Highland Angel

by Hannah Howell

  Something had changed, he thought as he tugged on his boots, then leaned against the trunk of the tree closest to the wall of his garden. Payton did not want to believe it was some sensuous magic within the bower or the wine Kirstie had drunk while talking to Sir Euan. He was certain it went deeper than that. If not, this new, freer Kirstie would fade away and that was unacceptable. The Kirstie who had just frolicked with him here had broken free of the bonds of guilt, shame, and fear. Payton did not want those bonds to return, yet unless he knew what had changed, what had finally freed her, he was not sure he could stop her from returning to what she had been before.

  It was past time he married her, but she had to be made a widow first. Payton decided it was a good thing there were so many acceptable reasons to kill Sir Roderick, for he could all too easily see himself wanting the man dead just so he could claim Kirstie. He wanted to openly mark her as his. He chafed at even the small acts of discretion they did practice. He wanted their union sanctified so that Kirstie need never fret over the right or wrong of their lovemaking again, so that she never again choked some of the life out of her passion with such concerns.

  Payton was not fool enough to think they would always indulge themselves as they had done here. They would never survive it. Yet, when he went into her arms at night, he wanted to find that same, sweet wanton who had so beautifully exhausted him in the cool shade of this bower. Marriage would ensure that—Payton was certain of it.

  A rustling in the leaves above his head caught his attention, pulling him out of his deep thought. Even as he started to look up, a noose slipped over his neck. Payton grabbed at the thick rope, but it quickly tightened so he could not throw it off. He was pulled hard against the wall and realized that was where his assailant was, not in the tree. As he was dragged up and over the wall, he struggled to get some of his fingers beneath the rope to try and ease its killing grip. Blackness crowded his mind as he fought to breathe—and failed. At the top of the wall, his dimming gaze became fixed upon the tree and the last thought he had was to wonder why he should think he could see Callum.

  When Payton came to his senses, he found himself draped across the saddle of a fast-moving horse. The moment he realized why it was that he could not breathe without pain, he grew enraged. He flung himself upward and grabbed the rider. It was easy to toss the man out of the saddle, but not so easy to right himself and take the man's place. After he had lost conciousness during his near-hanging, his captors had obviously treated him roughly, for he ached in nearly every part of his body. He could almost hear Ian scolding him for acting without thinking first.

  For one brief moment, he savored the sweet taste of victory as he sat upright and held the reins of the slowing horse. Then something slammed into his back, high up on his right shoulder. A heartbeat later the pain came. The next thing Payton knew, he was hitting the ground, hard. He had only enough time to consider how lucky he was not to have broken his neck before he was yanked to his feet. The pain that followed as the knife was pulled from his back almost sent him to his knees.

  "Curse it, Wattie, ye could have killed him,” complained Gib as he joined his friend and looked at Payton hanging limply in Wattie's grasp. “I think ye have."

  "Nay.” Wattie tossed Payton back onto the ground and sheathed his knife. “But, what if I did? He is for dying anyway."

  "That he is, but we may have use for him as a live hostage,” Sir Roderick drawled as he stood over Payton, then nudged him roughly over onto his back. “Still, this may have served some purpose. Ye seem to have taken the fight out of the mon."

  "He killed Ranald,” said Gib. “Broke his neck when he threw him off his horse. Only have five men now."

  "Five will be enough."

  "A hundred thousand wouldnae be enough to keep ye safe, ye perverted swine,” Payton said, his voice little more than a raspy whisper. “My kinsmen hunt ye now."

  "Aye, I have seen all the pretty Murrays skipping through the wood. They havenae found me yet, have they? They willnae, either. As soon as I have the ransom for your bonnie hide, I will kill ye and my traitorous wife and then I am off for France."

  "I have kinsmen there, too."

  "And some rather vicious enemies as weel, I hear. Mayhap I should join forces with them."

  That was a chilling thought, nearly as chilling as the knowledge that he was going to be used to draw Kirstie into a trap. His only comfort was that there would probably be enough people around to keep her from making some foolish sacrifice on his behalf. Payton knew he was in too poor a condition to do much more than stay alive as he waited for the ransom he knew would come, and then get out of the way of the fighting. It was not much, certainly neither glorious nor heroic, but he would do it to the best of his ability.

  His pride rebelled at the thought of just lying there in ignominious defeat, silently accepting of it all, and he struggled to sit up. Sweating and shaking slightly, he managed it, his hands braced against the ground to hold him upright. Payton looked at Roderick and wished that, after first learning about the man's crimes, he had simply killed him.

  "If ye had been a clever lad,” said Payton, “ye would have fled to France by now. Ye might have gained a few more months of life."

  "And leave ye and my whore of a wife to rut yourselves blind? Nay, I think not. Although, if I had realized how skilled she was with that mouth, I may have found the occasional use for her. Mayhap I will test her skill ere I kill her. And, I must say, after watching ye exercising your much-heralded skills, I cannae see how ye can think I am perverted. Such a waste of a beautiful mon,” he said and shuddered.

  "She sure was enjoying herself,” drawled Gib.

  "Aye,” agreed Wattie, grinning widely. “Opening them pretty legs wide and letting him bury his face in her quim."

  "Your wife was riding his tongue like it was the finest bit of meat she had e'er taken inside her."

  "And he sure seemed to like it. Couldnae get enough. She must taste real sweet."

  "'Cause she be clean. No dirt or nits or sweat, just pure bonnie quim. Wouldnae mind having me a lick or two of that."

  Their crude talk enraged Payton, but his weak body refused to act upon that anger. They were defiling the beauty of the time he had spent with Kirstie in the bower. He prayed she would never find out they had been observed. Then his anger eased as he realized Gib and Wattie were not even looking at him, that their words were not intended to taunt him. Both men were looking at Roderick and smirking faintly.

  Payton looked at Roderick as well and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. The man was pale and shaking slightly, but not with rage. Roderick looked ill, utterly disgusted, and even horrified. There was a strange, glazed look in his eyes, and Payton got the feeling that Roderick was looking at something in his past. Roderick, at least, had probably not watched him and Kirstie very much. It was apparent that the man had a strong distaste for such intimacies.

  "Hell, we dinnae e'en have to wait for a turn,” continued Gib. “While ye are seeing how good your wee wife can play your pipe, me and Wattie can play with t'other end."

  "Aye,” agreed Wattie, “I think I would like having them bonnie white thighs hugging my ears. I could e'en tell ye later if she tasted as good as your mither."

  The speed with which Roderick drew his sword and had the point pressed against Wattie's throat startled even Payton. He had suspected there was a dark secret there, one both Gib and Wattie knew, and one that could explain Roderick's revulsion concerning sex with a woman. Payton rather wished he had not learned what that dark secret was, however. There were many ways Wattie's remark could be interpreted and none of them was good. Some were appalling and Payton suspected it was probably one of the latter. It certainly explained why Roderick had never been able to hide his perversions behind a normal relationship with a woman. It also explained why the man kept two such crude, unattractive men close at hand despite his love of beauty. Wattie and Gib were an intricate part of what had obviously been a very dark and p
erverted past.

  "Nay, Roderick,” Gib said in a soft, soothing voice that was surprising in such a big, rough man, “ye cannae kill Wattie."

  "And why not?” asked Roderick.

  "Because, even though he is an idiot who doesnae ken when to keep his mouth shut, ye dinnae have the men to spare. We need every sword we can muster to get to France, aye? Now, let us forget this, and get out of here. We have a ransoming to deal with, aye?” Gib breathed a sigh of relief when Roderick backed away and turned his attention back to Payton. “Shall we tie him up this time?"

  "Aye,” replied Roderick as he sheathed his sword. “Get the ropes. I will just make sure that he cannae cause ye any trouble as ye bind him."

  Payton saw the booted foot headed his way, but could not avoid it. The force of the kick sent him sprawling onto his stomach. As his dimming gaze became fixed upon a clump of trees, he wondered why the blow had not broken his jaw. He wondered, too, why he was always so slow to lose consciousness. But mostly, he wondered why he thought he saw Callum again.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "Does anyone ken where Payton is?” Kirstie asked as she looked around the great hall, but did not see him.

  She looked from Brett to Harcourt, who had moved to flank her, then inwardly sighed. They were both near an age with her, Brett newly turned one and twenty and Harcourt but eighteen. They were both stunningly handsome young men with thick black hair, but Harcourt had amber eyes, and Brett had lovely green eyes. They were also both looking as if they wanted to say something she would probably want to hit them for.

  "We rather assumed he was with you,” Harcourt said.

  The smile the young man gave her undoubtedly set many a lass's heart aflutter. Kirstie gave him a narroweyed look to let him know she was not impressed. “Does it look as if he is with me?"

  "He isnae here. Roderick has him,” gasped out Callum as he staggered up to Kirstie.

  Even though she helped Callum sit down at the head table, calmly told Brett to get the boy some water, and dampened a small linen square in the finger bowl so that she could bathe Callum's face, Kirstie felt as though she was frozen inside. She wanted to think Callum no more than a terrified little boy who saw monsters under the bed, but she could not. Waiting for him to calm enough to speak clearly had her screaming inside. Not even the sight of eight strong men crowding around her and Callum eased her fear by very much. She was only faintly aware of Alice and the children being sent out of the room.

  "I went to the garden to talk to Sir Payton,” Callum began, then glanced at Kirstie and blushed, “but he was busy, so I walked about for a while.” He leaned closer to Kirstie and said, “Didnae see naught but the clothes and that Payton was naked. Peeked once more to see if ye were, too. Sorry."

  She supposed he thought he was whispering, but Kirstie knew that every man there heard him, and she found that she did not care. “'Tis nay matter, my dear one. So, ye came back later?"

  "Aye, and ye were leaving so I climbed up one of the trees to wait. Knew Payton wouldnae be leaving for a wee while, for he was still naked. Got looking at something else and, when I looked back, Payton was standing near the garden wall, alone. I was just starting to climb down when a rope was put round his neck.” He grabbed Kirstie's hand and awkwardly patted it when she paled. “Nay, he is alive. Last I saw him, he was alive."

  "I will remember that,” she said and kept hold of his hand. “Go on."

  "So, scrambling back up the tree, I looked about for who threw that rope. I saw Gib and Wattie climbing down off the wall, pulling Payton up and over the wall by the rope. Roderick was there, too. So was his mon Ranald. Oh, and Colin, too. Didnae recognize the other men, but there were four of them."

  "Good lad,” said Ian. “What did they do to Payton?"

  "Took him. Ranald tossed him over his saddle and they all rode off. I was afeared they had killed him."

  "But, they didnae,” Kirstie said.

  "Nay, they didnae,” agreed Callum. “I followed. They werenae galloping, but they were going a wee bit fast, but I followed their trail as ye taught me, Ian. Then I had to hide because they had stopped. Ranald was lying on the ground and Gib said Payton had killed him. Payton was bleeding high up on his shoulder, but he was sitting up, alive,” he stressed, glancing at Kirstie again. “They argued, then Roderick pulled his sword on Wattie, but Gib calmed everyone down. Then Roderick kicked Payton in the face, which laid Payton out flat. They tied him up, tossed him onto Wattie's saddle, and rode off."

  "Ye did weel, lad,” Ian said, patting him on the shoulder.

  "Nay, I couldnae follow them anymore. I tried, but then I thought I best get back here to tell ye what had happened. I kenned I wouldnae have been able to if I had gone any further, but mayhap I should have."

  Ian shook his head. “Nay, ye needed to do just what ye did. Their trail is clear, aye?"

  "Aye. They arenae doing anything to hide it."

  "And ye ken how to get back to where ye had to leave that trail.” He smoothed his hand over Callum's hair when the boy nodded. “'Tis good, lad. Verra good. I think they will be asking for a ransom.” Ian looked at Kirstie. “And we both ken what part of the ransom might be. We had best start making plans so we waste nay time once the demand is made."

  "Is there time?” asked Kirstie, finally regaining some calm as she accepted the fact that Payton was still alive and it appeared Roderick intended to keep him that way for a while.

  "Och, aye, lass,” replied Ian. “I may have misjudged the mon by nay thinking he would come so near to us, but I am certain of this. The fool obviously cannae leave, cannae run for his miserable life. He wants ye and Payton to suffer."

  "He blames us for what has happened."

  Ian nodded. “A mon like that ne'er blames himself. What we have to do is make him think he is getting what he wants, then take it away without any of our own getting hurt.” He signaled the men to join him at the far end of the table.

  Kirstie poured herself a large tankard of wine and took a deep drink. It had been such a beautiful day. She had thought her troubles near an end. Roderick was being hunted down, the children were safe, and she had finally allowed herself to be free with Payton, to revel in her love for him and the passion they shared. She did not dare even think of how she would feel if it proved to be their last time together.

  "This is all my fault,” Kirstie murmured.

  "Och, nay, it isnae,” said Brett as he sat down beside her.

  "'Tis, and I thought plans were being made. Shouldnae ye be with them? Oh, and I should probably be there with them, too. Although, they didnae ask me."

  "Nay, for ye will go where they tell ye to and do as they tell you. As will I. And your part cannae be fully decided upon until we ken what that bastard wants. And, ‘tis nay your fault."

  "'Tis, I brought all this trouble to his door. I set him right in the path of a madmon who murders people simply because they irritate him. I also led him out into that place in the garden where they took him from."

  "Wheesht, and him kicking and protesting every step of the way. Ye are stronger than ye look."

  "And ye are far more annoying than I would have guessed."

  "I do my best.” He winked at Callum when the boy laughed, but then grew serious again. “No one, and most especially not Payton, thinks that this is your fault. Ye needed help, for yourself and the bairns. The moment ye presented this trouble to Payton, he could do naught else but join the fight. Nay, not if he wished to retain any honor or continue to call himself a mon.” He glanced toward the door. “Ah, Connor and Gillyanne. Now there is a mon one wants fighting at one's side,” he said as he hurried over to Connor and they both joined the men.

  Gillyanne sat down next to Kirstie and briefly hugged her. “'Twill be fine. Payton may come home a wee bit battered and bruised, but he will come home. And ye will, as weel."

  "Have ye had another, ah, feeling?” she asked Gillyanne.

 
"I dinnae ken. All I do ken is that when I heard the news, I wasnae afraid."

  "Wish I could say the same."

  "Have faith. Payton is no fool and no one could have better men on one's side,” she added with a nod toward her husband and the others.

  Kirstie reminded herself of Gillyanne's words as she slowly rode toward the meeting place Roderick had named in his ransom note. She was not alone and neither was Payton. Although she was not quite sure what the men were doing, she knew she and Payton would be watched over and then rescued. All she had to hope for was that they were all right about Roderick, that he would not simply cut her throat, that he would want to talk, perhaps even gloat. It had certainly been his way in the past, but he was desperate now.

  The moment she entered the little copse where Roderick waited, Wattie yanked the reins of her horse out of her hands. Gib pulled her out of the saddle and dragged her over to Roderick. A moment later, Wattie appeared with the bag she had had secured to her saddle. As he opened it and he, Gib, and Roderick all peered inside, she prayed they would not look too closely at the contents. There was money aplenty to glitter in the light, but beneath a thick layer of coin lurked rocks from Payton's garden.

  "Weel, it looks as if your liaison with this fool has actually brought me something more than humiliation,” drawled Roderick as he quickly closed the bag before Wattie could do what he so plainly wanted to—touch the money. “He isnae so verra pretty now, is he?” he added, with a nod toward Payton.

  It was difficult not to run straight to Payton's side. Blood stained the front of his shirt and there were raw marks all around his throat. From what she could see, he was covered in bruises as well. For a brief moment she met Payton's gaze and read a fleeting look of hope there, but she also saw a strong hint of despair. She glared at Roderick, blaming him completely for Payton's pain and his apparent low spirits.