Highlander Unmasked

by Monica McCarty

  The threat from this side of the trees was gone. They would fight with no one at their back. Their situation was still precarious, but no longer desperate. Here, he could make a stand.

  Knowing that their horses would only impede their movements and make them greater targets in the dense forest, Alex dismounted and ordered the others to do the same, getting them into position and giving them instructions. If he was right, he wouldn’t have long before their attackers came to them. He had what they wanted.

  He was agonizingly aware of Meg, and of the danger to her. But he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it. It would only distract him. And he needed all of his skills right now if they were to survive.

  He looked around, searching for any place for her to hide. But time had run out; he could hear the other attackers moving through the woods toward them.

  “Stay behind the tree,” he said, pointing her in the direction of the largest tree he could see. “Use the horses for a shield if you must.”

  “But Alex—”

  He could hear the tremble in her voice. “Don’t worry, sweet. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

  Alex hadn’t trusted himself to look at her, but he did so now. Her face was drawn and pale, and her beautiful eyes loomed large in her heart-shaped face. She was worried about him. Something inside him swelled. Instinctively, he reached down and cupped her chin, brushing his mouth across hers, ignoring the sharp twinge in his chest. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Go.”

  He hated letting her go, hated separating from her, but there was no other choice.

  He gestured to the men to be ready. Raising his sword high above his head, Alex let out a savage cry—“Hold fast!”—the battle cry of the MacLeods. The guardsmen followed his lead as the attackers came crashing through the trees.

  There were more ruffians than Alex had thought. Perhaps another ten in addition to the three they’d already killed. Fortunately, they did not seem well organized. While they were busy shouting out instructions and getting into position, Alex started to even the score, wielding his claymore and dirk in deadly tandem.

  None of the men looked familiar. Despite what they wanted him to think from the rags they wore, he’d already concluded they were mercenaries merely dressed as ruffians. Alex knew what an outlaw looked like. These men did not have dirt and grime sticking in every exposed crevice, seeping out of their pores, dripping from their unkempt hair. Their clothing might be rough and filthy, but the weapon that had struck him in the side was of good workmanship. But most important, these men did not have the unmistakable feral stare of hunted men. No, they were hired killers. And from their numbers, they’d sought to ensure that this time they did not fail.

  But they hadn’t counted on him. Alex dispatched the first two with ease.

  Meg’s guardsmen, however, were not having as easy a time of it. Two more ruffians came at him, preventing Alex from going to their aid. It took a few more swings of his claymore and strokes of his dirk, but the next two soon went the way of the first. Gazing around, he made a quick tally of the dead. One of Meg’s guardsmen had managed to extricate himself from his attackers, killing one, but another had already come to fill his place. The other guardsman was not as fortunate. He lay prone in the dirt and underbrush with the dirk of the man he’d managed to kill before he fell still protruding from his belly.

  Alex stared grimly at the fallen warrior. The attackers would pay. With their lives. Only four ruffians remained, and one of these men he recognized. One of the two men engaged in vicious battle with Meg’s guardsmen was none other than the thin, sharp-featured man from the tavern. Despite his wiry build, he seemed to have some skill with a sword. Meg’s remaining guardsmen would not be able to hold the two of them for long.

  Alex felt no satisfaction in knowing that his suspicions had proved correct, only pure rage at the hired killer who would murder a woman. And not just any woman, but his woman, he thought with a fierce wave of possessiveness.

  Alex would enjoy ending his foul life. But first he had to contend with the two remaining men now approaching him with considerably more care. They came at him from opposite sides. Alex smiled, knowing what they would attempt. He watched one man mouth, “Three, two, one…” As their blades descended, Alex spun with his blade high, blocking both timed blows with one precisely executed swing of his claymore.

  The clang of steel on steel sounded the beginning of the end. Their strategy foiled, the attackers’ next strokes were not as well timed, and Alex had no trouble blocking their blows. Quickly he assessed the relative skills of the men and concentrated his efforts on the stronger of the two, leaving his open side to the weaker one. Unfortunately, it was also the side that had taken the brunt of the blow earlier, and the villain managed to get in one strike on his ribs before Alex dispatched the other.

  Gaze still focused on his man, Alex glanced out of the corner of his eye toward Meg’s remaining guardsman. He’d managed to kill one of his attackers, but the hook-nosed man from the tavern had just dealt him a death blow. Alex returned the favor to his attacker and turned to face the man from the tavern. But something bothered him. He looked around at the dead littering the forest floor, searching for a body that would match the other man from the tavern.

  Meg’s scream cut through the still air, turning his blood to ice.

  Too late, he’d found the man he’d been looking for. He cursed, realizing that while he’d been locked in battle, repelling the attack, the other man from the tavern had circled around his flank and found Meg.

  Ignoring Hook Nose, Alex spun around and started toward the tree where he’d left Meg. But the scene that met his eyes forced him to halt in his tracks.

  Rage such as he’d never experienced before coursed through him at the sight of the dirk pressed into Meg’s neck and the light trail of blood trickling below it. He’d cut her. His response was visceral, every muscle in his body twisted with uncontrollable anger.

  The memory of Dougal’s evil smirk right before his cousins were gulleted flashed before his eyes. Alex would not let it happen again. Not to Meg.

  An urge to kill crashed over him, so powerful that it must have been a remnant of his barbaric Viking ancestry. Everything went black, except for the clear vision of the ruffian, a man he recognized too well, holding the blade to her neck. Thomas Mackinnon. Her father’s trusted chieftain wanted Meg dead. What the hell was

  going on?

  “Let me go,” Meg pleaded. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Shut up, bitch,” Mackinnon said. “This is all your fault. If you had accepted my proposal, none of this would be necessary.”

  So that was it. Alex watched the man so intently, he could see the hairs bend on his arm from Meg’s uneven breathing. Not much ground separated them, but he dared not try anything with that blade so deathly close. He kept his gaze leveled on the attacker. He could not risk looking at Meg, seeing panic in her eyes. Panic that might paralyze him.

  But what he saw in Thomas Mackinnon’s gaze offered little in the way of reassurance. There was a hint of wildness in his eyes that bespoke a man who’d risked everything and knew it. Meg was alive only to get to Alex. Once Alex was contained, they both would be killed.

  “I don’t understand,” Meg said. “What could you hope to—” She stopped as understanding dawned. Alex could hear the horror in her voice. “You want to be chief.” Her eyes widened. “Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with my father’s illness—”

  “I told you to shut up,” Mackinnon growled. He pressed the dirk, and another drop of blood slid from Meg’s neck. Alex could tell he was quickly losing whatever control he had on his restraint.

  A cold rage settled over him, fueled by a bloodlust so powerful that he could taste it. “Let her go,” Alex said. It was not a request; his voice resonated with the promise of death.

  Alex sensed Hook Nose moving toward him, and he beat him back with a fierce gl
are.

  Thomas Mackinnon directed his venom toward his compatriot. “You fool. You said there were only three guardsmen. What is Alex MacLeod doing here?”

  “He didn’t ride out with her,” Hook Nose faltered nervously. “You need not have interfered, I have everything under control.”

  “You should be thanking me, you idiot,” Mackinnon said. “You would be dead right now if not for me.”

  Hook Nose studied Alex. “You look familiar…” Recognition dawned. “The outlaw.” He turned to Mackinnon excitedly. “It’s him. The man I told you about. Now you must believe me. I told you he fought with the skill of five men.”

  “I thought you said they were MacGregors?” Mackinnon snapped.

  “They were,” Hook Nose assured him. “My men recognized a good number of them.”

  Mackinnon looked at him sharply. “What is the brother of Rory Mor doing fighting with outlawed MacGregors?”

  Damn. Alex heard Meg gasp. Doubtless he’d have some explaining to do later. He took a step closer. “Let her go and you can have me.”

  “You are in no position to bargain,” Mackinnon said. “Drop your weapons.” He tightened his hold around Meg’s neck, causing the dirk to press deeper into that delicate flesh.

  He’s a dead man.

  “I’ll put down my weapons, but lower the blade.”

  Mackinnon laughed. “And why should I do that?”

  “A show of faith. How do I know you don’t intend to kill us both?”

  Mackinnon smiled, lowering the blade from Meg’s neck. Alex breathed.

  “Now your weapons,” Mackinnon said.

  Alex’s dirk and claymore fell to his feet.

  “Kick them away from you.”

  He did as ordered.

  “Stop standing there and gaping, you fool,” Mackinnon yelled to Hook Nose, who was hanging back, obviously hesitating to get within range of Alex. “Hurry up! Fetch the rope and tie him up.”

  Alex had to do something soon before the other man had a chance to secure him. But he’d need Meg’s help. He had no choice; he’d have to look at her. Cautiously, he lowered his eyes to her pale face. She wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Her eyes were wide and glassy but lucid. Her lips trembled slightly. She was frightened but was holding her own. That innate look of control and confidence was less obvious, but it was still there. Damn, he

  was proud of her.

  He just prayed that she would understand.

  His voice turned soothing. “Everything will be all right, Meg. Just do what they say. Can you do that?”

  She nodded.

  “I want you to remember something, something that will help you. Can you do that?…Good. Think about the night of the masque when I kissed you.”

  Her eyes opened a little wider. Thomas Mackinnon’s face flooded with rage.

  “I want you to think about what you did to me—”

  “Get the goddamn rope, Billy, and shut him up,” Mackinnon spat.

  Hook Nose, or Billy, had gathered the rope and was approaching, but very cautiously, eyeing him as if he were a wild beast. Alex had only a few more moments. He stared at Meg, begging her to understand.

  Something flashed in her eyes. “I re-mem-ber,” she stuttered.

  “Whore. I’ll give you a real man’s kiss—” Mackinnon swung Meg around to face him and lowered his head.

  “Now!” Alex yelled.

  It was perfect timing. Meg jerked her knee hard into Mackinnon’s crotch and quickly dove out of harm’s way.

  Thomas Mackinnon bent over, covering his groin, writhing in pain.

  Alex turned crazed—as frenzied as a Berserker in battle. Bloodlust surged through his body. He pulled out the small dirk that he kept tucked in his boot and aimed it right for Billy’s heart. He died with a startled cry on his lips.

  Alex spun around to see Mackinnon hobbling toward Meg, his sword raised. Alex was going to enjoy this.

  Sensing Alex’s presence, Thomas Mackinnon turned, swinging his sword wildly at Alex. Alex swung his claymore in a high arc. Mackinnon met his blow, but he was no match. They both knew his end was a certainty. Alex could toy with him for a while, but Thomas Mackinnon wasn’t worth his time.

  With one powerful blow, Alex knocked the sword from his hand. Mackinnon didn’t get the chance to pull the dirk from his belt. Alex had him pinned to a tree with the blade of his claymore.

  “Please, I m-mean no harm to the lass—”

  But the rest of his words were cut off as Alex slashed his dirk across Thomas Mackinnon’s throat.

  Dead men couldn’t lie.

  The attack happened so fast, Meg barely had time to think before it was all over. It wasn’t until after, when Alex had scooped her up and cradled her in his arms, that shock gave way to an uncontrollable shaking—and the vivid recollection of the violence that had occurred in the midst of this deceptively tranquil setting. The forest floor was strewn with the bloody carcasses of over a dozen men, three her own. She mourned their senseless loss. Three more deaths to add to the recent losses would hit her clan hard.

  Yet nothing could feel more right than being held by the man who’d saved her. Again. From the start, Alex had taken control of the situation with the swift, decisive command that she’d admired from the first. His incredible battle skills and calm under pressure had acted as a balm to her rising panic. He would not be defeated.

  She’d been scared, but not terrified. Not until Thomas Mackinnon had surprised her from behind. At first she’d thought he was there to help them. Only when he’d refused to let her go did she realize her mistake. She still could not believe that he’d tried to kill her. She felt sick with the implications of all that her father’s chieftain had done for ambition.

  The terror that had eluded her during the attack rushed forth in full force once it was over. And Alex was there to be her rock, a steadying force merely by the solid strength of his presence. The callused hands that had taken life with such savage ferocity now stroked her hair as gently as if she were a newborn babe. He’d moved her away from the scene of carnage to the grassy bank of a nearby burn. After dampening the edge of his leine in the water, he carefully wiped the trickle of blood from her neck. She was lucky; she’d suffered nothing more than a scratch.

  “Shush, love. It’s all over now.” His voice was low and soothing as he whispered words to calm her racing heart.

  Through the wall of panic, her heart caught at the sweet endearment. Love. A sharp pang of longing hit her like a kick in the chest. God, how she wished that it were so.

  He smelled of sweat and blood, but somehow it reminded her that she was alive. His voice and hands worked magic, easing her panic. She allowed herself the luxury of being rocked in his arms, relishing the security offered by his powerful hold. She burrowed deeper in his lap and tightened her grip around his waist.

  He winced.

  Her head snapped back to look at him accusingly. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, trying to brush away her concern.

  But the fact that he was injured forced her back to reality as effectively as a hard slap. Meg was furious. “Why didn’t you say something?” she said, moving out of his lap. “How could you allow me to carry on about a tiny scratch and not even mention that you were injured?” She knelt before him and began exploring his side with her fingers.

  “It wasn’t just a tiny scratch, Meg. His dirk was at your neck.”

  Meg ignored him. She didn’t want to think about what she had barely averted, not when he was so obviously in pain.

  He tensed as her hands moved across his tightly muscled stomach and back. He was not bleeding, and it didn’t feel as if anything were broken, but she couldn’t be sure. Carefully, she traced his ribs and the cut indentations of his muscled stomach with her fingertips through the leine. When her hand dipped low on his stomach, he made a sound and grabbed her wrist.

  “I’m fine.” His voice sounded pained, but this time with restraint. “Just a
few bruised ribs, that is all.” Their eyes met, and she could see the desire burning hot in his gaze. He wanted her, and the evidence was growing right before her eyes. She flushed, not with embarrassment, but with the knowledge that her innocent touch had aroused him so powerfully.

  She wanted to touch him. To slide her hand along the sensitive flesh. To harness that strength beneath her hands. To revel in the wonder of being alive.

  The air crackled between them. Temptation beckoned from the very depths of her soul. For a moment, Meg wavered on the edge of indecision. She wanted him. What was the point in denying it, or herself? Confronting her own mortality had made her yearn to experience life in the most basic way possible. The danger they’d just faced had stripped away everything but the fact that they were two people deeply attracted to each other. At that moment, nothing else mattered.

  Desire stretched tautly between them. The dark intensity in his blue eyes bored straight through her. He held perfectly still, jaw clenched, his face an inscrutable puzzle of hard angles, every muscle in his body tense with restraint, awaiting her decision. One move would be all it would take, and his mouth would be on hers, erasing all memory of what had just happened.

  The temptation was too powerful to resist.

  So she succumbed to the moment, to Alex, and to the pull of desire that bound them in an undeniable way.

  Having care for his injured ribs, she leaned over him, achingly aware of the warmth emanating from him and the long, hard muscles stretched out beneath her. Tentatively, she pressed her mouth against his.

  It was all the excuse he needed. With a primal growl, Alex took hold of her, and Meg found herself rolled on her back, his body covering hers, and the full onslaught of his mouth returning her kiss with fervor.