* * *
Would Mackenzie’s spy really harm Reid? Haven had more immediate problems. The men that waited for them in the secondary camp glared hungrily at her ripped bodice. She might be dead by morning without finding a way to warn Kirk about the spy.
Kirk might already be dead. Mackenzie’s men had surrounded him. She desperately wanted to see what had happened, but the bastard who’d kidnapped her had dragged her away.
Mackenzie untied her hands, gathered her chemise together, and retied the lacings of her vest. When he stepped away, she brushed dirt from her dress and picked twigs out of her loose hair. Then she slipped a hand inside her pockets and clenched her small dagger.
“One word contrary to my wishes and I shall be forced to slit yer throat. Do we understand each other?”
His smile sent her stomach lurching, but she forced a nod. If she feigned cooperation, she might find a way to escape. He gathered his men. Some sneered, and she glared back. She still had her own strengths and her dagger. Did Mackenzie have any idea how swiftly the tables could turn?
With her knife hilt in her palm, plunging its blade into the bastard’s heart no longer seemed unthinkable. Pent-up energy from her kidnapping morphed into rage that simmered beneath the surface. To appear calm, she forced her feet to walk about the camp while the men busied themselves with packing everything up.
Before she could distance herself far from the group, a hand gripped her around the waist, pulling so fast, into the dark forest filled with trees, she forgot to scream. Locked in the arms of a man as tall and as muscular as Kirk. She froze.
“Kirk?”
“Take care, my lady. Do nothing so rash as to mistake me for my dear cousin. Marcas Mackenzie has little patience, and ye feel too good.”
“Cameron.” Her throat closed up tight and her heart dropped to her toes. Kirk’s cousin had arrived to save her? How did he know where to find her? More troubling was that he sounded as if he knew Mackenzie intimately.
Could he be a conspirator? Such a thought skittered away when the evidence of his desire dug into her buttocks.
Just my luck to jump from the frying pan into the fire.
He silently dragged her to a waiting horse. Cameron climbed into the saddle, reached down, and hoisted her into his lap.
“Hold tight, keep quiet, and ye will see ye lover once more,” he whispered.
As she did as he ordered, a commotion rose from the opposite side of the camp. Yells turned to screams amid the clang of steel and the thuds of fists.
“Balfour aids us and will give his life to keep ye safe. As will I, dear lady.”
He grabbed her chin, twisted her head, and brought her lips to his. Cameron’s mouth claimed hers with a passionate kiss while the horse spun away from Mackenzie’s camp. She tried to wrestle her lips from Cameron’s hungry mouth, but he was strong and relentless. The horse had moved only a few yards when the whistle of an arrow split the night, and found its mark.
* * *
“Please, Lady Fia, do not do this. ‘Tis dangerous for two women to travel outside the keep at night!”
Her maid’s whispered words echoed in her tower chamber. Nothing Rose said would persuade her from her path. “Rose, ye will do as I say, or stay here. We will take care. If ye shared the love in my heart, then ye might understand.”
“Why must we hasten tonight?”
“Ye read the message. Laird Kirkwall Gunn is within a day’s ride. My guardian shall seal my future once the marriage takes place. If the bride is not to be found, there shall be no marriage.”
“But—”
“I will not marry a man I do not love. Not when the man of my dreams still breathes.”
“Please, let me speak my mind, then I will do anything ye say this night.” The older woman locked eyes in the mirror with Fia’s as she began to braid her hair into one long, gold plait. “Love is a wondrous thing. I still ache when I think back to my young man.”
Lady Fia listened in silence. Her maid had lost her love in a clan uprising. Though five years had passed, pain echoed in Rose’s voice.
“I would not have ye suffer as I have. If the man ye love is truly worthy of ye, I beg ye to ask yerself this: Why has he not asked for yer hand? This Gunn clan’s laird comes to us from many hills and forests beyond the moor. He brings riches and power to help our clan. Yer sire—bless his soul—smiles down upon us because of yer sacrifice.”
“Am I to sacrifice my happiness to fill our coffers? My uncle, adamant that my future is his to command, shall learn I meant each word I threatened the day he signed the betrothal agreement. The same day he neglected to ask my consent. Help me?”
“As I said, dear lady, command me.”
“To escape the keep unobserved will be an achievement in itself. If thwarted, my uncle will have no choice but to lock me in my room until the marriage ceremony.”
“I pray luck be on our side this night,” Rose whispered.
Fia shivered at the look of hopelessness reflected in the mirror, but she would prevail. For thirty years, Laird Kirkwall Gunn had squandered his youth. Now, he expected Fia to give up hers.
“Nay. If the man of my heart cannot see fit to fight for my love, I will take my future into my own two hands. May the consequences be damned.”
* * *
Haven’s mind twisted and turned to come up with a plan to rid herself of her captor. She had trusted Cameron. He’d arrived to save her and to return her to Kirk. An arrow ended such high hopes.
When Mackenzie scooped her from the back of Cameron’s agitated horse, she’d gotten a glimpse of Cameron’s prone form. He’d fallen from the saddle and landed face first in the grass. The feathery tufts atop an arrow’s shaft protruded from his back. In the almost total darkness of the forest, she couldn’t tell if he still breathed.
Mounted in front of Lord Mackenzie, she watched as several mercenaries rolled over the body of a very large warrior. In the dark, she couldn’t tell who it was. Then she recalled Cameron’s words.
“Is Balfour—”
“Dead? Yes, he has earned a final rest this night and took three of my warriors with him.”
Tears threatened to blind her, so she inhaled through clenched teeth and fought the urge to cry. She would not give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing he had such power over her.
His men followed as they rode out of the woods onto a road. A dark village loomed ahead.
Was Cameron dead? Had he sacrificed himself for her? She resolved to escape. But, how could she make Lord Mackenzie lower his guard?
“We will find food and drink, as well as a room, at the pub,” he said matter-of-factly, as if he expected her to respond with gratitude. “In front of townspeople, ye shall pretend to enjoy my company. If ye do, I shall leave ye unharmed.”
His lies dribbled from his tongue like honey, but stung like salt on an open wound. She stared straight ahead, toward their destination. Her loose hair, blowing into his face, probably irritated her captor. The thought lightened her mood. A great warrior like Kirk never traveled without an army of men. He must have escaped. Then why were Balfour and Cameron alone?
The band of dirty, weary men brought their mounts to a stop outside an old building in what appeared to be a small, dark village. Muttering voices mingled with horses’ whinnies. Mackenzie said something to his men, too low and sharp for her to catch. Pulled from the saddle, Haven landed on her sore feet. Mackenzie pushed her through the main door.
With barely a glance, the proprietor hollered into what she assumed was the kitchen. A serving girl rushed into what appeared to be a dining hall to the table Mackenzie commandeered. He pushed Haven onto the bench against the back wall and sat down beside her, thigh to thigh. The server’s right eyebrow arched. Haven kept her temper in check and sat in silence.
“Supper for me and my men, and a room for the night,” he demanded. After he tossed the girl several coins, he rested against the rough wood wall. A sputtering candle flickered in the mi
ddle of the table. A fire roared inside a stone hearth along an adjacent wall.
Perspiration bloomed between her breasts from the oppressive heat. Mackenzie’s meaty hand settled lower, and gripped her thigh. When she shoved it away, he laughed.
Larger candles dripped from wrought iron wall sconces. The scent of charred meat drifted past. Unfamiliar aromas made her empty stomach rumble. Her back stiffened when his soft chuckle erupted close to her ear.
The serving girl returned with tankards and bread. Mackenzie continued to laugh as he tore off a piece of bread. Until Haven found the opportunity to escape, she’d eat his food and drink his foul-tasting ale. She didn’t dare let him get her upstairs. Haven wasn’t naïve. He might profess his love for another, but he was still a man. Cal proved that. He had a wife. And a son. Yet he seduced her right out of her cotton panties.
Haven pushed away the hurt. Kirk might come to her rescue. Maybe someone here would help her. She scrutinized the pub’s mixture of lowlifes and peasants while she chewed her lower lip.
“Dear lady, do not harm such pretty lips. Kirkwall would never forgive me.”
“You care what Kirk thinks?”
“I would offer him one last kiss upon his lover’s lips before I send him to hell, but I doubt he survived. Remember, we left him trussed and helpless.”
“If you are so sure he’s dead, why do you stink with fear?”
Ignoring her taunt, he gulped his ale. Several minutes passed. Her eyes drifted closed as weariness and the loss of adrenaline caught up with her.
“I will seek out my love and drag her away to bliss.”
Haven’s eyes fluttered open and she glanced at his face. Though shrouded in darkness and low candlelight, he appeared moved to tears. He was in love with someone and Kirk—”
“Wait a minute. Are you in love with the woman Kirk is going to marry?”
“That marriage shall not occur.” When he pounded his fist on the scarred wooden table and yelled for more ale, she shrunk back.
Ironically, Kirk and Mackenzie fought over the same woman. She had nothing to do with any of this. She sipped from her tankard and glanced down at her dress. With wild, tangled hair and no money, not one person would dare come to her aid. But, she had to try to get loose and make her way back to Kirk. She had to tell him about Cameron and Balfour. She had plenty to share with the man. Such as kisses.
“One can dream,” she sighed.
“Tell me of yer dreams, witch,” Mackenzie said, then winked at the serving girl who dropped plates of something hot and brown on the table. Her low bodice seemed to get his attention.
If she could convince Mackenzie that she sat with him because she wanted to, maybe he’d loosen his hold. Turning the tables on him was risky. It might backfire. However, if Haven could convince him that she liked his company, and not Kirk’s, she might find time to slip away.
“Let your eyes wander, my Lord, but keep your hands on me,” she purred. Rewarded by his look of interest, she smiled and continued her lies. “You promised to let me go if I cooperate, am I right?”
An icy smile lightened his face. “Dear lady, do I detect a change in attitude for my benefit? Or yers?”
“See? You addressed me in an honorable fashion. When you call me wench or witch, it hurts. As long as I am not forced into a relationship, as that bastard Kirk attempted, I see nothing to prevent us from becoming more friendly.” Haven leaned close to his body.
He cleared his throat.
“My lord?” she whispered, close to his ear. She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her breast.
He jumped.
“Perhaps you do not miss your lady any longer?”
“I told ye. Lady Fia of Clan Keith is the love of my life. I will have her and I will kill all who stand in my way.”
“I have no allegiance to Kirkwall Gunn.”
“Oh? The times I watched the two of you, I saw what appeared to be a man in love. Were my eyes deceived?”
She pressed her lips together and urged her fingers not to scratch out his eyes. She forgot he said he’d spied on them.
“He gave me food, clean clothes, protection, and a horse. That’s all. Yes, his men made jokes about me using his tent and about his amorous advances, but I fought him off. He smelled,” she lied.
Lord Mackenzie’s smile brightened his face, yet his eyes glittered black. Did he recognize a lie? Had she jeopardized her chance to get away? He waved at the proprietor, then ordered a bath to be prepared in his room. He turned back to Haven and slipped off a black leather glove. Warm fingers cupped her chin.
Glaring at her, Haven fought the urge to blink. Did he mean to kiss her? She had to gain his confidence so, when he wavered, she pressed her lips to his. She forced her eyelids closed while she worked to find a way out of this mess.
Pressing her mouth against his less-than-eager lips, she feigned pleasure. Her hands, her moans, and her tongue went into overdrive. He kissed her back. For a man supposedly in love with another woman, he was enjoying himself.
“Do I kiss like a woman in love with Kirk?”
“No. Ye taste very sweet. Like fresh rain with a hint of honey, but not nearly as delectable as sweet Fia.”
Really? Her hands slid up and behind his neck. Her fictitious moans grew in volume. She pretended she kissed Kirk’s mouth. Pretending Kirk’s muscular arms surrounded her, she whimpered.
I’ll do anything to get through this.
Mackenzie pulled her close until she sat on his lap. Semi-hard evidence of his response to her kisses prodded her bottom. As she wiggled to show her enthusiasm, her mind worked to find the words to aid her escape. And save Kirk.
* * *
Fia had dressed in one of Rose’s oldest frocks and hid her golden braid under a shawl of rough gray wool. She hunched over as they walked toward freedom. Wearing muddy boots, she faltered under the weight of the large bundle on her back, tied closed with a black ribbon stolen from her dead mother’s trunk.
Her uncle had taken everything belonging to her and her parents, so she had stooped to stealing. She trudged along, three steps behind her maid. Fia stifled a giggle at the way Rose held her head high. Her maid wore the stylish traveling gown dug from the bottom of Fia’s trunk.
Since her parent’s deaths, she rarely traveled. The last trip outside these walls had been to a fair on the day of Beltane. Fia had met her true love, as well as the man her uncle demanded she marry.
Too bad they are two very different men.
She sighed. Rose coughed, and Fia’s attention snapped back to the present. The gown her servant had borrowed made the woman look older and of good family. Its blue overdress shimmered under the light from the castle’s torches. Pale skin peeked below the hem as she walked. Swathed in slippers of fine pale brown doeskin, Rose’s feet tapped along the stone hallway. Rose’s braided hair was swept back into an elegant bun.
They walked brazenly down the stairs, across the bailey, and then through the castle gates. Rose nodded at the guards, who ignored both women, so they continued down the busy lane.
“We did it,” whispered Rose, the moment they crossed the bridge. Puddles filled with stagnant, foul-smelling water gave way to a wide, dirt lane. They walked in companionable silence through the village.
“We must keep quiet,” whispered Fia, “at least until we are farther away. Uncle’s spies are everywhere. The man is suspicious of everything. I shall be glad to be away from this place.”
“As I am, dear lady.”
The two women made their way past several small cottages, their windows lit by evening braziers or cooking fires. The far edge of the village loomed ahead. They planned to search for a caravan of merchant wagons, or a boat captain readying to set sail.
All plans hinged on them leaving tonight or early the next morning, before her guardian learned of her escape. With a full coin pouch and a hidden bag of loose jewels she’d purloined from her uncle, Fia prayed luck would shield them with kindness this night.
The walk to town proved uneventful. Gossip from the kitchen warned of dark alleys and bands of mercenaries. Rose had eavesdropped, then shared her acquired knowledge with Fia. Such ruffians would make quick work of two women traveling alone.
Fia thought more of her uncle’s decision to marry her off to a stranger from the upper Highlands. The unexplained death of her parents had torn their people into two camps. Her wedding to a warrior clan was destined to band them together, again.
“I will not be used, thusly,” she said, quietly.
“If ye speak of yer marriage contract, I understand completely, my lady,” Rose said as they approached the largest pub on the street.
“Do ye believe this is the place we shall find our savior?” Fia paused, then stopped Rose with a gentle touch of a hand on her maid’s arm. “And please do not address me so. Call me Julia.” Julia had been her mother’s name. Rose had loved her as well.
Nodding her acknowledgment, Rose hesitated as a man left the pub. He bowed with a slight bend at the waist then held open the door. The two women entered. Fia gasped at the smell.
Rose gripped her by the forearm. “I am used to this sort of place, of sour food and dirty floors. Take slow breaths, or ye shall be found out. Breathe through yer scarf.”
Fia nodded, but the odor of sweaty bodies crammed into a small, airless room nearly brought her to her knees. She followed Rose to the counter at the side of the large, dark dining hall that divided the kitchens from the patrons.
Rose flashed a smile at the rotund proprietor and began her inquiries. Fia listened. The innkeeper ought to be on familiar terms with travelers and merchants. She prayed he would make introductions.
Her stomach growled. The man swung his attention toward her, but Rose leaned forward, until his gaze landed on the tops of her breasts.
“Pay no heed to my maid. She eats sparingly while her work piles up then complains she is hungry.” Rose’s attentive glare, high-pitched laugh, and low-cut bodice grabbed the man’s attention. Their conversation gave Fia the chance to peer into the smoke-filled room.
Now that freedom was at hand, she was ravenous. She stepped closer to tables filled with men of all shapes and sizes. Fia wanted to get a feel for the freedom these poor peasants enjoyed while her uncle had sequestered her inside the keep. Her perusal focused on a couple at the rear of the pub. Embraced by shadows, with twin, black heads close together, their arms and bodies were tangled in an amorous embrace.
Highland Games Through Time Page 23
