Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T hey lay together in the warm rays of the morning sun, the sounds of birdsong and the rustling of the breeze through the wood lulling them into a peaceful, drowsy state. Dahlia closed her eyes and it was not long before Arran also slept.
When they awoke the sun was high in the sky and the blue sky of morning was overlaid with threatening dark clouds.
They scrambled to their feet.
"We'd best be going," Dahlia glanced around, fearing someone may have entered their private haven, but they were still alone. A reluctant Arran got to his feet, reaching a hand to pull her up.
"This has been our own little version of heaven here, but I fear there's a chill in the air and rain is nae far off."
Dahlia was shivering. "Och. We were so hasty tae remove our clothing that I've forgotten what became of them."
"They were just here." He looked around, a puzzled frown dawning on his face. "We flung them down as we discarded them with very little thought. But I cannae see them here now." He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close for one more brief kiss before their idyll came to an end.
"I dinnae ken where they are," Dahlia scratched her head. "I thought me dress was right here." She pointed to a tree stump a few feet away. "And me petticoat. And me stays."
"God's blood." Arran thundered. "Me kilt was here too but there's nay sign of it."
Dahlia couldn't resist a tiny giggle. "Some has sneaked up on us and stolen our clothes."
"And, it seems, all we have to wear is our boots."
She darted across to where the horses were tethered. "Our cloaks are still where we left them." Wrapping herself in her cloak she took Arran's across to him where he stood trying to make sense of the situation, they found themselves in.
"Wait here. I'll search around in case whoever stole our clothing was only playing a joke on us and has discarded our things close by."
He was gone for a while, leaving Dahlia to sit and contemplate what this meant. Someone had spied on them and seen them together, naked. The thought of the danger they were in made her shiver.
Arran came stomping back along the track. "There's nay sign. If a peasant has taken them, they'll nay be eager to give up the rich clothes and the fine fabrics. I dae regret the loss of me kilt though. It will cost me a pretty penny tae purchase another."
She moaned loudly.
"The loss is nae what concerns me. It's being here naked and needing tae find our way back tae the castle."
For a brief while the two of them sat on a large rock, contemplating the loch, their cloaks pulled tight against their nakedness. The rain had commenced and, before long, they would be soaking.
"It would be funny, Arran, if it wasnae most likely a death sentence fer us."
"Aye lass. I'm finding it a mite difficult tae muster me funny bone and have a laugh at our dilemma. I'll just have to figure out how we can find a solution."
"Well," she said, a determined note in her voice. "I willnae be returning tae the castle without clothing, so we'd better find ourselves something tae wear very soon."
"I recall seeing a crofter's cottage up on the hillside not too far off."
"Aye. A wee cottage with a few sheep in the field. So ye'll ask the crofter tae give up his clothes and exchange our nakedness with his? Most peasants only have one outfit and they wear it, mended, tattered and mended again until it is nae more than shreds and then they use it fer patchwork."
He huffed. "Essentially, that's the best I can think of. Have ye a better idea?"
"D'ye think the crofter will have clothes enough to share?"
"I cannae say. But if ye dinnae have a better plan, we'd best make our way up to the croft before we're washed away by the rain."
The mounted their horses and plodded slowly up the hill, Dahlia doing her best to keep her mind from dwelling on what would befall them should Bairre discover their predicament.
As they approached, a pair of thin sheepdogs raced out of the cottage, barking furiously, closely followed by a stooped, grey-haired man.
"Come nay closer," he called. They stopped and waited as he made his way into the yard. "Who are ye? What are ye doing here?"
"Me name is Arran Mackinnon. I am from the castle, a henchman of the laird."
"And what d'ye wish with me, melaird?" The man called to his dogs who came stand by his side, growling.
"Ye've good loyal guards there, old man."
A faint smile passed over the man's face. "They're me companions. The best." He leaned on his shepherd's stave a quizzical expression on his face. "Mayhap me old eyes deceive me melord, but are ye and yer lady wearing only a cloak with naught on underneath." He broke into a grin as his eyes focused.
"Och, man. Ye're correct. Some black-hearted churl has stolen our clothing."
The old man's grin widened. "Stole the clothes right off yer backs when ye werenae paying attention?"
Arran's face reddened. "Aye. That's all ye need tae ken."
Dahlia found herself smiling. Of course, the old man could guess exactly what they'd been doing and why they hadn't noticed their clothes were being stolen. But for the life of her, she couldn't fathom how he'd be able to help them with something to wear. Judging by the ragged state of his trews she doubted if he had a second pair, he'd be willing to give them.
"I suppose ye'd better come in, then." The old farmer said, unlatching the gate so their horses could enter the farmyard.
Arran swung out of the saddle and reached up to lift Dahlia down. Despite their best efforts it was impossible to keep bare legs and arms hidden by their cloaks. The farmer stood watching their efforts with a grin on his face.
It was only when they were inside out of the rain, in front of the fire burning in the middle of the room and seated at a wooden table in the corner that Arran asked for help.
He twisted off a large gold signet ring from his middle finger. "I have only this tae offer ye, master, but if ye can find us some clothing tae cover us ye'd be doing us a great service"
The old man reached for the ring and studied the Mackinnon crest carved into the gold. "Why, indeed, ‘tis a precious object." He threw a hard look at Arran. "'Tis a ring tae be worn by the Mackinnon laird if I'm nae mistaken."
"Aye. I was that once," Arran said without offering any further explanation.
The old man placed the ring on the table in front of Arran. "Keep yer fine ring, melord. ‘Tis rightfully yers and of nay use tae me."
"Ye could sell it. The gold would bring a pretty price."
"And who would risk their neck buying the laird's ring? I'd be accused of stealing and they'd string me up in a flash."
Dahlia's heart sank. "Oh please, cannae ye reconsider and help us?" She'd said nothing until now, but sheer terror took over and she spoke out.
He swiveled and looked at her. "Dinnae fash, lassie. I didnae say I wouldnae help ye. I only said I didnae want the ring."
She took a deep breath and breathed out slowly. "Then ye will aid us?"
The old man got to his feet gesturing for them to follow. He shuffled across to a large wooden chest situated in the corner. "This is where the good clothes for church were kept when me wife, God rest her soul, was still with me." He blew the dust away and opened the lid. "I dinnae have any use for them these days as I've nae time fer priests and bell-ringing and prefer tae keep me own company on the Sabbath. Ye're welcome tae any ye find that will fit ye."
"I thank ye, sir. Ye are more than kind. I shall reward ye one day soon."
Dahlia smiled to herself at the sight of Arran in his peasant's smock and britches as they rode back toward the castle. The rain had gone and she was now happily clad in a blue kirtle and undershirt wrapped in her still-damp cloak.
"We cannae be seen in these clothes. It would set tongues wagging, and soon the news would get back to Bairre and the obvious questions would be asked."
"Ye mean, why did we exchange our clothes for peasants' garb?" He chuckled. "It wouldnae take much tae work it out."
"That we were naked in each other's arms by the loch, ye mean?"
"And once Bairre came to that conclusion…"
"…our lives would be cut short."
"Aye, ye're right. We must make our way intae the castle without being seen."
As they approached the gate, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks more tightly hoping they were sufficiently hidden to fool the guards. The guard scarcely looked up as Arran called for the gate to open and within moments there were inside the courtyard with no one the wiser.
They left the horses in the stables and Arran led her along a walkway leading into a lower part of the keep. There was something vaguely familiar about it and it dawned on Dahlia that she'd been this way before. Once, when Black-Mask was attempting to rescue her from her captivity in the dungeon.
He led her through a series of concealed passageways and up a narrow staircase. To her astonishment as they emerged from the stairs, she found herself in the passage that led to her bedchamber.
"How did ye ken such places existed? I've never kent there were such hidden hallways and stairs within the keep."
He shook his head, placing is finger to his lips. Leaving her with even more unanswered questions. How did Arran know so much about the castle?
After dropping a quick kiss on her lips, Arran bid her goodbye and headed back to his quarters to don his own clothing. She opened the door of her chamber, breathing a sigh that they'd made it back unseen and now all she required was a quick change of clothes and she could spend the afternoon in the solar with her embroidery as if nothing had occurred.
Her heart leaped in her ribcage at the sight of a tall dark figure standing by the fireside.
"Bairre!" she exclaimed as he turned toward her, scowling, his mouth set in a grim, tight line.
"I agreed tae ye going fer a ride this morning. Ye've been gone fer hours. Where did ye go with Arran Mackinnon?"
His eyes scanned her from top to toe. As she attempted to tighten the cloak around her, he stepped forward and wrenched it off.
"What is this?" he thundered. "Why are ye wearing a peasant's clothing? Where is yer own dress and yer undergarments? What have ye been doing under the pretense of riding?"
She straightened her spine, making herself tall, throwing Bairre a look filled with disdain.
"Are ye accusing me of something? If so, I suggest ye say it out loud and let me hear it fer meself."
"When a lass turns up after a so-called ride without the clothes she started with, what else can I think but that she's been on a different kind of ride," he bellowed.
"How dare ye!" Dahlia kept her voice steady. He was jumping to the exact conclusion she'd feared. All she could do now was bluff it out and pray she could convince him he was wrong.
"If I'm wrong, start talking."
"Yer suspicions are quite wrong," she lied, holding his gaze. "Nothing untoward occurred. I merely had an unfortunate accident; my clothing was ruined and I was forced to seek help from a nearby crofter. Fortunately, the old man was able to provide me with his late wife's clothing."
"Och?" He still looked at her dubiously but some of his anger had dissipated.
"We strolled our horses by the loch and a wading bird startled me mare, causing her to shy. I slipped and fell into the muddy waters at the edge of the loch. I was saturated in mud and it was impossible for me continue the ride. We went to a nearby croft where I was able to discard me muddied clothing and don these clean clothes."
She gestured toward the door. Now, if ye'll permit me some privacy, I wish tae wash mesel' and rest."
With a grunt, Bairre reluctantly obeyed.
As the door closed behind him, she allowed herself to breathe freely once again. Whether she'd convinced him or not she couldn't be certain. One thing she could be sure of was that his suspicions remained.
Bairre stormed out of Dahlia's chamber. Fists clenched, chest heaving he strode back to his solar.
He tossed another log on the fire and stoked it savagely, his mind whirling. For him, the prospect of someone lying to him and attempting to deceive him was enough to drive him into a frenzy of retribution and hatred.
The lass takes me fer a damned fool with her lies and her fanciful story about losing her clothes. Did she really think I was prepared tae allow her tae ride out with Arran Mackinnon without sending one of me men tae keep an eye on them?
Seated at his table in front of a large pile of parchments he attempted to distract his rage by focusing on the series of grievances and complaints from neighbor to neighbor that he, as the magistrate, was meant to adjudicate on.
Pshaw! He thrust aside a crofter's complaint that his two cows had been stolen by a man nearby, who openly kept them pastured within their rightful owner's sight. He requested that the laird intervene and demand the return of his cattle.
Bairre took his quill, dipped it into the ink and scrawled across the top of the page "Refused." There was some bitter satisfaction in imagining someone besides himself being cheated and thwarted and refused.
His patience was growing thin, with still two more weeks to go before the king's decree would force Dahlia into marriage with him. It was tiresome to assume the courtly behavior that was necessary if he was to convince her that marriage to him was in her own best interests.
But once the marriage ceremony had been performed and she was his, he would take his revenge for all the slights, the tiny shudders of revulsion, and the looks of hatred she cast him. She would pay, and pay dearly, and there would be no recourse from the king. Her brothers would have no power over whatever fate he chose for her.
In fact, he smiled to himself at the thought of it, her brother the Viking Laird would be forced to cede a portion of MacLeod lands to his sister's new husband. It would be a pleasant victory. All he had to do was wait out the remainder of the four weeks the king had insisted on for them to become acquainted.
And no one would be allowed to get in the way of the Laird Bairre Mackinnon achieving his heart's desire.
At that moment his vengeful reverie was interrupted by a sharp tap on the door.
"Who comes?"
"'Tis Hendry of Bute, me laird."
"Enter."
The burly man entered, doffing his cloth bonnet, which he clasped to his chest in deference to Bairre.
Bairre looked up with interest. Hendry was one of his guards to whom he'd entrusted the task of keeping watch over Dahlia from a distance. He reported back regularly with details gleaned from spying on her activities. Judging by the grim smile on the man's face today he had some worthwhile information to impart.
"As ye ordered, I followed the lady and the Lord Arran as they rode out this morning."
"Aye," Bairre was impatient to hear more.
The man nodded. "I kept me distance and they were nay aware of me presence as I followed them through the woods. When they lay down together beside the river, they had nay idea I was near."
Bairre's felt his face burning as a feeling of molten rage poured over him.
"They lay together?"
"Aye, they did so, naked as the day they were born."
A slow smile spread across Bairre's features. "And while they lay together, naked as babes, did ye perchance play a part in the loss of their clothing?"
The man grinned and tossed the rolled-up bundle of clothes he was holding onto the floor. "Aye. It was then I did away with their clothes, my laird. It seemed tae me they should remain unclad and disclose their shame tae the world."
Bairre was out of his seat and pacing. So, Arran had defiled the woman who was promised tae me by the king.
"Well done man, they deserved tae be shamed. Yet somehow, they found a peasant who helped them conceal their disgrace?
"Aye. They made their way back tae the castle clad in the peasants' garb."
Bairre took a deep breath. Even though his worst suspicious had been realized, his plans still stood. Arran and Dahlia had dishonored him, but he would still go ahead and make Dahlia MacLeod his wife. There were a fortune and the king's goodwill at stake. But, as for Arran Mackinnon, he'd long been a thorn in Bairre's side and this blatant betrayal could not stand.
He made no direct response to Hendry's words, merely gazed thoughtfully into the fire while the man waited for his next orders.
Finally, Bairre turned to Hendry of Bute and spoke. "The man must die. Come, take a seat beside me at the table and we can make a plan tae rid me of the artful creature once and fer all."
Hendry moved toward the table and pulled out a chair. He bent his head, tugging his forelock. "Aye, me laird. Whatever ye wish of me I will obey."
"Good. I will send one of me men with ye as well."