Ann stroked the emerald pendant she wore around her neck. It had once belonged to her mother—a gift from her father to his bride on their wedding day. Her mother died in childbirth when Ann was only three, so her memories were vague. However, she did recall how much her father grieved when she passed.
“I am surprised your father dinna come to see you off,” Rowena said.
Not only were Ann and her father close, but he was very protective of her. Until today, he had never allowed her to leave on a journey without saying goodbye. But there was something different about this trip. He sent a missive rather than telling her in person of her visit to Ayrshire, and he had never sent such a large group of men to accompany her.
“Father did stop by my chamber to seem me early this morn and gave me this pendant.” She lifted the emerald for Rowena to see.
“How lovely.” Rowena took a moment to admire it, then scratched her head. “Strange he would request you dress like a servant, but would also ask you to wear jewels befitting a lady.”
“He told me it belonged to my mother and he thought it was time he gave it to me,” Ann explained, then tucked the emerald beneath the bodice of her dress. Rowena was right when she said the gown and necklace were an odd match. “Da did say he would come to see me off, but I suppose he must have had clan matters to attend to.”
Ann again peered out at the men assembled outside the cart. “I am amazed at the size of the garrison he is sending as an escort. It has doubled since last I looked, and seems like an unnecessary fuss to go to for a visit to my grandparents. I have been to Ayrshire many times, and he never before went to such lengths.”
“Mayhap times have changed,” a warrior said as he climbed inside the cart and took a seat across from Ann.
Ann stared at the heavily armed man and then at the one who climbed in after him. Her mind raced with questions. What could have changed between this morn and yesterday? Unless what Rowena said about the attack on the MacAllens is true and he feared for her safety.
She quickly dismissed the thoughts. Her father was an honorable man, and although he had always hated the rival clan, she didn’t believe he would condone the murder of women and bairns as they slept.
When another warrior climbed into the cart, Ann frowned. Something was definitely amiss, she could feel it in her gut. Torn between doing what her father ordered and her premonition, she fought the urge to push by the guards and return to the castle. If her father or the clan was in danger, she could not leave. Her place was by her father’s side.
However, after waiting what seemed like hours to depart, her dilemma was solved when the cart began to move. She had no choice now but to do as her father instructed and pray all would be fine when she returned.
The cart rocked as it rolled over the rough terrain, often jostling Ann in her seat. She could not remember ever having such a bumpy ride, nor did they usually travel at such a swift speed. After a couple of hours had passed, she looked at one of the guards. “Do you think the driver will stop soon? I wish to tend to my needs.”
“As do I,” Rowena said.
The guard grunted, then whispered something to the man sitting beside him.
“I will check.” The second man moved to the back of the cart and called to one of the warriors following behind them on horseback. “Could you find out when we might be stopping to rest the horses? The ladies need to relieve themselves.”
Ann felt a heated flush of embarrassment rise in her cheeks. This man had no manners and was certainly not discrete.
“We will know soon enough,” the man said, then returned to his seat.
After what seemed like an eternity, the cart slowed to a stop. A warrior pulled back the canvas and peered inside. “You only have ten minutes to do what needs to be done, then we will be off again. Best you get to it.” He helped Ann and Rowena out of the cart, then pointed to a thicket near a copse of trees about fifty feet away. “Yonder should be a good place. Be quick about it.”
While not what Ann considered ideal, the chosen spot did appear as if it might afford them some privacy. Even if it was surrounded by her father’s men. She linked her elbow with Rowena’s and whispered in her maid’s ear. “Best we do as he said and na dally. I dinna get the impression they were too pleased about stopping.”
The brief respite from the cart also gave them a chance to stretch their legs—something Ann desperately needed. She glanced at their surroundings and frowned. She had been to Ayrshire many times, but did not see any familiar landmarks. “Where are we?” She asked a passing warrior. “I dinna recognise this place, and so far, the ride has been much more uncomfortable than usual.”
“Likely because this is na the route we normally take to Ayrshire, m’lady,” the man said. “I apologize for your discomfort, but we are following the map your father sent. I will mention it to the captain of the garrison, but am na sure much can be done.” The man bowed then strode off before Ann could ask any more questions.
“Why do you think your da wanted us to take a different route to Ayrshire?” Rowena asked.
“I was wondering the same thing.” Anne stared at the man’s retreating form. This latest bit of information added to an ever-mounting list of questions she had about this journey, confirming her suspicion there was more to this trip than a visit to her grandparents.
“If you ladies wish to tend to your needs, best you stop woolgathering and see to it,” the guard who had been with them in the cart said. “We will na be stopping here for long. It is na—”
Ann shrieked when the man stopped speaking mid-sentence and clutched at an arrow protruding from his chest. He buckled to his knees, then fell face-first into the dirt. Terrified, she grabbed onto Rowena’s forearm, tugged her close, then wrapped her arm around her maid’s shoulder in a protective embrace. “What is happening,” she said, her voice trembling with fear. Her gaze darted around the clearing, looking for the person who released the arrow, but had no idea from which direction the fatal shot came. But it was not long after that several more arrows found their marks, and these came from all directions. They appeared to be surrounded.
“Come, Lady Ann, you must return to the cart at once.” Another of her father’s men clasped her wrist and dragged her across the clearing, with Rowena on their heel. The remainder of the MacRyan warriors ran about the clearing with weapons drawn and shouting.
“Who dares attack us?” Ann asked as she climbed into the cart—not at all sure it was a safe place, or a wise decision should the raid continue. In the middle of the clearing, they were a prime target.
“The MacAllens.” Their protector shoved Rowena into the cart as the clearing quickly became overrun by their assailants. Hordes of warriors, some on foot and some on horseback, came charging in from every direction, engaging her father’s men in battle. “Stay put, and dinna be afraid to use this if necessary.” He handed Ann a dagger before running off to join the fight.
Ann stared at the weapon in her hand, then dropped it on the seat beside her. Even if she did know how to use it, she feared should the enemy enter the cart, she did not stand a chance. Any attempt to defend herself, might infuriate her captor and make things even more unpleasant for her and Rowena.
The battle around them grew more intense, and as the sound of metal clashing against metal and men crying out in agony got louder, Rowena huddled closer to Ann’s side. “I fear they will violate us, then slit our throats should they win,” she sobbed. “I have heard how heartless and cruel the MacAllens are. Akin to the devil himself my da used to tell us when we were bairns.”
“You know as well as I, that my father’s men are the finest army in the Highlands. They will do all in their power to protect us and drive the blackguards off.” Ann hugged Rowena tightly and stroked her friend’s back to reassure her, but she had to admit the same thoughts had already crossed her mind.
She too was raised on tales of the MacAllen clan’s treachery. They were her father’s sworn enemy, and in his opinion th
e lowest form of vile creature imaginable. According to him, they looted, pillaged, and killed without mercy. Her father often declared that until a time came when not a single MacAllen existed, the Highland’s would be cursed.
If they were as bad as her father claimed, she could not understand how the King of Scotland could allow such a horrible, ruthless man like Laird MacAllen to retain his power and not do anything to stop or punish him. When she asked her father why, he said a day would come when they were wiped off the face of the earth and all of Scotland would rejoice. She had also been told that the laird’s son was even worse than his father. Ann shuddered at the idea of ever coming face-to-face with him and prayed her father’s men would emerge victorious. Unfortunately, she could not tamp down the mounting fear the MacRyans might lose and she and Rowena would be at Logan MacAllen’s mercy.
She again eyed the dagger, wondering if the choice was between being raped and tortured by the MacAllens and death, if she and Rowena might be better off killing themselves before they were captured.
Perhaps that was what the guard meant when he told me to use it if the need arose, Ann thought as she hugged Rowena tighter. She could never bring herself to do such a thing, no matter what lay ahead.
Rowena eased herself from Ann’s embrace and peered up at her mistress. “Do you think it is all over?”
Lost in her thoughts, Ann had not noticed that the noise outside the cart had stopped. “I dinna know. There is only one way to be certain.” She swallowed against the lump of fear in her throat, pulled back the canvas flap, then gasped and scrambled backward when she met the fiery glare of a MacAllen warrior.
A Rose Among Thistles
B.J. Scott
Chapter Five
“I’ve found what we came for, cousin!” The malevolent way the brawny, dark-haired MacAllen warrior was staring at her sent a shiver of trepidation up Ann’s spine. He was every bit as terrifying as she’d imagined, and was blocking their only means of escape.
“Get out, or I’ll come in after you.” When Ann didn’t move or respond, he climbed into the cart and reached for her.
Without thinking of the possible consequences of her action, her fingers curled around the handle of the dagger sitting on the seat beside her. “Lord forgive me,” she said then raised the weapon up in front of her. “Dinna come any closer. I am na afraid to use this.” She couldn’t believe she’d uttered those words, but could think of nothing else.
The man hesitated for a moment, then quickly grabbed her wrist before she could react and twisted it until she released the weapon. “Damned fool. You are lucky I dinna use it on you. Try something like that again, and I will.” He picked up the dagger and tucked it into his boot. “Which one of you is Ann MacRyan?”
“I am.” Rowena rose before Ann could reply. “If it is me you have come for, be done with it and leave my maid be. Harming her will serve no purpose.”
Ann was both touched and angered by Rowena’s selflessness, and she was not about to let this barbarian take her friend in her stead. “She is na telling the truth. I am Lady Ann MacRyan.”
The man scratched his head and glanced from one woman to the other, scowling. “Given the way you are both dressed, it is hard to determine which of you is a lady and which is a servant. But it really doesna matter. If I take you both, I will be sure of getting the right one.” He drew his sword and rested the tip of the blade under Rowena’s chin and lifted it until their eyes met. “If I had my way, I would kill you both now and be done with it, but my cousin told me to bring you to him alive. So, either you get out of the cart now, or I will have to break my promise to him.”
There was no mistaking the sincerity of the man’s threat and the contempt in his eyes spoke volumes. Ann nodded toward the back of the cart. “Best we do as he says, Rowena.” She said her maid’s name, hoping the warrior would hear and know which of them was the woman he’d come for.
“Wise advice.” He lowered his blade and moved aside, allowing the women to pass. “I will warn you in advance that there are armed men waiting outside the cart so dinna try to run.”
Ann figured as much, and even if no one was waiting for them, she doubted they could outrun the man threatening them now. Rowena stumbled and fell as she tried to move to the back of the cart, but Ann quickly helped her to her feet. “Try to be brave. I am sure my father will send help once he learns what happened,” she whispered in her maid’s ear.
“Get moving. The sooner you are presented to my cousin, the laird of Clan MacAllen, the sooner we can get this over and done.” He glanced at the roof of the cart and made the sign of the cross. “You will be avenged soon, my love.”
The momentary switch from an expression of anger to one of sorrow on the man’s face touched Ann on a deep level, leading her to believe that beneath his gruff exterior beat the broken heart of a man who had obviously lost someone he held dear. Where he not threatening to kill her, she might have felt some sympathy for him.
Ann climbed from the cart and immediately clutched a hand to her throat and sucked in a quick gulp of air at the sight of the lifeless bodies of her father’s men covering the ground. Many of them she had known since she was a bairn. She noted very few of the MacAllen warriors among the dead, and as warned, there was an army of enemy warriors surrounding them.
While they were all strangers and looked very much alike in their padded gambesons, leather helmets, and chainmail, to Ann, one man did stand out amongst them. A tall, handsome, extremely well-muscled, raven-haired warrior, carrying a jewel-handled claymore, bearing what she recognised as the MacAllen clan crest stalked toward them. The closer he got, the more he reminded her of a wildcat on the prowl. She also noticed a blood-soaked rag wrapped around his upper left arm, so she assumed he’d been wounded in the skirmish.
Determined not to cower before her enemy, she squared her shoulders and choked back a sob of despair she felt for the loss of so many of her father’s men. She raised her chin and addressed the man she assumed was Logan MacAllen. “I am Ann MacRyan,” she said, but despite her efforts, she was unable to hide the tremor of fear in her voice.
“Kneel when speaking to your captor.” The warrior who removed them from the cart shoved Ann from behind, causing her to stumble and drop to her knees. “We have done what we set out to do, Logan. May I now kill her and avenge my beloved Jenna?”
“Na yet, Brodie.” Logan raised his hand and glared at his cousin. He knew how grief-stricken and revenge-driven Brodie was, and given he had never seen this side of him before now, was not certain how long he could hold him off, but he was determined to try. He too wanted to avenge the death of his father and clan members, but slaughtering these women in cold blood as a means of restitution suddenly had lost its appeal.
He studied the lass kneeling before him. While she was dressed like a servant, he saw beyond the obvious attempt to deceive them. He beheld a lady, and if what he’d been told was true, she was of noble blood—her mother being a distant cousin to the king of Scotland—and the reason he assumed her father’s treachery was never reprimanded by the crown.
The drab wool dress hung on her like a grain sack, but he could imagine beneath the worn garment was a slender, shapely figure. Waves of chestnut hair framed her lovely face, then cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She was beautiful, and to keep his mouth from gaping open like a randy fool, he forced himself to look away.
“You promised me restitution for Jenna’s death,” Brodie growled. “You said that I could be the one to put the MacRyan’s daughter to sword. Are you now thinking about claiming the right yourself?”
“You will have your revenge, cousin.” Logan returned Brodie’s glower with one of his own. “I have decided to wait before we kill her. I want her father to suffer first. Knowing we have his only bairn and uncertain what we plan to do with her, will be the purest form of torture. He may even let his guard down and try to rescue her himself. At which time we will not only destroy the thing he holds most dear,
but the MacRyan as well.”
Logan cupped Ann’s elbow and helped her to her feet. When she refused to meet his gaze, he tucked two fingers under her chin and lifted. But he withdrew his hand when he felt a strange jolt of energy pass between them when he looked into her emerald eyes. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before and he was determined to put an end to it as quickly as it began. He took a step back and hardened his stare. “Do you know why I attacked your caravan and have taken you prisoner?”
“I assume it has to do with a rumor I heard about a raid on your keep,” she said.
“It is no rumor,” Logan snapped. “Your father ordered an unprovoked attack on our stronghold. He had his men sneak into the homes of innocent crofters and slaughter them as they slept. Men, women, and bairns.” He paused to catch his breath and to calm his rage. Being reminded of the carnage he found upon his return to MacAllen Castle and the death of his father caused his blood to boil and reminded him of his purpose for coming here.
“My father was also killed defending his people,” Logan added. Brodie’s woman, Jenna and her family were butchered in their beds.”
Ann lowered her gaze. “I truly am sorry for your loss, but find it hard to believe my father would do such a thing. Are you sure it was Clan MacRyan who attacked?”
“I have no doubt,” Logan said. “While the raid was a surprise, my father managed to rally his men and there were some casualties and a few prisoners taken. They were MacRyan warriors, and some confessed their sins afore they were executed.”
“Mayhap they acted of their own accord and my father had naught to do with it. I can understand why you are upset—”
“Upset!” Brodie took a menacing step in her direction. “Are you daft, woman? Your father ordered the massacre of over one-hundred of my kinsmen, including Jenna and my uncle. Upset is hardly what I would call it.” He glared at Ann while his free hand rested on the hilt of his dirk. “If na for my cousin, I would have slit your throat the minute I found you.” He slid the weapon from its sheath. “I have waited long enough.”
Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose Page 36
