A Highlander's Scars

by Aileen Adams

  She was prepared to scream, to claw his precious eyes out. Whatever it took.

  His smug smile gave her the sense that bugs crawled over her skin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his voice light.

  She braced herself for what might come of this. “Why do ye have so many others locked away in the stables?”

  The smile slipped as he blinked. “What makes ye think I would tell ye—or that ye have the right to ask me why I do what I do?”

  “What would the heads of the other clans think if they knew what you’ve done here?” she continued, not bothering to answer his questions. He would not wish to hear what she had to say, that was for certain, so it mattered little.

  “It is none of your concern.”

  “It became my concern when ye locked me up with them,” she spat. “And if ye think I’ll wed ye just because ye tell me to, ye have no idea who I am or what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into,” he smiled. “I plan to wed the only child of one of the wealthiest clans in the Highlands. I plan to unite our clans and create something lasting.”

  “Ye intend to use my clan’s wealth as a way to push the Duncans out of the land which belongs to them, ye mean.” When his eyes bulged, she nodded. “Ye gave me time to speak with those you locked away, remember. And they’ve had time to speak with one another. They know what ye intend to do, and so do I.”

  “What do ye think you’ll do? No one will listen to ye. Everyone knows your father would rather you were born a man instead of a useless woman.”

  She clenched her fists but let this pass. “Useless? It seems ye have a use in mind for me, Angus Cameron.”

  His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Until I have an heir or two, aye. Beyond that? I dinna care if ye live or die.”

  “How can ye be the way ye are?” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

  This did not seem to bother him in the slightest. He cared nothing for what she thought of him.

  To think, she’d been certain she could not dislike him more.

  “I am the way I am because this is way marriages are arranged, lass. Do ye not know this? Or did your father never intend to wed ye to the son of another clan? Did he intend to keep ye at home for the rest of your days?” His gaze fell, traveling over her body. He made her feel bare, exposed, though she was fully clothed. “It would have been a true shame if he did, lass.”

  “Ye have no right to speak that way to me or about me.”

  “Not yet, perhaps, even though ye are to be my wife.”

  “I will not.”

  “Ye will.” He took a step closer, causing her to call upon every bit of her determination and self-control to keep from backing down.

  She refused to allow him the satisfaction.

  “Ye will marry me, ye will accept me into your bed, ye will swell with my bairns. That is the way it will be.”

  She held his gaze, her eyes wide and burning with hatred. “I would rather die.”

  “That can be arranged, lass.”

  Like the striking of a snake, his hand darted out, slapping her hard enough to pull a cry of pained surprise from her as she fell to the floor.

  This was no longer a matter of pride. When he took another step, then another, closing in on her, she slid across the floor on her backside, scrambling to get away from him.

  Survival was what mattered now.

  He sneered down at her. “No longer feeling so brave, are ye? Just like a woman. It takes a well-timed slap to put ye back in your place.”

  She held a hand to her face—gingerly, as her cheek burned and throbbed. There was nothing to say to him, as nothing she’d say would matter. She knew that, finally.

  Nothing mattered.

  What was she going to do?

  Angus went to the door. “Get her out of here,” he growled, then stepped aside as his men entered and pulled her up from the corner she’d crawled into. If they had not helped her, she would not have been able to stand. Her legs shook too badly.

  She could not look at either of them as they took her away, and certainly not at Angus. He would be smiling again, and if she cast her eye upon it while she was in such pain, it might break her.

  Instead, she looked straight ahead as the men took her from the room and into the corridor. The shadows were deep out there, the passage quiet, most of the household having their morning meal in the great hall.

  Of the three of them, only she seemed to take notice of a shifting in the shadows along the opposite wall as they left Angus’s chambers.

  Only she saw Donnan standing there, watching.

  Their eyes met as she was dragged away.

  10

  He’d found Fenella at last.

  Donnan looked from her face, where a bruise already formed, to the open door. Angus was in there, and he’d struck her, and there was only one fitting punishment for a man who would strike a woman.

  Crushing his hands would be a fitting punishment. He’d never strike a man or woman again.

  Though the thought made Donnan smile, he knew there was nothing to do but hold back once again. Both his and Fenella’s lives were at stake.

  Would that he’d been able to hear what they discussed on the other side of the closed door. What had she said to move Angus to such violence?

  It was no excuse—no matter what she’d said, there was never reason to hurt a defenseless woman. The fact that it happened to be Fenella made it even more unforgivable.

  How could she think she was in love with a man who would treat her in such a way? What was wrong with the lass?

  There was no choice but to follow as the Cameron men led her away. He clung to the walls, remaining in the shadows, keeping his footfalls light as he trailed behind them. Where were they taking her?

  Once they left the house, using a small door along the far side of the building, there was no hiding. He raised his hood and slipped behind a woodpile, watching as the pair of men all but carried Fenella to the stables.

  Why there?

  That side of the house was less busy than the front, with only a few lads moving about as they cared for the many horses belonging to the men camping about the grounds. It was no trouble to conceal himself there, watching and listening. Expecting to hear her scream.

  That scream never came. Instead, the men stepped outside after several minutes and returned to the house, with Donnan circling the woodpile to keep it between himself and the two of them.

  He took another look at the low-slung stone structure and the clearing around it. Nothing to hide behind on the way in or out.

  There would be no going in until dark. He could not risk being spotted, as even the cloudy gray sky was far too bright to conceal him.

  It would be a long day.

  Donnan slipped away from camp the moment it was dark enough to do so without raising questions. The men were in their normal mood, going from fire to fire, sharing stories, wishing there were women to help in passing the time.

  He pitied the lasses working in the household, walking among the camps to deliver food and drink. How long would it be before the men grew tired of controlling themselves?

  He would not be there to find out. Nor would Fenella, no matter how she felt about it. He’d thought it over throughout the endless day and come to the conclusion that the

  The stables were quiet. He’d watched the stone building throughout the day, waiting to find if Fenella would leave.

  She never had. Three men had gone in with baskets of food, but they were the only ones who’d left afterward.

  Baskets? Too much food for one small lass.

  He began to realize there was much more to Angus’s treachery than he’d first thought. Fenella was not alone in there.

  What did the Camerons think they were doing?

  He would soon find out, ducking into the building and looking about in the darkness. There was a row of pens to his right, one to his left, stretching along the
length of the walls. Each looked large enough to hold a horse, but the horses were not inside.

  Instead of neighing, he heard whispers. Coughs. Soft weeping.

  “Fenella?” he hissed, darting from one pen to the next. “Are ye here, lass?

  “I’m here!”

  Halfway down to the row to his left. He followed the sound of her voice, the whispers around him turning to murmured questions, exclamations of surprise.

  “Fenella.” He found her there, her face pressed to the opening between two of the thin logs which made up the pen walls. “Och, lass, when did he lock ye in here?”

  “Last night, after I first saw ye in the house.”

  He nearly choked on his heart as it leapt into his throat. “Because of me?”

  “Nay, nay, because of something else. There isn’t any time to speak of it now.”

  “Did he hurt ye, lass?” He could not escape the memory of her swollen face, the tears still fresh on her cheeks.

  “Nothing I cannot stand,” she whispered. “Please. If ye aren’t here to help, ye must leave. Now. Before ye find yourself locked away as well.”

  “Dinna leave!” a man pleaded, somewhere further down the row. “Ye must help us. We must get away from here!”

  “How many are there?” Donnan asked her, his head spinning at the number of voices around them. The whispers overlapped but the message was the same. They needed help.

  “I can tell ye about it, and I will, but please. We must leave,” Fenella insisted.

  “And we will.” The decision was made, there would be no waiting. He would free her, and they would go that very night, as fast and as far as they could manage before dawn broke.

  That was likely the time when the men would return with food and drink. That was when Angus would find out he’d been betrayed.

  It would not be long before he found Donnan missing as well.

  There would be time later, to talk about why she was there, why the rest of them were.

  Right now, he had to open the pen.

  It was simple enough. Just the raising of a log laid across the door, making it impossible to open from the inside. He lifted it, dropping the log to the floor, swung the door open.

  “Thank ye,” she breathed, one hand to her chest. “Now the others.”

  “What? Nay, lass. We dinna have the time!” He took her by the wrist, intending to lead her from the place and out to the horse pen, but she pulled away.

  “I will not leave them here!” She went to the closest pen and wedged her shoulder beneath the log, grunting as she hoisted it up.

  “We must go!” He took her by the arms, pulling her around to face him. “Fenella, now. Or he’ll do worse to ye next time.” Donnan would kill him first, of course, but it was his hope that she’d see reason through the fear of what Angus might do if he found her.

  It was no use. “I will not leave them.” She shoved him away, went to the next pen. “Ye might help me, make this go faster, and we could all leave.”

  “Damn it all.” Then he helped her, the two of them going from one pen to the next, raising the bars that the doors might open.

  He turned away at the sight of the children in their parents’ arms. Some of them could not be more than a few years old. If it weren’t for the lass and the need to take her home, he’d slice Angus’s throat from ear to ear.

  “All right.” He took Fenella by the arm. “We’re leaving now. Unless there is someone else ye wish to free.”

  “Come, everyone!” she whispered, dashing alongside him through the darkness.

  “Nay, lass.” He shook his head when they stopped at the doorway. “They are not coming with us.”

  “Ye cannot mean it!”

  Seemed she insisted on telling him what he could and could not mean. “We need to move quickly, and we canna do so with so many others,” he explained, then turned to them. “Forgive me, but ye must find your own way out of here.” There were more than enough men among them that there was a good chance they would find an escape.

  “Ye freed us,” one of them reminded him with a firm nod. “Go.”

  “I won’t leave them!” she insisted, struggling against Donnan’s grip. Why did she insist upon being so difficult?

  “If we do not leave now, we shall never get out. Ye must be silent.” He led her to where the horses waited in the round pen. He ought to have asked himself why the animals were not kept indoors, yet he hadn’t thought of it. There were so many men staying there, after all—he’d assumed there was not enough room inside.

  Several of them were kept bridled and saddled, he assumed in case emergency arose and the men needed to ride out immediately. He helped her to mount a chestnut gelding before choosing a heavily muscled black gelding of his own and leading it to the gate.

  A raspy growl echoed to his right. “What do ye think yer doin’?”

  Instinct caused him to whirl about, his hand closed in a fist, and he knocked the man to the ground with a single blow to his jaw. There was no time to find out who he was. Donnan disarmed him, handing Fenella a dirk which she tucked into her belt without asking questions.

  The lass had sense, after all—at least, he believed so until she protested once again. “I dinna feel well about this.”

  He mounted his horse and turned it toward the woods. “We must go before he finds ye missing. Unless ye wish for a matching bruise.” He motioned to her face.

  She winced, her eyes moving once more toward the people quickly mounting horses behind them.

  “I’ve had enough of this.” He pulled the reins from her hands and led her horse beside his, trotting into the woods in spite of her protests.

  To think, he’d imagined her thanking him for saving her. He ought to have known better, as nothing in his life went as planned.

  11

  They rode through the night, neither of them stopping to speak unless it was of a danger in their path or to suggest watering the horses.

  While he had more questions than he could count, they would wait.

  She was away from Angus. He’d never touch her again. That was all that mattered.

  If she was angry with him for taking her, she did not show it. She did not voice regrets over leaving her intended husband, either. Donnan braced himself for this, as it was certainly coming.

  She saw the importance of making haste, putting road between the Camerons and themselves. It wasn’t until the eastern sky began to lighten that Fenella sank to her knees beside the gelding as it drank of a bubbling stream.

  “I can hardly see straight,” she murmured, splashing water on her face as if to rouse herself. “How much farther do ye think we need to ride until it will be safe to make camp?”

  “I’ll throw ye over the saddle and lead the horse in your stead.”

  She cast a doleful look up at him. “All ye need say is ye feel we should ride longer. There will be no need to throw me over anything.”

  He shrugged. “It canna hurt to make sure ye know how I feel about wasting time.”

  “You’ve already made it clear enough,” she muttered, jerking the reins away from him and throwing an elbow into his ribs when he made a move to assist her in mounting.

  He sighed, dragging his feet through dewy, ankle-high grass as he went to his own horse. “How can I make it easier for ye to understand? They would have held us back, lass. Slowed us down. We needed to make haste and get as far away as we could, as quickly as we could. He’ll want both of us for what we did, and he won’t take our going against him lightly.”

  “They were people. Ye speak as though they were nothing more than… than some baggage we’d have to drag behind us.”

  He snorted, turning the horse toward the narrow path they’d followed for hours. “A fitting description.”

  “You’re no better than he is, then.” She spat at him and missed.

  “If yer going to spit at a man, you’d better at least learn how to do it.”

  “If you’ll just stay still, then, I�
�ll be certain to practice on ye.”

  “There is no time to stay still,” he reminded her, serious again. “Ye can be sure your intended will be after ye, seeing as how ye had the wedding plans made and all.”

  She snorted, bringing the horse up in front of him, holding her chin so high he asked himself how she managed to see ahead. “Dinna speak for me, Donnan Ross. I know nothing of it.”

  He glanced at her, certain she was merely being contrary. Her face told him she was being honest—blank, stony. “How can that be?”

  “He told me we were to be wed. That is all I knew.”

  “Ye don’t mean it.”

  “I very much do, aye.” She glared over her shoulder at him. “What did ye think? That I would wed a brute such as him because I wished to?”

  He didn’t know what he thought.

  Looking back on the little spoken to each other before then, he realized she’d never once said it was her desire to wed Angus Cameron. She had not professed love for the man.

  “Stop.” He stared at her, covered in muck and all but exhausted, still sitting astride with her head held high. How could the lass manage to look like a queen in such a state? Yet she did.

  “What? Ye just said we must make haste, that the others would have slowed us down. Make up your mind, man.”

  He blew out a sharp breath. She could try the patience of a saint. “I merely wish to make sense of what I was told before leavin’ my land to come looking for ye. Your father told me ye ran away because ye were in love with a man of Clan Cameron.”

  “He did, did he? I’ve a piece of my mind to give him when next we see one another, then.”

  “It wasn’t true?”

  “Are ye daft? Or simply hard of hearing?” She cupped dirt-streaked hands around her mouth. “It isn’t true.”

  “What would give him the idea, then?”

  A shrug. “Perhaps he got word of the wedding Angus was planning and supposed it meant I ran away to go through with it. He would never have agreed to the marriage, and with good reason.”

  “Aye. Indeed.”

  “I do wish he thought I had a bit better sense than that, but…” She brought the horse about, pointing its nose back toward the south. “He never thought much of my way of doing and thinking things, so I suppose it’s no surprise. And I did not tell him of my plans to learn what the Camerons were really all about. I suppose he had no way of knowing.”