A Gentle Feuding by Johanna Lindsey

  At the castle, Jamie dismounted and helped Sheena down, but he was not going to stay. He was anxious to be off, before she began pleading with him not to retaliate for the raid. He hailed a servant to bring his aunt, and others arrived. Black Gawain was dumbfounded to see Sheena alive. Jamie’s men joined him, preparing to leave with him, all carrying weapons.

  Sheena waited, expecting Jamie to escort her to her room. After she’d watched the activity for some time, she suddenly understood that he meant to go after the raiders, he and his men. She paled. He didn’t know who the real raiders were yet! He still blamed her father.

  “Jamie‑“

  “Dinna say it, Sheena,” he said firmly. “Can you no’ see I’ve no choice this time? You canna stop me.”

  “But I dinna want to stop you, Jamie.”

  He was taken aback, then looked at her suspiciously. “Why?” he asked. “Your kin didna know you were in the croft they burned. I didna think you would hold it against them.”

  “And I wouldna, if they were my kin. But it wasna Fergussons who came. I saw them, Jamie!”

  Black Gawain was infuriated. “You’re no’ going to listen to her, are you?” he demanded. “She would say anything to save her kin!”

  “Aye, I would.” Sheena glared at Gawain. “But as it happens, I dinna have to, for they are no’ the devils who came tonight. I saw the men who set the fire. I saw them clearly from the window ‘afore the blaze forced us into the store. Aye, they wore my colors‑but they werena Fergussons, they were Jamesons! ‘Twas William Jameson I saw waiting to slaughter whoever tried to escape the fire. I saw him!”

  Black Gawain laughed derisively. “You should have chosen another to blame, lass. Jameson is only a contemptible coward. All here know that. He wouldna have the nerve to attack a MacKinnion.”

  “Then how does a coward attack when he feels he must?” she asked, and was pleased to see the bewilderment her question caused Gawain. “A coward would strike brutally and run‑as did happen. Isna that what he’d do?”

  “Who is to say your father is no’ a coward?” Black Gawain returned quickly.

  “I am!” she shouted. “We attacked you in the summer, after you broke the peace in the spring. And we lost men in doing so, because we werena afraid to fight. But tell me this, was one fire set on those raids? Was one animal killed? Nay, because my father doesna fight that way.”

  “But a Fergusson plaid was found. Their cry was heard,” Black Gawain insisted.

  “You’re no’ listening to me, man,” Sheena cried. “I told you Jameson wore my colors, no’ his own. He wanted the blame placed on another clan, and he chose mine. That way, he’s been able to attack MacKinnions repeatedly all these months and hasna suffered once for it. Sweet Mary, do you think I would have hidden inside a burning but if I had seen my own kin outside that hut? You’re hating the wrong clan for killing your sister, Black Gawain. And that’s the truth.”

  “But why?” Gawain cried.

  “Because of Libby Jameson,” Jamie said, his voice hoarse. “Libby,” he repeated.

  “Aye.” Sheena sighed. Thank the Lord, Jamie had guessed right. “I knew he meant to hurt you, Jamie, through me, when he locked me in his tower.”

  “Locked you?”

  She grinned. “It was rescuing me you were doing, though you didna know it then. Sir William despises you. He tried to rape me, and when that failed, he lied to you about me. Anything to hurt you, because of his sister.”

  “And why did you no’ tell me this ‘afore?”

  “You didna believe me about his lies, so how could I tell you the rest?”

  She was right. There was nothing he could say.

  He caught her to him and kissed her hard. “You’ll be here when I return?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Black Gawain was already running for his horse.

  Chapter 40

  IN his eagerness to reach William Jameson, Black Gawain was riding far ahead of them. Jamie sym­pathized, but he knew the hothead would get him­self killed if he arrived at Jameson’s tower alone. He tried to catch up with Gawain, leaving Colen and the others to follow as best they could. Jamie almost closed the breach completely when they crossed the river near Sir William’s land. There, as the two men raced up the bank toward a boundary tree, a cross­bow stopped them short. Gawain’s horse was pierced, throwing Gawain, who rolled pell‑mell down the bank, landing in the river. Jamie’s horse shied and just barely missed trampling Gawain as he passed. But before Jamie could even see where the arrow had come from, he took a quarrel in his chest. He fell, sliding a few feet, then lying still on the ground.

  The man in the tree jumped to the ground and war­ily approached Jamie’s still form, his crossbow at the ready. Part of a raiding party just returned, the man had been left to watch as a precaution, a precaution no one had taken very seriously. He had thought the task unnecessary. Why, the MacKinnions had never suspected a thing. It was a waste of his time to be left watching.

  But there was the great yellow‑haired one himself, The MacKinnion. And he had downed him! There was no movement, no breathing. The man wasn’t brave enough to touch The MacKinnion to see if he was turning cold. But surely no target had ever been struck more true. The square‑headed arrow must have pierced the heart, for both jerkin and plaid were soaking red.

  The other man, lying half in, half out of the water, was not worth bothering about. Jameson’s man was eager to tell his laird whom he had killed. Just to be sure, he shot another quarrel into The MacKinnion before hurrying away to the tower.

  They decided to wake Sheena as Jamie’s body was being brought into their room, not before. Half asleep, she woke to all that blood. Screaming, she jumped from the bed just before Jamie was laid down on it. She screamed and screamed again, yanking at her hair until Daphne grabbed her, shaking her hard.

  “He’s no’ dead, Sheena!” Daphne cried. “Listen to me now‑he’s no’ dead!”

  She tried to pull Sheena away from the bed, but Sheena resisted, staring at all that blood, at his pale face.

  .But‑“

  “He’s only wounded, lass. Now come away so he can be tended. You’ll only be in the way.”

  Finally, Sheena got hold of herself. “I’ll tend him,” she said adamantly.

  Daphne argued, “You’re in no shape to be‑“

  “I said I’ll tend him.” Sheena’s voice was hard. “He’s my husband.”

  Daphne fell silent. It was then that Aunt Lydia came into the room and, seeing Jamie, began screaming worse than Sheena had done. She ran from the chamber, her shrieks echoing though the stone hallway.

  “You managed to calm me,” Sheena told Daphne quietly. “Go and calm your aunt. I’ll manage here, with some help.”

  And she did. Despite the nausea that kept rising to her throat, despite the terror, she and the servants managed to get Jamie’s clothing removed and his wounds bathed and bandaged. The arrows had al­ready been expertly removed. The position of one wound made her wonder why Jamie was still alive. Had that arrow struck a rib? It must have. It had just barely missed the heart. But he was still breathing, was still alive—just. The other wound was in his side, in both sides, the arrow having, horribly, gone right through him.

  Daphne returned, but Sheena wouldn’t respond to her questions and there was nothing she could do, so she left and shooed the servants out, as well.

  Alone, Sheena lay down beside Jamie, careful not to move the bed. Her eyes raked his face. She gently touched him. His skin was hot. His eyes remained closed. His breathing came hard. She touched his lips with a fingertip, then laid her cheek against his shoulder. She was consumed by emotions, and her tears fell on Jamie’s skin.

  “You’re no’ to die, MacKinnion. Do you hear me?” She pinched his arm, furious because he was fright­ening her so. “Do you? You’re my husband. And I . . . I need you!” The words were torn from her, and she sobbed. “I love you, Jamie. You canna die! You canna!”

  Much
later, still sobbing, she fell asleep.

  Dawn found her in a chair by the bed, watching Jamie. The heat of him had awakened her, and she’d spent the rest of the night bathing him with spring water. He was a little cooler.

  “You’re no’ to pity him, you know.”

  Sheena gasped. She turned to see Lydia standing at the foot of the bed, having entered silently.

  The old woman was wearing just her sleeping shift and a woolen cloak over her shoulders. She looked terrible, her eyes darkly ringed, her hair unkempt. Aunt Lydia, who was always so fastidious.

  She didn’t look at Sheena as she repeated, “You’re no’ to pity him. He doesna deserve it.”

  Sheena frowned, bewildered. “But I dinna pity him.”

  “Good. He did it himself, you see.”

  “Did what?”

  “Killed himself, of course.”

  “Who did?” Sheena cried, suddenly alarmed.

  “My father!” Lydia said, pointing a damning finger at Jamie.

  “What is wrong?” Sheena asked sharply. “Do you no’ know your nephew?”

  “Nephew? I have no nephew. My brother has no sons. Father would skelp him if he did, for Robbie’s too young.” Then Lydia frowned, uncertain suddenly. “But Father canna skelp him. He’s dead now. Is Father no’ dead?”

  “My God! “And how old are you, Lydia?”

  “Eight,” the old woman replied, her eyes still riveted on Jamie.

  Sheena gripped the sides of her chair. This wasn’t possible. And yet . . . hadn’t Jamie told her that Lydia had not been quite right since she was a child and had seen Niall Fergusson kill her parents? But that was not at all what Lydia was saying.

  “You saw your father die, Lydia?” Sheena asked her, gently and very carefully. “Do you remember it?”

  “How could I forget?” Lydia answered. “But he shouldna have done it. And The Fergusson shouldna have come. He was a fool to think he could have her.”

  “Your mother?”

  A single teardrop trickled down Lydia’s cheek. She didn’t appear to be hearing Sheena, and she looked so desolate. Sheena didn’t have the heart to press her. Yet Lydia continued talking without prompting.

  “He was a handsome man, The Fergusson, with that dark red hair and eyes so bright blue. My Uncle Donald was so furious when he took The Fergusson away. He didna hurt him, did he? The Fergusson’s only fault was loving her.”

  Didn’t Lydia know that her Uncle Donald had killed Niall Fergusson all those years ago—killed him brutally? It was becoming clear that Sheena’s grandfather Niall had loved Lydia’s mother and had come here to meet her—a lovers’ tryst? But Jamie had said Niall killed both his grandparents. How had that clandestine meeting turned into murder?

  Lydia seemed to hear her thoughts. “My mother told me she was leaving. I wish she hadna, then I wouldna have followed her. But she didna want me to worry. She said she would send for me soon. They were going to France, she said. He had a family, too, that he was leaving. They couldna stay in Scotland after that.

  “I cried, but she wouldna change her mind. I didna want her to go. I knew Father would be angry‑and he was. He stopped them in the courtyard. ‘Twas late. There was a, bright moon, and I could see them from where I hid. They stood there arguing. Father was so angry‑yet different. He didn’t seem . . . right, and . . . he . . . he . . .”

  Lydia closed her eyes, awash with tears. She hugged herself, rocking, whimpering, seeing again what she had seen so long ago. Sheena visualized it, the husband confronting his wife and her lover, the rage and pain that must have consumed him if he’d loved her. Had he loved her? Or was she just a possession he wasn’t willing to part with? Was it only pride?

  It was better not to let Lydia tell any more of it. She was so distraught, there was no telling what reliving it would do to her.

  Sheena put her arm around the older woman. “Lydia, come, let me take you back to your room.”

  “But I canna go. I must wait here. Mother will be coming back, now he’s found them. I must tell her no’ to worry. Father loves her. He will forgive her.”

  “Of course he will,” Sheena encouraged, not knowing what else to say. “But you need to rest now, Lydia.”

  “Nay!” Lydia pushed Sheena away with surprising strength, her eyes wild. “He’s drawn his dirk! The Fergusson has his own dirk. My mother’s crying. They’re fighting. The Fergusson drops his weapon . . . my father has it now . . . he’s putting his own dirk away, holding The Fergusson’s dirk, looking at it. He’s looking at my mother. Nay! He’s hitting her with it, he’s stabbing her! The Fergusson canna stop him! Father pushes him away.

  “She falls . . . God, the blood‑all over, blood. Fa­ther shouts the alarm, but The Fergusson doesna run. He’s staring at my mother. My father is staring at her, too, and‑nay! He’s buried the dirk in his own chest, his own chest! He’s taking it out, and the blood is . . . the blood—everywhere! The dirk falls at the Fergusson’s feet, but he doesna see it. Why does he no’ run? My uncle is coming . . . .”

  Sheena felt bile rise in her throat. That a young girl should have seen all that!

  “Lydia, ‘tis all right, ‘tis over.”

  “It isna over. My uncle thinks The Fergusson killed them. I told him the truth, but he hit me and hit me and called me a liar. He’ll no’ hurt The Fergusson, will he? I canna tell anyone else. If I tell again, my mother willna come back. I must wait till she comes back.”

  Lydia was sobbing uncontrollably, and Sheena guided her gently from the room, soothing her as she would a child. Would Lydia ever be herself? Would the horror of that night stay with her now, or would she forget again?

  Sheena saw Lydia to her room and helped the poor woman into bed, then called for one of Lydia’s servants to sit with her. Lydia moved between being distraught and being entranced by some vision only she could see. Sheena didn’t want to leave her like that, but Jamie came first. And Lydia’s servant, Colleen, was really more friend than servant, so the suffering woman was in good hands.

  Lydia wholly occupied Sheena’s thoughts as she went back into the room she and Jamie shared, so it took her a moment to realize that something drastic had happened. Jamie’s eyes were open. His eyes were open, and he was looking at her! Had he heard his aunt’s story? And if so, how much? Sheena’s mind raced. Would he ask her to tell him all of it, or did he understand everything? She returned his gaze, her breathing stopped, her heart pounding, and then, slowly, she began to relax. He wasn’t going to speak of it, not then, and she wouldn’t, either. They didn’t speak at all, just stared at each other, their thoughts the same. All the years of killing and hatred caused by the enraged passions of one man. The saddest part was that the truth wouldn’t make any difference now. People had been killed. The feud had happened. Nothing could change that. The horror could not be diminished.

  The feud should never have begun, no matter whose fault it was, and after forty‑seven years, it was time to put an end to it.

  Chapter 41

  JAMIE recovered nicely, taking full advantage of Sheena’s ministrations. Once he’d learned she had tended him from the start, he insisted she con­tinue. Sheena didn’t mind, of course, even knowing that Jamie was well enough to leave his bed. It was a surprise when she entered one day and found him completely dressed, standing by the fire.

  “You know, do you no’, that a new feud has begun‑with Jamesons?”

  Sheena nodded. Colen had told her what had happened after Jamie and Black Gawain were taken back to Castle Kinnion. Colen had attacked Jameson’s tower, but he couldn’t breach it, needing a bigger force than he had. Surprisingly, Jamie decided not to take the tower. True, there were deaths for Jameson to atone for, but Jamie didn’t want to wipe out a whole clan. The enemy was known. He could be dealt with in the customary fashion, with periodic raids. And he could no longer hide his activities.

  Black Gawain had been furious. Having suffered a broken arm that day, he could do no fighting for a while.
But he had sworn he would kill Jameson. He and Jamie had argued over it, and Gawain had left the castle in a rage. He had yet to return.

  “You agree there’s reason for this new feud?” Jamie asked her, his meaning clear.

  Sheena smiled at him. He seemed to need her approval, and she did agree, knowing Jamie was set against a bloody revenge.

  “A Scotsman will always raid, whether enemy or‑friend,” she replied lightly, then laughed. A scowl crossed Jamie’s face, for her father had just raided Jamie, lifting several of his prized horses right from under his nose. Dugald was demanding ransom, and a handsome ransom at that.

  “You think it amusing, eh, your father’s catching me unawares?”

  “I think he’ll be recouping all his losses from this past summer. ‘Tis only fair, the breaking of the peace no’ being his fault.”

  Jamie grunted. “I suppose you’d like to come along when I pay the ransom?”

  “Can I?” she asked hopefully, her eyes sparkling.

  He hesitated only a moment. “Aye, if you can see to it this doesna happen again.”

  “I think I can manage that. But what of Black Gawain? You do see that what he did was intentional?”

  “He’s gone, Sheena. Leaving the country, I’m told. His man just brought me the news.”

  Sheena wasn’t really surprised. “He suspected you’d take action against him sooner or later because of Iain?”

  “I suppose. He sent a message for you. He asks you to forgive him‑`for all things.’ What does he mean by that?”

  “We had several confrontations, he and I,” Sheena murmured evasively, feeling no need to elaborate. “He hated me when he learned who I was. That was only to be expected, Gawain thinking what he did about the feud and my family.”

  Jamie was satisfied with that. “Will you be asking me to search him out?” he asked, worried.