“I will do my duty, my laird.” That was all she was prepared to say on the subject. She didn’t need to explain herself any further to him.
The warrior nodded, looking pleased. “I expected nothing less.”
A spark of irritation burned in her chest. And then her mouth opened… Again. “And, I presume, ye’re used to getting what ye expect.” Oh, heaven, open up this very floor and push me through it… Devil take it, she couldn’t seem to keep her mouth shut!
Laird MacDougall’s eyes widened, obviously not used to being questioned or spoken to in such a manner. He crossed his bulky arms over his chest and regarded her with a blank expression—which was more terrifying than if he’d simply shown his irritation outward.
“Ye forget yourself,” he growled.
And there it was… That burning anger in her chest, prepared to let itself unleash, without a care. Her path had already been chosen for her. A death sentence. A life in prison at the least. She could not hold herself back any further. Lilias ground her teeth, tired of being told since she was a wee lass who and what she was—none of which was what she felt in her heart. “On the contrary. I know exactly who I am, and what I must give up for the peace of my people. That I am to be the sacrifice for the continued peace of the clans. Ye say it is an honor. Mayhap it is. But it is also a death sentence.”
Laird MacDougall’s frown deepened so much so that for just a moment, she wished she could take back the words she’d spoken so brashly from her heart. But then she pictured her mother standing so proudly at the helm of their castle during a raid, ready to protect them all. Lilias wanted to be strong like her mother. But she realized her mother also knew when to be humble. To let sleeping giants lay where they were and how to step around them.
With a deep breath and a gulp of humble pie, Lilias said, “I apologize for burdening ye the truth of how I feel, my laird. But ye need not worry about me dishonoring your alliance where Olafsson is concerned. I know what the stakes are. As ye said, I felt I could trust ye, and I simply forgot myself for a moment.” Lilias forced her face into serene calm, let her shoulders relax, hoping to appear as self-effacing as her words. “’Twill not happen again.”
Laird MacDougall cleared his throat, uncrossed his arms, and raked a hand through his thick dark hair. “Ye need not apologize, my lady. I would never presume to tell anyone they canna feel what they feel. I applaud your honesty, but I caution ye against sharing it with anyone else—especially your betrothed.” He let out a long, deep breath. “If peace could be done any other way, I would spare ye this fate.”
Lilias laughed softly, bitterly, though she was relieved he did not rebuke her further, but instead tried to offer her some measure of apology. “Lies do not become ye, my laird. Marriages have been the binding sacrifices of alliances for thousands of years. Who am I to expect my future would have been any different?”
The man blinked, and she had the odd sense he was truly seeing her for the first time. Perhaps truly understanding the plight of so many women before her.
“With your permission, I would greet Lady Elle and Lady Fenella.” She cocked her head toward the dais table.
“Aye.” His voice sounded choked as he waved her away and Lilias turned from him, back straight, before he could change his mind.
Chapter Three
Dawn broke swiftly over the serene camp.
Because Dirk believed that well and truly everything could go wrong, he was pleasantly surprised that their first day of traveling toward Bute was uneventful. In fact, he found himself impressed with Lady Lilias’s skill with her mare and still a bit stunned at her honesty with him when he’d questioned her at Dunstaffnage.
Save for his father and grandmother, no one had ever spoken to him so bluntly, not even his mother. While he was certain Fenella had a way with seeing that his father had done what she asked, with her son she’d been nothing but indulgent.
Dirk surveyed his men dismantling their camp from the night before. Tents had been constructed for the women to sleep in. Throughout the night, he’d expected Lady Lilias to attempt an escape, but she seemed to have slept peacefully, for not once had she emerged.
Half the men at a time had slept on makeshift pallets round the fires, the other half had conducted watch. The scents of roasting rabbit and campfire still fell heavy on the summer air from the night before.
As they finished cleaning up, Dirk signaled for everyone to mount up for their second day of their journey.
Dirk’s mother was hail and hearty from having traveled much with his father, and for a moment he worried over Lilias, until he recalled the tongue blistering she’d given him in the great hall the day before. Every time he thought about it, a hint of a smile took over his usual frown. Not a good sign. She was his ward, and yet he found himself overly interested in her comfort and eager to speak with her. As such, he’d barely said a word to her since they’d left Dunstaffnage.
He watched her when she wasn’t looking, and caught her doing the same to him more than once. The elegant way she moved was mesmerizing. Long legs glided and rounded hips sashayed, fluid on the horse as well as the ground. Her arms swayed with grace, even when she lifted them to tuck her wayward hair back into place. A slight tilt to her head when she spoke showed her refinement. Though he supposed most could be taught such poise, Lilias’s elegant movements seemed to come natural to her, born of self-confidence. He only had two concerns: her spark of defiance and her eating habits. There was naught he could do but attempt to tame the rebellious part of her. And as she’d confessed to him her nervous state, he chalked her lack of appetite up to that, but he’d have to be certain she ate more today than she had the day before. Wouldn’t do to have the woman fainting from lack of nourishment.
Dirk steered his horse toward Lilias.
“Good morning, my laird,” she murmured.
“I trust ye slept well?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Eat.” He didn’t wait for her to argue, but tossed her an apple, which she deftly caught.
When he continued to stare at her, she bit heartily into the fruit, then mumbled, “My thanks,” as she chewed.
Dirk grinned, then took his place at the head of his party, which consisted of two-dozen warriors armed to the teeth, Lady Lilias, and his mother. His grandmother had remained behind at the castle, acting as mistress for the interim.
“Ride,” he called out.
The ladies rode in the center of the party, surrounded by guards. Though Dirk was the powerful Lord of the Isles, that did not mean that opportunists would not strike. Outlaws, Sassenachs, Vikings, all of them roamed the lands seeking out their next bounty, whether it be money, lands, or simply a body to run through.
Throughout the morning as they rode, he continued to check on the women, partially because it was his duty, but also because he wanted to… He’d ignored her most of yesterday, answering only in grunts, nods, or shakes of the head, hoping that by doing so he’d be able to push aside whatever this interest in her was, but it wasn’t working. If anything, his awareness of her grew.
Ballocks!
“My laird.” ’Twas her. She rode up beside him, back straight, legs astride.
A fleeting and damning vision of those thighs wrapped around him assaulted his senses. How could he be jealous of a horse?
“My lady?” Irritation dripped in his words.
The lass raised a brow, acknowledging his surliness, but then ignored it. “If it is not too inconvenient, I would like to stop soon for a brief respite.”
They’d been riding hard for four hours straight and were due for a break, but Dirk had wanted to forge ahead, hoping to make up time incrementally to shorten his delivery of the bride. A sennight was proving too long. Already on the second day of the journey, he was resisting the urge to—
What? Kiss her? Ravage her?
Dirk glanced at Lady Lilias and gave her a brief nod—a mistake, given he was momentarily stunned at the way riding gave her cheek
s a flushed look, her dark hair flying wild around her face. The lass was absolutely stunning. Perfection.
Ballocks! Ballocks! Ballocks!
If he’d not known better, he might have thought that his mother and grandmother had chosen her specifically to torment him.
Dirk blew a whistle and two scouts rode ahead to find a good, safe place to stop, which they found only a mile ahead, alongside a trickling burn.
The men set to brushing down the horses, giving them water, and allowing them to graze, while they did much the same to themselves.
The two women, chatting as though they were old friends, wandered behind a wall of thick brush for privacy. Dirk assigned several men to watch, while the rest ate and relieved themselves. They’d not be here too long. Half an hour tops.
The hair on the back of Dirk’s neck rose. He studied the camp, taking note that his mother and Lilias had not yet returned. Two of the men who were on watch stood on the perimeter, unbothered, and the other two were in the woods, to the right and left. He could just barely make out their frames. Straight ahead, was where his mother and Lilias had sauntered off to.
The niggling sense that something was wrong continued, and he headed for the brush. He’d hurry the women along. Wouldn’t do for them to be back there for too long.
Dirk had not gone more than six steps when his mother broke through the tree line, her face ashen.
“Dirk.” Her voice quavered.
“What is it?” He reached for his sword, the men in the camp also immediately on alert.
Fenella opened and shut her mouth, wavering on her feet, then finally managed to draw in a breath and gush out, “Men… They… They took her!”
Dammit! How had they not heard? How had his men on watch not seen?
“How many?”
“Three.” She was shaking and dropped to her knees on the forest floor. “They must have been following us, for they… they knew who she was and they took her.”
“I’ll get her back.”
Dirk barked orders for three men to accompany him, and the rest to protect his mother and secure the camp. He’d deal with his lazy men on watch when he returned. They leapt onto their horses and charged toward the brush where Lilias had been abducted. There were visible signs of a struggle on the ground. Dirt and leaves were disturbed in deep grooves where Lilias must have dug in her heels. Several larger boot prints. No hoof prints.
Good, lass. She wasn’t going to let them have her without a fight. That told him several things. Most important of which was that this wasn’t a rescue mission on her part. She’d truly been abducted.
The men were not on horseback at this side of the burn, but judging from the disturbed earth on the opposite side and the fact he could not longer see any signs of them, their horses had been on the opposite side. A swash of blue fabric clung to one of the low-hanging tree limbs across the burn—part of Lilias’s gown.
“Across the way!” Dirk ordered. They led their horses through the shallow water to the other side and followed the tracks at a clip until they set upon the outlaws.
Pulling the great claymore from his back, he let it rest on his lap, the sun glinting from the massive emerald in the hilt. This was the MacDougall sword, the legacy of his family, had been used in hundreds of battles by lairds past, and was now his.
Three men, dressed in shabby, dirty clothes, and full of bravado. Shaggy beards covered most of their features and seemed to be a collecting point for several meals past. Their tartans were indiscernible. They weren’t starving nor did they care much about their appearance. Hired hands. Men who paid loyalty to no one save their own coin pouch. Mercenaries at best.
Lilias was not in sight, which meant there had to be at least a fourth man somewhere. Dirk scanned the woods and nodded to his men to be on alert.
A man, clearly labeling himself the leader of their pack spoke, “We thought ye might try to find us.”
Idiots. Clearly, he would try to find her. “Where is she?” Dirk demanded.
“Ye need not concern yourself with that. Ye’ll be meeting your maker soon enough.”
Dirk made a pretense of rolling his eyes as he checked the surrounding area. Besides whoever was detaining Lilias, there didn’t appear to be any other men than the three who held their swords out, ready to do battle. They lousy lad’s weren’t much of an outfit against Dirk’s larger numbers, but daring, he’d give them that. Too bad daring didn’t warrant leniency. They’d dared to take what was his, and now they would suffer for it.
“Afraid I’ll not be able to satisfy ye today on that account,” Dirk said, feigning boredom. “What do ye want with her anyway?”
The maggot grinned. “Glad ye asked. We’ll be happy to give her up to ye now for a small price. Ye ken, we were going to charge that bastard Olafsson a ransom, but seeing as how ye’re here, we’ll make do with what we’ve got.”
Dirk raised a brow and smirked. “I’ll not be giving ye a single coin.”
“Suit yourself.” The leader of the three vagabonds shrugged and raised his sword.
Dirk glanced at his master of the gate and best-trained warrior. “Gunnar, I’ll leave ye to it.”
Gunnar grinned, bloodthirsty, and leapt from his horse. The other two MacDougall warriors following, engaging the three mercenaries in a fight they didn’t see coming. Meanwhile Dirk dismounted, going in search of Lilias and more of the bastards.
The sounds of swords clashing followed him into the trees. Creeping soundlessly, he tuned out the battle echoes, the swaying of tree branches and focused on human noises. A struggle sounded not to far from him. Made his heart cease beating. Dirk prepared to engage Lilias’s captor, only to find her quite alone, tied to a tree, struggling like mad to get herself free. A thick rope was tied tightly around her waist and upper arms. Her once neatly plaited hair had come loose, a mass of unruly tangles, falling into her eyes which were wide as raven’s eggs and glaring daggers. Cheeks red, but no bruising visible. A gag in her mouth. Gown only mildly torn.
His heart leapt at the sight of her. “My lady,” he murmured, kneeling before her. Anger simmered off her in solid waves. Her breaths, heavy and angry. More rage than fear, and he was again struck by how amazingly unique she was. How strong. He tugged the gag free, and used his sgian dubh to cut the hemp rope wrapped five times around her ribs. “Are ye all right? Are there more men?”
She wriggled free of the rope and tried to stand, her chest rising and falling from heavy breaths, the aftershock of her ordeal. Dirk grasped her hands in his and tugged her to her feet, wanting to hold on tight to her, but she yanked herself free, running her hands through her hair and looking about her frantically.
“There were three of them,” she mumbled. “Where are they?”
“Ye’re safe now.” He wanted to tell her not to worry, but how many times had she likely been told that? Having just been abducted, she would want to know her captors were themselves incapacitated. As it was, the sounds of the melee had quelled. “My men have them, my lady.”
“I…” She slumped against Dirk, wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her feminine curves against his body and holding tight.
Dirk lost his breath, unsure how to react, and sensing that having her in his arms was so right at the same time that it was definitely dangerous. Lilias gazed up at him, relief touching every angle of her face.
“I didna think my fate could get any worse, my laird.” There was a wealth of emotion in her declaration. Fear, relief, doubt all of it mixed together in a solid punch to his gut.
“I should have kept a better eye on ye. This is my fault.” He pressed his lips together in a solid line, berating himself further and with harsher language inside his own mind.
Surprisingly, her gaze was blameless. “Nay, ye couldna have known they were coming for me. Dinna blame yourself.”
Dirk shook his head. “I know the risks, and I got too comfortable. I can only promise it will not happen again, and beg your forgiveness.”
> Lilias swallowed, the delicate line of her throat bobbing. “Ye have it.”
Dirk slid his hands around her back, feeling the warmth of her supple body along his. Relief at having found her essentially unharmed, made him feel weak—a sensation he rarely experienced. Her lips were full, pink, and begging to be kissed. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together, his heart pounded, the beat matching hers through the layers of their clothes.
Heaven help him, but he was going to kiss her. Kings and wars be dammed.
Although she was tall for woman, the warrior holding her in his arms was an incredible, towering force, and he was going to kiss her. Lilias was certain of it.
And she was powerless to stop it. In fact, as his face descended toward hers, she lifted up on her tiptoes, eager to meet him halfway.
She closed her eyes as his warm lips softly brushed over hers. Everything tingled and sparked in that moment. The tips of her fingers, her skin, her lips, her knees, her toes. Heat stroked out over her, filling her with a desperate need to cling to this man.
Dirk MacDougall. Lord of the Isles.
Warmth. Safety. Desire. All of it clashed within her as his mouth moved over hers, taking possession of her entire being.
The man she was supposed to hate. The man responsible for her current fate. Her champion and yet also her warden. The man kissing her senseless and making her forget for the moment just who and what she was.
Scents of leather, spice, and the outdoors lingered on his skin. The dried fruit they’d eaten at camp flavored his mouth and she knew she’d never be able to eat another again without thinking of this moment.
While she might have thought it impossible before, with his arms around her, his lips on hers, the world and all her troubles melted away. The wind softly blew at her hair, sweeping away the world as she knew it. No woods. No traitorous abductors. No foreign kings. No marriage.
The Forbidden Highlands Page 9
