by Ruth Langan
She strode toward the fireplace and stood, deep in thought. The next time Brice Campbell came for her she knew what she must do.
Chapter Three
When the door to the sitting chamber opened, Meredith’s hand automatically moved to the dagger at her waist as she swung around to face her captor. In her eyes was the look of a warrior.
“I brought you food, my lady.”
Upon seeing the serving girl Meredith let out a long hiss of breath.
The girl was nearly as tall as a man, with blond hair neatly plaited and twisted about her head. As she set the tray on a table near the fireplace, Meredith noted that her hands were large and work worn.
“What is your name?’
“Cara.”
“Have you served Brice Campbell long, Cara?”
With ease the girl pulled a massive chair in front of the table and waited for Meredith to seat herself. “I was born here in Kinloch House while my lord Campbell and my father were in France. When my father died in France, my lord arranged for my mother and me to stay on here.”
“And you do not object to being forced into service?”
“My lady, it is a fine life for us. If my lord Campbell had turned us out, where would we have gone?”
“Have you no family?”
“My mother has two brothers, but both had already taken wives. We would have become a burden to them, and in time they would have resented us. Knowing that, my lord Campbell provided for us.”
Meredith noted the warmth in the girl’s tone whenever she mentioned Brice Campbell’s name. “How can one so cruel elicit such devotion?”
“Cruel?” Cara gave a sweet laugh. “My lord Campbell is a good and fair man. I have never known him to be cruel.” She lowered her voice. “But he is cursed with a quick temper. Mother has often said that Father told her he would ne’er be the one to cross swords with him in battle.”
Meredith recalled his curses in the darkness, low and savage, and felt herself shiver. Aye, the man had a temper.
“But he is quick to forgive and forget as well. A kinder, fairer man there is not in all of Scotland. His kindness even extends at times to his enemies.”
“I do not understand.”
Cara gave her a level look. “Jamie MacDonald’s father was a Lowlander.”
“I had thought the lad to be Campbell’s son.”
“Son?” Cara smiled at the thought. “Ian MacDonald and his wee son were all that was left of a clan that had been burned and looted in the dark of night. Blaming Brice Campbell, Ian MacDonald journeyed to the Highlands to seek his vengeance.”
“What happened to Ian?” Meredith asked softly.
“He was killed in battle. When Brice learned that there was no one left in the Lowlands to raise the lad, he took him in. And Jamie MacDonald is like a son to Brice.”
Cara swallowed suddenly, dismayed at the looseness of her tongue. “I pray I have not betrayed a confidence by telling you this, my lady. But let no man call Brice Campbell an unjust man.” She avoided Meredith’s eyes, fearing that she had overstepped her bounds. “I will leave you to your meal. When you have finished I will return with warm clothes.” She stared pointedly at Meredith’s gown. “Though there is nothing wrong with the clothes you wear. You look as lovely as a bride.”
The food, which only minutes ago had seemed so inviting, now tasted like ashes in Meredith’s mouth. She pushed the plate aside. “I was a bride. For a moment.”
Seeing the bleak look on Meredith’s face, Cara cried, “Oh, my lady. What happened?”
Meredith’s voice held a dreamy, faraway note. “He was hardly more than a lad. Doing what his family ordered. As was I.” Her tone hardened. “He was killed at the altar.” Meredith scraped back her chair and crossed the room to stand in front of the roaring fire. She was suddenly cold. So cold. The scene played once again in her mind and she gripped her hands together so tightly they were white from the effort. “Killed by an arrow from Brice Campbell’s longbow. The same Brice Campbell you claim is an honorable man.”
“I am sorry, my lady.”
Meredith was so deep in thought she didn’t even hear the door close as the serving girl took her leave.
In the great hall Brice paced back and forth before the fireplace while Angus and Holden emptied their tankards. Though Jamie MacDonald’s eyes were heavy, he resisted the urge to go to bed. The need to be close to Brice, to hear all that had transpired in the Lowlands, was more compelling than the need for sleep.
The hounds lay in a circle before the fireplace, their eyes firmly fixed on their master.
“How could I have made such a blunder?”
“The MacKenzie brothers are nearly identical. From so great a distance it was a natural mistake.” Angus added softly, “Do not fret, old friend. We will kill Gareth next time.”
“Next time.” Brice whirled on his friend, his eyes blazing. “Do you think I can ask my men to risk their lives going down to the Borders again, just to honor my good name?”
“Why not?” Angus shrugged. “You know they would carry your standard anywhere.”
“They have wives and children to consider. I will not place them in danger for the sake of my reputation.”
“Then you and I will go.” Angus grinned. “You know I like nothing better than a good joust. Especially with the likes of Gareth MacKenzie.”
“And I will ride with you,” Jamie said, jumping to his feet. “I have no need to stay here.”
Brice’s temper cooled. “Aye. We’re three of a kind.” His frown turned into a smile. He could never resist Jamie’s enthusiasm.
“Then we’ll go back down and make good our promise?”
“You have a duty to stay here and grow to manhood,” Brice murmured gently to the boy. Circling the room, Brice clapped his hand on Angus’s shoulder. “I’ll ponder your offer and give you an answer on the morrow.”
“What of the girl?” Holden asked.
“Aye, the girl.” Brice tried not to think about the way he’d felt when they had touched. The mere thought of it brought a rush of heat. He shrugged. “I’ll think on that as well.” He crossed the room, then paused on the stairs.
The hounds circled his feet, eager to accompany him to his room.
“Pray she’s asleep,” Brice muttered. “I’m near exhausted. All I want is a chance to rest this tired body.”
“Aye.” Angus followed him up the stairs and turned toward his rooms on the far end of the hall. “It’s been too many hours since last we slept. I will see you on the morrow.”
“You are both fools,” Holden hissed. “Do you not know what to do with a warm, soft woman’s body on a night such as this?”
Brice turned on him with a look of fury. “Do not talk so about a Scotswoman. Especially in front of the lad.”
“I’ve heard such talk in the stables.”
“But not in this house.”
“Think of her as the spoils of war,” Holden said with a sly smile. “And enjoy this gift you’ve been given.”
“We’ll talk no more of it.” Brice’s tone was low and commanding. “Until I decide what to do with the woman, she is to be treated with civility.”
“Aye.” Holden laughed. “I will be most civil with Lady Meredith MacAlpin.”
Brice recognized the sarcasm in Holden’s tone but was too weary to argue further. With a lift of his hand he dismissed his friends and made his way to his chambers.
Meredith heard the door close and was instantly alert. She listened to the slight shuffling sound as Brice crossed the room. She heard the occasional scratch of dogs’ paws as they walked to the fireplace and settled down for the night.
The dogs. She had not planned for the dogs to be in the room.
Brice tossed another log on the fire and the flames danced and leaped as they licked at the dry bark. The room was suddenly bright from the glow of the fire.
At the foot of the bed Brice removed his tunic and shirt and she heard them whisper through t
he air as he tossed them on a nearby chair. The pallet sagged as he sat and tugged off his brogues.
When he pulled down the linens her heart began a wild hammering. Was the man actually going to sleep in the same bed with her? She had thought, nay, hoped, that he would be gentleman enough to sleep on the settle across the room.
The dagger in her hand was damp and slippery.
She was wearing only a sheer night shift, which Cara had brought earlier. Her gossamer gown and kid slippers had been taken away at Cara’s insistence. On the morrow they would be clean and ready for their mistress. But their mistress, Meredith thought with a smile, would be miles from here. She would borrow a cloak and boots from Brice Campbell’s wardrobe.
Patience, she counseled herself. Despite these unexpected changes in her plans, the dogs, the man in bed beside her, she must bide her time. She must wait, pretending to be asleep, until Brice Campbell relaxed his guard. If he had any warning, all would be lost.
From the warmth of his breath on her cheek she knew that he was facing her. She dared not chance a look at him. If his eyes were focused on her, he might detect the slight flickering of her lids. She would have to wait until the fire burned low and his breathing became even.
Her lids were heavy. Her body begged for the blessed release of sleep. But though the urge to sleep was nearly overpowering, she resisted. Her only chance to escape would be to plunge the dagger into Brice Campbell’s heart and disappear into the dense Highland forests.
He shifted slightly and his thigh came into contact with hers. She lay perfectly still, willing herself not to move.
How strange to be lying, not in her marriage bed, but in the bed of a brute who had taken her captive. How warm his flesh where it pressed hers. The thought left her shaken. She must not allow herself to think of him as a man. He was a cruel savage, who would rue the day he had tangled with a MacAlpin.
He sighed and moved a foot. Before she could recover her wits he brought his foot down, dragging the fur coverings from both of them.
From beneath veiled lashes she chanced a quick look around. The dagger was clearly visible if he would but open his eyes. She held herself rigid, afraid to breathe, afraid even to swallow. By the light of the fire the dagger’s blade glinted ominously. There was no place to hide it.
He moaned and dropped an arm about her waist. Her gaze flew to his face. His eyes were tightly closed. Gathering courage, she allowed her gaze to scan him.
God in heaven. The man was practically naked. She was so stunned she started to push away before she realized what she was doing. At the movement his fingers closed around her waist, dragging her closer.
The hand holding the dagger was slick with sweat. She clutched it between herself and him, praying that she would not drop it in her nervousness.
Sparks shot from the fireplace, sending a tiny explosion of light into the room. Reflexively he moved, bringing himself even closer to her. His face rested just beside hers, his lips brushing a tangle of hair at her temple.
The nearness of the man was driving her to distraction. All her carefully laid plans were unraveling. With his lips pressed to her temple she was unable to think, to even move. Saliva pooled in her mouth and she forced herself to swallow. The sound seemed overloud in the quiet of the room.
He murmured something in his sleep and tightened his grip on her, drawing her firmly against him. Never in her life had she been this close to a man. Even one with all his clothes on.
With each breath his hair-roughened chest brushed against her breasts, creating a tingling sensation deep inside her. She was achingly aware of his hips touching hers, of the thigh that rested against hers. The hand at her waist was warm, so warm that she felt as if her flesh were on fire. The heat spread, radiating a warmth that threatened to engulf her.
Despite the thundering of her heartbeat she forced herself to listen carefully to the sound of his breathing.
Soft. Even.
It was time. Before she forgot who she was and why she was here. Before she forgot that he was a monster who had killed Desmond MacKenzie and carried her off like a prize to be claimed. Before she allowed herself to be frightened by the presence of his dogs. It was time to buy her freedom even at the price of his life.
Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger. Wet, slippery fingers. For one moment she allowed the knife to slip from her fingers while she wiped them on the bed linen beneath her. Then, picking up the dagger, she clutched it firmly and raised herself to her knees.
She lifted her arm and brought the dagger down with all her might. At the last second she closed her eyes. She could not bear to watch the blade pierce his heart.
Brice was dreaming. A beautiful woman dressed all in white was running toward him, her arms outstretched, her long dark hair streaming behind her on the breeze. He caught her and lifted her, pressing his lips to hers. Slowly, languidly, she slid down his body until her feet touched the ground. He could feel the press of her breasts, her hips, her thighs. His hands spanned her waist as he drew her closer. Suddenly she was pulling away from him. Her smile twisted into an evil leer. Her hand snaked out. Instead of caressing him, she slapped him. Hard.
Brice awoke, twisting away from the dark, angry vision.
Meredith felt the mattress shift as Brice rolled aside. The dagger caught the edge of his shoulder, barely biting into flesh. Blood spurted and ran down his arm. She pulled the dagger free and lifted it again, intending to take better aim. But before she could once again plunge the blade her hand was caught and pinned in a grip of such strength she cried out.
He swore, loudly, viciously, as he crushed her small hand in his. “You will drop the dirk or I swear I’ll break every bone in your lovely body.”
“Nay. I’ll not submit to you.” She was still on her knees, straddling his prone body, struggling for control of the dagger.
“Submit?” The word was a snarl as he rolled over, pinning her beneath him. “You’ll do more than submit, woman. You’ll die unless you give up the weapon. Now.”
He pressed a thumb to her wrist until the bones threatened to snap. With a shriek of pain she let her fingers go slack until the knife dropped from them.
He picked up the knife and tucked it beneath the bed linens, then stared down at the figure pinned to the mattress beneath him.
“I thought it was a dream.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Had I not awakened in time, you would have killed me.”
“Aye. You deserve to die for what you did.” She felt the sting of tears and tried to blink them back.
Her hand was so numb she had no feeling in it. Had he broken it? She tried to move her fingers and felt searing, burning pain.
“What I did was avenge my honor.” His hands continued to hold her roughly. “Gareth MacKenzie has made false accusations against me, attributing crimes to me that he knows I could not have committed.”
“What has that to do with me?”
“Nothing.” His tone was abrupt, cutting off her protest. “My fight is not with you. You just happened to be a minor obstacle in the path of my justice.”
“Justice. What you have done is far from just.”
“Aye.” He looked down at her and felt his anger continue to stir him, though it was already beginning to diminish. “I had not intended to involve you in this, lass. It just happened.”
“Then you are honor bound to release me.” She felt a moment of hope before his next words dashed it.
“The MacKenzies do not respect honor. They respect only strength. I have already told you. You will be the bait that lures Gareth MacKenzie to my lair.”
Her heart plummeted. Was there no reasoning with this madman?
From the floor he lifted a shirt and tore a strip of fabric. With an economy of movement he wrapped the cloth about his wound and turned to her.
“Tie this. ’Twill stem the flow of blood.”
She fumbled with the cloth and managed to secure the dressing. It was incongruous that moments ago she had
been prepared to kill him. Now she was bandaging his wound.
A million hot needles pierced her hand as the feeling returned. He noted the way she tentatively wiggled her fingers.
“It’s broken.” Her voice was flat. “You’ve broken it.”
He stared down at her hand in silence.
Her tears started, and though she made a valiant struggle, they flowed freely.
She knew it was not only the hand that caused her to cry, but the knowledge that she had lost her chance to escape.
Moved by her tears he caught her hand in his and expertly ran his fingers over hers. His tone was gruff. “Not broken. But probably badly bruised. If you lift a weapon against me again I will be even harder on you.”
Without realizing it he continued holding her hand. So small. So soft. How could one small hand hold his life in it? The anger inside him merged with other, newer emotions. Instantly his touch gentled.
“Such lovely bait. How can Gareth MacKenzie resist?”
She saw the look that came into his eyes and felt a new terror grip her. She was too vulnerable. He was too dangerous.
“As you said, Gareth has no feeling for me. He will not be ensnared in your trap.”
His voice was suddenly harsh. “I think you place too little value on yourself, woman. There are not many men who could turn away from your obvious charms.”
Her heart leaped to her throat. Aye, he was far too dangerous.
He lowered his face until their lips were inches apart. She felt the heat of his breath as it mingled with hers.
Damn Holden Mackay, he thought. He had planted a seed in Brice’s mind this night. And now, with the woman so near, the thoughts expressed by Holden were taking hold of Brice’s will.
“I fear I shall have to sample the bait.”
“Nay.” She tried to pull away but was held fast.
His lips brushed hers.
She felt the first rush of heat and turned her head, avoiding the lure of his lips.
With a muttered oath he placed a hand on either side of her head, holding it firmly as he brought his mouth over hers.
