Paper Roses

by Collier, Celia

  In the depths of his heart, Alastair prayed Ciara would not be harmed. It mattered little what John's scheme entailed. By the end of this day, John of Glengarry would breathe his last.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ciara struggled with the rope that held her captive in Johann's cold, filthy croft. Bound to the rickety chair Alastair occupied not long ago, with chickens pecking around her feet, she tried to loosen the blasted ties that cut into her flesh.

  Upon her arrival, the silent beasts who escorted her pulled her from the saddle and shoved her inside. Forced into the chair, her bound wrists in her lap, Ciara tried to kick the men as they wound the length of rope tightly around her legs and secured her to the seat of the chair. Once that was accomplished, they removed the gag. Her request for water and a fire went unanswered and the men departed the shack without so much as a backward glance.

  Frustration lured a curse from her lips. If only she could break the wood! Should she topple the chair, surely the weak timber would splinter.

  A quick glance at the drawn shutter gave her courage to continue. She said a quick prayer that the fall would not harm her bairn; then she braced her feet against the dirt-packed floor and rocked her body from side to side. The wood groaned beneath her weight. Finally, Ciara toppled to the floor. The dilapidated timber groaned a loud death.

  Breath held, Ciara waited for signs of discovery. Chickens clucked around her and one proud rooster strutted before her face. Several long minutes passed with naught but the fowl aware of her efforts.

  Relief tumbled through her soul. Ciara pushed herself upright and used her teeth on the tight knots the men had made.

  Anger churned in her breast while she worked. Her husband would make these men rue the day they laid a hand on her.

  Alastair. Her heart ached when she thought of him. Did he know she was gone? Would he know where to begin a search?

  One knot broke free. She said a prayer of thanks and worked on the next.

  Hours had passed since her arrival. She glanced toward the shutter. Judging from the light that peeked through the cracks, it was now mid-morn.

  Her tummy rumbled with hunger. Ciara ignored it and continued her task. Why did they have to bind her so tightly?

  Finally, the rope fell away from her tender wrists. Ciara spared no more than a moment to rub them before she freed her legs. Once she was rid of the cumbersome ties, she climbed to her feet.

  Blood rushed into her limbs and she had to lean against the table for support. Once the circulation returned, her gaze moved to the shattered chair.

  One leg remained intact with a piece of the broken seat attached. Ciara retrieved it. 'Twould make a fine weapon, if needed.

  She crept to the closed shutter and peered through the cracks. In the clearing before the croft, a dozen men stood at the ready. Ciara frowned and glanced at her meager weapon. 'Twould take more than the broken leg of a chair to get past those men.

  Two horses emerged through the trees, the blanket of snow silencing their steps. John and MacLean approached the croft and dismounted. One guard stepped forward and spoke in a low voice to John.

  Disgust wound through her belly. Now she understood why John remained behind. No doubt, he had conspired with MacLean before arriving on Alastair's mountain.

  Ciara moved toward the door and held her weapon like a club. Her heart thundered in her ears while she waited for the men to enter.

  The door swung open and clattered against the opposite wall. Light spilled into the room along with crisp, clean air. The moment John entered the dwelling, Ciara clenched her jaw and swung her weapon at his head.

  The force of the blow made John stagger back into MacLean. Both men stumbled and fell in the snow.

  The stunned faces of the guards turned her way. Ciara quickly closed the barrier and reached for the lock. Trepidation coiled through her when she realized there was no bolt.

  "Merde!" she swore, then hastened toward the table. She laid her weapon upon the rustic surface and shoved the obstacle against the door. Thank goodness the table, while sturdy, was light enough for her to move.

  The angry voices beyond the thatch caused her hands to tremble. They would try to enter again. As quickly as she could, Ciara toppled the table and wedged it at an angle she prayed it would keep the foe at bay. Once that was accomplished, she took up her club and backed away from the barrier.

  A strong thud shook the door. Heart in her throat, Ciara stared at the table. The wood shivered from the blows, yet maintained its hold.

  The shutter slammed forward. Ciara spun her attention there. A masculine leg straddled the opening. She ran toward the intruder and used her club on the leg that invaded her space. A cry of pain echoed in her ears before the intruder withdrew.

  Ciara reached for the shutter. A strong hand reached through the open space, grabbed her hair and pulled her up against the wall. She winced and dropped her club. Her nails clawed at the hand that held her captive. Skin tore and the warmth of blood covered her fingers. The one who held her yelped in pain and released his hold.

  She spun around and attempted to close the shutter. Another unfamiliar arm invaded her space and prevented it from closing.

  Fury licked through her veins like fire over dry wood. Ciara sank her teeth into the offending arm. The tactic worked, for the owner withdrew amid a howl of pain.

  The shutter banged against its frame and Ciara slid the peg bolt into place. She retrieved her weapon and backed through the startled chickens so she had a clear view of both portals.

  The door shook, yet by some miracle the table held. Two more blows followed, then naught but silence filled her ears.

  Unease spread its fingers through her belly. With care, she approached the shutter and peered through the cracks.

  John stood not more than five feet from the croft. One side of his head was covered in blood. A touch of satisfaction filled Ciara. He deserved a lot worse.

  Beside him stood MacLean. Gooseflesh slid over her skin at the mere sight of the detested man. He stared at the croft, then spoke in a low voice to John. Whatever he said held some appeal, for John nodded his consent.

  A hen pecked at the soiled hem of her nightgown. Ciara frowned and nudged the animal away with her foot. "Be off with you, before I wring your neck and place you in a stew."

  Activity in the clearing drew her gaze once more. Dread snaked its way through her soul. The men gathered wood and piled it in the middle of the void. Damn it all! Johann would have a stock of dry wood to last the winter.

  One man crouched before the aged timber and struck a flint against stone. In a matter of minutes, flames licked over the dry fare and sputtered black smoke toward the heavens.

  The man moved away and the group stared at the croft. John stepped forward. "Exit the croft at once, or I will burn it over your head."

  His voice echoed through the glen and pierced her heart. What the devil was she supposed to do now? Was Alastair on his way, or were false clues left for him to follow?

  Her hands shook and she clutched her club before her like a shield.

  "I see you are as stubborn as your sire," John said before turning to one of his men. At John's signal, the man retrieved a chunk of wood partially engulfed in flames and flung it toward the croft.

  Ciara looked up at the thatched roof. Flames spread over the far corner of the croft and spat fiery sparks over the sparse furnishings.

  The club slipped from her fingers as she backed away from the spreading flames. Her heart raked her ribs and terror wound its way through her belly.

  Alastair! Dear God, where was Alastair?

  * * *

  Thick black smoke curled through leafless branches and coiled toward the sky. Alastair paused his mount near the clearing before Johann's croft. He dismounted, followed by his men, and walked his horse into the protection of trees and shrubs. Once the beast was tethered, he slipped through the dormant foliage and peered into the glen.

  Near two dozen men stood in
the snow and watched the croft burn. In the midst, he spotted John and the hated Fergus MacLean.

  "Where is Ciara?"

  Ninian's whisper drew Alastair's gaze for the space of a heartbeat. Again he stared at the croft, halfway engulfed in flames.

  "God's blood," he whispered and fought the dread that attempted to wedge its way into his soul. "Ciara is in the croft."

  He drew his sword and sprang forward through the brush, a cry of rage falling from his lips. The warriors in his company followed suit.

  Surprised, the men who served his uncle turned in the direction of the noise. Rage churned through Alastair's veins. He cut down one man after another in his quest to reach his uncle and MacLean.

  His prey ran for their horses. "Torquil and Ninian, to me!" he said, and ran toward the frightened animals.

  One strong hand grabbed John by the nape and flung him into the bloodied snow. Alastair planted a boot-clad foot in the center of John's chest and stared down into his uncle's tormented face.

  Fear drew moisture on John's brow. Alastair gripped his sword firmly by the hilt and poised it over John's throat.

  The frantic beat of John's pulse vibrated through Alastair's foot. "Lad, you canna kill -- "

  Alastair clenched his jaw and plunged his blade through the man's throat with such force, he embedded the metal into the ground. He released his hold and the hilt swayed back and forth in rhythm to the convulsions that trapped John's body.

  The sound of falling timber drew his gaze. Most of the croft was now engulfed in flames. Fear pumped adrenaline into his veins. A quick look at Ninian satisfied Alastair that he could handle MacLean.

  "Ciara!" Alastair called and ran for the fire-embraced wood. The heat scorched his flesh. "Ciara!"

  Amid the crackling wood, he swore he heard her call. The door was in flames and fiery wings spread toward the shutter. Alastair beat at the wooden barrier with his shoulder. Pain shot through his body with each blow. Heat from the fire grew closer and smoke filled his lungs. He coughed and continued his attack on the timber.

  The barrier gave way and Alastair stumbled. He peered into the abode and tried to see Ciara through the sea of black.

  "Ciara!" He choked on the smoke and dove through the opening. Hard dirt-packed earth greeted him. He raised himself to his hands and knees. Another cough racked his body. When it subsided, he called for her again.

  "Alastair."

  The call was weak, yet he heard it. He crawled toward the sound of her voice. His hand brushed against her. "Here, love, come to me."

  She scrambled through the smoke and growing flames and clung to his neck. Alastair lifted her into his arms and ran for the only exit available.

  Flames leapt around him and fiery clumps fell around his shoulders. He did not halt his progress. The moment he reached the shutter, he hoisted Ciara through the opening. His men pulled her to safety, then strong hands reached for him. They grabbed him by the waist of his kilt and pulled him from the flames.

  Cold snow embraced his face and cooled his singed flesh. His throat constricted on the brisk air. Rough hands rolled him in the snow.

  'Twas then Alastair smelt the stench of burning wool. He lay upon his back and choked on the clean air that filled his lungs. Smoke curled into the air, and the dying crackle of burned timber echoed in his ears.

  Faces loomed above him, yet all he saw was Torquil's frown. "I canna believe ye dove through the shutter like that with flames licking yer skin."

  Alastair groaned. "I would crawl through Hades naked to save my wife." He rolled to his side and searched for her.

  Ciara lay in soiled snow. Her ragged coughs permeated the air and drowned out the sound of the fire that destroyed the croft. Smoke blackened her nightgown and blotted her skin.

  Emotions surged through his body and robbed him of his voice. He had nearly lost her. Alastair struggled to his knees and scrambled to his wife.

  Soot-covered eyelids lay closed against singed flesh. His heart twisted in his chest. With care, he reached out a hand and touched her cheek. "Ciara?" he whispered, his voice choked.

  Her eyes slowly opened. Mirrored in those starry depths Alastair saw pain. A lump formed in his throat. He forced his gaze from her eyes and gave her body a quick examination.

  "Are you harmed?" he asked and rested his gaze on her once more.

  Tears slid from her eyes and formed a clean path through her soot-covered cheeks. "I thought -- " A vicious cough stole her words.

  Alastair turned to the men who gathered round. "Fetch water."

  The light touch of his wife's hand upon his arm drew his gaze. He gathered her into his lap and cradled her in his embrace.

  Beneath his palm, he gathered bits of snow and held them against her dry lips. "Eat this," he said.

  Her eyes fluttered shut as she drew the moisture into her mouth. When she finished, he gathered more. One of his men offered a skein of water. Alastair held it for her. Each swallow assured him she would survive.

  Ciara lay against his arm and shook her head when more water was offered. "I thought I would die in there, Alastair."

  The harsh tone of her whisper twisted through him as keenly as a blade. If he had arrived even moments later . . . he shuddered at the thought. He had gotten here on time and had pulled her from the flames.

  Someone produced a cloth. Alastair dampened it with the water and gently cleaned her face. "All is well now, love," he whispered and continued to bathe her face.

  Ciara's hand circled his wrist and drew his gaze to hers. "I was frightened I would die without telling you how I feel about you."

  He didn't want to hear this. Deep in his heart, he knew the love he felt for her was not returned.

  A soft hand on his cheek pulled him from his thoughts. He stared into her luminous eyes and braced himself to hear the truth.

  A tender smile curled her lips. "I love you, Alastair MacDonell."

  "Och, 'tis naught but mush talk they exchange."

  Alastair barely heard Torquil's proclamation. His mind was filled with Ciara's tender words. Joy speared his heart and leaked into his soul. She loved him! Ciara truly loved him.

  The smile slowly left her face and she frowned. "Do you have naught to say, husband?"

  He shook his head. "Not a word, wife," he said and covered her lips with his own. Through his kiss, his touch, he prayed she would understand the depths of his emotions.

  "Much as I hate to disrupt such a tender display, I would like to know what you want done with him."

  Ninian's voice penetrated Alastair's thoughts. Reluctantly, he lifted his head from his wife's tempting lips and turned his attention to Ninian.

  Held in the man's firm grasp was Fergus MacLean. Bloodied features and swollen eyes stared back at him.

  "Drown him in the loch, for all I care," Alastair said. He helped Ciara off his lap and to her feet. Torquil offered Alastair a hand. Once pulled to his feet, Alastair brushed off his clothes and settled his gaze on MacLean. "You conspired with my uncle all those years ago, didn't you?"

  Amid a mixture of dried and fresh blood, MacLean curled his lip in disgust. "You can prove naught."

  Alastair took a step forward, his temper rising to meld with the destruction of the croft. "I know what happened. John abducted Rachel, then turned her over to you." Another step lessened the gap between them. "'Twas at your hands she suffered and died."

  MacLean snickered. Ninian grimaced and shoved an elbow into the man's ribs.

  "My uncle's motive I understand," Alastair said and took yet another step. "Explain yours. Why did you brand Rachel with the badge of an innocent clan?"

  A sharp tug from Ninian lured a response from MacLean. "Mackintosh sealed his fate the moment he made threats against me."

  Ninian frowned. "What sort of threats?"

  MacLean grimaced. "The king disapproves of certain activities that bring joy to those who choose to participate."

  Without a doubt, Alastair knew it was lecherous deeds he cit
ed.

  "Your sire discovered how I seek my pleasure," MacLean said to Ninian. "He gained sworn statements from a couple of lasses involved, and threatened to place them in the hands of the king if I did not repent."

  "'Tis clear my sire's threat went unheeded."

  The hush of Ciara's voice drew Alastair's brief gaze. He draped an arm around her and pulled her against his body.

  MacLean sighed. "Somehow, your sire learned about my presence at Glengarry. He signed his own death warrant the moment he nudged his mount toward Edinburgh."

  Beneath his grasp, Alastair felt Ciara tremble. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, yet kept his gaze trained on the deplorable man before him.

  "Why does Eneas tolerate you?" Ninian asked. He tightened his hold when MacLean hesitated.

  "Eneas is a greedy bastard with a taste for a lifestyle he can ill afford. Since becoming laird, he has created a sizeable debt. I was the only one willing to help him. In exchange, I was to receive two things." His gaze flashed to Ciara. "Fabled priceless silver, and you."

  Anger slid through Alastair's veins. He would love nothing more than to retrieve his sword and strike the man down. He took a deep breath to control the urge and asked, "And Rachel? The condition of the lass and the words she uttered before she died lead me to believe you were her tormenter."

  MacLean looked away. "The lass served two purposes at once." His swollen gaze turned to Alastair. "When I finished with her, John returned her to these very woods and released her near the keep."

  Ninian raised a bloody dirk and pressed it against the man's throat. "You bastard!"

  From the protection of the trees, a high pitched cry shattered the air. Alastair shoved Ciara behind him and turned in time to see Johann sprint across the clearing. The woman looked wild; as if madness consumed her soul. She held a dagger poised, ready to strike.

  "Alastair, she has a blade."

  Ciara's whisper sent chills down his spine. Johann leapt for MacLean at the same moment Ninian jumped back to avoid being crushed.

  Johann hit MacLean square in the chest with the blade and her weight. The pair toppled into the littered snow. Johann sat up and, jaw clenched, she stabbed MacLean again. When she lifted the blade to strike once more, MacLean grasped her wrist.