Awoken: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Sisters of Kilbride Book 2)

by Jayne Castel

  Calm yerself. Leanna sucked in a deep breath, and then another, to quell her the clawing panic. Hysteria isn’t going to help ye now. Ye need to think.

  Leanna knew she wasn’t goose-witted, yet fear could easily render her foolish. She needed to master her feelings, bide her time, and look for a chance to make her escape. She’d observe her surroundings and scrutinize every person she met, searching for someone who might help her.

  Even so, as the high dun-colored walls of Dunan rose before her, swallowing the sky, Leanna found it hard to cling to hope. Right now, it felt as if she was riding into her tomb.

  6

  We Must Make the Best of Things

  DUNCAN MACKINNON WAS exactly as Leanna remembered him. Tall and handsome with wavy peat-brown hair and slate-grey eyes, he cut a striking figure. The clan-chief wore braies of the muted red, green, and blue MacKinnon plaid; hunting boots; and a black léine open at the neck.

  MacKinnon strode into the solar, a leggy charcoal-colored wolfhound at his heel—and upon spying Leanna, the man stopped dead in his tracks. His dog sat down next to him, its heavy tail thumping upon the flagstone floor.

  The clan-chief’s gaze swept over her, devouring her. His eyes hooded in a way that made Leanna suppress a shiver of dread. He’d looked at her that way at the clan gathering: a charged sexual look that had stripped her naked before him.

  Yet his stare was even more intense today, and his lips parted, his broad chest rising and falling in excitement. His voice, when he eventually spoke, was husky. “Lady Leanna … how pleased I am to see ye.”

  Leanna swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. “Does this mean I am a guest here, MacKinnon?” she asked, deliberately keeping her tone low and gentle. “Am I free to leave whenever I wish?”

  Duncan MacKinnon watched her for a heartbeat before smiling. It was a hungry smile that revealed perfect white teeth. “No, mo chridhe,” he murmured. “Ye have come to Dunan for good.”

  Leanna inhaled deeply, clenching her fists against her thighs. My heart. He addressed her like a lover, even though she’d never once said a word to encourage him.

  Nausea rose within Leanna, and she took an unconscious step back. She’d told herself that she’d master her fear—but panic, as wild as a trapped bird, wheeled within her. The urge to explode into hysterics, to plead, weep, and even try to flee, all vied for dominance within Leanna.

  “I don’t want to be here,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Please let me return to the abbey.”

  MacKinnon ignored her; instead, his iron-grey gaze flicked to his two henchmen. Campbell and Broderick stood silently, flanking their captive. “Ye have done well,” he said, his mouth lifting at the corners. “I knew ye wouldn’t disappoint me.”

  “Did ye not hear me?” The words burst out of Leanna. She hated being ignored. “Ye can’t keep me here against my will!”

  MacKinnon smirked, his gaze focusing on Campbell. “Was she difficult to find?”

  “Not really,” Campbell replied, his voice as impassive as his face. “Her father’s men came to fetch her for the burial. We merely followed. However, a group of outlaws attacked her party, before we had a chance to catch up with them.”

  MacKinnon’s smirk faded at this news. “Outlaws?”

  Ross Campbell nodded. “Not the men ye are looking for … but a band of ragged men bearing MacDonald colors. All of them are now dead.”

  The clan-chief appeared to relax at this news. “Good,” he grunted. “How fitting though … that men who once served Niall MacDonald would attack his own warriors.” MacKinnon’s attention swiveled back to Leanna. “Yer father self-righteously blamed me for the problems with outlaws I’ve been having of late. However, it seems he too has made enemies of his own people.”

  The urge to argue, to defend her father, reared up within Leanna, but she choked it back. MacKinnon was trying to provoke her, yet she wouldn’t rise to the bait. If he chose to ignore her whenever it suited him, she could play the same game.

  As such, she remained in stony silence.

  MacKinnon’s mouth curved. “Nothing to say, eh?” he murmured. “That’s good. A woman should know when to hold her tongue.”

  Heat flushed through Leanna, as did the urge to spit at him. Once again, she restrained herself. She sensed that a fight was exactly what he wanted.

  His gaze raked over her once more. “As lovely as ye are in that habit, the time has come for ye to cast it aside. We will be wed before the sun sets today.” MacKinnon glanced to where Carr Broderick stood, a still figure carven from stone. “Fetch the priest.”

  Broderick gave a brisk nod and left the solar without a backward glance, the door thudding shut behind him.

  Leanna watched him go, her heart racing. Events were moving so swiftly now; it was impossible to keep up. She couldn’t imagine being MacKinnon’s wife by nightfall, and yet that fate was now rushing toward her.

  MacKinnon moved to the mantelpiece and retrieved something. He then approached her, holding out his hand. A beautiful scotch thistle brooch, set around a large piece of amber, gleamed up to her.

  It was exquisite, and if her father had gifted her such a piece of jewelry, Leanna would have squealed with joy.

  However, the sight made her belly clench and caused a sickly sensation to wash over her.

  “Something pretty for my lovely bride-to-be,” MacKinnon murmured, his voice developing a crooning edge. “Make sure ye wear it from now on.” The clan-chief then turned to Campbell. “Take my betrothed to Drew … and see that she is given more ladylike attire. She will then join us for the noon meal.”

  “This kirtle will suit ye well, Lady Leanna … it will go with the flecks of green in yer eyes.”

  A slender woman with regal bearing approached Leanna. Dressed in a fitting dove-grey kirtle, her thick brown hair piled up onto her head, Drew MacKinnon had her brother’s grey eyes. It was hard to tell her age, for her skin was smooth and unlined. Yet there was a knowingness in the woman’s gaze, a shrewdness, that made Leanna guess Drew MacKinnon had seen her thirty-fifth winter at least.

  Her voice, as she held up the pine-green kirtle for Leanna’s inspection, was faintly mocking.

  Leanna took the kirtle without a word, her fingers digging into the soft fabric. She had to admit, it was beautifully made. It was ironic really. How often had she dreamed of being able to dress again in one of the kirtles she had once worn? She hated her heavy, shapeless habit, and yet at that moment she wanted to clasp it to her. Suddenly, she wanted to wear it for the rest of her life.

  Lady Drew’s gaze met hers then, and Leanna swore the woman’s eyes twinkled.

  “Does my plight amuse ye?” Leanna asked, anger sweeping up from her belly.

  MacKinnon’s sister inclined her head. “Not in the slightest. But we must make the best of things, mustn’t we?”

  “I don’t want to make the best of things. I want to go back to Kilbride.”

  Drew huffed out a breath and turned, retrieving a soft léine from the bed. It was a beautiful garment, a warm butter-yellow in color. The old Leanna, the one who had delighted in each new kirtle and shawl, would have reached for it, would have marveled over the fine needlework. However, Sister Leanna viewed the léine as if it were a serpent about to strike.

  “Kilbride is lost to ye, my dear,” Drew murmured, passing her the long shift dress. “It’s best ye don’t dwell upon it.” She motioned to the screen behind them. “Ye can change there. Let me know if ye need any help.”

  Leanna didn’t move. Holding the garments, which smelled of lavender, she merely stared at Drew MacKinnon. Rage simmered, and despite that it was cool inside the chamber, sweat beaded her skin.

  “So ye think forcing a woman to wed against her will is right?” she managed finally.

  Drew held her gaze, her mouth lifting at the edges in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t choose my husband either. Few high-born women get to.”

  “Yer brother can�
�t just take me like this … there will be consequences.”

  Drew’s smile turned hard. “From whom? Yer father?”

  Silence fell in the chamber then. A narrow window was open, allowing a crisp breeze to filter inside. Somewhere beyond, Leanna could hear faint children’s laughter.

  How she longed to go back in time, to those days when she had been under her parents’ care, those days when she had believed that nothing could touch her, or those she loved.

  “My husband wasn’t a bad man,” Drew said after a weighty silence. “But he was an interminable bore … and his touch made my skin crawl. He was older than my own father, yet I was still bid to wed him.”

  Leanna clenched her jaw. “Is that supposed to give me solace?”

  Drew gave a soft laugh. “I’m just trying to make ye see that for women like us, life has few choices. Ye have to use yer wits to rise above it.”

  Long moments passed, and Leanna didn’t move. With one hand, she reached down and clutched at her habit’s heavy skirt. “I can’t take this off,” she choked out the words. “I’m a Bride of Christ.”

  Leanna’s breathing constricted as she finished speaking. How many times over the past year had she thought enviously of Ella and her new life as Lady of Scorrybreac? She’d noticed how attractive Gavin MacNichol was during his visits to Kilbride, and had even lain awake a few nights imagining what it would be like to undress for a man like that.

  She flushed hot with shame now at the memory. Maybe this was God’s way of punishing her for those fantasies. Did she even deserve to wear this habit?

  As if reading her thoughts, Lady Drew made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat. “A nun’s life is behind ye now, Leanna.” Her voice developed a warning edge. “And if ye don’t remove that habit willingly, my brother will only rip it off ye.”

  7

  Years I have Waited

  ROSS SHIFTED IMPATIENTLY, his gaze going to the closed door. Leanna had disappeared in there earlier, and had not yet re-emerged. Folk would be amassing downstairs in the Great Hall for the noon meal by now. At this rate, MacKinnon’s bride-to-be would make her entrance late.

  It was quiet in the hallway—a narrow, windowless space lit only by a row of flickering cressets upon the damp walls. Ross didn’t like being forced to wait; naturally impatient, he preferred to be kept occupied.

  Especially today.

  Not for the first time, he silently cursed the man he served. He hadn’t expected MacKinnon to give Leanna the chance to refuse him—yet his callousness toward her had made Ross’s hackles rise nonetheless.

  Her wishes meant nothing to him.

  Or to ye, he reminded himself. Leanna had already pleaded with him and Broderick. There was little point in him being angry with MacKinnon for ignoring the woman. Ross knew he was no better.

  As they’d stood before the clan-chief in the solar, Ross had braced himself for an ugly scene. Leanna had come close to losing control. He’d seen the pallor of her face, the horror in those wide hazel eyes. When MacKinnon had sent Carr off to fetch the priest, she’d trembled like a reed in the wind. Yet she’d managed to rein in her panic, perhaps sensing that MacKinnon had been goading her deliberately.

  Ye know who he is, a traitorous voice whispered to him then. After what ye saw Siusan go through, would ye want yer sister wed to MacKinnon?

  Ross shoved his niggling conscience aside, irritated by the intrusion. His opinion on all of this mattered not. He’d been given a task, and he’d completed it. His only loyalty here was to the man he served.

  The creak of hinges roused Ross from his brooding, and he turned to see a woman emerge from the chamber.

  Ross’s breathing caught.

  Sister Leanna of Kilbride had disappeared, and Lady Leanna MacDonald of Sleat stood in her place: an elegant young woman with a slender yet womanly figure encased in flowing green. But it was her hair that caught his attention. Ash-blonde and lustrous, it fell in waves over her shoulders. The brooch MacKinnon had gifted her earlier had been pinned to her breast.

  Leanna halted before him, and Ross was vaguely aware of Drew emerging from the chamber behind her.

  “What do ye think, Campbell?” Drew asked with a sly smile. “She is a vision, is she not?”

  Aware that he was staring, Ross caught himself before clearing his throat. “I … thought nuns cut off their hair,” he said finally, only to inwardly kick himself. Ye sound like a lack-wit.

  “Not all nuns do,” Leanna replied, her bleak tone at odds with her beauty. “When I took my vows as a novice, the abbess requested only a lock of my hair.” She paused then, her delicate features tensing. “I swore that no one would look upon my hair again.”

  Drew huffed impatiently. “Enough of this, Leanna … those days are over, remember? If ye are clever, ye’ll make good use of yer fair face and nubile body from now on.”

  That comment earned Drew a frosty look. “Do ye think that’s all I’ve got to offer the world? I’ve got wits as sharp as any man.”

  Drew’s mouth curved, her grey eyes twinkling. “Aye … sharper I’d say. But the world doesn’t care how clever ye are, lass … and my brother certainly won’t.”

  Ross stepped forward and offered Leanna his arm. “We’ve delayed long enough, milady. It’s time for ye to join MacKinnon in the Great Hall. He will be waiting for ye.”

  Leanna met his eye then, and a long look passed between them. Ross knew he shouldn’t hold her gaze so, that nothing good would come from staring at a woman meant for the man he served. However, he couldn’t stop himself.

  Neither could he miss the desolation he saw in the depths of Leanna’s eyes.

  “What a bonny sight.” Duncan MacKinnon leaned back upon his carven chair, his gaze raking Leanna from head to toe. “My sister has done quite a job with ye … it was certainly worth the wait.”

  His gaze settled upon the brooch pinned to her breast, and a lazy smile stretched his mouth. “I knew that brooch would suit ye.”

  Leanna crossed the Great Hall toward the MacKinnon clan-chief, one arm linked through Ross Campbell’s. Each step felt as if she were nearing the steps to the gallows. She was aware of every gaze in the hall upon her, tracking her progress across the floor.

  They walked between rows of long tables toward a raised dais at the far end. MacKinnon sat at the head of the table. A huge boar’s head reared above him: a ferocious-looking beast with a wiry black coat and great yellow tusks. A few retainers sat at the table with the clan-chief, although three places near him had been left free.

  “It’s quite a transformation, isn’t it?” Drew quipped as she swept up onto the dais and took her seat. “Out of that awful black habit, most women look more attractive.”

  MacKinnon smirked at that, although his gaze never left Leanna.

  Wordlessly, she stepped up onto the raised platform and was guided by Campbell to the seat next to MacKinnon. The clan-chief’s right-hand then sat down on Leanna’s other side.

  MacKinnon leaned back in his chair and clicked his fingers. The sound splintered the hush of anticipation inside the hall, and a horde of servants descended bearing platters of food and ewers of ale and wine.

  Leanna’s gaze slid over the platters of roast fowl and braised kale and onions, and the baskets of oaten bread that the servants placed before her.

  “Bramble wine, milady?” A lass asked timidly.

  Leanna nodded. She hadn’t drunk wine since arriving at the abbey, for they usually took ale with their meals, but right now she longed for something to take the edge off her nerves, off the panic that boiled within her, threatening to burst free at any moment.

  She was relieved to see that the serving wench filled her goblet to the brim. Leanna raised it to her lips and took a large gulp, welcoming the heat as the liquid slid down her throat to her belly.

  At this point, she’d grasp at what she could to keep her nerve.

  The rumble of voices, which had ceased when had entered the Great Hall, resumed on
ce more. The retainers and warriors present turned their attention from Leanna to their meals, and she let out a long exhale in relief.

  However, there was one person present who’d not stopped staring at her since she’d entered the hall.

  MacKinnon still reclined in his chair, ignoring the spread of food before him. Instead, he watched her under hooded lids, one hand loosely clasping the stem of his goblet.

  “Years I have waited for this, Lady Leanna,” he murmured. “Like a skittish doe, ye have eluded me … but no longer. Tonight we shall be man and wife.”

  The wine she’d just swallowed rose, stinging the back of Leanna’s throat. Those words sounded like a dire threat. She couldn’t bear the thought of becoming MacKinnon’s wife, of having to endure his touch. He was handsome to be sure, but his looks left her cold. The thought of his hands upon her naked flesh, of having her maidenhead stolen by him, made nausea surge once more.

  Leanna swallowed hard, dropping her gaze to the empty platter before her. Woodenly, she helped herself to some roast fowl. It gave her something to do. However, she wasn’t sure she would be able to eat anything. Right now, it felt as if a stone sat in her belly.

  Picking up a knife, she began to push the food around her plate. And all the while, she was aware of MacKinnon’s heated gaze upon her.

  Stop staring at me. Her fingers clenched around the knife. How she wished she was good with a blade, like Sister Ella. She should have been able to fend off Campbell and Broderick in that clearing. She’d made a mess of defending herself.

  “Are ye sure ye wish to wed so soon, brother?” Drew asked, breaking the silence at their end of the table. Leanna glanced up to see that Drew was regarding MacKinnon with her usual look—something between amusement and derision. “If ye wait a day or two, I can have the seamstress adjust a gown and get the cooks to prepare a feast worthy of the occasion.”