The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel

by Maeve Greyson

  “Well, isn’t that precious,” Calum interrupted with a disgusted snort. “Ye belong to Jameson Campbell, Catriona, and the man was promised a virgin. Now step away and try to behave like a lady true to her betrothed, aye? Dinna shame our clan by acting the whore.”

  Alexander lurched a step in Calum’s direction, lifting his cane to club the imperious smile off the fool’s face. “Ye rude bastard. I’ll teach ye shame.”

  “Alexander, no!” Catriona stayed the strike with an urgent touch to his forearm. “Please…ye mustn’t.” She drew back her hand, cradling it against her chest. With a graceful bow of her head, she stepped away. “Calum is right. I mustn’t sully the Neal name.” She paused a heartbeat with the fisted linen pressed against her mouth then cleared her throat again. With slow purposeful grace, she lifted her chin. An air of eerie calmness emanated from her. “I’ll speak to Murtagh about horses and supplies for ye and your men. I think it best if ye leave at first light, ye ken? What say ye?”

  If there was one thing, as both warrior and man, that Alexander hated more than anything else, it was the feeling of being backed into a corner with no hope of escape. And damned, if that was no’ the exact feeling hammering through him at this verra moment.

  He glared at Calum’s simpering face, wishing the man dead on the spot. Clutching his cane so tight that the wood crackled in his grip, Alexander tore his gaze away from Calum and faced Catriona.

  “I…” Alexander paused, his enraged rant defused by the merest hint of hope he detected in the wistfulness of Catriona’s eyes. The lass was trying to tell him something. He didna know if it was her stance, the tilt of her head, or the slant of her mouth, but she wished to convey something of great import to him but wasn’t able to because of Calum’s presence. He’d bet his life on it.

  “Aye,” he said, struggling to hold his temper. “First light.” He turned to his brethren and gave them a curt nod.

  Calum fairly lit up as though he’d swallowed the sun. He stuck out his chest and preened a strand of his greasy red hair back from his face. “Good then. I suggest ye take the pass to the west. I’m told it’s passable. Far safer than the east or the south.”

  Did the man think him a fool? The insufferable prig was most assuredly doing his best to send them into an ambush. Alexander drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment, struggling to keep from knocking Calum on his arse. He cleared his throat and forced himself to appear grateful. “The western pass. Aye. We will take your advice since several of us are still healing.” He even managed a smile and a polite nod. “I thank ye for all ye’ve done for us and the hospitality of your clan.”

  Calum waved away his words as though they were flies buzzing about his food. “Aye, then. I’ll leave ye to your preparations.” He gave them all a long cold look, crooked nose wrinkled and lip curled as though he smelled a stink. Then he swung about and strode toward a double archway, waving down Hew and Duff as he went. “To my solar, gentleman. We’ve much to discuss.”

  The malicious pair, evil grins plastered across their faces, grabbed up their tankards and hurried after him.

  As soon as the three men had left the hall, Catriona came to life, stepping forward in her distress and grasping hold of Alexander by his forearms. “Ye ken well enough to stay away from the western pass, aye? I’ve no idea what the wicked fool has planned but I’m sure 'twould be your end.”

  “I’m no' a fool, lass.” Alexander took hold of both her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I’ll also no' be leaving ye here unprotected.”

  “He’s quite gallant like that,” Graham interrupted as he waved the others forward. “Come. We’ll prepare whilst Alexander works out a plan.”

  “Aye,” Magnus agreed, slapping a friendly hand to Alexander’s shoulder as he passed behind him. “We’ll be in the kitchens with the pretty maids. Fetch us when ye’re ready.”

  Alexander could tell by the determined set of Catriona’s mouth she was about to unleash quite the lecture. Before she could, he pulled her closer, close enough he could almost see the pounding of her heart beneath her tightly laced bodice. “I will kiss ye here and now, woman, in front of all within this room if ye dinna hear me out.”

  Eyes flaring wide and delicate auburn brows arched nearly to her hairline, Catriona gave a quick shake of her head. “Ye mustn’t,” she whispered. “Calum has spies among these tables. His allies are growing in numbers with each passing day. I’m sorely outnumbered, I fear.”

  “And that is the only reason the man has allies.” For the sake of Catriona’s pounding heart and ruby cheeks, Alexander eased back a step, putting a bit of space between them and regretfully releasing her hands. “He controls them with fear.”

  “Aye,” Catriona gave a sad nod of agreement. “'Tis true but the fact remains, he controls them.”

  “What is it ye wished to tell me out of your brother's presence?” Alexander leaned on his cane, wishing he still held Catriona’s hands rather than an infernal piece of wood. “Or did I misread your lovely eyes?”

  “What I have to say depends on what ye have to say yourself.” Catriona stole a quick glance around the room. “Ye bade me hear ye out, did ye no'?”

  “Aye. I did.” Now, what the hell do I say? He had no plan. No idea of how to save this dear sweet lass from whatever cruel fate her brother had plotted. For that’s all that concerned him. He didna give a damn if the king sent all of Christendom after them. Alexander had been chased before. Caught even and tortured for it. None of that mattered a whit. All that mattered was Catriona and putting the fire back in her eyes. It was then he knew. A single moment of brilliant clarity. He cared for this woman and could never leave her behind. “Will ye come with me, Catriona?”

  “Come with ye?” Words so soft. So hesitant.

  “Aye. Come with me.” Alexander held his breath, sending up a silent prayer she would agree.

  Lips a hair's breadth apart, a hand pressed to the base of her throat, Catriona looked about the hall. “I…I don’t…how can I?” she said, choking out the words with a sad shake of her head. “I canna desert the ones I swore to protect.”

  “Ye wouldna be deserting them.” Hope stirred his adrenalin as a clear plan came to him. “Sometimes 'tis better to retreat in the heat of battle. Fall back to regroup and strengthen.” Ever so gently, he reached out and slid his hand beneath hers, laced their fingers together, and squeezed. “Come with me to regroup and strengthen. We’ll discover a way to overpower Calum and save your people. I swear it.”

  “How is that possible? How could we do that if we’re no' here to guard them against his wrath?”

  “Be honest with yourself, Catriona. Ye think ye can guard them? Alone? Look what he’s already done to ye in a mere few weeks. Struck ye down. Betrothed ye to a man rumored to be as cruel as himself. Ye canna save them by staying here unless ye mean to drive a dagger in his heart while he sleeps or spike his favorite port with a good bit a poison.”

  “I canna kill him.” She pulled her hand away and hugged herself against the words. “As much as I hate the bastard, I canna imagine taking his life.”

  “Ye’re a better person than I.” Alexander scanned the room, the sudden intense feeling of eyes upon them pricking the hairs on the back of his neck. “We should say no more here.” He lowered his voice even more. “Go to your room. Gather only what ye canna live without then return to the kitchens, aye? Will ye do that, Catriona?”

  She remained silent for so long that Alexander feared she would refuse. After what seemed like forever, she pulled in a deep breath and stood taller. “Aye. 'Twill no' take me long.”

  He resisted the urge to take her hand, every fiber of his being screamed to take her in his arms. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

  Instead, he gave her a polite nod. “'Tis good then. Hurry, lass. We leave tonight.”

  Chapter 10

  Heart pounding, Catriona burst into her room, hurried to close the door behind her, then leaned back against it to catch her
breath. She shuddered. Thrilling excitement and choking terror coursed through her with equal ferocity. Forgive me, Mother. I’ve no choice.

  She swallowed hard, struggling to control the anxious churning in her middle, the squeezing nervousness threatening to expel what few bites she’d eaten for dinner. She flexed her hands into fists then wiped her clammy palms against her skirts. With trembling fingers, she lit the candle on the entry table, then took it to light the other candles waiting on the mantel and the taper at her bedside.

  What should I take? Should I don more layers to survive traveling in the snow? A thousand disjointed thoughts raced through her mind as she darted here and there about her room. Teetering on the edge of panic, she tapped her fingertips across the back of her favorite reading chair sitting beside the hearth, then along the top of the wooden frame of a half-finished bit of weaving. She might not see these things ever again. A smile tickled across her lips when it occurred to her in a brilliant flash of clarity: she didn’t care.

  Until now, life had felt as though she slogged through a muddy bog, trapped in one place until she drowned in complete numbness while those around her passed her by, achieving the milestones in their lives while the nothingness her life had become pulled her down until she felt like gasping for air.

  And then Alexander had arrived.

  She pressed her hand atop the worn leather cover of her book of Psalms on the table beside her bed. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer. Thank ye for sending Alexander.

  A resolute sense of calm swept across her. Catriona pulled in a deep cleansing breath and released it in a slow, controlled whisper of air. I can do this and 'tis right I do this. She hurried to the great mahogany wardrobe in the corner and yanked open the wide double doors. The sharp tang of cedar wafted into the room from the red-hued wood lining the cabinet.

  Take only what I need to survive. Thankfulness filled her when the articles required seemed to jump at her from the shelves and pegs of the deep cabinet. She snatched up her fur boots, extra gloves, and heaviest cloak. “An arisaidh, too, and an extra pair of wool stockings.”

  She ruffled her thumb across the stack of folded skirts and chemises. One of each would do. The items piled in her arms, she carried them over to the bed. I’ll wear the boots. She tucked her everyday leather slippers on top of the tight pile of necessities she’d placed in the center of her arisaidh. The corners of the generous wool plaid gathered and tied, Catriona expelled a satisfied sigh as she patted the snug bundle. It could be carried with little effort or slung across the horn of her saddle.

  Aye. My saddle. She’d told Gaersa what she was about to do and sent her to tell her husband the plan. She felt sure she could trust Gaersa and Murtagh. Murtagh would get them horses trained to travel under such adverse conditions as shifting ground because of melting snow and mud.

  Excitement building until it threatened to make her faint, she forced herself to hold fast and perused the room one last time. She stayed her hand before extinguishing the candles. Nay. 'Twas too early to darken the room. If anyone happened by after she’d left, the lit candles shining through the crack under the door would make them suppose she was within and if they searched further, they'd think she’d only left for a moment and planned on returning.

  She donned her cloak, hugged her bundle tight against her middle, and covered it with the generous folds of the heavy wool garment. Mouth gone dry, she swallowed hard and breathed in a long, slow breath through her nose to settle her churning emotions. All would be well. Alexander would keep her safe.

  Alexander.

  The thought of him almost brought tears. Joyous tears. Tender tears. She hugged the bundle tighter and scurried out of her room. The whispering rustle of her skirts was the only sound in the hallway as she pulled the door closed behind her with a quiet thump. Rather than descending to the main floor and risking discovery, Catriona turned to the right and headed toward the stairwell housed in the corner tower. If she happened on anyone while descending through the tower, they’d think it normal since everyone knew she frequented the turret and side grounds at odd hours no matter the weather. They’d also pay no notice to her cloak or boots, thinking she only wore them against the cold during her odd habit of walking the parapet to clear her mind.

  One hand against the roughness of the stone wall and the other hugging her bundle, Catriona slowed her pace on the winding staircase, guarding her footing on the steep rise of the narrow stone steps. She reached the base of the tower, then listened at the heavy outer door before opening it. All she heard was the wind rattling through the holly bushes surrounding the base of the tower. Good. She’d hoped it would be deserted since most of those looking for a private spot for an intimate meeting would seek quiet corners inside the keep and out of the cold on this frosty night.

  She exited the tower. The narrow space between the wall and the dense leafy barrier of holly overgrowth running alongside the keep’s walls caught her eye. The bushes were dense and tall. Father had ordered holly planted around every building and tower in the stronghold. The beloved plant was believed to be protection from lightning, angry fairies, and even witches. The glossy green leaves interlaced together made the hedging almost impenetrable. Mayhap, the lovely holly would protect her and bless her journey as well. If she kept to the space between the greenery and the wall, she’d leave no footprints in the mud and melting snow surrounding the small bit of ground between the curtain wall and the main building. She crept along the blocks of stone, squeezing into the space, the pointed leaves snatching at her cloak as she side-stepped her way to the back of the keep and the rear entry to the kitchens.

  She paused at the corner of the wall, peeping around it and taking care to pay close attention to the shadowy area filled with the smoke pits and hulking contraptions of iron and wood used for preparing large animals for roasting. Many an evil could lurk in that darkness. A faint sense of relief wafted through her as the bitter cold wind rattled through the leafy spikes of the holly bushes. None were about. She kept to the shadows and made her way to the back entrance of the kitchens and slipped inside.

  Catriona kept out of sight in a shallow space hidden by pantry shelving. She peered about and tried to differentiate the cacophony of sounds filling the busy room. Sweat trickled down her spine. Sweltering heat filled the place to an almost unbearable level. A steamy smoke hung in the air like heavy fog, rising from the still bubbling iron pots hanging in the fiery hearths and the sizzling fry pans on the great iron stove top inset into a stone ledge against the far wall.

  Kitchen lads and scullery maids bustled about, scraping plates and platters into buckets, then stacking them in wash barrels by another hearth on the opposite wall where great cauldrons of boiling water bubbled over the red-hot coals glowing beneath them. Cook shouted orders. Lads flirted and teased the maids and the young lasses responded in kind.

  Stretched up on tiptoes, Catriona at last found who she sought. Alexander and his men stood to the right of her hiding spot, closest to the pantry. Mrs. Aberfeldy emerged from the door leading to the more sizable of the two larders and the root cellar. She toted a bulging sack of supplies in each hand and several leather skins of whisky draped over each of her shoulders. Graham and Duncan rushed to relieve her of her burdens, parsing out the bundles among themselves and the other men.

  A shiver of apprehension stole across Catriona, and she had to clench her hands into fists and press them up against her middle to stop the trembling. A clammy sweat peppered across her forehead and upper lip. She swallowed hard against the bitter bile burning the back of her throat. What if they found her? What if they discovered her and turned her over to Calum? She pressed a fist against her chest and swallowed hard again. If she maintained this inner discourse, she’d most assuredly vomit or faint—or accomplish both acts in rapid succession.

  I can do this. I must do this. Her face hidden in the depths of her hood, Catriona crept out of her hiding place and scurried over to join the men. “I’m
ready,” she said, keeping her voice low and flinching as it faded in and out with the heightened tenseness of the moment.

  Alexander rewarded her with a beaming smile then pushed his way through the group toward her. With one arm around her shoulders, he took care to keep her turned away from the servants and facing the wall. He snugged her tight against his side. “Mrs. Aberfeldy’s supplied us well and Murtagh awaits in the stable.”

  A shudder of homesickness and the faintest stab of doubt pulled at her, making her heart ache. How could she leave Gaersa and Murtagh? How could she desert them? She twisted to look around past Alexander but he held her tight. “Nay, lass,” he said in a low tone meant just for her. “'Twill only make leaving worse and stir suspicion. We daren’t risk it. She loves ye like the daughter she’s never had and wishes ye well. She bade me tell ye so, aye?”

  “Aye,” Catriona choked out around the lump of emotions threatening to strangle her. She sniffed back the tears and nodded toward the rear door of the kitchens that would lead them to the stables. “Let’s be about this then, aye?”

  Alexander responded with another reassuring squeeze of her shoulders as he gave a single nod to his men.

  The six moved forward as one without a single word spoken between them. Mrs. Aberfeldy turned away, face red and crumpling with tears as she hurried back into the larder. Head down, Catriona led the way to the stables, and they all rushed through the melting snow in single file behind her.

  Once inside the stable, Catriona pushed back her hood. 'Twas only Murtagh, the horses, and Willie and Ferd, the stable boys, inside the coziness of the vast cave that nature had carved out of the side of Ben Nevis and the Neal clan had adapted into the perfect place to keep their horses safe through even the worst Highland winter. It smelled of clean hay, warm animals, and the slightest hint of fresh manure. With the number of horses stabled in the cave, it was all Willie, Ferd and Murtagh could do to clean out the stalls more than once a day.