“He has played us a fine trick. Even killed the only friend he has ever had to make it work. We hunted him too weel. He had to shake us off his heels.”
“And he did.” Artair cursed viciously. “Parlan set aside his doubts as foolishness.”
“So I had feared. Where is he? Where is my daughter?” Lachlan asked worriedly.
“They have traveled to a secluded spot to be alone for a wee while, the same spot where Rory found them before.”
“Then I suggest that we ride there as swiftly as we can. He could weel find them there again and, since a man usually has but one reason to get his woman alone, they may be less than alert.”
In but moments, Lagan, Artair, and Malcolm were riding out of Dubhglenn with Lachlan, Leith, and their men. Artair found some grim amusement in riding with men he had raided so often in the past. He also felt a deep fear for Parlan and Aimil. In bettering his relationship with Parlan and coming to know Aimil, he had gained a sense of family he had no wish to lose.
Aimil heard the approach of several mounts and nearly panicked, so strained were her nerves. She realized that they came from the direction of Dubhglenn but decided some caution would be wise. Seeking cover behind a tree, she watched as they drew into view and felt weak with relief when she recognized them. The instant they had passed, she darted out of her hiding place and called to them, almost able to smile when they reined in and turned back with a little confusion and a lot of swearing.
“He found you,” Lachlan stated flatly as he saw his daughter’s bruises.
“Aye, but I am not too sorely hurt. Parlan remains back at the Banshee’s Well for he didnae fare as weel.”
Artair helped her mount behind him, a little astounded at the depth of the relief he felt and suspecting that he was a little bit in love with his brother’s tiny wife. “He lives? He won?”
“Aye, he won. Rory lies dead and shattered at the bottom of the ravine. Parlan needs tending to though.”
“Then we best hie to the big fool and fetch him back to Old Meg’s less than tender mercies,” Lagan said, even as they all spurred their mounts into a gallop.
Parlan half sat up with surprise when the horsemen came into view. His grip on his sword was instantly released when he recognized Lagan in the lead. He not only wondered how help had arrived so soon but why Aimil had brought back so many men.
“Ye must have flown to Dubhglenn, lass,” he said with a weak smile when she hurried to his side.
“Nay, I have never been that swift. I met them hieing here. It seems my father insisted upon viewing what we all thought was Rory, and he kenned that it wasnae.” She glanced at the men peering into the ravine. “He is dead for certain this time?”
“Aye, lass,” her father replied then he looked at Parlan. “If ye can wait but a moment, Leith will go down to be sure.”
“I can wait for that. For that and the burying. Aye, buried with a lot of rock piled atop his bones so he cannae rise again.”
Shivering at the mere thought of a resurrection of such evil, Aimil moved so that Parlan could rest his head in her lap. “Are ye certain, Parlan? Ye are looking somewhat wan.” She placed her hand upon his forehead but could detect no hint of fever.
“I am but weary, dearling. A good rest and I will be much improved. Aye, and that rest will come easier when I have seen Rory Fergueson set deep in the ground, closer to the reach of the Devil whom he will reside with now.”
She did not try to argue with him but was relieved when the men worked quickly to bring Rory’s body up and bury it. Parlan’s weakness troubled her greatly. He could have hurt himself more in the fall he had suffered than he knew, and she was not skilled enough in the art of healing to judge the extent of his injuries, injuries she knew might easily be fatal in the end.
Her fears were not eased until they had Parlan back at Dubhglenn. In truth, the journey had only added to them for Parlan had needed help to stay in the saddle and was parchment-white by the time they put him into Old Meg’s capable hands. However, Aimil fought to hide her fear from Parlan as she lent Old Meg a hand. Not until she got a moment alone with the woman in the hall outside of Parlan’s chambers did Aimil give voice to her fear.
“Will he die?”
“I dinnae think so, lass. I could find naught wrong with him that I couldnae fix. I will speak true though. I am no judge of whether he has done his innards a real hurt. We can only wait and pray.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“What are ye doing out of bed, ye great fool?”
Aimil stared at her husband with a mixture of amazement and amusement. It had been nearly a month since they had fought Rory and finally beaten him. Parlan had taken a long time to recover. She did not think he ought to be up and prancing about the room. Her eyes narrowed as she decided that prancing was the only way to describe it.
“Preparing to take a wee trip, loving.” He walked over and kissed her on the nose.
“A wee trip? Are ye daft? Ye were near to death not a month back.”
“Weel, not that near.” He decided that she was adorable when she was trying to be stern.
“And when did ye start getting out of bed and stomping about?”
