Highland Hellion

by Mary Wine

  So she ran, demanding more speed from her straining muscles, insisting her lungs draw in enough breath to keep her moving. She made it to the top of the hill and glimpsed her horse on the other side before she was brutally pushed to the ground.

  She felt her skin scraping the dirt as someone slammed their fist into the back of her skull. Pain went smashing through her, making her dizzy, but she fought it, using her feet to push herself up as she pulled the dagger free from her belt.

  Whoever was on her jumped back as she slashed at him with the weapon.

  “Bloody Christ!” he exclaimed. “Ye’ll pay for that!”

  He lunged at her, but Katherine had learned to move quickly. She dodged to the side, using the hilt of her dagger to deliver a blow to his temple. There was a dull thud as she struck true, and he fell to the ground in a heap.

  “Ye’ll no’ be fighting all of us off, boy.”

  Katherine saw that what she had thought were twenty men were in reality more than thirty. They had her surrounded now, their breathing harsh as their leader chuckled at her plight.

  * * *

  “Get off me!” Rolfe snarled.

  Adwin and his men refused. “Ye can nae help her,” his captain hissed next to his ear. “Let her sacrifice be for something.”

  “I’ll be damned if I’ll see a woman protecting me,” Rolfe declared.

  He strained against his men, but they held him down.

  “I’ll no’ be taking yer body back to yer father,” Adwin informed him.

  “Ye’re me captain first.”

  “But yer sire is me laird.” Adwin refused to budge.

  Rolfe growled, and then his world went black as Adwin thumped him on the back of his skull.

  * * *

  “Piss off.” Katherine tucked her chin, trying to mumble to disguise how high her voice was. “I wasn’t on yer land. Ye’re on MacPherson property.”

  “Yer fucking balls haven’t dropped yet” was the response she got. “Ye sound like a bleeding whelp crying for a tit.”

  “I want his balls.” The man she’d downed was staggering to his feet. “He drew my blood.”

  “You got what you deserved,” Katherine answered.

  “I told ye…” The leader spoke again. “I’m going to hang him and let the bloody MacPherson see what happens to those who steal Gordon cattle.”

  “I’m too small to steal a cow by myself.” It was a risk to keep talking, but one of the men was already pulling a rope from where it had been draped on his hip and fashioning a noose. “And this is MacPherson land.”

  “Well, now, it won’t take much to drag ye onto Gordon land,” the leader commented. “Yer bloody Tanis Bhaic MacPherson killed me laird’s son.”

  “Lye Rob took Bhaic’s wife.”

  The man who seemed to be leading them moved closer. Katherine tightened her grip on the hilt of the dagger. He didn’t miss the way her body tensed.

  “Thinking to try me, lad?” he asked from just far enough away to make a lunge at him ill advised. “I am Tyree Gordon. Ye should know the name of the man who is going to hang ye.”

  “Maybe I’ll kill ye, and yer men will think better of feuding and earning the wrath of the Earl of Morton.”

  Tyree threw his head back and laughed. He was close enough that she could smell how rotten his teeth were.

  “I hope to Christ Morton is pissed!” Tyree declared, to the delight of his men. “That bastard is no’ fit to call himself a Scot! He wants us all to bathe in perfume like the French and bugger boys!”

  There was a rumble of discontentment as many of the Gordons spat on the ground.

  “Make yer peace with God, because I’m going to choke the life out of ye for cutting me.”

  He came for her, and Katherine moved in the way Marcus had taught her. She was smaller, so she’d learned to use her speed and agility against larger boys. Tyree was a powerfully built man, and he misjudged how light she was on her feet, stumbling past her on his first charge. Horror made her want to retch, but it was kill or die.

  Tyree let out a curse as she drew blood. He whipped around, but not before she felt the warm slide of his blood across her hand. He roared at her before charging at her again.

  “What the fuck are ye doing, Tyree?”

  He froze, and it looked as though the man who had spoken had reached out and grabbed him by the nape. She could see his expression, distorted by rage, but he held himself away from her as a new group of men came closer. One of them struck a flint and a torch caught, washing the scene in yellow light.

  “He fucking cut me!” Tyree snarled.

  “If ye’d told me ye were going to hang me,” the newcomer said softly, “I’d have done the same. Ye are on MacPherson land.”

  Tyree spat at the feet of the newcomer. “Barely. Did ye expect me to wait for the bloody bastards who are thieving from us?”

  “I expected ye to follow me orders, and there was no mention of hanging.”

  The men around her took a step back. The man facing her was a good ten years older than Tyree. He held himself still as he contemplated her. “I am Diocail Gordon.”

  He reminded her of Marcus, with his silent stance.

  “Ye sent me out here to deal with the thieving,” Tyree insisted. “Let me get on with cutting this whelp’s balls off.”

  Diocail’s lips twitched a tiny bit before he chuckled softly. “Ye’d be a fool if ye did. Colum makes the decisions on Gordon land when it comes to who gets strung up.”

  Katherine gasped as one of the men caught her from behind. She’d made the fatal mistake of being focused on the deliverance Diocail seemed to offer and had failed to keep her mouth shut.

  “Hold,” Diocail said as her captor aimed a fist at the side of her head.

  “Ye’re young,” he said as he came closer. “But that sounded a wee bit more than just young.”

  He wasn’t the only man who thought so. Taken by surprise, she’d failed to make her voice gruff, and the horrible truth that had destroyed her life on MacPherson land was being heard.

  She was a woman.

  And now she was faced with men who had their passion up. Katherine raised her chin. She’d face her fate.

  Whatever it was.

  Courage was what she’d learned from Marcus, and she would not shame him.

  Two

  Colum Gordon was old.

  One of his retainers kicked Katherine in the back of the knee when she didn’t offer the laird deference by lowering herself. She stumbled and ended up on her knees, to the delight of the Gordons.

  Colum only regarded her from his throne-like chair set on a raised platform. It was covered in a bearskin, and he wore a necklace of the creature’s claws. He snorted when he noticed where her attention was.

  “Gordons…” he began in a crusty voice, “prove their worth.”

  Katherine climbed to her feet. It gained her a grumble from the men behind her and a grunt from the laird of the Gordons. The old man pointed at the man behind her. “Tyree there wants to hang ye.”

  “He doesn’t take being bested well,” Katherine replied. For certain, many would have advised her to grovel, but she’d chosen her path when she left MacPherson Castle in a kilt.

  “Ye did nae best me…” Tyree sent her sprawling onto the floor again. This time, she went with the motion, rolling and coming up on her feet. The rope was looped around her chest several times, keeping her arms bound tight to her body.

  I am not helpless…

  Katherine repeated that several times, using it as a shield to defend herself against the fear swelling up inside her.

  “I was not on your land,” Katherine said smoothly.

  “But ye are in a kilt,” Colum declared. “And someone has taught ye how to use that dagger like a man.”

  He stopped and m
ade a low sound in the back of his throat. His men were contemplating her, their foreheads furrowing as they took in her male attire.

  “Unnatural…”

  “English…”

  “So,” Colum said. “At last I have an answer to why the MacPhersons seem to always best me men.” His eyes suddenly glowed with vicious intent. “For why my son is rotting in his grave and no’ here to lead this clan.”

  His men looked to him while Katherine felt her breath catch. She recalled that tone of voice. It stirred the memory of the way the Earl of Morton had sounded so many years before, when he’d ordered her to be wed at barely fourteen years of age.

  “The MacPhersons have an English witch.”

  “I am not a witch,” Katherine insisted. Her rising alarm brought out her English accent and earned her more than one curse.

  Colum listened to the rumble of discontentment from his people for a long moment, the gleam in his eye becoming one of enjoyment that sickened her with just how brightly it glowed. Hatred truly was an ugly thing.

  “I do nae care if ye are a witch or no’,” he muttered with a wave of his hand.

  His men didn’t like what he said, but Katherine wasn’t relieved because the laird’s lips rose into a twisted grin even more horrific than the enjoyment sparkling in his eyes. It chilled her blood.

  “I wondered why I’ve lived this long…” The hall went quiet as the laird continued to speak. “Bhaic MacPherson laid me son, Lye Rob, in his grave. I do nae care why, only that Fate has delivered a woman to me that Bhaic and Marcus call sister.” Colum fingered one of the bear claws. “They took me family, and I will take a member of theirs. Blood for blood.”

  “You are insane.” She didn’t mean to speak, but the horrified words slipped past her lips. There was no going back, so she stiffened her spine and took a brazen approach. “You would leave your clan with a feud started for the sake of vengeance?”

  Colum scowled at her. “No English bitch is going to lecture me.”

  “Someone should,” Katherine insisted, raising her voice so it carried through the hall. “For it will be the women of your clan who are left to mourn their husbands and sons when the MacPhersons extract vengeance for you spilling my blood.”

  “Well, now.” Colum leaned forward and pointed one gnarled finger at her. “The good Earl of Morton will be ordering them to stop. The MacPhersons do what that man tells them to, sure enough.”

  There was a gleam of unholy victory in his eyes, which sickened her.

  “The earl is a long way from here.” She meant it as a warning, but it also served as one to her, because the men around her were not shifting in their stances. There was no hint of any of them questioning their laird.

  Colum didn’t miss her rising fear. He chuckled at her, still smiling brightly. “And the beauty of it all is that even should me descendants find themselves answering to the earl, this will be a matter of a witch being burned. Put her somewhere where she can see the courtyard. I want her to watch the pyre being built.”

  Tyree was the one who hooked his hands into her hair and dragged her away. Katherine held back the cry of pain and stumbled as he half threw her ahead of him, only to then recapture her and toss her forward again.

  But she saw them at last. Those Gordons who did not share in their laird’s bloodlust. They were near the back of the hall, many of them looking away from her, shamed by her circumstances and the fact that they didn’t dare go against their laird’s will.

  And then Tyree had hold of her hair again. She’d braided it tightly to keep it under her bonnet. He dug his fingers into it and jerked her along until she heard a door grinding open, the hinges stiff with rust.

  “This will do well enough for a witch.”

  Tyree kicked her to get her to move inside the dank room. Katherine faced him instead.

  “At least I do not make excuses when I am laid low.”

  His face twisted with rage and he raised his hand, but something flickered in his eyes. He was suddenly loosening the rope that bound her, pulling it free, and then in the next moment, he stripped her down to her shirt before pushing her into the room.

  “A witch does nae need clothing to stay warm.”

  Tyree closed the door after his parting shot. Katherine started to tremble as she heard the bar being lowered into place to secure the room. It was pitch-black, raising the tiny hairs along the surface of her skin.

  Alone…

  She struggled against the memory of being helpless and alone, but in the darkness, there was no defense. She sank down and pulled her arms inside her shirt to try to keep warm. But the true battle was against her circumstances. This time, she’d brought them on herself.

  She didn’t regret it.

  Couldn’t, because to do so would make her a creature like Colum or Tyree and his followers. Better to center her thoughts on the men she’d saved. Wasn’t it wiser to lose one life instead of five?

  Well, perhaps she was just trying to ensure her plight had a purpose that was more than a life full of unkind circumstances. She refused to tumble into that pit of despair.

  Refused…

  * * *

  “I’m thinking ye need to be knocked on the back of yer thick skull again,” Adwin said. “The Gordons will ransom her.”

  Rolfe sent him a warning look. “And if they do no’? I am nae content to turn me back on the lass. She put herself between us and trouble. Honor demands we make sure she is no’ harmed.”

  Rolfe was silent for a long moment because they all knew there had been plenty of time for her to suffer through the night. He didn’t linger on the thought of what the Gordons might already have taken from her. What mattered was the moment at hand, and there was no way he would be riding home while a woman sat in the Gordon stronghold because she’d shielded him.

  “Aye,” Adwin admitted. “Ye’re right, we can nae be leaving the lass’s fate unknown. But who knows what manner of welcome we’ll receive from the Gordons?”

  “Leave that to me,” Rolfe informed his men.

  They waited until midmorning before they mounted and rode toward the gate of the Gordon stronghold. Rolfe heard the bells being rung at a frantic pace, summoning the Gordons to arms. He pulled up and waited for their war chief to ride out to meet him.

  Diocail Gordon hadn’t been raised at the castle. It was only after Bhaic MacPherson had killed Lye Rob Gordon that Colum had brought his nephew Diocail down from the north country because he needed a clear blood heir. No one knew just what to make of the man, except that he was a Gordon—and that was something Rolfe needed to remember. Clan allegiance ran bone-deep in the Highlands. Men who failed to heed that fact often ended up dead.

  “Come calling, have ye, McTavish?” Diocail asked.

  “No’ on me own account.” Rolfe offered a similar tone of disgruntlement. “Me father is seeking an answer to his letter concerning the matter of me youngest sister wedding a Gordon.”

  “Christ,” Diocail muttered. “That father of yers enjoys his alliances.”

  “Ye Gordons do nae live as close to the Lowlands as we McTavishes,” Rolfe explained. “Morton is a bastard, and me father wants to ensure he stays off our land.”

  Diocail nodded in agreement. “I’ve no’ been told to send ye on yer way, but I’d advise ye to lay yer head some place more Christian.”

  It was a warmer welcome than Rolfe had been expecting. The Gordons closed ranks behind them as they rode toward Gordon Castle. But Rolfe’s stomach twisted when he made it into the courtyard and spied a pyre being built.

  “Aye.” Diocail came up beside him. “Colum has it in his mind to burn a MacPherson witch.” He pointed toward a small window at ground level. “Even wants her to watch the stake being readied for her.”

  Rolfe reached out and grabbed Diocail when the man went to step away. “Are ye mad, man? Colum wi
ll be long dead when the MacPhersons come for their vengeance. Ye will be the one who has to live with it.”

  Diocail sent him a hard look. “Ye’ll learn something about Gordons, McTavish, and that is that the laird’s word is law. Perhaps ye’ll be better off getting back on yer horse.”

  Rolfe made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “Me own father expects no less from his men, and being his son means I’d better lead by example. I’ll see Colum.”

  “We all do what we must in this life.”

  * * *

  “I’m impressed.” Adwin spoke softly as he stood near Rolfe. The laird of the Gordons had yet to rise from his bed, so they were waiting for him while the Gordons contemplated them.

  “I did nae think ye could manage to get us through those gates without lying,” Adwin finished. “No’ too bad.”

  “Me sister will likely not agree with ye,” Rolfe answered. “I believe she prefers a convent to a Gordon.”

  Adwin glanced back toward the stake being raised in the yard. “I can nae say I disagree. Nasty bit of business. No lass deserves it.”

  Rolfe nodded. He was tense as he held back the instinct to fight. There were too many Gordons and too many retainers on the wall for a straightforward attack. No, this was a fight he’d have to win with his wits first.

  But he would win, or he’d be dead before they lit the pyre. His father would likely argue with his impulse to interfere, but his sire had also taught him that honor wasn’t something a man could turn his back on. Whoever she was, her plight was a result of shielding him.

  So he wasn’t going anywhere.

  * * *

  Katherine slept past dawn.

  Considering how many hours she’d sat in the darkness shivering, it wasn’t any wonder her body had taken as much rest as it could.

  But she awoke to the sound of men building.

  The sounds of wood being broken and something being dragged in behind a team of horses.