Between a Highlander and a Hard Place, page 6
“What has ye so far from home?” Marcus inquired.
Symon found himself somewhat hesitant to admit his purpose.
“He’s looking for a lass,” Lyall answered when his laird didn’t.
Symon sent him a warning look that only earned him a chuckle from his captain.
“Someone I know?” Marcus asked.
“Truth is he knows only her first name,” Lyall was happy to reveal.
“Enough.” Symon gave Lyall a shove. “I’ve a bad enough reputation as it is.”
Marcus accepted a mug of ale but declined to indulge in a peek down the serving girl’s bodice.
“Still in love with yer wife, I see,” Symon said.
Marcus lifted his mug in a toast before sampling it. “If ye’re chasing a female up this way, ye must understand me feelings for Helen.”
Symon shrugged. “It’s folly. Lyall has reason to rib me about it.”
“Yet ye are still here.”
It wasn’t a question, but Symon nodded anyway. “Met her at the May Day festival.”
“Hence the reason ye have only her first name,” Marcus replied. “That is going to make finding her a chore.”
“She was English,” Symon added. “And tall for a woman.”
Marcus chewed bread, but the serving wench behind him looked startled. She masked it quickly when she realized her guest had noticed she was listening in.
“Mistress.” He was half off the bench as she started to scurry back to the kitchen before her master took her to task. “What do ye know of the English lass?”
Lyall had joined a table behind Marcus. He turned around, swinging his leg over the bench and standing up along with a few other retainers so the girl couldn’t escape.
“I didn’t see any English lass,” the serving girl insisted.
“Ye saw something,” Symon insisted. “Yer eyes went wide when I spoke.”
“We had an English merchant here yesterday,” she admitted.
“And?” Marcus asked. “What else?”
“One of his men, well, he was asking to buy a dress, one for a tall woman, but no’ just a common dress, mind ye. He wanted something pretty and cut…low…”
Something shifted inside him.
Symon dug a coin out of his purse. “Where were they heading?”
“North.”
“Did they get a dress?”
The girl looked at the floor, her cheeks brightening. “I heard…heard Will went down to…the place at the edge of town for one.”
“Will who?” Marcus demanded in a gruff voice.
“Will Tinker. He’s a McGregor by blood but does nae wear the colors. Works for an English cloth merchant.”
A memory flashed through Symon’s mind. Brenda had bought the cloth, and there had been a boy. Now that he thought on it, the lad had possessed some very delicate fingers.
He had seen her and not even realized.
Symon placed the coin on the table. The girl was quick to take it and push it into her bodice for safekeeping. She made a show of wiping down the tabletop before she hurried away.
“Careful, Symon,” Marcus advised. “It’s possible there is nothing amiss.” He caught Symon’s look as he whistled to his men to make ready to ride. There were a few groans, but they were already stuffing the last of their supper into their mouths and mopping up their bowls with bread. “She might be willing to wear the dress.”
“If that was the case,” Symon replied, “she’d have brought her own along. My guess is she has no idea one of her own is making ready to sell her.”
“Pretty, was she?”
Symon nodded. “And dressed as a lad.”
Marcus grunted and let out another whistle. “In that case, we’ll ride with ye, for if I catch them on McPherson land, ye’ll be needing me to hold ye back, by the look on yer face.”
Symon knew he was too intense about the entire matter.
There was no denying it. Truth was he wasn’t going to waste time debating the issue with himself. Athena had been an innocent. She’d trembled when he’d kissed her, shaming him with how quickly he’d pressed her for the intimate touch.
She wasn’t a whore, and he was going to enjoy choking the life out of the man who thought to sell her as such.
Will Tinker had best sleep lightly.
* * *
She was tired of her own company.
In spite of that fact, Athena wasn’t pleased to see Will Tinker walking her way. There was a flash of something in his eyes that made her skin crawl.
She knew it wasn’t a very Christian thought; still, there was no hiding from the way she felt. His comrades had turned to watch him, the smirks on their lips making her shift uncomfortably.
They’d made it far north. Myles was ecstatic with the way people came out of their homes to see his cloth. He’d bought larger portions of supper for them all as he smiled, content with the profit from the day. With the sun starting to set, the village church bell began to toll. Myles smiled brightly.
“I’m off to give proper thanks. You must stay and mind the wares and horses.”
Athena had nodded, gaining another pleased look from her employer before he dusted off his hat and started toward the church.
The moment he was through the doors, Will started toward her.
Apprehension gripped her as she realized she recognized the look in Will’s eyes.
It was the same one Galwell had aimed toward her.
She turned to flee but found herself facing one of his cohorts. The man smiled at her, showing off his rotten teeth before he brought the pommel of his short sword down on her skull. Blackness grabbed her and dragged her away from the moment, giving her only enough time to realize how very helpless she was.
Damn all men to hell.
* * *
Someone threw a bucket of water in her face.
Athena woke up, sputtering. She used her hands to sweep the water from her eyes and heard snickering.
“There she is,” Will remarked. “Our little dove.”
Her skull cap and hat lay on the floor. Will’s friends looked at her hair, greed shining in their eyes.
“Just as I promised.” Will opened his hand and gestured toward her. “She’ll fetch a fine price tonight. Far more than Myles is paying us.”
Athena sat up, looking around the room they were in. It was a kitchen with a large hearth, and the door was behind Will and shut tight.
The sounds of revelry could be heard through the door. She caught some music mixed with bawdy laughter. A solid knock sounded before the door was pushed in by a woman in a silk dress that rustled when she moved. She stopped in front of Athena, the front of the dress shockingly low.
“Well, get her cleaned up and into that dress,” the woman exclaimed. “I can’t hold the men back from the other girls for much longer. They came for bed sport and are eager to get to it.”
“I am no whore,” Athena exclaimed. “No matter what you have been told.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Ye’re English and in the Highlands. Better learn to keep yer mouth closed and me pleased with yer actions. I can make yer life hell.”
She picked up the front of her skirt and shot a warning look toward Will. “Get her ready.”
The moment the door shut, Will grabbed Athena by the hair. She cried out as he hauled her up by the grip, not caring how much pain he caused.
“Ye’ll do everything I tell ye and do so with a smile on yer lips,” he rasped. His breath was foul, but she turned away out of revulsion over what he’d suggested. Will released her, and she landed back in a chair.
“I do nae know who ye are or why ye have been traveling as a lad,” Will began. “And neither do the men behind that door. But they will be happy to help ye accept yer lot as a woman.” He rubbed his crotch. “If I tell them”—he gestured toward the door—“what ye have been about, they will throw ye on the table and rut on ye like a pack of dogs. There are no constables here to stop them, and even if there were, no clansman would worry about the fate of an English witch who needs to be reminded of her gender. Mind ye, most of them would know well enough that ye are no witch. Not that it would stop them from having a turn on ye. They came to fornicate, and a free ride is a free ride.”
Nausea threatened to bring her supper up. She pressed the back of her hand against her lips as Will’s companions nodded, their eyes bright with lust and the desire to join in the described fray. She looked around, desperation making her heart beat at a frantic pace. Will grabbed her hair again.
“So ye will agree that one man will be preferable to a dozen of them?” he demanded. “Better to be auctioned off to only one man.”
“That is no agreement,” she hissed. “Only a matter of survival.”
He offered her a bright smile of victory. “As to that, I agree, for I am a man who has to work hard to earn enough to survive. Here in the Highlands, it’s no’ easy to earn enough when ye have no clan.”
He made a gesture with his hands. “Get yerself bathed. Emilia runs one of the finest brothels in the Highlands. Men come here from all over to see their tastes satisfied. Ye”—he pointed at her—“are a novelty. One they will pay handsomely for.”
The way his eyes flashed with anticipation was sickening, but she bit her lip because she needed time. Time to think of a way to escape. And she needed Will and his companions gone. He thought her beaten, beaming at her with victory glowing in his eyes.
“I’ll send the lads in with water for a bath. Ye’ll fetch such a fine price once ye’re cleaned up,” Will informed her before he licked his lips and turned to his men. “Let’s get some whisky, lads, and toast to a job well done.”
They left her at last. Quelling her panic, Athena forced herself to look around the room. However, short of climbing up the chimney, there was no escape. There was only the one door.
She refused to accept defeat. There had to be a way; she just needed to think of it.
Money might help. After all, that seemed to be the thing everyone was willing to sell their souls for. Sitting down, she tugged her boot off and found the coins Henry had given her in case she found herself in need. The candlelight shone off them. One was a full-gold angel. It was a small fortune.
Athena tucked it back into her stocking, selecting one of the silver coins to keep in her palm. She finished just as a girl opened the door and came in.
“The mistress sent me in to help ye with yer hair.”
The girl was timid, scurrying to do what she’d been told to do before she earned any more bruises like the one she had on her left cheek.
“I can pay you,” Athena whispered, “if you will help me escape.”
The girl shifted. “Mistress Emilia would have me whipped. She’s promised the men a treat.”
Athena fought to mask how revolting she found that idea. She lifted the silver coin.
“This,” she said, “is enough to pay for you to travel far from here and even have some for yourself.”
The girl’s eyes brightened. “I could buy me own sheep, and by next year, the fleece would be worth a considerable amount.” The girl rolled her lower lip in and set her teeth against it. “I do nae know how…we might do it…”
“Is there a boy serving in the kitchens?” Athena asked.
The maid nodded.
Athena thought fast. She avoided admitting to herself how very desperate she was because she needed her wits.
“Call for him…and send him out…for something…make him go back and forth, you as well. The guards will lose track of who is inside and who has left. Tell them my hair needs washing and it will take time to dry.”
The girl considered the plan. For a long moment, Athena found herself waiting to see if she’d agree. The girl looked at the coin at last, hope flickering in her eyes. She was off to the door in the next moment, slipping through while Athena breathed a sigh of relief.
Will Tinker could choke on his victory.
She fully intended to claim her own.
And she refused to think about how easy it might be to fail.
* * *
She paid the kitchen boy to bring her a grubby bonnet and piece of wool for a kilt. He showed off missing teeth as he watched her try to dress, finally coming to her aid and finishing the task. She pulled the bonnet on and took a deep breath.
“Ye are too clean,” the girl said as she stooped down and rubbed her hands in the soot near the edge of the hearth. Her hands were black when she lifted them and rubbed them over Athena’s face. The soot made her want to sneeze as her eyes watered from the harsh scent.
“Better.”
Athena passed the silver to her and another coin to the boy. With a deep breath, she gathered up the soap and linen the boy had brought and carried them through the door. Will looked up but dismissed her and went back to his drinking.
Somehow, a room had never struck her as so very large before.
Each step seemed to take a small eternity, and every footfall sounded far too loud. Around her, there were women laughing as they attempted to captivate their male customers. There was the swish of ale and whisky being poured and music coming from a corner.
She mustn’t run.
But quelling the urge to take flight took every last bit of determination she had.
Fate decided to be kind, or maybe the word was merciful. Athena made it to the door and slipped through it without anyone raising the alarm. Normally the dark street would have been something she avoided; tonight she walked eagerly into the night, seeking relief from the world of greed and men’s lust.
“So now it’s a Scottish lad…”
She jumped, but the man emerged out of the night, clasping her arm and stopping her.
“Ye play a very dangerous game, Athena.”
Symon Grant wasn’t pleased with her. But he looked up to where she’d come from, and she watched the way his jaw tightened.
“Maybe ye’ve been introduced to yer folly, lass.” He pulled her around, his grip tight but lacking the pain Will had inflicted on her. “That bastard tried to sell ye…did nae he?”
“How did you know?” she asked.
He locked gazes with her. It was unsettling the way something inside her shifted. There was determination in his eyes, but not the bright glow of lust. For a moment, she almost believed he was an honorable man.
Except that she no longer believed such nonsense. Men were beasts. She really needed to learn that lesson for good.
“I followed ye,” Symon answered while pulling her down the street. “And ye’re fortunate I did. I would like to know what ye think ye are doing, but for the moment, I cannae take the time to listen to yer story. We needs be away from here before someone sees ye dressed like this.”
She heard the soft sounds of horses. Symon took her toward them with a stride that had her hurrying to keep pace. She felt the tension in him, and it kept her silent as he lifted her up and onto the back of a horse.
She needed to escape, so she’d not quibble over the means.
Symon Grant was certainly better than Will Tinker.
* * *
Symon didn’t call a halt to their riding until the next day. Athena dropped off the back of her mare with a sigh of relief.
The feeling was short-lived. Symon was suddenly there, clasping her arm and taking her into an inn. She didn’t really have time to look around as he hurried her toward the stairs.
But once they were abovestairs, he spun her loose and stood between her and the door, looking like he was trying to decide just how to take her to task.
“I owe you my thanks,” she said.
He tilted his head to one side. “Aye, ye do.”
“And I have thanked you.” She drew herself up straight. “But I did not ask you for assistance.”
“Because ye are a bloody fool for traveling dressed as a lad.”
He was furious with her. His tone chafed her pride.
“You think I am not aware of the risks I have been forced to undertake?” she asked. “Well, I assure you, Laird Grant, I am painfully aware of my circumstances.”
Something she’d said caught him off guard. He started to say something but shook his head before voicing whatever his thought was.
“We’ll discuss this after we both eat,” he informed her tightly.
She didn’t think for a moment that he was making the suggestion for his sake. He was far too imposing for something like an empty belly to keep him from speaking his mind when he felt it was rightful to do so.
“Do not pity me.”
She should have kept her lips sealed. He wasn’t anyone she should be reaching out to for solace or even approval.
He grunted. “Now ye’re the one being right unkind toward me, lass.” He crossed his arms over his chest and swept his gaze over her from head to toe. “Ye’re a mess, and I know Will Tinker bought a dress to auction ye off in. The look on yer face tells me he told ye exactly what he’d planned for ye.”
“I escaped.”
Symon’s lips twitched. “Aye, ye did, but no’ so much as ye think ye did either. Truly escaping from anything means ye need somewhere to go. Ye’re in the middle of the Highlands. Ye’d no’ have made it out of that village without someone else helping ye, for ye could no’ return to the cloth merchant.”
He was correct.
So very horribly correct.
Despair tried to claim her, making her fight to maintain her composure while he watched her with his keen eyes.
“I can’t believe all…Scotsmen are dishonorable…”
He grunted. “We’re not.”
She nodded. “I would have found someone to take me south.”
“Ye found me.”
She contemplated him for a long moment. Somehow, she’d forgotten how large he was. Now that she was taking a moment to consider her circumstances, she realized there was no way she’d make him do anything he didn’t want to.
