Highland Temptation

by Lori Ann Bailey

  Kirstie. He sighed with relief as her silhouette came into view, which took the weight from his chest.

  Skirting back around the front of the inn, he tried the door, but it was locked, so he made his way to the large window, easing it open soundlessly. The fit was tight, but he was able to squeeze head first through the open pane. His arm swung wide and bumped into an unlit lamp, which crashed to the floor as he swung his legs in. He jumped to his feet and hurried to the shadows behind the door leading to the stairs.

  The groans of the wood planks and stomp of boots descending the steps sounded as one man said, “There shouldnae be anyone down here. The innkeeper and his wife are in bed.”

  “Mayhap they have a dog,” came the second voice.

  “There was no mutt in here. I would’ve seen it. Keep yer dirk ready in case someone found us. I dinnae trust that Mackenzie.”

  “I’m relieved Hamish said we could end him in the morn’.”

  So he’d not been able to keep his emotions hidden from Hamish, and they all now knew or at least suspected they couldn’t trust him.

  With his life and Kirstie’s depending on him taking down all six men and getting her out of here, Alan waited until both men had cleared the staircase before he lunged for the one nearest and sunk his dirk into the man’s lower back. It slid in and up easily. The man froze then slumped as he pulled the knife out.

  The body landed near the bottom steps, making a softer than expected thud, but it was still loud enough to have the other man turning to see what had happened. The hulking shadow growled and then leaped for him, but Alan ducked down and out to the side as the form whizzed by and collided with the closed front door.

  He swung around to drive his knife toward the second man’s gut just as the brute recovered and turned toward him, but the man caught his hand and fought to keep it away.

  An arm wrapped around his neck as yet another man yanked him back toward the stairs. Alan kicked out with both feet to knock the second man to the ground as he grabbed at the vise cutting off his air. When he had a good grip on the third man, he bent and used the momentum to throw the newcomer over his back and into the man he’d just kicked.

  Something snapped and a voice he’d not heard before called out, “My arm.”

  The man who’d come down first said, “Move.” He pushed the injured man away, and the sound of scraping metal indicated he’d drawn a sword from its sheath.

  Alan had to go in low because he was still cramped in the frame of the door at the base of the steps and didn’t have room to draw his own weapon. Driving for the man’s leg, he was rewarded when they both fell back and the halberd clanged to the ground.

  Wasting no time, Alan drove his knife into the man’s side, but the man continued to struggle until Alan was able to twist the blade several times, keeping it buried to the hilt. When the life had drained and the body became still, he looked around for the man with the injured arm to attack, but the coward had disappeared. The front door to the inn was left wide open in the man’s retreat, but he didn’t have time to give chase. The ruckus they had made surely warned Hamish they were under attack, so he let the man go and continued up toward the three men who still stood between Kirstie and him.

  He paused to see if any more men would come his way, but he heard nothing except the rain and wind that whistled and floated in through the open door behind him. He took each step one at a time, firmly planting his feet on the corners of the platforms to quiet the groans on the old wood.

  Reaching the hall, he noticed the glows coming from the slits under the doors labeled one and two. When he crested the top and moved toward the doors, his heart stopped beating at the sound of Kirstie yelling words that trailed off too suddenly through the door of the room he’d seen her in. He wanted to rush in, but there were three men left.

  At door three, he put his hand on the knob and gently eased it open. He scanned the small room. No candle lit the room, but lightning flashed, revealing an empty bed. The room was clear, so he turned back into the hall and to the room he’d been in earlier tonight. Thunder boomed and he flinched, thinking he’d missed someone in the room.

  Drawing his sword quietly from its sheath, he made his way to door number one and gently eased open the thick wood. Light flooded the hall, and he searched from corner to corner. Hell, Hamish and the other two men were in the room with Kirstie. The door had been left ajar and he saw movement but couldn’t tell for certain who it was.

  Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and let his eyes adjust to the light as he slid farther into the room to where he couldn’t be seen. Luckily, it appeared, the pounding of the rain and the howling wind had drowned the sounds of the confrontation he’d had below.

  He was debating if he should wait here for one to come through the door or to take his chances and burst in swinging when he heard Hamish’s calm voice. “Let’s try this again, Kirstie. You will marry me in the morning.”

  Tensing at the sneer he heard in the bastard’s voice, his grip on his claymore tightened.

  “My answer willnae change. Ye arennae fit to lead a herd of cows, and I will never give ye the Camerons.” She sounded breathless but determined.

  Her words were followed by a whoosh of sound, and she cried out in pain. All rational thought left as he yanked the door open and charged.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eyes still watering from Hamish’s attack, Kirstie straightened in time to catch a change in the current of energy in the room. It disturbed the stale air that had filled the small space and made her hair stand on end. Blinking, she gasped at the image of the balding man, mouth ajar, staring down at a sword that had pierced his midsection.

  Shivers spread through her as she recognized Alan holding the blade at the hilt, but he looked different. His gray eyes were rigid, cold, and at the same time they burned with an intense hardness that would have been frightening if they were aimed at her, but they weren’t. They were fixated on Hamish.

  Hamish shuddered. It was the first sign of any real emotion she’d ever seen in the arse who had remained passive and distant as he’d beat her when she hadn’t bent to his will.

  Alan’s dark blond hair clung to his head and cheeks, appearing almost chestnut with the sparse lighting of the two sputtering candles at the far corners of the room. As his soaked clothes hugged to his bulging arms, the material highlighted their girth, and he pulled the claymore from the guard and gripped it with both hands in an intimidating pose. Hamish’s man fell with a thick thud to the ground, and Alan stepped over the body without a downward glance.

  His golden skin glistened as if he’d spent the evening in the rain she’d heard pounding on the roof and windows as she’d prayed for the strength to do the right thing for her clan. This was the fierce warrior who her brother trusted at his side in battle, and despite what he’d done to her, she was thankful he was here now.

  “Move, Kirstie,” he ordered, but before the words registered, a hand clamped onto her arm and pulled.

  “What is this?” the devil with his talons around her asked in his eerie deadpan voice as he drew her closer to his side.

  She couldn’t lash out at him, because her arms were still bound and she was weak from the lack of nourishment and the beating her body had taken. She had no hope of getting out of Hamish’s grasp without distracting Alan.

  “Let her go, and I’ll think about sparing yer life.” Alan’s gaze was locked on the man holding her.

  “Balloch, get the others.” She thought she heard a slight tremor in Hamish’s voice.

  “Dinnae bother. They cannae help ye.”

  Until now, she’d kept her gaze focused on her savior, but it shifted to the redheaded man who had earlier seemed to have some sense of compassion. His focus was locked on Alan but skid to Hamish and then back again. Since he was standing so close to the candles, it was hard to see who he’d decided
to side with until his hand rose to his side, and she heard the scrape of metal as his sword was unsheathed.

  “If ye walk out that door now, ye may avoid their fate.” Alan’s stare had turned to Balloch, but she was certain he hadn’t taken all his attention from Hamish and her. Balloch squared his shoulders then took a step toward Alan. “Ye dinnae have to do this.”

  “Aye, I have sworn my loyalty.” The man slid sideways to cut off Alan’s access to Hamish and her, then time stood still as the men assessed each other and awaited the next move.

  “Be done with it,” Hamish ordered his man from behind her.

  A flash of red hair and steel blurred as the guard charged toward Alan. Swords clashed and she flinched at the clang of metal as her heart lurched, her own predicament forgotten as she prayed God would keep Alan safe. The redhead took a step back and pulled his weapon up in a defensive stance as Alan readjusted in one fluid motion.

  Stepping in toward Alan, the man swung around and up, aiming for Alan’s torso, but Alan met the blade with his own and deflected it easily. Balloch swung in from the opposite side, and the swords collided again and scraped. A blur of red continued toward Alan, even as his sword was pushed out of his grasp and clattered to the floor. The brute clung to Alan’s arm and drove him back into the wall. As he did, she felt a tug as Hamish attempted to draw her toward the open door to the other room. She pulled away and his grip tightened painfully on the sensitive skin under her upper arm. Attempting to drive her elbow into his ribs, she thrust toward his midsection, but the vise around her dug in deeper and kept her from reaching the target.

  “Do not make me hurt you.” His quiet command stopped her for a moment, then she remembered he would hurt her no matter what she did. He honestly thought she would let him drag her out of here without a struggle.

  Her gaze shifted to take in his cold eyes, and she pinned him with all the emotion she had. “I willnae be going anywhere with ye, and ye will never lead the Camerons.”

  Doubt appeared in his eyes for the first time, but before she could savor it, the redheaded guard grunted and cursed. Her attention returned to the men fighting in front of her.

  Alan growled, drew his foot up between them, and pushed out to kick at the man. The redhead lost his grip and flew backward but managed to stay upright. Alan lunged forward, but Balloch had already reached down to scoop up his weapon and skidded out of reach. He stumbled but caught himself on the small table near the closed door to the hall. It creaked and its contents shifted as he nearly tumbled over with it, but when he righted himself, he moved into an offensive stance.

  Hamish’s iron grip remained firm on her arm as his free hand snaked around her waist and drew her flush to his chest. She tried to struggle, but he pulled her along the side of the room toward the adjoining door.

  Despite the threat in front of him, Alan shifted to block Hamish’s retreat. The arse took a step back and dragged her with him to stand in front of the window by the bed.

  “Look out,” she yelled as Balloch charged toward the man she loved.

  Movement from the other side of the room caught her gaze as red flames engulfed the side of the room. When Balloch had fallen into the table, the candle must have ignited something. The fingers of fire had spread to the table and chair.

  Alan turned in time to block the blow, but Balloch swung around for another attack. Metal clanged and their positions shifted, completely blocking Hamish’s escape to the other room.

  The redhead caught sight of the flames for the first time. He gaped, and that was all Alan needed to slice through the air and collide with the man’s side. He went down screaming as blood poured from the wound. While attempting to pull himself up by the door that had been left ajar, he collapsed and the door clicked shut, sealing his fate as Alan drove the point of his claymore through the man’s gut and twisted.

  The opposite side of the room crackled with heat as the walls and door of the old inn caught and cut off that means of escape.

  “Move now or we’ll burn in here.” Hamish attempted to push her toward the fiery exit.

  Instead of obeying, she dug the heel of her boot into the middle of his foot. He yelled, released his hold on her waist and arm, then pulled back. Before she knew what had happened, his fist struck her cheek, and she fell onto the floor by the bed.

  Hamish’s twisted rage focused on her, and she flinched into the corner. His hand swept toward her as she shrank away.

  “Dinnae touch her.”

  Hamish turned toward the threat, and her gaze followed his to see Alan poised just a few steps away with a vengeance in his eyes that matched the roaring fire behind him.

  A shiver wracked Hamish’s body. He lunged toward her but was swept away as Alan collided with him, and they both flew out the window.

  …

  The jolt reverberated through Alan’s bones as he landed on Hamish in a thick puddle of mud. He tried to inhale, but the air didn’t reach his lungs, so he rolled to the side and then up to his knees; he tried again but almost tumbled over. Checking himself for injuries, he saw blood on his shirt, but when he pulled it up, there was only a small scrape. Not nearly enough to account for the amount of red staining the garment.

  Swallowing, he tried to breathe again, and a little air got through. He took in another quick breath, then he remembered the man on the ground in front of him. Shaking his head, he straightened and looked over to assess the threat.

  The Covenanter lay with eyes open, staring up into the relentless rain as the storm raged around them. A dark stain coated his clothing, more than what covered Alan’s, and the man was motionless. Lightning flashed, and he was able to see a thin flat object protruding from his stomach. It looked like a piece of glass from the window they’d fallen through.

  Taking in another breath, he was relieved that this time the air filled his lungs and the pain was easing. Putting his hand in the mud to brace himself, he pushed up to his feet and faced the inn. His heart plummeted.

  Flames shot from the window of the room Kirstie was in. The wood crackled and the small bits of rain that hit it sizzled but did nothing to stop the inferno destroying the whole inn.

  Kirstie.

  She was stuck in that room with her hands bound, one exit in flames and the other blocked by the body of a man he’d just killed.

  “Kirstie,” he yelled, but there was no sign of her.

  A scream pierced the rain. She was still up there. He forced his trembling legs to move faster than he ever had, intent on saving her or die trying.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Trying to dislodge the icicles that had formed in her veins at the image of Alan flying through the window, Kirstie shook her head. Flames reached the edge of the bed, and the woolen blankets lit with a loud whoosh as a new blast of heat barreled toward her. She crawled farther away from the bed and pushed up to standing, but as soon as she did, smoke filled her lungs and she started to choke.

  Falling back to her knees, she used the flats of her lower arms to crawl for the door to the other room. Her skirts stretched under her knees as the fabric pulled, and she had to stop to shimmy them up so she could keep going. When she started again, her arms slid on something slick, and she glanced down to see her hands covered in a dark red stain as the coppery smell filled her nostrils. She had to fight back the bile that threatened to spill over.

  Blocking her retreat, the guard’s body was sprawled in front of her only exit. She attempted to pull at him, but with her arms still bound, she couldn’t grip and her fingers kept slipping from his clothes. Her eyes burned and her lungs ached as smoke filled the room. Sitting on her knees and looking around, the helplessness of her situation assailed her. She was trapped. She doubled over coughing as her eyes watered at the pain of the heat and black fog.

  Alan had come back for her. She would not die here. Hamish had lied. There was no way he’d have raised a swor
d to her brothers. Why had she ever believed that arse?

  She had to know Alan was safe.

  Had he survived the fall? Would Hamish have killed him? She’d set out to save her family, but now, lying in a puddle of blood, she felt helpless. What a fool she’d been to believe she could be the strong one.

  The knife.

  It was still strapped to her leg. If she could get to it, maybe she would be able to get free. Closing her eyes to the smoke, she reached down and yanked up her skirts. She could reach the sheath but not the hilt to slide it out.

  Pulling her hands in opposite directions, she screamed as the rope dug into the skin about her elbows. It worked. She had the knife in her hand.

  Twisting her wrist at an awkward angle, she was able to slide the length of the blade between her arms. Slicing up, the tip slipped through and barely touched the end of her bindings.

  A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, and she glanced around to see how close the flames were, but it was the smoke that had her gagging and making her eyes sting. It was so thick she could only see a red glow behind it. Positioning the knife again, she pushed as far under her bindings as she could reach. It caught on the rope, and she began frantically slicing, ignoring the pain in her wrists.

  The dirk jerked up and fell from her hands, and she panicked because she couldn’t see it, but then as she moved, the twine fell from her arms. She was free. But she still had to get out of the room.

  Crawling over the body, she centered her back on the wall, placed her feet on the side of the dead weight, and strained to push him away. She was surprised at how quickly it worked. There was a space large enough to open the door, but as she rose up, the black fog invaded her lungs and blocked her sight. Feeling for the knob, she grasped it and yanked open.