Gareth shot a cold stare in the direction of the speaker, then shrugged off his comment as being unworthy of a response. The shabby old stranger was probably just another of the MacAlpin clan. Gareth’s voice rose. “I call on all men of goodwill, be they MacKenzie or MacAlpin clan. It is time to show the Highland Barbarian, Brice Campbell, that he can no longer murder our young and helpless and then hide in the forests yonder. He captured your leader, Meredith MacAlpin, and holds her captive in his Highland fortress. Who knows what unspeakable things are being done to her this very day.”
Out of the corner of his eye the old man saw the two lasses tighten their grips on each other’s hands. Neither made a sound. Neither showed any sign of emotion, except for a tightening of their mouths.
In the corner of the room a woman began sobbing.
Still other women gasped before turning into their men’s arms and crying silently.
Gareth waited, judging the mood of the crowd. With a voice of triumph he shouted, “And Brice Campbell has murdered another MacAlpin. What say you?” Gareth looked around as a hush fell upon the crowd. “Who will join me in putting an end to his reign of terror?”
For a moment there was only silence. Every man here was aware of the reputation of the man they called the Highland Barbarian. There were none eager to risk their lives at the end of his sword. Still, the sight of the young lad in the casket and his grieving family left them too outraged to dwell on the risk.
“With enough force, we can storm Campbell’s fortress and save the woman who was to wed my brother. With Meredith MacAlpin at my side, I vow to unite the Border clans and stand against any attack.”
The room was rocked with shouts and calls as the men hurried forward to shake Gareth’s hand and offer their arms.
“In the days to come,” Gareth shouted above the din, “I will raise up an army of men. And we will ride to the Highlands and rid ourselves of this scum.”
“Aye. Here’s to the death of Brice Campbell.” Fists were raised in a salute as the men, their blood hot for revenge, surged forward.
“And just to tempt you further,” Gareth MacKenzie shouted, “I will offer a price of one hundred pounds sterling to any man who brings me the body of Brice Campbell.”
While the rooms of the manor house rocked with the fury of the crowd, the shabby old man nodded to several others before making his way slowly from the house. In the lane he continued hobbling until he came to a stand of trees. He glanced around, and seeing no one behind him, stepped into the shelter offered by the trees. Several horsemen greeted him. He pulled off the shabby cloak, and with an agility that belied his stooped appearance, pulled himself into the saddle.
“Well, Brice,” one of the men said softly. “What news have you?”
He nodded to the others who had accompanied him to the house. Once they reached the safety of the trees they also shed their shabby cloaks and pulled themselves onto their waiting horses.
Brice’s tone was as grim as their faces. “By all accounts I have lived up to the name these Borderers have given me.”
His eyes narrowed fractionally. “I have just discovered that on the very day I was dancing with the queen, I was also here in the Lowlands murdering young William MacAlpin.”
“That is an amazing feat even for a Highland warrior,” one of the men said with a laugh.
“Aye.” Brice’s eyes narrowed as he added, “And Gareth MacKenzie has put a price on my head. One hundred pounds sterling for any man who brings me to him. Alive or dead.”
“MacKenzie,” Angus spat. “Come, Brice. Let us kill him now.”
“Nay, friend.” Brice turned his mount and motioned for the others to follow. “Already he surrounds himself with too many men. Think of your women and children waiting for you in the Highlands. Within days there will be dozens of men riding through the forests hoping to cut down anything that moves.”
“What will we do now?”
Brice slowed his horse until Angus caught up with him. As they rode side by side Brice murmured, “We will do what our ancestors have done for centuries, old friend. We will take up arms and fight anyone foolish enough to dare to enter our Highland forests.”
“And what of our families?”
“They remain at our sides,” Brice said. “We will bring them inside the protective walls of Kinloch House. And there they will stay until the siege is over.”
“And the lass, Meredith MacAlpin?”
A little muscle worked in the side of Brice’s jaw as he urged his mount ahead. Aye, he thought. What to do about Meredith? If he were to return her to her people, she would prove the lie that Gareth MacKenzie had spread. That could, once and for all time, clear his good name. But it would be impossible for him to remain with her forever. And left at the mercy of Gareth MacKenzie she would soon be conveniently murdered, as the others had been.
But, Brice reasoned, if he kept her with him, she would be forced into a life of hardship and deprivation while the invaders were repulsed. Yet for now, he could think of no other solution.
Over his shoulder he called, “The woman stays with me at Kinloch House.”
~ ~ ~
“Oh, my lady. This is far too grand for me to wear.” Mistress Snow studied her reflection in the looking glass. “I look like the lady of the manor.”
“And well you should.” Meredith stood beside her, proud of her accomplishment.
It was Brenna, the sister who was younger by a year, who sewed the finest seams. And it had always been Brenna who could add a bit of ribbon or lace and make the plainest gown look splendid.
Meredith had taken great pains with this task. And it had served its purpose well. The long hours alone in Brice’s chambers had passed far easier than she had expected. And when she wasn’t sewing she was visiting with the servants. She had learned the names of all of them, as well as their family histories.
Like a shadow, young Jamie had been constantly at her side, watching, listening. And though he felt strangely disloyal to his idol, Brice, he found himself becoming enchanted with the beautiful young woman who was being held prisoner in their home.
“I think,” Mistress Snow said, interrupting Jamie’s musings, “that I should take back the simple gown I loaned you, and give you this one.”
“And I think,” Meredith said with a smile, “that Angus Gordon will not be able to stay away from the scullery when he sees you in this.”
“Oh, my lady.” The young widow blushed furiously before burying her face in her hands.
Jamie stifled a giggle. He had repeated a litany of gossip during the days that he and Meredith had spent together. Apparently the lady had paid more attention than he’d thought.
They all looked up when they heard the clatter of horses’ hooves entering the courtyard.
“The men have returned.” Mistress Snow raced to the door, then seemed to remember her position. Holding the door for Meredith and Jamie, she followed them down the stairs.
Men and horses milled about in mass confusion. Many of the men stood in a circle, listening intently as Brice spoke in low tones. Others trudged to the storehouse and began carrying an assortment of supplies toward the main door of the castle. As Meredith watched, the circle of men broke up. Most of the men mounted and rode away, while others joined the group carrying supplies.
Brice spoke quietly to Angus and another man, then looked up to see Meredith standing in the doorway with her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. For long moments their gazes met and held.
It was strange to see this woman, his captive, standing protectively beside the boy he loved more than his own life. Strange and—pleasant.
Meredith felt the hypnotic pull of his gaze and couldn’t stop the tremors that coursed along her spine. How odd that the man she wished to escape from was also the man who could cause such wild stirrings deep within her.
Brice said something more to Angus, then strode impatiently toward her.
She studied his grim features and waited for him to sp
eak. Instead, he stopped before her without a word, then called out orders to the men in the courtyard.
It was vexing to be ignored in this fashion. In a snappish tone she asked, “Have you extracted your revenge?”
He shook his head and turned to speak to one of his men.
“Then what news do you bring? Am I to be returned to my home?”
He turned toward her but kept his gaze on the procession of men and arms. “Jamie,” he said in a patient tone, “go and help the men carry supplies to the main house.”
“Aye.” Jamie gave Brice a long, questioning look before turning away.
“As for you, my lady,” Brice said, still watching the progress of the men, “I fear it will be a long time before you see home and family again.”
Meredith swallowed down the knot of fear that leaped to her throat. “What are you saying?”
“We will soon be under siege, my lady. These forests will be teeming with men bent upon my destruction.”
She felt a flare of hope. “Gareth MacKenzie? He comes for me?”
“Nay, my lady.” Brice turned and met her gaze squarely. “He comes for me.”
“Surely Gareth MacKenzie would not be fool enough to bring his men into the Highland forests where they would be outnumbered.”
“He and his men do not come alone. They bring the MacAlpin clan with them.”
She brought her hands to her hips in a fit of outrage. “My people do not fight in the Highlands. They understand the folly of it.”
“They fight when they are persuaded that the life of their leader is threatened.”
“You have threatened my life?”
“Nay. But your people believe I have. And,” he added tersely, “they agreed to fight when the grandson of Duncan MacAlpin was murdered by the Highland Barbarian.”
“What are you saying?” Her hands balled into fists as she turned on him. “You killed William?”
He caught her fists in his big hands as easily as if they were no more than wispy flowers blowing in the wind. “Nay, my lady. The lad was killed on the very day I was dancing with the queen.”
“I do not understand.”
“The ones who killed young William wanted the murder to be blamed on me.”
“Why? Who would benefit from such a thing?”
“Aye. Who indeed?” He studied her in silence for long minutes. “Did I mention that Gareth MacKenzie has offered one hundred pounds sterling for the Highland Barbarian?”
Several men pushed past them, their arms laden with the supplies of war.
When she continued staring at Brice in openmouthed surprise, he said softly, “It could mean that Gareth MacKenzie is so incensed by the death of one of the MacAlpins that he would lead his own men into certain danger.” His lips curved into a smile, but his eyes, she noted, were dark and unfathomable. “Or it could mean that Gareth MacKenzie hopes to silence the Highland Barbarian before the truth can be revealed.”
“It could also mean that Gareth is determined to avenge the senseless murder of his brother.”
Without a word in his defense Brice swung away and strode toward the storehouse.
While she watched the frantic preparations for war, Meredith felt a growing sense of dread. This feud was growing into something far more dangerous than vengeance. Someone was going to a great deal of trouble to ruin Brice Campbell’s reputation. Someone who would stop at nothing, even the murder of the young and helpless.
Young William. She felt as if a knife had pierced her heart. She had watched the tenderness between Duncan and Mary and their young grandson. His death would be a heavy burden.
And what of her people? They were being dragged into a war not of their making. If they were persuaded to leave their homes and follow Gareth MacKenzie, they left their own families open to attack by the English across their border. They lacked strong leadership. And all because she’d had the misfortune of being captured by the Highland Barbarian.
Chapter Nine
“I can handle a broadsword, Brice.”
Meredith looked up at the sound of Jamie’s pleading voice.
“Nay. I’ll not allow it.” Brice grasped the weapon, yanking it fiercely from the lad’s hands. “’Tis not fit for close combat. It takes two hands to wield, leaving no protection of a shield. Besides, I expect you to play the pipes when I give the command.”
“Bagpipes.” The lad’s face mirrored his disgust. “That is a task for children and old men.”
“Is it now?” Brice crossed the room and ran a hand lovingly over the bagpipes resting on the mantel above the fireplace. “When I was no younger than you my father ordered me to play these when we were attacked by the powerful Murray clan. When I saw him about to be attacked from behind by Cedric Murray, I dropped the pipes and reached for my sword. But my father ordered me to continue playing. He said it was what gave him the strength to go on.”
It was plain to Meredith that Jamie felt a thrill of pride at being compared with Brice.
“But how could you play while all around you men were dying?”
“I did what my father commanded,” Brice said simply. “I knew that it meant more to him to hear the sound of the pipes than to hear the sound of his son’s clumsy attempts at a man’s work.” His voice lowered with feeling. “He knew there would be time enough for that.”
“But what if I am attacked?”
“Here.” Brice handed the youth a small, deadly dirk. “When fighting a man within these walls, this is your best weapon.”
“What about this?” Meredith asked.
Two heads turned toward her. Both faces held puzzled frowns. She was standing in the doorway holding one of Brice’s swords in a menacing fashion.
Brice walked toward her until he was the blade’s length from her. “It is never wise to take up a weapon unless you know how to use it.”
“You think I do not know how to defend myself?”
“Stick to women’s work,” he said softly.
“Women’s work.” There was a note of contempt in her voice.
“Aye. Mistress Snow tells all who will listen about your skill with a needle.”
“I made her a gown because she had loaned me hers. But that does not make me less skilled in the ways of battle. I can handle a sword as well as you, Brice Campbell.”
“Can you now?” Without warning he reached out and yanked the weapon from her hand. He sent it crashing to the floor before taking a step closer and facing her. “So much for your skill with a sword.” With a smile he half turned toward Jamie and winked. “How will you defend yourself now, my lady?”
“With this.” With a look of triumph she reached into the waistband of her skirt and removed a small, sharp dagger.
“So. You dare to conceal weapons. When you are within these walls, under my protection, you have no need of such things.”
She gave him a chilling smile. “It would seem that you forgot to tell Holden Mackay.”
Brice flushed. Caught off guard, he advanced toward her.
She lifted the knife in a threatening gesture. “I think you should be warned. I learned such skills at my father’s knee. Though I have no wish to harm you, I will not back away from a fight.”
At the incongruous sight of the small, delicate figure facing down a giant of a man like Brice, Jamie burst into gales of laughter.
“What will you do now, Brice? Do you risk hurting Meredith just to prove you are the stronger, or do you let a Lowland lass bully you with a dirk?”
Brice studied his opponent. She was perfectly composed. There was no hint of fear in her eyes. The hand holding the dagger was steady. About her lips there was the merest hint of a smile.
“So, my lady, do you think, like Jamie, that you have me at a disadvantage?”
Her smile blossomed. “Aye, my lord. I do. I think it is time to persuade you to release me to my people before they reach the Highlands and engage you in battle.”
He moved so quickly she had time only to blink. With on
e hand he caught her wrist and swung her around. Both his arms came around her, crossing her arms beneath her bosom and pinning her to the length of him. The knife slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.
His breath was hot against her temple as he pressed his lips to a tangle of hair and muttered, “Now, my lady, I believe the advantage is mine. We will speak no more of releasing you to Gareth MacKenzie.”
Her breath came out in a hiss of air, and although she struggled, she was held fast.
“It is not Gareth who will claim me. It is my own people.”
His voice was low with anger. “Who are now in league with the MacKenzies.”
“If I am free, my people will follow me.”
“A woman of strength and leadership, of course. As you have often pointed out to me.”
Across the room Jamie laughed and clapped his hands. “Now what say you, Meredith? Do you admit defeat?”
She stopped fighting. The tremors that rocked her had nothing to do with combat. They had everything to do with the man who held her imprisoned in his arms.
“Aye, Jamie.” She lowered her gaze, afraid the lad would see the fire that burned inside her at the nearness of her captor. “Defeat perhaps. But only for the moment.”
Against her temple Brice murmured, “I will settle for even a fleeting moment of victory over you, my lady.” He allowed his lips to linger while he inhaled the soft scent of her. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts and he was startled by the rush of desire caused by even that slight contact.
He was aware of the tension in her and felt a thrill. Could it be that he was the cause of such feelings? Or was the lady merely tense at the thought of the battle yet to come?
With a smile he dropped his hands and stepped away. When she turned to him he gave a slight bow. “I look forward to our next round of combat, my lady.”
Meredith watched as he crossed the room and continued with Jamie as if they’d never been interrupted. How could he be so calm when her heart was near bursting?
She waited a moment longer until her heartbeat returned to normal. Then she stalked from the room, unaware that Brice watched her every movement. But Jamie noted that Brice seemed distracted as he took up the weapons for another lesson in the art of defense. And long after she was gone, Brice stared at the closed door, deep in thought.
Highland Barbarian (Highlander Series) Page 10
