The Kindling Heart

by Carmen Caine

  First, she knew she must calm her frantic mind.

  The women stripped her down to her shift, mourning the fact they could not steal that as well, so fine a shift it was, but as Tormod’s voice bellowed from below, they scurried out of the chamber like rats, taking her belongings with them. It was no matter; she forced herself to take a calm breath, reminding herself that she had the knife.

  Quickly, she formed a plan; she’d hide the knife under the heather mattress and convince Tormod she wanted him and when he was not looking, plunge the knife somewhere to gain her freedom. She quailed a little, and didn’t define the ‘somewhere’. If she thought about it too much, she wouldn’t be able to do it.

  Searching through the plaids, she had just grasped the handle of the knife when the door flung open. Fear gripped her heart. Her plan was already failing.

  “Bree!” Tormod stumbled in, a little bleary eyed. He searched the chamber before spying her on the floor. His lips split into a lecherous grin. Slowly, he eyed her boldly and shut the door. “Aye, I told ye that I would make ye mine!”

  Her hands began to shake. Frozen with fear, she watched him approach as if in a dream, but as his fingers closed in over her wrist, her lethargy shattered. Panic flooded her. It took every ounce of her will not to scream and fight the man.

  “Bree,” Tormod whispered in her hair, beginning to grope her. “Aye, Ruan will nae save ye this time!”

  The mention of Ruan threatened to bring tears, but she had no time for them. Forcing the words, she managed a tremulous croak, “My lord… I…I’ve always wanted to be yours, not Ruan’s.”

  His hands stopped. Cocking his head to the side, he knitted his brows in a confused frown. “What is this?”

  Bree’s throat closed. She tried to speak, but the words failed to form. It was impossible to think.

  “Bree,” he murmured again, apparently already forgetting the matter. His lips puckered, targeting hers.

  Unable to control herself, she wriggled free. She had to get the knife. As she bent, he seized her arm and hefted her over his shoulder.

  “I’ll have ye now, ye spitfire,” Tormod grunted, striding to the bed and throwing her down upon it.

  As he lunged, she managed to roll off the other side, landing with a thump on the floor.

  “Bree!” Tormod roared.

  Frantically willing her beating heart to still, Bree licked her lips and said, “Aye, my lord. I want you, like I want no other!”

  “’Tis enough talking from ye, now!” Tormod bellowed, reaching for her.

  Desperately, she slid her gown off her shoulder and fluttered her lashes.

  He paused. His lecherous grin returned.

  “My lord,” Bree whispered, in what she hoped was a sensuous voice. “Not on the bed, come to the floor, ‘tis…much more…thrilling that way.”

  Tormod blinked, confused, but as she ran to the pile of plaids, he began to smile stupidly. “Aren’t ye a wild beastie!”

  Her knees were shaking so badly, she half collapsed in the plaids. He moved toward her, his gait uneven and his words slightly slurred. Perhaps the man was drunk. The thought gave Bree a little more confidence. Allowing herself only to focus on success, she slid back onto the plaids in what she hoped appeared an invitation. It was not nearly as graceful as she’d planned it to be.

  She need not have worried.

  The man grinned like a fool. “Bree, aren’t ye a little minx!” Then, he paused, suddenly suspicious. “What of Ruan?”

  “Ruan has nothing.” Bree tossed her head, forcing her lashes to lower and flutter again. “You are The MacLeod, a man of power… and…” Her words faltered. There was nothing positive about the face leering closer. “And… power, very… powerful… with much… power…”

  Frantically, she searched for something to say, but it didn’t matter. He was not listening, but leering at her breasts, his tongue slightly hanging out of his mouth.

  He lunged, sliding his arms around her and plunging his tongue down her throat much quicker than she’d anticipated. Even drunk, the man was strong. Her body fought of its own accord, ignoring her frantic attempts at control. However, he apparently didn’t notice, or else enjoyed the struggle.

  His lips found hers, but she managed to twist enough to continue her desperate search for the knife. His mouth tasted of whiskey, onions, and rotting teeth. She wanted to retch. She could not find the knife. The plaids were sliding in all directions, and she wanted to scream out of frustration and fear.

  Almost weeping, she wildly patted the floor.

  She was on the verge of screaming when she felt the cool handle slip into her fingers. Without hesitation, she plunged the blade into the nearest target.

  Tormod gasped.

  Hysterically, she withdrew the blade and plunged again.

  This time, it struck something hard and stuck.

  Tormod fell back, eyes popping in shock as he clawed at the knife embedded in the side of his neck. His grip loosened and Bree scrambled away, but he miraculously revived and staggered to his feet, regaining control.

  “Bree!” he bellowed, but this time, his voice filled with rage and vengeance.

  She swallowed a scream; he was going to kill her. She leaped for the bed, searching for something to defend herself, but she found nothing. She stumbled, tripping on the wooden bowl. Grasping it with cold fingers, she swung it at him with full force.

  There was a crack as the bowl hit him on the side of the head. He tottered back, losing his balance to fall. His head struck the wooden bed frame with a loud thud.

  He slid to the floor without a sound.

  For several, long, interminable minutes, she hovered where she was, waiting for him to rise to his feet, but he remained with his face down on the floor, not moving. Finally, she tiptoed closer, unable at first to believe she’d accomplished her goal, but as the minutes passed, it became apparent that she had.

  Her heart lurched.

  Now was her chance!

  No one was looking for her; they all assumed she was in Tormod’s clutches. She must hurry before the man woke and called for help. Quickly, she ran to the door and cracked it open, peeking outside carefully. She exhaled a loud sigh of relief to discover no one there.

  Slipping down the passageway, she crept past several open doors along the way. Both chambers proved empty. The third room revealed a chest. She could hardly escape the castle wearing only a shift. She ruffled through its contents, finding a pair of breeches, a yellow shirt and a plaid. Perhaps she could masquerade as a lad.

  Dressing quickly, she took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever lay ahead and marched out into the passageway, seeking for a way to escape the castle. First, she had to steal a horse. They would find her too quickly if she left on foot. She wouldn’t let herself consider the fact she was unable to ride one. Instead, she focused on escaping the main keep and locating the stables without drawing attention.

  It was easier than she’d expected.

  The inhabitants of the castle were scurrying, in a state of distress. Apparently, the boats on the horizon had been identified as more MacLeods arriving.

  “MacLeods!” a woman hissed, pressing a basket of linens into her hands. “Ye can take these to Maud, I’m off! I’m nae fool enough to be caught here again! We just fended off the MacKenzies, ach, and now the MacLeods?”

  Bree watched the woman go, wondering briefly what they had to fear from more of Tormod’s men, but she shrugged her curiosity aside. She had to leave before Tormod woke and discovered her gone. He’d be furious. She’d never survive a second encounter. It was luck that he’d fallen victim to her attack, and the thought of him lying so still, silent on the floor, gave her a momentary pause. For a brief moment, she wondered if she’d killed him. Surely, she hadn’t. It could not be so easy. Brushing the thought aside, she focused on the stables.

  Setting the basket aside, she fled down a side passage, bursting through a door as several men ran past with clanking swords. S
he ducked back inside until they had gone and then slipped into the courtyard.

  There were a group of buildings to the side, and she ran to them as fast as she could. Destiny conspired to help her, for the first door she slipped through was the one she sought, and she found herself confronted by the sight of several horses tied to a post. They flicked their ears nervously at the commotion outside.

  Bree closed her eyes, enjoying the momentary sense of relief, before mustering the resolve to approach the first animal.

  It was a fearsome beast, and the largest horse she’d ever encountered. It was a massive mound of hooves and muscle that stood proud as if it knew well it was utterly magnificent. It snorted and tossed its shaggy mane.

  Steeling her nerves, Bree inched forward. “You will have to do,” she said, gritting her teeth.

  The horse flicked its ears and stamped its foot in warning.

  “Ach, what are ye doing?” a sleepy voice from her elbow made her jump. “Step away from the laird’s horse!”

  A wave of fear washed over Bree. They had discovered her. Her shoulders drooped and her heart beat frantically, but then a determination rose from deep in her soul. Faking a commanding attitude, she whirled to find herself facing a young lad. “You must saddle this beast at once for me! Be quick!”

  The boy frowned, though already a little more uncertain than before. “’Tis the laird—”

  “Do not think to question me!” Bree interrupted. “Make haste! I’ve a message that cannot be delayed! Do you really want me to return to Fearghus and tell him that a lowly stable boy has delayed this message of great import?”

  The boy blinked, but began to scurry, collecting a saddle and bridle along the way.

  “Be quick!” Bree snapped. “Or I shall cut off your…” Words suddenly failed, her heart was pounding so loudly it was difficult to think, so she said the first thing that came to her mind, “…nose!”

  The threat worked.

  The lad doubled his efforts and in minutes, she found the pawing beast saddled, bridled and ready to ride.

  She could not afford to hesitate.

  She didn’t let herself think.

  Struggling onto the animal’s back, she kicked it viciously. She was nearly unseated as it sprang out of the stables and thundered through the gate, causing the lone man guarding it to watch her disappear, dumbfounded, and absently scratching his chin.

  Bree desperately clung to the saddle.

  The animal was powerful, apparently thrilled to be free, and she simply let him run until she could collect her thoughts. Once satisfied Tormod’s men were not following, she addressed her next concern, and that was how to control the wild beast running freely beneath her.

  As they plunged down a rolling hill, she tugged the reins, trying to bring him to a halt.

  The beast blithely ignored her first attempt.

  She tried again.

  When met with no response, she allowed her fear to give her strength. With a scream and a loud curse, she yanked the reins, commanding the animal to halt, letting loose with every curse she’d ever heard before in her short life.

  Much to her surprise, the horse slowed its pace, flicking an ear her direction.

  Bree repeated her performance and found herself rewarded with two ears flicking both her way.

  To her utter astonishment, the animal slowed to a stop.

  “I’ve had enough of you!” Bree continued, voice shaking so badly the words were scarcely recognizable. “From this moment on, I am the master! I am, not you! You will listen to me and follow my every request! Do you promise to listen?”

  The horse snorted and stamped a hoof, but didn’t move.

  Bree swallowed, clasping her trembling hands. She was shaking everywhere and on the verge of hysteria. She forced the thought away, there was no time to sob right now, and she must make her escape complete.

  Darkness was falling quickly. She had to find shelter and hide; surely, they had discovered her missing by now and would soon be on her trail. She kicked the horse and he eagerly leapt forward, gathering speed with each step until she tugged on the reins to slow him. To her surprise, he followed her bidding.

  A forest loomed ahead.

  It would have to do; she would hide in the thickets. At least the skies had cleared, and it promised not to rain.

  Chapter 24: Which Clan She Favors?

  Ruan boldly strode into Duntulm, Cameron and Cuilen flanking either side. Fearghus was no fool, not with the host of boats on his shores. He didn’t even attempt to a fight. A group of MacDonald clansmen bowed in low respect, informing them that Fearghus wished to speak.

  Ruan was impatient, taking the steps two at a time, until at last, the door to the laird’s chamber swung open, and he was inside.

  The stench made him gag.

  “Aye, come to finish off what ye started?” Fearghus rasped from the darkness.

  As his vision adjusted to the light, Ruan saw the man’s pallid form on the bed, his breath ragged, eyes bright with fever.

  The smell of death was in the air.

  “Where is Bree?” Ruan demanded, striding forward. “Tell me where she is, at once!”

  “Aye, I wanted to see the look on yer face, ere I depart this world.” Fearghus grinned, gloating. “Tormod’s had at her, this past hour! Ye’ll find yer woman ruined –”

  Ruan bounded to the bed, grasped the man’s throat, and bodily lifted him from the bed. “Tell me where she is! Now!”

  “Tormod is in the east tower,” Fearghus whispered with a smirk. “’Tis too late–”

  Shoving him back on the bed, Ruan ran from the chamber, Cameron close at his heels. The castle inhabitants fled before them as they bounded up the steps, kicking in the doors of the chambers as they ascended. The fifth door revealed a man lying on the floor.

  It was Tormod.

  There was no sign of Bree.

  Filled with rage and drawing his sword, Ruan descended upon his brother. He was tempted to behead Tormod upon the spot, but he needed to find out what had happened to Bree first. Restraining himself with difficulty, he only pressed the blade upon his brother’s neck as he half-lifted him from the floor.

  Tormod was oddly still.

  Noting the coldness of the man’s flesh, Ruan peered closer and spied the vast pool of blood that had formed on the floor.

  Protruding from Tormod’s neck was the handle of the sgian dubh that he’d given Bree.

  Cameron dropped to his knee and placed his long fingers on Tormod’s white lips. “He breathes still,” he said. “But, nae for long.”

  No man could survive losing that much blood.

  Tormod’s lashes fluttered weakly. “Ruan,” he mouthed feebly. “Cold…very cold.”

  “Where is Bree?” Ruan shouted. “What have ye done with Bree?”

  “Bree?” Tormod repeated, and then his eyes rolled back.

  He was dead.

  “Aye, she must have escaped,” Cameron stated, eyeing the chamber in disgust. “I shall have the men search.”

  For the first time, Ruan allowed hope to blossom in his heart. “Aye,” he murmured, smiling. “She’s a MacBethad.”

  ***

  It had been a cold night. She’d walked in circles to stay warm, hugging the shaggy horse for warmth at times. So great was her relief to be free, she’d scarcely noticed any inconvenience. As dawn colored the sky, she once again headed south, following the coastline as closely as she could and ignoring her hunger pangs.

  She was afraid to stop. Yet, she was afraid to press on. She didn’t know where she was, but there was no sign of pursuit. She prayed fervently that she was leaving Fearghus’ land and avoiding Tormod’s. She reached the hilltop and saw the Old Man of Storr rising in the distance. Tears of relief sprang into her eyes.

  Reenan.

  Reenan would know what to do. Her cottage had been close to the shore, in the shadow of the mountain. She could find it. With renewed hope, she kicked the horse into a gallop, surging with ho
pe and reveling in the warmth of the sun’s rays beating upon her skin.

  The Old Man of Storr grew steadily closer as the power of the animal beneath her filled her with a sense of wonder. She marveled at the change in herself, that she could actually enjoy riding a horse. The beast seemed to sense the change, responding to her commands with respect instead of resentment.

  Some time later, she pounded down the lane that became familiar and suddenly widened into Reenan’s croft. She pulled up short, astounded she’d actually found the place just as Reenan and her children burst out the door, mouths agape.

  It was only then that she allowed herself to cry, but the tears that flowed were mostly ones of relief.

  The children tied the horse to a tree as Reenan led her into the croft, plied her with porridge, and guided her to the bed. She pitched headlong onto the heather pallet and closed her eyes, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  ***

  Ruan had spent the better part of the night distraught.

  They all had searched the castle, but there was no sign of Bree.

  He had returned to Fearghus’ chamber to question the man again. Upon hearing of Bree’s escape, Fearghus had let out a scream of pure frustration. The further knowledge that Tormod, Michael, and Gerland were now all dead and Ruan was the undisputed Laird of Dunvegan had caused the bedridden man to suffer some kind of seizure.

  Ruan shoved Fearghus back upon the bed and held his dirk to the man’s throat, “Aye, I’d slit your throat now and have done, if it weren’t for the fact that I might need ye still.”

  Fearghus gasped and his lips took on a purple hue.

  “Ye’d best pray I find her soon,” Ruan said in a low voice as he dug the blade into the man’s flesh, “’Tis the only way ye’ll find a quick death.”

  “I’ll stay and watch this black-hearted dog suffer whilst ye look again,” Domnall offered. Picking up a bottle of wine from a nearby table, he pulled the cork out with his teeth. “A sudden death is too grand a one for the likes of ye, Fearghus.”

  “Aye.” Ruan and Cameron agreed in unison.

  “See that he lives until we return,” Ruan ordered, moving toward the door.