The Rebel of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  He had never been one to dance—not without much cajoling by a pretty face. But this was different. This was Tara. He took her into his arms, holding her tight and spun her around, again, and again, circling … moving through the crowd.

  At last, she smiled the smile he had been waiting to see, and even laughed, looking delighted and dizzied.

  His heartbeat hitched in his chest, and in that moment he felt far more than desire for her. More than the need to possess her.

  “I’m glad we came,” he said.

  He kissed her, his arm coming round her, as he held the other one out to protect her from being bumped by those spinning around them. It was a perfect moment. A magical moment. She sighed into his mouth, as her hands gripped the front of his tunic.

  Backing away, her shadowed face peering up at him from her cowl, she shouted over the noise.

  “I must talk to you,” she said.

  Talk. Yes. About the awkwardness between them. He had to know why, and he hoped she would tell him now. He must also make a successful argument for taking her to Inverhaven now, even though she still did not know the truth of her sister’s death. He would tell her everything—who he was, and about his plan to punish the men who had murdered his father. He would need all of his concentration in the coming days, and could not afford to lose half his mind every time he saw her in Hugh’s company.

  He led the way, making a path through the throng drawing her along by the hand, behind the bulwark of his body. He was thankful for the darkness that concealed them, but one day … one day he would take pleasure in walking with her like this in the daylight, for all eyes to see.

  “Magnus!” a female voice shouted from behind them. He stiffened—then brought her quickly around, and turned, so as to shelter her behind his back, shielding her from being seen by whoever approached.

  It was Kyla and Laire, waving and smiling back at him. At some distance followed Chissolm and Adam, and several others.

  Hell.

  He turned aside to Tara, shielding her with the wall of his body. “Go to my horse and wait for me. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  He did not like sending her away alone in the night, not even for a moment. Indeed, tension pulled between his shoulders as she nodded, and pulling her hood closer around her face, backed away. But he could not under any circumstances allow anyone to see them together, even these men he trusted. He turned, and went to them.

  “Is that her?” Chissolm grinned, leaning aside, trying to peer around Magnus.

  “Her who?” asked Adam, his eyebrows going up. “Is there something … someone I don’t know about?”

  “What’s this?” exclaimed Quentin, dramatically pressing his hand to his heart. “Has our great and formidable leader’s untamable heart, finally been tamed?”

  Kyla frowned. “You have a woman?”

  Laire’s expression matched her friend’s. “Do we know her?”

  Magnus crossed his arms over his chest, assuming an expression of indifference—and he shrugged. “She’s just someone I danced with. What are you idiots doing here?”

  *

  Tara hurried away, her heart beating fast. She turned, looking back, and could just see Magnus in the darkness, talking to the two young women, and several men, friends by all appearances. Looking at him like that, he seemed so far away—a totally different man than the one she’d danced with just moments before, a man who had belonged only to her, once again.

  For that reason, she was grateful for the interruption for her it reminded her … he did not belong to her.

  Nor she to him.

  All morning, after discovering Magnus in bed with the two women, she’d wallowed in the lowest depths of heartache. Perhaps, even now, he spoke to the same two women. They hovered close to his side, peering up at him, laughing and smiling flirtatiously.

  She’d already all but made herself ill. It wasn’t jealousy she’d felt, exactly, although certainly … there had been that. Mostly, she’d been disappointed … and angry at herself for being so foolish as to entrust her heart and her life to a man whose character she truly did not know. How could she be angry with him? Although he’d sworn to protect her, had he ever really sworn his heart? Perhaps he did intend to leave Burnbryde with her, and even marry her, but what sort of love was that, if he could make love to her with such passion one night, and the next enjoy the pleasures of other women?

  And so … as the day passed, her mood had shifted from dejection to a new kind of strength, and determination that she would not be defeated by this.

  When she’d arrived at Burnbryde a and found herself prisoner in the tower, she’d vowed to escape, and never again be used by any man, and yet what had she done? She had placed herself in a situation where she would suffer exactly that.

  Why had she not seen the danger at the time? Why had she not been stronger?

  In the end, it didn’t really matter if Magnus had made love to those two women last night … or five women, or twelve.

  Her life was in danger, and she knew now what she’d known before Magnus. If she wanted to escape … if she wanted to live, she could only trust herself to make it happen. It was why she must leave him now, and escape, as she had intended to do from the start.

  It was why she’d asked him to bring her to Rackamoor, and he had just given her the perfect opportunity to flee, had he not?

  So why did she stand here, her feet planted to the ground … wavering … waiting for him to stop her?

  Because what if it wasn’t true? What if she had somehow misunderstood and Magnus had not been with those women?

  Just then a man and a woman stumbled past, kissing, embracing … She briefly glimpsed the man’s face in the light of the flames—

  And recognized him.

  A stab of fear struck through her chest. She had seen him before. At the priory.

  It was Robert Stewart, Buchan’s younger son.

  She stumbled backward, desperate to remain unseen—

  Only to collide into something hard … and distinctly male.

  Two hands grasped her by the shoulders, and roughly set her aside.

  “Robert,” shouted Duncan, his older brother, striding past her. “The earl is asking to see you. Leave the wench and come.”

  Tara backed away, nearly stumbling in her haste to escape. She pulled her hood closer, to hide her face, and rushed away from them, only to turn and observe from a distance, and the safety of darkness, as they proceeded away from the bonfire, over a high berm.

  Heart pounding, her stomach clenching with dread, she followed at a distance, climbing the incline until she reached the top.

  There, she froze, her eyes widening at the sight. Dozens of small fires dotted the night. She perceived the dark outline of countless tents, and men. She gasped, backing away. Panic rose up around her like a dark, consuming wave.

  Buchan had arrived.

  *

  “Well, my friends, I’m very tired, and believe I shall return to Burnbryde. I will see you there in the morning.” Magnus backed away from them.

  “Return to Burnbryde, my arse,” Quentin responded with a deep laugh. “You’re going to find her again, aren’t you?”

  “I’m so very curious to see who she is,” Adam teased. “Perhaps we ought to follow him, and see who she is for ourselves.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Magnus grinned, and broke away, striding into the darkness.

  The smile dropped from his lips as they shouted after him, bawdy things he barely heard for the blood pounding in his ears. He had to find Tara and tell her what he’d just learned, that Buchan had arrived and was encamped with an army of gallowglass mercenaries on the other side of that damn hill.

  He had to get her safely to Inverhaven now, without delay. Only then could he return to Burnbryde, his mind free of fear for her, and execute the only plan that could ensure their future together.

  Only the night was already half gone—he was running out of time. He arrived at
the place where the horse had been secured … where Tara was to wait for him.

  His heart started in bewilderment … for neither she nor his animal was there.

  He could not call her name, for fear someone would hear.

  Instead, apprehension pricked his spine, as he walked in a wide arc, knowing he suffered no confusion about the location. Even in the dark, he knew exactly where he was. This was the place.

  Even so, he returned to the center of the circle he’d just walked and he dragged his heel over the uneven earth until he found the hole where the stake had been driven.

  The Devil in Hell. Where was she?

  Was it possible she been recognized? And taken to Buchan’s camp?

  He could … find a torch and examine the ground for the horse’s tracks, but he knew … damn him to hell, he knew the ground would be a confusing tumult of indentations and upturned earth created by the prior days of festival.

  He pivoted, looking in every direction, stalking to and fro … the muscles across his chest feeling drawn, his pulse quickly becoming frantic. All around, he saw nothing but black night and indiscernible shapes and faces. Laughter and music pressed into his ears, the sounds sharp and annoying.

  The highlands could be a dangerous place for a woman, and he felt torn between waiting here for her to return, or setting off into the crowd, the tents, the village, the earl’s encampment to search for her.

  Panic was a reaction foreign to him, but panic tightened his chest and his blood turned to ice.

  God help him … Tara was gone and he did not know where she was, who had taken her, or how to get her back.

  *

  Tara rode north, into absolute darkness, her heart beating so hard she could barely breathe. Tears streamed over her cheeks. Cold wind tore her hood from her hair, and chilled her through.

  And she was frightened. She had never been so frightened.

  She had never felt so alone.

  But she could not go back. The moment she’d realized Buchan was there, just over the hill, panic and fear—and an all-consuming need to be free—had guided her actions.

  If she stayed, a wedding to Hugh would take place. As strong and certain as Magnus was, how could he save her from that, without getting himself killed? She did not want him to die.

  She could only rely on her instincts, and her instincts compelled her to go forward with her plan to ride away, to assert control over her own future and most of all, to endanger no one but herself. She only prayed the Kincaids were not the savages she’d heard they were, and that they would give her safe haven until she could travel on to the priory. But would she even find the Kincaids? Where did the Alwyn lands end and Kincaid lands begin?

  The animal leapt over a berm, delving down a sharp incline. Her stomach turned with the drop in elevation. She had not ridden after being committed to the care of the priory, but she had loved riding before, with her father. She sensed Magnus’s horse knew the way, even in the darkness. She told herself that she must trust the animal to get her safely there.

  Suddenly—out of nowhere a bright flame appeared, a torch waved in a high arc, just in front of her. The horse screamed and stamped, rearing—dropping her to the ground.

  Tara twisted on the earth—reaching for the animal’s reins, which dangled, swinging past her, but she wasn’t fast enough. The horse raced away in the night, hooves thudding across the earth.

  But another sound chilled her blood. Heavy footsteps on the earth, crunching over grass and stone. Footsteps that sounded as if they belonged to a giant. With those footsteps, the torchlight moved closer, until in the night, she saw a face … wild-eyed and covered in a mask of tattoos. Glaring fiercely at her.

  Tara scrambled away, and screamed.

  Chapter 13

  Magnus did the only thing he knew to do. He stole Chissolm’s horse and he rode north, toward Inverhaven.

  Tara was safe. She had to be.

  No doubt she had been seen by someone who recognized her, and taken straightaway to Buchan. If that was indeed what had occurred, she would have to explain to her guardian how she’d come to be at Rackamoor, alone and in the middle of the night, but he had to believe no harm would come to her.

  Tara was smart. There was a reason no one had waited to confront him at the place where they’d agreed to meet. She had not implicated him in any way, and no doubt had taken the entirety of the blame on herself for venturing out unescorted to the festival.

  And yet … there were other possibilities. Fearsome possibilities, the thought of which made him nearly ill.

  If a stranger had taken her … someone who wished her harm …

  He couldn’t think about it. If he did, he’d go mad.

  He would remain at Inverhaven only as long as it took to inform his brother of Buchan’s arrival. Afterward, he would immediately return to Rackamoor, and under cover of darkness, go into the camp and confirm whether she was there … or returned to Burnbryde.

  If she wasn’t … if she wasn’t, he would exhaust himself finding her, and hate himself every moment of every day for the rest of his life if any misfortune had befallen her.

  At last, he saw lights shining in the night, the windows and ramparts of the stronghold at Inverhaven.

  He’d been followed at a distance by Kincaid border guards, who had not interfered with his progress toward the keep. Still sick at heart, his thoughts clouded full of concern for Tara, he rode straight through rows of encamped mercenaries to the gate, and gave the horse over to a sleepy-eyed, tousle-haired stableboy, asking him to wait for his imminent departure rather than taking the animal away.

  At the doors, he spoke to a male servant, giving his name and saying he urgently needed to speak to the Kincaid. It would be after midnight now, and everyone might be abed, but the announcement of Buchan’s arrival was worth waking Niall. Indeed, it was worth waking his entire army.

  Magnus stood impatiently in the dimly lit entry hall, weighted by guilt over leaving Tara for even a second at the festival. Each moment that passed seemed an eternity that she might be slipping further away, to a place he could not find her. He prayed to God, more fervently than he had ever prayed about anything, that she was safe.

  The servant returned. “The Kincaid will see you.”

  He followed the man to the laird’s council chambers. To his surprise, upon entering the room, he spied his brother relaxed in a chair, dressed in tunic and plaid, looking into the fire. On the table beside him were two goblets.

  “Magnus.” Niall lifted his chin.

  “Greeting, brother,” Magnus said, striding toward him, his cloak swirling around his calves. “Buchan has arrived, and he’s brought hundreds of men with him.”

  “And I would venture they didn’t come just to celebrate a wedding. It is time, then.” Niall turned his face to look up at him, eyebrows raised. “Let us discuss the final details of our plan.”

  Magnus tensed. “You and the men stand ready, and be prepared to come at a moment’s notice. I do not know how it will happen or when, but I will force the Alwyn’s confession,” he said with certainty. “And if Buchan was involved, we will know of it. Until then I ask that you wait until I summon you to the border—and I join you there to march against them.”

  Niall’s gaze burned hot. “I look forward to that moment when the Alwyn realizes you are my brother. That he must answer to not only one Kincaid son, but two. Buchan as well.”

  “As do I.” He paced before the fire, agitation running through his blood. Until he found her, he couldn’t relax. Hell, he might never sleep again. “Niall … I must tell you, there’s something else.”

  Niall leaned forward in his chair, watching him. “What is it?”

  “Tara is gone.” The words broke from his lips like a confession, and he supposed they were. He felt responsible. Lost. “Tara Iverach.”

  “From where did she go missing?” Niall asked, with utter calm.

  “I had taken her to the festival at Rackamoor, intending to
bring her here after, for safety. Niall, it is too dangerous for her there at Burnbryde. Hugh … I do not trust him alone with her.”

  Niall stared at him in silence. He knew. Of course he did. Certainly it was written all over his face, that he cared for Tara. That he loved her.

  “We were there, together, at the bonfire. She was there one moment, and then she was gone.”

  Niall nodded. “She escaped.”

  “Or was abducted, I fear,” he blurted, waving a hand. “I don’t know … I should go, I cannot rest until I find her—”

  “No, brother,” Niall interrupted. “I’m telling you. She escaped.”

  Magnus blinked. “Why would you say that?”

  Niall leaned back in his chair again, lifting a hand to his chin. “Tara Iverach is here. She’s … upstairs with Elspeth at this very moment.”

  Magnus’s heart seized inside his chest. “She … is here.”

  Niall nodded. “My captain, Deargh, stopped her crossing over into Kincaid lands. She came here of her own free will, asking for my protection. She asked to be returned to a priory at Elgin.”

  Magnus felt as if he’d taken a spear to the chest.

  He turned toward the fire, staring at the flames, determined not to let his brother see what those words did to him, that they clawed his insides out.

  After the night they had spent together? After the words they’d spoken?

  Tara had escaped … and she had used him to do so? She had asked him to take her to Rackamoor, then she had stolen his horse and fled, leaving him without explanation. Leaving him to believe she’d been abducted or murdered, or worse.

  She did not know Niall was his brother. Did not realize he would hear the truth.

  Perhaps this had been her plan all along, from the first moment she’d arrived at Burnbryde.

  Even in those moments when they’d made love.

  To use him so that she could escape, and to never look back. He’d been so blinded by her loveliness. Her innocence. He’d never suspected. How could he have been such a fool?