Highlander's Heart

by Amanda Forester

  “Me? Ye should be thanking me!” Campbell’s stony shell cracked in agitation. “How many times have I saved ye? Do ye ken who had ahold o’ ye yesterday? That man is a notorious slaver. Do ye ken what would have happened to ye if I hadna saved ye, again?”

  “I do appreciate your help, but… but I cannot be returned to my husband.”

  “That is where ye belong, Isabelle. Ye should ne’er have misled me to think ye were…” David looked away and clenched his jaw, the frown lines carved deep in his face. “Ye lied to me.”

  Isabelle bit her lip, her own conscience paining her. “I did not know if I could trust you.”

  “Now I ken I canna trust ye.” The chill in Campbell’s voice sliced through to her bones. “I shall return ye back where ye belong. I have sent a message to Lord Tynsdale. ’Tis the only thing to do.”

  “You are not only returning me, you are holding me for ransom!” cried Isabelle.

  “And why should I not? Ye have cost me dear. Ye and all yer kind. Do ye ken how much I am expected to pay each year in ransom to buy back our bloody King David that yer king is holding for ransom?”

  “You are holding me responsible for the actions of King Edward? Who, by the way, was full within his rights to take your King David hostage since it was Scottish forces that invaded England.”

  “We had every right to invade,” said Campbell, his voice raised.

  “And what right might that be?” demanded Isabelle in a similar tone.

  “Ye are English!”

  “You say English like it is a curse.”

  “It is!”

  “So that is what you truly think of me.” Isabelle put her hands on her hips, her fingers clenched into fists.

  “What do I think o’ ye?” Campbell’s face became alive with emotion. “Ye are a wicked woman! Ye trick me into believing ye’re available, ye seduce me, and make me dream o’ ye. I want ye out o’ my head and out o’ my life!” Campbell’s loud voice rang through the chapel.

  “You dream of me?” asked Isabelle softly, her anger deflated.

  Campbell flinched. He had revealed too much. In a brief unguarded moment Isabelle saw longing in his eyes. “I must send ye back. I have no choice.” Campbell turned abruptly and stalked out the chapel door. Tears pooled in Isabelle’s eyes and she wiped them away with an impatient hand. Campbell was never hers to lose so she could not be feeling loss. She took a quick breath and fought against her tears. Campbell was right. She must go.

  She must escape.

  Fourteen

  “Please, Alys. Please.” Cait Campbell was not above begging. Not when it came to something important like the contents of her breakfast.

  “Nay, m’lady. What would yer brother say?” Alys braided Cait’s blond hair into a sensible plait for traveling.

  “Fie on my brother. ’Tis no concern of his. I promise I’ll switch back before we reach Laird Graham at Dundaff. All will look as it should. What could it possibly hurt to switch places for a bit of the journey?”

  “’Tis hardly proper, m’lady.”

  “I’ll hardly look proper wearing my last meal. Please, Alys, ye ken how riding in that dreadful litter upsets my stomach.” Cait turned to face Alys, her lady-in-waiting.

  “And what about the guards? Surely they would note the difference.” Alys stood with her hands on her round hips. She was several years older than Cait and had a curvier figure. Her dark brown hair hung in natural ringlets, which frequently escaped her headdress, a considerable contrast to Cait’s straight blond tresses.

  “Nay, I’ll ride wearing yer cloak with the hood drawn over my face. Please, Alys, they will ne’er know the difference.”

  “Nay, m’lady. It would no’ be right. I’ll no’ be a party to it.”

  Cait looked at her with wide eyes brimming with tears. It was an art form she had practiced over the years.

  “Och, verra well then,” conceded Alys. “But dinna blame me if it all goes bad.”

  ***

  Archie McNab leaned against a tree waiting for the messenger at the appointed time. His life was pathetic. Years ago, Archie had decided that he was born under a curse. Whether his sire or dame was to blame was uncertain; one thing he did know was that he was destined to live out his life a failure and general embarrassment. It was a powerful shame, but he was accustomed to it.

  It started to rain, filtering through the leaves and hitting him in the face. He could have put up the hood on his cloak, but what was the use? He had long ago stopped trying to avoid misery. His only hope now was that he might contract the plague or a fever and leave this godforsaken world. Or perhaps with any luck, someone would do him a favor and run him through. In his current occupation of mercenary, it seemed likely that his end would be sooner rather than later.

  He heard the sound of horses through the dense forest and motioned his men to hide. They disappeared into the brush. It was too many riders, not the lad they were waiting for. A heavily guarded litter was being carried down the road. He considered for a moment if this good gentleman needed to have his purse lightened for their journey. But McNab noted the Campbell banner and thought better of it. This was not a clan to aggravate, best to leave them alone.

  Before the party could pass him, they came to a sudden stop and one of the Campbell guards called for someone to quit blocking the road. McNab peeked around a tree. His messenger stood in the road, blocking the path of the caravan. McNab hoped that the lad would have the good sense to move aside.

  “Ho there!” shouted the messenger. “Why dinna ye move yerself o’er to the side? I’ve got important business to attend to.” McNab rolled his eyes. What an idiot. Just his luck, he could not get even a simple messenger to do his business without somehow finding a way to make a muck of it.

  “Move aside, ye addlepated whelp,” came the response of the Campbell guard.

  “Nay, I’ve an urgent message, let me pass,” called the messenger with all the false self-importance of youth and whipped out a sealed parchment, brandishing it with a flourish.

  McNab groaned softly. The lad must be daft. What did that hothead think he was doing challenging a Campbell guard? McNab kept his eye on the parchment. That little missive must not fall into anyone else’s hands but his. If something like that were to be brought before Campbell… McNab shivered.

  The lad kept babbling his bravado at the main guard, oblivious to the soldiers who dismounted and quietly flanked him. The guards were no fools; several had nocked an arrow and were keeping a close eye on the lad and the bushes around them, wary of an ambush. This was going to get ugly. McNab sighed and gave a silent command to the man next to him, knowing it would be passed along. He wrapped a black cloth around his nose and mouth, preparing for the worst.

  The Campbell guards snuck up behind his daft messenger and knocked him clean from his horse. He was trussed and the missive placed in the captain’s hands before the lad could make a sound. It was nicely done, but now it was McNab’s turn. He needed to retrieve that message before anyone did something stupid like read it.

  Fortunately, when it came to acting the part of a highwayman, McNab was a master. Not a skill to be proud of, but a skill nonetheless. McNab drew a short sword, a better and more precise weapon for close combat. He wore dark brown breeches, a linen tunic worn gray, and a black cloak, pinned at the shoulder. Lowlander’s clothes. Whenever he went out to do mischief he wore the clothes of a Lowlander. He wore those clothes a lot.

  He whistled a bird call, counted to ten, then leaped for the litter. His men jumped in concert with him, some falling from the trees on the soldiers with their bows drawn, a prime consideration for bandits. He grabbed the man out of the litter, held him firmly against his body for protection and had his short sword to his throat before anyone could say Holy Saint Andrew.

  “Hold or I’ll slice his throat,” commanded McNab from behind his
black mask. It had been his considerable experience that soldiers traveling with people in litters became quite cooperative and docile when said person in litter was threatened.

  “Hold!” yelled the captain of the guard. The Campbell soldiers drew back and McNab’s men let them. McNab’s men stood, weapons in hand, ready for action, which they generally hoped would not be necessary.

  It was then that McNab realized two things. First the man he was holding was not a man but most definitely a woman, and second that there was another woman who had dismounted from a horse and was screaming like a banshee for him to release the first.

  “If ye please, lass, quit yer screeching,” McNab tried to reason with the woman, though experience had taught him that negotiating with the fairer sex was a pointless exercise.

  “Get yer bloody sword off o’ her,” the lass growled at him.

  “Madam, please, ye shock me wi’ such language. I’d be happy to oblige ye if it were no’ for the fact that yer guards would kill me if I did.” He smiled, a useless gesture from behind his mask. “Now if ye would be so generous as to make a small contribution to the fund for wayward highwaymen I shall release this lady and be on my way.”

  The screeching lass drew back her hood, revealing a pretty, young face and a long, blond braid. McNab heard a collective gasp from the Campbell guards. Curious.

  “Ye hold the Lady Cait Campbell. Release her at once or feel the wrath of Campbell,” said the fair-headed lass who must be the lady’s maid.

  McNab appreciated her courage, but he would rob them just the same. He nodded at one of his men who grabbed the disagreeable lass and held a knife to her throat. It succeeded in quieting her into mute compliance. Most of all he needed that missive without revealing how important that parchment was. With any luck, which of course he had none, the soldiers would be so preoccupied by the robbery that they would forget about the missive.

  He nodded to his men, and they began to relieve the Campbell soldiers of their tools of the trade. McNab could use the addition to his armory. He would not have chosen to rob Campbell, but he was at it now, and it would hardly do to let opportunity slip through his grasp.

  Speaking of, the woman in his arms felt… nice, which was awkward since this was hardly the time to have lustful thoughts. It had been a long time since he held a woman in his arms, and this Cait Campbell was soft and curvy in all the right places. With a quick jerk he removed her linen headdress, revealing a mass of brown curls, falling in ringlets. Very nice.

  McNab began to form a rather foolish plan. He was not an idiot, despite what others might say, and he readily identified the scheme as being profoundly stupid. One that would surely end poorly, probably in his own death. But, being cursed from birth, he never met a bad idea he didn’t like.

  He maneuvered himself and Lady Cait past the soldiers down to the open road, keeping the blade at her throat so as to minimize protest. His messenger was still bound on the ground. He kicked him to the side and left him there. Served him right for starting all this trouble.

  “Take the horses.” He gave one of his men a look, who grabbed the missive from the captain’s hand. The captain had time to look at the seal, which meant he should kill the captain. Truly he should. A wise man would. But, as many would confirm, he was not wise.

  “And now I shall take my leave, my fine gentlemen. I thank thee for yer generous contribution to our less-than-worthy cause.”

  “Ye’ve got what ye wanted, now release them.” The captain spoke in a voice of a man trying to stay calm. The man was worried and scared. McNab must be holding something of value. Something Campbell would pay dearly to retrieve.

  McNab continued to back up and waited for his men to mount until the only two still standing were himself and the man holding the maid. Two of his men held the heads of horses ready for a quick departure, so important in any robbery. This was the difficult part, the part that you had to do just right or you ended up dead.

  “I’ll be taking them for ransom. Good day to ye!”

  Both women screamed in protest as he sheathed his sword, threw Cait Campbell over his saddle, and jumped up behind her. He dug in his spurs to encourage a hasty retreat. Behind him he could hear the roar of protest from the guards who rushed him. He raced down the road, knowing he would have to ride far and fast to evade the guards behind him. Even on foot he would not risk underestimating the Campbell guards. Only a fool would do that.

  Except that he had just abducted Campbell’s sister, so indeed, he was that fool.

  Fifteen

  McNab rode hard for an hour, the rump of Cait Campbell a lovely place to rest his hand. He had to hold the poor lass on the horse after all. Had he been a chivalrous man, he could not have enjoyed it as much as he did, but no one had ever accused him of gallantry. At the point her screams turned into low moans of pain he decided it was time for a brief respite.

  He called for his men to pull up by the shores of a small loch. It continued to rain and the air smelled fresh and green. McNab dismounted and pulled Lady Campbell down. She glared at him, but allowed him to assist her to a stone where she could sit. His man did the same for the other. He looked at his prizes with some satisfaction. They should earn him a nice fortune.

  “Sir,” said the lady, trying to smooth back her wayward curls. “Release my maid. She can have no value to ye.”

  McNab rubbed his unshaven jaw and considered the idea. He certainly would not get a single coin for a maid. But… his mind devised a plan even less likely to succeed than holding them for ransom. He liked it instantly.

  “Nay, my lady, I wish ye to be comfortable, and we poor beggars have little to give ye. Keep yer maid and yer comforts. Ye’ll thank me for her later.”

  “I assure ye, ’twill no’ be so,” said the lady. Her brown eyes were wide, but her voice was calm. McNab liked it. He felt relaxed with her.

  “What the hell do ye think ye’re doing?” demanded a familiar voice behind him.

  McNab’s stomach clenched and his shoulders hunched. He turned to face his sister.

  “Have ye gone completely daft?” Morrigan McNab was mad as fire and coming for him.

  “Wheesht!” McNab grabbed his sister’s arm, and forcibly moved her out of hearing of his two captives.

  “Leave them where they are and let’s be gone. Bringing them to McNab Hall will only destroy us all.”

  McNab regarded his sister with resignation. She was dressed in a man’s costume, Lowlander’s, as were the rest of his men. This irritable lass was McNab’s biggest failure. Instead of finding his sister an eligible match, as he should have done, Morrigan had become an outlaw. He had tried to prevent her from joining his men, goodness knows he had tried. She said she would stop when he could best her in the lists. To his eternal shame, she was still here.

  It was not that he was inept in the martial arts. No, it was just that, well, not one of his men could best her either, so he was not alone in his failure. Not that a shared defeat was any better. But it was.

  “Enough, woman,” McNab addressed her as female because he knew it grated on her. Not the most politic thing to say, but it was his sister. It was his job to be irritating, just as it was hers to aggravate him. They were both well versed in their occupations.

  “Dinna speak to me—”

  “Listen, Morrigan, have ye thought o’ what a ransom she would bring? Or, better yet, if she would consent to marry me or Andrew we could be rich off her dowry.”

  Morrigan stared at him like he had just claimed to be the Queen of France. “Ye’re mad. ’Tis yer only excuse.”

  “Nay, think on it, she would certainly come with a substantial dowry.”

  “Have ye no’ done this once before, ye addlepated fool?”

  McNab winced at the memory of the last time he kidnapped an heiress and tried to force her into marriage. MacLaren had not taken kindly to the abduction
of his wife.

  “That was different, she had already married MacLaren.” McNab tried unsuccessfully not to choke on his name. There was nothing in the world that scared him as much as MacLaren. “This time I’ll do it different. I’ll woo her, get her to agree to the marriage.”

  Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Ye’re daft.”

  “Nay, I have a plan. I’ll get her to agree to the wedding, then we’ll send a message saying I rescued her from horrible bandits and I’ll ask for her hand. She will confirm the story and Campbell, being grateful for my assistance, will grant me her hand in marriage.”

  “Archie, listen to me. This will ne’er work. She’ll ne’er agree to marry ye, and even if she did, Campbell would ne’er agree to the marriage.”

  “I’ll handfast wi’ her then. If she bears a child before the year is out, Campbell will have no choice.”

  “Of course he’ll have a choice. He’ll put yer head on a stake.”

  “Nay, no’ if I was the one who rescued her.”

  “This will end badly, mark my words, Brother.”

  McNab sighed. She may be right, but his whole life he had been waiting to do something big, something unexpected, something that would shatter this curse. He could not afford to be cautious. He must be bold. He must take chances. Maybe meeting Cait Campbell in the forest was fate.

  Or maybe his sister was right. He was daft.

  ***

  “I told ye this was a verra bad idea,” hissed Alys.

  Cait slumped forward, not looking at Alys. “Ye can hardly blame me for being abducted.”

  Alys muttered something that did not sound like an agreement.

  “Up now,” called the bandit.

  Cait found herself riding pinion behind a wiry man with weather-beaten skin. He smelled like he avoided water like the plague, and instead rubbed himself with dung for his morning ablutions. Cait tried hard not to fall off the backside of the horse without touching him, and would have held her breath for the entirety of the trip had her lungs not demanded an occasional gasp of air. Her only consolation was the mental image of what her brother would do to these knaves once he caught them.