My Highland Bride (Highland Hearts #2)

by Maeve Greyson

  Liam backed his way up the hillside. His trembling voice cracked with fear as he shouted back down to Ian. “I’ll go and get the firewood. Ye watch after that one. I be done with the likes o’ her. Her beastie’s more fierce than master’s.”

  “Her beastie’s more fierce than master’s”? What the hell does that mean? Kenna focused harder and attempted to latch another hold on Liam’s mind, but it was too late. The frightened lad had already scurried well out of range. Dammit.

  Ian laced the hasp of an odd-looking lock through the chain at Kenna’s side and snapped it shut. Without looking her in the face, he pointed a grimy hand toward an outcropping of large rocks and thick bushes. “The chain should reach clear to the other side o’ that bit o’ wood. Ye might e’en get as far as the spring that starts higher up the hillside. When the master says, I’ll come back and move ye closer to the fire.”

  “What did Liam mean when he said my beastie’s more fierce than your master’s?”

  Ian ignored her. The sullen lad just ran the lightweight chain through his calloused fingers, rechecking each and every link.

  A heavy sigh escaped her. I’m getting nowhere with this one. Kenna motioned her bound hands downward to her tied ankles. “Now you can untie me.” With one swift movement, Ian slid a short blade through the ropes and allowed the severed pieces to drop to the ground. He didn’t say a word as he finished, just turned and plodded back down the hill to help the others set up camp.

  The solemn-faced boy had said he wouldn’t allow her to put images in his mind to scare him. Nor had she been able to achieve more than limited access to his most basic thoughts. Kenna blew out a frustrated huff. It was just as well. During her brief flicker through Ian’s mind, she’d discovered that no monster—at least none of her conjuring—was capable of frightening Ian. But while he’d cut through the ropes, Kenna had glimpsed the one thing Ian did fear. More than anything else, Ian was afraid to fail his chieftain: Ronan Sutherland.

  Chapter 22

  Colum slid from Rua’s back and walked to the broken edge of the steep ravine. The raw wilderness spread before him. The rugged terrain of this part of MacKenna lands created a jagged tapestry of muted blues and greens broken by patches of gray-white weathered stone. He closed his eyes, tilted his head away from the wind, and listened.

  The high-pitched keen of a soaring eagle pierced the dreariness of the heavy gray clouds. Swaying branches of towering pines dotting their way down the furrowed mountainside gently whooshed against each other. The heavy brushes of green whispered about the chill of the wind tossing aside their limbs. Trickling water of a nearby stream murmured with a weak, bubbling gurgle. Ice from the night’s falling temperatures threatened to silence the burn’s gentle song.

  Colum slowly turned, scanning the landscape, the open throat of his léine flapping against his chest. He ignored the bite of the cold damp wind. His fury warmed him more thoroughly than any fire.

  He walked a bit farther up the narrow hard-packed trail, watching the ragged hills and ravines below for the slightest bit of movement. How could Sutherland and his men have gained such a lead, especially burdened with several riders and a wagon? Nothing moved across the wild, vicious grandeur of the land.

  Colum turned and squinted up the steep incline rising on the other side of the dirt path. Patches of dark gray jutted out from beneath clumps of twisted trees much smaller than those at Colum’s level. The higher up the side of mountain, the more the trees gave way to tangled carpets of dense vegetation. Solid masses of rock sprouting from the sparse terrain belied the treacherous patches of loose shale waiting to give way at any moment.

  Sutherland had no idea of the dangers hidden in this part of the Highlands. Colum’s blood ran cold and he twisted the reins tighter about his hands, leading Rua along beside him. His precious Kenna knew even less of the ruthlessness of this place. If anythin’ happens to her…Colum bowed his head. Seething rage shuddered through him.

  Colum scraped the road with the toe of his boot, then squatted in the center of the rutted path. He ran a finger along the faint indentation left by a wagon wheel. A light load. A priceless load. Colum slowly straightened. His gaze followed the winding trail hugging the curve of the mountain.

  The faded sun sagged lower on the horizon. Its weak rays struggled to send the promise of warmth and light across the land. The day was nearly spent, but Colum’s search was not. With night falling, Sutherland and his men would soon make camp. Hopefully, with the cold and the knowledge that the woman they carried wasna used to braving the elements, the bastards would relent and build a fire. Then—Colum sucked in a deep breath—then the eternal battle of light against darkness would lead Colum straight to his love. His enemy’s fire would serve as a beacon.

  His resolve strengthened, Colum mounted, settled back in the saddle, and urged Rua onward. Neither he nor the beast would rest until Kenna was back where she belonged.

  Colum kept Rua trained to the softer earth at the edge of the narrow road. The muffled thumps of the great horse’s steady gait faded quickly in the dense vegetation attempting to reclaim the narrow strip of dirt path cut through the land. Anyone farther than a few yards away would never hear them coming.

  Rua’s huffing breath clouded the air with a silvery mist. The cold damp air left glistening crystals of moisture along the stiff short whiskers scattered about the horse’s muzzle. Colum scrubbed a hand against the frost of his own breath. Sutherland damn well better keep Kenna sheltered. If she suffered from this weather, Colum would do his level best to take even longer to kill the marauding chieftain.

  Colum shifted in the saddle and rolled the tense weariness from his shoulders. At least the last of the dull ache had finally faded from the base of his skull. Lady Trulie had healed away the worst of the pain, but there had been no time to mend completely. Colum sucked in another deep breath of the clean cold air and forced his eyes open wider. Nothing mattered but saving Kenna. Physical pain could be shrugged aside—ignored. But heartache was a type of pain he couldna bear.

  Rua snorted a grumbling nicker and tossed his shaggy head. The sturdy warhorse quickened his ground-eating trot like a hound just discovering an elusive scent. Colum leaned forward, straining to see through the cloud of misting rain crawling down the side of the mountain. “What do ye sense, laddie? Is our lady close?”

  A bone-chilling howl pierced the air, getting louder and changing pitch as it rose from the bowels of the ravine running along the left side of the road. A second howl and then a third, higher-pitched yipping filled the growing shadows. Colum’s own irritated growl stirred the sense of urgency unfurling in his gut. Wolves.

  Rua grumbled again and slowed his pace. With each step, he raised his front hooves higher and brought them down harder in a threatening stomp. His black ears pitched back against his head, leaving absolutely no doubt as to the horse’s current mood. Rua hated wolves almost as much as he hated fire.

  Colum unsheathed his sword and balanced it across his lap. From the location of the now multiple yips and howls, the pack was moving through the woods at a loping pace. Colum’s uneasiness grew. Wolves were usually silent hunters. What the hell was all the howling about? Were the animals tracking Sutherland and his party? Had bloodlust and hunger caused the pack to toss caution to the wind? Many an unwary traveler had fallen to the beasts of late.

  If not for Lady Trulie’s outspoken wrath, Gray would’ve ordered every wolf on MacKenna land hunted down and killed. Other clans had taken such measures to protect their lands. Even the king had ordered hunts to bring the voracious predators in check.

  Colum couldna help but chuckle at the memory of the Sinclair women’s reaction to Gray’s proposal. Lady Trulie had all but boxed Gray’s ears in front of all those gathered in the great hall when he’d broached the subject of a wolf hunt. Luckily for Colum, he’d seen the fire in Kenna’s eyes before it was too late and kept his own mouth shut. His chieftain was on his own. All the Sinclair women knew their own minds
and were nay afraid to speak them.

  But wolves did pose a problem. Colum tensed and shifted forward in the saddle. A sense of foreboding goaded him on as he urged Rua back to the center of the road. “We best quicken the pace, laddie. The noise will just be damned.” He’d already failed to protect Kenna once. He’d face any danger, anywhere, before he’d allow himself to fail to protect her again.

  Chapter 23

  A heavy cloak settled down around her shoulders. Kenna tore her gaze away from the glowing coals undulating at the base of the fire and found herself snared in Ronan’s unusual steely gaze. His eyes were the oddest pewter shade. They reminded Kenna of deadly liquid mercury. Such a strange color for eyes. They almost gave her the impression the man was filled with molten metal—like some futuristic being attempting to pass for human. Kenna blinked the absurd thought away. Now is not the time to go bat-shit crazy.

  “Thank you.” She pulled the cloak closer about her throat. The frigid night air had folded in around them, heavy and damp with the threat of snow. The rocky slab of ground under her pallet radiated the bone-chilling moisture up into her flesh.

  “The air has a particular bite to it tonight this high in the mountains. I wouldna wish a chill t’come upon ye.” Ronan sat on an upturned chunk of wood beside her and stared into the fire. “Liam reports ye neither ate yer midday meal nor took a single bite of the fine roasted meat Rebbie prepared for the lot of us. Such news troubles me greatly.”

  “I’m just not hungry.” The chain knotted around her waist rattled a dull metallic reminder that Ronan kept her on a short leash. Kenna curled her knees up to her chest and snuggled deeper into the warm richness of the heavy wool wrapped about her body.

  She wasn’t lying about not being hungry. Well…maybe she was, just a little. She was just too frustrated to think about eating right now. Icy, sweet water from the nearby spring had slaked her thirst, and a chewy crust of a day-old bannock had been enough to chase away any light-headed feeling of deprivation. She really didn’t need anything else. All she needed right now was for Colum to show up and take her back home.

  Kenna tightened against a rumbling growl churning through her middle. She swallowed hard and willed her stomach to be silent by visualizing the last meal she had been offered. That memory alone quelled any sign of appetite she might entertain. She just couldn’t make herself eat whatever varmint Rebbie had speared for supper. The thing had looked horrendous. A shudder stole across her, a combined result of cold air and the all-too-fresh memory of some strange skinned carcass slowly turning on a spit.

  Ronan’s mouth puckered into a scowl. The shadowed lines of his face grew deeper in the flickering light of the fire. His disgruntled huff misted in the freezing air as he rose and tossed another chunk of wood in the center of the flames. “We have a long journey ahead. Ye must keep up yer strength. I willna have ye grow ill.”

  Kenna studied Ronan. His displeasure at her not eating seemed real enough. Was he actually concerned for her welfare? Well, she guessed he would be concerned. After all, if she didn’t survive the trek through the Highlands, he’d be forced to go to the trouble of finding another suitable female to steal.

  Kenna rubbed the back of her hand across the icy tip of her nose. Ronan was an odd bird; she’d give him that much. She would’ve pegged a man willing to kidnap a wife as a selfish brute only concerned with pleasing himself. But Ronan really didn’t come across that way. He almost seemed…nice? Yes. He seemed nice. Kenna pulled the hood of the cloak closer about her face and propped her chin atop one hand. How could a kidnapper seem nice? Kenna shifted with a deep sigh. Hunger and weariness must be toying with my mind.

  With a short limb as thick as his forearm, Ronan raked the hottest coals around to Kenna’s side of the fire. Welcome heat radiated against her face with a skin-tingling toastiness. Ronan balanced more logs on their ends around the fire, forming a teepee of fuel that would burst into a full-fledged bonfire once all the moisture from the logs was gone.

  Kenna uncurled with the increased heat like a cat stretching on a hearth. Another glance at Ronan’s displeased scowl almost made her laugh. No, Chieftain Sutherland did not fit her idea of a heartless kidnapper.

  Her gaze meandered around the ring of firelight, settling briefly on each of Ronan’s men. Chieftain Sutherland also appeared to have the unusual habit of collecting human strays. What little she had snatched hold of in the few minds she had managed to breach was that each and every one of Ronan’s men had come to be members of Draegonmare after finding themselves alone in the world. And the more she plied the men with questions, the more Kenna came to realize that not once had anyone mentioned Ronan’s having a blood relative in Clan Sutherland, living or dead. The man appeared to be the lead orphan of them all.

  Kenna shook her head. Ronan Sutherland was a definite mystery. What little she had seen of Ronan’s ability to block her gifts also worried at the back of her mind. How was that possible? He’d mentioned that someone had warned him “it would be so.” Who the hell knew so much about the Sinclairs that they could advise Ronan about their powers? Granny had warned they must take care and not flaunt their gifts. Kenna thought they always had. But Ronan appeared to know all about them. How could that be? A sense of uneasiness gnawed at the back of her mind like a forgotten thought refusing to be recalled. And what kind of beast had Liam referred to when she’d frightened him with her imaginary dragon? What was Ronan’s story and how dangerous was he?

  Kenna spread her thawing fingers closer to the fire. Maybe if Ronan was so concerned about her welfare, he would finally give her a little necessary information. She shrugged the cloak more comfortably about her shoulders as she scooted nearer to the fire.

  “Just exactly how long of a journey do we have left? It seems we’ve been traveling quite a while.”

  Ronan didn’t answer, but his quick sideways glance confirmed he’d heard the question. Kenna wanted details. Where were they? At least if she knew how far they had traveled, she might know halfway when to expect her rescuers.

  Ronan finally stirred from his unblinking focus on the flames. “Many days,” he replied in a vague tone. “They will ne’er find us before we reach Draegonmare. Ye would be far better off if ye accepted yer fate and moved on. Yer life will no’ be so bad as ye fear.”

  “I think I’m more of an expert on my fate than you are.” Kenna pulled her hands up into the folds of the cloak and rolled back into a sitting position beside the fire. “And stop reading my mind. That is just rude.”

  Ronan chuckled as he leaned against the boulders of limestone layered at their backs. “Listening to another’s thoughts are no’ among my gifts.” Ronan nodded at Kenna. “And I dinna have to read yer mind. Yer face reveals yer thoughts.”

  “No’ among my gifts.” Kenna studied him closer, then flicked a hand to encompass the woods around them. “Well…since we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, care to explain your gifts? Apparently, you already know mine. Fair’s fair, don’t you think?”

  All amusement left Ronan’s face as he stared into the fire. “In due time, all will be revealed. ’Tis best t’wait…for now.”

  Kenna stared glumly into the spiking orange flames of the now roaring fire. Lovely. The man was afraid to bare all about his supposed gifts, but he didn’t fear revealing their location with a freaking bonfire. She wiped her cheek against a fold of the cloak and sniffed back the tide of dismal emotions crashing inside her so that Ronan wouldn’t see them—indeed, he hadn’t been the first person to tell her that her face gave her away. Kenna blinked hard against the renewed threat of tears as Colum’s teasing smile came to mind. Where the devil was he? It had been two days—or had it been three? Colum had to be okay. And he was coming for her—he had to be—she wouldn’t allow herself to believe otherwise.

  Ronan stood and motioned to Liam. “Bring Lady Sutherland another oatcake. She hasna properly maintained her sustenance. We must no’ allow her health to fade, lads. We must take care
of Draegonmare’s new lady.”

  Liam’s dark eyes widened. The uneven fringe of hair hanging down across his forehead did little to hide his apprehension. His eyes grew rounder still as he stared first at his master, then glanced toward Kenna as though she were the imaginary three-headed dragon about to toast him to a crispy crunch.

  “Make haste, Liam.” Ronan rose from his crude seat and glared at the lad.

  Kenna tucked her face into a fold of the cloak and giggled. Poor Liam. He hadn’t forgotten the vision of the monster she had planted smack in the middle of his mind. Too bad Ian had been there to interrupt her hold and break Liam free. Her gaze slid to Ian. The odd young lad’s face was devoid of all expression as he scraped a whetstone down the length of a sword.

  Unfortunately, it appeared Ronan had prepared his men regarding memory manipulation and taught them how to free themselves of it. Kenna found that discovery mildly disturbing. It possibly meant Ronan Sutherland had been plotting her abduction for a while. But how had he known of her gift so quickly? She’d been in Scotland only a couple of months.

  Kenna held her hands to the fire, wishing she could use the roiling coals to contact Granny and let her know where she was. She glanced about the encampment. She didn’t dare attempt such a thing. Not with all the men watching.

  Granny had always stressed they had to keep their abilities hidden safely behind closed doors and among trusted friends. More than one time runner in their long line had been put to death for making the fatal mistake of flaunting her abilities to the wrong folks at the wrong time. Maybe that’s what Ronan feared when he’d said it wasn’t the right time for him to share his gifts? He couldn’t be a time runner—time runners were always female. He hadn’t appeared to have any strange power over natural elements like fire or water, so chances were he wasn’t a druid. But what then? What could his secret be?