But, his eyes…
“Who the devil are ye?” Cal’s clone barked with a mocking laugh meant to frighten, but the lilt behind the words caught her attention. He certainly didn’t sound like Cal. Trying to analyze other subtle differences, she focused on whispers, grunts, and the sound of rustling grass. Several of his fellow swordsmen crept closer, every eye on her. A few flicked glances his way, as if Cal’s double was in charge.
“You aren’t Cal Murchie,” Haven said, turning her attention back to the man in black. “I’m looking for the Highland games. I heard your swordplay and assumed you were part of the athletic events. Can you point me in the right direction?”
His smile broadened and filled his face, yet when it didn’t meet his eyes, she shivered. Then he arched a brow and stared at her mouth. He strode in her direction, and she pressed a hand over her heart where her tiny dagger lay hidden.
“Ye must be lost, lass, but now ye are found. Welcome to our humble camp. I wondered if there were any other games my men could practice as—what did ye call it? Swordplay?—can dull the senses.”
“What do you mean?” She swallowed as his piercing gaze dropped to the hand on her chest. Stopping in front of her, his black-gloved hand swept cool, leather-clad fingers across the tops of her breasts. She swatted it away.
His gaze rose and bore into her face.
“Once a Mackenzie makes a plan, he holds fast,” he said.
She’d heard those words before. Blood rushed from her head at Cal’s familiar threat. Were the men related? Thoughts of Cal caused her temper to flare, yet a prickle of fear slid down her spine.
“Playing with ye will be my treat.”
Before he could grab her, Haven whirled and ran. She gathered up the heavy hem of her gown and urged her feet to fly. Never mind the pain in both feet; never mind the terror in her heart; something had changed.
This is all wrong! Men do not act this way toward women.
Behind her, growls and curses rent the air. She dare not turn to count their number since it didn’t matter if one or twenty-one followed on her heels. An arrow thudded into the grass beside her.
“Help me!”
* * *
Kirk’s men welcomed him as he strode into camp. They were busy packing the spoils of the hunt, but he insisted they delay their departure. Their injured comrades back at the main camp were in need of the food, but he had to find the woman. She had slipped from his sight for no more than a heartbeat in time. He foolishly thought he could handle one wayward lass, but she had disappeared.
He ordered a nearby warrior to saddle his steed. Retracing his steps, he came upon her trail. Kirk had followed it, but discovered he had been too late to prevent from her walking into a pack of unknown warriors wearing no clan badges on their bonnets.
Kirk sat astride his beast and contemplated his next move as he watched Lady Haven run for her life. Hobbled mounts munched grass while a dozen men hunted feminine prey on foot. When one let loose an arrow, Kirk slid his sword from its sheath and urged his steed forward. The lethal projectile fell wide of its target, most likely on purpose. The archer meant to frighten her, to make her stop. Why injure such tasty flesh? He growled.
I acted no different from these bastards.
“She needs our help, old friend,” he whispered to his steed. Though mounted and armed, he could not fight them all. The best he could do is get between the warriors and their quarry then carry her to safety. Kirk closed the distance. He galloped down the grassy slope, toward the woman who had come to him in a vision and had failed to follow him out of the woods.
“Mercenaries,” he hissed as he bent low over his mount’s back. They were the worst type of warrior. They would abuse Lady Haven before slitting her delicate, white throat. Without regret.
A disturbing image of Lady Haven bubbled up, stealing his breathe. She lay writhing in pain beneath the brutal assault of these strangers while blood, crimson as her gown, flowed from her body. Kirk urged his mount to hasten, yet no one noticed his approach. They had locked their attention on the screaming woman whose jet-black hair flapped behind her like faerie wings.
If I fail, she will die.
A guttural curse escaped his lips at the cruel image. A corresponding howl from the nearest man made everyone slide to a stop. Having revealed his presence, Kirk let out a fearsome war cry and charged into the group. Astride a huge steed, and with his great sword gleaming under the midday sun, men scattered.
“Get the lass,” someone screamed.
Kirk saw a black-haired man dive behind a thick stand of trees near the edge of the small field. Familiarity spiked along his spine but Kirk had one course to obey. Three men continued to follow Haven while the others veered his way.
His great steed whirled in a tight circle while his sword dipped and swung. Men cried and fell. Howling his satisfaction when others ran, he galloped across the field toward the second group of thugs. Lady Haven ran like a doe, yet they gained on her.
He swooped alongside her last three pursuers. With shouts and curses, blood sprayed his thigh as he cut them down with ease. His breath came in quick gulps as he hastily surveyed the carnage. Back beyond the grove of trees where the others had fled, he heard numerous voices raised and the whinnying of their mounts.
Company is coming.
Kirk turned toward Lady Haven as she neared a flock of sheep huddled in the shade of trees rimming the meadow. She dodged the herd, leaping as if she could fly. The beasties paid her no mind, but other dangers might lurk around the next bend. Wiping his sword on his mount’s withers, he sheathed his weapon then rode through bawling lambs and bleating ewes in her wake.
* * *
Haven covered her ears at the cries of dying men. She ran for her life. Her entire body shook and her rapid breaths gave her lungs too little air to aid her in her plight.
“If I pass out, I’m dead,” she gasped. Panting, she peeked over her shoulder. A man brandished a sword while mounted on a gigantic horse. When he swung the blade downward, many of her pursuers fell dead.
“Dear Lord, what is happening? I must be dreaming, yet even I could not dream up such horror.” She stumbled over a lamb. The ball of shaggy wool stared up at her before it bleated to its mother. Haven eyed the horned ewe warily until her mind drifted, again.
This is mid-September. Aren’t lambs born in the early spring?
Everything is wrong; the time of year, the temperature, the mountains. She must be dreaming. She always wanted a life full of love and adventure, not rape and death. Her breathing hitched when the unmistakable thunder of hooves grew closer. Peeking behind her, Haven’s vision swam. She screamed then everything went dark.
* * *
Coming to her senses, Haven peered up at a limb attached to a scraggly tree. Spindly needles rained down as one chattering little bird bounced on the branch. The vision faded in and out. The familiar scent of pine soothed her while dust and pollen set her nostrils twitching. She lay on something hard while the chilly water of a slow-moving creek lapped at her bloody feet. The water cooled the burn and soothed the ache.
She licked her parched lips with her tongue, to no avail. Too dry. She heard other noises. Unfamiliar noises. The pain kept her from caring. She’d forgotten all about her bruised ribs. At least the burn on her thigh had lessened. Her first clear thought was to find a place to hide and tend her wounds. Then she recalled men who tried to shish-ka-bob her with arrows.
Where the hell am I and what is going on?
Closing her eyes against the dizziness, she inhaled. Even the air smelled different. Where were the familiar aromas of meat pies cooking at the vendor’s tents? Where were the quirky scents of pork-filled bridies and buttery shortbread cookies? How could she not smell a sausage roll cooking on a hot grill or Jake’s smoky brazier?
“Be ye injured anywhere beside yer feet, lass?”
The deep voice hovered around her head. Haven’s eyes snapped open and she looked up. Shock followed another urg
e to scream, but sanity prevailed as her vision cleared.
“Kirkwall?”
“Aye.”
She lay nestled in his lap. Haven let her body relax and pushed the numbness and dizziness aside. What happened after she’d looked back and saw a man on horseback barreling down on her as she ran?
The scent of leather, sweat, and blood invaded her senses. Kirk had killed those men to protect her. Slamming shut both eyes, she breathed deep several times. Amid everything she’d experienced since the storm, she focused on the gentle arms wrapped around her.
Acting brave, while her inner child hid in a dark corner, she slowly raised her eyelids. A horse, tethered nearby, drank from the same creek in which her feet dangled. She pulled her legs back and tucked them beneath her dress then pushed out of the embrace. When she jumped to her feet, she cried out.
“I asked if ye be injured.”
Haven shook her head before moving away. Gaining distance between her and the Highlander seemed prudent before she succumbed to his charms. Even covered in blood he exuded a magnetism that heated her body.
I have to get out of here, away from this crazy place.
As if he’d read her mind, Kirkwall grabbed her around the waist and swung her into his arms. Clenched between a rock-hard chest and two beefy biceps, Haven’s fear simmered just under the surface.
“Care to explain what you’re doing?” Newfound courage made her speak her mind, a new trait since Cal. The opportunity to make good use of it brought on a slow smile. Would he put her down?
No such luck.
They flew through the air and his muscles bulged beneath her bottom as he mounted his horse. In his arms, her field of vision was filled with the back of a horse’s head. Where did he plan to take her now that they’d escaped the horrible men?
Kirk steered the beast with his knees while he clutched her to his chest. She hadn’t ridden a horse since falling off as a young girl. The sudden childhood fear surprised her, so she curled into him and held tight. The gentle swoosh of the wind, and the beating of his heart were the only sounds. Strong arms, naked but for heavy leather cuffs tied around each wrist, cradled her against a hard wall where soothing warmth emanated. Kirk had arrived to rescue her, bare-chested.
Haven jerked forward, separating their bodies. The move caused her rear end to push back into his groin. A loud gasp escaped his lips.
“Careful, woman, or I shall hasten to forget I am in the presence of a lady.” The last word, said with a distinct sneer, reminded Haven of the argument they’d had over her station.
“Just put me down,” she said. She wanted to kick or twist, to unseat them both. “I can walk.”
Her breath whooshed out when he grasped her around the waist with one large arm while his other fist controlled the agitated beast. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He smiled when his grip halted her movements. Any further jiggling and she’d find his fingers around her breast.
“Be still unless ye would wish me to get to know ye much better.”
“Fine. But I need to be somewhere and I don’t know where you are taking me and—”
“We head to my camp.”
“Is it anywhere near the New England Highland Games?” she asked, trying desperately not to panic. He could have harmed her earlier in the forest. Instead, it appeared he’d saved her from dangerous looking men who carried swords and shot arrows. She had to trust him until she figured out where her strange mist had thrown her. “And, what happened to the brutes chasing me?”
“First off, lass, I know nothing of games. Those men meant to do ye harm. I took care of them. With luck, we shall reach my camp before their companions catch us.”
“They’re chasing us?”
“I have not sighted them, but they follow. Do not worry yer pretty little head. My men will keep us safe.”
“Why, you impertinent, chauvinistic, Neanderthal!” she said, surprised at her own anger. He hadn’t touched her after he’d called her a whore and she set him straight. He could have left her to those bad men, but he didn’t. He charged in and killed a few.
Where the Hell am I that men kill each other so easily?
She’d keep her wits, find a weapon, and get off his lap. Haven still had her tiny dagger. With a weapon in her hand and Kirk at her back, she’d survive until she found a way home. And, if those bad men returned? She’d fight back.
Then they’ll understand whom they’re dealing with.
CHAPTER 10
Kirk felt Lady Haven relax against his chest. Did she mean to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the trip? He prayed she slept since he required his ears as well as his mount’s good hearing in order to listen for threats. The camp lay around the bend of the big river, on the other side of the large stand of trees. Trees offering plenty of cover for a mercenary horde.
Tendrils of gray smoke rose in the distance. As they rode closer, roasting meat teased his nose. When she stirred, he relaxed his grip around the comely lass. With every groan and thump of her head against his chest, the signs of life made him lower his gaze to ponder her comely form.
She glanced up.
Kirk quickly swung his attention to the trail at their backs. Was the black shadow in the distance a mercenary? The spectral figure dove into the trees along the path. Man or deer, it was too far away and too fleet of foot for Kirk to name.
Many men shall stand guard tonight.
He steered his animal through a thick stand of pine and brush, reining in to avoid low-hanging branches. To protect his passenger, Kirkwall curled forward, over his charge. He chuckled at the fiery language that suddenly spewed from her mouth.
Her beautiful, luscious mouth.
“Are you trying to crush me?” Her breasts nearly spilled from her dress as she shoved at his chest.
He did not respond. He could not. Kirk’s mouth went dry. She had noticed his stare and struggled to raise the lacey edge of her muddy gown.
Riding out of the prickly branches and thick vegetation, his mount entered a small clearing half-filled with smoke. Weary faces in a wide range of colors and age stared at his raven-haired parcel as if they planned to add her to the menu.
She is mine.
The woman in his arms tensed. Had he spoken his private thought aloud once more? Also, where had the powerful notion come from? Not meeting her glare, he instead concentrated on black-encrusted chunks of meat splayed on makeshift spits over a campfire. His stomach rumbled. When Lady Haven’s stomach made noises of its own, he chuckled.
“Food awaits, my lady. First, let me introduce ye to my men.” Many sported beards. Others were clean-shaven. All sported bulging muscles and stood at attention. Kirk scowled at the warriors’ heated looks aimed at his guest. Kirk dismounted, then clasped her around her waist as he lowered her to the ground.
Lady Haven squawked, then slapped at his hands. Kirk’s men laughed. Backing away, he held back a frown as she leaned against his steed. The lass probably worried he planned to throw her to his men. She had nothing to fear, but would she believe anything he told her?
“Wait here, lass. I must see to my foster son.”
She nodded then glared at his men. Kirk turned at a welcome cry from young Reid and clasped his foster son’s hand. A crude sling held his injured arm across his chest. His face, too pale even for the red-headed lad, worried Kirk.
“Are ye hale, lad?”
“Aye, my laird,” The boy nodded animatedly while he bounced on gangly legs. His gaze flicked toward the woman who stood in silence. Kirk returned to her side and drew her close before tossing his mount’s reins into Reid’s one usable hand.
“This lady,” Kirk shouted, “is under my protection. Ye will treat her as a member of our clan and not touch her.” The gathering crowd looked at him then to her. Kirk pulled her closer.
She cried out.
“My lady?”
“Ouch! Idiot! You stepped on my foot!”
She collapsed against his chest and Kirk curled her inside
his arms without thought. As one, his men inhaled. Shock spread through the gathering. He had to show that he would not accept backtalk from anyone, especially a comely minx like Lady Haven. Before Kirk could respond, a leather-clad warrior with a face full of red-cheeked rage, strode between the men.
“Who dares spout curses at our Laird?”
* * *
Speechless, Haven shrunk from the huge man who barreled through the crowd and growled at her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead.
“This one with the mouth is Lady Haven,” her captor continued. “She speaks oddly and too boldly. I found her wandering in the woods, then dispatched a few men determined to take her down. We must stay a bit longer.”
“Were they mercenaries? Or, men sworn to serve The Mackenzie?” the tall blond man asked. Had she tumbled in with re-enactors chosen for their height? The man’s amber eyes glowed with hatred as the name Mackenzie passed his lips.
“Unknown. Some shall ne’er see another battle. Be careful, Cameron, for I believe at least one of the blackguards followed us. Post guards. Change them at three-hour intervals. Inform me of any sign of the bastards.”
“It shall be done.”
“Also,” Kirk added, “I shot at a stag. I missed.”
“Understood. Such an unlucky omen means our guards shall need to be extra vigilant.”
The one Kirk called Cameron barked orders and the others quickly dispersed. Some shook their heads while muttering some type of oath.
Are they mumbling curses at me?
Kirk walked toward another group of people. Haven attempted to follow, but her damaged feet made her wince then stumble. In one swift move, the giant grasped her under her knees and back.
Gathered to his chest like a sack of potatoes, Haven stared up at him as he carried her across the clearing, then quickly turned her attention elsewhere. Some of the men were removing their shirts. She swallowed.
I’ve never seen so many well-defined abs.
Highland Games Through Time Page 10
