Rodrick the Bold Read online

  Were he alone, he would have kept going or slept under a tree. But Muriel deserved better than to lie on the cold, wet ground. So, he did not believe it an extravagance when he paid two groats for a room at the only inn in Shiel.

  Muriel said not a word when he helped her down from Caderyn and led her into the establishment. The dining space was quiet, save for the snoring of sleeping men passed out from partaking of too much drink the night before.

  The innkeeper led them up two flights of stairs to a small room at the rear. “Sorry I do no’ have anything bigger,” the portly man with thinning brown hair said as he unlocked the door. “But ’twill keep the rain off ye at least.”

  He opened the door and stood back to allow Rodrick and Muriel entry. “Call down if ye need anythin’,” he said. “But no’ too loudly. Me wife will have a fit if we wake Black Andrew and Robert the Red.”

  Rodrick had no idea to whom he referred, neither did he care. He thanked the man before shutting the door behind him.

  “Ye can have the bed,” he told Muriel.

  She eyed him with a good deal of dread. “Wh-where will ye sleep?”

  He offered her his most sincere smile. The last thing he wanted was for her to worry that he was a threat to her safety. “I shall be right outside in the hall, guardin’ the door,” he explained. “Ye get out of yer damp clothes and rest now. And lock the door behind ye. Do no’ open it fer anyone but me.”

  “I do no’ have money to pay fer the room,” she told him. She sounded as deflated as she was tired.

  “Ye do no’ need to worry over it, lass. Now, get some rest, aye?”

  Tears filled her blue eyes again as she nodded. She removed the cloak and handed it to him. “I think ye will need this now more than me.”

  Her dress was ripped at the bodice, torn at the sleeves and hem, and covered in thick layers of mud. The image of this pretty lass with the bruised face, sprinkled with bits of mud, and the tattered dress, made his heart feel tight and constricted. What he truly wished to do was take her in his arms and promise her he would take care of her, protect her, and would never allow her to be hurt again. Promises she might not want and he might not be able to keep.

  Instead, he thanked her, gave a short bow, and quit the room. He heard the soft click of the lock behind him.

  Rodrick fell asleep sitting up, with his back against the door. When he woke a few hours later, he had a crick in his neck that made him wince when he turned his head the wrong way.

  He yawned, stretched, and got to his feet. While he was tempted to knock on the door and see how Muriel was doing, he knew she did not need the interruption. The lass needed to sleep a good long while.

  The image of her – battered, bruised, and road weary – popped into his mind. It was quickly followed by another, in which she wore a pretty blue gown with the Mackintosh plaid covering it. Her face was no longer bruised nor her hair in shambles. Nay, she was a stunning vision of beauty.

  When he felt his heart skip a beat, he damned the renegade organ to Hades.

  That kind of life is no’ meant fer the likes of ye. Has God no’ shown ye that time and time again?

  Though he’d often wished for a quiet life with a wife and bairns, he knew that was not in his future. He was too hard, too blunt, and too much a warrior for such things. The one time he succumbed to such desires and feckless dreams was when he almost proposed to Leona MacDowall. God had shown him almost instantly — by her standing up in the middle of the clan and volunteering to marry the Bowie — that that was not the life for him.

  Besides, he’d seen too many men fall prey to the softness a woman offered. All he need do is take one look at Ian or Frederick Mackintosh. Never in his life had he seen two men so in love with their wives. While it didn’t make either of them weak on the field of battle, it certainly made them look foolish at other times. Fawning over their women like two lovesick lads who didn’t have the good sense to come in out of the rain.

  And it left them prey to dangerous men.

  Look at what happened to Ian when Rutger Bowie took his wife, Rose, as hostage, Rodrick thought. It nearly killed the man. But still, he had always longed for a home where he could spend Christmas Tide with those who cared for him

  But nay, he would not fall victim to love and other such nonsense. Nay, he’d stay distant and cool, as he did in all things. He would take Muriel back to his clan where he was certain she could make a good life for herself. On her own, without him.

  But first, he had to find her a new dress.

  It didn’t take much time for Rodrick to procure a decent gown for Muriel. Thankfully, the innkeeper’s wife had a sister who was just about Muriel’s size. He was also able to obtain a chemise, woolens, and boots that he prayed fit. Though it went against everything he believed in, he didn’t haggle about the price. The lass was in need of these things, lest she catch her death from the cold, damp air. Or at least that was what he tried to convince himself of.

  He’d also paid to have a bath taken to her room, and that was not an inexpensive feat. Though the innkeeper had explained how most just bathed in the room off the kitchen, Rodrick refused. Muriel had been through too much of late to subject herself to public bathing.

  With the dress and other items in his arms, he bounded up the stairs two at a time. And bedamned if he wasn’t humming a tune. He stopped at the door and was about to knock when he heard Muriel on the other side. It sounded like she was retching.

  “Muriel?” he whispered through the door. “Are ye well?”

  His question was met with more retching.

  “Muriel!” he called out a bit more loudly. “Let me in, lass!”

  She was probably dying. All alone in a dark room, in a strange town, without anyone there to hold her hand. Bloody hell! He cursed. I should have stopped last night! But, nay! Like a fool, I insisted we keep traveling. And now she has caught her death!

  He was just preparing to break down the door when it opened.

  Muriel looked awful. Her skin was pale, her eyes glassy, and her hair even more disheveled than when last he’d seen her. Concern swelled from his gut. “Lass, ye’re ill.”

  She stepped away from the door and went to look out the tiny window without saying a word.

  Rodrick placed the bundle on the end of the bed and went back to close the door. “Do ye have a fever?” he asked.

  With her back to him, she gave a slow shake of her head.

  “Mayhap ye should lie back down. We can stay here until ye feel better.”

  His suggestion was met with more silence.

  Something niggled at the back of his mind. Muriel had thrown up several times on the ferry, and again, hours later, when they’d stopped to rest. And again, just moments ago.

  Nay, that can no’ be it, he thought. It could be she ate something that disagreed with her. Or simply the distress of everything that had happened to her of late. As far as he knew she hadn’t had a bite to eat since the day before. He pushed the thoughts aside and decided ’twas time they talked.

  “Muriel,” he said as he took a step toward her. “I be takin’ ye to me clan. But if ye have family somewhere else ye would like to go to, I will take ye there.” For reasons he couldn’t fathom, it made him sad to think of her wanting to go somewhere other than with him.

  “I have no family,” she whispered, still looking out the tiny window. “I have nowhere else to go.”

  He knew ’twasn’t right to feel relieved at hearing such a thing. The lass was all alone in this world. She’d just found out her brother was dead; she’d been sorely mistreated by too many people. He felt like the worst kind of cad for being relieved to hear she had nowhere to go, no one to call family.

  Rodrick knew how that felt, to be an orphan. His family had died long ago. And ever since, he’d been wandering the land to find a replacement. ’Twasn’t until he came to the Mackintoshes and McLarens that he finally felt like he had found a home.

  “I ken ye will be welcomed am
ongst my clan,” he told her. “They be good people.”

  Muriel grunted and shook her head. “I fear I no longer remember what good people are like.”

  His stomach filled with knots. “I swear to ye lass, as God is me witness, ye will never be put in harm’s way again.” That was one promise he knew in his heart he could keep.

  He watched as she wiped away her tears with the backs of her hands. “Charles promised me, after our parents died, that he would always watch over me. He promised he would keep me safe. But he couldn’t. What makes ye think ye can?”

  Muriel hadn’t meant to sound harsh or ungrateful. But too much had taken place over the last year. Aye, Rodrick had rescued her from the ship and its ugly captain. But he’d come too late.

  There was nothing left of the carefree girl she had once been. No longer could she smile or laugh freely. Nor could she look to her future with wonder and excitement.

  Nay, she was naught more than a shell of a person. Empty inside, she no longer cared about anything. Oh, how she wanted to curl up in a corner and die. There was nothing left for her to live for.

  “I do thank ye for takin’ me off that ship,” she told Rodrick. “But I will decline yer offer to go with ye.”

  “But where will ye go?” he asked. She heard the genuine concern in his voice but felt it misplaced. If he knew the truth, he’d most certainly walk away without so much as a backward glance. Did she deserve anything less? She certainly didn’t feel she deserved anything more.

  “Ye need no’ concern yerself with it,” she told him, still unable to meet his eyes.

  “No’ concern meself?” he asked, his voice laced with more than just a hint of shock.

  “Nay, Rodrick!” she replied harshly. “Go back to yer clan.” And just let me die.

  “I bloody well will no’!” he said angrily. “I made ye a promise and it’s a promise I mean to keep.”

  She could take no more of his honorable intentions. She spun around to face him, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I said to leave me,” she ground out.

  When he took a step toward her, she winced involuntarily and shied away. A flood of memories she wished with all her heart she could make go away, flashed before her eyes.

  His stern expression changed immediately, replaced with concern. “I mean ye no harm, lass.”

  “Ye do no’ understand, and I do no’ think ye ever could,” she told him.

  He studied her in silence for a long while. “They hurt ye.” ’Twas a statement not a question.

  Aye, they hurt me. But she couldn’t quite admit it aloud.

  The silence betwixt them stretched on. Rodrick stepped forward again, this time more slowly. “Whose child do ye carry?”

  He hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt. Her eyes filled at once with sorrow and trepidation. He knew in that instant that his suspicions were correct. She was with child.

  Her shoulders shook as she choked back sobs. “Does it even matter?” she asked. “I be ruined all the same!”

  “Aye, it matters,” he replied sternly.

  “Why?” she asked, lifting her hands to cover her face.

  “I need to ken who I’ll be killin’,” he told her.

  Muriel shook her head and swallowed hard. “Ye can kill him if ye want, but it changes nothin’! He raped me, he took everything from me and left me wantin’ nothin’ more than to die!”

  It felt like a vise had tightened around Rodrick’s heart. Another suspicion confirmed. A moment later, he was pulling her into his arms. She sobbed uncontrollably against his chest. Just where he found the words he next spoke, he couldn’t say. “Muriel, I ken it feels like yer life be over, but it does no’ have to be that way.”

  “I have nothin’ left to live fer,” she cried. “I do no’ want this babe. I do no’ want to go on. Every time I close me eyes, I see Fergus’s face and I want to scream and cry and retch!”

  Yet another suspicion confirmed. As much as he wanted to return to Skye and run his blade through Fergus MacDonald’s heart, he knew he could not do that just yet. He had to get Muriel to his clan first.

  Two lost souls stood in front of a tiny window in a small room at an inn. One wishing to die, the other wanting desperately for her to live. One cried a river of tears, the other offered up whatever he could to console her.

  Once Muriel had cried it all out, Rodrick gently helped her to sit on the edge of the bed. Kneeling down, he took her hands in his. “Muriel, I ken all seems lost to ye, but please ken that I am here fer ye. Now and always.”

  Sniffling, she looked into his eyes with a most curious expression. “Ye do no’ think me a whore?”

  “God’s teeth, nay!” he exclaimed. “What happened to ye was no’ of yer own choosin’. I will no’ ever think ill of ye, lass.”

  She sniffed again, still looking uncertain. “But—”

  He stopped her protests with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Lass, ‘twas against your will and your spirit. And anyone who tells ye otherwise is a fool.”

  Rodrick firmly believed there was a special place in hell for men like Fergus MacDonald. He looked forward to sending the son-of-a-whore there someday soon. Closing the matter for any further discussion — at least for now — he drew her attention to the new gown he had acquired for her. “The innkeeper will be bringin’ up a tub fer ye shortly. Ye will feel better once ye get all the mud and muck off ye and climb into a clean dress.” He placed the gown on her lap and smiled.

  Muriel rubbed the soft wool with her thumbs. “I have no coin for a new gown.”

  “Do no’ worry over it,” he told her as he got to his feet.

  Seeing the worry in her eyes, he told her another half-truth. “The money came from Charles,” he said. “I found it amongst his belongin’s. Seems only fittin’ it be spent on the things ye need.” He had found a few coins amongst Charles’s things, but ’twas not enough to cover even half of what he’d already spent. But Muriel need not ever know that.

  After Muriel bathed, changed into her gown, and ate a bit of stew and bread, she had to admit that she did feel better. But only slightly. Her ribs still ached from where Fergus and Anthara had beaten her the day before. Though the bath did help ease some of the ache in her bones, it did nothing to help ease the ache in her heart.

  She was carrying the babe of a man she loathed – a babe she did not want, for it would be a constant reminder of Fergus MacDonald. How could she keep it?

  Above all things, a child needed love. Her own parents had doted on her, loved her without question or reserve. Deep in her heart she knew she could not love this babe, for she despised its father and the manner in which it had been created.

  Not only was she pregnant, but her brother Charles was gone. Killed in a battle trying to save his chief’s wife. God, how she missed him. Charles had been her protector and closest friend for her whole life. Even more so after their parents had died. Now she had no one, save for this odd Rodrick fellow, whom she did not know, and a babe she did not want.

  Why had God forsaken her? Why had He abandoned her? What crime had she committed? There were none she could think of that would be deserving of such punishment.

  They left the inn as soon as they finished their meal, and then headed for Mackintosh and McLaren lands. As they rode south, she could not help but wonder what Rodrick might be expecting from her. Why would a complete stranger risk his own life in order to save hers? The only explanation she could come up with was that Rodrick and Charles had been the best of friends. The man had gone all the way to Skye and had fought valiantly against dozens of men, just to rescue her. That said much about his character, but the question of why still remained.

  Muriel prayed he would not expect anything in return, at least not anything sordid and ugly, such as that she might be willing to warm his bed. Never would she allow any man to touch her as Fergus had done. Just the thought of it made her want to retch.

  Unable to hold back that important question, she finally asked it. “Ro
drick, why did ye come fer me?”

  She could feel him grow tense as he sat behind her. “’Twas the right thing to do,” he replied.

  The right thing to do? There had to be more to it than that. “So ye oft go around rescuin’ complete strangers?”

  Rodrick chuckled slightly before answering. “No’ often. But I will admit ’tis me first time rescuin’ a pretty lass from a ship’s captain.”

  Her stomach tightened at the words pretty lass. She didn’t want him to think her pretty. She didn’t want any man to think such. She wanted him to be repulsed by her mere presence, for that was how she saw herself now: repulsive, ugly, and unworthy.

  They rode in silence for a long while, with each of them lost in their own thoughts. Her mind was a jumbled mess of worry and dread. Although she had nowhere else to go in this world, a very large part of her heart hoped the Mackintosh chief would turn her away. If he did, she would simply find a quiet bit of woods and die slowly. Though she would have preferred a much quicker death, taking her own life was out of the question. She wanted nothing more than to be reunited with her parents and brother and to put this life behind her.

  Chapter Five

  Rodrick met with Ian and Rose in private before bringing Muriel into the keep for formal introductions. Rodrick didn’t think it possible for anyone to hate Fergus MacDonald as much as he did. But Rose proved him wrong.

  “Please tell me ye gutted him and left his entrails for the scavengers?” Rose asked as she sat at the long table. For a woman as kind and gracious as Rose, she certainly possessed a desire for vengeance. ’Twas one more thing he liked about the lovely woman.

  “I wish I had,” Rodrick said. “But I thought it more important to get Muriel here first.”