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

by Jayne Castel

  Lowering himself, Ross shifted his boot and pressed a knee between MacKinnon’s shoulder-blades instead. Then he held his dirk to the clan-chief’s cheek. “Keep silent,” he instructed coldly, “or this might accidentally slip.”

  He could feel the fury vibrating through MacKinnon’s body. The man was tough; he was in terrible pain from the blow Lady Leanna had clearly dealt him to the cods, and yet he could still focus enough to pay attention to his surroundings.

  Ross glanced up, catching Lady Leanna’s eye for the first time since he’d entered the bed-chamber. “Take off yer veil and wimple,” he ordered.

  For a moment Leanna merely stared at him. Her wide hazel eyes were green in the light of the glowing hearth next to her, and her face was ashen. She watched him, frozen in place, as if she wasn’t sure why he was here and what he meant to do.

  Ross would have thought it was obvious.

  “Go on!” he said, his tone sharpening. “We don’t have time to waste here.”

  Leanna’s mouth thinned, but she did as bid, pulling off her black veil and the white wimple that she wore underneath. Beneath the layers of fabric, her long pale hair hung in a braid down her back.

  “What now?” she asked, her voice chill.

  “Rip the wimple in half and gag him with it.”

  Leanna’s eyes widened at this, as the realization that he really was here to help her sank in. Jaw clenching, she tugged at the wimple. The garment was well made, and it took her a few moments before a tearing sound filled the chamber. Once she’d ripped the wimple, she rolled one half into a thick strip, which she then held out to Ross.

  “Ye do it,” he replied, jerking his chin down to where he still held the flat of the dirk blade against MacKinnon’s cheek. “I’ll make sure he behaves himself.”

  Face set in determination, Leanna approached. Her manner was wary, as if she neared a seething hornet’s nest, yet she didn’t waver.

  “Ye will pay for this, Campbell,” MacKinnon wheezed, his eyes wild, his face contorted. “I’ll hunt ye down like a dog.”

  Ross ignored him, his gaze fixed upon Leanna. “Do it.”

  Moments later MacKinnon’s mouth was firmly gagged.

  “Bind his ankles with the other half,” Ross instructed, “and pass me the veil.”

  This time she obeyed without hesitation. Meanwhile, his knee still pressed firmly between MacKinnon’s heaving shoulder-blades, Ross straightened up. He used his dirk to cut the veil into strips, and with them he bound the clan-chief’s wrists behind him. He then secured the binding on MacKinnon’s ankles with it—once the man recovered from his blow to the groin, he’d find a way to free himself of his bonds. However, Ross wanted to ensure it took him a while to do so.

  Rising to his feet, Ross gazed down at the man he’d followed loyally for the past decade, a man he’d sworn fealty to. He’d pledged his life to serving MacKinnon, and now he hadn’t just broken that pledge, but he’d openly betrayed him.

  Ross had imagined that he’d feel a terrible weight of guilt at doing such a thing, but he did not.

  The only emotion he felt right now was a seething anger in his gut as he stared down at MacKinnon, trussed like a Yuletide capon. The man writhed against his bonds, his movements frenzied, his eyes wild.

  The urge to kick him to death reared within Ross, his rage a dark beast that screamed to be unleashed.

  Controlling the impulse, Ross took a step back from the clan-chief. He wouldn’t do it. Unlike the man he served, he didn’t have that streak of latent cruelty. He could be ruthless when necessary, but he knew when to draw the line.

  Ross’s mouth compressed at the irony of it. Perhaps ye have a moral compass after all.

  He turned to Lady Leanna then. She was staring at him as if he’d just sprouted another head.

  “I’ll get ye a cloak, and then we must leave Dunan.” He made for the doorway. “Come on.”

  Leanna edged past MacKinnon. Her heart still hammered, and she felt sick with nerves, yet the relief at seeing the clan-chief trussed upon the ground made her knees wobble.

  She deliberately avoided his wild gaze, for she knew it would be murderous. Instead, she wordlessly followed Ross Campbell to the door. His appearance in the chamber shocked her. When he’d first burst into the room, brandishing a dirk, she’d thought he’d come to help MacKinnon.

  A moment later he’d surprised her by coming to her aid instead.

  She didn’t understand his behavior, or entirely trust it, but there was no time to question him. For the moment he was her ally, and she would do as he asked if it meant getting free of Dunan.

  Stepping out into the hall, she pulled the chamber door closed behind her. However, she saw that Campbell had halted a few feet away, his gaze trained farther down the hall.

  Leanna’s attention followed his, and she froze.

  A few yards away stood a woman. Dressed in a night-rail, with a long shawl pulled tight around her shoulders, Drew MacKinnon stared at them.

  It was then that Leanna saw the angry red swelling upon the woman’s left cheekbone. Her long brown hair was unbound tonight, giving her a softer, more vulnerable look.

  Long, tense moments passed, and Leanna held her breath, waiting for MacKinnon’s sister to explode, to yell out and bring the guards running. Yet she did not.

  Instead, Lady Drew met Campbell’s eye, and a strange look passed between them. “Take the South Gate and leave via the kirk yard,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “There are fewer guards there … it’s safer.”

  Campbell gave a curt nod.

  Drew MacKinnon’s gaze shifted then to the closed door of the clan-chief’s bed-chamber.

  “He’s alive,” Campbell said softly. “I’ve tied him up … so he won’t cause any trouble for the time being.”

  Lady Drew’s head inclined, her mouth lifting at the corners.

  “Lady Leanna needs a cloak,” Campbell continued.

  MacKinnon’s sister favored him with a cool smile. “Then I shall fetch her one of mine.”

  They slipped out of the broch and into the bailey below, before making their way to the stables. Cloak clutched close, Leanna watched as Campbell saddled a leggy courser with deft movements. He didn’t look her way while he worked, yet she stared him down nonetheless.

  She didn’t understand why he was helping her—not when he’d refused her earlier. It made no sense to her at all. Her mind felt tied up in knots of confusion. Even Lady Drew had turned into an ally in the end.

  Images from her encounter with MacKinnon assailed her then, and she shuddered. With the door bolted from the outside and only a cumbersome shield as a weapon, she’d have had little chance of getting away from him.

  What would have happened if Campbell hadn’t burst in?

  Her savior finished saddling his mount and turned to Leanna, motioning her over. Without a word, she sprang up onto the saddle, brushing aside the hand he held out to assist her. She was grateful that he’d appeared when he did, but after what she’d just endured, she wished for no man’s touch tonight.

  She could still feel MacKinnon’s hand on her, roughly kneading and groping her flesh. She wished to bathe in scalding water and scrub her skin raw, but that ritual would have to wait.

  If her dismissal bothered him, Campbell showed no sign. Instead, he merely took hold of the reins and led the horse from the stables.

  The moon nearly full overhead, they made their way around the base of the broch toward the South Gate. The clip-clop of the courser’s hooves upon the cobbles sounded obscenely loud in the night’s quiet, and with each yard, Leanna grew tenser. To calm herself, she heaved in deep breaths. The cool night air, laced with the scent of pine and peat-smoke, relaxed her just a little.

  She didn’t understand how Campbell was going to get them out of the broch. He was MacKinnon’s right-hand, but that didn’t mean the guards at the gate were going to let him pass, especially with her.

  Yet the warrior didn’t appear re
motely worried. He walked with a long, confident stride, his gaze sweeping his surroundings. Leanna did note though, that his free hand rested upon the pommel of his sword. He was ready for trouble.

  Up ahead, hove the South Gate. The guard tower on this side of the broch was much smaller, and the gate was half the size of the one to the north—only wide enough to let through one horseman at a time.

  Two leather-clad figures bearing spears stood before the closed gate. They watched the travelers approach, light from the nearby burning braziers highlighting their wary faces.

  “Campbell.” One of them greeted MacKinnon’s right-hand. “What are ye doing? Isn’t that MacKinnon’s lass?”

  “Sorry about this, Glen.” The scrape of steel echoed through the night as Campbell drew his claidheamh-mor in one fluid gesture. “But ye and Clyde are going to have to step aside.”

  A heartbeat later the point of that gleaming broad-sword was pressed against the guard’s heart.

  The warrior—a young man with heavy-lidded dark eyes—swallowed hard. “Ye will swing for this, Campbell.”

  “That may be … but not tonight. Drop yer spears … both of ye.”

  Glen did as bid, the weapon thudding to the ground. However, next to him, Clyde didn’t budge.

  “Drop it.” There was steel in Campbell’s voice as he drew a dirk with his free hand. “Or after I skewer Glen’s heart, I’ll cut yers out.”

  The menace in his voice was so real that Leanna shivered. She believed him—and so did Clyde, for he lowered his spear to the ground a moment later.

  “Good lad,” Campbell said softly, motioning to the guard house to their left. “Now move along.”

  Both young men glared at Campbell, their eyes bulging with outrage, yet they did as bid. He was their superior after all, Captain of The Dunan Guard, although tonight would be his last in the role, and this his last order.

  “If ye make a squeak before we are through the gate and on our way, I’ll personally come back here and cut yer throats … don’t doubt I will.” Campbell told the men as they filed inside the narrow space that was furnished only with a couple of low stools and a lantern.

  Both guards remained stonily silent, and the moment they were inside the gate house, Campbell swung the door shut and bolted it. He then went to the wooden gate and heaved up the iron bar that kept it locked.

  He shoved open the gate with a shoulder before going to where Leanna and the horse still waited a few yards back. Wordlessly, she shifted back in the saddle, giving him space to mount, and then he swung up in front of her.

  “Hold on,” he said, his tone grim. “This will be a wild ride.”

  Reluctantly, Leanna did as bid, wrapping her arms around his waist. Then Campbell gathered the reins, and they bounded forward, through the gate and into the night.

  16

  Not the Best of Men

  THEY RODE SWIFTLY down the moonlit valley, the outlines of great spruce and pines rearing overhead, and the thunder of the horse’s hooves in their ears.

  Leanna clung on, her jaw clenched, while the courser stretched into a full gallop. It was risky to ride this fast at night, but they were fortunate, as this stretch of road was good and the moon lit their way. Campbell had clearly chosen the fastest horse in the stable, for the beast ran as if pursued by hounds.

  Which they soon would be.

  Leanna’s ears strained for the baying of dogs, the shouts of men, or the tattoo of pursuing hoof beats, but she could hear nothing over the pounding of her heart.

  She couldn’t believe she was actually free—that Ross Campbell and Drew MacKinnon had risked their own lives to help her.

  Hopefully, the clan-chief would never know that Lady Drew had assisted their escape from Dunan. She had been careful to keep her vice low in the hallway, and had fetched Leanna a traveling cloak without any fuss before disappearing into her quarters.

  As they waited for Lady Drew to fetch the cloak, Campbell had whispered that Leanna actually had Hume to thank for her escape. MacKinnon’s man-servant had betrayed his master. Fortunately, Hume had been wise enough to run for his life after doing so.

  The chill night air bit against Leanna’s cheeks, despite that she had pulled the cowl of her cloak over her face. Bowing her head, she found herself leaning in to the man seated before her.

  The warmth and strength of Ross Campbell’s back became her anchor during their flight, and although she’d initially been reluctant to wrap her arms around his waist, Leanna now clung to him as if he were a lone rock in a stormy sea—her only chance of survival.

  The horror of her near rape was ebbing now, MacKinnon’s hold slipping with each furlong they traveled west. The threat had been real, and even now the memory of his hot breath on her cheek, his rough hands upon her body, made Leanna’s pulse race.

  She’d directed every bit of strength she possessed into kneeing him twice in the groin. She’d have shoved his cods up into his throat if she could have. Still, she knew she’d inflicted injury upon him. Even if someone freed him before dawn, he’d be able to do little—and he certainly wouldn’t be able to ride a horse in the state he was in.

  A tight smile stretched Leanna’s lips.

  I wish Mother Shona could have seen that. She also wished Sister Coira had been present. Her friend was skilled at defending herself with her hands.

  Leanna’s eyes stung as a wave of homesickness swept over her. It wasn’t for Duncaith, but for Kilbride Abbey and the women who’d become her family over the past two years.

  She’d felt restricted by her life in the order, but now that her world was in chaos, she longed for its safety, its simplicity.

  Leanna stiffened against Ross Campbell’s back as a thought took hold. Leaning forward farther still, she spoke for the first time since they’d galloped from Dunan.

  “Where are ye taking me?” When he didn’t answer immediately, Leanna pushed on. “To Kilbride?”

  “No,” he replied, the word gruff. “MacKinnon will look for ye at the abbey … ye won’t be safe there.”

  Leanna tensed a moment, before she realized he was right. As fierce as the abbess and her nuns were, they couldn’t protect her from MacKinnon and his men.

  “Where then?”

  “Duncaith,” he replied. “I’m taking ye home.”

  Leanna caught her breath, before she spoke once more. “But won’t MacKinnon search for me there as well?”

  “Aye … but I’m hoping yer kin can protect ye, hide ye. MacKinnon would have to declare war upon the MacDonalds of Sleat and storm their broch to get ye back … an act that might go ill for him.”

  Leanna considered these words. He was likely right, and as she thought about returning to her family, a warmth grew in the pit of her belly.

  “Why are ye doing this?” she asked after a brief pause. “I don’t understand.”

  Campbell’s voice held a note of censure when he replied. “This is not the time for such a conversation, Lady Leanna.”

  She stiffened. “Why not?”

  A tense silence stretched between them, before he spoke once more, his voice strained. “Ask me again in the morning … and I will answer ye.”

  They didn’t halt until the rosy blush of dawn crept across the eastern horizon. As soon as the sky lightened sufficiently, Campbell turned his horse from the road and took them across country. They rode through stands of spruce, the heavy resinous scent of the trees lacing the dewy morning air.

  Eventually, Campbell drew the tired courser to a halt near a trickling mountain burn. Without a word to Leanna, he swung down from the saddle before helping her to the ground. And unlike the last time he’d helped her down, Leanna didn’t resist. However, this time her hands weren’t bound. Only a couple of days had passed since then, and yet to Leanna it felt as if weeks had gone by.

  If Ross remembered the incident, he didn’t say. Instead, he turned his attention to the horse, loosening the girth, and murmuring soothing words to the beast as he led it over to the
stream for a brief drink.

  Their mount had done a valiant job of taking them a great distance from the walls of Dunan, yet it would have to carry them farther, and Campbell clearly wanted to ensure that the courser lasted the distance.

  Leading the horse over to a grassy spot where it could graze for a short while, Campbell eventually turned to Leanna.

  It was the first time their gazes had met all night, and the impact of it made Leanna grow still. Back in Dunan, Ross Campbell’s expression had often been aloof, his gaze shuttered. Yet there was no veil over his face this morning.

  His features were strained, yet his eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen them.

  Leanna’s pulse accelerated as the stare drew out. Eventually, she swallowed, before licking her lips. He was starting to make her feel nervous. “What is it?” she finally asked huskily.

  His mouth quirked. “I owe ye an explanation, do I not? Ye wish to know why I freed ye? Why I’ve put a price on my own head as well?”

  Leanna didn’t answer. She merely stared at him, awaiting his answer.

  After a drawn-out moment, Campbell sighed and raked a hand through his shaggy dark hair. He had beautiful hair—as black and shiny as a raven’s wing, it fell in soft waves around his face. “I don’t claim to be the best of men, Lady Leanna,” he said, still holding her gaze. “But I’m not a beast either … I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d let MacKinnon force himself on ye, and then make ye his wife.”

  Leanna frowned. “I asked ye for help before, and ye didn’t give it … I still don’t understand what changed?” She watched him closely then, noting the way those midnight blue eyes shadowed, the tension that rippled along his chiseled jaw.

  Campbell favored her with another wry smile. “As I said before, I’m not the best of men.”

  Heat kindled in Leanna’s belly at these words as her anger rose. That explanation wasn’t good enough. “MacKinnon is a brute,” she said, suppressing a shudder at even uttering the man’s name. “How can ye follow someone so black-hearted?”