiers. Kester tried to use her. He handled her, got her skirts up to her knees, before the man in there charged him to stop what he planned to do.”
Erik’s belly hollowed. This was worse than a simple drunken brawl for pawing at a serving wench.
Fighting could be excused, even fighting that caused serious injuries, though not if the man in the herbal died on the healer’s table.
Then, Ross would owe Rose a life. As it was, Kester would be lucky to keep his cods for what he’d tried to do to a lass in a strange keep.
If Rose didn’t take them, Erik might do it himself.
“Shite!” He muttered under his breath.
“What do ye want me to do?” Finn crossed his arms and frowned. “I can keep watch here while ye deal with the Rose, but I warn ye to take the rest of our men with ye to guard yer back.”
Erik wanted more than anything to go back upstairs to Fiona and forget that any of this had happened. Second best would be to pummel Kester with his fists until the man bled like the one on the healer’s table. Last would be to deal with a furious Rose laird, especially if his man died.
“We may all wind up in the dungeon with Kester,” Erik growled.
“Helluva wedding night, aye?”
“Dinna remind me. Where are the others?”
“In the great hall keeping an eye on the laird’s solar door for ye. They’ll have a sense of whether ’tis safe for ye to go in there yet.”
“Ye said he summoned me,” Erik reminded him.
“He did, but ye’d better no’ arrive until he sends for ye again. He’ll think ye are still busy with yer bride and I have yet to give ye his message.”
“I think he’s wiser than that. He kens I’m doing exactly this, so I can speak to him already aware of what happened. Or as aware as my own men are. His will ken more if they saw the fight.” He nodded, resolute. “I’m going. Keep me informed.”
“Aye, Laird Ross.”
Erik gave Finn a side-eyed frown and left him outside the herbal, where the smell of blood overpowered the scents of herbs and concoctions the healer kept there. In the great hall, his men stood when they saw him approaching.
“Laird,” Donnan said by way of greeting.
“What do ye ken?” Erik asked, not wanting to waste another minute.
“Kester went after a serving lass. A Rose objected and a fight broke out. More than the two of them. Everyone thinks Kester cut their man, but we’ve heard rumbles the man had enemies of his own and one of them might have taken advantage of the brawl.”
“Are ye serious? Who told ye that tale?”
“Two of their men, separately,” his other man, Neill, supplied. “Which makes us think it might be true.”
“And might save Kester’s life, if it is. But there’s nay proving it, not after a drunken brawl. I doubt any of those men remember enough to ken who they hit or who hit them.”
“But they might recall someone pulling a blade.”
“We can hope so.” He gestured toward the solar. “Quiet in there?”
“After one shouted oath, aye.”
“I’m going in. Ye two will follow me to the door. I’ll decide whether ye join me inside the solar or nay.”
“We should, laird. Ye’ll be at their mercy in there.”
“Rose doesna want me dead. He wants this alliance. But that fool Kester is another matter. I’m his laird. ’Tis up to me to protect—or to punish—him.”
The two men glanced at each other, frowning.
“But I hope Rose willna demand his life. I’ll do what I can to prevent that.”
Wrapped once again in her woolen shawl and pacing the floor, Fiona waited long past the time her patience ran out.
Where was Erik? What sort of trouble had caused the Rose to summon him away from their bed on this of all nights?
Especially after practically forcing her into this marriage.
Still, she was learning that good things could come from bad, and perhaps this was one of them, if the trouble was something that was simply taking more time to settle than both of them had hoped.
But what if it was something more serious, and Rose intended to separate them before the marriage could be consummated?
Mary had told her about what their father put her sister Annie and Iain Brodie through.
He’d agreed to their match, then refused it, only accepting it after the eldest sister, Mary, arranged for him to catch them together in Annie’s chamber.
He signed the betrothal agreement with Brodie—with bad grace—but he signed it, and Iain and Annie were married a few days later at Brodie so that Iain’s ill father could attend.
Her suspicion galvanized her. She dropped the shawl onto the bed and pulled a woolen dress over her pretty night shift.
Erik might need the help of his wife, but they could not prove they had consummated their marriage.
The laird’s summons had come too soon and interrupted them.
She had no bloody sheet to prove he’d taken her maidenhead.
But the sight of her shawl on the sheets made her realize she could do something about that.
Her eating knife lay on the small table near the hearth.
It would do. She traced the point across the inside of her upper arm, a place where a wrapping would not be visible under her sleeve.
When a beaded line of blood appeared, she moved to the bed, tossed her shawl to the floor, and pulled the sheet up, holding it near where she imagined she would have lain while Erik took her and smeared a red streak there.
She tore a strip from a léine and tied it around her arm with one end in her teeth and the other in her opposite hand.
Now to dry the stain a bit. She gathered the cloth so it made the bottom of a bag and slung the rest over her shoulder, then passed the smear over the fire in the hearth, letting the heat set the bloodstain, but not dry it completely.
When she was satisfied with her handiwork, she folded the sheet, thankful the fabric looked enough like her simple homespun shawl to fool anyone.
She draped it around her shoulders, turned so that the stain was hidden next to her body.
She didn’t know how long it had taken her to make her preparations, but she was certain Erik had been gone too long. Something was wrong, and she needed to know what had happened to her new husband.
She arrived at the solar to the sound of angry raised voices. Both lairds were shouting, making her fear violence would soon follow. Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, she slowly opened the door wide enough to slip through, then closed it softly behind her.