Highland Hellcat

by Mary Wine

  That drew nods from many listening, but it didn’t cut through the unease twisting his insides.

  “Enough of this. Brina has nae fallen so far from the path as to spend the entire day atoning for it. Becoming my bride is nae a sin.” Connor headed toward the back of the tower. Shawe caught up with him before he made it to the doorway.

  “Are ye sure ye want to risk the wrath of the church, Laird? She’s bound to be finished soon, and ruffling the feathers of the priests might belittle everything she’s accomplished today.”

  Connor cursed. “I already ruffled those feathers when I stole her, man. If a full day is nae enough for them, they can extract their vengeance on me. I’ll nae allow this to continue.”

  But his men were standing at the doors to the church, their attention on the inside of the sanctuary, though they shifted every now and again to watch the yard around them as well. There was nothing about their diligence that he might find fault with, but the feeling of unease in his gut persisted.

  “Maybe she’s changed her mind about wedding ye.” Shawe spoke low to keep his words between them.

  Connor debated his friend’s words, because it was a possibility. The night before replayed across his mind. His temper rose as he considered that Brina might renounce him once she was forced to face a priest who would no doubt remind her of her father’s vow and the fact that refusing to serve the church would forever stain her soul.

  The church was just as greedy as the Douglas when it came to keeping what they believed belonged to them. Those shoes sitting by the front pew might have meant something very different than what he’d believed that morning.

  “She will wed me,” Connor insisted. “And if she’s for some reason changed her mind, the woman can simply readjust her thinking again or at least give me the opportunity to make an argument in my own favor.”

  Shawe chuckled, but Connor wasn’t feeling so lighthearted. The church was quiet now, shadows beginning to darken the corners. Connor strode down the aisle, stopping when he stood beside the pair of boots that still sat where they had been that morning when he arrived. They hadn’t moved, and his suspicions grew. He caught a slight movement in the passageway that led away from the sanctuary. One of the priests stood there, clearly shocked to see him.

  “I expected ye earlier and with yer intended bride to take yer vows.” The priest leveled a disapproving look toward him.

  “My bride was never seen leaving this church.” Connor pointed to the boots. “And her shoes are still here.”

  The priest looked shocked, as though he had failed to see them. Shawe stiffened beside him, drawing in a harsh breath, while the priest looked between the footwear and Connor’s dark expression.

  “I have nae seen yer bride since she gave me her confession this morning.”

  “Search the church, and I mean every last inch of it, including the confessionals.”

  The priest made to protest, but Connor’s men didn’t wait for the man to form his stunned thoughts into words. They fanned out, opening every door and curtain, until the entire church had been searched from the loft where the bell ringer slept to the privy.

  Connor stood with his hands clenched into fists. The bite of betrayal rode him hard, growing with every moment that he waited for Brina to be found. When his men all stood in front of him, waiting on his next action, there was nothing to hold back his temper.

  “Ready the horses, Shawe. We are riding after them.”

  “After who, Laird?”

  Connor turned to shoot a dark look toward Shawe. “Quinton Cameron, that is who. Brina would never have made it past the gate without his help.”

  But what Connor wanted to know was if had she left or had she been taken. He needed to think that she had been taken, even if doing so would pit him against a man who might be the worst enemy he could make. There would be plenty of men who would tell him a woman wasn’t worth that. There would be even more who would counsel him to tolerance because of the blood that would most certainly flow from a feud between the Cameron and the Lindsey.

  Connor struggled to rein in his temper, but it eluded his grasp. Instead all he could think of was the look on Brina’s face when she had told him that she would wed him.

  Call him a fool, but he was going after Brina, and he would kill whoever stood between them. For the first time in his life, he understood how men might be driven to illogical extremes for the love of a woman.

  He would have her back or die in the attempt.

  Eight

  Her head felt as though it were going to split like a ripe pumpkin. Brina kept her breaths slow and tiny because even the sound sent pain through her skull. As she hesitated in opening her eyes, other points of discomfort made themselves known. Her feet were still bare and her toes almost frozen. But not quite, because she was aware of the excruciating burning coming from each of them. Brina lifted her eyelids and closed them when a bolt of white-hot pain went through her head once more.

  “I wondered when ye’d join us.”

  Brina stiffened and felt the body she was lying against help her sit up. She was being bounced up and down and realized that she was on the back of a horse.

  She opened her eyes and forced them to remain so in spite of the pain. Her vision was blurry at first, her mind unable to make sense of what she saw. She rubbed her eyes, gasping at the shooting pains that renewed their assault on her. Dragging in a deep breath, she stared at the rope tied around her wrists.

  “I’m glad to see ye regaining yer wits. My horse is getting tired of carrying us both.”

  She turned to stare at Quinton Cameron as she felt the man pull up on the reins of his stallion. It was a huge horse, and the ground looked very far below her dangling feet.

  “What are ye doing?”

  Her voice was shrill, but alarm was racing through her as she looked around and didn’t see a single Lindsey plaid. Darkness had fallen and she couldn’t recall anything of the day, beyond the finishing of her prayers.

  “What have ye done, Laird Cameron?”

  A horse came up beside them, and he lifted her up and deposited her on it. Brina found herself reaching for the reins and throwing her leg over the back of the animal so that she wouldn’t slide over it completely and end up beneath the hooves of both beasts.

  “I’ve stolen ye.”

  “What?”

  She shrieked, horror sending her voice up a few octaves. Several of his men growled at her, shooting her warning looks she refused to buckle under.

  “Keep yer mouth shut, or I’ll tie it shut, Brina Chattan. I’ve no time for a hysterical woman.” He grabbed the reins of her horse and looped them over the back of his saddle so that she had no way to control the animal.

  “Ye’re going to the palace with me because Connor is too trusting in honor keeping yer father from starting a feud.”

  Quinton turned his back on her, obviously finished with explaining his actions to her. His men were riding hard, their horses close together as they cut through the darkness. She lay over the neck of the horse she rode, her hands grasping the bridle where it was secured around the animal’s head, because it was the only place that she might gain a good grip. She was suddenly thankful to Bran and her father for promising her to the church and making it possible for her to learn how to ride astride.

  The speed Quinton kept them at made it impossible to do anything but cling to the horse. Her fingers ached and became icy cold because she didn’t have any leather gauntlets such as the Highlanders riding with Quinton did. She looked at them with resentment filling her, but that did nothing to cut the chill of the winter night.

  What weighed on her mind the most was that every pounding hoof took her farther away from the man she had thought to wed. Fate was truly cruel, for it had allowed her to taste true happiness only to swipe it from her grasp while she was still looking at it in wonder.
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br />   She was left with nothing but pain slashing across her heart, which sent tears into her eyes, the wind whipping the droplets along her cheeks.

  Sometime near the darkest part of the night, Quinton lifted his hand, and the horses stopped. Their breathing filled the air while he listened to the darkness and pointed toward the sound of running water. His men guided their horses in that direction, but the animals went without much urging, eager for a drink.

  His men slid off their horses, and the animals waded into the water while they drank. Brina felt someone reach up and lift her off her horse and deposit her on her feet. The sharp rock covering the ground dug into her bare skin while her knees wobbled.

  “See to yer needs and do nae make me chase ye.”

  Quinton Cameron spoke quietly, his words similar to Connor’s when he had first stolen her, and yet there were vast differences between the two men. She suspected that she hated this man, something she had never done before.

  “Go on, unless ye want to see what is beneath me kilt.”

  Beyond him, Brina noticed that several of his men were not waiting for her to make it behind the rocks before they relieved themselves. She snorted at his vulgarity but left the area because wetting herself would only make her more miserable.

  Quinton didn’t give her long to tend to her comfort, appearing just moments after her robe had fluttered down.

  “What were ye doing without shoes beyond the door of yer bedchamber?”

  Brina growled when a rock jabbed into her unprotected arch.

  “What are ye doing stealing me away from a man who welcomed ye as a friend?”

  Quinton frowned at her, and she heard the way he snorted at her tone and the fact that she had answered his question with one of her own.

  “If ye do nae care for my words, leave me here.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a looming demon in the darkness. One that had decided to toy with his prey before he pounced on it.

  “Do ye fancy being eaten by wolves, then, lass? If I left ye here, Connor would certainly nae call me friend ever again.”

  “And do ye truly believe that he’ll do so now that ye’ve stolen me?”

  She watched the man’s lips rise into a grin. “Are ye saying that he has a reason to come after ye, lass?”

  He reached out, and she saw the flash of his dirk in the meager starlight. She lunged away from him, but not before she heard him cutting a piece of her overrobe from the hem.

  “Ye’re insane.” And she was talking too much, allowing her unsettled mind to share things with him that she would be better off keeping to herself. She watched him in the darkness, but he seemed content with his trophy and put the dirk back into the top of his boot.

  “No, lass, what I am is a man who will nae see the Highlanders fighting among themselves for any reason. If that means I must steal ye away from a man who welcomed me into his home, I’ll do it.”

  “That much is proven.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  The hard certainty of his dedication to his course sent another wave of despair through her. The chill in the air only added to it. Brina forced her chin to remain level, because it was so tempting to allow the moment to drag her down into hopelessness.

  She refused, clinging to the memory of how little time had truly passed since she had felt Connor’s arms about her. She would have more faith in him, in the feelings that were swirling around inside her for him. Call her insane, she did not care, because love was lodged solidly inside her heart for the man who she had been willing to wed in spite of her life’s expected path.

  She prayed that she got the chance to tell him so.

  ***

  Connor looked at the ground, holding his hand up to stop his men. Something had caught his eye, and he turned his horse about to investigate what it was. Dawn was beginning to turn the horizon pink, which provided enough light for him to make out the scrap of wool fluttering from where it was pinned to the trunk of a tree. The dirk holding it there was marked with the crest of the Cameron clan.

  “Does the bastard want ye to know where he’s heading?” Shawe asked.

  Connor reached out and pulled the dirk free. He stared at the weapon, trying to force himself to think beyond the rage that had been controlling him so far.

  “I think so, but I dinna ken just why.”

  Or how Quinton might think that they could be anything except enemies now. Still, the dirk was something, a message from the man he’d called friend for so long. It cast a new light on the situation, clouding his thinking with confusion.

  “We’ll discover the answer at Holyrood.”

  But there was something else brewing. Connor looked toward Shawe.

  “I’ve something else for ye to do, Shawe.”

  His man looked curious, a few of his more experienced retainers leaning in to catch the conversation.

  “Take some lads and ride off to Robert Chattan. Tell the man that he needs ride for Holyrood.”

  Shawe nodded and pointed at the men he wanted guarding his back.

  Connor turned his horse toward the road once more. He tucked the dirk into his doublet and allowed the stallion its freedom. The animal wasn’t interested in standing still. It surged forward, intent on keeping warm by maintaining a brisk pace. His men flowed around him, their expressions grim and determined.

  Whatever Quinton wanted, Connor was going to make sure the man learned that he had a few demands of his own.

  ***

  Holyrood Palace was a dreary place, especially with ice dripping from its roof. The snow that was pristine white all around them had been ground into a muddy bog outside the grand residence of the royal court. A steady stream of horses and carts fought their way through that bog to make it to the front gate of the palace.

  Not many of those made it through to the inside of the palace yard. Quinton Cameron was one of them. The royal guards stepped back as he and his men approached, allowing them to ride into the inner yard. Quinton continued on to the front steps, where he dismounted and reached up to pull Brina off the back of the horse she felt she had been clinging to for an eternity.

  Every muscle she had ached, and her feet were truly numb now, but not from the chill. Instead they had lost feeling from the pressure that she had used to clasp the horse between her thighs. Tingling shots of sensation began to return now that she was standing up, and along with them came pain.

  Quinton grasped her hands and slid the rope off her wrists while his body kept the line of pages that stood ready to take the horses of those who were admitted into the yard from noticing the bindings.

  “Ye’ll mind me, Brina.”

  “Or what?”

  She was being bold and perhaps foolish to bait the man, but she refused to bow to his will. His eyes were full of determination, and it gave her pause for a moment, because she had admired that same quality in Connor. She was suddenly confused and uncertain what to think.

  “Ye do nae want to know the answer to that question, Brina. Be sure that I can be a dangerous bastard if I have to, but I’d prefer to leave yer handling to Connor.”

  He grunted and began to pull her along through corridors that seemed endless. Servants hustled by, but there was a lack of people dressed in finery as she might have expected to see. Instead she saw men wearing their kilts and wool doublets very much like her father did every day. It was common dress that served well as a buffer against the elements, and only the colors of their plaids were personal.

  “These are my private chambers.”

  The double doors Quinton stopped in front of were guarded by four burly men. Each of them had a sword strapped to his back, but they also held boar spears that were the length of a full-grown man and topped with evil-looking metal spearheads that had one main point and two smaller ones designed to ensure any wound the weapon inflicte
d was a mortal one.

  “Mistress Chattan is nae to leave without my permission, and that means hearing it from my lips.”

  The four of them reached up and tugged on their knit bonnets, but they looked at her, their gazes just as sharp as their spears. Brina could feel them memorizing her features and even her body size.

  One of them reached out and pulled the door open. Quinton took her through it, and she heard it close behind her. The second it did, she struggled violently to escape his grip.

  He released her, and she took a few more steps into the chamber to give herself enough space to feel as though she wasn’t within his reach any longer. When she turned to look back at him, she decided she was only fooling herself, because the man was every bit as strong as those men guarding the door. He was larger too, the sort of stature the English feared from the Highlanders. There was something about her country that bred strength, and Quinton Cameron was a prime example of what an English army dreaded.

  “Behave yerself, Brina Chattan. I didna steal ye to harm ye.”

  Brina bit back the first words that came to mind. The man held every bit of power over her at the moment. He watched her, his eyes narrowing with his consideration.

  “I’ll have a bath brought in for ye since I will nae have ye leaving these rooms.”

  He turned and left without another word.

  Brina sighed and felt relief flowing through her until she turned and noticed the two maids watching. Both servants held their emotions behind stiff expressions, neither looking even a tiny bit shocked to hear that their laird had kidnapped her.

  They lowered themselves when they realized she was looking at them. But once that courtesy was completed, they resumed tending to the fireplace. Gray ash filled it, and one swept it into a copper urn the second one held.

  The chambers were quite nice, really. The one she stood in had windows that opened to overlook a long patch of snow-covered ground. But there were iron screens fitted over them. The iron was formed into delicate designs, but when she placed her fingers on it, she discovered it icy cold.