On a ragged breath he accommodated her, plunging, carrying her away on a sensual precipice that brought her upward, soaring, until her whole body convulsed as waves of pleasure shot through her.
Bane followed on a roar, his head thrown back, ecstasy contorting his features. As the last of the spasms subsided, he collapsed next to her.
Kenzie placed her hand on his chest and closed her eyes, relishing the smell of straw, sandalwood, and a musky odor that was pleasant, but unfamiliar. Just before she drifted off to sleep, she murmured, “If you’re always this loud, we’re going to have to move our sleeping chamber to the tower.”
Bane’s chuckle was the last sound she heard.
Bane hated to wake her, but his clansmen would start searching for them soon. Especially if McGowan had been seen when he collected his belongings. If the witch pricker valued his skin, he’d be gone by the time they returned.
Bane smiled at the sight Kenzie made, her head pillowed on the back of her hands like a young girl. “Wake up, lass. ‘Tis after mid-day.” He nudged her arm.
Her eyes flew open. When she saw he’d already dressed, she jerked the thin blanket to her chin, her cheeks pink.
Bane grinned, unable to help his amusement. “‘Tis a lovely sight you make, lass, with or without the covering, but we must be going.”
“You’ll turn around while I dress.”
Bane raised a brow. “You wanted me to watch you remove your shift, but now I’m to turn around while you put it back on?”
Her flush became more pronounced and she refused to meet his gaze. “Ach. That was different.”
“Aye. And if I didn’t worry about my men finding us, then I’d still be in that bed. But I’ll not have any tales before our wedding.”
She got up and dressed, staying behind the blanket as much as possible.
Her modesty amused him. Who would suspect she’d be a siren on her way to bed and as demure as a girl when finished.
She spread the blanket over the straw pallet. “What will you tell your clan?”
“That we’re to be married.” He fastened his short sword at his waist, adjusting it amongst the folds of his kilt. “They’ll grumble at first, but don’t fash yourself over their welcome.”
“Do you think McGowan . . . ? Do you think he’s still there?”
Bane’s heart constricted at the apprehension in her voice. “Nay. I’m sure he’s gone.” For once he felt relief at being in charge. If the witch pricker remained, he’d order his men to take the swine to their borders and give him a suitable departure. A smile played around the corners of his mouth. He half hoped McGowan had been foolish enough to stay.
Chapter 6
Bane strode across the great hall, his kilt swinging in his haste. He’d best find his mother and tell her the news before announcing his betrothal at the evening meal. At least she’d be overjoyed that he’d finally found a wife.
As he approached the stairs, Maggie called to him from the hearth. With a sigh, he turned. ‘Twould not bode well to ignore her this day. Of all the Mackay Clan, she would no doubt be the one who resented his news the most. “Aye, lass.”
“I’m to give you a message.” She appeared flushed and agitated. Her narrowed blue eyes studied his face. What she saw must not have pleased her because she half turned from him. “We received word from one of the crofters that the Earl of Sutherland has raided Farr. ‘Tis said they plan to attack Tongue next. The village has requested your aid with due haste.”
“Damnation.” Bane clasped the hilt of his sword, the back of his ring grating against the jewel-studded metal. Would Sutherland never abandon his raiding? “Where is the crofter now?”
“He waited most of the morning, but when you did not return, he left for his village.”
Was that condemnation he heard in her voice? It’s not as if he’d planned to be absent when he was needed. “Other matters occupied my time.” He glanced at the stairs.
“I notified your captain. He took some men to do what he could at the village. He asked that you meet him at the north end of Loch Loyal to plan the defense of Tongue.”
Bane pressed his lips together and took a steadying breath. His announcement would have to wait, but he’d not leave Kenzie thinking he’d not meant what he said. “Maggie, I want you to find Kenzie. Share with her what you’ve told me, and explain that I will return on the morrow. I believe she’s searching for her mother in the gardens.”
His mother. He shook his head. She should not hear about his upcoming nuptials from someone else. “Tell Kenzie I’ve not had an opportunity to tell Lady Mackay and ask her not to speak of what transpired this morning. She’ll understand.”
At least, he hoped she would.
It made no sense. Her mother was wont to shelter in the shade of a group of Linden trees when the afternoon sun climbed high, yet Kenzie had not been able to find her in any part of the garden.
Truth be told, she felt relieved. On their ride back from the cottage, she’d been trying to work out how she was going to tell her mother that they were betrothed and that they’d . . .
It almost didn’t feel real. Had she really been so bold? Her fingers curled. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the path her hands had taken as they learned the contours of his body. It had felt so natural, not like the grasping hands of McGowan. ‘Twould not do to share that Bane’s proposal came as a result of her attack.
At the memory of how close she’d come to her mother’s fate, a chill touched her body. She rubbed her arms, seeking to banish the images.
Bane. A smile touched her lips. He lived life with his heart, not his eyes. When other men desired her beauty, he demanded her soul. He had a magic of his own, though he’d never acknowledge such.
True, he offered his protection, but was that the only reason behind his proposal? He had to feel the connection they shared. With a sigh, she headed up the narrow stone path to the castle.
She’d traveled but a short distance when Maggie blocked her way. The woman’s frigid blue eyes narrowed as she studied Kenzie’s face.
“I’ve a message for you.” The redhead’s voice sounded forced, and she allowed her gaze to travel downward, her eyebrows raised.
Heat rose in Kenzie’s face. She smoothed her hair and wondered if she looked different now. “A message? From whom?”
“Your mother. The village cooper’s son took ill. She asked that you join her there.”
Fear speared Kenzie’s chest. Her mother could often help the ill, but if the child died . . . This is why they stayed away from villages. “How long ago did she leave?”
“But a short time. There’s a horse waiting for you.” Maggie turned and led the way, but paused before they entered the stable. “Oh, I’d nearly forgotten. I’ve a message from Laird Mackay as well.”
Kenzie knew by the satisfied expression on Maggie’s face that it wasn’t good news.
“The Laird asked me to tell you not to say anything about what happened this morning.” She gave a slight shrug. “I’m sure that means something to you?”
“Aye.” Kenzie choked out the one word and hurried into the concealing darkness of the stable. She stumbled toward the bridled mare and rested her forehead against the animal’s warm neck.
Had Bane changed his mind?
Kenzie reined in her mare at the home of the cooper. The tiny thatched cottage stood at the outside edge of the village. Barrels of all sizes were stacked nearby. Thin staves leaned against one wall and a water trough that smelled of wet wood stood at the corner of the building. It was not an unpleasant odor, yet she didn’t envy the cooper’s wife.
Where was everyone? Even the animals were still. She slid from her horse and approached the door, but before she could enter, three men stepped from behind the barrels.
She vaguely recognized t
wo of the villagers, but the third man sent her running back to her mare.
The witch pricker.
A trap.
Before she had traveled far, thick fingers encircled her upper arm and brought her to an abrupt halt. The man jerked her around, and the other villager grabbed her free arm. Kenzie struggled—kicking and twisting.
“Well, well, witch. You’ve come to join your mother.” McLeod stood before her, legs apart, his hand resting on the pouch at his waist.
Kenzie stilled. “My mother?”
“Yes, the other witch.” McLeod gave a slow smile. “Your mother has admitted to her dalliance with the devil. You are the result. It explains your unnatural beauty and power over animals.” He glanced at the men holding her. “Don’t be softened by this siren. She wields her beauty like a weapon.”
“I’m not a witch.” She glared at him. “What have you done with my mother?”
“She’s fine—for the moment.” He nodded to the men. “Bring her. We’ll test her claim of innocence.”
The well-worn inn where they took her still smelled of yesterday’s ale and wood smoke. They shoved her to the center of the room and released her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, but then she noticed that crofters, merchants, their wives, and children were crammed into the small space, craning their necks to see her.
She now knew exactly how a fox felt when surrounded by a pack of dogs; the only difference was that these dogs were eerily silent. The villager’s faces reflected various degrees of horror, fascination, and malice. She found Anton in the crowd. He appeared unhappy, but when she held his gaze, fear pinched his features and he turned away.
“Now, witch.” In the crowded space McGowan’s voice carried authority.
“I’ve told you, I’m not a witch.” Kenzie did a slow turn, surveying the watchers and searching for a place to escape. Every exit had been blocked by villagers. She’d not hope to force her way through.
“So you say.” He nodded to someone at the main entrance and the crowd opened, allowing a woman to approach.
Maggie. What did she have to do with this?
“Maggie, you are often at the castle, are you not?”
“Aye, the Laird and I . . . Well, we have an understanding.”
Cold formed in the pit of Kenzie’s stomach. She must be lying.
“And have you seen anything odd since this witch . . . “ He turned to Kenzie, his palms facing the ceiling. “Pardon me, this woman and her mother arrived.”
Maggie placed a hand at her throat and gave a worried glance at Kenzie before she turned back to the villagers. “The gardens have grown more than their wont, birds come at her call, and she calmed the Hermit’s dog with just a touch.”
Murmurs started in the crowd. Maggie seemed to be the hesitant informant, afraid of the witch, and not the conniving female who had sent Kenzie to the village.
“Each of you here has seen the viciousness of the hermit’s beast. Yet this woman approached him without a weapon.” He focused his attention on Maggie and raised his eyebrows. “Anything else?”
“I didn’t see it with my own eyes, but one of the guards said she runs with wolves. He saw her release one of them from a trap.” Maggie’s voice dropped to a whisper, so that some of the villagers had to lean forward to hear her. “He thought it was her familiar.”
The crowd erupted into shouts. Kenzie caught some of what was said. The cooper’s wife sobbed. “She killed my son, my Robbie.” Another crofter waved his tankard in the air. “My crops developed a blight. We’ll starve if it continues.”
The crowd began to close in on her, but when McGowan raised his hands, they quieted and stopped pressing forward. “There’s only one sure way to test for a witch.” He reached into his pouch and removed a three-inch needle. The point appeared sharp, but the head was decorated with a dragon, its tail wrapped down around the main shaft of the needle, leaving about an inch of lethal metal. He handed the needle to the crofter nearest him. “‘Tis but a fancy needle?”
The man twirled it between his fingers, then held it up to catch the light. “Aye, ‘tis but a needle.”
At McGowan’s nod, two of the villagers came forward and grabbed her. One of them ripped her shift from wrist to elbow. Where was Bane? Surely he would stop this madness?
The witch pricker retrieved his needle and approached. Before he applied the needle he leaned in and whispered, “No one makes a fool of me.” Then he pressed the point to the flesh on her inner forearm.
She tensed, anticipating pain, but as the needle went into her arm she felt . . .
Nothing.
He withdrew the point, and to her amazement only a small mark showed where the needle had been.
“Witch. She feels no pain, nor does she bleed, as her mother before her. You’ve allowed Satan’s spawn in your midst.” He turned to the villagers. “You know the punishment.”
A hesitant voice spoke in the crowd. “Perhaps we should wait for the laird?”
Anton, at last.
“And risk bringing dire spells on you and your kinsman? What do you think these witches are capable of, now that they’ve been discovered? Are you willing to risk more deaths?”
The noise from the villagers swelled. Someone shouted, “Both mother and daughter are witches.”
The crowd noise built to a frenzy, but she could discern what they were shouting as one voice. “Burn them, burn them, burn them.”
A cold sweat broke out on Kenzie’s brow. She gasped for breath. This couldn’t be happening. Any minute now, Bane would stride through those doors and stop this superstitious nonsense.
Rough hands shoved her forward, the path opening before her like she had the plague. They herded her to a small stone building that lacked windows and shoved her inside. The place stunk of smoked meat. She landed hard on the dirt floor, and lay there a moment to get her bearings.
A moan filled the stillness and she scrambled to the source of the sound. She could barely make out her mother as she lay propped against the rough stones. Kenzie brushed the hair from her face, and a sticky wetness coated her fingers.
“Mama?” Kenzie reached down and tore off the bottom of her shift, using it to dab at the wound. “Mama, can you hear me?”
“Kenzie? Is that you?” Her mother reached up and grasped Kenzie’s arm. “They told me they’d let you go. If I confessed, you’d be free.”
“Shush, now. How badly are you hurt?”
“‘Tis but a bump. I was in the garden. Someone hit me. When I came to, there were all these people.” Her nails dug into Kenzie’s arm. “They said they’d hurt you, so I agreed with them that I was a witch. They think we’re witches.” Her mother let go and sank back. “Again.”
“Mama. Stay here, I want to see if there’s another way out.” Feeling along the stone wall, she pressed her palms against the enclosure, checking all four sides. Their captors had chosen well. The prison was small, solid, and had only one door.
A sudden light pierced the dark as Maggie slipped into their cell, a loaf of bread under one arm, cheese in one hand, and a lantern in the other. She reached down to hand Kenzie the bread and cheese. “My clan insists on feeding you, though why, I don’t know. They’re already digging the holes for your stakes. You’re to be burned at first light.” She straightened and turned to go.
“Wait.” Kenzie grabbed the bottom of her skirt. “You lied. Why? Do you think Bane will turn to you when I’m gone? He won’t. He’s asked me to marry him.”
Maggie laughed, shaking her head. “Marry you? You’re not even of our clan. Laird Mackay simply wanted to amuse himself, then be rid of you.” She bent down until their faces were a few inches apart. “You were a challenge, nothing more. Now that he’s done with you, he is letting McGowan have his fun. Bane asked me to make
sure you were convicted of witchcraft and I’ve done my part.” She straightened, then jerked her skirt out of Kenzie’s grasp. “Didn’t you wonder why he hasn’t arrived?” She knocked on the door and it opened wide enough for her to exit.
Kenzie fingers curled, crushing the bread in her grasp. Could a man make love to a woman in the morning then have her put to death? He said he cared for her and wanted to protect her, but he’d said nothing of love. Did he love Maggie after all? Her own father had set her mother and her aside for another woman. A tear spilled onto her cheek. “She’s wrong. He would not.”
Her mother’s thin voice held such sadness. “I warned you about lairds. Never believe them if they profess love.”
Kenzie tossed the bread away, a bitter taste in her mouth. She rested her chin on her knees and hugged them to her chest to still her shaking body. She’d believed. Now she and her mother were going to pay the price for her foolishness. How many hours did they have left before the stakes would be readied?
Chapter 7
The door to the solar slammed against the wall. Bane entered, searching the room. If his men had not encountered that raiding party, he would have traveled to Tongue for no reason. “Mother, where are you?”
“Here.” Lady MacKay had been sleeping by the hearth. Her face still wore a slightly confused expression as she lowered her plaid to her lap, then gazed down, tracing a brilliant line in the blue and green tartan with her index finger.
“Where’s Maggie? She sent me on a fool’s errand and I want to know why.” He could think of no reason the lass would lie to him, but it simply confirmed his wisdom in not choosing her as a bride.
His mother stood, then wrapped her plaid around her shoulders before facing him with her chin raised. “McGowan came to see me.”
“When?” Maggie and her pettiness faded. He could deal with the lass later. Bane’s thumb rubbed the intricate pattern on the back of his ring. McGowan should have left.
Highland Sons: The Mackay Saga Page 6
