Belonging to a Highlander

by K. M. Patterson

  "Get on," he ordered.

  ****

  Catriona screamed against the wad of material in her mouth, a strip tied tightly around her head to muffle her protests. She dropped to the ground in a heap. The muffled grunt of Tamsin being dumped roughly next to her came softly at her ear. The odious man had bound her hands at her back, and her legs were tangled in her skirt under her, confining her movement. Catriona struggled to rise off the cold, damp ground to her knees.

  The forest floor held an earthy smell of fungus in the dense undergrowth where she had been deposited. Night had come now in full, she was sure, and the wild things stirred somewhere in the distance creating an eerie ambiance.

  A strong hand on her shoulder pressed her back down to sitting.

  A sudden yank brought the cloth sack off her head, and she suddenly came face to face with the man responsible for abducting them. She glanced to her side and found Tamsin. A similar sack was yanked from her head as well. Ready to speak with her now, he gave a tug to the cloth covering her mouth and it fell away.

  Catriona spat, her mouth dry. "I remember you," she said on a ragged gasp. "McAlison's guard. You stared back at me that day at the keep, and I wondered if you had figured me oot."

  He was a middle-aged man with graying red curls dangling to his ears. He had a hooknose and thin lips. He wasn't an overly large man and struck her as an odd choice for a guard.

  "Aye, 'tis right." He flicked a finger between the women. "Now which of you is she?"

  Tamsin cast a sidelong look at Catriona. "Is she who?"

  "The Tamsin McLaren everyone's been looking for." He cast his arms out with irritation. "The whole bloody kingdom is looking for her. So, now which one of you is she?"

  "What makes you think either of us is Tamsin McLaren?"

  He snorted. "I'm no an addled fool, lass. You wed the mercenary who absconded with you from the abbey. Now, he said he had the wrong lass, but mayhap he wanted you all for himself. I thought I had this all figured oot, that was 'til I heard the rumors."

  "Rumors?" Tamsin asked.

  "Aye, that the lass's friend took her place and left with McCross. They say 'tis the only reason why McLaren would no surrender. Mighty good friend one has there to risk everything, her status, her betrothal to a prince, her virtue."

  Tamsin shot Catriona a sharp look.

  "If I had such a friend I'd want to save her now to repay the favor."

  Tamsin glanced to the man's dirk in his hand as he pointed the sharp end at each in turn. Catriona followed the blade with her eyes.

  "Seems we have come full circle," Catriona said under her breath. "Fine then. I'm Catriona McCross."

  "Nay, I'm Catriona," Tamsin said, catching on.

  The man's face lit up with a crooked toothed smile for a split second then looked slowly between them. He issued a short bark of laughter. "Now, now. No games. One of you is Tamsin. I'll be kenning the truth of the matter, lassies."

  "Nay," Catriona laughed lightly, ignoring him. She cast a look at Tamsin and stiffened her back, lifting her chin at him. "You'll no take my place any longer. I'll no suffer at McAlison's hands. 'Tis I who is Catriona McCross."

  "Do'na try to usurp me! 'Tis I. I am Catriona."

  "Nay, a good friend would no let another suffer in her place. 'Tis why I could no allow you to go in my stead before, and I'll no let you now."

  "Nay, this addled mon shall see the truth. The rumors were true, and this one has stolen my identity foolishly."

  Catriona struggled forward on her knees to face the man with all sincerity. "I am Catriona."

  "Nay, I am. I am Catriona McCross, married to the highland mercenary, and she—if you must ken the truth—is my handmaiden," Tamsin insisted.

  "Enough!" the man blustered. His eyes darted between them. "You're both daft. I shall allow my master to sort this oot. If I am certain of anything—" he pointed his dirk at them both, "'tis that one of you is Tamsin McLaren, and tomorrow you shall either tell us which truthfully, or the laird just may wed you both. The laird shall get what he desires." He leaned in close. "In flesh now."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  "Laird! Laird!"

  Hugh turned at the sound of an alarmed voice. "What is it?" he called as the guards rushed from across the hall. Dread pinched his gut at their appearance. "Where is my wife? Where is Catriona?" He stepped forward to meet the man head-on and grasped him by the shoulders. "I charged you with her care, to take her to and from the kirk, so now where is she?"

  The man swallowed and closed his eyes. "Aye, then she wanted to look in at the garden on the way back."

  Hugh released a pent up breath and released the man to rake his hands through his hair.

  "What happened?" Alaric growled, coming to Hugh's side.

  "I do'na ken!" the man shouted back. He scratched his head. "They were there one moment and gone the next. We were no even at the garden a handful of minutes."

  "Unless a sorcerer spirited them away in a spell," Alaric said, "then someone must have seen something."

  The guard gave Alaric a furious glare.

  Gilbert poked his way into the men then. "What's happened?" he asked with nonchalance, gaining no response.

  "Then Lady McLaren is missing, too?" Hugh asked. The sickening dread piercing his heart tightened his throat, too.

  "What's this?" a voice asked at his back.

  Hugh turned to find McGrady there and suddenly regretted having the man stay outside the keep. He should have had him guarding the women.

  Hugh took the other man by the shoulder, turning to steer them out of the hall. The men standing with them followed. "Look for them both," Hugh ordered. "Gilbert, find Malcolm to aid in the search."

  Tobin stopped. "Do'na tell me someone has taken them." His fury flashed in slate-gray eyes.

  Hugh hesitated, dreading the worse that was to come. "Let us hope no. I shall search the garden where they disappeared. You go into the kirk and ask the priest if they doubled back. My wife kens better than to leave the walls, but it would'na be the first time she's disobeyed."

  Hugh took all of two steps before Alaric appeared with a bloodied man hanging from his side. Alaric slumped the man onto the ground against the steps leading up to the keep. "He's one of Jamie's men."

  "What's happened?" Hugh asked with alarm, kneeling before the injured man.

  "My laird sent me to warn you." He coughed, and blood stained his lips. He panted around a swell of pain and squeezed his eyes tight until it abated. "McAlison is coming here next. After McLaren's fall, the McAlison became mad with outrage that he still has'na obtained McLaren's lands. He is coming for Tamsin, but—" he reached and grabbed Hugh's tunic, "he truly believes your lady wife is the other lass."

  Hugh ran a hand over his mouth. "Nay," he breathed the word and shook his head.

  "We can'na find them anywhere, milord," a voice called.

  "Whoever took them does'na ken who is the real Tamsin McLaren," Hugh said. "How did Laird McBruiey come by this information?" he asked. "How do I ken if you are truly Laird McBruiey's mon?" Hugh narrowed his eyes on the warrior.

  Gilbert stepped around then. "He's no one of ours. I've never laid eyes on this mon in my life."

  Hugh came alert then, truly and fully, throwing back an arm to keep Gilbert back. "Do'na say another word," he cautioned. "Take this mon into custody. He may be a spy working for McAlison."

  "Nay," the injured man shouted. He struggled to sit up, swifter than he had entered the keep with his injuries. "You ken me," he shouted at Gilbert. "How dare you betray me this way!"

  "I've no seen you in my life," Gilbert said, balling his fists and stepping closer.

  Hugh's dagger came to the man's throat. "I'll tell you this, I love my lady wife and I'm the kind of mon one does no want to push to extremes." He edged forward, toward the man, leaning in until he could feel the McAlison man's breath on his cheek. "I'll go to extremes to protect what is mine and I'll go to the same lengths to find oot where both
women have been taken. Lock him away," Hugh commanded, rising and lifting the warrior by his leather vest all at once, then shoved him into Tobin.

  "This is'na right. Laird McBruiey will vouch for me. Send word to him if you want to ken the truth. Our keep has been attacked again."

  Tobin took the wounded man and propelled him forward, up the steps. The man stumbled and fell, but Tobin was quick to right that.

  Hugh turned to Gilbert with a leveled stare. "Have all Jamie's men guard the prisoner, for I shall need every one of my own men at my disposal." He stepped closer to Gilbert. "Do. No. Fail. Me." His words were a clearly pronounced warning.

  Gilbert shook his head furiously before stumbling around Hugh to gather Jamie's warriors.

  Hugh's insides quivered with fear. Never before had he been truly frightened, but now his woman was in clear danger, in the hands of his enemy, stolen from his own keep.

  How?

  A sinking feeling came over him, a helpless consuming feeling.

  The wife he had not wanted was gone. Taken. He would destroy McAlison for this. He would crush that man until there was nothing left, until bone and blood were no more. Rage engulfed Hugh like never before, and he whirled for the stables, the lad Seth already heading to meet him.

  In the flash of that moment, Hugh realized Catriona was now worth everything to him. He imagined being without her for even a brief fracture of time, and also realized he would go stark raving mad without his wife. The surge of possessiveness both enraged and scared him. His love for her opened a weak spot in his defenses, left a chink in his armor, and McAlison had played on that.

  Well, he was quite mad now. And McAlison would feel every bit of his rage.

  He would gather his men and ride out at once.

  One last mission remained.

  He owed a debt to McAlison.

  And there was now another way to strike out that remaining due.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Her breath rattled in her lungs as their captor prodded Catriona along, giving her a hard shove at the back when she stilled upon seeing the laird sitting high upon his dais. After a cruel night spent without cover on the cold, wet forest floor she would surely be ill in no time.

  The hall was in no way busy, looked all but deserted. There was no hearth to warm them, only a brazier set beside the laird. A musty smell assaulted her nose, and Catriona looked to her feet, to the grimy rushes she walked on, and grimaced.

  McAlison had not noticed them, yet. Two men with hands on the hilts of their swords stood on each side of their laird. One warrior bent to quickly whisper to him.

  Behind the men on the dais stood a young woman, perhaps Bess's age, but the poor thing appeared half-starved and unclean. She had soot and dirt smeared on one cheek and wore patched clothing. Her stringy hair fell over her shoulders, and dark rings formed under her eyes on the pale skin of her face.

  No wonder McAlison had desperately needed the marriage between his son and Tamsin. For her dowry only.

  With Tamsin at Catriona’s side, the man who had stolen them ushered them all the way to the first step of the raised platform.

  McAlison watched them intently now and laughed boisterously, clapping his hands when they came to a stop before the first step.

  He looked delighted. In a sickening way.

  "Weel, weel. Turns oot the rumors were true." He stood from his seat, taking one more drink from his goblet, and then setting the drink away. He dragged the cuff of his sleeve across his beard before placing his hands on wide hips, his frightening blue eye never leaving them.

  He was an older man, much older than Hugh, even though they had been comrades of sorts at one time. He wore a dark cloth tied over his right eye to hide the scarring, which was perhaps the only aspect of his appearance that looked orderly. His dark leather vest hung low over trews, but the most striking thing was he wore no boots or covering of any kind on his feet.

  It was then she noticed the silent wolfhound at those bare feet, a thick tail whacking the rushes and sending up a small cloud of dirt with each thump.

  Catriona's eyes stuck on the hound a moment, and her brow furrowed before she looked back up the towering man. He was tall anyway, despite standing a good five feet above them on the dais.

  His gray hair was as unkempt as his hall, spilling in tangled waves over his shoulders, and she wondered if he was as flea-ridden as the wolfhound.

  The poor serving lass stood behind her laird, bearing a tray of food McAlison had been picking directly off of, a pile of bones scattered around the poor lass's feet, and she looked as though she were ready to fall asleep on the spot.

  Catriona gawked. Dawn had lit the sky shortly before their arrival at McAlison's gates. Had the serving lass been serving McAlison all night this way? The scene before them certainly said so.

  The thief, guard, spy—whoever the man was who had kidnapped them—bowed before McAlison. "Truth is, I do'na ken which of them is Tamsin McLaren, but one surely must be. They both claim to be Catriona McCross."

  McAlison came from the dais then, slowly, his eyes only on Tamsin. "'Tis easy enough to discern." He didn't stop until he was fully before her, a scant space separating McAlison from Tamsin.

  Catriona's eyes fell to Tamsin's sleeve, to the tremble of the cloth hanging from her wrist, her quick shallow breaths. She knew Tamsin would give up their charade and soon. She took a deep breath and glanced heavenward with a prayer. The mouse scurrying across the rafters did not surprise her.

  She shut her eyes tight.

  It was up to Hugh to find and rescue them, if yet he knew they were gone.

  "You are Tamsin McLaren," McAlison said, lifting a strand of midnight hair to rub against his cheek.

  Tamsin let out a small cry.

  "Nay, you are wrong," Catriona said quickly, too quickly.

  He stared at the strands a long moment, rubbing Tamsin's fine hair between calloused, dirty fingers. "My son's promised bride has arrived at long last. This could have all been too simple. No one had to die, but your brother…" He sighed heavily and dropped her hair. McAlison turned and stalked back to the dais to collect his goblet. He refilled the cup himself from a pitcher on the table and drank heavily.

  Catriona risked a look at Tamsin whilst McAlison distracted himself by selecting a piece of meat from the platter. She gave a shake of her head. They could yet buy some time with their charade if played correctly.

  When he came back down the steps, leisurely, he stopped to regard both women, summing them both up as he poked the morsel into his mouth. "I must have some recompense," he said around the meat.

  "Wasn't the death of my brother enough?" Catriona asked. She stepped forward with a slanted glare on the older man. Old enough to be either their fathers. "'Tis sickening what you plan."

  He shrugged, unmoved by Catriona's tactics, not believing her farce either and dismissing her. He looked around her to Tamsin. "I shall have your holdings, lass," he said to her, thrusting his goblet behind him until one of his men stepped down to take it. "Fetch my boots," he called over his shoulder to the same man. Then, with three quick strides he was on Catriona and grabbed her up by her hair before either woman expected a thing, especially since his focus until now had rested solely on Tamsin.

  She let out a screech of mingling pain and outrage, blindly gripping at his hand tangled in her hair.

  "Stop this," Tamsin cried.

  "Come with me to speak to your people, to the men still holding your father's lands for you. Tell them I am now their laird. You shall wed me and give me another heir—or I shall kill her. 'Tis your choice."

  "Do'na do it," Catriona screeched. She opened her eyes to look into Tamsin's frantic stare.

  "Remember the debt you owe this one." McAlison shook Catriona by the hair grasped in his fist, causing her to scream in pain.

  Her scalp hurt, and the pain only increased as his fist tightened. Catriona clamped her teeth to try to keep from screaming again, which would only serve to inf
lame Tamsin's fear further.

  "Do'na do it," Catriona repeated on broken pants, her throat tight with restricted pain. She came up on her tiptoes to lessen his pull. Her nails tore into McAlison's hand, and he laughed sickly against her ear, spittle wetting her neck. Catriona squeezed her eyes shut.

  "I'll have your word," he said to Tamsin.

  "Remember Hugh's debt. 'Tis how all this began in the first place. Do'na give him any word. Hugh shall come! We can wait this oot."

  "If I do'na give him my word, he will kill you. And me, too."

  "Do'na—"

  "Aye, I'll go with you," Tamsin said.

  "Now there's a good lass," McAlison said and tossed Catriona to the floor.

  Tamsin rushed to her, but McAlison grabbed Tamsin up by the wrist and flung her back. With heavy strides, he stepped over Catriona, took Tamsin by the arm, and pulled her along. "We ride for McLaren lands. Now! Lock up the other one until I return." He stepped into the boots dropped at his feet.

  Catriona had but a fleeting second to look at her friend before two guards were on her, hefting her from the floor, and chains clasped around her wrists.

  "My husband shall come," Catriona screamed. "And when he does, you shall pay for this dearly!"

  McAlison's stride broke, and he stopped, turning at the shoulder to glare at her, then spat on the ground. "Nay, lass. He shall no come soon enough. By then I'll have the McLaren stronghold to hide within." He turned and jerked Tamsin with him, his laughter filtering out of the hall as they departed.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It was Alaric to hold up his fist and bring their party to a halt in the middle of the wood this time.

  Light rain pattered down through the heavy canopy above and water could be heard in the distance spilling through a bourn carrying away the waters of melted snow and falling rain.

  Hugh drew up his mount beside Alaric in time to see the man point ahead. "What luck," Alaric commented.

  Hugh's eyes rounded on Tamsin sitting astride McAlison's mount with the devil himself behind her. She appeared worn and frantic. Her hands were bound before her and a cloth tied over her mouth.