“Grace has my protection,” Keir said, and Grace could feel the power behind his words, almost as if they were an oath. They sent a little thrill through her body. Foolish body.
“I can protect myself,” she said, looking down at Keir as he dismounted.
He didn’t smile or say anything, but the look in his eyes was amused. “What?” she asked. Reaching up, he lifted her down. “What?” she repeated, her voice terse when she realized that she hadn’t demanded to climb down on her own. She could have at least kicked him in the chest.
“And what will ye do if another pack of wolves decides that ye smell like their next meal?” Keir asked, dragging the saddle off the horse’s back.
Grace tipped her chin higher and looked beyond to the white-blanketed meadow, surrounded by snow-clad evergreens. The limbs hung low as if bowing to them in greeting. Grace crossed her arms. “To foster courage, one must envision dangers and form a plan to know what to do if the danger occurs. I had no plan before. Now I do.”
“Which is?” Keir asked. Brodie led his horse toward them as if wanting to join in the ridiculous conversation. She ignored him.
“I will stand tall and growl back, to start with,” she said.
“That didn’t work well for me,” Keir said, making Brodie chuckle.
“I will climb a tree and throw my dirk at the leader.”
“First, the tree must be low enough to climb, but not so low that the wolf can climb after ye,” Brodie said and pulled the saddle from the back of his own horse.
“And ye need further practice with your sgian dubh,” Keir said.
Grace pursed her lips. “The wind snatched my dagger from its path during the storm. Otherwise I would have hit the wolf instead of you.”
“Ye hit Keir with a dagger?” Brodie asked, laughing out loud. “’Twas quite a difficult rescue, eh?”
Grace would have nodded but was certain both men thought the rescue was difficult for Keir, not her, even though she was the one who’d covered them with cut evergreens and blankets to keep them alive. “My earlier warning stands,” she said, looking pointedly at them. “When not buffeted by gale winds, I throw quite well,” she said. “Gavin has been training me to aim with mortal consequences.”
“Who is Gavin?” Keir asked, his voice stripped of mirth.
“A mighty Maclean warrior,” Grace said, exaggerating. Gavin was strong, but she had no idea if Tor, the Maclean chief, considered him mighty.
“Why is he teaching ye to throw a dagger?” Keir asked.
“He wants to protect me, too,” she said and rubbed a gloved hand across her lips to dispel the grimace. Good God, she was tired of this talk. “Just because a woman lacks courage doesn’t mean all the men around her must swear to protect her,” she said, throwing her words over her shoulder as she walked away.
“He has sworn to protect ye?” Keir asked, leaving his horse to follow her across the clearing.
“He thinks ye lack courage?” Brodie called, his voice full of surprise.
“Yes, and yes,” Grace said, turning. She frowned at the little leap her heart did to see Keir was close. I loathe him, she reminded herself, narrowing her eyes.
“Why?” Keir and Brodie asked at the same time.
She looked past Keir to Brodie. “Why what?”
“Why has he sworn to protect ye?” Keir asked first. “Which, by the way, he hasn’t come close to upholding his oath, letting ye journey alone to Barra and be nearly eaten by a pack of wolves.”
Brodie coughed in his hand and spit on the ground near his horse’s hoof. “And a lass who willingly rides with the Devil of Dunakin isn’t lacking courage. This Gavin sounds like a dolt.”
“Gavin is not a dolt,” she answered. “He’s quite nice. And I’m not willingly riding with Keir.” She scrunched her nose at him as if he smelled foul.
“Why has he sworn?” Keir asked again.
Grace stretched her sore back, reaching high. “He wants to wed me, so he can take care of me.”
Keir walked past her, and she realized he held a rolled tarp. He flicked it open, shaking it wide to drape over the thick, horizontal branch of a tree. Even though he didn’t look at her, his words carried. “Ye need more than nice, Grace. Ye have too much passion in ye for a weak dolt.”
Grace refused to look at him and watched Brodie clear a spot, arranging stones in a circle for a fire. “Whether ye are riding willingly or not, ye are one brave lass,” Brodie called, glancing over his shoulder with a nod. “The Devil of Dunakin is the meanest, most brutal warrior in all the Highlands. Even his own men tremble under his scrutiny.”
Grace walked away from Keir, gathering twigs that had dried in the sun. “Well, that’s foolish. A leader shouldn’t rule his men with fear and brutality.”
“It has worked for generations within the Mackinnon clan,” Brodie said, shrugging. “The Devil of Dunakin rules the warriors with ferocity and strict adherence to clan law and duty.” He leaned in, hitting the flint to catch a spark on a small piece of wool between his thumbs.
Grace glanced over at Keir where he pulled taut the corners of the tent. He’d thrown off his outer covering, and his massive biceps strained against the fabric of his shirt as he forced sticks into the frozen ground to act as tent stakes. Grim frowns, savage markings on his skin, and powerful muscles might frighten some who didn’t know Keir, but the man was far from cruel. Maybe if she reminded him of that, he’d realize abducting her was dishonorable. “Does saving wolf pups by not slaughtering their parents, fall under strict adherence to clan law?” she asked. “A brutal, cruel show of force?”
He straightened to his full height. “And the favor earned me more scars and three days of fever.”
And my respect, she admitted silently. That must be the reason she’d let him trick her so easily. Grace sniffed and watched a clump of snow fall from high up in a tree where a large bird had landed. “You pulled through, and those pups have a chance of surviving the winter. Intelligence and thoughtfulness, reasonable judgment to accompany strength and strategic prowess. That is what earns a leader the respect of his warriors. Not brutality and fear.”
“And how many warriors have ye led, Grace Ellington?” Keir asked, brushing his hands together.
She met his sharp gaze. “And how many warriors would die to keep you safe when they fear you, Keir Mackinnon?”
“One,” Brodie called over. “’Tis my duty.”
Grace snorted, bringing over the small gathering of twigs for the fire. “Foolish men. Always ready to kill rather than find a civil way to proceed.”
“Some men would rather fight than have a pointless conversation,” Keir said.
“Good Lord,” Grace said. “I think I’d rather not ride with you.”
“Well, ye aren’t allowed to ride with me,” Brodie said. “So, I guess ye’ll be running behind Cogadh.”
Grace looked between them. “Why am I not allowed to ride with you?” she asked.
Brodie scratched the side of his head and glanced toward Keir. “Uh…’tis a rule. All stolen lasses must ride with the Devil of Dunakin.” He shrugged. “It’s an old rule, ancient Mackinnon law.”
Grace squinted her eyes at Brodie in blatant suspicion, but he turned away. “There are more bannocks, dried fish, and a few apple fritters,” he said, leaving her to retrieve a sack from his horse.
Grace inspected the crude tent Keir had suspended. She’d need something to protect her from the frozen ground. She used her sgian dubh to saw through the limb of an evergreen across the clearing. Her muscles had strengthened since coming to the Highlands. Perhaps she could survive if she escaped into the woods.
“What are ye doing?” Brodie asked, walking over to stare at her growing pile of branches.
“Cutting branches to dry before the fire to sleep upon,” she said.
“Clever,” he said.
“It helped keep the snow from freezing Keir and me in the blizzard. I rolled him over and stuffed the branches under him
when he was unconscious. Although those boughs were wet. If I dry these out by the fire, they should work even better.” She stopped to rest, hands on her hips.
Brodie’s mouth dropped open. “Ye knocked Keir out when ye hit him with your dagger?” He sounded completely astounded.
“Nay,” Keir called from the other side of the fire, where he checked his horse’s hock, rubbing the muscles in the animal’s leg.
“The wolves then? They rendered ye unconscious, and Cogadh trampled them to keep ye from being further eaten?” Brodie asked. He bent to gather the load of cut boughs, shaking them to shed the snow.
“I fell on him,” Grace said and picked up the last two boughs to follow Brodie to the fire.
“Her limb knocked me in the head,” Keir said. “After the wolves decided the taste of my leg wasn’t worth the wrath of my horse.”
“And ye cut branches in a frozen tempest and tucked them around to keep the blizzard from freezing ye two solid?” Brodie asked, his brows high.
“Yes, I did,” Grace said with a slight rise to her chin.
He shook his head. “Clever lass,” Brodie said. “Clever and brave.”
His words made Grace feel lighter. Someone thought she had courage. It didn’t matter that he was an annoying arse. He was also a warrior.
“I had to lie on top of Keir to keep us warm,” she said. “And when he woke, he thought I was an angel.” She bent at the waist to prop her boughs over a log at the edge of the fire.
She expected a humorous comment from Brodie and possible embarrassment from Keir, although she couldn’t imagine him blushing over anything. But there was only silence. Straightening, she spotted Keir spitting one of the rabbits they’d caught. Brodie stood frozen, staring at him with a hardened, dark surprise etched on his features.
“An angel?” Brodie said, the two words spat out as an accusation.
“I’d been struck on the head,” Keir said, his glance going to Brodie. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It means nothing.”
Grace’s gaze moved back and forth between them, Brodie stiff, his hands fisted and Keir ignoring him. She let out a small, dark laugh, meant to be threatening. “And I am definitely not an angel.”
Thawing slowly, Brodie turned on his heel, disappearing in the thickening shadows of the woods.
Chapter Ten
Grace stood, watching Keir set the spit between two thick branches they’d erected on the edges of the fire to hold the rabbit. The breeze teased the undulating flames, and they crackled in the silence that came with the falling night. “Brodie doesn’t like angels?” she asked, glancing where the man had walked.
“It’s foolish,” Keir said and stirred the burning bits of plank he’d taken from the barn.
“Foolish?”
He shook his head. “’Tis an old legend that says the very last Devil of Dunakin will die after an angel pierces his heart.”
She stared at him, his powerful frame looking even larger in the shadows. “You said ‘finally’ when you saw me.” Finally? As if he’d been waiting for the angel of death. “Do you want to die, Keir?”
His eyes appeared black in the firelight as his gaze connected with hers. “I do not fear death, but I would not walk willingly into it, either. Nay, Grace. ’Twas only a word, spoken by a waking man who’d taken a blow to the head. Nothing more.”
“Brodie thinks there is more to it,” she said.
“Brodie gets grim when he thinks I might relinquish my position in the clan.”
“Why?”
Keir turned the rabbits slowly on the spit, checking one of the props. “Because if I die, he might be ordered to be the Devil of Dunakin.”
“Which he doesn’t want to be?” she asked, watching the night breeze tug at Keir’s loose hair.
Keir looked over his shoulder, one side of his mouth tipping upward in a dark grin. “Brodie is much happier being the merciful squire to the murdering executioner.”
“Murdering executioner?” she asked, her eyes opening wide.
“’Tis mostly tales.”
“Except for the crosses on your skin.”
His gaze turned back on the browning rabbit. “I am a warrior, Grace, and efficient at doing my duty.”
“And who gave you this duty?” she asked, sitting on a log where the heat could reach her.
He stood, brushing his hands. “Aonghus Mackinnon.”
“Your father?”
Keir sat on the log next to Grace, staring at the fire. “He was the chief of the Mackinnons before my brother. I was the second son born, and therefore the one trained and raised to protect, while my brother was raised to lead. Rab is now the chief, since Aonghus Mackinnon’s death ten years ago.”
“He wanted you to be a murdering executioner?”
“He wanted what most fathers want, for their sons to be strong and dutiful.”
She watched him for a long moment, his body stiff, saying more than words could, that he didn’t want to talk about his abilities or his father. Grace crossed her feet at the ankles, letting the flames warm the soles of her boots. “My father didn’t have much to do with me, but my mother raised me to be a lady.” Her heart hurt at the memory of losing her to illness several years before.
Grace exhaled through her nose. “And the skills of a wellborn lady are fairly useless here in the wilds of Scotland.”
“Cutting boughs to keep ye warm in a blizzard isn’t something taught to wellborn ladies in England?” he asked, a bit of light coming back into his voice.
A chuckle broke from her before she could stop it. Because she was a prisoner, and prisoners didn’t spend their time laughing with their jailors, no matter how horrible the jailor’s childhood was. “No. Luckily for you and me, I happened to ask Thomas about surviving a blizzard on the way to Kilchoan.” Her voice dropped. “I hope he is faring well without me.”
Keir leaned his elbows on his knees. “He is under shelter, warm, and cared for by a maid. He is better than most in this world. He will heal, and I will take ye to Kisimul and then Aros.”
“How can I believe a man who steals away a woman against her will?” She crossed her arms. He’s a scoundrel. I hate him. She clenched her teeth to fan her softening fury. She was not so weak as to look past such an assault on her freedom.
He stood, looking down at her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I keep my word, Grace. As long as I have breath, I will see ye home.”
As long as he had breath? As long as he wasn’t dead? Did the man always assume that he would die early? She studied him. His broad shoulders and powerful arms, along with the constant training, made him invincible. Yet, the brutality of his youth and the dark duty thrust upon him made Keir more than a Highland warrior. It made him flawed, fine cracks of vulnerability that Grace was certain he refused to acknowledge. But she saw them, and they made him…more. More human. More complex, and definitely more tempting. Damn.
A tendril of heat flowed inside her, like sap thawing in the spring, as she watched him turning the rabbit. They were alone in the darkness. Every time she thought of what he’d done to her, the words she’d let pour from her lips, she felt her skin flush. But all that had occurred before he had thrown her over his shoulder and whisked her away. She forced her gaze back to the undulating flames.
The crunch of Brodie’s footfalls broke through the thick silence. “I marked the perimeter,” Brodie said, his face more relaxed than when he’d stormed away.
“Marked?” Grace asked, though her mind continued to whirl around Keir’s dark duty.
“He pissed around,” Keir said.
Brodie puffed out his chest, stretching his back. “It keeps the animals away.”
He strode to the bag he’d taken from his saddle and rummaged through it. He carried out wrapped bannocks, two bladders of ale, cheese, and several fritters drizzled with honey. Having barely eaten throughout the day, Grace’s mouth watered. “We will have a feast tonight?” she asked. “Surely we need to ration for th
e journey.”
“I have another full sack,” Brodie said. “And we should make it to Mallaig by tomorrow night or the next morning, where there is a well-stocked tavern.”
“Brodie always makes sure we have plenty of food,” Keir said, cutting into the rabbit to check for doneness. “If made to choose, I think he’d bring tarts on campaign over his sword.”
“Make fun, Keir, but a gnawing stomach is no way to travel or battle. The Devil of Dunakin must be well fed to keep his strength.” Brodie took a long haul from his bladder.
Grace stood to help Keir turn the rabbit over the flames. “And you must keep full of ale to mark the perimeter against animals.”
Brodie chuckled. “Most certainly.”
They ate the hot pieces of rabbit with the other food, saving the fritters for last. “It might be the fact that I’ve barely eaten this week,” Grace said, “but I don’t think I’ve tasted anything this tempting before. I have a sweet tooth and long to taste anything wrapped in pastry.” She licked some of the honey off her fingers. “Like Keir.”
Brodie coughed into his fist. “Keir wrapped in pastry? Now that would be a sight.”
“No,” Grace said, feeling her cheeks warm. “Keir likes to taste sweet things.”
Brodie’s wide eyes shifted between them, his brows raised. “Ye two discussed Keir’s appetite for sweetness? Back at the cabin? Perhaps while chasing that mouse about?”
Ballocks, the man’s mind was filthy. Although, Grace’s whispers back in the cabin had been anything but pure. Could Brodie know that Keir had said that he wanted to taste her? Keir wouldn’t have shared something so…intimate. “I had a tart,” she answered, “and gave him some before he succumbed to fever.” Grace looked away, feigning a yawn. “It’s been a long day. Shall we take turns sleeping, in case Brodie’s markings don’t keep the wolves away?”
“We will handle that, lass,” Brodie said. “Ye can sleep on your warmed boughs in the tent.”
Grace carried three evergreen branches inside with her. It would still be cold, even with a blanket. She laid down her load, spreading them out the length of her body, and straightened halfway, ducking back out. Her backside collided with someone, and she jerked upright. “Oh,” she said. Keir stood there, holding two more boughs. It took her a moment to inhale. “I was coming to find a blanket.”
The Devil of Dunakin Castle (Highland Isles) Page 8
