by Nicole Locke
For her, the assaulting rain taunted and reminded her. He was Colquhoun. Arrogant. She hated him. Must hate him. But he held her hand, radiating his warmth and strength. The contact was enough to keep her body tethered to him, and her errant thoughts were swept easily away with the rising wind.
The horizon changed, and darkened into hills. Walking faster, tugging the reins of the horse, until it bucked, Caird didn’t miss a step. He held a tension that was palatable even in the little visibility offered her. He knew where he was going. When he released her hand to pick up branches, and she wiped the hair from her face, she saw it: a cave.
When they reached it, he tossed the wood on the floor of the cave. It was dark, but dry and he pulled the horse in.
‘I need to care for the horse,’ he said, his eyes searching hers. He’d care for the horse, then come for her.
She understood, nodding at the inevitability and giving her acceptance before she turned away.
The cave was large, but too small for what had occurred to her. She had to move and the only direction was further into the cave. It was darker, but the entrance was wide enough to see a little, until she turned a curve and blackness engulfed her.
She made a sound and listened to the faint echo. Her body trembled from cold and Caird’s touch. If she didn’t find dry wood here, there would be no fire. It was still day, but unless the rain let up—
Her left foot hit a boulder and she fell. The jolt stunned her until she felt the slight pain of scrapes on her hands and knees.
The cave floor was wet, slimy and she wiped her hands against her gown, but they soaked up the cave floor and she felt the smear spread with the dirt.
It was wet here, but the entrance of the cave was dry. Suddenly embarrassed that she’d slipped in animal leavings, she groaned. At least she smelled no dung or urine, just an earthy smell. Since the rain still fell, she could walk outside and clean herself.
She used the boulder to push herself up and screamed.
Chapter Seventeen
Caird dropped the bridle. Never in his life had he heard such a sound. Petrified anguish. Sharp, quick and then nothing. It took not even two full breaths to reach her.
Utter silence amplified the dark. He shouldn’t have known where she was, but she was sitting and flinging her hands like she was throwing debris. Her movements, like a wild animal with its leg in a trap, were noticeable even in the dim light. Her gown bloomed voluminously around her, and it was heavy when he picked her up.
Something was wrong. It was then he saw it. A man lying on his side. Mairead was still flinging—blood—from her hands. Swiftly, he carried her outside.
Rain fell, but the wind no longer lashed it down. So he saw the blood saturating her gown, running in rivulets across her arms, hands, legs, her face.
‘Look at me!’ he ordered.
Her hands still shaking, she didn’t acknowledge him.
‘Mairead!’
Pain ripped at his chest, but his arms refused to let her go and the blood ran over him as well. Her trembles turned violent before her eyes locked with his. The anguished fear of her scream was nothing compared to what he saw in her eyes.
He tightened his hold and talked low, soothing, trying to reach her. He knew what he said didn’t make sense, his mind on the blood still wet, the kill recent, the murderer nearby.
When her eyes lost their confusion, he reluctantly let her go. He stepped back to prevent himself from brushing her hair out of her face, and sweeping the remaining blood from her arms.
Her eyes focused, her trembles lessening, but he didn’t want to leave her.
Yet, he had to. He needed to confirm who lay in the cave. The danger to them both was near. Something of his hesitation registered with her.
‘Go,’ she said and her voice was stronger than the paleness of her face and the tremors in her hands.
It was enough. Caird ran to the darkness of the cave. Soon, he would have answers.
* * *
Mairead continued to walk from the cave, not far, just enough. Most of the blood had washed away except for that on her gown, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that.
She felt too raw, too open. Layers of trembles coursed through her.
The first trembles were those from Caird, the wanting and the denial.
Then when she fell, her body a jumble. More trembles so that it took longer to realise what had happened to her; what she sat in...what she touched.
Her scream had been wrenched from her before her mind had come to its own conclusions. Her shuddering body determined to go in one direction, while her mind, just as determined, to go the other.
But now her trembles eased, just like the rain. Until she fully comprehended what had happened in the cave and to her and her family. While the diminishing rain washed the rest of blood from her, she knew that it could not wipe away the torment she had lived through these past few days. Her nightmare needed to be over.
Unfortunately, she also knew when Caird saw who was in the cave, her nightmare would be worse.
Blood on his hands and sleeves, Caird emerged from the cave, strode to his horse, and pulled on the pouch carrying the dagger and gem still strapped to the saddle.
Wrapping the belt and pouch around his waist, he roiled with anger and disgust at himself. It was then Mairead turned to face him. Even from this distance, he could tell she was different. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her chin lifted. Her sodden clothes and hair looked ominous against the brightening skies and rays of light now shafting through the still-dark clouds.
It hadn’t taken him long to realise who was in the cave. It hadn’t taken him long to remember his true duty.
How could he be so foolish? How could he have forgotten why he was here?
With the thief dead, Mairead and her brother were the only two people who could give him answers. Two Buchanans.
He’d done exactly what Malcolm had feared. He’d become too involved with a woman, had forgotten the importance of the jewel. Forgotten she was a Buchanan. A lying, no-good, deceiving—
No, he hadn’t forgotten. He just thought she might be different.
But even if Mairead was different from her clan, she could be lying to protect someone else. He knew she kept a secret and the jewel was too valuable for any secrets.
His anger eased enough for him to think clearly.
Too much had happened between them since he’d left Malcolm and his cousins. He needed to understand, to get more answers.
But to do that he had to plan and, as he walked nearer to her, he did. He wanted to take advantage of Mairead’s vulnerability, but he saw none of that now and he quickly changed his strategy. Directness was needed and he felt relief with that. He had no stomach for subterfuge and he would not be the foolish Colquhoun.
‘Your friend is dead,’ he said calmly, never letting his gaze drift from her. To press his advantage, he needed to catch her every reaction. Buchanans were liars and this one might be the most deceitful.
‘So it was the thief.’ Her lips pressed tightly together. ‘He wasn’t a friend,’ she said, ‘but you already knew that.’
‘I know nothing.’
‘You’d know a great deal if you’d only believe the truth.’
‘From a Buchanan?’
‘Are we back to clan names, Colquhoun?’ She stepped nearer to him, a certain boldness in her stance and eyes. ‘Even after—’ she pointed ‘—the river?’
He hadn’t felt shame in years and he forced himself not to feel any now. He had spent too much time with her. Had got too close, had wanted her too much. The more fool he. ‘The river changes nothing.’
Something flashed in her eyes, anger, hurt, he didn’t know. But he felt it all the same. Had she felt something as he had or had seduction been o
ne of her ploys? He couldn’t know. He carried perhaps the most valuable weapon in the war they waged. He could make no assumptions. The stakes were too high.
‘Who is that man in the cave?’ he demanded. ‘Why was he here and not heading to the wedding?’
‘Why would I know any of that?’ she retorted.
He was a fool. The thief shouldn’t have been in the cave. Back at the inn, the only plan was to head north to the Graham clan. To follow the jewel, the thief should have been headed there. It made no sense the thief travelled towards Buchanan land. Unless...unless Buchanans were involved.
Had Mairead been partnered with the thief?
‘You know more than you say,’ he answered. ‘I demand the truth from you.’
Mairead had darkened after the rain, but there was something more. Something burning dark inside her.
Did she mean to fight him in truth? Laughable. Entire countries would war over this. No woman could stop what was happening all around them. The truth must be revealed and actions justified.
‘If you will not believe what I say, there’s nae point answering,’ she said with derision.
He felt a sudden urge to intimidate her. Images of Dunbar, of Malcolm fallen, his wound open, the birds already circling. Already picking at the men who could not rise. His brother, among them.
If he had to frighten a mere slip of a woman, to make her think he’d harm her, he would. He’d use anything to his advantage, leave nothing to chance.
She merely lifted her chin, keeping her eyes on him. Unafraid.
‘Who was the dagger going to?’ he demanded.
She quirked her eyebrow. ‘Another direct question? And you’re using multiple sentences. These answers must mean something to you.’
‘Nae stalling. Nae games.’
‘I agree,’ she said, easing her stance. ‘But then I haven’t been playing at anything.’ She turned from him, making a complete circle, showing the curves of her body through the soaked and torn gown. Was that intentional? He didn’t think so, but he noticed anyway and his damned body reacted.
‘You play,’ he said, his voice hoarse with anger too long restrained. ‘Too much has happened since you arrived,’ he said.
She laughed, harsh and quick. ‘Why, because that man’s dead?’
He didn’t answer her. The wind was drying her hair and the tendrils lifted. He took another step closer, barely restraining himself as her hair waved towards him. It threatened to ensnare him.
‘You couldn’t believe I had a hand in it,’ she whispered. ‘Do you think... Do you believe...this was all some clever plan?’
‘You said the dagger was yours. That thief was near Buchanan land.’
‘You think I’m capable of murder.’ Her voice tightened, momentarily displaying her emotion.
He had hurt her. Good. He needed her vulnerability. He needed to break her down before she did him. He held tight to his silence, which came at a cost for him now.
Mairead stared incredulously at Caird. What was wrong with this man? Huge, indomitable. A mountain she must remove! Her family were only a day away and a dead man in a cave was keeping her from them.
A dead man. Like her brother. Dead, and his presence was crushing her. She had no doubt the man who had killed her brother had also killed the thief.
Caird thought she lied to him and she did. Why not? He didn’t deserve the truth and it shouldn’t matter to him that her brother was dead.
But because she concealed her most private pain, Caird thought her capable of murder?
Avoiding his accusation and the hurt, she looked around him. The now shining sun gave no comfort when she was more embroiled in this nightmare.
The thief had been recently killed and the murderer could be nearby. But perhaps the company of a murderer was more agreeable than that of a Colquhoun. She squashed the hysterical laugh bubbling inside her. She needed this done.
‘You know what the irony is?’ she asked. ‘I’m actually telling the truth.’ She took a step towards him and poked his chest. The slight deepening of his frown gave her great pleasure. ‘Whereas you, I’m sure, are not.’
His eyes roamed to her tangled hair. She pushed it impatiently away and he pulled his gaze to hers. ‘Colquhouns doona lie.’
‘Now that was evasive,’ she replied, her frustration only increasing. Because she knew. Absolutely knew he was not telling her the complete truth. ‘And it was a lie.’
She poked his chest again. ‘You lie with your quiet, your silence, your steadfast arrogance in thinking everything will go your way.’
‘It must,’ he ground out.
She waved her hands in frustration. ‘Why? Because you say so. Ach, I’ll tell you right now that a compromise must happen.’
‘Nae.’
‘Aye!’ she almost shouted. ‘Aye, again. For what else are you to do? Drag me around Scotland, and for what reason? I gave you what you want. Yet you reveal nothing!’
Stony silence.
Tears threatened and still he loomed over her. What if the murderer wasn’t here? What if he knew she had been with her brother that day and he was waiting for her at home? Her family might already be dead, their blood spilling out along the ground.
Grief and anger were overwhelming her. ‘Why does this matter to you? Just let me out of—’ she indicated the space between them ‘—this madness!’
Silence again, while she choked on her emotions. She wanted him gone. ‘The dagger and gem are all yours,’ she bit out through her teeth. ‘I know nothing more about them!’
‘But your brother might—’
She screamed. One long agonised and frustrated scream that ended in hysterical laughter. She didn’t even try to hold back the welcome release.
‘You jest,’ she declared. ‘Because my brother is dead.’
The ground suddenly left his feet. Caird stood free-falling as his veins turned to ice, then to fire and back again. The woman before him was mad.
‘What did you say?’
Chapter Eighteen
‘She said her brother is dead.’ A man emerged from behind a tree. ‘And now, so are you.’
Caird freed his sword, but it didn’t take the noise of the others emerging from the trees to know they were outnumbered and trapped.
It only took the tiny sound from Mairead, her pressing close to him and taking the small blade from his boot.
He turned around. Seven men, including the one in front of him. He was small and grey streaked his pale hair. There was something shrivelled about him, despite his fleshy jowls and the feverish look in his protuberant vengeful eyes.
‘You can try, Englishman,’ Caird scoffed.
Seven men. He’d done it before. Not all at once, though, and not with a woman to protect.
The Englishman smirked. ‘I will do more than try, Caird of Clan Colquhoun. I will succeed. As I always do.’
‘Not today.’
The man stepped forward. ‘You are a mere delay.’
Caird felt Mairead shift her feet as if readying to fight. Whatever lack of trust between them, Mairead’s brave response indicated she wasn’t in partnership with these men.
Which was no comfort now. It only meant she needed to be hidden and somewhere they couldn’t find her. She needed to be anywhere but here.
Mairead recognised the Englishman. Too late, far too late, but she remembered now. Intent on Ailbert selling the dagger, she’d been barely aware of the people in the market around him.
Walking to the stall, even her brother hadn’t noticed the two men approach him. Then there had been a flash of steel, an arm thrusting forward, her brother collapsing to the ground. The other man, the thief, was slow to react, eventually grabbing the jewelled dagger and putting it under his cloak.
Why
hadn’t she remembered there had been two of them? Or the thief’s hesitation? There was only one reason for the hesitation. The killer, this Englishman, had deviated from a plan.
Which meant there was a plot, and this was not a random taking of a valuable.
As if she could doubt that now, surrounded as they were. She had been so afraid of her family being trapped she had never considered herself.
Maybe it was because she wasn’t like her giggling sisters. This man had killed her brother and she wasn’t backing down. Her only regret now was that Caird faced the man, while she faced his accompanying soldiers, but for once she’d have patience.
‘A delay from what?’ Caird demanded.
The man gave a disapproving tut. ‘You wouldn’t disappoint me now, would you? Pretending you don’t know anything. Such a shame as you’ve been clever so far.’
The men shifted. Were they following silent orders? She kept her eyes on them.
The man’s voice cajoled. ‘Come, you found my man, acquired the woman, but started towards your cousins’ lands as if you were to continue to the games? Brilliant. Truly, I admired you for the deceit.’
‘I doona ken your meaning, Englishman,’ Caird answered.
‘Your sword’s drawn. You understand enough.’
Caird was silent.
‘Or maybe not, eh?’ The man laughed. ‘Come, then, hand it over and I’ll make your deaths quick.’
‘Nae.’
‘No?’ Movement to Mairead’s left alerted her to the Englishman shifting. She could just see him out of the corner of her eye. Caird did not move. Was he allowing her to see or was it a tactic?
‘You disappointed me when you separated from your cousins and brother,’ the Englishman said, shaking his head. ‘I almost wished you’d left it with one of them, but I knew you wouldn’t.’
The man’s lips curved. ‘I can see your surprise. Even you must know there’s too much at stake.’
The man circled around until he stood in front of Mairead. She felt Caird tense as the men around them circled as well.
