Parlan sighed. “I am sorry, Meg. ’Tis just that I ken weel how the bastard can hurt her but I am stuck here abed, helpless.”
“Send your men out. Malcolm and Lagan can plot and plan near as weel as ye. Aye, ye can plot as weel. Your head and mouth work just fine.”
“I should go. ’Tis I that gain if she returns.”
“That doesnae matter to your men. They will gladly take up sword against a Fergueson nay matter what the cause.”
“Ye are right, as always. I must swallow my pride and let others fight for me. Fetch me Lagan. Aye, and Leith if the lad still lingers here. ’Tis past time to fetch Aimil back.”
A force left Dubhglenn riding hard for Fergueson land but a few hours later, aiming to arrive under the cover of nightfall. Volunteers for the venture had been so numerous that some had had to be turned away. Leith rode between Malcolm and Lagan, smiling grimly as he wondered what his father would think about his joining a MacGuin raid. He found that he cared little about that. Aimil was far more important to him than his father’s approval. He only hoped that they had not waited too long.
Maggie sat staring sadly at the girl upon the ground. She was surprised that they had gotten as far as they had. For a while after Aimil had fallen unconscious, Maggie had continued to ride. Aimil’s dead weight had become too much, however, forcing her to stop.
She had dressed Aimil’s injuries then sat down to wait for the girl to wake. There was nothing else she could do. She could not go home, did not even want to. Neither could she move on, leaving Aimil behind. Her future, if there was one, was tied to the girl lying at her side.
When she heard the horses, Maggie’s first thought was to run away. Then she realized that the hoofbeats headed toward Fergueson land. Keeping to the shadowy cover of the trees, she moved closer to the path they rode. When she recognized the colors the men wore as those of the MacGuin clan, she leapt from her cover, waving her arms, and shouting without thought of danger to herself.
There was a moment’s hectic confusion as the force of hard-riding men reined to an abrupt halt then Malcolm dismounted, bellowing, “What are ye about, ye fool lass? We near raced over ye. Have ye nae an ounce of sense in your wee head?”
“Ye are from Dubhglenn? Ye are MacGuin men?” she asked urgently.
“Aye,” replied Lagan. “Who are ye?”
“Maggie Robinson. Ye neednae ride any further. I have what ye seek, I be thinking. Aimil Mengue?”
“Where?” Leith was dismounted and at her side in an instant.
“Through here.” Maggie adroitly avoided the men as she led them to Aimil, Rory’s attentions having left her terrified of a man’s touch.
“Oh, my sweet God,” groaned Leith as he fell to his knees by Aimil’s side, followed by Malcolm and Lagan. “Did he rape her as weel?”
“Nay. I dinnae ken why unless he meant to fash her by making her wait for it to happen. He is a madman.”
“Och, the poor wee lassie,” Malcolm mourned, his light brown eyes awash with tears.
“Dinnae touch her back,” Maggie warned when Malcolm moved to pick Aimil up. “She be sore beaten there.”
As a way to carry Aimil with the least pain to her was sorted out, Maggie told how they had escaped Rory. She never mentioned Aimil’s promise of a place but was given the same promise by the men who fretted over the unconscious girl. With those assurances warming her, Maggie remounted her horse with equanimity, politely refusing all offers to ride with one of the men.
Some of the MacGuin men stayed behind as the rest began the return to Dubhglenn. Those who remained would check to see if any Ferguesons trailed the women and, if they did, that they got no further.
The trip back to Dubhglenn was taken easily in deference to Aimil’s injuries. None wanted to cause her any more pain than they knew she must already be suffering. They ached to avenge her but knew it was more important to get her to the care and safety of Dubhglenn. So too did they know that Parlan would wish the pleasure of seeking vengeance.
“Malcolm, that lass is falling behind again. See if ye cannae get her to ride with one of us,” said Lagan after a while.
Aimil, waking to find herself in Leith’s arms, heard the order and said, “She willnae. She cannae bear the touch of a man.”
“Aye, I could see the fading bruises.” Malcolm’s square face darkened with anger. “Fergueson’s had at the poor lass.” He started to turn back toward the faltering Maggie. “I will take her reins. T’will be enough to keep her with us.”
“How do ye feel, Aimil?” Leith asked, each look at her battered face increasing his hatred of Rory Fergueson.
“Like the verra Devil.” She sighed. “I wouldnae have made it as far as I did without Maggie’s aid. We must find a place for her.”
“We will, m’eudail. Never fear of that. I ken by looking at ye that I owe her your life.”
“How fares Parlan?”
“Weel,” replied Lagan, “now that we have threatened him into staying in bed. He sore ached to ride with us.”
