The Renegade (The Renegade, Rebel and Rogue)

by Christine Dorsey

  “There, be ye happy?”

  “I’m sick.” Zoe pressed a palm to her forehead.

  “Nay.” His stare was dark and intense. “Ye’re not sick. But ye are a coward.”

  “No.” Zoe shook her head so frantically it did begin to ache.

  “We both know what’s got hold of us. And we both know it’s not goin’ away.”

  “You’re wrong.” Zoe wrapped her arms tightly about herself. “I really don’t feel so well.”

  “Well neither do I lass, neither do I.”

  ~ ~ ~

  She didn’t think he was really ill, or she wouldn’t leave him. Zoe glanced back at his prostrate form sprawled on the box bed. He’d been right. Surprising after the condition of the inn and sleeping hut, the linens were fresh. Not a bug on them. At least that helped his sleep.

  Zoe hadn’t been so fortunate.

  After the kissing incident he’d stripped down to his breeches, staring at her the entire time, then crawled beneath the blanket. “There be room for ye here, if ye want it,” he’d said before turning on his side away from her.

  “I’m fine,” she countered which of course was about as far from the truth as it could be. Just looking at him, thinking about lying beside him was stirring her insides up again and turning her feverish.

  But he seemed to accept her words. With a shrug of his broad shoulders he muttered an almost inaudible, “Suit yerself,”

  Almost immediately he’d started to snore.

  Which at least let her know he was asleep. As carefully as she could Zoe had inched onto the bed, careful not to let any part of her body touch him. She needed to think and she’d always done her best thinking lying down.

  She was falling in love with him.

  As often as Zoe tried to put a logical explanation on her actions with the soldiers, with the way she wanted to be with him, she kept coming round to that awful truth. If she didn’t escape from him immediately, there was no telling what would happen.

  So just as the first faint paling of dawn shone through the smoke hole in the thatched roof, Zoe wrapped the borrowed plaid about her shoulders and crept through the door. Cold rain greeted her, dampening her face, weakening her resolve. Zoe bunched the wool beneath her chin and searched the area. Grey mist rose in wispy threads, concealing the path they used the night before. In the darkness the land seemed haunted and haunting, like something out of a nightmare.

  Zoe swallowed and took a tentative step, then another. She looked toward the sky and blinked. Certainly the way would become clear once the day lightened. All she needed to do was find her way back to the main path then walk south. Fort William was south. Fox was south. Possibly. With a resolute set to her mouth Zoe moved through the drifting fog.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Damn it all to hell!” Keegan exploded through the door of the hut. When he caught the chit he planned to tie her up... and gag her. That was it, he’d been too damn lenient with her. Not treating her like a proper hostage at all, but like some... some... God, he’d almost thought... lover. But that sure as hell wasn’t the case.

  Tramping through the mud, Keegan searched about. The rain had stopped and the sun was high, but there were clouds out over the Atlantic that prophesied another storm. And where in the hell was she?

  The inn’s landlord didn’t know. Though he had a difficult time being pulled from slumber, he grinned when he recognized Keegan. “Haven’t seen yer woman since ye left with her last night, though I don’t mind tellin’ ye she is a pretty thing,” he mumbled, while rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “Be ye needin’ a break for yer fast, young MacLeod?”

  “Nay, but I thank ye.” Keegan flipped a coin onto the rough table despite the landlord’s protests. “Tip a bottle for me this night,” he said before grabbing up an oatcake and leaving.

  She couldn’t have gotten far, Keegan told himself, though he hadn’t a clue how long ago she left. He hoped to God she’d waited till morning for the Highlands were beset by dangers in the dark, especially for someone new to them. What appeared a safe step, could be, hidden by the woolly mist, the edge of a giddy precipice.

  But he couldn’t think of that. Keegan tried instead to think rationally... or at least the way Zoe would. She’d want to find the English soldiers. To find her brother. And he needed to stop her before she did. His face grim, Keegan started back toward Fort William.

  ~ ~ ~

  Zoe paused and stretched, pressing her hands to her lower back. Had she ever walked so long and far in her life? The answer to that was simple enough. No. Before she met the Scot she barely managed to stumble from her bedroom to the parlor.

  She did feel stronger now. That was for certain. And better. Despite the fact that her feet hurt and her legs ached from walking. No dizziness, except of course when she glanced up at the towering peeks, their summits hidden in the clouds. Zoe took a deep breath of clear, cool air and turned her face to the sun.

  Then she sighed and stepped to the side of the path. Dejectedly she sat on a flattened boulder. She was lost. Or if not that, at least she didn’t know where she was going. Yesterday, riding in the cart, she hadn’t noticed the road split quite so often. But today the web of twisted paths was confusing.

  As confusing as the thoughts running through her head. Last night when she decided and this morning when she left, her course seemed to be true and sure. But now... Zoe’s head sank into her hands and she tried to erase the vision of Keegan last night when he accused her of cowardice. His eyes, thick-lashed and greener than the sea at dawn, still stared at her. Dared her to be honest with him.

  Pushing to her feet Zoe studied the two roads forking before her. One seemed to wind higher into the mountains, the other took a lower turn. For a moment she twisted about, surveying the way she’d come. Wishing she could return.

  Then with a firm step she chose the low road.

  By midafternoon the sun was hot enough to have her sweating beneath the plaid. Zoe took it off, flinging it about her waist and tying it. She stopped by a stream that slipped over smooth pebbles and ate the last of her oatcakes from yesterday, rinsing them down with water. She kept in sight of the road in case any mounted soldiers happened by, which Zoe decided would be a bit of pure luck.

  She even went so far as to imagine Fox riding with them. How wonderful it would be to see him. To have him wrap his arms about her and kiss her cheek and take care of her. To remove her from the intense looks and secret desires of the Scot.

  But of course Fox didn’t come galloping by, nor did any soldiers. Instead she was left to walk farther into the hills. To her left she could hear the ocean and occasionally she caught glimpses of it, a shadowed strip of silver. For clouds were rolling in, dark and ominous.

  By the time it started raining again Zoe was nearly running down the rutted road. All around her the hills stretched, heath-covered and bare of shelter.

  “ ’Tis only rain,” Zoe told herself, but the wind made a liar of her, tearing at her skirts and hair.

  It was then that she heard it, above the howl of the storm. Someone was shouting her name, loud and angrily. Zoe didn’t need to turn to know who called her but she did anyway before racing away, off the path through the bracken.

  He’d been far enough behind to give her a good start, but Zoe could soon hear his pounding footfalls above the beat of her heart. She never thought he’d follow her. Foolish of her not to consider that possibility, but she thought the wiser course for him was to take flight. What if she had encountered soldiers? What if she’d told them of Keegan MacLeod?

  All those jumbled thoughts tangled through her head as she ran, her breath coming in shallow pants. He was almost upon her now. It cost Zoe a precious moment to look around. When she did, she saw his face, wet and angry. He called out to her again, yelling for her to stop, but she ignored him, plunging ahead, feeling one foot, then the other sink into mush. A mush that tried to suck her down.

  “For God’s sake keep yerself still.” Keegan’s lips were set in a
grim line as he sank to his knees on the wet ground. “Do ye hear me Zoe, ye’re only makin’ it worse.”

  “Help me.” Zoe frantically shifted her feet, trying to find some foothold and found none. Sinking deeper appeared to be the only result of her flouncing about.

  “Zoe!”

  The tone of his deep voice, at once commanding and soothing, drew her attention. Zoe sucked in her breath and blinked the tears and rain from her eyes.

  “You’ve fallen into a mountain bog.”

  “Oh, no,” she wailed into the storm, though her predicament was hardly news. “Will it suck me under?” Of all the ways she could end her life this was one she’d never considered.

  “Zoe, ye’re not going t’ go under. Now listen and do as I say.”

  She didn’t have much choice, though Zoe wondered if it crossed the Scot’s mind to just leave her.

  “Give me yer hands. Just one at a time. And try to move as little as possible.”

  Which was difficult while lifting her hands free of the muck. But Zoe did her best to do as he said. She couldn’t wait to feel the solid strength of his fingers around hers. But he didn’t reach for her hands, instead he snatched the plaid from the bog. Before she could wonder why the Scot reached down, wrapping it under her arms.

  His hands were slippery, but he managed to tie off the plaid. “Now, lass, I’m goin’ t’ pull ye free.” Using the tartan, then his hands, Keegan managed to roll her out of the bog and onto solid ground. She slipped into his arms, wrapping hers around him and laid her head on his chest. He bent over her, using his body to shield her from the wind and rain. Keegan rubbed his palm over her hair and back. He whispered soothing words in Gaelic as she sucked in air and tried to catch her breath.

  When she was calm, Keegan tilted her round chin up with one finger. “Are ye better now?”

  “Yes.” She hiccupped. “I think so.”

  “Good.” Instantly his protective demeanor faded. “Then will ye kindly tell me what the devil ye thought ye were doing? Have ye no sense girl?”

  “I’ve sense enough to try and be rid of you,” Zoe countered as she struggled to her feet. Her skirts clung to her legs, thick with mud. “Oh.” She was sobbing again and disgusted with herself for doing it. In frustration she wiped her hands down the side of her skirts. When he yelled at her again for being a dolt, lucky to be alive, she slung some of the muck at him.

  The last thing she saw before turning to flee was the shock on his face as the slimy mud struck him in the eye.

  She hadn’t gone three steps before he caught her, swinging her around by the arm. “Are ye mad? Do ye wish t’ go stumblin’ into another bog? Or perhaps over a cliff this time? That’s it, isn’t it,” he yelled above the howling wind. “Ye’re insane and ye’re rnakin’ me the same.”

  “I am not!” Zoe spit sodden hair from her mouth. “ ’Tis you. All this is your fault. If you hadn’t burst into my library like a... like a wild man, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be safe and warm and... cared for.”

  “By that old crone, Miss Phelps.”

  Zoe sucked in her breath. “Don’t you dare make disparaging remarks about Miss Phelps. She’s kind and considerate, loyal—”

  “And she made a damn invalid out of ye.”

  “What are you talking about?” Zoe’s eyes grew wide. “I’m sickly. Everyone knows that...” Her voice trailed off as the words filtered through to her brain. Of course everyone knew how delicate she was, how frail and poor of health. But she didn’t feel sickly just now. And Zoe imagined she didn’t look it either, standing as she was in the pouring rain, shouting at the top of her lungs to be heard over the storm. She probably did look insane.

  Taking him by surprise, Zoe turned on the heel of her mud-encrusted shoe. “I shan’t listen to you anymore.”

  “Just where in the hell do ye think ye’re off t’ now?” This time when he grabbed her arm he whirled her around so hard she bumped into his hard, wet chest.

  “Let me go.” Zoe took a tentative swipe at his arm, found it felt good and did it again.

  “Ach, what are ye doin’?” With his free hand Keegan tried to grab her arms.

  The wind whipped her hair and skirts. The plaid still tied under her arms flew out like a banner. The rain poured and the sky darkened and Zoe kept hitting at Keegan till he jerked her tighter against his chest.

  “I don’t like you. You kidnapped me.”

  “Aye, ’tis true.”

  “And you hate my brother.”

  “True again.”

  He was taunting her. Zoe lifted her hand to slap his cheek, but the force of her motion dissipated like mist in the sun. Her palm cupped his jaw. Their eyes met. And everything else in the world disappeared. The kiss was open mouthed and hard, sizzling with pent-up desire.

  Keegan’s fingers tore through her hair, holding her head still for his assault on her mouth. His tongue speared and explored, meeting hers in a devilish dance that sent his blood racing.

  Together they fell to their knees, still bound—mouth to mouth, breast to chest. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. And he’d have her. Here. Now.

  It took a gust of wind hard enough to slap the plaid across his face for Keegan to remember the storm.

  Thirteen

  “Zoe.”

  “Mmmm?” Her face strained up toward him, eyes closed when Keegan pulled away.

  “Sweetheart, the storm.”

  “What? Oh...” Zoe blinked, then coughed as water streamed into her mouth. What was she thinking? Zoe stared at him in disbelief. His hair was wet, plastered to his skull, but the fire still burned in the depths of his green eyes as he looked back at her.

  She was cold, soaked to the skin and windblown, yet all she wanted was to continue kissing him. To somehow ease the ache that settled in the region far below her stomach.

  “We need t’ find shelter,” he said after giving her a quick kiss and grabbing her hand.

  “But there isn’t any.” The watery landscape looked as wild and barren as ever. But the Scot didn’t seem to hear her as he pulled her along. The rain, slanting down in blurry sheets made it difficult to see, and after her experience in the bog, Zoe was leery of tramping about. But he was right, of course, they simply couldn’t stand out in this weather.

  The Scot seemed fairly sure of himself as he led the way toward the edge of a wide abyss. Below them, through the mist, the Atlantic, churned by the storm, slapped against the rocky shore.

  “We can’t go down there,” she yelled, pulling back on the hand he held in his iron grip. She thought he said something about a path but she couldn’t hear him well. And he’d already started climbing down the slope of craggy rocks.

  They zigged and zagged fighting their way through the crevices, slowly working down the precipice. The rain came in gusts now, carried by the wind that moaned and whipped its way about the face of the mountain, as if trying to dislodge the two trespassers. But occasionally there was a moment of relief from the storm provided by an overhang of rock above them. Even at those times, Zoe was acutely aware of the pounding surf below, waiting to embrace them if they made a false step. Zoe tried very hard to keep her footing.

  When Zoe heard Keegan’s yelp she didn’t know whether to think he’d slipped and they were both moments from eternity, or that the ghostly howl of the wind had finally gotten to him. What she didn’t expect was to be hauled into a hole in the side of the mountain.

  Zoe swallowed and looked around in awe, her mouth agape. “What...? How did you know it was here?” They were in a cave protected from the driving rain, and though she could still hear the wind’s fury, it no longer snatched at her hair and skirts.

  “1 didn’t, not for sure.” Keegan was obviously pleased with himself. “But these cliffs are riddled with caves. And if we’re really lucky...”

  “What? If we’re really lucky what?” He’d broken off his commentary to move away from the opening, batting away cobwebs with a windmill motion. Zoe f
ollowed in his wake, jumping back when he yelped again.

  “It’s been used before. By some drovers maybe, takin’ their cattle t’ market. Or perhaps a Jacobite hiding from the English.” He turned, grinning at her, then shook out one dusty plaid, then another, he found in a heap on the floor. “And look,” he said, sifting through a pile of burned branches nearby. “Enough of a fir branch for light.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat?” Zoe tried to peek over his shoulder. Since her appetite had improved Zoe often found herself hungry.

  “Sadly nay, but we won’t be here forever. The storm will blow itself out soon. In the meanwhile, ’tis better in here than bein’ out there.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. Zoe glanced toward the entrance. The inside of the cave, no matter that it was damp, was preferable to the elements outside. When she turned to agree with him Zoe was surprised to find him so close.

  “So are ye goin’ t’ tell me now why ye ran away?”

  He stared down at her the way he had on the moor. The kind of stare that got her aching again. Longing for his kiss.

  But he didn’t kiss her. Instead his hands molded the tops of her shoulders. “Ye could have died out there.”

  Zoe swallowed. It was so hard to resist the pull of those smoky green eyes. “What do you expect me to do? I’m a captive. ’Tis my right to try and escape.”

  “And mine t’ capture ye again.”

  “Why won’t you just let me go? I won’t tell anyone where you are.”

  His fingers tightened. “Ye expect me t’ believe that?”

  “Yes!” Zoe’s voice calmed. “Yes, I do.” Her lashes lowered. When she looked at him again her expression was stripped of all artifice. “Despite what you’ve done to me, I’ve no desire to see you hang.”

  “What of yer brother? Ye’d watch me step up t’ the gallows t’ save his life.”

  “I don’t think you’ll kill him.”

  “Ach, ye think I’ve forgotten what he did t’ my da?”

  “I think you’ve come to realize it wasn’t Fox, but circumstances that killed your father.”