"He'll most like stick close by to try to take her again," Galen murmured, then glanced at Angus. "Lock him up."
Nodding, Angus hustled the prisoner toward the front doors of the keep.
Galen turned to Shropshire. "Ye bring news from Laird Forsythe?"
Shropshire nodded at that and Kyla hurried to his side. "He still lives then?"
"Aye. As I told your husband, he is yet weak, but recovering."
Kyla's eyes closed in obvious relief and she swayed slightly, then stepped back to lean into her husband when he took her arm for support. "Aye, Galen said so, but I wished to hear it from you myself." The joy lighting her face was obvious and the Englishman frowned as if at something he had not expected.
"What news?" Galen prompted, when the man simply stood lost in thought.
Straightening, he sighed and shook his head. "He wishes to see Kyla."
"Of course," she cried happily. "What has he done with Catriona?"
Shropshire hesitated. "He has done nothing as of yet."
"Nothing?" She stared at him blankly. "But...She tried to have him killed."
"Aye. Well...Catriona has offered a slightly different allowance of what occurred than you. She claims that once he was down, the men turned and asked you for payment and that you merely laughed and refused to pay."
"What?!"
"And that, out of anger, they struck you down for trying to cheat them. That was when she escaped."
"What?" This time it was the MacDonald men roaring that question. Kyla had paled, her face stiff and colorless as she sagged against Galen's side.
"Well that is rot, I can tell ye!" Morag snapped.
"Aye," Robbie rumbled. "Lady Kyla wouldn't do such a thing is sure."
"She's a true lady," Tommy avowed staunchly.
Nodding, Gavin added, "Braugh."
"Honorable. Not some sly chit to..." Duncan's voice faded as Kyla lifted a hand for silence and faced the Englishman.
"You have known me a long time, Gilbert. Believe you this is true?"
He hesitated, then shook his head, but to Kyla that hesitation was damning.
"Does Johnny believe it as well?" she asked unhappily, and he flushed. "I see." Turning away, she moved back to sink onto her seat in a slight daze.
"It isn't like Johnny to be so foolish," Morag murmured unhappily. "Catriona must be a witch to convince him so."
The men were muttering their agreement to this claim when Galen speared the Englishman with cold eyes. "Why would he believe it? There must be a reason."
"'Tis the will," he admitted reluctantly.
Kyla's head raised, surprise on her face at that. "Will?"
He nodded. "Your father's will states that should Johnny die without heir, everything goes to you."
"Well that is--but I knew not about this will," she managed.
Glaring at Shropshire, Morag moved to her side to pat her shoulder reassuringly. "Of course ye didn't, child, and why would ye?"
"And then there is the fact that when you realized that your brother would not die from his wounds, you and Morag fled," he went on reluctantly.
"Fled?" Every single person present cried that word in disbelief together.
"Fled, did she? Half-dead on her belly in a wagon, she fled?" Morag asked sarcastically as the men voiced their own, far less polite comments on the subject.
"Johnny believes I fled the keep?" Kyla got to her feet again.
"Well..." His gaze slid from the others to Kyla and he sighed. "Aye."
"Well, that is just plain rot," Morag told him. "That she-witch ordered it. I told her 'twould kill the lass, but did she care? Nay."
"She claims she tried to dissuade you both from leaving, but you insisted."
"Who the Devil would believe she tried to flee with her back sliced open so deep the bone showed through?" Galen snapped, finally losing his temper at the aspersions being cast upon his wife.
"The bone?" the man murmured, eyes wide with shock.
"Aye. 'Tis a miracle she survived at all, let alone after being carted about the land like some--"
"You have seen this?" Shropshire interrupted.
"We all have," Duncan told him. "We also all heard her crying out in her fevers for her brother. 'Twas obvious she loved him and would do him no harm."
"She was fretting over him," Tommy added coldly. "She was feverish and babbling about the attack and afraid that that Catriona bitch, beg pardon me lady, would kill him ere he healed. 'Tis why Galen sent Dunc to ye."
Frowning, Gilbert peered at Kyla. "Catriona said the wound was minor."
Morag snorted at that. "Minor me arse."
"Might I see--"
"Don't even ask it," Galen muttered grimly, his hand going for his sword.
Blushing fiercely, Kyla put a hand to his arm. "But, my lord, if 'twould convince him of my innocence...Besides, all have seen--"
"Nay." He didn't even bother to look at her. "Yer brother may look on it if he wishes, but none other."
Sighing, Kyla let her hand drop away. "Then we must go to Forsythe."
Stiffening, Galen swiveled to gape at her in horror. "What?"
"I will not have Johnny thinking I wish him dead. We shall leave at once."
"Er...Now, me lady," Tommy murmured, taking in Galen's expression. "It's not the best idea to be traveling just now, what with the MacGregor about and all."
"We have no choice." Kyla moved toward the stairs. "The longer he believes me guilty, the longer he remains in the claws of that she-devil. I'll not see my brother thinking me his murderess."
"We are not traveling to England!" Galen exploded.
"Then I shall travel alone," Kyla announced stubbornly.
"Nay. Yer not setting foot out of this keep until the MacGregor's dead."
"Then you had best kill him quick, husband, for I shall be gone ere dawn."
Shropshire took in Galen's furious face as he glared after his wife, his lips tipping up wryly. "Lady Kyla always was fond of having her own way, as I recall."
Galen scowled at him, then stomped back to the table and grabbed up a mug of ale. He glanced irritably toward his men who still stood uncertainly about. "Well? What are ye waiting for? One of ye get above and guard the door."
"Aye, me laird," Tommy turned toward the stairs, then paused to turn back suddenly. "What of the passage, me laird?"
Galen sighed at that, then glanced toward Angus as he returned to the keep. "Angus, go through the spare room and stand guard in the tunnel."
"Aye, me laird."
Shropshire joined Galen at the table, poured himself some ale, and stared thoughtfully at it. "Have you a window in your room, sir?"
Galen frowned at the question, but nodded. "Aye. What of it?"
"Well, I was just recalling the time they had an outbreak of the pox at Forsythe. Morag was tending the ill and Kyla insisted on helping. Johnny refused to allow it. Knowing how stubborn she was, he had her locked in her room with a guard at her door to keep her from going down to the village to help."
"And?" he asked suspiciously as his men drew nearer to hear this tale.
"Well." Grinning, he shook his head. "'Twas the damnedest thing. The chit banded her linens together, slipped out the window, and presented herself in the village as intended. Lord Forsythe was furious, of course," he added on a murmur.
Galen's horrified face rose toward his men.
"She wouldn't!" Duncan gasped in dismay.
"Nay. She couldn't," Robbie assured them. "'Tis far too far a distance to the beach. There aren't enough bedclothes in the keep to even attempt it."
"Aye." Duncan agreed, then frowned. "But 'tis her own brother thinking her a killer. And, he's in danger."
Gavin shifted uncomfortably. "She does have a lot of chests up there."
"Nay. She'd have to cut up every gown she owned to make a rope long enough," Robbie argued. "'Sides, 'twould be foolish to try. She'd break her wee neck."
Galen was just beginning to relax a bit,
assured his wife could not escape, when Tommy suddenly shouted from the top of the stairs.
"What?" Duncan shouted back, moving to the base of the stairs at once.
"Lady Kyla wishes to cut some of her old gowns into rags and needs her shears from her embroidery basket. I can't leave me post, fetch them up to me."
Duncan whirled back toward Galen at that, horror plain on his face.
Slamming his mug back on to the table top, he roared, "Tell me wife she need not cut her gowns. Tell her to pack them instead. We leave for England first thing on the morrow!"
Chapter Seventeen
"We are almost there," Galen soothed, grimacing as Kyla lost the remaining contents of her stomach into the bucket he had positioned on the floor for just that purpose. Seated on the edge of the bed in the captain's cabin of his finest ship, he had one hand at his wife's back while the other braced her forehead as she lay, head hanging off the small cot, positioned over the pail.
Frowning as she retched again, he rubbed her back and shook his head. "Ye were the one who insisted we must travel to Forsythe."
A garbled mutter that sounded suspiciously like a curse was her reply then she began to heave again as a tap sounded at the door.
"Enter!"
Tommy stepped reluctantly in. "Gavin says we shall set anchor within a few moments," the man murmured, wincing as Kyla retched again.
"Thank God," Galen sighed.
"Hmm." A worried frown tugging at his eyebrows, Tommy hesitated at another round of rude sounds from his mistress. She had been making them nonstop since they had set sail from the island. He had never seen such a sorry case of seasickness in his life. The worst of it was, the sea was not that rough. It seemed, however, their beautiful brave mistress could not handle the slight roll.
"Will she be all right?" he asked finally.
"Once we land, aye." Galen shook his head now. "MacGregor or no MacGregor I think on the way back we'll avoid sailing until we have to cross to the island."
Tommy nodded relieved acceptance to that, then turned slightly green as Kyla's retching grew more violent. "I'll, er...just go and let the...men ken she'll survive the trip after all." He tugged the door open and hurried out.
Hearing his words, Kyla groaned and sagged wearily against her husband. It did seem she was constantly giving her people reason to view her as a weak and silly female. She could hardly blame them for their worry over whether she would survive this time. She felt fit to die. Might even welcome it. Truly, Kyla had never felt quite so sick in her life. It was all too humiliating.
"Ye should have told me ye couldn't sail."
Had she had the strength, Kyla would have rolled her eyes and asked none too sweetly how she possibly could have done that when she had not known herself. This was her first journey aboard a boat. And her last.
Considering how kind and caring Galen had proven to be during this nightmare journey, Kyla forced herself to refrain from being too irritated with what she considered to be his male foolishness. Saying they would slow them down, Galen had allowed no other women on this trip. That had left him to serve as nursemaid when Kyla had fallen ill.
Aside from a rather gruff bedside manner, he had proven himself to be most sufficient in the position. He had stayed at her side throughout, seeing to the most menial of tasks in tending her with not a single complaint, and all in such a way to minimize her humiliation over the ordeal.
"Feeling any better?"
Kyla sighed at the question, but nodded despite the fact that she did not think she would feel better until she was on dry land. Truly, he was a good man, she thought wearily as he shifted her until her head rested on his lap, his hands brushing the hair gently from her face as she dozed off into an exhausted sleep.
Galen had just realized his wife had dropped off into sleep when the second knock came. Easing her gently to lie upon the bed, he rose and moved to the door--slipping out to speak to Tommy when he saw it was him. "We've dropped anchor?"
"Aye. Shall I go ashore and rent rooms for the night?"
"Nay. Horses," Galen answered, opening his sporran to search out the necessary coins. "Purchase horses. The best ye can find."
Tommy accepted the coins, but hesitated, his feet shifting nervously before he said, "Lady Kyla has been sore ill, me laird. Do ye no' think 'twould be better--"
"Have ye forgotten the MacGregor so soon?"
"Oh, aye." Tommy sighed.
"Eight horses."
That made him frown again. "Only eight?"
"Aye. There shall only be Kyla, me, Robbie, Duncan, Angus, Gavin, Laird Shropshire, and yerself. The rest of the men can wait here."
"What of my men?" That question came from Lord Shropshire as he approached along the hallway.
Galen glanced toward the other man, irritation flickering briefly across his face. "They may follow. Ye may too if ye don't like to leave them," he added when Shropshire opened his mouth as if to protest.
The Englishman grimaced at that wryly, but shrugged. "I merely thought to point out that the more men with us, the safer Lady Kyla would be."
"Nay. The faster we travel, the safer she'll be. Small groups travel faster."
"How can you expect Kyla to travel fast when she has been so ill. She--"
"Will ride with me. 'Twill slow us down a bit, but not much if I switch horses often." He turned to Tommy. "As I said, the best horseflesh ye can find. They must be strong and fast. And purchase bread and cheese and some fruit if ye can find it. We will not stop to eat, so must do so as we travel."
Nodding, Tommy turned to hurry back above deck and Galen turned again toward the cabin. He paused when Shropshire put a hand to his arm.
"If you truly fear for her safety, why do you not just let me see her back? That way she would have no need to make this journey. I would carry the news back to Forsythe."
"And most like be killed ere ye reached there."
Shropshire blinked at that. "You think they would kill me?"
Rather than answer, Galen asked, "Do ye not find the timing in MacGregor's attempt to take Kyla back odd?"
When the other man stared at him blankly, he sighed and pointed out, "'Twas a long time between when I took and married Kyla and when the MacGregor came to steal her back."
"Mayhap he simply needed time to make his plans, he--"
"Nay. Were that the case, he would have been hanging about in the area. He had just arrived. He told Kyla that he and his men had ridden through the night."
Shropshire frowned over that. "I do not see--"
"Robbie told me that one of yer men mentioned ye had traveled hard, riding long into the night and resting little? He said ye had knocked about a day off yer travels that way?"
"Aye, I thought to finish this business quickly. I have things to attend to and--" He paused suddenly. "You think he rode through the night in an attempt to arrive at Dunbar before me? That he wished to kidnap Kyla ere she could speak to me?" He looked both amazed and fascinated by the idea.
"'Tis a possibility."
Shropshire was silent for a moment, then sighed. "It makes fascinating listening, Lord MacDonald, and I very much want to believe that Kyla is innocent in this, but the fact remains that should you simply allow me to see the injury to her back, I could carry the truth to Forsythe. Then she, at least, would not be put at risk."
Galen shrugged at that. "Aye, but Kyla will not rest easy until she sees her brother herself, anyway. So, why bother?" he asked with a wolfish smile. He turned and slid into the cabin, closing the door firmly in the Englishman's face.
It was the drumming in her head that awoke Kyla. When her eyes opened to see treetops flying by overhead, she suffered a distinct sense of deja vu. For one insane moment she feared that the past weeks had been a mere dream, that she had dreamt those days and nights on a Scottish island in the arms of a man with flowing red hair. Melancholy was dropping about her like a cloak when a strand of familiar red hair draped her cheek and Galen's face came into view.
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"Yer awake."
That growling voice was as sweet as birdsong to Kyla's poor ears. A smile suddenly split her face and she sat up abruptly as she realized that she rested not in the bottom of a wagon but across her husband's lap, his arms bracing her and holding her close. "Where are we?"
Galen frowned slightly at the croak of her voice. "England."
"We are off the boat," she commented with surprise as she glanced around and saw that they were on horseback.
"Aye and sure enough we are, me lady. We've been traveling for near a day, a night, and a day again, and ye've slept through it all."
Kyla glanced over her shoulder at that comment, slight embarrassment covering her face as she spied Tommy and recalled what she had been doing the last time he had seen her.
Catching her discomfort and guessing its source, Tommy smiled sympathetically. "Ye've roses in yer cheeks, me lady. One could almost forget ye suffered so on the ship...I ken I have."
Her smile returning slowly, Kyla nodded, then glanced back to her husband as Tommy dropped back to leave them alone. "Have I truly slept so long?"
"Aye." Shifting her, he reached down into a bag that hung off the side of his saddle, then straightened to produce a hunk of crusty bread for her. "Eat. You have been without nourishment too long."
Kyla reached reluctantly for the food. With memories of her seasickness still strong in her head, she wasn't eager to eat. But the moment she took her first bite of bread, the fresh yeast flavor burst inside her mouth, exciting her starved taste buds into a near-frenzy that had her quickly taking a second bite and then another. After that, she was so busy eating that she hardly noticed how dry her mouth was until Galen reached down again and produced a flask of wine.
Mumbling her gratitude around a mouthful of bread, Kyla accepted the flask and downed a good quantity of the contents before handing it back to continue eating. It wasn't until she felt his chest rumbling against her that she noticed her husband's amusement and realized that she was behaving beastly. Ladies do not gobble their food. She could hear that remonstrance from Morag in her head and flushed brightly, chagrin covering her face as she forced herself to slow down and nibble delicately at what was left of the loaf.
Shaking his head slightly, Galen reached into the bag once more and pulled out some cheese and an apple. Kyla managed to make her way through the bread and the fruit, but by then was too full to tackle the cheese. She returned it to Galen with regret, for it certainly looked delicious, but despite the fact that she was feeling much better now that she had something in her stomach, she was unwilling to test how strong it was just then by overfilling it.