Highland Mist

by Donna Grant

  “Who is she?” he asked Gregor.

  “MacNeil’s daughter.”

  * * * * *

  Glenna stared down at the battle, her mind frozen by the sight of the black-headed giant in the bold green and blue MacInnes plaid, swinging his claymore with one arm as if it weighed no more than a feather. The muscles flexing in his arms and bare back bespoke hours of training, and his quickness for a man of his size was almost uncanny.

  His wide, brawny shoulders shoved men aside as though they were nothing more than weeds needing thrown out. Because he didn’t wear a shirt beneath his kilt she was able to see the hard planes of his stomach and the tapering of his waist. Long, muscular legs supported him as he pivoted and steeled himself for a blow.

  But it was his face she longed to see more closely.

  When his eyes met hers, she knew he would forever change her life. This man had her soul in the palm of his hands without even knowing it. He had to be the man Iona had spoken of.

  Some unknown force kept her rooted where she stood and her eyes on the MacInnes laird. Even when he ran up the stairs to her she waited instead of dashing away, waited instead of killing him as her father bid.

  He reached her and his silver orbs burned into her, his square jaw hard and unyielding, and hair as black as pitch tied at his nape. “You’re the MacNeil’s daughter?”

  His deep, husky voice poured over her like water. “Aye.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t know. MacNeil had fled after ordering her to kill the intruders. She hadn’t even had time to ask him exactly how she, a mere woman, was supposed to kill trained warriors.

  It wasn’t the first time she had been ashamed of her father and she doubted it would be her last. After all, a laird should stay with his soldiers, not flee.

  Two other men joined the MacInnes laird, one without a plaid and another with a bushy red beard. Red beard asked, “Is she lying, Conall?”

  Conall. A good, strong name that suited this Highland warrior, as did his gray eyes, high cheekbones and chiseled features.

  “She’s speaking true, Angus,” he answered without taking his eyes from her.

  Of course she spoke the truth. The urge to roll her eyes at the idea of her lying was strong, but she dared not show them any emotion. She had learned that the hard way from MacNeil.

  “What’s your name, lass?”

  The laird took a step toward her. The mere size of him would intimidate the bravest man, and she was far from brave. She swallowed, her mouth now dry, and tried to keep her expression blank. “Glenna.”

  “Well, Glenna, be a good lass and point me in the direction of your coward father.”

  She knew this was her one and only chance to escape from her father successfully. So she tamped down her growing fear, and hurriedly said, “There’s only one way to get him. Take me.”

  Those striking silver eyes narrowed on her and he took a step closer. “Why? Why would you willingly give yourself to the enemy to be used as bait?”

  To be free she yearned to scream. Instead, she said, “You want revenge. He wants me. It’s the only solution.”

  After several heartbeats of watching him look her over, he held out his hand. “You’ve sealed your fate, lass.”

  Oh aye, she thought, and looked at Conall. It was the brief message she had been given by her only friend Iona that there would be a man to claim her who made it easy to hand herself over to him.

  A man who would free her.

  Those had been Iona’s words, and it had been those few words that had kept Glenna going through each day. Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken as long as Glenna had expected. Less than two months, actually, and she had been prepared to wait years.

  She followed Conall and walked among her dead kinsmen. Hatred for the MacInnes’ men should have seeped into her heart, but instead there was nothing. An empty, numb void resided in her chest thanks to her father and the clan that had shown her their loathing. With Conall in the lead and Angus and the unknown stranger behind her, she was hidden from view. Conall kept a hand clasped around her arm as if he feared she would run.

  If he only knew how desperately I yearn to be free of this he wouldn’t bother, she thought.

  While they waited she counted the MacInnes’ men and all forty still stood, though most had wounds that would need tending. A low whistle sounded from Conall, signaling his men it was time to leave.

  One by one they crept from the hall. She looked around the near-empty bailey and heard the call go up for more MacNeil soldiers. Panic seized her heart, and she wondered if she would be free from her prison.

  That one glance was all she was given as Conall roughly hauled her up behind him at the same time he nudged his horse. Before she knew it, she was out the MacNeil gates for only the second time in her life.

  “I’m free,” she whispered into the wind, and grabbed hold of a rock-solid abdomen as the horse raced from the castle.

  The men splintered into different groups to confuse the MacNeil soldiers. Soon they stopped and hid behind trees, waiting for the rest of the MacInnes’ men to catch up. Conall dismounted and reached to help her down. His gaze held her immobile as he slowly lowered her to the ground. Big, strong hands engulfed her and made her feel even smaller than she actually was. She hated being so short, but it had been her lot in life, and being next to this giant made her feel as small as a flea.

  Of all the things she should be thinking about, this wasn’t one of them. She began to turn away and spotted the blood on his arm. “You’re hurt,” she said, embarrassed that it came out so breathless.

  He looked down at his arm and shrugged. “Don’t fash yourself. It’s but a small wound.” He dug in his sporran and tugged out a piece of cloth.

  “You should tend to it now.”

  He wrapped the cloth around the cut on his lower arm. “I’ll have it tended to when we reach my home.”

  She helped him tie off the bandage and stepped back. “You’ve touched me more in this short time than anyone in my entire life,” she said as she rubbed his horse’s neck.

  “People touch each other every day,” Angus said, and moved closer to them.

  Glenna didn’t say more. All her life she had been treated differently, and she needed them to think she was as normal as they were. She was saved from having to explain by the arrival of the stranger.

  “Ah Gregor,” Conall called. “Come meet my friend and clansmen Angus MacDuff.”

  Glenna got her first good look at Gregor. His blond hair flowed freely to his shoulders except for two small braids that hung next to his face, and his stance was that of a man who feared nothing. But his black eyes guarded much. She watched him saunter to Conall and noted they were similar in shape and both clearly over six feet in height.

  Angus and Gregor clasped hands and Conall told of how he had come upon Gregor.

  “What were you doing there anyway?” Angus asked. “The MacNeils aren’t known for their kindness.”

  All three men looked toward her before Gregor answered, “I was there on a personal matter. I owe you my life, Conall.”

  He had stated the last as if it pained him, and Glenna realized he was a man who didn’t like to be beholden to anyone. And though he smiled easily enough, it didn’t reach his eyes. He interested her, mostly because he had been at her home and she hadn’t even known. Just what else had the MacNeil hidden?

  “You’re welcome in my clan anytime,” Conall said, and clasped Gregor on the back. “Any man who fights the MacNeils is an ally.”

  Her mind raced at what she had heard from Gregor. What had he been doing at the castle? She had never seen him before, yet he acted as though he knew the MacNeil.

  It wasn’t long before the rest of the MacInnes’ men surrounded them. They quickly saw to their injuries while studying her. Her chest began to ache and clench tightly as if a great weight rested there while the back of her neck began to throb painfully.


  She looked up and spotted the looks of hatred and malice directed at her. Surely the soldiers couldn’t be the cause, but she knew in her heart they were. She had felt this pain in her own home, but it hadn’t been nearly this terrible.

  Her limbs grew heavy to where she could barely lift them without great effort. Her breath locked within her lungs. The more she fought, the more excruciating it became.

  Pain infused her body as she struggled to keep it from showing on her face. The looks ate away at her resistance until she had to lean against the horse or crumple under their weight. Fear nestled itself comfortably in her stomach and threatened to bring about the old demons.

  “What are you going to do with her, laird?” one man asked.

  She strained to tamp down the fear so she could hear his answer. Had she been a fool to take Iona’s words to heart? How could any captive trust their captor as easily and surely as she trusted hers?

  “She’s my prisoner. I plan to trade her for my sister Iona.”

  Glenna gasped and tried to stay on her feet as Conall’s words sunk in and the blackness threatened to take hold.

  Iona? Saints help me.

  Chapter Two

  The first thing Glenna saw when she opened her eyes was an intense silver gaze boring into her. Conall’s strong jaw, a nose that had been broken at least once and black brows that arched ever so slightly, loomed above her.

  “We thought we’d lost ye, lass,” Angus said as he came to kneel beside Conall.

  Conall frowned. “You should have told me you needed to rest.”

  “It wasn’t that,” she said.

  “Then what?”

  Her gaze traveled to the men who still stared with open hostility. “They hate me because I’m a MacNeil.” She couldn’t believe she had fainted, but the embarrassment over that quickly left as the pain began anew.

  “That’s true enough,” Angus said. “Can’t say as I blame them, lass. It was a trap the MacNeil set.”

  Years of hearing servants whisper words of MacNeil cruelty when they had thought she wasn’t listening came to mind. Just what had he done? Would her shame at being a MacNeil never end?

  “Glenna?” Once again Conall forced her attention to him.

  “I’m sorry for what the MacNeil has done. It’s unforgivable. I’ve heard whispers before but nothing solid until today. I had no idea…”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, you’re now my prisoner,” he said, and brought her to her feet. “Are you well enough to ride? We’ve wasted enough time.”

  The pain abated as the men focused their attention on their mounts instead of her. Her relief was short-lived though once Conall set her in front of him, and the contact of his hard muscled chest against her back was as foreign as the soil she was on. But she felt safe. Safe for the first time in her life.

  Iona.

  Tears misted her eyes so that the beautiful budding green landscape around her blurred. Iona, her one and only friend. Glenna would give up her life to know where Iona was, and if she was safe. She had begged MacNeil to tell her something, anything of Iona, but he had refused.

  MacNeil had said Iona had come to MacNeil Castle to teach her, but Glenna had been unsure just what Iona had been sent to teach until talk of magic had begun. Then Glenna had known MacNeil was using Iona.

  Unbidden, a memory of bruises on Iona’s arms came to mind. She had questioned Iona about them but had never gotten an answer. None of the questions about where Iona had come from were answered either.

  Glenna had thought Iona had run away from her home, but seeing Conall, she had to wonder if that was the case. From what she had seen so far he was nothing like MacNeil.

  MacNeil said Iona had left, but had she really? Or had she run from MacNeil Castle? Glenna wouldn’t blame her if she had. Many times she had wanted to escape MacNeil’s bonds, and many times she had been caught before she had even reached the gatehouse.

  “You’re quiet. I would’ve thought you would question me until my ears ached at what I was going to do with you,” Conall’s deep voice reached her as they passed beneath a huge fir tree.

  “I know what you’re going to do with me. Instead, I’m looking at what I’ve been denied.” It was true she feared what was before her, but Iona’s words comforted her. Not to mention, knowing she was with Iona’s brother helped ease some of those fears.

  “Denied? What are you talking about, lass?” His voice rumbled in his chest at his question.

  She gazed greedily at the many trees and flowers they passed. “MacNeil has kept me within his walls all my life.”

  “And the touching?”

  She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at her capturer, his wide, full mouth only inches from her. “The only person to touch me was MacNeil and even then only occasionally.”

  “Why?” he questioned, his eyes narrowed.

  “Why does the sun set in the west?” She shrugged. “I was never given an answer, though I asked many times.”

  “How old are you?”

  She snorted. “Old enough to have been married with children.”

  “And why aren’t you?”

  “He’s refused the few brave souls who have asked for my hand.”

  “What reason did he give?”

  “MacNeil never gives a reason.”

  “No child should be raised like that,” he said, and drew her against his chest. It was probably a reflex on his part, but Glenna couldn’t help but like this close contact with him. He was pleasant to look upon and had treated her with more kindness than she had seen from her own clan.

  The women ignored her, the soldiers mocked her, and the children ran screaming from her. She closed her eyes and willed those memories to fade. She couldn’t stop shaking, yet from the cold or from being near Conall she didn’t know. Touching and being touched was not something she was accustomed to, yet these men thought nothing of it. And here was a man who had saved her. Yet he didn’t know it.

  “Are you cold, lass? You’re trembling.”

  “A wee bit.”

  Conall wrapped his plaid around her and settled her more comfortably against him. He didn’t know what to make of her, but he knew he would come close by the time he arrived home.

  He breathed in the clean scent of her and wrinkled his nose as a tendril of her dark hair tickled his cheek. With a small adjustment of his head he was able to have a view of her face.

  She had a high forehead, dark brows that accented her almond-shaped eyes. Her big, dark eyes hastily took in everything while her luscious mouth parted as she gazed at the sights. He looked at the trees and sky and didn’t see anything unusual, but he might have a different perspective if he had been locked within stone walls.

  Her lips were full, ripe…kissable. Now what the hell could have made him think that?

  She hadn’t lied about her childhood. His ability to know when someone was indeed untruthful came in handy in situations like this. He let his thoughts wander over her and what he had learned.

  Much later he called a halt to their steady progress. “We need to rest the horses if we’re to return before nightfall.”

  The men dismounted to water their horses. He slid from his horse then turned and reached to help Glenna dismount. “I won’t bite, lass,” he said, adding a smile when she hesitated.

  She allowed him to assist her, though she was suddenly more cautious. He wasn’t surprised to find his hands spanned her tiny waist. Her head barely came to his chest, but he sensed a power in her that she had yet to find.

  And God help everyone when she did find it.

  He watched her slight figure as she made her way to a rock and leaned against it. He grabbed his horse’s reins and led the animal to the small stream.

  His gaze drifted over his men and the easy way they talked, laughed and touched.

  Those simple pleasures he had taken for granted and wondered what life would be like without those small things. But his mind refused to
dwell on that when he had bigger concerns.

  Like the MacNeil.

  The war Conall had wanted to prevent was no longer avoidable…it was inevitable. Especially now that he knew MacNeils were responsible for his sister’s vanishing.

  Glenna had offered herself, and in doing so would not only bring MacNeil and allow Conall to exact his revenge, she would also provide him with a means for Iona’s safe return. Only then, after fulfilling his vows to his mother and father, would he be free to pursue the vow he made to himself—to see every MacNeil who had a hand in taking Iona die by his blade.

  He ran his hand down his face and sighed deeply. His eyes opened to find Gregor beside him, a hint of worry in his dark eyes.

  “I’d watch your men around Glenna. Their hatred is having an effect on her that I’ve never seen.”

  Conall swiveled his head until he spotted her. She walked near him and studied the surroundings. Her slim hands reached out and stroked the trees, their leaves and anything else she could grasp, her touch reverent as if it would shatter at her contact.

  Yet he saw by the tightness of her mouth, her pale complexion and the fine sheen of sweat that Gregor had stated the truth. She glanced up and gave him a weak smile.

  He motioned her to the water. “Come drink.”

  “Och, but it’s cold,” she said when her fingers dipped into the icy water.

  “Aye. This stream is fed from the snow atop the mountains. It will get a wee bit warmer during the summer.”

  She leaned down and brought the water to her lips. Her eyes closed. Water beaded and dripped from her mouth. It ran down her chin to her neck and disappeared to hidden places Conall itched to touch and see.

  His body hardened instantly. His hand yearned to follow the path of the water and see if her skin was as soft as it looked. He cursed and blamed it on the fact he hadn’t been with a woman recently, and he would be sure to remedy that as soon as he could.

  “Mount up,” he called when she had drunk her fill.

  He settled her on his horse, her petite body molding to his as if they were one. His hand dropped to her trim waist and rested on her flared hips. By the way she sat with her back straight and body tense he knew she was in some discomfort, but all he could think of was looking over her shoulder at the swell of her breasts. He said a brief prayer that she didn’t feel the bulge of his desire pressing into her back and again wrapped his plaid about her before taking the reins.