by B. J. Scott
“I havena forgotten.”
“Then why come forth on behalf of this thieving whore?”
“I have no newfound affection for the MacDougall’s or their kinsmen. They can all rot in hell for all I care. And while the lass may be all that you’ve said, she is also my sister,” Connor announced.
“I am no such thing!” Arya blurted, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
“Silence! Counsel your tongue lass, or I’ll have Niall relieve you of it,” Campbell ordered.
“But he lies, m’lord. I’ve never seen this man in my life. I have no brother.”
“You heard the Campbell, hold you wheesht, woman.” Connor pinned her with a stare that made her shudder, then focused his attention on the laird. “Could we continue this discussion somewhere else, Roderick?”
“We’ll discuss it here,” Roderick replied. “However, I believe you are mistaken. I know for a fact the lass is the daughter of Ronald MacEachan. He was killed at the Bannockburn, fighting for the English. She is the spawn of a traitor to Scotland and took part in a raid on my keep. I intend to see her punished for her crimes.”
“What if I told you I have good reason to question her parentage?”
“Then I’d say you were a fool, Connor,” Campbell snapped.
“If I thought for one minute she was the MacEachan’s daughter, I would not be standing here. But I have good reason to believe she is my father’s bairn.”
“Lies! I would rather die than be of Fraser blood,” Arya shouted.
“That can be arranged,” Niall whispered in her ear.
“What makes you think she is your sister? Who told you this lie?” Roderick demanded.
“Her mother. Scotia MacEachan. I met with her, and she informed me she was once in love with my father, and they planned to marry.”
“Why would your father, a staunch supporter of Robert the Bruce, associate with a woman who consorted with his enemy, known conspirators against the Scottish cause?”
“They met before the massacre of Berwick on Tweed. A time when there was no ill will between our clans,” Connor explained.
“And you’d take the word of a total stranger over mine? A woman who would say or do anything to save her daughter? I thought you were smarter than that, Fraser.”
“The woman sent word to me well before her daughter was taken prisoner, not after.”
“I have heard that her mother is gravely ill, so the fact that she is looking for a place to pawn this hellion off doesna surprise me.”
Connor’s gaze darted from Campbell to Arya and back. “All I ask is a chance to discuss this further and some time to see if there is any truth to what her mother says. Let me send a missive to Robert the Bruce. Perhaps we can let him decide her fate.”
“I’m sorry, my friend, but this lass accompanied men from Clan MacDougall in a raid on my keep. Several of my warriors died in the attack, and I canna permit this sort of belligerence to happen.”
Connor stood before the Campbell with his arms outstretched. “But she is a woman, Roderick. Hell, she is still a bairn. Surely you can show mercy.”
“A bairn?” Laird Campbell tossed back his head and laughed. “Look at the way she dresses. She wears trews and a tunic like a man, supposedly had her hair tucked beneath a cap, so it was impossible to tell if she was male or female. My men said she handled a blade as well they do, maybe better. This is no bairn. She is a dangerous woman and will be punished.”
“And you willna reconsider, given our long-standing friendship?”
Laird Campbell hesitated for a minute, then shook his head. “Nay, Connor. I have already hung the men from her clan that we captured, and I am well within my rights to have her flogged, then drown for her crimes. I intend to send out a clear message to anyone who entertains the idea that they can steal from me, the consequences are severe. Be they a man or a woman.”
Arya felt like she’d been kicked in the chest, the air rushing from her lungs. The laird hung her kinsmen. Her heart aching for their wives and bairns, but her mind raced with questions. Was Garrett among those executed? Was he alive or dead? Since he had not tried to rescue her, she feared the later.
“Garrett,” she whispered his name as if in prayer. If she had but one regret, it was playing so hard to get. She wished that she’d had told him what was really in her heart when she still had the chance. If truth be known, she’d loved him since she was five. But as the summers passed and he grew into the tall, braw warrior, he was today, a man of honor she’d be proud to call her mate, she’d pushed him away.
Aye, she valued her freedom and independence, but she could think of no other man who challenged her mind and spirit, made her laugh, or warmed her heart the way only Garrett could. Instead of being honest with him, she’d been too busy trying to be the lad her father never had.
“Niall, take her outside, the crowd grows restless. Strip her down and see the executioner and priest are ready to perform their duties,” Laird Campbell instructed.
“Aye, m’lord.” He clasped Arya’s elbow. “Let’s go.”
Arya offered no resistance. The Lord of Argyll condemned her to death and he was not going to change his mind. And she certainly did not want any help from Connor Fraser. Nor did she believe a word he said about her father. She was Ronald MacEachan’s daughter, and no one would convince her otherwise.
“Once we taken care of this bit of unpleasant business, we can sit back, enjoy some whisky, and talk as much as you like about old times.” Laird Campbell brushed by her as he strode toward the door.
Connor Fraser followed.
As Arya stepped out of the castle and onto the large stone platform, the sound of her heartbeat pounded in her ears drowned out the shouts and vulgar comments erupting from the mob of angry onlookers. She’d never known such hatred and swallowed against the lump of fear rising in her throat. Her execution imminent, she raised her chin and stepped forward, determined to face her fate with dignity and make her father proud. “You can do this,” she muttered.
Chapter 9
Garrett stood in the shadows, fisted the reins of five horses, and anxiously watched the castle from a distance. He’d donned a heavy, hooded cloak to hide his identity as Connor had instructed, but waiting was pure torture. And having to do so with Bryce Fraser, a man who not only despised him, but was also his sworn enemy, made the time pass even slower. Despite the animosity between them, he pushed his personal feeling aside. Saving Arya was all that mattered.
“What’s taking him so long?” Garrett asked in a hushed voice. “I thought your brother said he was a friend of Laird Campbell and was certain he could arrange for Arya’s release.”
Bryce jabbed his elbow into Garrett’s ribs, his gaze darting around at the crowd. “Hold your wheesht. Do you want someone to hear you?”
Garrett lowered his voice to a whisper. “Of course not, but you canna expect me to stand here doing nothing when Arya is a prisoner. If anything happens to her—”
“You should have thought about that before getting her into this mess,” Bryce snapped. “Now it is up to us to get her out of it.”
Garrett tamped down the anger churning in the pit of his stomach. Bryce had no idea how stubborn Arya could be, that once made her mind up to do something, no one could sway her. One of the things that set her apart from any other woman he’d ever known. Hopefully, Bryce would find that out for himself, soon enough.
“Where are the others? You and your brothers scarcely spoke a word to me on the journey and told me very little about this so-called plan to rescue Arya. Now Alasdair and your three cousins are nowhere to be seen and Connor has me acting as a squire to the horses.”
“Dinna fash about where the others are,” Bryce replied. “You are lucky we let you tag along. Just be prepared to act when called
upon.”
When the crowd parted and Garrett saw Arya standing on the execution platform, he dropped the reins and lurched forward. But Bryce grabbed his shoulder, halting his advance.
“Release me at once. I need to go to her.”
“You’ll stand down and not make a move until you are instructed to do so,” Bryce grumbled through clenched teeth, then tugged the hood of his cloak lower on his brow. “Otherwise, you draw attention to us and get her killed. Why Connor ever agreed to let you come is beyond me. Taking your enemy on a mission like this is pure insanity.”
“Arya is about to be flogged. Obviously, your brother’s plan to get Campbell to release her has failed. If we dinna move now, it will be too late,” Garrett argued as he helplessly watched them tie the woman he loved to a whipping post.
“I said to hold fast. Connor knows what he is doing and in the event his first plan failed, he has another to take its place.”
“Are you daft? What can we possibly do to save her? There are but a handful of us against so many Campbells. She is tied to a fucking rail and about to have the skin torn from her back by some sadistic bastard who covers his head to hide his shame.”
“Executioners often wear a hood,” Bryce replied drolly.
“And you expect me to do nothing while they torture her?”
“That is exactly what you’ll do.” Bryce picked up the reins, and handed them back to Garrett. “Uneven odds have never stopped a Fraser in the past. Most of the Campbell’s warriors are still on the coast, which greatly works to our advantage. Between you, my brothers, myself, and our cousins, we have a good chance of rescuing her. But only if you’re patient and wait for the signal.”
“You are talking in riddles, Fraser, and I am not in the mood for games. I wish you’d have let me bring more of my men. Instead, you have the few you did allow to come waiting in the woods outside the curtain wall. What good are they there when we need them in here?”
“They are fine where they are,” Bryce whispered.
“Compared to the size of this crowd, our chances of saving Arya from the lash look dismal at best. And the likelihood of preventing her from being tossed into the pit to drown, slim to none. We can use all the men we can get.”
“And you dinna think to have MacDougall clansmen milling about the crowd would cause a problem? It isna how many men you have, but how you use them.” Bryce spoke to Garrett, but his eyes remained fixed on Arya and Connor. “I take it she can ride.”
“Aye. She is an excellent horsewoman, better than most men. Why?”
Bryce didn’t answer. Instead, he chewed on his bottom lip, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
As each minute passed, Garrett’s tension mounted. “Your brother is just standing there. Why hasn’t he done something to help her? Forgive me if I am not as optimistic as you are.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
“Connor said we’d get her out of here and we will.”
“I hope you’re right.” Garrett raked his fingers through his hair.
“Right or wrong, we are her only hope. Now, stop blathering before you get us killed.” Bryce took the reins of his mount from Garrett and moved a few feet away.
The rowdy crowd grew silent when Laird Campbell stepped forward and raised his hand. “You have gathered here today to witness the execution of Arya MacEachan. She is guilty of thievery and taking part in an invasion of my keep that resulted in the injury and death of several of my men.”
Cries of anger erupted from the crowd. “Kill her!” someone shouted. “Punish the wench. She butchered my husband,” another person shouted.
The laird waited for the uproar to die down before he continued. “For her crimes, she will be flogged, then drown in a pit. Let this be a warning to anyone who thinks he, or she, can get away with such treachery.” He cast a glower of contempt at Arya. “Do you have anything to say before your punishment?”
“Mercy!” a woman shouted from the crowd.
“Well?” Campbell crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Arya’s reply.”
Arya peered up at the laird, then glanced at Connor, who stood a few feet behind his friend. “Get on with it.”
“So be it.” Laird Campbell motioned to the executioner with a sweep of his hand. “You heard the chit, deliver the punishment. Twenty lashes prior to drowning should suffice.”
“Nay,” Garrett muttered aloud. He had to do something regardless if Connor had a plan or not. But what? He fisted the reins, his mind searching for answers.
Campbell addressed the priest. “Do you have anything to say before we carry out the execution, Father?”
The priest approached Arya, made the sign of the cross above her head, then opened a bible.
“I dinna recall seeing you in the village before.” The laird studied the young man standing before him. “Where is Father Murray?”
“I am Father Blair. And yes, I am new to Clan Campbell, m’lord. Father Murray was ill upon rising and asked me to come in his stead.”
Campbell nodded. “Very well, say what you need to so we can get on with the execution.”
The priest nodded, then began chanting prayers in Latin.
Garrett’s eyes remained fixed on Arya. She bowed her head as the bastard about to deliver the lashes waited with a whip in hand for the priest to finish.” Unable to stand by any longer, he drew his sword and prepared to move forward.
“Fire,” someone shouted, and all heads turned in the direction of the call.
Plumes of thick black smoke darkened the sky in the northern corner of the bailey. In a state of panic, people began shouting and racing about, their attention drawn away from the execution.
“Look, over there!” A man pointed to the eastern side of the outer courtyard. “There is a blaze there as well. The castle must be under attack.” The remainder of the crowd rushed off to deal with the second fire.
“Now.” Bryce quickly mounted his horse. “Take those beasts to the platform and be quick about it,” he ordered, then turned his horse in the opposite direction.
“Where in damnation are you going?” Garrett asked as he threw his leg over his destrier’s back while holding on to the other three horses.
“I have other things to take care of,” Bryce replied then dug in his heels.
Laird Campbell remained on the platform, despite the bedlam going on around him. He turned to the executioner. “Deliver the lashes, then weight her down with those rocks and throw her into the pit. Whoever is responsible for this treasonous act willna get away with it.”
Garrett kneed his mount. The odds may have improved, but he had to get to Arya before the laird’s orders were carried out. He spotted Connor standing behind Campbell with is sword drawn. Was he going to defend Arya or support the laird? It was impossible to tell, and there was no time for speculation.
The executioner stepped forward, and Garrett feared the worst. But when the man cut the bonds binding Arya to the post, then hauled her to her feet, Garrett was caught by surprise. And even more shocked when he dragged her toward the edge of the platform, then placed her on the back of one of the horses.
“Leave the other two mounts and ride. Dinna stop until you are out of the bailey and reach the woods,” the henchman instructed. “Go!”
Garrett handed Arya the reins. “Ride, lass,” he called out, then slapped her horse on the arse. The animal lunged forward.
The thunder of hooves coming from behind them caused Garrett to glance over his shoulder. The executioner and priest were closing in fast. He had no idea why they’d helped Arya escape, but he was not about to stop and ask.
As they approached the portcullis, Garrett realized the gate was closed. So far, no one had tried to stop them, but he saw no means to escape. Or so he thought.
Iron groaned as the metal barrier inched skyward.
“Move!” the executioner yelled, then took the lead, ducking his head to avoid the iron spikes as the gate yawned before them.
Garrett noticed Bryce stood atop the curtain wall, waving them onward. He raised a thumb in triumph, then raced after the others.
They rode hard until they reached the clearing where the MacDougall men waited. Garrett dismounted and wasted no time dragging Arya from the saddle and hauled her against his chest. It felt so good to hold her in his arms, and he never wanted to let her go. “I am sorry, lass. I should never have let you come on the raid—”
Arya struggled to break free. Her brow furrowed and her hostile gaze reflected her anger. But Garrett tightened his hold on her. “Why did you risk your life to rescue me in the midst of a crowd? You could have been captured and killed.” She balled her fists, then thumped them against his chest.”
Garrett bit his lip to stifle a grin. Arya was so beautiful and full of fire when riled. “You dinna think I would leave you at the mercy of the Campbell, did you?”
“I hoped you’d come. But I dinna expect you to attempt a rescue in broad daylight, in front of so many witnesses. I knew the risk when I decided to join you on the raid. Just because I am a woman, it doesna mean I am a helpless damsel in need of saving, I—”
He placed two fingers to her lips. “You’re my woman. I know you are as brave and skillful as any of my men. I would do the same for them if it was in my power. But I wouldna do this . . .”
Before she could protest any further, he dipped his head and captured her mouth with a kiss meant to conquer and destroy her resolve.
She resisted at first by tensing her body and pursing her lips, but his persistence paid off. When he flicked his tongue along the seam of her mouth, she released a soft sigh and melted against his chest.
