“I dinna suppose there is much chance of rescue,” she said to Jaime.
“Nay, I wouldna think so. ‘Tis why they feel so confident about doing this here, outside the walls of Leargan.” Jaime shook his head. “Sir Barra wouldna have become worried until we were hours late in returning. Then he would send someone to the village to try and discover what had happened.”
“And by then it would be dark, too dark to act. However, someone may have gone to report to Barra soon after we left. Angus was still alive.”
“Nay! I saw him cut down. He was on the ground and bleeding.”
“He was, but he also winked at me. He was alive and mayhaps could get to Rathmor. Also, Malcolm told me that he left Red Ian alive, only just knocked him down and tied him up.”
Jaime frowned and lowered his voice as they neared the MacCordys. “They could get back to Rathmor if Angus survived his wounds and Red Ian wasna killed after Malcolm left. Ah, but then they must try to plan something.”
“Still, itcouldbe possible.”
“It could be, but I wouldna place much of my hopes in it, lass. Look to yourself and to the bairn ye carry.”
Ailis nodded even as Donald silently ordered her to stand beside Malcolm glaring at her as he pointed his stubby finger in the direction he wanted her to go. She wondered why she was being shepherded to Malcolm as much as she was. It appeared to be Donald’s solution to controlling his own anger—he kept her out of his reach and designated Malcolm as her guard. Malcolm would have the freedom to act against Donald himself, to restrain his cousin. That such a precaution was being taken pleased her, but the fact that it was needed aggravated her fear of Donald.
“Is this necessary?” she muttered as she stood beside Malcolm and stared at Alexander, whose face was no longer so bonny, but bruised and swollen from a heavy beating.
Malcolm looked down at her, studied her pale, taut features, and wondered how much she could endure of what was to come. “It has always been Donald’s way to try and make smaller each and every thing he fears. This includes people.”
“Ye openly confess that Donald fears Alexander?” She glanced at him, unable to hide her surprise.
“Aye, he always has. And he truly hates MacDubh for the man’s fair face and skill with the lasses.”
“Jealousy.”
“Aye, jealousy. Your pretty lover undoubtedly stirs it in many a man. Donald intends to steal that beauty ere he kills the man.”
“And ye can stand here and condone this?” She could not stop her condemnation despite the voice of common sense, which warned her not to insult the man who was protecting her.
“Spoken like one who has land and coin of her own. I have only what my kinsmen choose to give me. And I could stoop to remind ye that I have already even risked that meager income by protecting ye.”
“What ye did to aid me is only what anyone would do. However, I thank ye. Surely, though, honor demands that ye put a stop to this. This is a cruelty—naught else. There is no honor or victory in this.”
“True, but I willna stop it. I canna. I havena the power. And ‘twould be wise if ye kept a stiller tongue in your head. Ye dinna truly want Donald to pay ye more heed than he does, do ye?”
Ailis answered that by becoming very quiet. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. It was late in November, and it was almost a miracle that there had been no seriously bad weather. If she found herself heavily confined to Leargan for too long, then the weight of her pregnancy would begin to hinder her. If spring was too late as a result of a late winter, she could easily be forced to bear her child at Leargan, and she knew that would greatly endanger her child.
She looked at Alexander and caught him staring at her. Even though his eyes were swollen and bruised, she caught the glint of mistrust in them. That stung. No matter which side she chose to stand on, Alexander should know her well enough by now to know that she would never condone such brutality. As she held his look, she made no effort to hide the fear and sorrow she felt, nor the hurt he caused with his misjudgment of her. His battered eyes widened a little, and she knew he had read her expression correctly. She quickly smoothed away that glimpse into her emotional state as Donald walked up to Alexander and gave her one hard look before turning toward his prisoner.
“Yet again you have stained the honor of the MacCordy clan,” Donald accused Alexander.
“What honor? A man canna damage what isna there. A MacCordy stains the wordhonorsimply by saying it.” The pain of the blow to the face Donald gave him was enough to penetrate the numbness inflicted by the cold.
“Such insults dinna change the crime ye will now pay for. Ye stole my bride and ye stole her maidenhead.”
“Nay.” Alexander turned to look at Ailis and wished he could see her better. “I bedded my wife. Ailis MacFarlane is my wife in the eyes of God.”
“Oh, sweet Jesu, that clever devil,” muttered Malcolm.
It took only one look for Ailis to understand what Alexander was doing—he was declaring a handfast marriage. Since Donald intended to kill him, it would not protect him or gain her much. It would, however, keep her child from being marked as a bastard. She neatly eluded Malcolm’s attempt to grab her and cover her mouth. She used Jaime’s bulk to slow down Donald’s advance on her.
“And Alexander MacDubh, the Laird of Rathmor, is my husband in the eyes of God.”
She did not completely evade Donald’s slap, his fingers scraping her cheek as he swung at her, but Jaime and Malcolm silently shielded her from the worst of it. It was probably not a perfect declaration, but it would serve. There were a couple dozen people who had heard it. That would serve as some protection for her child, at least for as long as Donald allowed her child to survive. If nothing else, it was a small strike back at Donald, mayhaps a little petty, but nonetheless enjoyable.
“Well, ye shall soon be a widow!” Donald screamed at her. “Ye have just signed his death warrant.”
