by Jayne Castel
MacKinnon pursed his lips, making it clear what he thought of his sister’s offer. “Such trappings don’t matter to me,” he replied. “Lady Leanna will be wed in the pretty kirtle ye have gifted her, and we shall have a feast tomorrow with whatever the cooks can prepare in time.” He paused there, his gaze narrowing. “I have waited long enough for this day.”
Drew raised finely arched eyebrows, before she helped herself to a slice of bread. “Very well … I will instruct the kitchen.”
“See that ye do.”
“So, it matters not that I’m not willing?” Leanna realized she was shaking as she choked out the words, but she couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. She hated the way MacKinnon and his sister discussed her fate like she wasn’t even present. Ignoring Drew’s warning glance, Leanna gripped the table edge and leaned toward MacKinnon, meeting his gaze squarely for the first time since her arrival at Dunan. “I’m a chieftain’s daughter … ye have no right to wed me without my consent.”
MacKinnon held her gaze, and to her ire a slow smile stretched his lips. “Ye are mine, Lady Leanna,” he drawled, holding his goblet up to her in a mocking salute. “Ye might be a chieftain’s daughter, but I’m a clan-chief … yer father should never have defied me.”
Quivering from the force of the outrage that now pulsed through her, Leanna continued to glare at MacKinnon. Vitriol bubbled up within her. She was a hair’s breadth from losing her hard-won control.
She’d told herself she needed to be wise. She needed to rein in her temper and use it to her advantage when the opportunity arose, yet she was beginning to realize there wouldn’t be any such occasion.
But at that moment, MacKinnon’s attention shifted right, shattering the tension, toward the Great Hall’s entrance. Leanna’s gaze followed his, and she spied a well-built warrior with short blond hair entering the space. Carr Broderick wore a grim expression upon his face as he strode toward the dais.
“Ye took yer time,” MacKinnon greeted the warrior with a frown. “How long does a man need to fetch the priest?”
“Father Athol isn’t in Dunan at present,” Broderick replied, drawing to a halt before them. “I searched for him everywhere before discovering that he’s gone to visit the sick in Kyleakin. He will be back tomorrow.”
Relief slammed into Leanna, dousing her fury. The sensation was so strong that she almost gasped. However, MacKinnon glowered at this news. “What the devil’s he doing there?” he growled. “I don’t want him bringing the pestilence back to Dunan.”
A murmur of worried voices followed these words, echoing through the Great Hall. Those at the table shared confused looks, and even Drew lost her smirk.
Leanna swallowed, a chill flowering through her belly. She wondered how many here had heard of the plague. She only knew of it because Sister Coira had mentioned the sickness a few times over the past months. The nun, who was also Kilbride’s healer, had gleaned snippets of news from the odd traveler to Torrin who brought word about the goings-on beyond their secluded corner of the world.
Until now the terrible pestilence that had brought Europe and England to its knees had seemed like something far off, something that wouldn’t touch this remote isle. But this news changed everything. Now, not only had it reached Scotland, but it had crossed the water and appeared upon their shores.
“I’m sure Father Athol won’t take any unnecessary risks,” Drew said finally. The unusually subdued note to her voice betrayed her own nervousness. “And once he returns, he will perform the wedding ceremony as ye wish … ye will just have to wait a day, that’s all.”
MacKinnon cut his sister a dark look, and Drew wisely dropped her gaze, refraining from making further comment.
Leanna stared down at her platter of untouched food. The news about the plague was unsettling to be sure, but right now she had more pressing issues to deal with. Unexpectedly, these ill-tidings had brought her a reprieve.
She now had time to figure out how she was going to escape this union.
8
Ye Have No Heart
LEANNA CLIMBED THE stairs, her pulse accelerating with each step. A stay of execution, albeit a short one. One more night out of MacKinnon’s clutches. Nerves clenched her belly, and by the time she reached the second-floor landing, her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her ears.
Ross Campbell walked two steps behind her, accompanying her to the chamber where she would be lodged until the following day. They walked down the hallway in silence, although Leanna was aware of the man’s gaze boring into her back. He’d said little during the noon meal, and when he’d escorted her from the hall afterward, his face had been an enigmatic mask, his gaze shuttered.
His lack of reaction made her already racing heart beat faster. Anger quickened like a stoked furnace in the pit of her belly. How could he be so heartless? How could he let MacKinnon away with this? She wanted to rail at him, tell him once again that he was no better than a hound, but desperation overrode the instinct.
Without allies here, she was doomed.
“Yer bed-chamber is up ahead, milady,” Campbell said, breaking the tense silence. “The last door on the right.”
Stopping before the door, Leanna turned to him. They were alone in the hallway. This was the only chance she’d get to ask Campbell for help. She was grasping at shadows, she knew it. After all, this was the man who’d crossed MacKinnon territory to abduct her.
“Ross,” she said softly, meeting his eye. “Please help me.”
The slight quaver in her voice alarmed her; it wasn’t feigned.
The warrior had stopped before her. His dark-blue gaze narrowed at her use of his first name. However, he didn’t answer her plea.
Clinging on to her courage, Leanna took a step closer to him. “Ye can’t let this happen.”
Ross Campbell’s beautifully molded lips flattened into a grim line. “Ye shouldn’t be saying such to me, milady. It’s best if ye go into yer chamber now.”
Pain flowered under Leanna’s breastbone, and her mouth went dry. Instead of obeying him, she took another step closer, her clenched hands rising to the broad wall of his chest.
Her knuckles pressed against his leather vest, yet he didn’t move, didn’t reach up to remove her hands. There had to be a beating heart inside there. He had to see how much danger she was in.
“I can’t keep silent any longer, Ross,” she said. It choked her to plead before this man, yet she pushed on. “We have time now that the priest is delayed. Help me leave this place … don’t let this wedding take place. Please!”
“Leanna.” Did she imagine the husky edge to his voice? He took hold of her hands and pulled them from his chest, his fingers tightening over hers. “Stop this talk. Ye aren’t helping yerself. Dunan is yer home now.”
“But my kin don’t even know what’s become of me.” Her voice rose as desperation clawed at her throat. “My mother will think I’m dead. She’ll be going mad with worry.”
A shadow moved in those midnight blue eyes. Up close, she noted that he had long dark eyelashes and that he smelt of leather and warm male. However, his expression had turned grim, his firm grip on her hands tightening.
“As soon as ye are wed, I shall send word to Duncaith, if ye wish … so they know ye still live,” he replied, his tone gruff. “But ye must stop resisting this. It’ll only make things worse for ye.”
“No!” The word exploded from her. “Wedding MacKinnon will be the end of me … why can’t ye see that?”
“Enough.” His voice was strained now. “I can’t do anything more for ye … ye know that.”
A sob rose within Leanna, despair bubbling up. She twisted her hands free of his grip, clawing at him. “Ye are a merciless bastard, Campbell,” she gasped. “No better than the beast ye serve. May ye rot in hell for aiding him!”
She managed to rake him across the face, her nails leaving a red welt down one cheek, before he caught her by the wrists and pushed her back against the door. Breathing
hard, Ross Campbell struggled to hold Leanna still.
The last remnants of restraint had gone from her now. She fought like a woman possessed, twisting in his grasp as she attempted to knee him in the cods. “Devil’s spawn,” she shrieked. “Ye have no heart.”
Finally, the only way he could still her struggles was to press his body flush against hers. Arms pinned to her sides, Leanna continued to writhe, her vision blurring as despair consumed her. It was all over. She was completely alone here.
It had been a foolish, desperate move to ask this man for help. But now she had just made the situation worse for herself.
“God’s bones, woman,” Ross muttered through clenched teeth. “Halt yer struggles before ye hurt yerself.”
Panting, Leanna sank against the door. She stared up at Ross to see that their faces were now only inches apart.
A flush had crept across Ross’s cheekbones, a muscle ticked in his jaw, and his blue eyes had darkened nearly to black. He looked angry—and upset.
“This won’t help, Leanna,” he rasped. “Even if I wanted to, I cannot aid ye.”
Leanna didn’t answer. She merely stared up at him, her throat aching. The back of her eyes prickled as tears welled, yet she kept them back. She wouldn’t weep in front of this man. She became aware then that their bodies were pressed hard together. She could feel the long, lean length of his body, the heat of him enveloping her. His closeness made her breathing quicken.
Leanna started to tremble. Suddenly, she bitterly regretted asking Ross Campbell for help. She wished only to be gone from his presence, to shut herself away.
“Then ye condemn me to death,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let go of me, Campbell. I will do as bid now.”
His gaze narrowed further, yet after a long moment, he released her wrists and stepped back. A chill rushed in between them.
Dragging in a deep breath, she moved toward the door. Then, with one last look, she turned away and let herself into her bed-chamber.
Ross Campbell stood in the hallway, watching the door thud shut.
His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing coming in short gasps.
What had just happened?
He knew Leanna was desperate, but he hadn’t expected her to lose control like that. Her behavior had angered him, and yet at the same time, her despair had stabbed him through the heart like a dirk blade. She had fought him without any thought to her own wellbeing, desperation turning her frenzied.
He didn’t blame her. In the space of a day, she’d lost her father, seen her escort murdered, and been ripped away from the security of her old life—and now she was about to be forced to wed a man she despised.
She’d asked for his help, and he’d refused her.
Ross breathed a curse under his breath. She’d have me risk my whole life for her.
There were some paths he’d never take—even if a beautiful, grief-stricken woman pleaded with him.
Ross bolted the door from the outside—as MacKinnon had instructed. He then stepped back and raked a hand through his hair. He’d known this whole business was ill-fated. MacKinnon thought he could bend this woman to his will, but even after just one day in her company, Ross realized he wouldn’t.
Instead, Duncan MacKinnon would just break Lady Leanna.
Ross turned and walked away down the hallway—and as he did so, he heard the muffled sound of sobbing.
“What happened to ye?” Carr frowned, peering at the scratch upon Ross’s cheek. “Looks like ye had a fight with a she-cat.”
Ross huffed a humorless laugh, lowering himself to the bench-seat and reaching for the flagon of ale between them. They sat in the guard’s hall, a rectangular space upon the ground floor of Dunan’s guard house. At this hour there were a few men seated around the space, although none occupied this table but Carr and Ross, giving them a rare moment of solitude.
“Lady Leanna gave her opinion of me,” he said, pouring himself a tall cup of ale.
Carr raised fair eyebrows, his grey-blue eyes widening. “She attacked ye?”
Ross nodded. “When I accompanied the lady to her bed-chamber, she flew into hysterics … and begged me to save her.”
This comment caused Carr to raise his eyebrows higher still. “And of course, ye refused?”
“Aye.” Reaching up, Ross traced a finger down the raised welt upon his cheek. It still stung. “Can’t say I blame her though … not after everything we’ve put her through.”
Carr raised his own tankard of ale to his lips and took a measured sip. “Careful, Ross … sounds to me like ye are growing sympathetic toward the lass.”
Ross tensed at his friend’s observation. The scene with Leanna had rattled him. The fear in those wide hazel eyes, the desperation in her voice. He’d been tempted to reveal his concerns to Carr. But something in his friend’s voice warned him from doing so.
Aye, they were close and would always watch each other’s backs. Yet their first loyalty was always to the man they served—Ross would do well to remember that. Checking his impulse to confide in Carr, he took a deep draft of ale.
There are some thoughts a man should keep to himself.
9
Not a Happy Woman
“I WANT THE hunt for my brother intensified.” Duncan MacKinnon’s voice cut through the dew-laden air. Riding at the clan-chief’s side, Ross glanced across at him. MacKinnon wore an expression he knew well: a look that was a blend of anger and dogged determination. They’d been out early, stalking deer in the valleys to the south of Dunan. MacKinnon had been quiet earlier as they’d ridden out in the predawn hush.
Ross realized now that he’d been brooding, and their lack of success at bringing down a deer had worsened his mood. The gibbet they passed on the roadside, where a dead brigand hung by the neck, had spurred MacKinnon to speak up.
“How exactly?” Ross asked, looking away from the grisly sight. A crow sat upon the corpse’s shoulder and was pecking at its rotting flesh. “We’re doing everything we can … and all the other chieftains and clan-chiefs have been keeping an eye out for him.”
“Aye, but he’s still on my lands … I know it in my gut,” MacKinnon growled back. “MacLeod and Fraser both report that the outlaw problem has lessened of late in their territories … but it hasn’t in mine. Neither of them have a bastard brother intent on ruining them. I don’t care if ye have to get the entire Dunan Guard out combing the land … I want ye to find him.”
Ross frowned, considering the clan-chief’s orders. The two men rode side-by-side, leading the hunting party east along the road into Dunan. The broch rose before them—a dark, solid mass in the midst of the wreathing river mist.
As much as he sympathized with MacKinnon about his brother, Ross had been silently impressed by the outlaw over the years. He was as cunning as a stoat and elusive as a wraith. Time and time again, he’d attacked the clan-chief’s supply wagons and couriers before disappearing into the wilderness.
Ross had led the search for ‘Craeg the Bastard’—the result of the old clan-chief’s dalliance with a whore—over the years, but he’d never been able to get close to him. MacKinnon knew that he already had men out searching for the outlaw band, but it clearly wasn’t good enough.
“As soon as yer wedding has passed, I shall widen the search,” Ross said finally.
“Aye, see that ye do. I want Craeg’s neck in a noose by summer’s end.”
The veiled threat in MacKinnon’s voice caused Ross to tense. Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze briefly met Carr’s. He could see by his friend’s pursed lips that he’d overheard the short exchange.
Like Ross, Carr knew that capturing the outlaw leader was no easy task—if it had been, they’d have accomplished it already. MacKinnon had made himself unpopular throughout the territory due to his harsh treatment of folk and increasingly high taxes. As such, locals were uncooperative with Ross and his men—and had even gone as far as to harbor outlaws.
A heavy sensation s
ettled in Ross’s chest when he turned back and urged his courser toward the North Gate—Dunan’s main entrance. MacKinnon’s threat was a blunt reminder that it didn’t matter that he was the clan-chief’s right-hand and Captain of The Dunan Guard. His position here was still precarious.
Duncan MacKinnon had reminded him that as he’d had the power to raise Ross up, he could bring him low just as easily.
“Ye are fortunate, milady … the apple blossom is particularly beautiful this year … it looks lovely in yer hair.”
The servant’s high-pitched chatter echoed through the bed-chamber, yet Leanna ignored it. She sat still, her gaze focused on the opposite wall while Tyra fussed over her hair.
“And that gown suits yer coloring … it used to belong to Lady Siusan, ye know. The seamstress didn’t need to adjust it much, as ye are of a similar build. I do believe Lady Siusan wore this same dress to her wedding.”
Leanna swallowed. Wonderful … they’re dressing me in the dead-wife’s wedding gown. The pressure under her breast-bone increased, the sensation feeling as if a giant hand was gripping her ribcage. With any luck, it would stop her heart before the ceremony took place.
“Enough prattle, Tyra. Lady Leanna doesn’t need to hear all that.” A cool female voice interjected.
Leanna tore her attention from the wall, to where Drew MacKinnon stood in the open doorway. As always, the widow looked impeccable in a dark blue gown that suited the rich brown of her hair. Her tresses were swept up into an immaculate coil. She had a regal way of carrying herself, an elegance that Leanna hadn’t seen in anyone else. It made her feel gauche and bumbling in comparison.
She wished she had Drew MacKinnon’s composure, her strength. Somehow, the woman had lived under the same roof as Duncan MacKinnon all these years and hadn’t been broken by him.
