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

by Jayne Castel

  That’s because she’s as heartless as he is.

  The women’s gazes met and held for an instant. “Tyra is right though,” Drew said with a small smile. “Ye are lovely. I’m glad we had the extra time to dress ye properly. My brother will be delighted.”

  A sickly lump rose in Leanna’s throat. She didn’t want to delight MacKinnon. The thought of standing at his side in the kirk made her belly roil. She wasn’t sure she could endure this.

  “So, the priest has returned?” she asked finally, hating the slight tremor in her voice that betrayed her fear.

  Drew nodded. “Aye … Father Athol is readying himself as we speak.”

  “Has he told ye of Kyleakin … of the sickness?” Tyra asked, her chirpiness fading.

  Drew frowned. “He tells me that things are grim there,” she admitted. “A handful of folk died during his visit … he administered their last rites.”

  “Did he speak of how the sick are afflicted?”

  Drew’s mouth flattened. “No … and I didn’t ask.”

  “I was speaking to a cloth merchant at market yesterday.” Tyra’s voice developed a shrill edge as she continued. “He’s come from the mainland, where smoke stains the sky each night from dozens of funeral pyres. He says the illness is punishment from God. We are all wicked and must pay for our sins.” The handmaid glanced at Leanna then, her eyes wide. “Ye are a nun, Lady Leanna … do ye not agree?”

  “I … I don’t know,” Leanna stammered. “I don’t think that God wishes for—”

  “Enough,” Drew cut in, her tone sharp now. “Lady Leanna isn’t a nun anymore, Tyra. Please don’t ask her such things.”

  The handmaid flushed. “MacKinnon should close the gates to travelers, milady. In my opinion, the priest shouldn’t have come back to Dunan. We cannot let the sick infect us here.”

  Drew snorted. “I saw Father Athol earlier, and he seemed perfectly healthy to me.” Her tone was hard, yet worry now shadowed Drew’s grey eyes. “Ye are not to run off and start frightening folk, Tyra … is that clear?”

  The maid lowered her gaze, jaw clenching. “Aye, milady.”

  Drew’s attention then returned to Leanna. She smiled, although the expression had a brittle quality to it. “The ceremony will take place at noon,” she informed her briskly, returning to the wedding. “And a feast and dancing will follow.”

  Leanna didn’t reply. Instead, her gaze dropped to her slippered feet. How she had once loved attending weddings. She’d adored the gaiety, and the chance to dine on rich food and dance the evening away with handsome young men.

  After today, she would never see these occasions in the same way.

  “Yer betrothed is not a happy woman.” Drew’s voice made Duncan MacKinnon open his eyes. He reclined upon a chair in his solar while his manservant shaved his chin with a blade. Hume, a lean man with thinning dark hair and a nervous manner, but a steady hand, always did an excellent job of shaving him. Letting the servant scrape off the last of the stubble, MacKinnon took the cloth he passed him and dried himself off.

  “And why should that concern me?”

  “It doesn’t have to at all,” his sister replied. She’d entered the solar and taken a seat, uninvited, by the hearth. Despite that it was a mild spring morning outdoors, a lump of peat glowed there. Even during the hottest days of summer, the damp stone of Dunan broch always held a chill. “But how content will ye be, wedding a lass who isn’t willing?”

  Duncan snorted before waving to Hume that they were done. Picking up the bowl of water and retrieving the drying cloth, the man left with a nod.

  Once they were alone, he fixed his sister with a level look. “Extremely content … I’ve wanted Leanna MacDonald for years. I care not if she’s willing.” His mouth curved then. “If I’m honest, it adds to the excitement.”

  Drew stared back at him. She was adept at hiding her feelings; she always had been. Even when he’d bullied her during their childhood, she’d been tough. He’d used to pinch her under the table during mealtimes, but she’d never squawked, never let on to their parents. She was the hardiest person he’d ever met, and yet in those cool grey eyes, he saw something this morning.

  Was it disgust?

  “She’s not like Siusan,” Drew said after a lengthy pause. Once again, her voice was cool, expressionless. She spoke as if she cared little about the subject matter, and yet the very fact that she’d brought it up was telling; it told Duncan that his sister wasn’t as cold as she liked the world to believe. “Yer last wife was quiet and compliant. Lady Leanna isn’t like that … she will fight ye.”

  A grin stretched across Duncan’s face. Bending down, he ruffled Bran’s ears. The wolfhound lazed upon the deerskin rug before the hearth. “Then I will enjoy breaking her.”

  10

  Fight to the Last

  LEANNA STEPPED OUT of her chamber to find both Ross Campbell and Carr Broderick awaiting her. Campbell wore a sash of his clan’s plaid—green and blue crisscrossed with charcoal—while Broderick, who hailed from Éire, had donned the MacKinnon colors for this special occasion.

  Swallowing hard, Leanna noted that her mouth tasted sour. Despite that she’d spent all morning trying to stave off her fear, the sight of the men who’d escort her up the aisle of the kirk made the full reality of the situation hit her.

  Broderick wore a stony expression, while Campbell was frowning. However, his gaze was hooded and angled at a point beyond her right shoulder. Ross was deliberately avoiding her eye. Both warriors carried dirks and claidheamh-mors at their sides. She had no chance of escaping them.

  Wordlessly, she made her way down the hallway toward the stairwell, where Drew MacKinnon waited.

  MacKinnon’s sister watched her approach, her expression keen. Her gaze then slid past Leanna to the men following her, and her mouth quirked. “MacKinnon colors suit ye, Broderick.”

  “Not as well as the blue of yer kirtle looks well on ye, milady,” the warrior replied gruffly.

  Drew’s smile widened. “What’s this … a compliment? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Broderick didn’t respond to this teasing comment, but this didn’t seem to bother Drew. Still smiling, MacKinnon’s sister turned away. She then led the way down the stairs without another word.

  Leanna had no choice but to follow her.

  The journey down to the ground level of the broch, and out through the bailey below to the South Gate, seemed to be over all too quickly. Unlike the exit near the stables, which led down through the surrounding village to the fort’s North Gate, this way out was for the clan-chief’s use only. The walk took them around the back of the broch, across a cobbled yard, and under a stone arch. Before Leanna knew it, they were walking through the kirk yard toward a pitch roofed stone building.

  The sight of the cross at the roof’s peak, silhouetted against blue sky, made Leanna’s belly twist. How she wished she was back at Kilbride with Mother Shona, Sister Coira, and the other nuns. She’d even welcome Sister Elspeth’s acid tongue.

  To think that she’d once chafed at the confines of the abbey.

  Right this moment she’d give anything to be back there. She’d never again complain about the heavy habit that made her skin itch in the summer. She’d never bother about the numerous prayers every day, or the hours of back-breaking work looking after the fields and the livestock within the abbey walls.

  Mother Shona will be worrying about me … and so will Coira. The thought rose unbidden, and Leanna’s throat thickened. Coira hadn’t wanted her to leave Kilbride. She should have heeded her friend’s advice.

  The kirk doors were open, and Leanna entered the building behind Drew MacKinnon to find that rows of retainers and clansmen packed the low bench seats either side of the narrow aisle. And standing at the foot of the altar, at the far end, stood Duncan MacKinnon.

  Her already knotted stomach tightened further. This man’s behavior was reprehensible. There had been no betrothal—she had never been promised
to him.

  Once again, MacKinnon cut a handsome figure dressed in chamois braies, a fine snowy white léine, and his clan sash. His brown hair fell in smooth waves almost to his shoulders, and his lantern jaw had been freshly shaved.

  He tracked her progress down the aisle, while behind him a dark-robed figure also waited: Father Athol.

  Leanna tore her attention from MacKinnon and focused upon the man who’d wed them.

  The priest looked to be around a decade older than MacKinnon. He was a tall, lean man with a stern face and dark eyes. A large iron crucifix hung about his neck, glinting in the hallowed light of the guttering banks of candles behind him.

  As she neared the altar, Leanna started to feel sick. Her skin under her wedding garments felt clammy, and her legs trembled. Her ears started to ring, and she wondered if she might faint.

  Up ahead, Drew stepped neatly to one side, allowing Leanna to draw close.

  Heart pounding, Leanna stopped next to MacKinnon. She dared glance back then, at where Campbell and Broderick now moved to take their places in the wings, Campbell at MacKinnon’s right-hand, and Broderick next to the clan-chief’s sister. Ross Campbell’s face was a blank mask.

  Look at him, she thought bitterly. He’s partially responsible for this mess, and he can’t even look me in the eye.

  “Are ye ready?” Father Athol’s low voice echoed through the kirk.

  “Aye, Father,” MacKinnon replied. Leanna heard the tension in his voice, the excitement. “Begin the ceremony.”

  Leanna turned back to the altar, her pulse tripling when she saw the priest approach them, a ribbon of MacKinnon plaid in hand. “Take each other’s hands, please,” he said quietly.

  Benevolent Lord, please save me … this can’t be happening.

  Never had she prayed so fervently. The night before she’d prayed beside her bed until her knees throbbed. She’d promised to be especially diligent in her devotion, if only He would return her to Kilbride. However, God wasn’t about to save her it seemed.

  Leanna stared at the ribbon as if it were a serpent about to sink its fangs into her. She didn’t want to touch his hand, to be bound to him forever. Tearing her gaze from the plaid, Leanna looked at the priest once more.

  This close, she could see that his eyes were the color of peat. They were kind eyes.

  Leanna’s pulse started to gallop, sweat now trickling down her back. She couldn’t do this; she wouldn’t stand here meekly, like a sacrificial lamb, before MacKinnon and his retainers, and pretend she was happy about this union.

  With Father Athol’s absence from Dunan, she’d been given a little time and now it had run out. Arguing hadn’t worked, and neither had pleading.

  Leanna’s hands balled into fists at her sides.

  She had no other choice. She’d now throw herself upon the mercy of the priest.

  “No!” Her choked cry echoed through the now silent kirk. “I won’t take his hand … I won’t wed him.” Leanna’s gaze snared the priest’s, holding him fast. “This wedding is a crime, Father … I am a Bride of Christ and am being forced against my will.”

  Shocked gasps and murmurs rippled through the kirk, yet Leanna didn’t take her gaze from the priest. She watched his face stiffen, his gaze widen, and realized with a jolt that he hadn’t known.

  A nerve ticked under one eye as he slowly shifted his attention to MacKinnon. The clan-chief stood, stone still next to Leanna. She hadn’t looked his way, hadn’t dared to.

  “This woman is a nun?” Father Athol asked, his voice rising.

  “She was a novice at Kilbride,” MacKinnon replied, his tone hardening. “But as ye can see, she isn’t now.”

  “He abducted me!” Leanna gasped, the words rushing out of her. She had an audience at last—a kirk full of people who needed to know what a villain this man was. Maybe they were ignorant of all of this? Perhaps they’d turn against him once they knew? “He brought me to Dunan by force.”

  Father Athol went still, and his dark brows knitted together. “Is this the truth, MacKinnon?”

  “Of course not,” MacKinnon replied. “The woman lies … she is merely nervous … pay her no attention.”

  Leanna did tear her attention from the priest then, and stared at MacKinnon. He stood there calmly, a faint smile upon his lips. However, those grey eyes of his were wintry. She’d angered him, although he was doing an admirable job of hiding it.

  Father Athol cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “But … if this woman is a nun, ye cannot wed her.”

  “I told ye, Father … she was merely a novice. It was her father’s will that we should wed. I am merely carrying out his wishes.”

  “Filthy liar!” Leanna’s temper exploded. Fury pounded against her ribs. Suddenly, she didn’t care what happened to her. “How dare ye use my father’s death as a shield? My father hated ye … he sent me to Kilbride so that I may avoid being wed to ye … and the moment ye heard he was dead, ye sent yer men after me.”

  She swiveled around, meeting the priest’s stunned gaze once more. “Please, Father … ye must believe me. Send word to Mother Shona at Kilbride, she will confirm what I have just told ye.” She dropped to her knees before him then, clasping her hands before her. “Please don’t wed me to this man.”

  A brittle silence descended upon the kirk. All the whispering and muttering ceased, and suddenly the only thing Leanna could hear was the rasp of her own breathing. She’d taken this as far as she could now—she’d placed her fate in the priest’s hands.

  Father Athol stared down at her, and she saw the conflict upon his face. “This is indeed wrong, lass,” he said finally, his voice held a rasp of outrage. He hastily made the sign of the cross. “I cannot allow this union to take place.” He looked over at where the clan-chief had not yet moved. “I apologize, MacKinnon, but I won’t sanction this union. Ye must send this woman back to Kilbride Abbey where she belongs.”

  Hope jolted through Leanna at these words. Like the parting of the clouds after days of rain, sunlight filtered into her dark world. Finally, someone saw the madness of all of this and was willing to help her. The tension that had wound itself into a tight knot within her released. She was saved.

  It took MacKinnon a while to answer, so long in fact that Leanna dared to look his way.

  He stood, hands by his sides, his face carven from granite, and when he finally spoke, there was a rasp to his voice. “I must have misheard ye, Father. Surely, ye are not refusing me?”

  The priest nodded, his shoulders squaring as resolve settled upon him. “I am … this wedding cannot take place,” he replied. His hand reached up, his fingers curling over the crucifix around his neck. “It is against God’s will … against what is right.”

  “And that’s yer final word on the subject?”

  “Aye … I am sorry.”

  “Not as much as I am.”

  And then, Duncan MacKinnon moved.

  One moment he was standing there, staring at the priest—and the next he drew the dirk at his hip, leaped forward, and sank his blade into Father Athol’s belly.

  11

  His Word is Law

  THE PRIEST’S SCREAM echoed through the kirk.

  Father Athol reeled back, but MacKinnon went after him. And to Leanna’s horror, he yanked his dirk from the man’s belly and stabbed him thrice more—once to the belly, once to the chest, and then to the neck.

  The priest crumpled, and this time MacKinnon let him fall. And as the man lay dying at his feet, the clan-chief kicked him in the ribs.

  Leanna stared, her breath choking. A wave of dizziness slammed into her. She couldn’t believe what she’d just witnessed. She’d known MacKinnon was a brute, yet she’d never imagined he’d murder a priest. Frozen to the spot, she merely gaped at him while he stepped down from the raised platform before the altar. Crimson splattered his pristine white léine, and he clutched the bloodied dirk in one hand.

  “I need another priest,” MacKinnon barked, turning his att
ention to where Carr Broderick stood next to Drew MacKinnon. Like Leanna, the pair of them stood frozen after the clan-chief’s vicious display. “Go find me one, Broderick.”

  A long silence followed, and when Broderick replied, his voice held a wary tone. “There are no other priests nearby … I will have to travel to the Frasers and bring one from there.”

  “I don’t care where ye get him,” MacKinnon snarled. “Just find me another man of the cloth and drag the bastard here.”

  Black spots danced before Leanna’s eyes, her dizziness intensifying. Digging her fingernails into her palms, she tore her attention from the clan-chief, her gaze sweeping over the rows of retainers who’d just witnessed this appalling scene. Many of them appeared pale and shaken. For the first time since meeting her, Leanna saw that Drew MacKinnon’s face was strained and her gaze haunted. Across from Drew, Ross Campbell’s face had gone rigid with shock.

  Campbell met Leanna’s eye for the first time since she’d entered the kirk. A long look passed between them.

  “Please,” Leanna whispered, her voice breaking. “Help me.”

  “Silence, woman.” MacKinnon’s voice lashed across the aisle, and she cringed. His face had gone red, the veins on his neck standing out. “Or I’ll take my hand to ye.” His attention then swiveled to Campbell, his grey eyes hard.

  The warrior stared back.

  The moment stretched out, before MacKinnon’s lip curled. The stare was a challenge. He was defying Campbell to intervene on her behalf—yet Ross didn’t. Satisfied his servant still knew his place, the clan-chief swiveled, gesturing to two warriors standing a few yards away. “Clean up this mess.” MacKinnon glanced back at his right-hand, his gaze dismissive. “Campbell … take my betrothed back to her chamber.”

  Leanna walked stiffly out of the kirk at Ross Campbell’s side. She couldn’t fail to notice that he kept a tight hold upon her arm.

  Stepping outside, the warmth of the sun bathed Leanna’s face, calming her racing heart. But her body still trembled in the aftermath of what she’d just witnessed.