To Love A Highlander (Highland Warriors Book 1) Page 4

  “What goes on here?” Craven demanded with harsh authority and caught Leith backing away as if ready to run. “Stay as you are, Leith.”

  The lad froze, not moving a single limb.

  “This woman thinks she can tell me how to tend to my workers, my lord,” the man said with the importance of a man far above his station.

  “You are?” Craven asked and all eyes widened.

  “I am Todd, the cook,” he said as if insulted. “I took the position after Alfen died about six months ago.”

  “Who appointed you cook?’ Craven asked annoyed that he had forgotten Alfen had passed.

  Todd shrugged. “No one else stepped forward to take it after Alfen died.”

  Britt spoke up. “That is not true. Aggie should have been appointed. You forced your way into the position and the whole staff has suffered for it as well as the clan.” She reached out and gently took hold of the young lad, easing him to her side. “How many times a day does Sayer here suffer your brutal hand or others suffer because they displease you?”

  “It is my kitchen and I make the rules,” Todd sneered, “so mind your business, woman.”

  “Everything here belongs to me and I alone make the rules,” Craven said his deep voice booming with such command that everyone took a step away from him, except Leith. The lad was too frightened to move. “And you, Todd, are no longer the cook. Someone fetch me Aggie.”

  That got Leith and Sayer moving along with several other kitchen helpers that had been watching.

  Todd took a step toward Craven.

  “One word, and you will find yourself on your arse on the ground,” Craven warned, his hand fisting at his side, ready and eager to keep his word.

  Todd paled, knowing one blow from Craven’s powerful fist could break his jaw.

  A short woman with gray hair and a round, full face stepped out of the cookhouse, wiping her chunky hands on her apron.

  Craven looked to her, recalling the woman and how good she had been to Aubrey while she had been with child. “Aggie.”

  “Aye, my lord,” she said, cautiously.

  “You are the new cook.”

  “I am?” Aggie asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

  “You are as long as you treat your staff well,” Craven said and everyone around her nodded along with her, as if assuring him she would.

  “Thank you, my lord, I will serve you well,” Aggie said with a respectful nod of her head.

  Craven pointed to Leith. “See that he is kept well fed.” He turned to Todd. “You will go to the keep and wait for me in the Great Hall. You have much to answer for, starting with why you have demanded a share of the crops from the people.”

  Todd wisely remained silent, bowed his head, and did as he was told.

  “Aggie, if there is anything you need, come see me,” Craven said. “Now all of you get back to work.” He waved his hand, dismissing everyone and walked over to Britt.

  He had not seen her in some time. Her belly was quite swollen with child and he tried to remember when Dylan told him the bairn was expected, two or three months or was it less? He remembered the jealousy he felt instead of happiness for his friend when he had learned the news. But then he had still blamed Britt for not seeking help when Aubrey’s delivery had turned bad.

  “You are well, Britt?” Craven asked.

  “I am, my lord,” she said, placing her hand on her stomach. “We both are.”

  “That is good. I want to speak with you.”

  “Then you should have come to me and asked permission first.” Dylan stepped around Craven and went to his wife’s side, his arm going protectively around her shoulders.

  Craven had, at first, thought them an odd couple, Dylan tall and slim and Britt, short and petite. Where he was quiet and thoughtful of his words, except when it came to defending his wife, she spoke up in defense of others. She had tried to tell him that Espy had done everything she could to save Aubrey, but the physician had disagreed with her, calling her an ignorant peasant.

  Dylan had wisely removed Britt from the keep and she had kept her distance from Craven from that day on.

  “I do not need your permission to speak to anyone, including your wife,” Craven reminded him, his annoyance flaring.

  Dylan reminded him of something himself, his tongue sharp. “We are friends or, at least, I thought we were.”

  Britt broke in as if stepping between the two, her heart aching that their longtime friendship had suffered because of her. “Is this about Espy?”

  Craven glared at Dylan, though kept his response to Britt tempered. “It is.”

  “Ask what you will, but I will reiterate what I said that day. Espy did all she could and more to save Aubrey and your bairn.”

  “You saw her do nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary of other healers?” Craven asked, needing desperately to make sense of his wife’s death.

  “The only thing she did was insist on keeping things clean around Aubrey and our hands as well. We washed them often and the water in the buckets was kept fresh. She kept Aubrey comfortable, talked soothingly to her, and encouraged her to stay calm when the pain turned harsh. When the bleeding started, I froze, frightened for Aubrey. Not so Espy, she was right there to try and see to the cause of it and what she could do.” Britt shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “There was no stopping the bleeding, no matter what Espy did. And now that she has returned, I will have Espy and no other tend me when I am ready to give birth.”

  “No!” Craven and Dylan said in unison.

  Britt glared at her husband as if he were a traitor.

  “You will go nowhere near that woman. I will not take a chance with your life no matter how much you trust Espy,” Dylan warned.

  “Dylan is right,” Craven said, glad his friend agreed with him on this.

  Britt shot each man a stinging glare. “I do not care what either of you say. Espy will deliver my bairn.”

  “She will not,” Craven said as if he had just declared an edict. “You will do as your husband commands, and as for Espy? She will suffer her fate long before your birthing time arrives.”

  Chapter 5

  Espy had grown strong over the past two weeks and her grandmother had grown more worried that any day now Craven would come for her. Cyra had suggested several escape possibilities, but Espy had been adamant. She would not leave. If she dared sneak off, her grandmother would suffer for it and that she could not bear. Besides, she had no other recourse. Wise or foolish, her return home was all that was left to her.

  “I fear every time I leave you that I will return and Craven will have taken you away,” Cyra said as she packed the last few items in her healing basket.

  “Do not think on that now. You must go and tend those in the outlying crofts. You have delayed your visits because of me and someone may need care,” Espy said, snatching her grandmother’s cloak off the back of the chair and draping it over her shoulders.

  Cyra hugged Espy. “I do love you.”

  Her words touched Espy’s heart, but it pained her to see the worry in her grandmother’s eyes. “Something I never doubted and return tenfold. Worry not, I will be here when you return.”

  Espy saw her grandmother off, waving to her, then watching until she disappeared in the distance. It would be two or three days before she returned and while she hoped she would be here when her grandmother came back, she could not be sure.

  Craven’s hand had healed nicely and Cyra no longer had to go to the keep. Tass was replaced by other warriors, who took turns making certain Espy remained at the cottage. But each day that passed no summons came from the keep and since that day she had tended Craven’s hand, Espy had not seen him.

  She delayed going inside the cottage, the sun bright, and there was an unusual warmth to the air for the middle of spring. Of course, it probably would not last, which was why she wanted to take advantage of the sun while she could.

  She wished she could take Trumble for a ride, but that wou
ld not be allowed. Once she had felt well enough, she had seen to his care herself and had assured him all was fine, hoping her words would hold true.

  The sun started to fade after an hour and a chill blew in with a sudden wind. She was about to enter the cottage and make herself a hot brew when she caught the approach of someone in the distance. The person staggered rather than walked, then suddenly dropped to the ground.

  Espy did not hesitate, she ran to help the obvious ill or injured person.

  Tass was guarding her today and yelled after her to stop as he fumbled to get up from where he sat as she sped past him. She paid him no heed. He would catch up with her soon enough and could help get the person to the cottage.

  Espy saw that it was a woman. She lay curled on her side, her hood partially covering her face, and Espy dropped down beside her and reached out a tender hand to offer help.

  “Please do not hurt me,” the woman whimpered, drawing back away as if Espy might strike her.

  “I will not hurt you. I am a healer and can help you.” Cautiously and gently, Espy drew the woman’s hood fully away from her face and almost gasped at what she saw.

  The woman had been beaten unmercifully in the face and God only knew where else. Her one eye was swollen completely shut. The large bruise on her jaw was as deep a purple as her closed eye and blood was caked under her nose and in the corner of her mouth. Espy did not need to ask if she had suffered a beating to other parts of her body. She could tell by the way she lay curled up that she was accustomed to feigning off blows that way.

  “Please do not let him take me…” The woman’s strength failed her. She could get no more words out. She stretched a bruised, bare arm out to Espy, the sleeve of her blouse hanging tattered from her shoulder.

  “You are safe here,” Espy said and looked to Tass as he came to an abrupt stop in front of her, causing the woman to flinch. “Help me get her to the cottage.”

  Tass’ face betrayed his shock when he reached down for the battered woman, and Espy was glad to see him handle her gently. Once inside the cottage, Tass helped get the woman to the bed and her cloak off before taking his leave.

  The woman could not keep her uninjured eye open after her head touched the pillow. She was exhausted and Espy wondered how long she had been walking or perhaps she had run all the way out of fear.

  Glad that the woman was getting the rest she needed to help heal, Espy got a bucket of water from the rain barrel, grabbed a fresh cloth from the ones folded neatly in a chest, placed a chair by the bed, and got busy cleaning the woman’s face. The sleeping woman winced now and again but she did not wake. A once pretty face was revealed after Espy cleaned away the grime and blood, and it would be so again once she healed.

  With the woman’s odor potent, Espy washed her arms as she took a closer look at the bruises there. It was obvious they had been caused by being grabbed by a strong hand and squeezed so tightly it left its mark. There was also a bruise by her ribs, but it was already fading in color which meant she had suffered a previous beating to this one.

  Her father had often reminded her that it was what you could not see that often caused the most trouble. She hoped the woman’s eye had not suffered any serious damage. There was little she could do for the bruises, but let them heal. She did, however, plan to wash her thoroughly and get her out of her filthy garments when she woke. Clean garments and a good meal with a hot brew would help heal her in more ways than one.

  “Be gone!”

  Espy jumped, hearing Tass shout, and she hurried to the door to open it a crack and see who Tass had ordered away. It was a large man, with a hooked nose, full beard, and long brown hair. He did not wear the MacCara plaid and the one he did wear was so filthy that it was difficult to distinguish any colors.

  “Bring my wife to me and I will leave. I know Bonnie is here. She seeks the aid of the healer after she gets the beatings she deserves,” the large man said, raising a threatening fist at Tass. “You have no right to keep my wife from me.”

  “This is MacCara land and Lord Craven will be the judge of that. Go take your complaint to him,” Tass ordered, his hand going to rest on the hilt of his sword in warning.

  The large man looked ready to spew fire and, with warning, he lunged at Tass, locking his meaty arms around the young warrior, squeezing him tight, then hoisting him in the air over his head and slamming him to the ground and kicking him even though Tass lay motionless.

  Instinct had Espy running to help the young warrior. She grabbed a split log from the stack near the door and charged at the man. He was so intent on beating Tass senseless that he did not see her coming. She whacked him in the back of the head and he stumbled. He shook his head and turned to glare at her, his eyes growing wide with rage.

  “No woman hits me,” he snarled and dove at her.

  Espy was fast on her feet, having learned to be so out of necessity and she moved out of his path with ease, slamming the log down on his shoulder as she did. He cried out, more in anger than pain, and before he could turn around, she slammed her foot into the back of his leg, sending him tumbling to the ground and whacked him again in the head with the log.

  Though stunned, his hand shot out to grab her ankle, and she jumped out of his way and brought the log down on his wrist with such force that he let loose a guttural scream.

  His intense anger had him surging to his feet, his face so red he looked as if he would burst into flames and his eyes so wide she feared they would pop from his head. He roared and dove for her once again and this time he was able to swat the log out of her hand with his arm as she swung it at him. His hand swung back at her with tremendous force, catching her scarred cheek so hard that her head snapped back and she fell to the ground.

  He straddled her before she could gather her senses and get to her feet, his legs locking her arms to her sides, and he raised his hand ready to batter her face.

  Espy struggled against him. She would not give up. She would never give up as long as she had a breath left in her.

  A furious roar like that of a mighty animal tore through the air, halting the man’s hand as his head snapped up. Fright turned him pale and in the next instant he was ripped off her.

  Espy hurried to her feet and was stunned to see that Craven had the man by the throat, his powerful hand squeezing tightly.

  “You dare come on my land, attack one of my warriors and clanswoman,” Craven growled, his fingers digging tighter into the man’s fleshy throat.

  Cyra had repeatedly warned her that Craven had gotten even stronger since his wife’s death and even his warriors feared facing him on the practice field and neighboring clans made sure to remain in his favor. She had felt his strength once, but her size was nothing to this large man’s size and yet Craven contained him with one hand, choking the life from him as he did.

  The man clawed at Craven’s fingers and wrist, struggling to break free. He even swung at his arm, but it did little good, Craven held him firm.

  Without any warning, Craven threw the man to the ground and called out, “Take him to the keep and put him in the stocks.”

  Espy had not realized that six warriors had arrive with him and not a one had stepped forward to help him. They all understood he needed no help.

  “My wife,” the large man spat as he struggled for breath.

  Craven turned to Espy and she was quick to explain. “He beat her unmercifully. She came here for help and begged that we not return her to him.” She turned to glance at Tass who was just coming to. “He needs care, the man kicked him brutally after he was on the ground unconscious.”

  Craven could not take his eyes off her scarred cheek. It was flaming red. “You came to Tass’ rescue?” He knew the answer. He had seen it for himself, though had not believed his eyes as he had approached the cottage with his warriors. She had battled that large man with nothing more than a split log and courage.

  “Why would I not?’ Espy asked and she did not wait for a response, she hurried over to
Tass.

  Craven stared after her, shocked that she had walked away from him without asking permission to take her leave. He followed after her, annoyed.

  “Do not move until I see to your injuries,” Espy ordered, bending down beside Tass.

  “I am good. I need no help,” Tass insisted though groaned when he went to sit up.

  Espy laid a firm hand on his chest to keep him from moving. “It will only take a moment.” She ran a gentle hand around his head, feeling for any bumps, but there were none, a good sign. But it was his side that concerned her since the large man had kicked him several times there. She pressed her hand a partial way between his waist and chest, feeling for his ribs, and he winced loudly.

  She kept her hand there. “Take a deep breath.”

  Tass tried, but he cringed in pain.

  “Your ribs are bruised or could possibly be broken. To have them heal properly, you need to rest, no swinging your sword, no practice field, no work that is strenuous for three to four weeks,” Espy explained.

  Tass shook his head and he let loose a sharp groan when he went to sit up. “I have my duties.”

  “Which will be difficult for you to perform if you do not let your ribs heal and then it will be much longer before you can lift a sword without pain.” Espy stood. “The choice is yours.”

  “You will do as she says until Cyra returns and can look at you,” Craven ordered, having listened to the exchange, and Tass gave a reluctant nod.

  That Craven knew Cyra was not there was not a surprise to Espy. His warriors who stood guard no doubt reported everything they heard to him and he would know that Cyra had left today. It was also not a surprise to her that he continued to doubt her ability as a healer. She did wonder, though, if Craven had planned to wait until Cyra was absent from the cottage to come fetch her. Why else would he be here with six of his warriors?

  “I will speak with the man’s wife,” Craven said.

  “She rests,” Espy said.

  “Wake her,” he ordered.