His Bonnie Bride Read online

  "They did not seem much different from us so I was not sure why we were enemies."

  "Men always have enemies. They would be lost if they had no one to fight. 'Tis the way of it."

  "Why have we been told such lies about them, and they are lies, aren't they, Hilda?"

  "Aye, most of them. They kill, loot and rape, but then our men do too. I do think they be a bit wilder lot, but be they Scot, Englishman, Frenchman or any other breed, a fighting man is a fighting man. Put a sword in their hand and 'tis time for the women and children to hide." She sat on the bed. "I think 'tis the blood and battle which changes them from the men we recognize to beasts with naught else but killing, firing homes and raping women on their minds. Ye could meet a man who's all courtesy and smiles, a true gentleman, but ere the next day, in a battle with a sword in his hand, his softness fades and, because they are now enemies, he could kill the man he drank with not long ago or toss a lady whose hand he had kissed so genteely but nights past and treat her no better than a tavern wench. 'Tis all a mystery, I fear."

  "So, if I had been a woman grown the nice man who did my braid would not have been so nice. He may well have dishonored me instead."

  "Aye, lass, I've little doubt of that if for naught else than it would have been a blow at your sire."

  "Ah, well." Storm yawned, and her eyes closed. "I shall not see them again, I am certain."

  Hilda stood up and stared at the sleeping child. "I hope not, lass. I surely hope not."

  * * * * *

  Once the English had left the Scots headed home. Colin MacLagan rode in a well padded cart to protect his wound, his sons riding to his side and behind. It had been a successful venture, far more so than he could have hoped, and he was pleased. His gaze fell on a pensive Tavis.

  " 'Twas a good battle. Few men lost and much gain to show. I cannae remember one so successful."

  "Nor I, Father. The bounty we have gained should ease the greeting a wee bit."

  "So why are ye looking so pensive, laddie? Thinking on a wench, are ye?" Colin grinned.

  A slow smile touched Tavis's handsome face. "Aye, ye might say that. A wench, and a visit I have sworn myself to making six or eight years hence."

  Chapter Three

  It was warm for a night so early in the spring. A full moon turned the budding greenery to silver. The soft light also strove to outline a group of men moving stealthily with an assortment of animals. Only the keenest of eyes could have spotted them within the shadow of the trees and only the sharpest hearing could have picked up a sound, so quietly did they go about their thievery. Suddenly their leader held up a gloved hand. All movement stopped, and he was joined by two others.

  "What is it, Tavis? Why have we stopped?" queried Robbie, the burly master at arms, but then the sound of hoofbeats reached his ears and his hand went to his sword. "We are discovered?"

  "Nay. Rest easy. We have merely stumbled upon a tryst." Tavis's smile gleamed briefly. "Take the men on, Angus," he directed a stocky man. "Robbie, you, Jaime, Donald and Iain stay with me. Wait for us by the horses, Angus. I do not plan to be long, but this interests me."

  As the others moved on, Iain hissed, "Why do we risk this? Let us go and leave the lovers be. The raid was a masterwork. This pair can mean naught to us." Iain could not understand Tavis's actions.

  "They can when the lass has hair of a color I've seen but once, seven years past," Tavis replied softly and, when he edged closer to the clearing where the couple were meeting, Iain was close at his side.

  Although fully aware of the folly of her actions, Storm made her way to the stream that wove its way through her father's land. She needed the quiet, the isolation. Not another instant could she have born it within the walls of Hagaleah. Life had become a trial. She needed time to think.

  "Oh Lord, Papa, where can ye and Andrew be? Ye are sorely needed at home," she mourned softly as she tossed pebbles into the stream. "The bitch from Sussex is set to ruin us."

  She sat down, uncaring that the grass might ruin her gown. Since her father and Andrew had gone to take a turn at fighting the French, leaving Hagaleah in the hands of his steward, things had gone wrong. The steward did whatever his lover, her stepmother, requested. Storm could not even appeal to the Fosters, for the men there who would have helped were also in France. She could only sit by helplessly watching the woman drain the wealth, antagonize old, dear friends and mistreat the peasants.

  One of the few things in which she had managed to thwart Lady Mary was the matter of her cousin, Phelan O'Conner, who had arrived from Ireland but a fortnight before her father had left. By some miracle the scrawny boy of nine had made his way, alone, all the way from Ireland. A note written by her mother before her marriage, which gave an O'Conner the right to seek aid of any sort from his English relations, had given him the chance for something besides poverty and starvation. He was now being tutored in skills that would serve him well when he became a man and, by force of will and guile, Storm had ensured that the boy had stayed when her father had left and things had begun to change. Phelan's Irishness was enough to make him unwelcome to Lady Mary.

  The sound of a horse fast approaching sent her heart into her throat. When she recognized the rider her fear changed to anger. Her stepmother was determined to wed her to Sir Hugh Sedgeway. He was not ill-favored, being of medium height, with blond hair and brown eyes, but his character was abhorrent to her. Crude, violent and lecherous, he was everything she disliked. Storm had no intention of becoming his wife and spending her days surrounded by by-blows or watching him lust after everything in skirts. Even more important, she would have nothing to do with one of her stepmother's lovers, one of her partners in the orgies that grew more frequent. Tensed and ready to react, she watched him secure his mount and stride to where she cautiously rose to her feet.

  "This is unwise of you, Storm. 'Tis a good thing I saw you leave and followed you."

  "Is it?" She stepped back when he moved closer. "I sought some quiet and privacy."

  "Ah, aye, 'tis a lovely spot." He reached for her, but she deftly eluded his grasp. "Now, lass, you should not be wary of your husband-to-be."

  "Your plans advance beyond reality, Sir Hugh. Never will I be your wife."

  "Not a tryst then," murmured Iain, his gaze running over Storm's small but shapely form. "She's still a bonnie wee lass. Just what are ye planning, Tavis?"

  "I am not sure." His gaze went slowly from the brilliant hair done in a coronet of braids on down her slim length, noting the full breasts, tiny waist and gently rounded hips. "She has grown up fine indeed."

  Sir Hugh shook his head, his brown eyes glittering with anger over the way the girl continued to oppose him. "Why do you fight me so, lass? We will be wed." He suddenly lunged, clasping her tightly in his arms. "Cease your struggles, wench. I intend to show you the joys of matrimony." He laughed loudly, a laugh that was cut short by Storm's knee connecting forcefully with his groin. "You bitch!"

  "Robbie, you and Donald circle round behind our wounded knight. Jaime, you stay here. Iain and I will circle round behind Mistress Eldon. With the stream as our ally we will entrap the pair."

  Free of Sir Hugh's grip, Storm glared at the hunched-over man unsympathetically. "Joys, is it? Spare me that. Ye'll get no pleasures from me, Sir Hugh, now or ever, so I suggest ye hobble home. We both know my father would ne'er agree to our wedding. Ye'll nay dishonor me to ensure the match."

  "You are a cold-blooded bitch, Storm Eldon," he snarled. "You are enough to freeze a man."

  "Not like my dear stepmama, eh, Sir Hugh?" she sneered.

  "I don't know what you are talking about," he said with an overdone confusion.

  Storm's laughter was derisive. "Think ye that I've not seen the pair of ye slipping off to dark corners to grope about like frenzied animals? I daresay our esteemed steward would be interested to hear how ye visit Lady Mary's chambers of a morning. My God, I doubt the heat of him has ere left the bed."

  "We do nothing wron
g," bellowed Sir Hugh, silently cursing his luck at having been found out.

  "No? Playing backgammon, are ye? My, I have not realized what a physical game it was ere now. All that grunting and moaning and crying out. 'Tis the tossing of the dice, I imagine."

  Iain watched, bemused, as Tavis buried his face in his arms to stifle his laughter. It was a rare thing for Tavis to laugh. As his eldest brother had grown he had become more solemn, even hard and cynical. Many had ventured a guess as to why the man had become that way, but no one really knew, for Tavis was a private man, keeping too much inside of himself. Suddenly Iain decided he would say nothing, whatever Tavis had planned for the lass. She could prove the tonic needed to lighten Tavis's soul.

  With a bellow of rage, Sir Hugh lunged at Storm, sending them both to the ground. She realized her taunts had driven him into one of his furies. Fighting him with all her strength was useless, and she knew it, but did not cease. Suddenly she was firmly pinned as he straddled her, one of his strong hands pinning hers above her head. He smiled coldly and she fought her fear.

  "Not so haughty now, are you," he sneered, his free hand nimbly unlacing her gown.

  "Ye do this, Sir Hugh, and I shall see ye dead if 'tis the last thing I do."

  Her voice was so low and cold that he hesitated briefly before laughing. "I'm sure you'll try." He stared at her heaving breasts and then roughly parted her unlaced bodice, exposing their alabaster firmness to his greedy eyes. "God, but you are well made, wench." His hand reaching to cup one, he suddenly found a sword at his throat and felt another at his back. "Sweet Jesus, what ..."

  "Get up very slowly, Sir Hugh. Lay one hand on the lass and I cut your throat," came a deep, soft yet icy voice with a definite if subtle Scottish accent, a voice that teased a memory free in Storm's mind as she waited for Sir Hugh to get off of her.

  Sir Hugh blanched as he faced skewering from both sides. The moment her hands were released, Storm drew her clothing together and struggled to redo her laces. By the time Sir Hugh had slowly risen to his feet, she had accomplished enough to give her the barest semblance of modesty. A hand grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. She was not overly surprised to find herself facing Tavis MacLagan as, for reasons beyond her, she remembered him well. The head-to-toe black he was adorned in hindered her recognition not at all. It was his voice and eyes that she had most recalled.

  "We meet again, Mistress Eldon," Tavis drawled as he sheathed his sword and began to redo her laces.

  She eyed him calmly but with humor. "I see ye have as much skill with laces as ye did with braids."

  "Do you know these men?" Sir Hugh asked with some incredulity, for he knew they were Scots.

  "Why, aye. This is Tavis MacLagan, and the man next to him is his brother Iain. Seven years past they held me, Andrew, Robin, Matilda, Hadden and Haig for ransom. How healed the laird's wound?"

  "Quickly and neatly, mistress," Iain replied with a grin. "Ye have a good memory."

  "Ah, well, it was an adventure of the best sort for a child. Exciting yet leaving no scars."

  "What do we do with this?" asked Robbie, nudging Sir Hugh with his sword.

  Tavis's eyes narrowed as they rested on the Englishman. "Strip him and bind him o'er his saddle."

  Dislike of the man and temper aside, Storm felt for the shame that would bring Sir Hugh. "Oh, sir, can ye not leave him his attire? It will be shame enough for him to be sent back across his saddle."

  "I need no wench to plead for me," snarled Sir Hugh.

  Goaded, Storm glared at him. "Fine. Return to Hagaleah with your backside out for all to see. I daresay most of the women will recognize it well as it's occupied most every hedge, bed and hayloft there."

  Flushed with impotent rage, Sir Hugh sneered, "A man needs some relief when he makes the folly of pursuing the cold-blooded spawn of some Irish whore."

  With an incoherent sound of rage, Storm lunged at him, the long fingers of her delicate hands curved into talons. As he stepped back to avoid her, Tavis grasped her from behind. His strong arms wrapped around her slim form like the bands of a cage and he held her until her struggles ceased. He was surprised at the strength she displayed, for she barely reached his shoulder and was as slim as a reed.

  Calming down as the red mist of rage cleared from her brain, Storm felt the tight bonds encircling her ease slightly. She kept her eyes fixed upon Sir Hugh as he was roughly stripped of his clothing. There was no denying that he was a fine figure of a man, but she was unmoved, knowing well the rot that the attractive edifice tried to disguise. She watched with the detachment of a physician, her features set and cold.

  Releasing her, Tavis glanced from her unreadable face to the naked man. "Like what ye see?" he purred.

  Meeting Sir Hugh's eyes as he was tugged to his horse, Storm replied clearly, " 'Tis a fine enough form, though I have seen too few to judge well. Nay, I was merely wondering what draws so many women to his bed or causes them to invite him into theirs. The attraction eludes me, though I daresay he serves Lady Mary well enough, for her tastes have e'er been less than exacting." She ignored Tavis's soft laughter and continued to meet Sir Hugh's gaze, refusing to flinch beneath his rage and hate.

  She watched as Sir Hugh was slung over his saddle with little consideration for his lack of clothing. He was tied down, and the rump of his horse given a sound slap. The animal trotted toward Hagaleah for a few yards before slowing to a walk. It would be a long while before Sir Hugh reached the castle. His threats and curses served to entertain the Scotsmen but failed to prod the horse onward.

  Turning to look at Tavis, Storm said, "What do ye plan to do with me, sir? I fear if 'tis ransom on your mind ye are lost. Lady Mary will give naught for me e'en if ye threatened to send me home piece by piece. She runs Hagaleah now and she would rejoice to see me dead or gone."

  "Where is your father then?" He took her arm and urged her in the direction of the rest of his men.

  "France. Our king felt his services would be of more use there than along our fractious border."

  "And ye feel the man left in charge wouldnae see to your safe return?" Tavis asked.

  "He is completely under Lady Mary's control." Storm struggled to keep pace with the man so that his hand upon her arm stayed as a guide and not a drag. "They just need not tell anyone. I fear 'tis as bad at the Fosters, for Lady Mary exerts a great deal of control over the lady there. What I truly fear is that the lords and their heirs may not return, and I speak not of an honorable death in battle."

  "What would it gain them?"

  "They have each borne a son, and Sir Hugh is sure of being appointed guardian." She looked at the animals the men had stolen when they reached the place where the remainder of the raiders waited. "A successful raid, I see. It would ne'er have been so easy if things were as they should be. Was anyone hurt?"

  "We left a few bound up who'll suffer a sore head on the morrow," Tavis replied. "It did occur to me that the raid was far too easy," he mused. " 'Twas little guarding going on."

  Storm sighed. " 'Tis sure to ruin us. So, sir, what do ye plan to do with me?" She was not at all sure she liked the way he smiled, for she was no child now but a woman.

  Tossing her upon his horse, Tavis mounted behind her, grinning at the way she tried to tug her skirts down over her slim legs. "I am sure there'll be some benefit from your abduction." Slipping an arm around her tiny waist, he started his mount on the way to Caraidland, the keep of the MacLagans.

  Tavis was not at all clear on what he would do with Storm Eldon. All he knew was that he wanted to keep her with him for a while. There was also a very healthy desire for her involved but, although he could take her at any time, he strongly wished for her to succumb willingly. He certainly did not want to send her back to Hagaleah so that Sir Hugh could maul her.

  He was puzzled by his attitude toward her as, for a long time, he had felt women were good for only one thing and aside from that he had no use for them and less interest. Yet, when Sir Hugh had at
tacked the girl a white-hot rage had seized Tavis far in excess of any offended sense of chivalry or honor. He wondered if it was because he still saw Storm as that engaging child of the past.

  Storm was no less confused. It was a wonder to her that she was unafraid. It was well known what a man did with a woman captive, yet she could not seem to conjure up any real fear. Some instinct told her she would not be tossed out as amusement for the men. That same instinct told her that Tavis was not taking her along simply to reminisce about their meeting in the past.

  Despite that, she felt relatively calm. A part of her acknowledged that she would prefer Tavis MacLagan to steal her virtue than Sir Hugh, who was plainly not going to give up and so would therefore eventually succeed. That thought managed to stir up a little resentment over the way that men simply took as they pleased with little or no thought to the lady involved. The fact that it had always been so did little to ease that resentment.

  Several hours later they halted, although they had not gone far. Driving the stolen animals made it impossible to gain any speed. Storm was also sure that they were not all that far from Caraidland, but the men were plainly in need of a little respite. She sat calmly on a rock as the animals were secured and a guard chosen. As they seemed to, she doubted there would be any immediate attack put forth. Her father would have hesitated for fear of endangering her, but those at Hagaleah now would be slow due to unreadiness.

  Tavis handed her a blanket, watching quietly as she rolled herself up in it, pillowing her head upon the moss as the men did. He then wrapped himself up in his plaid and lay down beside her, his sword away from her but near at hand. She was an uncomplaining captive, but he did not doubt that she would try to escape if given half a chance. He fixed his gaze upon the gentle curves of her blanketed form and his eyes were slow in closing.

  Thoughts of escape were indeed in Storm's mind, but she could see that her chance would not come yet. A part of her was glad, for the idea of trying to get back to Hagaleah alone in the dark was terrifying. She sighed silently, wishing she were a man, for then she would only face ransoming. Then, too, she would have been better equipped to plot escape, manage it and elude her captors. As she began to close her eyes a movement in the forest just beyond caught her notice. She stiffened for she feared she knew what it was.