by Mary Wine
“I might ask why not?” Katherine responded.
Rolfe chuckled, only it wasn’t a happy sound. It was a male one that offered her a promise of his opinion being different from hers.
“For one reason: the facts of what happened there in the Gordon stronghold. Being a lass means ye are prey to more than a man might be.”
“You mean to a man’s bruised pride.”
“Tyree’s was bruised indeed,” Rolfe agreed with her. “And it nearly got ye burned at the stake.”
A lump decided to form in her throat right then, and it wasn’t easy to swallow. Rolfe didn’t miss her struggling to cast off her horror.
“Aye, it should stick in yer throat, lass. Ye’re damned lucky I was here to go in after ye.”
She scoffed at him. “You are the fortunate ones, for without me, there would have been plenty of McTavish blood spilled under the moonlight. I distracted them so they never saw you.”
“That stubborn nature of yers is going to get ye killed yet.” It was a grudging agreement. Something she had come to expect among burly Highlanders.
“It kept me alive for the last day, so I’ll be content and bid you good-bye. I’ve a mind to make it back to MacPherson land.”
“I do nae think so.”
“It is not for you to consider at all,” Katherine replied. “I belong on MacPherson land.”
Rolfe shook his head. “Nae, ye’re English, and ye have nae told me who yer sire is. The MacPhersons took ye from somewhere.”
“They saved me,” she said, her voice full of emotion.
“From what?”
Katherine felt a tingle on her nape. For all that Rolfe McTavish had rescued her from a horrible fate, the fact was that he’d been creeping about in the night, looking to toy with the MacPhersons, and he had held Helen for ransom just after her wedding to Marcus. As far as Highlanders went, he was a rogue—in every sense of the word. Standing firm was the only way to keep a man such as him from making her his next prize. Well, and making sure he didn’t have any reason to believe she was worth anything.
“I have thanked you, and now I tell you good night,” she said firmly, attempting to end the conversation.
“Tell me yer name now or later.” He closed the distance between them, sending a twist through her insides. “I will know who ye are.”
“Not if I am on MacPherson land.”
“Ye won’t be,” Rolfe informed her. “Ye are coming back to McTavish land with me.”
“You have no right to do any such thing.”
“That is exactly the point ye need to absorb.” Rolfe edged closer. “When ye venture out away from yer home, ye have no rights, except for the ones ye can ensure through force. There is strength in numbers. Marcus should have taught ye that, woman.”
He really was a beast, both in size and thinking. She stepped to the side, but he followed her, unfolding his arms to make it harder to evade him.
“Forgive me.” She tried a different approach. “I thought you a man of honor, unlike the Gordons.”
His lips curled up, flashing his teeth at her. “Compliments already, Katherine?”
“More of a reminder,” she offered softly. “As a hope that you shall not disappoint me by continuing with this rough treatment. I wanted to thank you, and I have. The fact of the matter is, we are both in each other’s debt. An honorable man would accept that and allow me to depart.”
“Honor comes with knowledge.” There was a hard edge to his voice that Katherine knew came from bitter lessons learned the hard way for all of the best reasons.
“Marcus MacPherson has done ye a disservice by no’ teaching ye to think of others before riding out into the night alone. Even I was no’ out by meself.”
That was a hard truth. She nodded and tried to let it be enough of an admission to soothe his need to instruct her. The urge to leave was growing, making her restless and suddenly so aware of the fact that she was standing there in nothing but a shirt and boots, with a man who seemed to notice far too much about her.
“Ye’ll taste rougher treatment if I allow ye back to a place that clearly lets ye do as ye please without any regard for the men who might have to fight to defend ye,” he stated firmly, his tone telling her he was becoming more and more set in his thinking.
“Stop it,” she instructed him. “I am not any of your kin, so concern yourself with those you share blood with. They are the ones you owe your attention to. Not me.”
“As ye said, lass, ye did keep me men from having to fight.”
“And you have freed me from the Gordons,” she was quick to point out. “We are even.”
“No’ while I know ye are returning to a place where ye will be free to venture into danger whenever ye take the whim to,” he declared. “Ye can get on yer horse or I’ll put ye on mine, but ye are coming to McTavish land.”
“I most certainly am not.”
In her agitation, her speech reverted back to pure English pronunciation. But her actions… Well, those she’d learned during her time in the Highlands. Katherine stepped back, widening her stance, and prepared to defend herself.
She was not going anywhere with the beast.
* * *
Tyree came awake as a bucket of water hit him in the face. He jerked and snarled, flipping over and knocking his knees against the stone floor of the passageway before he gained his feet.
“So,” Diocail Gordon greeted him, “ye thought so little of the lass’s powers that ye decided to have a go at her?”
Tyree looked around, trying to decide if he’d finished what he’d set out to do by coming down to the cells. The door was open, and Diocail was not alone. Some of his men had torches that allowed Tyree to see into the cell.
“Oh, aye,” Diocail said. “She’s gone, and I doubt Colum is going to be too happy about it. Or pleased with the men who lifted the bar.”
“Someone laid me low,” Tyree responded. “I never had the bitch.”
“Ye deny that ye left the hall after declaring ye were intent on making sure she did nae die a virgin?” Diocail questioned.
Tyree hesitated. His wits were clearing, but he recalled his brazen words well—along with the fact that someone had knocked him in the back of the head. But Diocail was smart. The man had plenty of witnesses.
Tyree decided on a new tactic. “Told ye she was a witch.”
“I am no’ the fool who thought to let me cock get near her.”
Tyree snarled at the word fool, but the men surrounding them only shook their heads at him. Diocail had planned the moment well, so Tyree would have to suffer through it.
But he would gain his recompense. On that Tyree was very sure.
Diocail had better sleep lightly.
* * *
“What the devil?” Cedric declared.
Rolfe pressed Katherine into his man’s arms before he swung up and into the saddle.
“Let’s ride, lads.” He gestured to Cedric. “Hand her up, and mind her feet. She has a wicked kick.”
“Is that what happened to ye?” Adwin asked as he held the horse steady by the bridle and Cedric lifted Katherine up while she fought. Her arms were bound tight to her torso by one of Rolfe’s wide belts.
“Never mind what happened to me.” Rolfe scooped Katherine’s writhing form out of his retainer’s arms and clamped her in front of him on the horse. “Just know we’ve got us a prize to show for our time away. An Englishwoman to ransom.”
Katherine snarled around the strip of wool that he’d used to gag her, and his horse danced in a circle as she struggled. Rolfe clamped his arms around her tightly as his men mounted their horses. He set his heels into the sides of his horse, and the animal happily took off toward home.
Katherine was the only one who argued against it, grumbling against her gag. Rolfe ignored her, keeping his arms
locked around her as he headed away from MacPherson land.
“Hate me as ye like, lass,” he offered next to her ear. “But I’ll not close me eyes and wonder if ye are suffering some horrible fate because Marcus MacPherson allows ye to behave like a hellion.”
* * *
“Gone?” Colum’s eyes bulged. “Curse and rot yer prick! I should have it cut off ye!”
Tyree faced his laird, his hatred festering as he was forced to remain silent while the rest of the clan looked on, feasting on his humiliation.
“She’d transformed into a white stag,” he declared. “Ran me into the wall.”
There was a ripple of fear from those watching. Colum clamped his mouth shut, taking a moment to think.
“A witch for certain.” Tyree spoke directly to his laird. “Now ye know the truth of why the MacPhersons are undefeated in battle. They have a witch.”
“I’m a man, no’ a lad,” Diocail spoke up. “And I’ll no’ be frightened by tales best left to old women around a winter hearth. Ye were in yer cups and went down to rape her. More than one saw ye stagger out of the hall. She managed to cut ye when ye were sober. It’s little wonder she left ye drooling on the floor when ye tried her while drunk.”
“She transformed!” Tyree declared louder. “Unless ye are calling me a liar, Diocail Gordon.”
“I call ye a fool,” he replied calmly. “And if ye want to fight over it, I am yer man.”
“Enough,” Colum said. “Ye’ve both failed me.”
The hall went silent, people leaning forward to see what the laird would say. Colum pointed at Tyree. “Ye were in yer cups. Too many say so for it not to be true. Ye’ll get fifty lashes on that stake, and ye…” Colum pointed at Diocail. “Ye’ll get the same for no’ making sure the gate was secure, for the walls were yer duty last night.”
There was a shift in the hall as those who had pressed forward subtly moved back in an effort to withdraw from their laird’s direct sight. Colum sniffed as he noticed it.
“I will no’ be made a fool of!” he declared, his voice cracking with age. “I am laird of the Gordons! Me son will be avenged! I demand it of ye!”
His voice was only an echo of what it had been in his youth. All around him, his hall was falling to ruin, just as Colum himself was. His clan was thin and tired of his cries for vengeance.
But Colum Gordon still drew breath, so they followed his commands. Diocail felt his stomach turn. He’d been raised by his mother to dream of the day he returned to the Gordon towers and took command of them. He was glad she hadn’t lived to see the ruin the clan had fallen into. Some men didn’t live long enough, and others—such as Colum—lived too long.
Let the old man sentence him to some lashes. Diocail would never be sorry he’d made sure the little lass was free.
* * *
Rolfe McTavish was warm.
Deliciously so, considering Katherine wore only a shirt.
She tried to avoid thinking about how he kept her warm, but as the miles dropped behind them, her temper cooled as exhaustion took command of everything in her world. She simply didn’t have any strength left to nurse her wounded pride. For certain, she was furious with him for taking her hostage, but it paled in comparison to the fate that would have been hers at the hands of the Gordons.
So by sunrise, she faced the first rays of light with gratitude.
Rolfe kept them moving with only short breaks for the entire day.
He lifted his hand and called a halt once the light began to fade. He handed her down to one of his captains and slid off the back of his horse next to her.
She’d never seen him by light of day. The sun showed her a head of blond hair that complemented his green eyes. His face was cut and chiseled, declaring him a man who didn’t sit at the high table indulging his appetites while his men toiled through the daylight hours. She knew the difference better than most because England was more forgiving to such nobles. They became fat and slow, two things Rolfe McTavish certainly was not.
His captain released the belt holding her arms, and she stepped away from Rolfe, shooting him a scathing look as she yanked the gag off. Her jaw was stiff from the thing and her tongue dry as ashes.
That comparison tempered her thoughts, keeping her silent as she decided not to blister his ears.
She would be ashes without his aid.
So she turned and walked behind an outcropping of rocks to relieve herself.
But her restraint didn’t last when she caught sight of Adwin taking a position on the high ground above her. The captain had his back to her, but he was clearly there to ensure she didn’t make a run for it. Coming back around the outcropping, she watched as Rolfe tied her horse to his with a length of rope. He finished with a hard motion of his hand and turned his back on her before hiking over a ridge to seek his own privacy.
It would be a long walk, but she shifted back a step and then another, intending to drop back behind the outcropping of rocks that she’d just come around.
Adwin caught her by the upper arm and pulled her toward the other men.
“Release me,” she insisted.
“No need to be so agitated, lass,” the captain said before allowing her to shake off his hold. “It’s just a bit of ransom. Unlike with the Gordons, no harm will come to ye. Now sit down and rest while ye can.”
One of the men patted the ground next to him.
“I didn’t think you were feuding with the MacPhersons.”
“We aren’t.” Rolfe had returned, and she jumped because the man was right behind her. She ended up facing him and took a step backward.
Katherine felt her eyes narrow. Christ! Fate was having a merry time with her, it would seem! Why now, of all times, did she suddenly develop an awareness of men?
“We’re needling them,” Adwin informed her in a voice edged with experience. “Ye’ll be well and treated fine. Ye’ve put up a decent fight, enough to satisfy yer honor. Now sit. No one wants to truss ye up.”
“Excellent,” she responded. “In that case, I will be on my way since we seem to be finished with this ‘needling.’”
Rolfe was watching her, a glitter in his eyes that promised her an argument.
Or something else that she wasn’t all too certain of. She decided she didn’t want to know because her belly was twisting as though she was anticipating something.
“Can nae expect an English lass to understand,” Cedric spoke up. “Best keep a sharp eye on her.”
There was a murmur of agreement among the McTavish retainers. Many of them had lain back and rolled themselves in their plaids to catch a bit of sleep.
“Settle here, lass.” Adwin tried to cajole her once more. “We’ve no plaid to spare, so we’ll put ye between us to keep ye warm.”
“I will not—”
The last word was barely past her lips when Rolfe scooped her off her feet. Another one of those startled, feminine sounds escaped her lips before he put her exactly where he wanted to. What grated on her nerves was the amusement his men gained from it. But flipping over in her agitation only made her shirt ride up her thighs. She froze as she tugged it down, and Rolfe took advantage of the moment, lying down next to her. He turned his back to her, and Adwin started scooting toward her until she was wedged tight between them.
Oh, it felt good.
She tried to find some reason why she should resent it, but the truth was that she would be peevish if she continued to suckle her anger.
Not that she had much choice. Now that she was warm, exhaustion took over, ripping her away from everything except her need to rest.
* * *
The McTavish stronghold had two main towers. A long building connected them, and once Rolfe pulled her inside, Katherine realized that the great hall was inside it. There were more refinements here, making her think of England. More tapestries on
the walls, the scent of beeswax candles lingering in the air, and chairs with backs. There were still a good number of benches to help accommodate the large number of retainers sitting at the tables for meals, but there were also clusters of chairs with wide seats and armrests placed around the hall.
She understood the reason for those chairs when Rolfe brought her before his father. Laird McTavish was missing part of his leg. The wooden peg was only visible when he stood because the rest of it was hidden inside a boot.
Only a laird would have a boot made for a peg. It was an extravagance, but Katherine admitted that the hall appeared to suggest that the McTavish could afford such things.
“What have ye brought me, Rolfe?”
Katherine found herself facing a man who was clearly Rolfe’s sire. He had the same huge frame along with green eyes. His people began to gather around, aiming curious looks at her, and she resisted the urge to tug on the bottom of her shirt.
“Katherine,” Rolfe answered his father. “I found her wearing the MacPherson plaid like a lad and she will no’ tell me her father’s name, but she is English. So I brought her home after stealing her from the Gordons.”
There was a round of laughter from the McTavish.
“You have neglected to mention how I prevented you and your men from being taken by those same Gordons.” Katherine kept her voice even.
Laird McTavish’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his son. “Ye were seen by the Gordons?”
“The lass stepped between us,” Rolfe explained. “The Gordons should be grateful for that. Instead, they decided to burn her as a witch as a strike against the MacPhersons for Lye Rob’s death.”
Laird McTavish grunted and lowered himself into one of the chairs. Katherine caught a flicker of distaste in his eyes as he was forced to remove his weight from the peg.
“Colum is a fool to be seeking vengeance. Lye Rob lost a fight he started. When ye steal a man’s wife, ye have to expect any decent Highlander to come looking for yer blood. Bhaic MacPherson was within his rights, and I’d have called him a dishonorable coward if he’d failed to meet the challenge of having his wife stolen. An unbedded bride is one thing, a wife altogether different.”
