Chapter Five

“What do you mean she is still alive?” Lieutenant James Long released a throaty growl as anger surged through him.

“I ran her through with my sword, but then a man who was tall and burly and as savage as any man we’ve come across yet in this godforsaken country appeared out of nowhere, attacking us like a wild beast rising from the forest floor. He struck down two men with one swipe of his sword and another three after that. Alan and I could see our cause was lost and managed to escape before the beast came after us.”

“Damn stupid louts—that’s what the lot of you are.” The lieutenant drew his sword and brought it to rest beneath George’s chin, allowing it to cut through the delicate skin of his neck. “You should have stayed to finish him off.”

“We would have died,” Alan said as George swallowed roughly and took a half-step back. Blood dripped from the cut to trail down his neck. “It was inhuman the way the man fought. We thought it best to come back here and report what we saw.”

“And what did you see?” the lieutenant asked, keeping his sword raised and shifting it between Alan and George’s chests, trying to decide which man would pay for such incompetence. He wanted Rosalyn de Clare dead. How difficult a task was it to kill a woman? Only when she was dead would he be free of the commitment her brother had forced upon him. He had no time for marriage or women, not when his regiment was about to lead an attack on the Scots of the Isle.

“The man was travelling alone,” Alan said with a quiver in his voice.

“He wore a MacLeod tartan,” George added, taking yet another step back.

At their fear, a smile tugged at the corner of the lieutenant’s mouth. It was about time someone saw him the way he saw himself—powerful, commanding, and superior to them all. “The MacLeods, you say.” Lieutenant Long again brought his sword to Alan’s chest. The man’s face turned ashen. “If you two want to stay alive, then I suggest you go find out if the MacLeods have Rosalyn in their possession.”

Alan nodded. “If we find her, we shall put an end to her life as you requested.”

“No!” His voice was hard, filled with the power that ran through his veins. “I want her alive.” The MacLeods taking what was his gave him a moral advantage he did not possess before. His cause now had a purpose: to reclaim his bride.

The lieutenant looked at the ashen faces of his men. What were they afraid of now? “What are you waiting for? Go and find the girl then report back to me. Once we have confirmed that the MacLeods indeed possess her, we will strike, and the battle for the Highlands will begin.”

In the meanwhile, he would placate the English command. They had sent orders to watch and wait only. An order he intended to disobey as soon as he knew where to strike. The MacLeods would only be the first clan to fall beneath his sword. It was time to put an end to those who were trying to bring a Stuart back to the throne.

*

Rosalyn watched withfascination as the healer examined her abdomen. Where she could swear there had been a ragged red scar not an hour ago, only a fine sliver of pink remained.

“You are certain you were stabbed with a sword?” the healer asked with a befuddled expression.

Rosalyn pointed to the hole in her discarded dress. “The evidence lies there. Yet I am, as you say, unharmed.”

Lottie straightened and shrugged. Her features cleared. “Perhaps we should stop trying to understand and just accept. You are very fortunate Keiran came upon you when he did. Too many times I have seen men after battles like the one you were in. They are never the same again.”

Rosalyn nodded. She wasn’t certain she would ever be the same again either, even though she had now been spared from permanent injury. “Thank you.” She managed to force the words from a throat that had suddenly gone tight. Her whole world had been turned upside down in a matter of days. Had her situation gone from bad to worse, or had she ended up in a place and with a family who were as kind as they seemed?

Rosalyn’s gaze shifted to Gwendolyn who had stood quietly at the end of the bed all through Lottie’s examination. When the healer departed, she came to sit beside Rosalyn on the bed. “I cannot imagine what you must be feeling right now. Attacked by your own people and whisked back to a fortress where you do not know a thing about the residents who live here.” She offered up a sympathetic smile. “Would it help if I assured you that we only want to help you? That you are truly safe here?”

The odd thing was, Rosalyn did feel safe, probably safer than she had ever felt living in London after the death of her parents. Even so, she raised her head and met Gwendolyn’s gaze with strength. “I am grateful to have a temporary safe harbour, but I will not be staying long.”

Gwendolyn frowned. “Have you somewhere else to go?”

“I am your enemy. Why would you want me to stay?”

“It matters not which side of Hadrian’s Wall you were born on. You are human and in need of a bath, a meal, and some sleep, I am certain.”

“You do not care that I am English?”

“If you do not care that I am Scottish.” Gwendolyn opened her hand to reveal a key. “Here, take this. You will have the only key to your chamber. I am certain it will help you to sleep better knowing no one else can enter your chamber unless you allow it.”

As if disproving that very point, a soft rap sounded before the door opened and a red-haired woman stepped inside, carrying an armful of gowns and other various garments. “Good evening, Rosalyn. I am Fiona. I gathered up everything you might need,” she said, setting the pile of clothing on the bed. There were three gowns, two shifts, and two night rails, stays, hose, and so much more. “Our chatelaine is still rounding up a few more items as well as shoes and a cloak. And Isolde is right behind me.”

She had barely finished speaking when a tall, thin blond entered the chamber, followed by three men who carried a hip bath and several buckets of steaming water. “We brought water for a bath,” Isolde said, joining the others near the bed. “Mrs Honey will be along any moment with a tray for your dinner.”

As if on cue, Mrs Honey entered with a tray containing a meat pie, fruit compote, a hearty slice of cheese and bread, and a mug of ale, which she set on a table near the fire. She offered Rosalyn a smile and a quick curtsy before heading from the chamber. Taking charge of those who had entered, Gwendolyn motioned for the men to set the hip bath near the fire. They filled it with their buckets of steaming water and departed.

Reading Rosalyn’s puzzled expression, Isolde replied, “We thought you might be tired and would rather eat in your chamber tonight instead of facing the entire family while you are still recovering from today’s trauma.”

“I do not know what to say,” Rosalyn said hesitantly. “I suspected I would be thrown in the dungeon as a prisoner of the MacLeods. Why would you care about my comfort at all?”

Gwendolyn pressed the key into Rosalyn’s hand. “You are not a prisoner. You are free to leave whenever you would like.”

Isolde came forward. “I would caution you from departing without a definite plan or a place to go, though. The wilderness of the isle can be dangerous for a woman alone.”

Rosalyn recalled Keiran saying something about Isolde living in isolation for over a year. Perhaps Rosalyn could learn some of the woman’s secrets if she stayed a few days more. “I would very much like to bathe and to refresh myself. Thank you, all.” She hesitated before continuing, “I did not expect such kindness.”

“Let me guess,” Fiona said. “You were told stories all your life about the uncivilised nature of the Scots.”

Reluctantly, Rosalyn nodded.

“We heard the same stories about the English,” Fiona replied with a grin. “Let us make up our own minds about each other, shall we?”

Rosalyn looked at the three women before her—Gwendolyn, Isolde, and Fiona. They did not appear threatening in any way, and if she were honest, she rather liked all three women. They were the kind of women—intelligent, interesting, and open-minded—that she had always dreamed of having as friends. She had never had women she could laugh with, or discuss the issues of the day, or anyone who cared whether she was happy. Friends who would give purpose to her life. Rosalyn swallowed hard, realising all this was happening so suddenly. “I am grateful for your assistance this evening, but as you suspected, I am exhausted. I would very much like a bath and to go to sleep.”

“Will you need any assistance removing that gown?” Isolde asked.

Rosalyn shook her head. She had been without a maid for years and was used to taking care of her own needs.

“Very well,” Isolde replied. “When you are ready, simply place your soiled garment outside your door and our laundress will try to remove the stains and repair it, if you’d like.”

Rosalyn nodded. As the women departed, her throat tightened. This day had not started out well, had been one of the worst in her life, and yet she could honestly say it had ended far better than she ever could have imagined.

Still not wanting to put all her trust in the MacLeods until she knew them better, she moved to the door and locked herself in the chamber. Then, placing the key on the stand beside the bed, she began to remove her dress. The blood had dried, making the fabric stiff as she pulled it over her head, then tossed it to the floor.

The room was warm with the fire and relatively bright despite the deepening darkness outside the window. Rosalyn ran her fingers through her hair, working out the knots and picking pieces of grass and leaves from the mass before stepping into the tub. As she submerged herself in the steaming water, her thoughts returned to the man who had brought her to this place.

She had decided to give the women of Dunvegan a chance to be friends. Should she offer the same to Keiran? Her gaze dropped to the barely discernible scar on her abdomen. She wasn’t certain what he had done to her, but he had kept her alive. No matter what tale he had spun to divert attention from himself, she knew the blood on her dress had been hers. She would never forget the feel of the sticky warmth running through her fingers and her life draining from her.

There was something about Keiran that was different from her brother, and even his own brothers and Lieutenant James Long. Keiran was as strong and commanding as any of the others, but there was another intangible element that drew her gaze more often than she cared to admit. In him, she recognised a part of herself, a part that had been so filled with loneliness there was no more space inside her for anything but pain. But how could someone, who had been raised with a family who was so welcoming and kind, be filled with such despair?

If she wanted to find out why, and to repay Keiran for saving her life, she would have to stay at Dunvegan for at least a short while. At her decision, a sense of exhilaration moved through her. For the first time in her life, she could decide her own fate. She had no idea what it was that she wanted except the freedom to make her own choices.

The fear and trepidation that had haunted her all day was forced aside by a blossoming joy. After washing her body and her hair, she stood and dried herself quickly with the bath sheet Gwendolyn had left nearby, then dressed herself in a shift and a simple rust-coloured dress with tiny gold leaves embroidered around the edges of the bodice and hem. She could have opted for a night rail as she was determined to stay in her chamber, but a dress felt like a safer choice in the house of her enemy.

Idly, Rosalyn traced the embroidery threads with her fingers. The dress was not something she would ever have dared to wear in London. It was too plain for that. But it was the dress’s simplicity that she liked, that and the way it made her feel—like she didn’t have to pretend to be anything but herself.

She was no longer in London. She was no longer under her brother’s thumb. And she was no longer on her way to be married to a man she didn’t fully know and certainly didn’t love. Rosalyn drew a long shaky breath. Not that she was holding out for a love match. She feared the kind of passion that had led to her parents’ deaths. Yet she had hoped to at least share a closeness, a friendship with the person who she would commit to for the rest of her life. Now that she had been spared, at least temporarily, her thoughts drifted back to Keiran and the MacLeods.

Without his knowing it, Keiran had given her back a small glimmer of hope that her life might amount to something. She had always dreamed of running her own household, being the kind of mistress who would treat her entire household with kindness, perhaps teaching the young children of their staff how to read, write, and do basic arithmetic. Their lives would be much improved as a result.

Or were those things only a dream that would go unfulfilled due to her own dire situation? The MacLeods had been very kind so far, but would they allow her to remain with them more than a few days?

With every passing moment, Rosalyn knew she did not want to resume her journey towards marrying Lieutenant James Long. She doubted he would allow her to do anything except be his wife, especially here in Scotland while he served his regiment.

Rosalyn pressed her lips together in thought. Today’s experiences had made her long for so much more. Perhaps on the morrow, she could make good on her promise to teach Keiran how to read. Then she could find other children who might need her help here at Dunvegan. Once she successfully tutored Keiran and others, perhaps the MacLeods would provide her with a reference so that she could venture out on her own as Hugh had never allowed her in England.

A familiar hurt centred in her chest. Damn her brother for never believing in her or allowing her to follow her own path. Rosalyn straightened. If she had learned anything by the day’s events, it was that she was a survivor. She might have had help from Keiran to live through that battle, but she would not take his gift and waste it. She had been given a second chance to live her life. What she would do with it was now up to her.