Highland Mist

by Donna Grant

  They traveled hard and fast, and when most women would have complained, she said not a word.

  He had just slowed his horse to a walk when she turned her head, and asked, “Do you hear that?”

  He listened but heard nothing other than the sounds of the Highlands. “What is it you hear?”

  “Music. Beautiful music,” she whispered, looking toward the sky.

  “There’s no music, lass.” And now I need to add your sanity to my growing list of worries.

  She didn’t say more about the music, and for that Conall was relieved. Could she be addled? Is that why none of the MacNeils would touch her? Nay. That couldn’t be the reason. There had to be something else, something she wasn’t telling him. They rode in silence, and it unnerved him to be so comfortable with her. She was the enemy after all, even though she was innocent.

  After a while, he glanced at the sun and was surprised they had come so far. It amazed him even more that she wasn’t like most women he knew who would have been screaming like shrews to be taken from their homes by a complete stranger, regardless that she had practically asked him to take her.

  But Glenna was nothing like the women he was used to. In some ways she reminded him of his mother who had been strong-willed and headstrong.

  When they could go no farther without resting the horses, he halted and dismounted. He turned and held out his arms. She slid easily into his arms, but when his hands left her, she crumpled.

  Conall caught her before she hit the ground. “I’ve got you,” he said, and carried her to a boulder. “Rest. I’ll bring you water.”

  While he retrieved his waterskin, he noted the many hostile glances his men gave her. A dull ache in the back of his neck began to pound, signaling that there might be trouble. Trouble he didn’t want or need.

  Then again, his people deserved revenge for the many deeds of violence given to them by MacNeil. Even Conall’s own father had sought that revenge only to die by a MacNeil’s sword on the battlefield.

  Still, he wouldn’t allow his clan to harm Glenna. Revenge would be taken, but against the MacNeil, not an innocent lass who was his daughter by a quirk of fate. He returned to find her asleep, her dark hair flying around her as the afternoon breeze quickened. With a finger, he reached up and smoothed a lock of hair from her thick, black eyelashes.

  Her eyes flew open at his touch. Fear lurked in her beautiful brown depths as well as determination and spirit. Spirit the MacNeil hadn’t been able to kill though Conall would bet his sword MacNeil had tried. He handed her the water and turned to give her a moment of privacy.

  Glenna took the water and trembled from Conall’s gentle touch. The cool water touched her lips and her body demanded more. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she had been and she drank greedily.

  She kept her head bent but watched Conall and his soldiers. Her chest began to tighten as breathing became difficult.

  Not again. Please not again.

  The pain lessened when Conall called for them to mount. She wanted to cry in relief until she tried to stand. Then she wanted to cry from the pain searing its way through her legs and lower back. She had never been allowed on a horse before and hadn’t been prepared for this.

  All those years of yearning to ride, but now she would be glad to never see a horse again after today.

  Gradually, and more slowly than she would have liked, she walked to Conall and noticed he had put on a shirt. It took every effort she had to walk upright and not show them how much she hurt. She reached Conall to find him sitting astride his horse instead of waiting to help her mount.

  He held out his hand, and said, “We’ve a tough trek ahead. I need you on back.”

  Nay. I want on front. I don’t have the strength to hold on. But the argument died on her lips when she saw the determined glint of his eyes. She had seen that same look in MacNeil’s eyes and knew better than to argue, though the urge was strong, stronger than it had been in many years.

  “All right.”

  He easily swung her behind him, and she found his thick, muscled neck and black hair within heartbeats of her touch. A brisk spring breeze swept around her, and she hastily wrapped her arms around him for warmth.

  His stomach muscles jumped at her touch. She heard his sharp intake of breath when she laid her head on his back. She wasn’t given long to rejoice in her effect on him as his horse leapt into a gallop. She was forced to hold on for dear life while her body screamed silently in pain.

  When they began their descent over a rock-covered mountainside, she squeezed her eyes shut. With every breath she knew it was her last, and her hold became a death grip. The sound of rocks sliding loose and falling increased her fear tenfold.

  “I cannot breathe, lass.”

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his back, her eyes still shut.

  “These horses are the surest-footed creatures around.”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “You won’t plummet to your death while riding with me.”

  But his words did little to ease her fear.

  * * * * *

  Conall moved Glenna in front of him once they cleared the pass. A shiver shook her and he pulled his plaid around her. The heat from her body seeped into his saffron shirt, scalding him. He hardened instantly and cursed his luck.

  In the next heartbeat she leaned her head against his chest. His body once again responded to her. He knew he had gone far too long without a woman when the simple touch of a maiden set him on fire.

  He was more than a little surprised when she fell asleep in his arms. Her upturned face looked so innocent and trusting, that he wondered if his course of action had been the right one, but then he hadn’t had much of a choice. Glenna had been right. The only way to get MacNeil and find Iona was to take her. He still didn’t like the thought of kidnapping her, but there wasn’t another way.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he was attracted to her. She was a MacNeil. An enemy. But she stirred his loins like no other. Her simple touch, hesitant and featherlight, brought out his protective instinct that hereto now had only been given to his family. It disturbed him to no end that she could stir such strong feelings within him.

  It had been awhile since he had held a woman this close. Ever since his sister vanished he had foregone any kind of physical pleasure and concentrated on being the laird his father had wanted him to be.

  His mother’s dying wish that he bring Iona home had been his driving force. He had given his mother his word and nothing would stop him. Nothing. Honor was all he had left and nothing would be able to change that.

  “The music grows louder,” she mumbled, and snuggled closer.

  He froze. Music?

  How could he have been so dimwitted? He knew what she heard. The Druids. They were calling to her, one of their own.

  By St. George’s baldhead, his life had become infinitely more complicated if that was possible. His life was based on honor yet now that would be sorely tested.

  For more generations than he knew, his clan had kept the Druids hidden.

  Now he would have to break a vow. The one he had made the day he had become laird to protect all Druids, or the vow to his mother to find Iona.

  Chapter Three

  Glenna awoke to the smell of horse, pine and…man. She jerked straight and would have fallen to the earth if Conall hadn’t caught her.

  His powerful silver gaze questioned her wits, and she couldn’t blame him. “I forgot where I was,” she said quickly as the plaid fell from her shoulders.

  He didn’t speak as he tucked the plaid around her and pulled her against his chest. “We’ve still a wee bit of riding ahead. Rest while you can.”

  But she didn’t hear him. The music had grown so loud she could scarce hear anything else. It pulled at her soul, urging her toward some unknown force, and she instinctively knew she would find her answers if she just followed the music.

  Her heart squeezed tight. Soon. Soon she would know wh
o she really was, just as Iona had promised. Her heart was lighter than it had ever been, but her body ached too badly to rejoice. It became difficult to hold her head up, so she rested her cheek against Conall’s strong, muscular chest.

  With each step the horse took, pain exploded through her body. Her belly grumbled with hunger and she prayed he didn’t hear it.

  “We’ll be stopping for food soon,” he said into her ear.

  Would her embarrassment never end? She listened to the hauntingly beautiful music as she gazed at the wild surroundings of fir, yew and pine trees and the occasional clump of heather. The trees were budding and flowers sprouted from the earth as the sun’s rays warmed the cold ground.

  Strikingly beautiful is how she would describe the Highland landscape, and the mountains that rose around them only added to the majesty of the scene. Anger for all she had missed these past years welled up and nearly consumed her in its intensity.

  For years she had tried to understand MacNeil’s need to keep her at the castle, but the more he refused to answer her, the more resentful she had grown. He had never been a very caring father, so it had been easy to stay away from him. And she had escaped him. Finally. Thanks to Iona’s foretelling of Conall.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she asked, needing to take her mind off MacNeil.

  Silence greeted her question, and for a moment she thought she would have to return to her sad thoughts.

  “I was born to the laird of my clan,” he finally said, “and voted in when my father died four summers ago.”

  “Did you know your mother?”

  “Aye. I lost her this past winter after Iona disappeared.” He clicked the horse into a trot.

  His gruff voice should have given her an inkling that he didn’t wish to talk, but she pressed onward. “I never knew my mother. MacNeil would never talk of her other than to say I look like her.”

  Something she had said must have disturbed Conall for he had withdrawn from her, and it set her mind to worrying. She had put her faith in him from the beginning just as Iona had asked, and the thought that he couldn’t be trusted wrenched her stomach.

  “Have you ever heard of the Druids?” he suddenly asked.

  “Druids? Nay. What are they?”

  For several heartbeats he stared ahead, and she thought he had refused to answer when he said, “They are healers, seers and the like. Some say they hold the magic of Scotland.”

  “You speak as though you must say those words yet you don’t seem to believe them.” She regretted her words as pain flashed through his eyes.

  “Rest,” he commanded, and pushed her head against him.

  Emotions, strange and unmistakable in their intensity, raged within her. But one question stuck out—was Conall her savior and the man Iona had mentioned or another jailer?

  The image of a tall, beautiful woman wearing a white gown with blonde hair and green eyes beckoned her. Glenna blinked and the image vanished as quickly as it had come.

  * * * * *

  Conall waged a war within himself. The Druids already called to her, but if she never knew she was a Druid, he wouldn’t have to break a vow. Of course, the mere fact he was thinking this way didn’t bode well for his honor.

  They would come for her. Unless she refused them.

  His mind latched on to that thought. If she refused them, he didn’t have to protect her and his honor would stay intact. All he had to do was turn her against the Druids, which wouldn’t be hard since he was still upset at their refusal to help find Iona.

  His thoughts turned to his clan. He had to keep Glenna safe. Not just from the Druids but from his own people. They would take one look at the MacNeil plaid and God only knew what would happen next. The hostility from his own soldiers had grown instead of lessened as he had hoped.

  There was no deception in her golden-brown eyes. Only honesty and truth resided there, but his clan wouldn’t see that.

  She sighed and nestled closer to him, and his body screamed to taste her lips, her body. He knew she was untouched, and the fact no other had tasted her only made him burn stronger for her. Her hips moved to find a more comfortable position, but all they did was rub against his heated, aching cock, inflaming his growing desire.

  It was such a strong craving that it took all his will to tamp it down. No woman had ever held such power over him, and that’s exactly what she had, though she didn’t know it. And wouldn’t know it if he had any say in it.

  “Conall.”

  He looked over his shoulder to see Angus rein his horse next to his. His friend’s forehead was lined with worry, and that wasn’t a good sign. “Something amiss?”

  “Aye,” his friend said. “The men want revenge for the trap.”

  “In other words, they want Glenna.”

  Angus nodded. “I’ve told them ye’ll do what’s right, but hatred for the MacNeils runs long and deep.”

  “So it has, but when has any man from the MacInnes clan ever laid a hand on a woman? It won’t start now, either. Make sure of it. If anyone harms her, they’ll answer to me.”

  Angus smiled and turned his head to spit. “I’ve been waiting for that MacInnes temper to show itself. Felt it was safe with the lass asleep?”

  Conall rolled his eyes heavenward and prayed for patience. “You’d drive a saint to madness.”

  “I do try.” Angus’ expression turned serious. “I’ve never known a lass to willingly turn herself over to the enemy. Ye don’t think the MacNeil is using her as a spy, do ye?”

  “There’s no deceit in her.”

  “So yer gift comes in handy once again, aye?” Angus chuckled.

  Conall reached over and punched him in the arm. “Enough.”

  “I don’t know why ye keep it secret,” Angus said, and rubbed his arm.

  “There’s no secret. I don’t have any type of gift, so leave it be.”

  Angus tsked. “Yer mother told me ye’d deny it. It’s been in yer family for generations. Don’t fight it. Yer sister didn’t.”

  It only took one look from Conall to silence any more words Angus might have.

  “I’m not going to apologize. Ye need to talk about it,” Angus stated. “I just came to tell ye I’d make sure the lass was safe when ye couldn’t.”

  “I knew I could count on you.”

  Angus spun his horse around. Conall knew he would take the end position to watch the men. Damn. He glanced at Glenna. At least she hadn’t heard any of the exchange with Angus.

  A gift. He snorted.

  He didn’t have a gift. It was a curse. As far back as he could remember his mother had told him and Iona tales of the Druids and their ways. Magical tales—and it had filled his head with thoughts a lad shouldn’t have.

  He had even grown up thinking he would be a Druid priest as well as his clan’s leader. Fate, it seemed, had other ideas for him. But Iona had only one dream—to become a Druid priestess.

  Every year she and their mother would venture into the woods and not come out for weeks. Iona’s entire life had been centered around the Druids while his had been on the clan.

  His father even advised him to marry a Druid to make his line stronger. All would have gone as their parents planned if Iona hadn’t disappeared, and the very people she sought to follow refused to help him.

  The drivel the Druids had told him about her fulfilling her destiny only made him want to gnash his teeth. It went beyond comprehension why the Druids couldn’t just say what they meant. Nay, everything was said in verses that would take the average man years to decipher.

  Anger stirred within his heart until they crested a hill and he pulled up on the reins. Home.

  The MacInnes castle had been built four hundred years before, and with every laird a new section had been added to the already considerable size. From the original donjon to the two square and four round towers.

  He should be finishing the stone walkway his father had wanted from the castle to the loch and finding a wife. Instead, his only thought
had been of Iona and the vow to his mother.

  From his vantage point atop a hill he had a clear view of the surrounding land and castle. A swift glance told him no enemy was near. Yet.

  He raised his hand and motioned for his men to follow as he nudged his horse. The quick step of the horse jarred Glenna awake.

  “We’re home, lass.”

  Chapter Four

  Glenna sucked in her breath at the brief view she had of the castle. It had been built into the cliffs, which aided in its defense as well as the loch that surrounded two sides and gentle, rolling hills on the other two.

  Now she knew why the MacNeil wanted it. Not only was it beautiful, it was well defended. No one could attack without being seen by the guards from the castle. When Conall nudged his horse into a walk, she settled herself more comfortably to ease the ache in her legs. The sky had begun to darken. She hadn’t realized she had slept that long.

  It wasn’t until the horse veered right that she asked, “The castle is straight. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” was all he said.

  So she focused on the spot between the horse’s ears to detach herself from the excruciating agony and told herself it was just a little longer before she would be off the beast.

  A droplet of water landed on her hand and brought her out of her daze. Darkness met her gaze and an abyss opened its mouth as they entered.

  “It’s just a cave,” Conall said, his voice low and soothing as if he had felt her fear.

  Just a cave. Ha. “I can’t go in there. Don’t take me in there,” she pleaded as she turned around until she almost faced him. She hadn’t even tried to hide the fact she was terrified.

  The thought of spiders dangling from the ceiling as they waited to crawl over her stopped any pretense she might have tried to use. She was petrified, and she must make Conall understand that to bring her in the cave would be bringing her into a living nightmare.