Heart of Ashes (Hearts of the Highlands Book 1)

by Paula Quinn

  Cain clenched his jaw and pulled his gaze from her.

  “’Tis ready,” she said and poured the mixture into a cup. “We must wake him enough to drink it.”

  Cain nodded and took her by the elbow to lead her out of the kitchen.

  “You said I would die if he died,” she reminded him while she kept her eyes on the hall ahead. “Will I live if he lives?”

  “I havena yet decided.”

  Why hadn’t he? What the hell was wrong with him? If it were anyone else, they would have been turned over right away to his men. She deserved to die.

  But damn it, he didn’t want to add killing a lass to his many sins. And why did this particular lass have to be so hauntingly beautiful that killing her would be like rolling up the sky and the stars and tossing them into the fire?

  Father Timothy mentioned her being returned to the English. Cain would write to Robert and ask what should be done with her.

  Aye. That’s what he would do. Let the Bruce decide. But until then—

  “Father Timothy tells me you are called Cainnech.”

  “Cain,” he corrected.

  She furrowed her brow and cut him a quick side-glance. “Why would you prefer Cain?”

  “It fits better.”

  “I see.”

  Aye, he thought, let her see the truth then. He was an unmerciful, unrepentant killer, just like his namesake.

  “I told Father Timothy I was going to kill you,” she said boldly, tempting him to smile. If he wasn’t such a superior warrior, he might be worried by her confidence.

  “And what was his response?” he asked as they neared the chamber.

  “He said I would have to go through him first.”

  Finally, Cain smiled.

  Chapter Six

  If she lived through the next few days, Aleysia never wanted to see the Scottish commander smile ever again. It made her forget her name and all her carefully laid out plans. She didn’t abandon them. Never that.

  It was almost as dangerous as seeing him asleep in nothing but a plaid around his waist. The sight of him, illuminated in the candlelight, had made her feel like she had too much wine. He had slept on his back, one muscular arm tossed over his head. His broad chest was lightly dusted with dark hair. His belly was tight with muscles. There were at least a dozen scars covering him, including the one on his cheekbone, left by her arrow. It did nothing to lessen his handsome features. She had stared at him too long.

  Oh, but when he disarmed her and pulled her down atop him in her bed, she had been less afraid of him and more afraid of his effect on her.

  How could she find him more alluring than any man she’d ever met? Awareness of him ripped through her as she doubled her steps to keep up with his long strides. His height and the breadth of his shoulders cast her in shadows.

  Why hadn’t he killed her yet? She told herself she hadn’t killed him yet because she needed him to tell her where he was keeping Richard so she could escape with him.

  She looked down at the cup and thought of a way to bargain with the Scot.

  They entered the room to a waiting Father Timothy and another brutish-looking man with bright red hair and beard and two long scars running down his face.

  “D’ye have the mixture?” the priest asked, leaping to his feet when he saw them.

  Aleysia held up the cup.

  “Good, good,” Father Timothy reached out to take it and shot a furtive glance to the commander. “I told Amish aboot Aleysia, Richard’s granddaughter.”

  “Uhm,” the commander mumbled and moved to the bedside. “How is he?”

  “He comes back to us and then leaves again,” Father Timothy told him and then turned to Aleysia. “Ye can give me the mixture.” He moved to take it, but she pulled away. “Come now, Miss. We canna waste a moment.”

  She looked at the commander when he turned to see what was going on.

  “Where is Si—my grandfather?” She held the cup at an angle, letting a drop spill. “Bring him to me or I will let this cup fall.”

  The commander stormed toward her in two giant steps. He seemed bigger suddenly, infinitely more deadly than she could imagine. His lips were tight, his nostrils flared.

  She backed away but he kept coming.

  “Ye make demands while this lad’s life hangs by a thread?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. He didn’t try to grab the cup before she made good on her threat. He simply stared her down with a glare that made her kneecaps weak beneath her. “If ye dinna feed that antidote to William before yer next breath, ye willna see daylight!”

  She was surprised the walls of the chamber didn’t crumble around them at the force of his voice. That her blood didn’t freeze from his frigid glare.

  She believed him. He would kill her. She should have stabbed him when she had the chance. She’d panicked. She’d hesitated. And now, she had to save one of them.

  She brushed past the commander without another word—and with all the strength she could muster to move at all—and went to the bedside.

  She looked down at the victim of her poison. William. He was quite beautiful in his slumber, with lush black lashes resting against his pale skin.

  “He needs to be roused so he can swallow the mixture,” she said, keeping her gaze on William, rather than look at his commander again.

  “Cainnech,” the priest said, “hold him up and I’ll try to rouse him.”

  The brutish commander pushed past her and moved to the head of the bed.

  Climbing into the bed, he sat behind the lad and fit his arms gently beneath William’s arms. He sat the young man up, leaning William’s back against his chest.

  Father Timothy came to sit at the edge and began trying to rouse him.

  When William’s lids fluttered open, Aleysia stepped forward and held the cup to his lips. “Drink this,” she said.

  He looked up at her with dark gray, glassy eyes and smiled. “Julianna.”

  Aleysia glanced at the commander behind him and noted the slight change in his expression. Compassion warmed his gaze, but just for a moment, before he tightened his jaw and pushed it away.

  But he did care—at least about William. He wouldn’t have threatened to kill her if he didn’t. It piqued her curiosity about the lad. What was it about him that pricked the commander’s heart? Who was Julianna?

  He is young…innocent of bloodshed. A servant.

  “Aye, William,” she said softening her voice. “You must drink this now.”

  He pressed his lips to the cup and drank a little then started to drift off again.

  Aleysia placed her fingers to his cheek. “Come now, William, drink this for me.”

  He drank more, slowly, but finally the mixture was gone.

  “Now what?” the commander asked her over William’s head.

  “We should see an improvement before dawn.”

  Cain moved away from William and laid him back down so he could rest properly. He stood up and walked around the bed, passing her without a word, and went to stand with the red-haired Amish.

  “I’m goin’ to speak with Richard the steward. Stay ootside the room. She is not to step oot of it. If she tries to leave, kill her.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Amish said.

  Aleysia shot them both a murderous look.

  The bastard commander closed the gap between them in two strides. “I will bring yer grandfather back to have a brief word with ye. But if ye try to escape before we return, ye will both die. D’ye understand me, lady?”

  She thought about where two knives were hidden in this room and how she’d like to fetch them and ram them into his guts. “What if I do escape and come and kill you?”

  He looked as if he wanted to smile. But he didn’t. Instead, he let his gaze slip down her body, pausing at her feminine curves beneath her breeches and léine.

  She felt her face begin to grow flushed, but he didn’t see.

  He started to leave, but then stopped and flicked his gaze between her and Fa
ther Timothy.

  He pointed to the priest. “Come with me.”

  Father Timothy didn’t argue. They both knew how dangerous she was.

  He obviously cared about the priest. She doubted it was her soul he was trying to protect when he commanded Father Timothy to follow him.

  She watched them depart, leaving Amish to guard the door. What could she do now but wait? Richard’s life depended on her remaining where she was.

  She looked down at William. A bit of color had returned to his face. A good sign—for the other side, at least.

  She left his side and went to fetch her hidden knives. She took one and hid it carefully in her bodice.

  This time, she wouldn’t hesitate.

  Chapter Seven

  Cain sat atop one of the trestle tables, his boots on the chair in front of him in the great hall. He lifted his cup to his lips and waited for Amish to arrive with Miss d’Argentan.

  “If you have harmed her—” the old knight began.

  “She has not been harmed,” Father Timothy assured him.

  “Yet,” Cain added, setting down his cup. “Yer Miss d’Argentan has boldly confessed to everythin’ and has much to answer fer.”

  “How many did she…?”

  “Nine, and one more who clings to life.” Cain felt his anger rising. “Pray that he lives,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

  “Did she act alone in her crimes against the king?” Father Timothy asked him.

  The knight lifted his chin and bristled in his chair. “He is not her king or mine.”

  Rebellion. It was what got people killed—proven by the deaths of thousands so far. This English knight knew it and he didn’t seem to care. He was loyal until death to Edward and to Miss d’Argentan. He had even come up with an elaborate tale about the nonexistent Lord de Bar to protect her. A quality Cain couldn’t help but admire.

  “Nonetheless, she is our enemy, as are ye,” Cain told him.

  The knight looked away.

  “How did she do it?” Cain asked him.

  “She practiced every day for the last four years.”

  Dedication. Another trait Cain admired.

  “What drives her?” he asked. He expected the answer to be hatred over the death of her brother. He understood hatred. It killed him when he was a child.

  “Fear drives her. And loyalty.”

  Cain leaned forward and inclined his head to the knight. “Fear of what?” But he already knew the answer. “Us.”

  Sir Richard nodded. “From the moment she learned of her brother’s death, she was fired up with this maddening need to prepare for the day when the Scots showed up at Lismoor. She swore to never surrender the castle or the land to her brother’s enemy.”

  “Who helped her?” Cain asked.

  “Everyone,” Richard told him and reached for Father Timothy’s cup instead of the one Cain had given him.

  Cain watched with a smile lifting one corner of his lips. The knight didn’t trust him. Good.

  “I had helped make some of the weapons, as had my brothers. Everyone who lived here, as well as all the villagers helped in the building of the traps and the walkways. But that was all any of us did. She insisted from the beginning that the war was hers and hers alone. When news had come of the siege on Berwick, she sent everyone away to ensure none were harmed.”

  “How could she have hoped to defeat us on her own?” Father Timothy asked after a sip from Sir Richard’s cup.

  “She could have done it,” Cain admitted in a quiet voice. “The traps were everywhere I looked. We likely wouldna have made it oot of the forest alive. She is brave.”

  “She is headstrong,” her knight added, unwittingly sharing a slight smile with Cain.

  Cain’s eyes caught sight of her entering the hall with his second.

  Hell, she was pleasing to Cain’s eyes. This lissome lass in her breeches and boots had rained havoc down on his men. She was doing the same to his senses. How could he think her so alluring after all she had done? She’d tried to kill him! More than once! All he had to do was tell his men the truth and he would be done with her.

  Her wide, worried eyes found her knight and she hurried forward.

  “Sir Richard!” she cried reaching them. “What have they done to you?”

  “Never mind me, my lady!” he said, taking her hands in his. “Have you been harmed in any way?”

  “The beast still lives,” she said, slipping her frosty, green gaze to Cain. “If he had touched me, his innards would be spilled in the rushes.”

  Cain found himself aching to smile at her.

  Her eyes shone with a fire that had been fanned for four years. He remembered being filled with the same passion. He knew what it did to the soul when the fire was extinguished and the heart lay abandoned in an empty shell, dead and yet alive.

  What did he care what happened to her heart? Or her body if his men discovered the truth? She was his enemy. He would allow her some time with her guard and then lock her up someplace she couldn’t escape.

  “Release him!” she demanded. “He has done nothing!”

  Cain guzzled down the rest of his whisky, then looked at her. “Prove yer claim and I’ll release him.”

  Her lips tightened as she drew in a deep breath readying for a fight. His bemused gaze dipped to her hands balling into fists. “How am I supposed to prove my claim?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and looked into his empty cup. “That is yer dilemma, not mine.”

  “It will not be a dilemma once you are dead.”

  “Commander.” Amish stepped forward. He’d heard the lass’ threat. Cain didn’t want him hearing anything more. What had changed? He had been ready to give her to his men just a short while ago. She’d lost her home. He understood the pain of that. He’d lost his, as well. He’d lost more than that.

  “Take the steward away,” he told his second.

  “What? No!” The lass grabbed hold of the knight’s arm when Amish began to lead him off, and turned to glare at Cain. “I have barely had time to say a word to him!”

  Cain pushed aside the urge to give in, the temptation to drag her into his arms, to his bed. He had to keep in mind the heavy blow she alone had dealt his men. He wouldn’t betray them by bedding the wench who took them from the earth. “Mayhap, ye should have spent less time flappin’ yer tongue at me.” He flicked a warning glance to his second. “What is he still doin’ here?”

  Amish yanked Richard by the arm and Father Timothy hurried to stop her from going after them.

  “He willna be harmed, my lady,” Cain heard the priest tell her.

  She fastened her eyes on her friend as he was pulled away and then turned her gaze on Cain.

  “Back away from me, Priest,” she warned without taking her eyes off Cain.

  He raised his brow and quirked his mouth when she produced a dagger from somewhere in her bodice.

  “Ye think to fight me, lady?” he asked, pushing off the table.

  “I think to kill you, Highlander,” she replied, holding her dagger out before her.

  Father Timothy moved forward. “Miss d’Argentan—”

  Cain held up his hand to quiet him, then crooked the same hand at her, motioning her to come forward. “Let me see just how determined ye are.”

  He expected her to rush at him swinging. Instead, she flipped her dagger in her hand, caught it by the end of the blade, and flung it at him.

  He had just an instant to move out of the way and another to regain his balance. Their eyes met, locked in a moment of surprise, stubborn determination, and trying to guess what the other would do next.

  Her gaze slipped to the left. Cain strode forward, and then took off after her when she sprinted toward a candle stand along the eastern wall. She reached it before him, grasped for something attached to the stand, and produced yet another dagger.

  “Stay back!” she warned, then swiped the blade at him when he kept coming.

  “Ye canna win,” he told h
er while he fought the urge to pity her, to admire the hell out of her for thinking to hide daggers everywhere.

  Hell, he didn’t know what to do with her. Nothing about her was harmless. She had knives planted everywhere, hidden keys, poison wine and grain, and traps all over the damned forest. She deserved the worst punishment. But he didn’t want to see her suffer.

  “Even if ye somehow kill me,” he said in a softer voice than he’d planned to use, “ye still have to get past the rest of my men. Give me the knife, lady.”

  He reached out for it and she swiped again. He caught her wrist easily and pulled her hard against him. He looked into her eyes, momentarily mesmerized by her extraordinary power of will, glowing like a flame from within. “That will be enough of tryin’ to kill me.”

  Pressed to him, her breath felt warm against his chin, her body, soft and unyielding. “I have not even begun to fight you.”

  Part of him looked forward to it.

  “Ye tempt me to toss ye to the wolves.” He plucked the dagger from her fingers and wondered how many more there were hidden about.

  “’Twould be better than spending another moment with you,” she insisted, struggling to break free. “Now, let me go!”

  He held fast, doing his best to ignore the desire to dip his face into her inky hair and take in her scent. She wasn’t his. He didn’t want her to be. There was no place in his life for affection, especially not for a dangerous enemy. But he couldn’t help his fascination with her. She was intelligent, independent, and passionate. Even if her passion was to hate him. She’d feared losing her home to the Scots, and she had. He couldn’t do anything about it without defying his king.

  With a measure of reluctance, he released her. He watched her back away and, for a fleeting, mad moment, he wanted to pull her back. He ground his jaw. This had to stop. He should not spend any more time with her. Yet, if she continued to be a threat to him, he would have to keep her close.