Belonging to a Highlander

by K. M. Patterson

  Hugh narrowed his gaze on her. "How do you ken all that?" he asked.

  "Even nuns talk," she spat, thrusting her hands to her hips and giving him a self-righteous glare. "How dare you? How could you accept such orders? To take a young, innocent woman from the safety of an abbey and use her to bring harm to her clan?"

  Hugh opened his mouth to answer, but thought better. He brought a hand up to rake through his hair. "I am sorry, lass," he said after a moment. "I am unfortunately bound by a debt."

  Those words were a reminder of his original reluctance when McAlison first came to him, and felt like a noose closing about his neck. "A debt is a debt. I do'na expect you to understand. All too often one can'na control when or how a due is to be paid."

  "Aww," she made a pouting face at him. "The solemnity in your tone almost makes me feel a hint of pity for you. Spoken like a true mercenary, by the way."

  Hugh narrowed his eyes and shook his head at her impudence. He should have known he and this lass could not remain in one another's company long before he felt like strangling her again, even if she were meant for the church.

  She was right though, and her words chafed. "I'm no a mercenary anymore. I have washed my hands of my former life." Hugh turned his glower on her to pensive speculation. "Now, I thought women of the cloth were supposed to be forgiving."

  "They are."

  He paused a moment, watching her. Thoughts of her hellish antics over the last month sifted through his mind. He straightened, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "And for a moment I felt a hint of pity for you as weel. More the fool am I, lass. You have played your last move on me."

  A silent giggle shook her delicate shoulders, and her laughter reflected in her gaze. "What move do you speak of?"

  "You're no novice," Hugh accused, his brogue rumbling with anger once more.

  "Nay, I never said I was."

  "But you allowed me to think it."

  She shrugged.

  "Who are you then?" Hugh took two giant steps before she could move and grasped her by the shoulders, doing what he had wanted for a long time. He gave her a shake, repeating with another and another, but she only let her head fall back and she laughed. Damn her, but she laughed at him, and the husky tone of her laughter did unexpected things.

  The sound reverberated through him and calmed the beast welling up inside his soul. Dia, but he wanted to both strangle and forgive her in the same moment.

  She had unknowingly saved him from completing a task he had never wanted to be a part of, even if it cost him his freedom from his debt.

  "I'll have my answer now," he thundered, minimally aware her hands now gripped his shoulders, her fists balled in the fur lining of his cloak.

  He wasn’t sure why he'd had her brought into his tent for privacy when likely the whole camp heard this little spat.

  "Do you stop shaking me so, mayhap I'll tell you, but you're no going to like what I have to say." She glared down on him.

  Hugh regained some control and glared back. He had not realized he had picked the lass up and held her at eye level. She tilted her head and gave a brief look to the ground before turning back toward him. He gave her a growl for good measure before setting her back to her feet.

  Once she had righted herself, she dusted off her habit as if he had gotten her dirty merely by touching her.

  "Insolent ninny," Hugh grumbled, turning to pace once more.

  "Mauling ogre," she said under her breath.

  Hugh gave her a sharp look. "Why would you risk everything for someone else?"

  "There was no risk. I have nothing to lose," she answered, her tone flat.

  Her casualty about her claim left him to believe she truly meant exactly that.

  "Nay?" he asked, lifting a brow and folding his arms over his chest.

  "Nay," she said. Standing tall, crossing her arms over her chest, too, and matching his posture. Everything about her stance spoke confidence. She tilted her chin at him and met his eyes, unaffected by his cool glare. "Tamsin had everything to lose."

  "And what would that be? We both ken her situation. Her betrothal was nothing more than what most lasses can expect."

  "Until her brother killed her betrothed and a feud broke oot." She swallowed and shook her head. She looked rattled for a brief moment. "You have no idea the danger you would have placed her in in McAlison's hands."

  Concern sharpened his senses, and a degree of anger with the lass fell away. "Someone meant to kill her after I brought her home?" Could it be he knew less than he thought of the situation? He wouldn’t put much past McAlison, not after the recent request the other laird had made of him.

  "Nay." She scoffed at him, but then seemed to think about his question a moment and truly looked horrified. Her hand fell to her belly as though to nurse a sickening feeling. "At least that is no what we surmised. We thought you were there to take her to the McAlison to wed him since the betrothal to his son was rescinded by the young McAlison's death." She crossed herself.

  The very idea unnerved Hugh. He had not thought of that possibility. McAlison was an old lecher, but surely not. Hugh scowled deeply at her. "So you would have wed McAlison in her stead?"

  She scoffed at that. "Nay, of course no."

  Hugh shook his head. "Weel, I could care no less than I already do for all the possibilities as to how this might have played oot. However, I do wish to ken why a lass of your age and birth found herself living in an abbey under the care of the sisters, but does no mean to take vows of her own, yet has nothing to lose. Who are you?"

  The stiffening of her back and the unease in her expression told him she had backed herself into a corner, and she had nowhere else to go with their conversation to distract him any further. Not with his claim of uncaring.

  Satisfaction radiated throughout Hugh. He had vanquished the wee hellion's bluster at last.

  She turned on him, her complexion fading a shade. "I'm no your concern, that's who. Return me to the abbey and let the pair of us be done with one another."

  Hugh snorted, fed up with her tenacity. "The moment you pretended to be someone you weren't and caused me to lose a verra dangerous game, you became my concern. So, lass, you can tell me what I wish to ken or I'll be obligated to turn you over my knee until you are forced to scream your name at me."

  Chapter Three

  She looked alarmed. "I'll tell you nothing, Hugh McCross," she said on a whisper, watching his heavy-booted approach. When his fingers sank into her flesh, she bit back a wince.

  He took in every detail about her as she twisted in discomfiture. "Do'na force my hand, lass."

  "Och, fine." She relented, pushing at his chest. "My name is Catriona of Clan McBruiey. I'm the bastard daughter of the late Laird Gregor McBruiey."

  Hugh cocked his head to the side with a smile spreading sardonically. "Now, that was'na so hard, was it? I shall be returning you to your laird at once. If he so wishes, he can return you to the abbey. Perhaps punish you first for your mischief."

  Hugh dropped her and started for the opening in the tent to call Alaric.

  McBruiey, he thought to himself.

  He stopped mid-stride, facing the tent flap. For a long moment, he stared at the slash in the dark leather without moving. He wasn’t sure he so much as breathed, and at that moment, he wished he could simply stop breathing, for doing so would make this matter all the easier of a sudden.

  "You said McBruiey?" he asked tightly.

  "I was like Tamsin, you ken." Her voice went quiet at his back, softened by her sudden demure. "Being kept under the close care of the sisters of the abbey until marriage." Catriona sighed. "My situation is a mite different, for I do'na have a betrothed, yet…" Her words fell off.

  The thickness in the air between them forced Hugh to turn his head, to look at her over his shoulder. He hoped she might offer some sign he had the right to breathe again, for some small indication he had indeed heard wrong, but she didn’t, and all he saw was red as his lungs began
to burn.

  She fidgeted under his stare, first with her hands and then her hair and at last clasped her arms at her back and let her eyes fall to the floor.

  "McBruiey," he said again, his brogue thickened considerably around the name. "You are connected to the bloody King of Scotland."

  She insouciantly tipped her head to the side as she swayed back and forth at the hips, her hands clasped at her back again. "Some say. Some deny any connection at all." When Hugh only stared at her, she offered a smile. "Och, 'tis all right, McCross. My father was the bastard brother of the king, as I said, and I am only the bastard daughter of another bastard." She shrugged. "No one gives a care aboot me." She smiled at him, at the same time shaking her head. "Except for my half-brother, Laird McBruiey. He cares a whole lot."

  "Fook me," Hugh took in a giant breath and with it let out a string of curses a lass who'd lived most of her life in a abbey had no right to hear, and probably didn’t know the meaning of when she heard them.

  Her cheeks blossomed anyway. "You’ve naught to fear."

  "Dia!" The one syllable rushed out on an exasperated breath. "What have you done to me, lass?" Hugh gripped the pole in the middle of the tent for support, not caring if he toppled the whole damn thing down on them. "Your father is rumored to have been closer to the king than his full-blooded kin. King MacAlpin granted the mon his most bountiful lands for Chriost's sake."

  "Aye, and pretty my brother's lands are, too. Perhaps you should have thought aboot that before spiriting lasses off in the middle of the night from an abbey." A melancholy expression crossed her then. "I've no seen home since my brother became laird when my father passed on." She crossed herself. "And I suppose it shall be a time yet before I see home again." She sounded hopeful.

  Hugh swallowed down the nerves wracking him. "Why…" He cleared his throat. "Why were you in the abbey then?"

  She glanced up at him through her lashes, but turned and continued to peruse his things. "Waitin' on a betrothal, I suppose."

  "Chriost's blood," Hugh muttered. The lass was important, to her brother anyway. Perhaps to the king, too. Important enough that someone had hidden her away at an abbey and kept her pure for marriage. He swallowed hard.

  He harbored not one care that she was of illegitimate birth. Likely, the king didn’t either. The widespread speculation was that MacAlpin highly favored her father, and thusly the man's son—and surely even his bastard daughter.

  Catriona might think she would not be seeing home again so soon, but he had no choice but to take her there at once to explain to Laird McBruiey what had happened.

  And at present, he would like nothing more than to squelch those ridiculous ideas of hers that she could simply scurry back to the abbey without notice and return to life as normal.

  A strained, desperate sound escaped him.

  As though her flight of fancy across Scotland for the past month had not happened.

  "I ken you are worried my brother shall force you to wed me now, highlander. 'Tis no need to take me to him." Catriona came a step closer. "Take me back to the care of the sisters and none need ken what has transpired."

  Hugh snorted. "Lass, you are truly addled if you think your brother shall no find oot."

  "'Twas my decision and I would make the same again. Tamsin is my closest friend. We grew up as close as any sisters might."

  Hugh glowered at her. "Why?" he stressed.

  She scoffed aloud, with an expected bluntness. "Is that really a question? As I told you, when you attacked, we kenned who you were there for. Tamsin, scared oot of her skin, kenned what would happen if she were taken. As did I."

  Hugh frowned. "You should'na ken of these things, lass. And to place yourself in such danger was foolish!"

  Catriona looked at him, her gaze cuttingly sharp. Her chin rose, and she narrowed her eyes on Hugh even more. "What I did might have been foolish, aye, but it was Tamsin's only chance. We heard aboot her brother being taken to the McAlison for punishment. He is most likely dead, as the McAlison claims. Wasn’t his death enough?" Tears brimmed in her eyes.

  Hugh rubbed his chin in thought, but did not answer. "That wasn't my determination to make," he said at last. "Because of this little plan of yours, you have left me with little choice." Hugh turned for the tent opening.

  "And what choice will that be?" she asked, clearly alarmed. Those words were the first ounce of hesitation Hugh had heard from her.

  He pushed open the flap and stuck his head into the cold night. "Alaric," he called. The man stepped forward from where he had been waiting and came to the opening. Hugh retreated into the tent, so Alaric might take the woman, before walking halfway inside to look at Catriona. "Take the lass back to her tent and post an extra guard around the area. She's no to leave her quarters for any reason. In the morn, we ride for McBruiey lands."

  "Nay." Catriona shook her head and started for Hugh. "Nay," she shouted again. Before she could reach him, Alaric lurched for her, but Catriona skirted him.

  Hugh held up a hand to stay Alaric a moment. He looked into wild, blue eyes as Catriona came toe-to-toe with him. "Lass, I must make amends to your brother before I have a blood-feud on my hands." He threw his hands upward. "Do you no see that I have enough of a feud to deal with? One that is'na even my own!"

  "Take me back to Atholl." Her plea wrenched around Hugh's heart.

  "'Twas my mistake—"

  "You ken we are as good as wed if you take me home." Her eyes grew bright again as she slapped at Alaric's hand closing around her arm. She searched Hugh's gaze.

  She meant to scare him off. The ploy of a woman's tactics was not lost on him.

  "—a mistake I surely regret, but I'll no flee like a coward from this mess I created," Hugh said. "I will no leave you to bear a burden of shame for my error. I should have kenned you were no the McLaren lass."

  Alaric took hold of her arm then and began to steer her from the tent, but she pulled back, digging in her heels and stalling. With a grunt, Alaric hefted her up, his arm clamped about her waist and Catriona kicked her feet and pulled at his arm to no avail.

  "Do'na do this, McCross! There is no need."

  Hugh held up a hand once again and came closer. When he reached her, he took her imprudent little chin in his fingers and tilted the delicate angle of her jaw just so, just as she had done on her own so many times before. He stared into her eyes, enjoying the look of apprehension on her pretty face. "Mayhap this shall teach you a lesson, Catriona McBruiey. And God willing, mayhap we will leave one another's company the same way we entered it."

  "And that is?" she asked.

  "Unattached." Hugh let go abruptly, his fingers dragging off her skin. He nodded to Alaric. "Take her."

  "Remove your mauling hands from me, barbarian…" Her shrewish words faded, and Hugh remained planted at the entrance of his tent.

  By God, he did not want to be a husband. Not yet. And especially not to that woman.

  Chapter Four

  Of course, the bloody day was bloody brilliant. It had to be, to behold such a beautiful bloody keep. Hugh felt a stab of envy as they approached the walls surrounding the McBruiey fortress, nestled against the backdrop of an ice-patched Loch Kincaid and a swath of low rising mountains—what highlanders from further north would consider wee hills—that made a crescent around the back of the loch.

  Alaric flanked him, and behind rode a score of his men, followed by the baggage wain carrying Catriona, and at the back of the procession the rest of his men.

  The steady clip-clop of hooves at a plodding four-beat gait unraveled his insides more than their slow approach to the keep aided him. The steady rhythm was like the beat of a soul stirring drum leading up to a man's execution.

  The midnight black of his beastly steed stood in stark contrast against the heaps of snow pushed to the sides of the winding road, all traces of snow disappearing between gravelly rocks.

  Again, Hugh felt a fist in his gut upon seeing the keep, at the sight of its inhabitan
ts stopping in their tasks to view their steady advance. His apprehension had only increased in the days that had passed since they left McLaren's lands and came to a bursting head as the tall, stone keep rose higher above them.

  They rode on until they passed through the gates, unchecked by any McBruiey since he had sent riders ahead to herald their approach. Then the moment came when his stomach felt as though it fell straight from his body, suddenly and without forewarning, to the ground, and his destrier trampled it into the rocks at the sight of the angry laird bursting from the heavy doors of the keep.

  Hugh almost halted at the sight of a furious Jamie McBruiey.

  The man appeared to be in a rage as he flew from the steps of his keep, no tartan or cloak to shield him from the cold, and came to a stop in the courtyard, his hands on his hips and his long legs with booted feet braced apart.

  "Hugh McCross," Jamie roared.

  Hugh swallowed a curse and glanced to Alaric, who shrugged, suppressing a smile.

  Damn that woman!

  "I believe he is no excited to see us," Alaric said, jauntily.

  Hugh urged his horse into a trot. Better to have this over and done with, no need to draw-out his suffering any longer than he had to. Yet he had a distinct feeling Laird McBruiey would demand a lifetime of suffering from him once he found out what had happened to his sister.

  The marital kind of suffering.

  Hugh and his men pooled into the courtyard, and as Hugh dismounted, he caught Alaric's stare. "Go and fetch her, but give me a moment to speak with the laird firs—"

  "Jamie!" a female voice cried, partly muted by the throngs of his men.

  Hugh shut his eyes hard as Catriona rushed past him, the breeze her lithe body stirred wafting his hair into his eyes.

  Hugh let out a string of muttered curses. With a growl, he turned to watch as brother and sister reunited in a tight hug in which Catriona's feet left the ground.

  In truth, Hugh considered himself a large man. He rose at least a head over others, and it was rare he met another who matched his height—as this Laird McBruiey did.