Highland Captive

by Mary McCall

  "Wait, Brigit!” a young auburn-headed woman on Alera's right exclaimed. “You said you were just going to rough her up a bit, nothing about cutting."

  "Hush, Moreen,” Ardra ordered, hatred blazing in her green eyes. “She not only called us heathen she-dogs, but she is helping that MacPherson bizzem. I say cut her deep."

  Embers sparked in Alera's gut. Her demon seethed. She fought to control her curse, scrambled for other options. She could easily take them on if she unleashed her demon, but how would the clan react if she killed three Ranalds? Would Duncan save her or condemn her? If she called out, he might not reach her in time. Could she possibly reason with these women? She could at least try.

  "You cannot believe your laird will let you get away with this."

  Ardra scoffed and jerked on Alera's arm, sending a painful signal to the festering demon. “Another reason to cut the bitch, she is murdering our precious tongue."

  "Nay, Ardra. The lady is right,” Moreen said. “The laird is going to rage over this."

  Alera clenched her throbbing jaw. He damn well better rage! A savage caw broke the air. Her hawk friends had spotted her trouble and awaited her signal to help. She would give these woman one last chance.

  She directed her furious gaze on Brigit. The woman took a step back. “You do not know who you are taunting. Let me go now, and you will not be harmed."

  Brigit sucked in a breath, glowered, then readied her blade.

  Ardra twisted Alera's arm and sneered. “Beg for mercy."

  The demon unleashed.

  Alera released a battle cry that echoed through the hills. Kicking high, she caught Brigit in her chin and sent her sprawling. Brigit's blade scraped down the outer length on Alera's left calf. The jolting shift of her weight caused the other women to release their hold.

  Accepting Alera's cry as a call to battle, Baran swooped down, grasped Ardra through her hair and dug his razor-sharp talons into her scalp. She fled, screaming and trying to fend off her attacker.

  As Alera went down, she rolled to her right, tripping Moreen. While springing to her feet, Alera pulled her dagger from her thigh sheath. She turned on the cowering woman, bloodlust churning in her gut.

  Moreen backed away. “Please, nay,” she begged. “I did not know what they planned. I swear."

  The plea somehow broke through Alera's wrath. She remembered this woman had tried to stop the other two.

  Moreen clutched a hand to her throat. Her eyes grew huge as she pointed behind Alera. “Look out!"

  Alera turned. Brigit was posed to pounce with her dirty blade. Another caw raged through the glen. Ceallach soared at Brigit and raked her talons across the brunette's face. An agonized scream tore from her lips as she dropped the blade and fled, clutching a hand against her bloody cheek. Ceallach went with her and pinched her claws into Brigit's shoulder.

  Alera turned back and glowered at Moreen. “Get out of my sight. You are not worth dying for."

  "I am truly sorry. Please, let me help you with your leg."

  "Go!"

  Moreen fled behind her cohorts. Their banshee shrieks penetrated Alera's rage. She took a shuddering breath and called back her friends.

  The actual fight lasted bare moments, and the hawks did most of the work. Her demon wasn't sated. Pure fury boiled in her veins. The urge to kill gripped her like an angry fist. She trembled with a need to release the raging pressure. Throwing her blade point into the ground and balling her hands into fists, Alera tossed back her head and sent forth a savage guttural cry.

  Duncan rounded a curve in the trail and halted. She faced him, the force of her bloodlust undiminished, still seeking an outlet.

  Her heart hammered, ordering her not to harm Duncan and warring with her anger for control. “Stay away, Ranald. I do not wish to hurt you."

  Duncan held his ground. Her eyes glittered with a feral fire while her breast heaved and nostrils flared. The power of her wrath seemed alien to her, and she appeared to have trouble mastering the savage emotion. He had no doubt he could subdue her, but he didn't wish to harm her in a struggle.

  "The water, Alera. Let the water douse your fire."

  Her jaw clenched, and she closed her eyes. Then she whipped around and ran into the stream. As she neared the deeper currents, she threw herself under the water.

  Duncan's entire body tensed until she surfaced downstream near the opposite bank. She stood and wiped her hands over her face. Her trembling remained visible at a distance.

  A caw sounded overhead. Alera answered the call. Logan joined Duncan as two large hawks flew down and perched on her shoulder and arm. They nuzzled her, offering comfort.

  "Good God Almighty, she is the Gifted MacKay,” Logan whispered.

  Duncan released a ragged breath and wiped a hand over his face. Saint Andrew, his heart still pounded. “Between Laddie jumping the paddock at her call, the hawks, and Megan, I should have known."

  "What about Megan?"

  "She told me Alera took her pain away. I thought she meant Alera would not let Isobel harm her again."

  "The rage seems new to her. She struggles with it."

  "I have to wonder why she never turned her fury on me.” And no wonder she feels passions so strong.

  "Destiny, brother.” Logan grinned and slapped Duncan on the shoulder. “Married or not—you're her mate. You know no gifted woman can turn her rage on her destined mate. You're a blessed man. She will have complete loyalty to those she loves. And that fury will unleash only when she or someone she cares for is threatened or harmed. Whoever attacked her is lucky. That rage makes her a deadly foe."

  Duncan fisted his hands. “When I find out who caused her rage, I'll not contain my own."

  Logan picked up the dirty dull dagger near the bank a few feet from Alera's blade. “This may help."

  Duncan accepted the blade and turned it over. A jagged nick marred the hilt. “I should have known. Brigit was in the hall with Ardra and Moreen when the twins announced Alera's opinion of Ranald women."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "First, I am going to make sure Alera is unharmed.” Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Then I am going to do what I should have done a long time ago. I've ignored the women too long."

  "You know I'll support anything you do. They have treated Marcail terribly since we wed,” Logan replied as Alera released the hawks. “You have another problem, though."

  Duncan raised a brow.

  "Mischief.” Logan chuckled at Duncan's martyred groan. “Tell the lass I took the laundry back to the cottage.” Logan picked up the basket and headed up the trail.

  Duncan waited at the water's edge. Alera swam back upstream, her strokes graceful and crisp. As she neared the shallow water, she rose upon her feet and waded toward him, her head bowed. Her gown plastered to every curve of her body. She looked damned arousing. It took a great effort to suppress his ardor, but he did. She needed his strength now, not his lust.

  He held out a hand to her. She hesitated, avoiding his gaze. Then she accepted his hand. He assisted her onto the bank. Maintaining his grasp on her hand, Duncan slipped his opposite arm around her waist and guided her over to a low boulder. He sat beside her and drew her body against his side.

  Alera pushed a few strands of dripping hair behind her shoulders. “I apologize for my unladylike behavior.” She cleared her throat. “I usually take

  great care to control my temper. Once the fury surfaces, I become a bit wild."

  "You have done this before?” he asked quietly.

  She shuddered. “Three times this bad. When I was eight, some brutes threw rocks and hit one of my friends, breaking his wing. He fell to the earth and died. I broke one boy's jaw and another's arm. Mama had Papa throw me into the sea to calm me."

  Alera shivered and pressed against him, looking toward the stream. “When I was twelve, Papa won a dispute with another baron at a tournament and let him live. Papa turned and walked toward King Henry. The baron went after Papa's back with a
mace. I grabbed a battle-axe from the warrior beside me and threw it at the baron's chest with all my might."

  She wiped her brow in a weary gesture. “The rage left when they told me the man was dead. Later, I could not even lift the axe. A priest said there was an evil demon inside me. That I should be purified by scourging. Another accused me of witchery and wanted to stick needles in my body. Mama took me back to Arundrydge so the priests could not get to me. The scandal eventually died down.” She released a ragged breath. “'Tis a curse that afflicts women on Mama's side of the family."

  The poor lass must have had a hellish time growing up in England. The Sassenach didn't have the sense to recognize what a treasure she was. Duncan tightened his arm about her. “Tell me about the other time."

  "'Twas when the Vikings captured me and I learned Uncle Mortimer was behind Mama's death and Papa's disappearance. I summoned my demon then. It lent me the strength I needed to escape."

  She shook her head. “I do not know why the water didn't work against me except it was so cold that it felt like fire burning my flesh and seemed to feed my anger. Killing the sow rather wiped me out, or I probably would have tried to kill you, too."

  She took a deep breath and tensed. “Are you going to send me away now that you know I am a dangerous murderer?"

  "Alera, look at me."

  She raised a fearful gaze to his.

  "You are mine.” He cupped her cheeks and possessively kissed her lips. “I will never send you away. And you are not cursed. Nor are you a murderer. You are a defender, and you're extraordinarily gifted. Megan told me you took her pain. I should have understood then."

  Alera stiffened. “I am not a witch."

  "I know. You are a blessing upon Clan Ranald.” He tenderly traced his finger over the red, swollen area on her jaw. “I'll not have you feeling guilty about whatever happened here today. Nor will I allow those who provoked you to go unpunished."

  "I would rather you did not punish them.” She rested her palm against his chest. “My friends have marked the two who tried to harm me for life. The other didn't know what they planned. I sent her away only because I did not wish to harm her. You should make her your housekeeper to keep her out of future mischief. She has a kind, but misdirected heart. She even offered to help me with my leg."

  "Offered to help with—” Duncan glanced down. Blood seeped into the wet fabric plastered against her leg. “Damn it, Alera! Why did you not tell me?"

  He reached for her hem. Alera hissed as the material lifted from a long gash down the outside of her calf.

  "I did not tell you because I knew you would want to look, and ‘twould sting in the cool air.” She slapped at his hands and pushed the material back down.

  He glowered. “Well, hell, Marcail is too sick to sew this."

  "It does not need sewing. ‘Tis just a scratch. I can take care of it myself."

  Duncan picked Alera up, cradling her in his arms, and headed up the trail.

  "Duncan, put me down.” She wiggled and pushed on his shoulders. “'Tis not so bad that I cannot walk."

  He grunted and tightened his hold. “There is no reason for you to walk when I can carry you. Besides, we need to get you out of yet another wet gown before you catch a chill. My legs are longer and will get us to the keep faster."

  "I am not going to the keep.” Alera settled against him and draped her arms around his stubborn neck. “I need to check on Marcail. She will be glad to lend me something dry. And I need to prepare our evening fare before it gets much later, so the twins can go to bed...” Her brows snapped together. “So they can relax their jaws. How dare you tell Logan and Marcail that I am your woman and you are going to give me lots of bairns so I will come to my senses and marry you for my own damn good?"

  He flashed a roguish grin. “They do have a tendency to repeat things."

  "They should not have heard it, because it should not have been said.” She shoved at his shoulder. “Now, put me down."

  "Marcail is right."

  "I told you not to wake her.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What did she say?"

  "Said you were as stubborn as her Uncle Julien. And that is about as stubborn as a body can get. The man is a damn MacKay."

  Alera tensed. “What else did she say?"

  He had better relent. If he goaded her too far, she might bolt again. He certainly didn't want to risk her reaching Aunt Toril. “She said God sent you to us, and if I ever hurt you, she will get her lash and thrash me good."

  "I like Marcail.” Alera settled against him. “I hope she pulls through this. Mama had the same problem and almost died. She lost my brother in

  childbirth."

  "Is your mother the reason you learned about birthing while still a maid?"

  "'Twas Papa who insisted. Almost losing Mama put the fear of Almighty God in him. He thought if Mama had known more, then mayhap she wouldn't have become so ill. He did not want me to risk dying through ignorance."

  "Your father sounds like a wise man. Are you sure he was English?"

  "Why you...you..."

  Duncan kissed her sputtering lips. “You will have to burn my judgmental ears later."

  They had reached the clearing in front of the cottage, and Geddes rode toward them. Logan came out of the cottage and draped a plaid over Alera.

  Geddes leaped from his mount and approached. “Laird, you must hurry to the keep. Just as I was riding out after Kevin, Brigit and Ardra came running, clawed up and bleeding. They are stirring up the clan with a tale of Lady Alera being a witch and calling birds from the sky to attack them."

  Alera turned frightened eyes to Duncan, clutching at his plaid. “I cannot bear the test, Duncan, but I am not a witch."

  Duncan clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek pulsating wildly. He lowered her feet to the ground and wrapped the blanket about her shoulders. “Alera, go inside the cottage. Keep the children with you and bar the door. Do not open it for anyone until Logan or I return."

  "I am not a witch, Duncan. I promise I'm not."

  He gave her a quick hard kiss on the mouth. “I know you're not. Even if you were a witch, you're still mine. Now go inside and do not fret. Logan and I will be famished when we get back. Spend the time tending your leg and preparing our meal."

  Alera impulsively stood on her toes, kissed his chin, then whirled around and hurried toward the cottage.

  Duncan watched the sway of her retreating hips and smiled. “The lass may be slow coming to her senses, but she's getting there."

  As the door shut behind her, his expression hardened. “Geddes, ride ahead and tell the clanswomen to go to the keep now. No excuses."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Thirteen

  Duncan stood with his arms crossed over his chest, hands fisted, and feet braced—every inch Highland chief. With his face a chiseled mask, he peered out at the hall as his clan gathered before him.

  Brigit held a cloth against her cheek. Ardra wore a bandage wrapped around her head. The pair drew sympathy from the women who hovered around them.

  Edeen stood at the back of the throng and glowered at her clanswomen. At least one of them had sense enough to see beyond Brigit and Ardra's wounds to the menace in their hearts.

  Moreen entered and glanced toward the clanswomen gathered on Duncan's left. After a moment, she walked to the right side of the hall where the men had assembled. She stopped beside her brother, Glen, keeping her head bowed.

  "Geddes, close the door."

  Attentive eyes turned toward Duncan as Geddes carried out the order.

  "Where is the Sassenach woman who caused this?” Ardra demanded. “She should be here."

  The muscle jumped in Duncan's cheek. “The lady is where her laird put her. Her presence is not necessary to this judgment. Brigit, you have made accusations against Lady Alera. Address your plaint to me."

  Brigit, still holding the cloth to her cheek, sauntered to the center of the hall and stood before Duncan. “
Ardra and I were in this very hall. We happened to overhear Logan's lassies say the Sassenach woman claimed all us Ranald women are heathen she-dogs."

  Gasps and murmurs rippled through the left side of the hall. Duncan silenced the women with a glare.

  "Well,” Brigit continued. “We were both insulted, having never met the woman nor done her any harm."

  A few of the men snorted.

  She scowled at them then turned back to face Duncan and squared her shoulders. “We went to ask her why she would make such a cruel remark. We found her by the stream near your brother's home. When we asked her, she gloated and called us worse, such awful things that I dare not repeat them. We told her we did not deserve her disdain, considering what she is."

  Edeen harrumphed at the back of the hall.

  Brigit lifted her head a notch. “'Twas then she gave us an evil look and mumbled gibberish. Two giant birds flew from the sky and attacked us. I'll be marked for life, because the woman possesses a witch's black powers. You can see for yourself.” She removed the cloth from her cheek, revealing three angry-red furrows carved into her ivory flesh.

  An indignant buzz zoomed through the left side of the hall. The clansmen turned and glowered at the clanswomen until they ceased their blathering.

  "Ardra, have you aught to add?” Duncan asked.

  "Aye, laird.” Ardra stepped forward and stood by her friend. “'Twas as Brigit said, except the bird got my forehead and scalp. I'll be having to cut my hair off to sew up the wounds."

  Duncan stared at the women. Their crimes mounted. ‘Twas bad enough they had attacked Alera. Now they lied to their laird. And Moreen was no better. Her silence condemned her. His ire mingled with disgust.

  "Laird?"

  "Aye, Glen."

  "My sister wishes to speak."

  Duncan nodded once, granting permission.

  Moreen came forward, her hands wringing her skirt. She stopped several feet from Brigit and Ardra, raised timid eyes, and cleared her throat. “'Twas not as they said, laird."

  "She lies,” Ardra cried. “She was not there."