She was melting, splitting apart. And she wanted the glory, the rightness, to never end.
Then, through the haze, she heard a long, deep rumbling. It was a terrible sound, almost a feral growl. But then Kendrew nuzzled her neck, nipping her ear and grazing her skin with his teeth. And just when he bit hardest, the sweetest, hottest flames swirled across her center, liquid fire spreading deep inside her.
Kendrew’s seed, she knew. It could be nothing else, for he stilled above her, his manhood jerking in his release.
“No return now, my lady.” He peered down at her, his gaze hot, burning.
Isobel lifted a hand to touch his face, not caring if he noticed that her fingers weren’t steady. “I have looked this way for long. I have no wish to turn elsewhere. Most especially now.
“Can it be that Mackintosh men” – she couldn’t keep from smiling – “have one fault among their many proud attributes? Can it be they keep wax in their ears?
“It must be so or you would know I am here to stay.” She curled her hand around his neck, pulling him down for more kisses.
He gave them gladly.
Or so she thought, though she really didn’t know how other men kissed. Nor did she have any wish to learn, wanting only this man and no one else.
“Oh, Kendrew-”
“Kendrew! Love of thunder, man!” a deep voice echoed through the cliff passage. “Hie yourself out here. Now!”
“That’s Grim.” Kendrew leapt to his feet, glancing round as he snatched up Isobel’s clothes and tossed them to her. “Make haste, lass.”
He was already pulling on his boots, yanking on his tunic and then dragging his mail shirt back over his head.
“Something’s happened.” He bent to scoop up his sword belt. “It willnae be good.”
“Kendrew!” Grim called louder, his shout joined by the sound of running footsteps crunching over stone. “Niall’s dead! Two others with him, butchered!”
“Niall?” Isobel stared at him, not recognizing the name.
“My second captain of the guard.” Kendrew shoved a hand through his hair, his voice tight. “He took Grim’s place on patrol so Grim could ride with me to Castle Haven for the dedication ceremony.”
“Dear gods.” Isobel’s heart dipped. Her blood ran hot and cold.
She grabbed her amber necklace, not needing to touch the stones to know they’d sprung to life. The heat pulsing inside them burned her skin.
But it was the horror on Kendrew’s face that terrified her. Looking as if the earth had just opened to swallow them, he seized her hand and pulled her swiftly along the ledge, back toward the gap in the cliff-side.
He didn’t speak, but he kept his free hand on the hilt of his stabbing sword as they ran. She knew he’d grab Blood Drinker as soon as they reached the horses. The urge to kill stood all over him, his Berserker rage breaking loose.
He was also concerned for her.
And that meant…
Before she could finish the thought, Grim burst from passage. His face was ashen, his eyes deeply shadowed as if he’d seen something unspeakable.
“It was at Slag’s Mound.” He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, panting as he stared up at them. “The cairn was split wide and” – he looked like he was going to be ill – “Niall and two other guardsmen were found savaged.”
He paused, breathing hard. “Not much remains of them, but what does is scattered across the rubble.”
“Our men?” Kendrew’s voice was cold, his arm around Isobel’s waist tight as a vise. “Are they riding out? Searching for who did this?”
“The bastards left no trail.” Grim straightened. “But a patrol is looking, aye.”
Isobel rubbed her arms against the cold. The sharp blue of the day was dimming now, the light fading.
Kendrew nodded, not even glancing at her. “Send a man on to Nought.” He spoke directly to Grim, his words damning because Isobel knew what they’d be even before she heard them. “Have him muster my fiercest fighters to escort Lady Isobel back to Castle Haven.”
Grim frowned, glancing from Kendrew to Isobel. The pity in his eyes hurt almost as much as Kendrew’s words.
“I’m sorry, lass.” Kendrew finally turned to her, setting his hands on her shoulders. “It would seem I did err. This is no place for you, after all. Not after this. I cannae allow you to stay here.”
“No-o-o.” Isobel shook her head, feeling the blood leave her face. “Now, especially, you need me here. I am not afraid. You know that. Please…”
But he wasn’t listening.
And his face, as he turned from her, was shuttered.
Then he followed Grim into the cliff-passage, pulling her along behind him.
It was over.
She hadn’t won at all.
And whatever tragedy had happened, she knew in her heart she wouldn’t be able to convince Kendrew that it had nothing to do with them.
* * *
Many heather miles away, in a small but well-appointed room set off Castle Haven’s great hall, James sat in his favorite chair feeding bits of beef rib to his dog, Hector.
The hour wasn’t all that late. And even though the door was closed, he could hear the murmur of voices in the hall. He also caught the sounds of eating and drinking. And, from somewhere, the soft plucking of a lute drifted into his little privy solar. The lute-picker would be his brother, Hugh. Not that it mattered.
What did was that this was his quiet hour.
And he was enjoying the chance to sit alone and ponder names for his soon-to-born son.
Hector helped by twitching an ear if a name held possibilities.
Neither of them considered names for a daughter.
James knew his firstborn child would be a boy.
Pride welling, he stretched his legs to the fire and prepared to test a few more options on his dog. He was just reaching for a bit of beef rib – Hector appreciated a treat for each ear twitch – when the door to his privy solar opened, the din and smoke from the hall rushing in to spoil his quiet evening.
Pushing to his feet, he swung round, ready to order Hugh from the room. His younger brother was the only soul at Haven who felt privileged enough to breach James’ most sacred sanctuary.
But his scolding died on his tongue when he saw the stout and matronly figure of Beathag the cook’s wife, filling the open doorway.
Her already-fearsome face was set as if the worst rainstorm of the century was pouring straight into the hall. And she held a small, thin-shouldered boy by the hand. A kitchen lad who rose each day before cockcrow and crept silently through the castle, taking tallow candles to the bedchambers so that no one need rise in darkness.
The lad’s name was Tam.
And he looked terrified, his eyes round and unblinking.
“Beathag.” James strode past her and shut the door, closing her and the boy in the room with him. “What’s the meaning of this?”
He wasn’t of a mood to tolerate anyone frightening innocent castle bairns. Most especially not the tallow lad, as James held a special fondness for the boy.
So he crossed his arms and frowned at Beathag. “What have you done to the lad?”
Tam looked at the floor, avoiding James’ eyes.
Beathag huffed, swelling her formidable chest. “It’s glad you’ll be that I’ve brought him here – once you’ve heard his news.”
“His news?” James looked between them, puzzling.
“So I said, just.” Beathag gripped the boy’s chin, lifting his face. “Tell the laird what you saw, Tam.” The softening of her tone saved her a later reprimand from James. “Tell him just as you did me, in the kitchens.”
“He’ll be mad, he will.” Tam wriggled free of her grasp. Looking down again, he shuffled his feet in the floor rushes. “I wasn’t supposed to be up on the moors. And now I wish-”
“Speak, Tam.” James dropped to one knee before the boy, set a hand on his shoulder. “What’s this about?”
“The
re’s bad men about, there is.” Tam lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder as if he feared someone would leap at him from the shadows. “I saw them up on the moor when I was- … when I went to see if I could find the Makers of Dreams. I know no one ought to be pestering them, but I wanted to see Rannoch, the white stag everyone talks about.
“But then” – he turned back to James, rushing the words – “I got lost and that’s when I saw the men. They were MacNabs and they-”
“MacNabs?” James angled his head, frowning. “They hardly leave their own glen, lad. They have nothing to seek hereabouts and” – he paused as Hector shuffled between them to lean against Tam, as if the old dog knew the boy was frightened and needed a friend – “that whole clan know better than to cause trouble here or anywhere.
“Their laird is an old, feeble man.” That was true enough, James knew. “His sons are no threat, some ailing. They aren’t fighters. Most of them wouldn’t know a sword from a candlestick. They’ve raided us in years past, aye, taking a stray cattle beast or snatching fish from the MacDonalds’ loch.
“But now…” James made sure his tone was reassuring. “They run from danger these days. They ne’er bring it, I promise you.”
“They’re still bad men.” Tam curled a hand in Hector’s fur, adamant. “I know what I saw.”
“And what was that?” James tried to be patient.
“They were big men, sir.”
“Most Highland men are. Someday you will be, too.” James gave the boy’s shoulder a gentle clap. “A few years and you’ll be taller than me.”
But Tam only shook his head, clearly frightened. “They weren’t just big, sir. They were laughing and drinking as they crossed the moor. And-… and-” – he took a great, shuddering breath – “their plaids were bloodied. It was shiny, fresh blood that was all o’er them.”
“Ah…” James stood, understanding at last.
“Then they might well have been MacNabs, aye.” He was suddenly sure of it. “Like as not, their larders are empty and they came here to poach. Our glen is richer in game than the rocky hills of their own Duncreag.”
“They weren’t here to hunt, sir.” Tam shook his head. “They were doing bad things.”
Something about the fear in the boy’s eyes finally reached James as well.
His heart began a slow, wary thumping and the fine hairs on his nape lifted. “What makes you say that, Tam? Tell me true, for I need to know.”
Tam swallowed, looking miserable.
Then he took a deep breath and spoke. “They were carrying heads, sir.”
“Heads?” James stared at the boy, horror sluicing him.
“That’s what I saw, sir.” He nodded briskly. “One of the men had three men’s heads. And he was carrying them by the beards.”
James felt the floor tilt beneath his feet, one truth hitting him like a steel-shod fist in the gut: Men of the vilest order were in the glen.
And his sister wasn’t in the safety of Castle Haven’s walls.
But she was with Kendrew Mackintosh.
For the first time in his life, James thanked the saints that Kendrew was such a fierce, ax-swinging bastard. He wouldn’t let any harm come to Isobel.
But what in God’s name had happened to the peace in the glen?
Something needed to be done, and swiftly.
Chapter 18
“I do not send you away lightly, my lady.” Kendrew’s tone was terse, his words sending little ripples of shock through Isobel.
“Then don’t.” She glanced at him as they rode across the rough terrain just beginning to narrow into the high-walled vale of the dreagans.
“You know I must.” He edged his horse closer to hers, the regret in his eyes making her heart quake. She couldn’t tell if his troubled gaze held remorse that he was ending their relationship or guilt that he’d allowed it to even begin. Either way, the look on his face boded ill.
Dark clouds might have swooped down from the heavens, shuttering his thoughts from her.
Gone was the man who’d surveyed the glories of his lofty, windswept world and then pulled her into his arms on the ledge at Dreagan Falls, kissing her so deeply and with such fervent possession. Even his wildness had fled, leaving no hint of the bold warrior who boasted of his Berserker blood and was known to brag that one good fighting man was better than a hundred fine-spoken courtiers.
What remained was a man turned to stone.
His face was hard, as grim-set as the towering granite peaks already closing in on them, blotting the day’s sun.
“This can be an ill-favored place, lady.” He glanced at the sky where, unlike the clear blue at Dreagan Falls, angry gray clouds were now blowing in from the west, bringing colder wind and the smell of rain. “I should’ve known it was folly to bring you here.
“Nought is showing you its worst side.” His blue eyes glinted, challenging her to deny it.
She did, gladly. “The attack on your men had nothing to do with Nought. Such an ambush, or whatever it was, could’ve happened anywhere.”
“Anywhere does not concern me.” He guided his horse around the huge lichened boulders that formed the first crude dreagan cairn. “This is my land. And I’ll have no peace until my hands are stained red with the blood of the jackals who slew my guardsmen.”
“You should want vengeance.” Isobel sought to reason with him. “Any Highlander would-”
“And do you know what I’d do if you’d been hurt?” His jaw tightened, his voice turning hard. “Vengeance would be redefined, my lady. Once I found those responsible, I’d flood the ground with so much blood that all the Highlands would be a morass.”
Isobel shivered, sure he spoke true.
That meant he did care for her, and greatly.
She might yet be able to persuade him not to send her back to Haven.
“Stop trying to outwit me.” He kneed his horse even closer, and then reached to grasp her wrist. “I know what you’re thinking and it’ll serve no good purpose. As soon as your escort arrives from Nought, you’re away from this place.” He tightened his grip on her, his gaze locking on hers, bold and fierce. “I’ll tell your brother I’ll steal all his cattle and harry his territory for the rest of my days if he e’er allows you to set foot on Nought land again.”
The threat made, he released her, his face as cold as a stranger’s. “We’re almost at the cairn. I’d warn you to brace yourself.
“Better yet” – he narrowed his eyes at her – “dinnae look at all.”
Isobel bristled. “I have seen dead men before.”
Kendrew didn’t reply, the muscle jerking in his cheek answer enough.
They’d arrived at what was left of great cairn Isobel remembered from the revels. Only the horror before them was nothing like her memory of this place. What she saw now set her world to reeling.
“Mercy…” Isobel clapped a hand to her mouth, her stomach roiling.
She’d always believed a woman learned how strong she was only when put to the test.
Slag’s Mound now proved hers.
Drawing rein before the damaged cairn, she slipped down from the saddle, hoping that Kendrew couldn’t see how badly she quaked inside. She also didn’t avert her gaze from the grisly sight before her.
Now more than ever, Kendrew needed to see her mettle.
She hoped it wouldn’t fail her.
Already she needed the iron-hard resolve of all her Viking forebears to keep from dropping to her knees before the torn and bloodied remains of Kendrew’s three guardsmen. The slaughter was terrible, much worse than Grim’s accounting. Even the carnage of last year’s trial by combat couldn’t compare to this sullied place.
“Sons of Valkyries.” Kendrew had his ax in his hands, holding the huge-bladed weapon as if it weighed nothing. He started pacing, slapping the ax-haft against his left palm as he moved about the destruction.
His mouth was a hard, tight line. And a deep red flush now stained his face, fury rolling off
him, his outrage almost crackling the air.
Isobel understood.
These men hadn’t just suffered cuts and slashes as if set upon by men wielding swords, spears, or axes. Battle wounds were common in the Highlands. They were much too common to her way of thinking. There was nothing common about what happened to these men. They’d suffered atrocities. They’d been squashed and ripped asunder.
“Turn your back, Isobel.” Kendrew was striding back to her, stepping before her to block her view.
His eyes blazed, though she knew his fury wasn’t directed at her. “I told you no’ to look.”
“How can I not?” She held his gaze, not flinching.
His tone put her back up. Even more cold and distant than on the ride here, the chill in his voice raised an invisible barrier between them. It also scared her, unsettling her more than any sword-swinging marauder could.
He’d clearly dismissed her, already shutting her out of his life.
As if he knew she was about to rebel, he took a step toward her. He reached for her and then swore beneath his breath when she sidestepped him. “See here, Lady-”
“You must be speaking to a lady I do not see.” She lifted her chin, glaring at him. “I never turn my back.”
She wasn’t about to now.
I don’t run away either. She let her eyes flash those words, not wanting to push him too far.
His gaze narrowed dangerously. “In this, you will do as I say.” He was on her in two strides, turning her swiftly to face the horses. “Stay here and dinnae give me reason to come back and argue with you.”
“I am not yet your wife.” Isobel turned right back around.
“You are as good as such.” He scowled at her, his gaze flicking to the silver warrior ring on her finger. Then he wheeled about and strode over to his men. They stood in a small knot, speaking in low voices, near the edge of the wide-scattered rubble.
Only then, when he could no longer see her, did she take a long, steadying breath.
His glance at her ring gave her hope. He still thought of her as his betrothed.
But the horror here was great. And so severe that he wished her gone. In truth, she didn’t know any man who would act otherwise, given the circumstances. Yet she knew with a woman’s instinct that if she allowed him to send her away, he’d never let her return to him.
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2) Page 27
