Defended by a Highland Renegade Page 2

  "What did Alec steal?" Darack asked.

  "My brother's priceless dagger. He is also…" She snapped her mouth closed.

  "What?"

  She crept closer to him, then tugged at his arm until he leaned down. "He is also a murderer," she whispered so softly into his ear he could hardly hear her. She motioned with her thumb over her shoulder.

  He frowned. What the devil was she trying to tell him?

  "He killed one of his young guards and left him lying in that stall."

  Shock spiked through Darack. "When?"

  "About a quarter hour ago."

  "And you are a witness?"

  "I did not see everything. I heard it. And then I saw him covering the body with straw to hide it."

  "Mayhap the guard is not dead." Even as he said it, he knew 'twas not the case. Even if the guard was only badly injured, he would not live long after a stab wound.

  "I hope not, but… since I heard the stabbing sound and his cry of pain, he has been silent."

  "I'll go see if he lives." Although it would put his own life in danger, Darack could not let a person lie suffering. "But if he is dead, I have to get you out of here before the body is discovered."

  She nodded. "I fear if he finds out I know what he did, he will kill me, too. I thought I knew him well, but I know him not at all." In the low light, more tears gleamed in her eyes. "I have no friends here, no one from my own clan."

  "Damnation," Darack muttered. Of course, he had to help her. He couldn't abandon her to Alec and his kin. "Hide here for a while longer and I'll slip you out later tonight. But first, I'm going to check on the guard." He prayed that being in the vicinity of the body would not implicate him in the murder.

  ***

  "Aye, he is dead," Darack whispered through the cracks between the stalls.

  "Saints preserve us. I knew it." Terror twisted in Marianna's gut. How could Alec do such a thing to his own man, a lad really, who had done nothing to him? 'Twas true he had helped steal the dagger and sell it, but he didn't deserve to die for that. Life was far more valuable than any jewels or weapons.

  She heard Darack slip from the stall, latch the door, then push the wheelbarrow away over the straw.

  Trying to remain calm and keep her dread at bay, Mairiana quietly petted her mare… well, Fern was not truly her mare. She was one Alec had allowed her to ride. But Mairiana had become attached to her during the past couple of weeks. She was a sweet, gentle animal.

  "I'll miss you, Fern," she whispered softer than a breath.

  O'Quigley paced up and down the corridor of the stables, demanding that Darack hasten his stall mucking.

  Why on earth was Darack employed here, and in the stables, no less? He would be considered a gentleman of his own clan and not expected to do menial labor. Besides, he was from much further north. As the son of the long executed chief, he was in fact the rightful chief, but since King James had outlawed the MacGregors, he could not claim that title. Times were hard for his clan. Obviously, he'd been forced to assume the name Grant. She remembered he was the cousin of the Grant chief from when they had visited her brothers a few years before.

  Mairiana would owe Darack a grand debt of gratitude if he helped her make it safely back home. She would convince Dugald to pay him, even if it took part of her dowry. She never wanted to marry now anyway.

  What a fool she'd been, proclaiming to her brothers how much she loved Alec. They had rolled their eyes and indulged her, allowing her to choose her own husband. 'Twas highly irregular but she loved them for it. But now, since her judgement was so obviously flawed, no doubt Dugald would try to force her to marry some cantankerous old laird of his choosing. The thought made her nauseous. She would refuse.

  In regards to Alec, Dugald would tell her I told you so in that arrogant and superior way of his. She deserved no less.

  The stall door swung open, startling her, and Darack stood there, tall and imposing, his expression as dark as his eyes. "Get in," he murmured and motioned to the wheelbarrow crusted with manure mixed with straw.

  She frowned down at it. "Are you mad?" she whispered. Not since she was a wee lass had she done such, and received a severe scolding from her mother for ruining her clothing. "This is one of my best gowns."

  "Do you want to leave this place or not?"

  "I'll walk out before I'll let you hide me beneath a pile of fresh manure. I'm sure they would hear my retching and gagging all the way into the great hall." Her voice was low but fierce.

  "I'm going to throw this old canvas over you. No one is about, but if the guards should be watching from the ramparts, this will conceal you. Then I'll put you on the wagon."

  "The manure wagon?"

  "Aye. I'll drive it out beyond the portcullis toward the fields, where they use the moldering horse dung to enrich the soil for their crops."

  She blew out a sharp breath. What the devil had she gotten herself into?

  "Forget it then," he said with a dismissive shrug. "I was only trying to help you."

  "All right." It appeared she had no other choice. She huffed and crawled onto the wheelbarrow while he held it steady.

  "Lie down and draw your legs up close to your chest," he whispered. When she did, he threw the oiled, blackened canvas over her and tucked it around her.

  "Grant!" O'Quigley yelled from the stables' entrance. "What are you doing?"

  Chapter 2

  Darack turned to face the stable master, his back to the wheelbarrow where Mairiana was covered by the canvas tarpaulin. "Just finishing up, sir," he called back. "Getting ready to haul the dung out to the fields on the wagon."

  "About time." O'Quigley strode away toward his lodgings.

  "Whoreson," Darack muttered under his breath.

  Lifting up on the handles, he slowly pushed the wheelbarrow along the straw littered corridor of the stables toward the wagon waiting outside. The brown canvas cover wouldn't look much different from a dung heap as viewed from the ramparts.

  Why was Mairiana so resistant to this method of escape? He'd thought it brilliant. Was she terrified of a little horse manure? Such a cosseted princess, she was. He shook his head.

  Outside, torches lit the bailey here and there. The few servants about were busy working, cleaning and preparing for tomorrow's visitors and wedding guests.

  Casually glancing about to make certain no one paid him any mind, he wrapped the tarp about her closely and lifted her onto the wagon, settling her between the seat and the pile of horse dung he'd loaded earlier.

  "Ugh," she grunted, then made a coughing, gagging sound.

  "Shh. Lie still," he breathed, then climbed onto the seat and took up the reins. He flicked them at the old mare's back and the horse moved forward at a slow walk.

  At the portcullis, one of the guards motioned to another and the portcullis was raised with the screeching and clanging of metal.

  He held his breath as he urged the horse past the guard's critical, observant gaze.

  Once Darack was outside the walls, he listened to the portcullis rattling closed again and picked up the pace, flicking the lines more urgently. He guided the horse along the narrow track between fields to a spot several hundred yards away from the castle where the dung was left to decay so the crofters could spread it over the fields later. The guards on the wall walk would think it odd if he didn't take the wagon to the right spot, as he had been doing for the last few days. 'Twas also near a line of trees and bushes they could use for cover while slipping away.

  The sounds of coughing and gagging erupted behind him again.

  "Not much further," he told her.

  "I can't breathe." Her voice was muffled.

  "Lift the edge of the canvas a wee bit. No one is too close now."

  After she did, he heard her inhaling great gasps of air.

  They were almost to the tree line and 'twas growing darker, a great benefit.

  When they neared the dung heap, he pulled back on the reins. "Whoa."

 
The mare stopped and Darack crawled to the back of the wagon. Standing between her and the castle, he lifted the canvas from her head and shoulders. "Climb off that side and slip into the wood." He started unloading the dung with the pitchfork.

  She eyed him, then did as he asked. No easy task for a woman wearing fancy clothing with all the trappings, including a farthingale. He would've helped her, but he had to continue going through the motions of unloading the wagon to allay any suspicion.

  Once she'd vanished from sight, he leapt down, dropped the pitchfork and followed. Mayhap the stable master would think he'd been abducted while unloading the dung or simply gotten tired of his job and left. Not a stretch, considering what a smelly job it was.

  Once Darack escorted her home, he would have to come back here and beg for his manure mucking job again in order to find his mother's brooch. Talk about destroying the pride. Hell, who was he kidding? He nor any of his clan had much pride left after the king's proclamation. They were lucky to have their lives. But at least they hadn't given up. MacGregor blood still ran in their veins, and when their eyes met, that spark of unwavering spirit remained. He was determined that one day his clan would be united once again and they would no longer be labeled outlaws.

  He strode into the darkness of the trees and bushes. "Where are you?" he whispered loudly.

  "Here," she said, popping up from behind a bush. "Do you think anyone will follow us?"

  "Not for a while. They will, no doubt, start looking for you in the morn when they discover you're gone. We need to be far away from here by then."

  "Aye, but where shall we go first? We have no horses to ride, and we cannot possibly walk all the way to Rornoch."

  Darack shook his head and grinned wryly. What a beautiful but coddled lady she was. "Well, we could walk that far, but 'twould take a long time. Instead, we'll take a ferry from Dundee to Perth. I have a good friend there who will let us borrow a horse to ride north through the mountains to Rornoch."

  "That sounds good, but 'twill take several days to get home." The worry in her voice was evident.

  "Aye, a few. We'll travel as fast as we can." He wished he could reassure her more, but he didn't intend to make empty promises.

  Darack offered his elbow and Mairiana took it, glad for his strong support over the uneven ground. 'Twas almost dark in the wood. She felt wayward, running off alone with a man she barely knew. But her brothers knew him, and if they trusted him, she should, too.

  "Do you know this area well?" she asked as they proceeded through the trees toward the road on the other side.

  "I've only been along the road a couple of times."

  "I'm sorry to be so selfish," she blurted, feeling guilty.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Because of me, you'll likely lose your job at the stables."

  "Do not fash over it."

  Because of his frown, 'twas obvious to her that he was the one fashing over it.

  She wanted to ask why he had been working in the stables, but decided against it. Maybe he had to do whatever work he could get to survive, and she did not wish to make him feel embarrassed about it.

  When he and his cousins had visited her brothers a few years ago, she had been too young to dance with the men, but she had noticed how handsome Darack was, with his dark hair and rich brown eyes. She had thought him extremely arrogant at the time, but had she misread him? He did not seem at all arrogant at the moment.

  He now wore a very short beard which made him look somewhat different, but just as attractive. She had not immediately recognized him. She wondered if he was trying to disguise himself. Did he have to skulk about and avoid the authorities because of the MacGregor name? What had his life been like, being a member of an outlaw clan? Surely, 'twas far different from her own life and that of her brothers. Once she knew him better, she would ask him. 'Haps her brother could hire him for a better paying job. But would he see it as charity and be too proud to accept it?

  Was she trying to think of ways to keep him around Rornoch once she arrived back there?

  Nonsense.

  She heard the rushing water of a burn close by, and soon they came upon the stream. How difficult would it be to cross? The water reflected the moonlight and she could see a few rocks sticking above the water to step on.

  "I'll help you across," Darack offered.

  "'Tis very kind of you."

  Before she expected it, he lifted her into his arms. Startled, she threw her arms around his neck and held on. He traversed the stream in three strides.

  "Good heavens," she breathed. "I didn't expect you to do it so quickly."

  He placed her back on her feet and drew her hand around his elbow once again. "No need to waste time."

  Well, he didn't. 'Twas a certainty. Though she had only been in his arms a matter of five seconds, the imprint of his hard, strong muscles remained on her body. She vividly recalled the silky feel of his cool hair sliding over her hands. Most importantly, she'd felt safe. Somewhere deep down, instinctively, she'd known he would never drop her.

  After emerging from the trees, they walked at a brisk pace along the muddy road for almost an hour, during which time she kept looking back, listening for hoof beats.

  "Are you tired?" he asked.

  "Nay, not overmuch. I'm jittery and wanting to put as much distance between myself and that murderer as possible."

  "I cannot believe he murdered a guard." Darack shook his head. "Still, I hope they don't find his body until we are many miles from here. They could implicate either of us since we left in such haste."

  Ice-cold terror sliced through her as realization struck. "'Twould be my word against his. Would anyone believe what I heard him do? I should've been watching too, so I could be an eye witness."

  "That wouldn't matter. He's a future clan chief," Darack grumbled. "They'd likely believe him over both of us, regardless of what you saw or heard."

  "I fear you're right. Good heavens. I wish I'd never come here. I wish…" Why on earth had she been so gullible as to fall for Alec's smooth talking and handsome face? He had been so convincing when he'd said he loved her. He had seemed completely enamored with her. "How well do you know Alec?" she asked.

  "I've never talked to him. Because of who I am, I try to avoid important people like chiefs or future chiefs, unless our clans have been allies for many years, like the MacKerricks and Grants. We MacGregors must be very careful not to draw attention from the wrong people. We especially wouldn't want word to reach King James that Chief Grant—my cousin, Ewan—is sheltering several MacGregors, for it would put his life in danger, too."

  "Aye, 'tis true." She had never considered it much, but Darack's life could be in danger at any moment.

  "I saw Alec at a gathering of the Highland clans a couple of months ago. Ewan advised me to keep an eye on him because he was not to be trusted."

  "Your cousin is wise." Mairiana wished she had been much wiser, too.

  "When I came here, I was gambling on the hope he hadn't noticed me. He tends to ignore people he sees as lower ranking or inferior."

  Now that she thought about it, Alec did have a superior attitude, as if he thought himself above almost everyone else.

  "We need to find you more clothes," Darack said.

  Startled by his change in subject, she glanced down at her clothes. "What's wrong with my gown?" She smoothed her skirts, feeling the intricate flower and vine embroidery beneath her fingers.

  "Look at it." He frowned down at it in the moonlight.

  "'Tis one of my finest."

  "Indeed and that's exactly what's wrong with it. You need to look like a peasant, not a queen. At least your cloak is plain black."

  He thought she looked like a queen? She would've thanked him if he'd meant it as a compliment, but he hadn't. Her richly designed gown was a hindrance to her getting back home safely. Her brother had spent a pretty penny on her wedding trousseau, and she was grateful for it. But what must Darack think of such extravagant fabri
cs and designs? His own clothing was very basic, a faded plaid kilt, a dull linen shirt and a worn doublet. For this journey, her clothing needed to be along the same social lines as his.

  "Well, I've been known to wear an arisaid at times," she said. "'Tis also what crofter women wear."

  "Mayhap we can find one for you."

  Find one? How would that happen? She knew her family had sheltered her the whole of her life, not allowing her to experience many hardships. Losing her parents had been extremely difficult, of course, but she had never wanted for food, clothing or safety.

  They walked along the muddy road for another hour or more, the moon climbing higher in the midnight sky. Suddenly, she felt exhausted. Never had she traveled so far on foot in her life. Was it true what they said—that she was coddled? She refused to be. From now on, she would learn how to be strong and resourceful. Mayhap Darack could teach her. She glanced up at his handsome face. Aye, he appeared very resolute and determined. His jaw was firm, his dark eyes hard as he glanced at her.

  Finally, they neared the outskirts of a small village and she sighed with relief, hoping they could rest for a bit. All was dark and no doubt all the residents were asleep.

  "Let's go this way," he whispered, then guided her as they slipped around back of a row of tidy cottages.

  "There." Darack pointed. One of the crofter's wives had forgotten to bring in her laundry. More precisely, a plaid hung on a clothesline made of thin rope.

  "It might be a man's plaid," she whispered.

  "Nay, look at the length. Much of the weave is white. 'Tis an arisaid."

  "Very well, but I've never stolen anything in my life. I don't like that. And what if they see us take it?"

  "They're likely asleep. You stay here and I'll slip over and get it."

  "All right." She crouched behind a bush. "Have a care," she whispered, then watched as he crept forward, stealthy as a wildcat. He snatched the piece of clothing from the clothesline and hastened back toward her.