Wicked Highland Wishes (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 2)

by Julie Johnstone

  “Lachlan!” she cried out, leading his hand to her wrist just as a scream tore from her lips and straight through him. For a moment, he gripped only one of her hands as the other had slipped. The weight of her body swinging in the air shifted his own person, and his mind rebelled against the notion that she might drop to her death below. Suddenly, her other hand clawed at his free hand, which had been frantically searching for hers, and he clasped her wrist, sending a jolt of relief through him.

  “I’ve got ye,” he promised, pulling up, and with a final tug that sent them tumbling to the safety of the tower floor. They hit with a thud, Bridgette lying atop him, crying and panting. As she raised her face, she screamed Graham’s name.

  Lachlan flipped her over and scrambled to his feet just as Graham and Colin tumbled over the tower edge they had been standing on and into the black night. A moment later, a loud splash echoed back to Lachlan, and he cried out his brother’s name. “Come,” he said, grasping Marion’s elbow as she stood unmoving—no doubt from shock.

  “Lachlan!” Bridgette screamed. He swung around to find her pointing to the castle where a stream of men with torches were pouring out. A warning horn sounded through the castle.

  Lachlan counted the torches and cursed. At least fifty men were headed for them.

  “Come,” he commanded, grabbing Bridgette by the hand only to have her jerk free. She brought her hand to her chest as if his touch had hurt her. “Bridgette?”

  She bent down, lifted up her skirt, and fiddled with her ankle.

  “Bridgette! We must away!”

  She stood again and held something out in her hand.

  He gazed in wonder at the Fairy Flag. “How did ye—”

  “I took it when Colin slept,” she said simply.

  The implication that she had been beside Colin in bed made Lachlan feel ill. When he looked to her once more, he feared she had seen the revulsion on his face. She pressed her lips together, and once he had taken the flag and secured it to him, he reached for her again.

  She shook her head. “I will follow ye,” she said, her voice choked with an emotion he couldn’t name.

  There was no time to stop and ask now, though. He had to get them as far away as fast as he could so that Marion and Bridgette would be safe. As he led them down the stairs, Neil burst into the tower. “We were spotted,” Neil snarled. “All are dead but me.”

  There was no time for shock or sadness now, either. “Graham has fallen into the loch,” Lachlan said, bending down to search for the hidden passage he knew was there. As he kneeled, something hard dug into his knee. He felt it with his hands. A handle!

  He brushed away the rushes, grasped the iron handle, and yanked open the door. He peered down into the blackness of the tunnel and turned to Bridgette. He held out a hand and offered it to her once again, but she bit her lip and shook her head. His chest tightened in fear of what had happened to her, but they had to press on.

  Lachlan led the way, followed by Bridgette, Marion, and Neil at the back, and they descended into the darkness, closing the door over their heads afterward. Dampness from the earth and the loch below permeated the air. The smell of soil filled Lachlan’s nose as he rushed them blindly forward over uneven ground and what felt like rock and roots.

  He set his hand against the stone of the side walls as he ran, his fingers burning with the tiny cuts from the stone. None of them spoke, and the only sounds that filled the air were those of short, panting breaths and the thuds of their feet against the dirt. It seemed they were winding through the tunnel forever, but then he saw a shaft of light up ahead and he knew they were coming to an exit.

  Thick overgrowth covered the entrance of the tunnel, and he had to cut through it with his sword, all the while certain that the enemy would be upon them before he could get them out. But with one last slice through the vines covering the entrance, there was just enough space to crawl through. He barreled through, then turned and grasped Bridgette rather than offer aid she would refute.

  “Dunnae touch me!” she hissed, her body tensing and fighting against him.

  Immediately, his mind tortured him with the horrors she must have endured, and his blood raged with a need for vengeance. Without a word, he tightened his grip, yanked her through the opening, and before he could even fully set her on her feet, she was shoving away from him, terror dancing in her eyes. As Marion climbed through the opening, Bridgette spoke. “I kinnae—” she started and then choked back a sob that twisted his gut into a thousand knots. He raised his hand toward her to brush away her tears, and she stepped back putting more distance between them. “I kinnae stand—” She took a shuddering breath. “I dunnae wish for yer touch.”

  In the burgeoning light of the morning, he watched tears spring to her eyes and flow freely down her face. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, yet that would not give her comfort by her own admission. Besides, they had to flee.

  He jerked his head in a nod of understanding, and she let out an audible sigh of relief.

  Once Neil was through the opening, Lachlan hurried them forward, smelling the water of the loch ahead. He knew the way to the horses from the water’s edge. They broke through the brush in short time and came to the water, where Lachlan came to a shuddering halt.

  “What is it?” Neil asked, looking from Lachlan to the direction from which they had just come.

  Lachlan knew he had only moments to make a choice: send Bridgette and Marion with Neil and go in search of Graham with the hope that he lived and Lachlan could rescue him, or get the women to safety first. Once again he felt torn as he stared at the water where Graham had to have fallen in.

  “We away to safety for the women, then I’ll return for Graham.”

  Bridgette slowly licked her cracked lips. “It is nae just Graham ye need to return for.”

  “What say ye?” Lachlan asked, trying not to hurry her but feeling as if Colin’s men would be upon them at any moment.

  Bridgette inhaled a deep breath. “Lena lives!”

  Lachlan was sure he had not heard Bridgette correctly. He looked to Marion, who nodded. “Explain,” he quickly replied.

  Bridgette recounted what Lena had told her in jerky, hurried words, and also told him of Atholl’s death.

  Rage swept through Lachlan. “Atholl betrayed our family and helped Jamie take Lena? But why? And why would Jamie even do such a thing?”

  “Perchance vengeance?” Marion suggested. “Did your uncle know by then that if your father died, he would not become laird?”

  “Aye, he did,” Lachlan confirmed.

  “Lena lived with a priest in England for years,” Bridgette said in a lifeless tone that made Lachlan’s gut twist. “She was taken from the priest by Jamie only a sennight ago and married to Findlay Campbell. She wishes to escape but has vowed to protect a boy who Jamie holds prisoner. She dunnae ken where in the castle he’s being kept.” The fearful look in Bridgette’s eyes as she talked made Lachlan want to bellow his rage. “Findlay is nae at the castle, which is a good thing since it seems he’s like his brother.” She drew her bleak gaze to Lachlan. “I pray that if Graham lives, Colin has died. Otherwise, Graham will likely soon wish he were dead. Colin is a monster, and I shudder to think what he will do to Graham.”

  Marion released a sob at Bridgette’s dark words. Lachlan and Neil exchanged a glance. “Let us away quickly, then,” Lachlan said.

  Without another word, they all turned and fled in silence to the destriers. As they ran, Lachlan tried to grapple with the knowledge that his sister lived and also with the painful certainty that he had been too late in rescuing Bridgette.

  Once they were on the horses and racing away, Lachlan felt the smallest measure of tension drain. While he needed to know what had occurred with Bridgette, his mind shrank at the thought. The knowing would have to wait anyway. He turned his thoughts to Lena for a moment but realized that, too, would have to wait. The only one who would be able to answer his questions would be Lena,
and even she likely only had so many answers. Jamie, his blackhearted uncle, and surely the Campbells—who had to know who Lena was, even if they had just learned the truth—would have answers, and Lachlan would get them and then gladly kill his uncle and the Campbell men after.

  Driving the horses forward at a breakneck pace, he rode beside Bridgette. Much later, when the horses were panting with the need to stop, and he felt they could do so safely for a short spell, he pulled back on the reins and slowed them, allowing the horses to cool before completely halting. Once they slowed to a stop, he immediately climbed off his destrier. Before he could help Bridgette, though, she scrambled off and faced him with a measure of space between them.

  Marion and Neil quickly dismounted their horses, and without looking at them, Lachlan said, “Find water for the horses. We’ll nae stop again until we reach the outer edges of the MacLean’s land.” Alex was not there, as he was with Iain and Cameron at the MacDonald holding—or possibly even back at Dunvegan now—but any MacLean would die to protect Bridgette as she was one of their own. As allies of the MacLeods, the MacLeans would give their lives to defend Marion, as well.

  Lachlan was grateful for the privacy and the few short minutes to try to talk to Bridgette. “M’eudail,” he breathed the word out, his body aching to touch her.

  “Nay!” Terror filled the sharp word. She pressed her hands to her ears and shook her head. “Dunnae call me yer darling. I’m n-n—” Her voice broke on a sob, and he watched as she brought her hands to her sides and clenched the fabric of her dress. Every part of him burned to soothe her, but he forced himself to abide by her wishes and not move.

  The knowledge that his touch struck fear in her sunk into him and wrapped around his insides like a vine that was squeezing the life from him. Suddenly, he recalled when his brother had been readying to sail to England to rescue Marion. Lachlan had asked Iain if he’d considered that Marion might have been ravaged and could be with another man’s bairn. Lachlan questioned if Iain could live with that, and Iain assured him he could. Lachlan had not understood then, but he did now.

  He had nary a doubt that Bridgette had been abused. He did not need the words from her lips. Her every action spoke louder than any words. Rage sprang forth like a loch overflowing inside him, filling him until his temples pounded and his heart raced. He gritted his teeth and then unclenched them, swallowing hard past the anger lodged in his throat. He started to reach for Bridgette out of habit, saw her bite down hard on her lip, and rapidly drew his hand back.

  His gaze locked with hers, and the pain that dwelled in the depths of her eyes nearly drove him to his knees. “I dunnae care what has been done to ye.” His voice came out hoarse, cracked.

  Her eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply. “Lachlan—”

  The heavy note of sadness in the way she said his name sliced at his heart. He rushed to say more before she did. “Let me finish,” he pleaded. “I love ye.”

  “Dunnae, Lachlan,” she whimpered. Tears sprang to her eyes once more and rolled down her cheeks—those cheeks he wanted to cup, kiss, and run the pads of his thumbs over but could not.

  “I love ye,” he said again. “Nae a thing could ever make me cease loving ye. Nae even if ye carry another man’s bairn. Ye are mine.”

  “But I’m nae yers,” she choked out in a ragged whisper. She jerked the sleeve of her gown up, flipped over her arm, and pointed.

  When he looked down and beheld the initials cauterized in her beautiful skin, he could not contain his rage any longer. “I’ll kill him if he’s nae already dead,” he snarled.

  He jerked a hand through his hair, fighting against the desire to go back right now, find his brother, and kill Colin. He had to get Bridgette and Marion far enough away that he felt sure Neil could get them back to Dunvegan before they were overcome. He inclined his head toward her raw wound, and a tremor coursed through him for the agony it must have caused her. “That does nae make ye his. Nothing he could do will ever make ye his.”

  Her green gaze locked on him, the light that had always brightened them gone. Flat, lifeless eyes stared at him now. “If he still lives, I am his by law,” she said, enunciating each word as if he were a child who could not understand.

  He’d known it was possible—likely even—but the confirmation of it stole his breath in shock, then filled his body with fury that left him shaking. “I will kill him,” he said again, his voice humming with anger.

  She released the material of her dress and wrapped her arms around her waist, making her appear like a wounded animal. She swallowed hard and spoke. “I am sorry,” she said, her voice breaking once more on a sob. “I had to save Marion.”

  Her voice was quiet, as if the strength that made her who she was had been stolen. He ground his teeth until pain strummed from his jaw to his ears. He prayed to God that Colin lived so he could find him and kill him with his bare hands. He knew the wish was a sin, but there was not the smallest part of him that cared.

  “Dunnae be sorry,” he said. “Ye did what ye had to. Ye are still mine. Nae his. I dunnae care about laws. All I care about is ye. I will take ye to safety, and then I will go back to find Graham and Lena and to kill Colin if he still lives. Dunnae fash yerself. Ye will nae be his wife for long.”

  She opened her mouth as if to say more but then closed it and stared at him for a long spell as if she were trying to decide something. Finally, she spoke. “We kinnae linger.”

  “Nay. We must away so they dunnae overcome us.”

  Bridgette nodded, and when they all were mounted once again, Lachlan set them at a fast pace. He kept his attention divided between his surroundings and Bridgette, so he was acutely aware that she took pains not to look at him. He vowed to himself to help her heal, to make her see that his love was unwavering, to never fail to protect her again. And to bring vengeance upon Colin, Jamie, and the Campbells for what they had done.

  Twenty-Three

  Near midmorning, they rode onto MacLean land. Bridgette had expected to feel a great sense of safety and urgency leaving her, but all she felt was empty and filthy in mind and body. She was aware that Marion kept eyeing her, and that fear that Marion could sense what had been done to Bridgette sprang up in her mind like a fast-growing weed and tangled around her heart, her throat, and her body until she felt the shame would kill her. She kicked her horse hard in the sides, leaving Marion behind and flying past Lachlan, noting his shocked, open-mouthed expression as she raced by. Ahead around the bend was a loch, and all she could think about was getting there and cleaning away the grime.

  “Bridgette!” Lachlan called from behind her. But instead of making her want to stop and turn to him, it drove her to a panic that blanketed her.

  She dismounted the horse with such haste she nearly fell, and then she ran, stumbling toward the water. At the edge, her legs gave and she dropped to her knees to wash her face, neck, hands, and arms. When she brought her hands to her face to splash the cold water on herself, she smelled Colin. She gagged, doubled over, and her stomach clenched and unclenched as it tried to rid itself of nothing. She hadn’t eaten in what felt like days.

  She heard Lachlan approaching, knew it was him instinctively, but she did not turn around. She could feel his desire to touch her, soothe her, be with her, and it frightened her. How could she explain to him that she did not think she could ever let him touch her again? She stared down at the dark water as pain pulsed within her and threatened to consume her. How could she make him understand that the woman she had been was gone? She’d thought herself strong, but she’d been proven weak. She’d thought herself brave, but she knew now she was a coward because fear was all she now felt.

  “Bridgette?” Lachlan’s voice was gentle, but instead of calming her it was like a dagger to her heart. She could no longer turn to the one man she loved, the man she had always wanted, because she was filthy. Perchance if she was not so filthy? She grasped at the hope, her mind swirling and careening with thoughts that did not make sense
. She jerked to her feet, only just seeing that Marion and Neil had paused to wait for them. They had their backs to her, and Bridgette suddenly had the notion that they could not look upon her because of the wretched filth Colin had left.

  “I must get clean,” she muttered, her heart seizing the truth even as her mind doubted. Yet she rose and divested herself of her tattered gown until she stood in only her léine, all the while ignoring Lachlan’s pleas to talk to her.

  She entered the loch, and the icy water stole her breath and made her teeth immediately clank together. She welcomed the numbing cold and the inability to think that it provided. For a short spell, she stared at the gooseflesh on her arms, but the bumps faded and she saw Colin’s hands on her body. She started to scrub at her skin with desperation, half-aware that Lachlan had entered the loch, as well, and stood nearby watching her.

  She could not look at him or acknowledge him until she was clean. The things Colin had done filled her mind and made her scrub harder. She looked down at her arms. Would she ever rid herself of the memories of his smell and touch? If she did, would she feel different then? Would she feel less cowardly? Less defeated? Would it enable her to allow Lachlan to touch her again?

  She scrubbed until her skin burned, but every time she sniffed her arm or her hands, she still smelled him. She reached down into the water, brought up a handful of rocks and sand, and intended to use those to scrub herself, but Lachlan’s hands clamped around her wrist like a vise.

  Bridgette glanced at Lachlan and blinked. She knew it was him she was looking at, but she saw Colin instead. She squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head, and opened them again, letting out a relieved cry when she saw Lachlan’s face and the concern in his eyes.

  Lachlan had been uncertain if he should stop Bridgette, but he sensed she had to do this. Yet when she gathered the rocks to scrub at her already-raw skin, fear seized his heart. He grabbed her by the wrist, careful to avoid her wound, and shook the rocks out of her hands. When she struggled against him, he brought her flush against his chest, her freezing skin making him suck in a breath. He secured her hands behind her back where he held them firmly while trying not to hurt her.