The Eternal Highlander

by Lynsay Sands

  “Scymynd, Edmee,” murmured Sir Cathal as the couple stopped by his chair. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence? Ye rarely join us in the great hall.”

  “We have come to meet your guest,” replied Scymynd.

  Cathal introduced Scymynd and Edmee to Bridget. Although Bridget’s replies were calmly said and very polite, Cathal detected a tension in her, as if she sensed a threat was near. He could not blame her. He sensed one as well. Scymynd was the leader of the Purebloods and had made his dislike of Cathal’s plan all too plain in the last few months. It was not a good sign that Scymynd would venture into the upper keep to meet Bridget. When he felt Edmee’s long, cold fingers stroke his neck, Cathal knew all too well what game she intended to play. He fought the urge to use his power as their laird to send them away. Rebellion was brewing in the caves the Purebloods called home, and he would not aid it by insulting the two most prominent members of that group. However, he would not allow them to intimidate Bridget.

  “Are ye to join us for the meal, then?” he asked.

  “Nay.” Scymynd glanced at the food upon the table, grimaced faintly with distaste, then looked at Jankyn who sat at Cathal’s right. “Tis nay to my taste. I am surprised to see ye partaking of it.”

  Jankyn smeared thick brown honey on a chunk of bread. “I have an adventurous palate.”

  “So do I,” murmured Edmee as she ran her fingers through Cathal’s hair.

  Bridget was surprised to find herself feeling annoyed by the way the woman touched Cathal. Even more so by the way Cathal allowed it. Edmee was behaving in such an openly lustful, sensuous way, Bridget was amazed she was not blushing at the sight. It did make her think, however, that Cathal’s talk of marriage had been some odd jest and nothing more. That, she suspected, was at the root of her annoyance. She did not like being teased. A little voice in her head told her she was lying to herself. Bridget sternly gagged it.

  “Cease your games, Edmee,” Cathal snapped, pulling away from her touch. “They dinnae amuse me.”

  “Amusing ye wasnae what I had in mind.”

  Cathal ignored her and looked at Scymynd. “As ye can see, Lady Bridget has recovered from her ordeal.”

  “Aye.” Scymynd smiled at Bridget. “She must be eager to continue her journey.”

  It was not easy, but Bridget hid her reaction to Scymynd’s smile. It was not a pleasant expression, but coldly threatening. What caused the flicker of alarm she felt, however, was that he had teeth just like Jankyn. She was coming to the unsettling conclusion that those teeth were not the result of some clever work with a file, some odd vanity practiced by some of the MacNachtons. Why someone would have fangs to make a wolf envious was not something Bridget cared to think about. She softly dragged her fingernails over the hard surface of the table to reassure herself that they were still long, sharp, and hard.

  Cathal idly noted Bridget’s move and inwardly frowned. He suddenly realized that she had rather long fingernails, not one of which appeared to have suffered even the smallest chip from her ordeal, either. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jankyn intently staring at Bridget’s hands. Cathal decided he would have to discuss Bridget with Jankyn for there was obviously something about the woman that held his cousin’s interest. Jankyn knew a great deal about almost every family in Scotland and, if he had some knowledge about the Callans, Cathal wanted to know what it was. But, now, he thought as he looked at Scymynd, he had other problems to deal with.

  “She is staying at Cambrun,” Cathal announced, taking one of Bridget’s hands in his and keeping his gaze fixed upon Scymynd and Edmee. “She was headed to her cousin’s to seek a husband. I have decided that she need look no further.”

  The touch of Cathal’s hand sent a warmth through Bridget that startled her. The way he was idly stroking her palm with one of his long fingers was sending small, delightful shivers through her. She had to force herself to pay attention to the confrontation going on between the MacNachtons. One look at the faces of Scymynd and Edmee made Bridget very glad she had been too distracted to immediately gainsay Cathal. Cathal’s plan to marry her plainly did not meet with this couple’s approval, and Bridget had a strong suspicion it was due to a lot more than Edmee wanting the laird for herself. She had the chilling feeling that she was rapidly being pulled into the middle of some battle for power.

  “Ye still intend to marry an Outsider? To sully our bloodline?” Scymynd asked, his voice taut and cold.

  A brief squeeze of her hand from Cathal caused Bridget to bite back the angry defense of her clan she had been about to make. The look of cold fury upon Cathal’s face, one echoed by Jankyn, told Bridget that she was not the only one who had just been insulted. A quick glance around the great hall revealed that everyone’s attention was fixed upon this confrontation. The MacNachtons may have rescued her from one perilous confrontation, but it was increasingly clear to Bridget that the laird had set her down in the middle of another.

  “I believe I made my plans verra clear months ago,” replied Cathal.

  “Ye dinnae e’en ken who this woman is,” snapped Edmee. “She could be some thief.”

  “She is Lady Bridget Callan of Dunsmuir, sister of the laird, cousin to Lady Barbara Matheson, and my betrothed.” Cathal was pleased Bridget made no protest, that she had the wit to know that now was not a good time to argue his plans for her. “I have found nothing to e’en hint that she may not be exactly who she claims she is. Thus, she is a perfect choice.”

  “Ye should choose one of your own. Ye put us all at risk, try to destroy all that we are,” said Scymynd.

  Cathal shifted the grip of his hand upon Bridget’s just enough so that he could stroke the inside of her wrist. “Do I? I believe my intentions will save us. Do ye have a son, Scymynd? Does Edmee have a child? Considering how often she amuses herself, she ought to have a dozen clinging to her skirts. Where are they?”

  “Unlike the Outsiders, we dinnae need to breed like rabbits.”

  “I wasnae suggesting we do so, but e’en we need the occasional renewal.”

  “Tis madness. Ye have forgotten who ye are and would try to have us all do the same. Be warned, Cathal,” Scymynd said as he started to walk away, “if ye push too hard, those ye try to corner will push back. Hard.”

  Edmee glared at Cathal, then hissed at Bridget. Bridget hissed right back. She had the fleeting pleasure of watching Edmee’s eyes widen in surprise before the woman followed Scymynd out of the great hall. Once the pair were gone, Bridget pulled her hand free of Cathal’s grasp. She then gave a chuckling Jankyn a stern frown which only seemed to add to his amusement. She forced herself to turn her attention back to her meal, fighting to hide the turmoil in her mind and heart. There really was something odd about the MacNachtons, not the least of which was the way their laird could make her feel all hot and itchy with but a touch of his hand. There were secrets at Cambrun and, although her curiosity was stirred to nearly a feverish pitch, Bridget knew it would be far wiser to ignore them, even wiser to flee them.

  Cathal almost smiled at the way Bridget was attempting to act as if nothing had happened. “Ye have naught to say, m’lady?”

  “I have heard it said that ’tis best to nay indulge the deluded,” she murmured.

  “And ye think I am deluded?”

  “What else could one call it when ye tell all who will listen that ye intend to marry a woman ye have just met? One who hasnae said aye, either.”

  “And why do ye hesitate to say aye? I dinnae think I am hard to look upon. I am wealthy enough to keep ye weel clothed and fed. I am a laird, have good lands, and those lands are weel protected. Ye couldnae find much better at court, although it sounds vain of me to say so.”

  It might sound vain, but it was the truth, Bridget mused as she took a long drink of cider to wash down the last of her meal. She had no intention of agreeing with that view, however. Neither did she intend to be dragged into a marriage with a man she had just met, one who was knee deep in plots
that were stirring up rebellion within his clan. She slowly stood up and looked at Sir Cathal.

  “I was going to court to see a world outside of the walls of Dunsmuir, to be entertained by the elegant clothes and intriguing gossip, and to dance until my feet hurt. If some fine gentlemon decided to woo me, I might have taken a husband. Please note the use of the word might. Now, if ye will excuse me, I believe I will go and compose a letter to my cousin to explain my delay and let her ken that I will arrive for my visit with her as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, ye do that, m’lady.” Cathal enjoyed the gentle sway of her slim hips as she walked away. “I am certain we can arrange to visit your kinswoman at some time after we are married.” He grinned when she clenched her hands into tight fists, hesitated briefly, then continued out of the great hall. Mora flashed him a wide grin and hurried after Bridget.

  “She has a temper,” murmured Jankyn. “She set Edmee back on her heels for a moment.”

  “Aye,” agreed Cathal. “If Lady Bridget was frightened, she hid it weel. Tis good. She will need courage and strength to be my wife.”

  “I think she will try to escape.”

  Cathal nodded. “We will watch for it.”

  “What if she continues to refuse you? Ye cannae want an unwilling bride.”

  “She willnae be unwilling.”

  “Ye sound verra sure of that.”

  “I am. There is an attraction. I feel it and, when I held her hand, I kenned that she felt it, too. Twill take but a wee while for her to understand and accept it.”

  “Then I hope ye listened carefully to what she said as she left. There were two words ye must needs remember.”

  “Aye, woo and dance.”

  “Exactly. Woo and dance. Do ye ken how to dance?”

  Cathal grimaced. “Nay, but if my wooing isnae enough, I suspect I can learn. Lady Bridget can hiss and scratch all she likes, but, in the end, she will be my wife.”

  Four

  The sound of howling drew Bridget to the window. Moonlight bathed the hillside, softening the sharp edges of rock and shrub. What held her gaze, however, were the dark figures that seemed to fly out of the rocks the keep was built upon. They moved so swiftly she had no time to look carefully at any one figure, but she knew they were human. Despite the feral noise, the swift way they moved, Bridget recognized that she was watching cloaked men and women run nimbly over the rough ground to disappear into the forest. She had heard the sounds last night, her second night at Cambrun, but had not looked out of the window. Bridget heartily wished she had not looked this time.

  Bridget let the thick drape fall back over the window. She moved to stand in front of the fireplace, holding her hands toward the flames as she sought to chase away the chill of fear from her body. It was just a hunt, she told herself. Everyone hunted. There was probably some game that was best caught at night.

  She cursed and began to pace before the fire. It was time to stop ignoring things and lying to herself. Most people did not hunt at night even if there was a full, bright moon. Most people did not go hunting on foot, racing out of the bowels of a keep, howling like a pack of wolves. Most people did not race across the ground so fast you could miss seeing them if you blinked, once.

  Now that she was facing the truth, all the other odd things she had noticed came swiftly to the fore of her mind. People should not have fangs. Bridget was very sure of that. The MacNachtons seemed very fond of the dark. She saw very few of the darkly beautiful MacNachtons about during the day and every window was kept heavily draped. Even though he was at the table for every meal, Cathal did not eat exactly what she did. Jankyn ate very little aside from some alarmingly raw meat. All the MacNachtons were alike in appearance, more so than any other clan members she had ever seen. They all had eyes that would not look out of place on a wolf. The only MacNachton she had seen outside the walls of the keep during the day was Cathal and he had been heavily cloaked. He had also stayed outside for only a short time.

  Pausing before the fire, Bridget stared hard into the flames and struggled to recall exactly what she had seen just before she had fainted on the night she was rescued. She had seen Jankyn grinning his fang-baring grin. She had seen those cloaked figures sweep by her, swiftly and silently. Bridget shuddered as she recalled the screams of the men who had been chasing her. The MacNachtons had set upon the thieves, but there had been no sound of swords clashing. There had been blood, however. She could recall seeing it, smelling it. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, all she could recall of that last moment before sinking into unconciousness was swirling black forms surrounding the thieves, screams, and blood. If she had seen how the MacNachtons had killed her enemies, it was locked deep in her mind and did not want to come out.

  One thing did slip out that she suddenly wished she could tuck away again. All too clearly she could hear Nan telling her about the man in the village with eyes and teeth like a wolf, had inhuman strength, wounds that healed like magic, and who only ventured out at night. Demon and witch the villagers had called him, but other words tickled at the edge of Bridget’s mind, ones she did not care to even whisper aloud. She had no doubt that that man had been a MacNachton.

  And their laird wished to marry her, she thought and shivered. A marriage at least two of his clan were adamantly opposed to. Cathal had spent the last two days courting her. Even more alarming was the fact that she was slowly succumbing to his wooing. He was beautiful and made her knees weak. He was dangerous.

  Bridget hurried over to her chest of clothes. She took out her old cloak, piled a few clothes and carefully chosen personal items into the center of it, and tied the four corners together to make a sack. Donning her new cloak, she slipped out of the bedchamber. Silently, but quickly, she crept through the hall, down the stairs, and out the doors into the bailey. She was just about to run out through the gates, surprised but pleased to see them open, when a man dropped to the ground right in front of her. A soft screech escaped her as she stumbled back a step, even as she frantically looked around in a vain attempt to see where he had come from.

  “Greetings, lass,” the man said in a deep, rough voice. “Ye probably dinnae remember me. I am Raibeart. I drove your wee bonnie cart back here after we saved ye from those thieving swine.”

  “Ah, weel, I thank ye. Now, if ye will just excuse me,” she tried to dart around him, but the man swiftly put himself in her path.

  “Now, ye dinnae really want to go out there. Tis dark, aye? Too dangerous for such a wee lass.”

  “Ye arenae going to let me leave, are ye?” She cursed when he shook his head.

  “The laird wants ye to stay here.”

  “I dinnae care what he wants. He isnae my laird. He isnae my kinsmon, either.” Bridget could feel panic clawing at her insides and struggled to push it aside. “I wish to go to my cousin’s and none of ye have the right to stop me.”

  She felt a light touch upon her shoulder. Blindly, she turned and struck out, raking her nails across the face of the man who stood behind her. As her fingernails scored soft flesh the feeling pulled her free of the tight grasp fear had upon her. She looked in horror at the bloody furrows she had left upon Jankyn’s cheek. He touched a hand to the cuts as he stared at her, his gaze holding more intense consideration than shock. Mumbling a heartfelt apology, Bridget pulled a square of daintily embroidered linen from a pocket in the lining of her cloak. However, by the time she reached toward Jankyn, intending to clean the blood from his wounds, there was no need for such care.

  “Your wounds appear to be closing,” she whispered.

  “Aye. They were only shallow cuts,” he said. “Ye have verra sharp nails, lass.” Keeping his gaze fixed upon her face, he slowly licked the blood from his fingers.

  “Oh, it needed only that.” Bridget closed her eyes, took a deep breath to calm herself, then scowled at Jankyn.

  “That was a strange thing to do, lass,” murmured Raibeart as he moved to stand beside her.

  It was, but Bridget wou
ld never admit it. “Nay, it wasnae. I felt a touch and thought I was in danger. Jankyn also crept up behind me when I was feeling agitated.” She abruptly made a dash for the gate, not surprised when both men quickly appeared to block her way. “That could become verra annoying.”

  “E’en if we were inclined to let ye leave,” Jankyn said, “we certainly wouldnae let ye march off into the night all alone.”

  Bridget realized she was no longer afraid. That seemed strange. Nothing had occurred to alter the conclusions she had come to. In truth, what had just happened with Jankyn had only strengthened them. Yet, as she stood before these two MacNachtons, she only felt a very natural annoyance that these men would not allow her to do what she wanted to do. The only expression she could see in their feral eyes was a manly annoyance over a woman not doing as she was told. She felt no threat from these men and, considering what she was now sure they were, that truly made no sense at all.

  “Ah, so ye will escort me to my cousin’s then, will ye?” she said in a voice so sweet she was surprised it did not make her teeth ache.

  “Nay, they willnae,” drawled an all too familiar voice from behind her.

  Inwardly cursing, Bridget turned to face Cathal. “I have decided ’tis time for me to continue on my journey.”

  “And ye decided ye had to do it now? Right now? Without most of your belongings?”

  “Aye. I got to thinking—”

  “A dangerous thing for a lass to do. Ow!” Jankyn rubbed his stomach where Bridget had just hit him with her sack of belongings, and grinned at her.

  “Why are ye nay out with the others, howling at the moon?”

  “At least I am nay dancing beneath it.” He laughed when she blushed.

  “Ye were watching me?”

  “I heard ye singing.”

  “That was so rude.” If he had been drawn by her singing then he could not have seen her naked, Bridget mused, and relaxed. “I had left the camp to seek a few moments of privacy.”