Return of the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  “What do you mean?” she whispered, scrambling to her knees.

  “Do not panic.” He glanced over his shoulder again and held up a hand. He appeared to be listening to the sounds of the forest, which had gone silent as the grave. “We must leave here now,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because my brother doesn’t like you very much, lass. As you know, he’s held a grudge against the Campbells for a long time, ever since Sheriffmuir when we lost everything, and I fear he might do something impulsive.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like destroy the King’s pardon that you carry, or worse, escort you through the castle gates and unleash his vengeance on everyone.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “What are you saying? This is madness.”

  “Aye,” Logan replied, rising to his feet and gathering up her belongings. “But that’s my brother. Mad as a meat ax. You’ve seen him. You must know…”

  No, in fact, she knew nothing…nothing about the dark brother at all.

  Logan picked up Rupert’s saddle and carried it to where the horses were tethered in the woods.

  “But where is he?” she asked, her eyes darting to the empty bedroll on the other side of the fire.

  “Do not worry, lass,” Logan replied. “He can’t catch us. At least not for a while.”

  “But what happened? Tell me, Logan. I must know.”

  “We had another disagreement,” he explained as he quickly bent to fasten the cinches under Rupert’s belly. “This one was worse than the others. I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to worry you, but Darach’s been wanting to use you to exact some sort of revenge. I’ve been trying to talk him out of it, but he lost his patience this morning and stormed off. I didn’t know what he might do, so I followed him.”

  “Where?”

  Logan returned to pack up his own bedroll. “Into the woods. It seems a bit idiotic now, but neither of us wanted to wake you.”

  “I assure you,” she replied, “I would have preferred to be awakened so I could at least take part in the discussion. I still don’t understand what’s happening.”

  Logan flung a saddle bag over his shoulder, then turned to face her. “I’ll explain everything when we’re away from here. For now, all you need to know is that I clubbed him over the head and tied him to a tree.”

  Larena’s mouth fell open. “You did what? But he’s your brother.”

  “Aye, but he wanted to burn your father’s pardon and use you as a pawn. I’m not sure what his plan was after that, but there was some talk about breaking into the armory, setting fire to the munitions, and blowing the whole castle to bits.”

  “That would be suicide,” Larena said, following Logan back to his horse while dozens of ghastly images of destruction flooded her mind. “Even if he managed to escape, he’d never get away with it.”

  “To be honest, lass, I don’t think he cares whether he lives or dies. Now pack up your belongings. We need to leave here and get you home where you’ll be safe.”

  “But do we have the pardon?” she asked in a panic. “He didn’t take it, did he?”

  Logan crouched down to pick up Larena’s saddlebags. He unfastened the larger pouch and dug into it, searching for the document. “It’s here. But you need to keep it close to you.”

  Moving quickly, she stepped forward and seized the pack from his hands. “Believe me, I intend to.”

  * * *

  Darach woke to the peculiar sensation of a large tongue on his eyelids, licking wetly. For a few puzzling seconds he thought he might be dreaming that he was in bed with a randy lass. Then reality came crashing into his brain. His eyes flew open to the sight of his horse, Miller, slobbering all over his face. Miller’s huge nostrils flared and he nickered pleasurably. His steamy breath smelled like a barnyard.

  “Ach!” Darach tossed his head to the side to avoid another giant lick and realized with an explosion of fury that his wrists were tied behind his back and he was bound to a tree.

  Pounding agony exploded in his skull and he writhed about violently to free himself.

  “Logan!” he roared. “I’ll kill you for this!”

  He sat still for a moment to listen. Was Logan still at the camp? How far away was it? Darach had no idea how far they’d walked in the darkness while arguing the night before. He’d been so bloody distracted by Logan’s foolish ideas and ridiculous ambitions. Darach cursed himself for letting his guard down and turning away—back toward the camp where they’d left Larena sleeping alone—but Darach hadn’t imagined his own brother was capable of such treachery as this.

  God almighty. Had Logan abducted Larena and made off with the King’s pardon as well? Just the thought of it inflamed Darach’s wrath to an uncontrollable degree, because there was no telling what Logan might do when he reached Leathan Castle.

  Darach had always known his brother dreamed of one day taking revenge on Larena’s father for what he did to theirs. Logan had been flirting with Larena and gaining her trust since the moment she woke in the prison cell at Kinloch. From the beginning, he’d wanted to use her to get close to Colonel Gregory Chatham, then get his hands on her father. Darach had done his best to talk him out of it because nothing could bring their father back, but obviously he had failed.

  An image of Logan attempting to seduce Larena before they even arrived sent a hot flash of rage into Darach’s blood, for he couldn’t deny his own misplaced desires where the lassie was concerned. And because of that, look at him now? Tied to a tree because he’d been distracted by thoughts of what he’d like to do to her every hour of the day—how he’d like to touch her, hold her, and bury himself in her hot, sweet depths.

  Grunting savagely, he struggled and pulled at the bonds.

  He never should have accepted this mission, much less allowed Logan to accompany him. He should have flat out refused to allow Logan to come.

  Bloody hell. The pain in Darach’s head was excruciating. Far worse than the lump he’d taken from Larena in the creek bed. That had been nothing compared to this.

  “Logan!” he shouted as he fought in vain against the bonds.

  His brother was a rotten little shit for hitting him so hard with that tree branch. Wait till Darach got his hands on him. He was going to thrash him senseless, to within an inch of his life.

  * * *

  Larena and Logan didn’t stop to make camp until the following night when the moon was well on its rise. By that time she was exhausted, starving and feeling more than a little uncertain about the choice she had made that morning at dawn.

  She had presumed Logan was her champion, there to rescue her and her clan from his brother’s fanatical intentions. But since they’d left Darach behind, something in Logan’s demeanor had changed. He had become moody and incommunicative, and despite her protestations about over-exhausting the horses, he had insisted they push on through swollen rivers and thick forests. Clearly he was obsessed with the goal of reaching Leathan Castle before Darach could reach it first.

  Logically, of course, this made sense to Larena—for if Darach intended to do harm, it was of the utmost importance that they arrive in time to warn her clan and the officers in charge of the garrison.

  Presuming Darach was still alive…

  She wasn’t entirely sure about that, for Logan said he was unconscious when he’d left him behind. Such a blow to the head could be fatal.

  As a result, Larena had begun to question Logan’s sense of loyalty. Darach was his own flesh and blood. How could he simply leave his brother for dead? Was Darach truly that much of a villain? Or was there some other rivalry between them that she did not yet understand?

  * * *

  As soon as a fire was lit near a steep rock face in the woods—and with many questions still poking about in her mind—Larena dug into the packs in search of whatever was left of their provisions, for her belly was growling like a beast.

  She found bread and cheese and a small serving of salt
pork. On the other side of the fire, Logan uncorked the wine jug and sniffed it. With a finger hooked through the handle, he jiggled it about and rolled his eyes when a small amount sloshed around in the bottom.

  “You may have whatever’s left,” Larena offered. “I’ll be happy to take the salt pork in exchange for my share.”

  “Whatever pleases you, lass,” he replied, tipping the jug up to drink thirstily from the spout.

  “There’s enough bread and cheese for us both,” she helpfully proposed.

  Logan stood up to circle around the fire and held out his hand. “I’ll take some of that, then.”

  Larena reached out to offer what was left after she claimed her own fair share. Then they sat down across from each other and ate ravenously until everything was gone.

  “What will we do tomorrow?” she asked. “Any chance we’ll pass through a village where we can replenish our supplies?”

  “No chance at all,” Logan replied, leaning back against the rock face. “We’ll ride as hard as the horses can handle so we don’t lose any time.”

  “Because you’re afraid Darach might reach Leathan before us?” she asked, wanting to hear him say it again. She wanted to listen to the tone of his voice and study his eyes when he answered her.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Logan replied with a look of sinister intent that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

  She thought it would be best not to arouse his suspicions. “No…of course not.”

  Logan lay down on his bedroll. “Get some rest, lass.”

  Eventually Larena lay down as well. For a long while, she stared into the noisy, crackling fire. “Did Darach truly say he would blow Leathan Castle to bits?” she asked out of the blue.

  “Aye,” Logan replied. “Now go to sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

  “I’ll pray for good weather then.” Raising the coverlet up to her ears, Larena feigned sleep, but every few minutes, she opened her eyes to observe Logan through the flames.

  * * *

  When Larena felt certain that Logan had fallen into a deep slumber, she slid quietly out of her bedroll and opened her saddle pouch. The most important item to retrieve was the King’s pardon, which she found inside the pack. Carefully she examined it in the light of the dying fire to make sure it was the actual document she’d started out with.

  Ascertaining that all was in order, she slipped it into her cleavage, rose to her feet as quietly as possible, and tiptoed to where Rupert was tethered to a branch next to Logan’s horse. Knowing it was too great a risk to try and saddle him, she quietly untied the leather strap and commanded him to kneel so that she might mount.

  She was about to hoist herself onto his back and quietly leave the camp when she felt a hand on her shoulder. With a gasp of shock, she whirled around.

  “Going somewhere lass?” Logan asked.

  Perhaps she should have fought to come up with some believable story about what she was up to, but instead, baser instincts prevailed.

  Larena hauled back a fist and socked Logan in the nose. His head snapped back in the darkness, he stumbled over something and fell to the ground. At the same time, Larena doubled over in agony, cupping her knuckles in her hand.

  “Ballocks!” A fiery burst of adrenaline followed, so she quickly leaped onto Rupert’s back and kicked in her heels. “Go, Rupert! Go!”

  Confused and disoriented, Rupert nickered as she tried to steer him into the pitch darkness. Logan scrambled to his feet. He grabbed the hem of her skirt and yanked her roughly to the ground. She landed with a heavy thud that shook her ribcage and stole her breath.

  Flat on her back, blinking up at the stars, she gulped desperately for air.

  Logan gave her no time to recover. He flipped her onto her stomach and wrenched her wrists behind her back, then tied them with a rope.

  “I didn’t want to have to do this,” he said, digging a knee into her back. “But you leave me no choice.”

  “Then don’t do it,” she grunted with a tightly clenched jaw, her cheek pressed into the dirt.

  He leaned down to speak in her ear. “Are you suggesting I trust you to behave yourself and travel with me the rest of the way to Leathan?”

  “Yes. I promise!”

  He scoffed and sat back to finish tying the knot. “Sorry, but I cannot take your word for it, lass.” He tied her ankles together as well and twisted the rope around her legs, all the way up to her thighs. “Especially considering whose daughter you are.”

  “I don’t understand what this is about,” she ground out while she struggled against his hold. “Why are you doing this?”

  He rolled her onto her back and straddled her. Perched above her on his hands and knees, he peered down at her face. “Now, look at you. All trussed up.”

  She tried to kick him between the legs but she couldn’t bend her knees.

  “Stop squirming lass,” he said. “You’re getting me worked up when you shouldn’t be drawing attention to the fact that we’re alone and I have a bone to pick with your family.”

  Larena frowned up at him in bewilderment. “Are you referring to Sheriffmuir? It wasn’t our fault that you lost members of your family. We all lost people that day.”

  He scoffed bitterly. “Is that what you think this is about?” He shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s a bit more to it than that.”

  “Then what is it? Why do you hate me so much?”

  “It’s not you I despise,” he replied in a low, hostile voice. “It’s your father. There are some wrongs that need to be righted.”

  Her heart raced wildly and her stomach churned with nausea. “What wrongs? My father is a good man and a fair chief.”

  For a long moment, Logan’s disdainful gaze roamed over her face—back and forth slowly from one eye to another, then across her forehead to her cheeks, and down her nose until his eyes settled on her lips.

  His chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths, and all Larena could do was lie still, praying he would back away and leave her alone.

  “You know…” he casually said, “I did consider tossing the King’s pardon into the fire and being first in line to watch your father lose his head. But I want him to know that it was me who brought his daughter home to Leathan.”

  Logan inclined his head and continued to study her face.

  “In case things get dodgy,” he continued, “you ought to know that I meant what I said earlier—that I think you’re a bonnie lass. I hope you’ll forgive me for all this. I think you will when all is said and done.”

  He wet his lips and slowly bent his head to kiss her, but she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away.

  “What’s the matter, lass?” Logan asked. “I thought we were friends.”

  “Not anymore,” she replied with disdain. Then she spit in his face.

  Logan’s eyes flared with anger. She braced herself for his retaliation, but the unexpected sound of a pistol cocking caused him to turn his head. Larena looked up to see Darach standing over him.

  Thank God. Relief flooded her senses for he was alive and unharmed—and here to stop his brother from beating her, or doing something far worse.

  But suddenly her heart sank as she considered that Darach might be here for another dark purpose. What did she ever really know of either of them?

  Darach pressed the barrel of his gun firmly against his brother’s temple. “If you know what’s good for you, Logan, you’ll get off the lassie now.”

  Logan raised his hands over his head and slowly rose to his feet.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Cut her loose,” Darach said with the pistol still cocked and aimed.

  “I was just having a bit of fun with her,” Logan explained, his hands in the air. “Besides, I had no choice. She just tried to escape with the pardon.”

  “But she’s not our prisoner.”

  “Says who?” Logan replied. “You?”

  “Aye. Me and our laird, Angus the Lion.”

&nb
sp; “He was never our true laird,” Logan practically spat. “You know that as well as I do.”

  Still roped and bound on the ground behind Logan, Larena rolled to her side and quietly struggled to free her wrists, while listening carefully to what the brothers said to each other.

  Darach kept the weapon trained on Logan’s head as he spoke. “I pledged my oath to Angus, and so did you. He asked us to deliver this woman and the King’s pardon to Leathan Castle, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “What difference does it make if we do what we want when we get there?” Logan asked.

  “Angus wants peace,” Darach replied.

  “Peace?” Logan let out a bitter laugh. “With the English, you mean? Or with the Campbells? After what they did to our father, that’s a bloody pipe dream.”

  “What are you talking about?” Larena asked while she struggled to free herself.

  “Quiet lass,” Darach said. Then he spoke to Logan again. “I gave Angus my word and I aim to fulfill that oath.”

  She prayed that would be the case. Perhaps Darach would turn out to be her savior after all…

  “But have you forgotten where you come from?” Logan asked with heated intensity. “Have you forgotten who your true family is?”

  “Nay, I’ll never forget,” Darach replied.

  Slowly, Logan began to lower his hands. “Then let’s do what we are destined to do, Darach. Think of it. What are the odds that we would stumble across Fitzroy Campbell’s daughter, unconscious and carrying the pardon to save his life? Surely that was fate. Surely we are meant to return to Leathan and seek justice.”

  Justice?

  “Where is the pardon now?” Darach asked. “What did you do with it?”

  “I have it,” Larena said, wincing at the burning chafe marks on her wrists.

  Logan turned to look down at her, lying at his feet.

  “You let her keep it?” Darach asked. “I’m surprised.”

  He shrugged indifferently. “I figured it would keep her amiable until we reached Leathan.”

  “And then what did you plan to do with it?” Larena demanded to know. “Steal it from me and destroy it outside the castle gates?”