Highlander's Haunted Past (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 1)

by Adamina Young

  “I’m sorry fer earlier. ‘Twas hardly a gentlemanly thing to say, especially to my wife.”

  Rob cheated a sidelong glance. She was smiling again. It wasn’t ear to ear, and barely even visible in the growing darkness, but it was there nonetheless.

  “Ye needn’t pretend not to look at me, Rob. I forgive ye fer what ye said, at least this time.”

  “Thank ye.”

  “Ye’re welcome. I suppose I am sorry fer stomping on yer foot. Ye may have deserved it, but ‘twas hardly ladylike.”

  “No, ‘twas not ladylike, but impressive. It had such a weight to it.”

  They both laughed.

  “Ach.” She grimaced, tenderly shifting her position. “I don’t ken how ye ride up and down those hills day in and out. My legs are about rubbed raw.”

  “Ah, so ye notice how often I ride out?”

  She blushed. “Of course I notice.”

  Rob smiled despite himself.

  “What do ye do about it?” she asked. “To soothe the pain from a day in the saddle, that is.”

  “Well, I can think of one thing.”

  She elbowed him sharply.

  “‘Tis true!” Rob said with a laugh. “Ye’ll learn one day that it can soothe all ills.”

  “Will I?”

  “Oh, aye. One wee little beg and I can show ye the truth of it.”

  Kenna rolled her eyes and shifted again, and this time, he noticed that she had gotten a bit closer to him, their hips now touching ever so slightly. When she looked up at him, he saw her eyes catch on his lips.

  “‘Tis all you think about.”

  “Aye. But only because I find myself with such a bonny wife.”

  “So I should start taking meals with Sutherland, grow big and portly and covered with grease, then ye’d leave me be?”

  “Don’t count on it, lass.”

  “Think I am incapable?” Kenna challenged him with a smirk that dulled his better senses.

  “No, lass, yer stubbornness prevents ye from being incapable of anything.”

  “Then what do I have to do?” she whined. “And if ye say ‘beg’, I’ll push ye into the fire.”

  “A true threat.” Rob laughed. “Well, I hate to disappoint ye, but I don’t think there is anything ye could do. Simply being yerself is enough to keep me close.”

  She turned to him, their gazes colliding like flint hitting steel, creating a spark that was now engulfing them both. There was a softness in those blue eyes, a welcoming that Rob had never seen there. As the space between them started to close, Rob felt his better judgment tugging at him, telling him to stop until he could at least determine which of them was leaning in, but all reason was gone. It no longer had a place here, where their breaths intermingled, twisting their two existences together until it was hard to distinguish where one of them ended, and the other began.

  “Laird Fraser! Sir!”

  Kenna gasped in shock and pulled away, the illusion that they were alone in the world suddenly shattered by bitter reality. And that was reason enough for Rob to commit a murder.

  Two of the Queen’s page boys, trailed by a trio of the Queen’s men, were approaching the fire, stern and humorless as always, though they at least had the sense to finally discard the heavy armor they tended to wear each day.

  Rob jumped to his feet, eager to send them back from whence they came as quickly as possible. “What? What could ye possibly want from me at this hour?”

  “The Queen wishes to break her fast with both ye and yer father before we depart in the morning,” one of the page boys said, putting on his best impression of an adult by sticking his chest out pompously and pointing his nose into the air a few degrees too high.

  “Great. Excellent. We will be there. Is that truly all?”

  “Aye, she will expect ye—”

  Whoosh.

  The arrow passed so close beside Rob that he felt the air rent around it. It thudded so cleanly into one of the guards that it took a moment for any of them to realize what had happened. They all seemed to stare at it for a second, the thin wooden rod extending from the man’s chest as a small red bloom blossomed around it.

  The man looked to him, his eyes alight with confusion before a thin trickle of blood started to ooze from his mouth. One of the pages screamed as the man’s knees finally gave way, his blood already spreading across the ground. The other pair of guards began to yell, calling up an alarm that was immediately responded to by hordes of people shouting and rallying to them from the safety of their fires.

  One of the guards set off in a sprint, his sword glinting in the moonlight as he plunged toward the line of trees from where the arrow had come. A few others were already following him, not a clue where they were headed or who they were headed toward but going all the same. And Rob couldn’t let them go alone.

  Kenna still sat on his plaid, her hand clutched to her chest as she stared at the forest.

  Rob seized her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. “Get to the tent and stay there!”

  She looked at him.

  “Go!”

  “Wait, Rob—”

  “Christ, Kenna, please!”

  He didn’t have time to force her to listen this time, so he simply let her go and ran. Let her set her arguments to the wind, maybe they would catch up with him, but it would be too late for them to mean anything.

  The men in the forest hadn’t gotten far. Each of them had weapons held high, ready to strike them against any enemy that would dare to show itself, but the only thing that seemed to be in the forest were them and their shadows. Rob dashed past them. None of them was the Queen’s guard, the first man to enter the forest along the path of the arrow. If any of them were on the right trail, it would be him.

  He found him deep in the forest, standing in a clearing and panting, his eyes so wide that the whites of them reflected in the moonlight.

  When Rob approached, the man whispered, “I canna see him. He is close, but I canna see him.”

  The two of them stood perfectly still, putting all of their strength and focus into their ears, tuning out the shouts and yells behind them. A larger force was coming closer, likely with torches that would expose the bastard no matter how dark the forest was. He would know that. He would have to run again before then.

  As if on cue, a sudden dark figure made a break across the small clearing and into the thicket beyond. Rob and the Queen’s man took pursuit.

  A speedy fellow he was, with momentum giving him a bit of an advantage, but Rob was fast enough to keep up. Branches tore at his clothes and skin as he cut through the bramble. His eyes concentrated on the dark figure as he cut this way and that through the trees. Rob squinted hard, hoping to at least make out a tartan, but he could hardly even gauge how tall the man was in the dark of the forest. The only evidence that Rob had to prove that he wasn’t chasing a ghost was the sound of leaves crunching under their feet as they ran.

  Rob started to make out landmarks as the chase continued, large stony crags and fallen trees. He had ridden through this landscape only this afternoon with Hugh. He could have passed by the figure, hidden in some bushes, and not even comprehended.

  With a crash, Rob suddenly found himself planted face first in the muck, his feet tangled in a knot of roots jutting up from the ground. By the time he was back on his feet, the assailant was gone without a trace. The crashing of men approaching muffled any noise that the figure may have made as he continued his escape.

  Rob had been led here, over this patch of roots, on purpose. He was sure of it. Why hadn’t he paid more attention that morning? He could have seen it coming. He could have known.

  The Queen’s man, who had fallen far behind Rob, finally caught up, now joined by a larger group of men, some carrying torches and other looking as if they had just been pulled from their beds.

  “Where’d he go?” one of the men asked, a Munro, who had already pulled a knife and appeared ready to strike.

  Rob grimaced, wishi
ng he knew the answer. “I don’t ken. Spread out. He couldna have gotten far.”

  6

  “Wait, Rob, take the bloody torch,” Kenna cried out, but it was no use. He was too far gone and had already decided to close his ears to her. “Damnable fool.”

  “Hold on, man! Hold on!”

  Kenna turned to the guard, ready to do all she could, but one look was all she needed. The wound was fatal, no matter how desperately the page boys pressed their hands against it. The growing puddle of red on the ground just kept expanding like a heavy drop of ink on dry parchment. It would be kinder to let the man die quickly under the stars than to delay the inevitable.

  Will this be Rob?

  Kenna felt a sickness rise through her, an acid that would burn her from the inside out.

  “Lady Fraser!” A hand snatched her elbow, twisting her away from the dying guard. “Yer husband told ye to get to yer tent.”

  “Go after him!” Kenna felt herself beg, her knees growing weak as she tried to shove him away from her.

  “I’m to guard ye,” Murtagh replied with a grunt as he pulled her close again, infecting her nose with the scent of sweat and ale.

  “He canna be alone! He canna end up like this!” Kenna felt her face grow hot as she pulled away once more.

  “Look.” Murtagh shoved her again, forcing her to spin back to the forest where nearly twenty men were already disappearing, some with red Fraser tartan. “There are plenty with the lad. Now to yer tent.”

  A bit of the tension in her shoulders releasing, Kenna nodded her consent and quickly dipped to snatch up Rob’s plaid, holding it close to her as Murtagh pulled her back into the camp.

  Chaos had erupted, a storm of swirling kilts and torches and blades with nothing to break against. Some ran toward the forest, others toward the center of the camp and the Queen’s pavilion, others just ran aimlessly like chickens without heads. Women with pale faces twisted at their skirts. Screams already knocked against their tongues as they waited for an excuse to let them loose.

  Shouts echoed through the rows of tents, calling for the Queen and demanding answers no one could give. How could they? Kenna had been there, and she hardly knew what was happening. How could anyone know?

  With a shove, Murtagh forced Kenna into her tent, telling her to stay low and quiet before disappearing as the flaps fell back into place. Kenna collapsed onto the pile of blankets that Rob had tossed in there haphazardly that evening and pulled his plaid around her, breathing in the smell of pine and whiskey.

  He would come back to her. He always came back to her, even when she didn’t want him to. Any second now, he would come through the flaps of the tent, and the evening would return to its usual rhythm. They would get into some silly argument over nothing. She would do her best to tempt him with little sways and dips while she undressed for bed, catching him staring out of the corner of her eye. She would tell herself that tonight would be the night he would finally cave and take what was his by right of marriage, abandoning his hope that she would be the one to falter. Though his eyes would grow dark and sulky, he wouldn’t touch her. He would just lay beside her and fall asleep while she silently fumed and wondered how long he would compete in this standoff. Yes, that was the evening they would have. Any second now.

  Kenna curled herself into a ball, watching the dance of torchlight rushing this way and that through the pale canvas of the tent. It reminded her of a shadow puppet show that she had seen once when a troop of gypsies had come riding through Inverness. She remembered them like it was yesterday. The women, with big bosoms and loose-fitting blouses with bells tied to their waist and woven into their black hair, had sung them songs and danced fantastic jigs, their feet so light that Kenna had thought they would dance their way up and into the clouds. How she wished that this was all a show.

  The shouts outside were muffled by the tent and the few that were loud enough for her to distinguish revealed nothing but continued confusion and fear. In a way, she was grateful for that. If they were under attack, there would be a purpose to those shouts as men were rallied and lines were formed. There would be clashes of metal and cries of pain.

  It must have been the Earl of Huntly, Kenna finally allowed herself to think. Aye, only a man like that would dare to attack such a large party.

  But then, what a stupid plan it was. Had they known it was her, a member of their clan and family, that was sitting along the arrow’s deadly path? Was it a mere coincidence? A poor happenstance caused by her throwing a tantrum and banishing herself to the very edge of the camp? Whether she had been recognized or not, the plan was still poor.

  If the Earl of Huntly was going to bring the fury of the Queen down upon his men, why not have them fire off a volley? Why kill one guard when you could have killed a handful?

  That, Kenna thought while biting down on her lip in self-inflicted punishment, is probably not the way a lady of Clan Fraser should be thinking.

  But without those thoughts, her mind started to wander back to darker things: the hiss of an arrow; a dead guard collapsing on the ground; Rob, disappearing into the trees, maybe never to return. With a shiver, she returned to her condemnation of the Gordon attack strategy.

  Without realizing it, her senses slipped into the sweet oblivion of sleep, her thoughts casually translating into shadowy dreams filled with flying arrows and a strange golden flash.

  She was pulled back to reality with the heat of a torch. Temporarily blinded, all Kenna could see was a large figure standing at the entrance of the tent.

  “Rob? No, who—”

  “Lady Kenna Fraser?”

  “Aye, but who—”

  “Yer to come with me.”

  “Why?”

  Without another word, the man pulled Kenna to her feet and shoved her mercilessly from the tent. She stumbled forward and onto her knees, feeling a sear of pain in her palms as they collided against the ground in an attempt to catch herself. Unleashing an unyielding current of unladylike words against the brutish hulk of a man, most of which she had learned from her brothers over the years, she struggled to get back to her feet despite the protests of her aching knees.

  The brute just looked at her and smiled as he let the tent flaps fall back behind him.

  “Impressive, now off we go, lass.”

  Murtagh jumped out in front of them, his nose crooked and dripping with blood. “I told ye, the lass is to stay put ‘til her husband returns.”

  “Out of the way.” The brute grunted, a bit of a sigh to his voice as if he was being bothered by a fly instead of a Highland warrior.

  Murtagh sprung at him, fists raised, and for one quick moment, Kenna thought he would win. But the man was too large, and the tables quickly turned, resulting in Murtagh flat on his back with the larger man kneeling over him, fist raised in warning.

  “No! Stop! I’ll go!” Kenna shouted, reaching out to grab the fist before it could descend.

  It was enough. The man backed away from Murtagh, a nasty smile on his face as he grabbed Kenna once more and pulled her away.

  “I’ll tell Rob where ye are,” Murtagh shouted after her as he struggled to his feet and looked to the forest.

  Whether he went or not, Kenna wouldn’t know. There were too many tents, too many people scuttling about with torches and panicked faces for Murtagh to stay in her view for long.

  “My husband is going to be looking fer me. Or my father-in-law, the Laird Lovat,” Kenna said, her heart racing as her mind continued to pull escape plans from every corner of her brain. “At least tell me where we are going, ye great ogre.”

  The morning that she had left Inverness Castle, Rob had granted her a few moments of privacy to bid her siblings goodbye, one by one. John’s and Elizabeth’s had been what she expected: the first blunt and unemotional and the second filled with quiet tears. Thomas, on the other hand, had surprised her.

  “There will be times ye want to say something smart, but keep yer mouth shut like a good lass. They’ll not c
are that ye are a noble lady. They’ll harm ye all the same,” he had told her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her gently, as if that would make his words take hold.

  She had rolled her eyes and told him she would but hadn’t really believed him. Who would hurt her? A valuable hostage to the Queen and the daughter-in-law of such a well-standing laird?

  But this, apparently, was the sort of occasion Thomas had been referring to. And, all the worse, he had been correct in his estimations. The brute of a man took offense to her correct estimation of him, and Kenna hadn’t even seen his hand rise before it blew against her cheek, directly over the bruise that John had inflicted, which was only just healed. Stars flitted across her eyes as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, cursing the “Gordon wench.”

  Kenna had hardly regained herself when she was dropped roughly to the ground in front of a large blue and gold tent that was decorated with the Stuart coat of arms. The Queen’s pavilion.

  “Get up,” the ogre snapped, and Kenna obeyed, not wishing to be thrown about again.

  If she ever needed to keep her wits about her, it was now. Quickly, she smoothed her hair as the ogre opened the flaps and whispered something to the guard just inside of it, who motioned Kenna inside.

  It took a moment for Kenna’s eyes to adjust to the brightness of dozens of candles and torches, which reflected beautifully in the various golden furnishings set here and there. Lords and ladies lined the side of the tent, most pressed up against the sidewalls looking confused, scattered, and a bit terrified of the woman pacing at the pavilion’s center. The Queen was circling a table that was strewn with papers, notes, and maps. Immediately in her wake was a group of advisors, pressing to her heels like goslings chasing after a mother goose. It was the first time that Kenna had seen the Queen disheveled. Her nightgown was covered by a thick silk robe that was finer than anything Kenna had ever owned, but her red curls were in tangles around her face, which was splotchy and pale from a lack of sleep.

  Kenna took the opportunity to view the room, hoping for a familiar face. The Earl of Sutherland, perhaps, or, better yet, a member of her new clan. But none were to be found. The Queen’s maids were the only ones she could name, but she doubted they would come to her aid if she needed it, especially after they had caught Murtagh staring down at them through the trees with a lewd smile while they had bathed earlier that evening.