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Hers to Love

By Sherrinda Ketchersid

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Scotland Highlands, 1208 A.D.

"Retreat!” Adam MacIntosh bellowed to his men. “Retreat!” The words choked him, the disgust at having to utter them darkened his soul. His surprise attack on the Fergus clan had failed, which galled him all the more because he’d never lost in battle. But seeing some of his bloodied men fall to the ground warned him to retreat. ’Twas for the good of his clan.
How could he have been so quickly repelled? They’d had a few scuffles in the past couple of years, but he’d always won with only a handful of men. Perhaps his heart wasn’t in the battle. Fighting over stolen cattle was one thing, but drawing blades over his brother Duff? Nay. Duff could rot in a Fergus dungeon for all he cared. ’Twould serve him right for stealing his wife.
Adam was laird of the clan MacIntosh, but a laird must rise above such feelings and do the honorable thing, no matter how distasteful. And trying to free his captured brother was the honorable thing.
As Adam reined his steed about to flee the disastrous skirmish, Raud Fergus bore down on him, his red hair flying and his bloody sword raised. Adam brought up his claymore with both hands and deflected the deadly blow aimed at his head.
Fergus backed his horse away and bellowed, “Ye best run away with yer men, MacIntosh. That’ll teach ye to cross me.” He pointed his blade at Adam and said, “Bring me the cattle I require, or your brother will die by my hand.”
With his superior strength and skill, Adam could easily have taken the man. But without the aid of his men, he’d not survive the onslaught of all the Fergus’s swords at his throat.
Adam held his claymore high and put his other hand in the air. “Cease,” he yelled, swallowing the bile that rose with the word. He glanced around, seeing his remaining men turn and run. Being chased by the enemy. “Cease, and I will fulfill your terms.”
The Fergus laird lowered his sword. “Bring thirty heads of cattle tomorrow mid-morn.”
Adam clenched his jaw to keep from arguing with the man. “In exchange for my brother.” The words stuck in Adam’s throat as if he’d tried to swallow a wad of wool. “Now let me see to my men in peace.”
Raud didn’t respond but turned his back on Adam and rode away.
Adam turned his horse full circle, viewing the damage done to his clansmen. Several of his men were unconscious, while others moaned in pain. Fergus men began to return to their village, shouting curses upon Adam and his men. He ignored them. In due time, he’d address their insults.
His youngest brother, Barth, rode up and dismounted. “I dinna ken what happened. There were so many more of them this time, and I couldna keep them at bay.”
“I ken. Many were younger. Probably came of age to fight. We must round up thirty head of cattle for tomorrow’s trade.”
“I thought ’twas only twenty.”
“Now ’tis thirty.” Adam shook his head. How could he have been so daft? They needed every precious head of cattle to earn money for the lean winter months.
Adam fell silent as he watched the MacIntosh men return slowly to the battlefield to care for the wounded. He should have taken more of his clansmen to battle. In his pride, he hadn’t thought he needed them. Barth waited quietly until his brother finally spoke. “’Twas poor planning on my part.”
“Nay, you—”
“Look!” Adam pointed across the field toward the northern rolling hills bordering the Fergus land. He squinted against the morning sun shining upon the purple heather just beginning to bloom.
“’Tis a woman and two men,” Barth said.
“Aye. A Fergus woman. They look to be leaving their village.” The seed of an idea sprouted in his mind. He now knew how he’d gain the upper hand. “Mount up, Barth. We are going to capture those Fergus and hold them as a ransom for Duff.”
They mounted as Gregor, one of Adam’s guards, pulled up beside them.
“What can I do, laird?” he said.
“Come with us!” Adam replied as he spurred his horse to a gallop across the wide-open field. Though the lass and her men were riding at a good pace, Adam and his men gained on them. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no Fergus men followed.
The woman and her men noticed their pursuit and urged their horses to a gallop. One man slowed and drew his sword.
“Gregor! Get that one!” Adam motioned toward the Fergus man slowing down. “Dinna kill him.”
Gregor veered off, and Adam kicked his horse’s flanks, urging it forward. The second Fergus man slowed.
“I’ll take this one,” Barth yelled, and pulled out his blade.
The woman bent low over her horse, long dark hair escaping its braid and whipping behind her. Adam drew beside her and reached over to grab the reins.
She beat his arm with one hand while trying to control her horse. Her paltry blows didn’t deter him as he seized the reins and pulled her palfrey to a stop. The woman jumped off the horse and ran.
By the saints! He leaped down and took off after her. She didn’t get far before he grabbed her by the upper arm.
“Nay,” she screamed and lost her balance. She fell, hitting her cheek on the hard earth.
Adam flipped her over onto her back. Wide violet eyes stared up at him in fear. Dirt marred her smooth ivory skin. The dark waves of her hair flew about as Adam tried to form words.
But words fled. She was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Let me go!” She attempted to pull away from the firm grip he had on her arm.
“Nay, lass. You are coming with me.”
“I will not!” She twisted and tried to kick him.
“Cease, woman!” He hauled her to her feet but didn’t loosen his hold.
“I willna go with the likes of you,” she said, raising her chin.
Adam paused. He admired her courage almost as much as he did her beauty. ’Twas a shame she was a Fergus. “You will, for I have need of you.” He pulled her behind him as he walked back to their steeds.
The woman screamed and dug in her heels, almost squatting to escape from his grasp. “I’d rather die than be used by you! God save me!”
Adam halted at her screams and turned. “I have no designs on your person, so cease your cries to God.”
The woman blinked, and tears fell down her cheeks. By the saints, he hated when women wept.
“You are not going to ... harm me?” she asked.
“Nay, woman. I am going to trade you for my ill-begotten brother.”
The woman frowned. Her expression looked as if she thought him daft. Perhaps he was. Hearing his own foul plan expressed aloud in his own voice, he too saw the wretchedness of it. Using a woman to free his rotten brother? He’d sunk low in the way of honor, had he not?

***
Fiona stared at the tall man holding her hostage. His shoulders and chest were broad, as was made clear by the leine he wore under his plaid. He had braids at his temples, though most of the messy dark hair had been pulled back in a queue, revealing a strong jaw. He was a braw man, and his close presence made her feel like a wee kitten beside a massive highland bull.
Had she heard him correctly? She was to be traded? “What do you mean, traded?”
“I’m holding you and your men to trade for my brother.”
“How am I of any value?”
“I’m sure Fergus will want one such as you back.”
Fiona shook her head. “I do not belong to their clan.”
The man’s brows drew low over his hazel eyes. “I saw you leave their land from the direction of their village escorted by two of their men.”
“These are my men. The Fergus gave us shelter last eve. We are traveling north to St. Mary’s Convent. I am to take my vows.”
The man threw back his head and laughed. “I dinna believe that for one moment. You are far too fair a maiden to be hidden in any convent.”
Fiona paused. He thought her fair of face? At her age? She resisted the urge to smile with pride at the words. “I assure you, I am committed to enter the convent, and they are expecting me within a se’ennight.”
The man grunted. “Ye shall return with me.”
“But I canna delay my—”
“You have no choice.”
Fiona raised her chin. Of course, she had no choice. What woman did? Frustration festered within her chest. ’Twas monstrously unfair. But she wouldn’t go willingly, no matter how futile her efforts were. “Nay.” With a quick yank, she released her arm from his grasp and walked away, searching across the purple hills for her horse. She held her breath, expecting to feel a blow to her head or be knocked to the ground to render resistance impossible.
She’d taken no more than four steps before the man seized her and threw her over his broad shoulders. “Put me down, you oaf! God, canna you see my plight? Help me!” She kicked her feet and beat the man’s back, but to no avail. He whistled and his horse ran to him.
He set her on her feet and held her wrists in one hand while he reached into a sack tethered to his saddle. She pulled and twisted, trying to free herself. He merely tightened his grip and pulled out a long piece of heavy twine. He quickly wrapped the length of it around her wrists, binding them tightly as she struggled futilely to free herself.
“Are you going to fight me the whole way?” The man’s voice seethed with irritation as he finished tying her up.
“I’ll not go willingly,” she said, trying to pull away from him, though there was nowhere to run. Surely God would see to her escape.
“Then over you go.” The man grabbed her around the waist, hauled her up, and draped her over the saddle of his horse.
“Nay! Dinna leave me like this!” The saddle horn dug into the side of her belly.
He mounted behind the saddle, pressing his hand to her back to keep her atop the horse. “You said you wouldna go willingly, so this is the way.” He took off, collected her horse, and then met with his man who was tying her second guardsman, Will, atop his horse.
“Is he dead?” Fionna’s eyes filled as she strained to view her guardsman.
“Nay,” said her captor.
“And my other guard?” She held her breath, hoping the news would be the same.
“He’s alive.”
She sucked in an unsteady breath. Perhaps these clansmen were not as violent as she had feared. She had not been hurt—except for her pride.
“Is she a Fergus?” asked the man tending to Will.
“She claims she is not.”
“What will you do with her?” The younger man turned to her captor.
“Trade her for Duff. Come. Let’s return.” After gathering her other guardsman, Robert, and his captor, they traveled toward the now-quiet battlefield. There were a few fallen men on the ground, seen to by their fellow clansmen. ’Twould seem this clan was left to wallow in defeat and tend their wounded. Her captor dismounted and pulled her from the horse.
With her feet now planted on the ground, she drew herself to her full height and braced for what was to come.
“Adam, what if she isna a Fergus?” The younger man dismounted.
Fiona glanced at her captor, waiting for his reply. He stared at her for a moment. “She’s a Fergus. She was leaving their village.”
“I am Fiona McGowan, and I am on my way to St. Mary’s Convent to take my vows, as I have stated before. Who are you to have kidnapped me for ill-purposes?”
The man lifted a brow. “I am Adam, laird of the MacIntosh.” He pulled out a dagger from his boot and stepped toward her.
She shrank back, only to collide with her horse. “I am nothing to you. Please let me and my men go.”
The laird stepped closer, holding her gaze until he was a foot away. He smelled of smoke and the earth, and her heart beat heavy within her chest at his impossible height and breadth. A mighty warrior, to be sure.
He reached out a hand, and she flinched. “Dinna fash yourself.” He picked up her bound hands and, with one swift movement, cut through the binding, giving her freedom.
“You will release me? Thank you, Lord.” God was good to release her so quickly.
He shook his head. “Nay, you may be useful to me yet.” He turned his attention to the other man. “Barth, take her and her men to our village.”
The man called Barth looked from Fiona to the laird, his gaze questioning. “What if she tries to escape?”
The laird crossed his arms and gave her a pointed look. “Will you try to escape?”
Fiona gulped. Of course she’d flee, but she couldn’t do such a thing with her men still unconscious. She wouldn’t leave them. “Nay, I will not.”
“Very good.” The laird gave a nod and walked away.
“Come. I will help you mount.” Barth motioned her toward her horse.
“What about my men? I willna go without them.” She looked at her guards, still draped over their horses, tied securely.
“We shall take them with us.” Barth motioned her toward him once more. “Come.”
Fiona acquiesced and allowed the man to help her mount her horse. He tied one of her guards’ horses to his saddle and the other to hers, and then he mounted. She followed him as he slowly led them westward toward a vast wooded area.
A man’s voice cried out in agony from somewhere in the heather. Fiona twisted around to see from where such anguish came. One of the MacIntosh men lay on the ground, writhing in pain. She quickly guided her horse to the man and dismounted. Falling to her knees beside him, she placed a hand on his forehead and spoke in a low, soft voice. “There, there. Relax. Tell me where the pain is.”
The man’s breath came in slow puffs as he tried to still his body. His hand grabbed his upper arm as he grimaced in agony. “Shoulder,” he hissed.
“What are you doing?” The laird took her by the arm and lifted her to her feet.
“I am trying to help.” Fiona tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, to no avail. “Please allow me to—”
“Go with my man.” The laird searched around him until his gaze fell on Barth, riding toward them. “Can you not take a lass in hand as ordered?”
“You said she wouldna run away,” Barth retorted.
“I dinna run. I came back to help.” Fiona pulled at her arm once more, and the laird released her. “My brother’s wife is a healer, and I learned much from her.”
“We have our own healer,” said the laird. “The man will be seen to.”
Barth snorted. “When she’s not drinking all the clan’s ale.”
The laird sent Barth a glance that probably made most men cower, but Fiona lifted her chin. “May I please assess your man? I only want to check one thing.”
The laird’s frown deepened, but he gave a quick nod.
She knelt beside the groaning man and gently probed the bone at the base of his neck, across to the shoulders. When she tried to lift the injured arm, the man cried out in pain. She felt around the shoulder area and noticed the bulge in front of the shoulder. “The bone is not in the right place. An easy fix.” She rose and dusted off her kirtle before looking up at the laird.
His expression looked doubtful.
“Have you not helped in situations like this before?” She felt certain he had.
“Once. I dinna care to repeat it,” said the laird, his face grim.
“I ken ’tisn’t pleasant, but I dinna have the strength needed to correct the placement on my own. You will pull, and I will help guide the bone.”
The laird grunted but came to stand beside the man’s hurt arm. He followed her instructions and held the man’s arm with both hands.
“I will count to three, and then you quickly pull the man’s arm.” She waited until the laird nodded. “One, two, three.”
As the laird pulled, Fiona pressed against the protruding bone. The man screamed. Fiona felt the bone slip into place.
The man gasped for breath. “Feels better,” he said, tenderly touching his shoulder. He sat up and winced.
“Your arm will be sore for a while, and you need to wear a sling to keep it close to your body while it heals.” Fiona came to her feet and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. She knew she must look terribly disheveled after the ordeal of the past hour.
“Now go with Barth to the village.” The laird waved her toward his man still atop his steed.
Fiona’s cheeks flushed hot. Not even a thank you for helping his man. Just a command to be obeyed. She lifted her chin and, without a glance at the tall leader of the MacIntosh clan, strode regally toward her horse. As she brushed by the imperious laird, she couldn’t resist: “You are welcome.”

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