Deception of a Highlander

by Madeline Martin

  “Will it be over soon?” Coira asked, her voice small.

  Mariel shifted the girl’s weight in an effort to regain some feeling in her legs. They had long since gone numb. Her fingers ached, yet still she clutched Colin’s dagger in her right hand.

  “Will it be over soon?” Coira repeated.

  “I’m sure it will be,” Blair said in Gaelic through the darkness. There would be no guilt behind the lie. They had all made false promises in their efforts to calm the children who knew no different.

  The deceptive words produced the desired effect, and Coira’s tense body relaxed against Mariel.

  Thoughts of Kieran pounded in her brain, as did the memory of the large warrior descending on him like a barbarian of nightmares. Colin had pulled her away before she saw Kieran react. He had defended himself in time, hadn’t he? He was strong enough to deflect the force of the impact or dodge out of its path.

  Mariel squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe lest she scare Coira. He was strong, capable, and intelligent. Alec stood by his side and would let no harm befall him. Kieran was fine. He had to be.

  Of one thing she was absolutely certain. He would not be home by dawn as he had promised.

  I love ye too much to see ye hurt.

  How could those words be so painful and so euphoric all at once? Mariel swallowed the knot in her throat.

  He loved her.

  She steeled herself against her fears. When next she saw him, she would tell him—no matter what it took. He loved her and he would trust her. She had to put her faith in that.

  Apprehension niggled the edges of her optimistic thoughts. The MacLeod warrior had charged him with such accuracy…

  Kieran was fine. He had to be.

  A savage cheer sounded overhead, and Mariel sensed the women and children around her give a collective jump.

  Though this was Mariel’s first experience with an attack, she knew the sound for what it was. A victory cry.

  But who had won?

  The tension in the room thickened with the unanswered question. The one she knew every woman thought.

  Several children startled from sleep and began to cry. Their mothers whispered fiercely in the dark for them to be silent. Heavy boots stomped the overhead floorboards and sent sprinkles of dirt raining upon them.

  The acrid odor of fear hung heavy in the thin air. If the MacLeods won, every woman and child in their crowded cellar would face death…or worse. Chills lifted the hairs on Mariel’s arms. She would not go down without a fight.

  She eased Coira from her lap with a gentle shush and picked her way across the room. Carefully, she crept up the stone stairs, her satin shoes silent against the stone. She pressed her body flush against the rough wall and waited.

  The door rattled. A soft cry sounded from below. Mariel tightened her grip on her dagger and forced herself to breathe.

  The door swung open and light pierced her eyes, shadowing a great, hulking frame that filled the doorway.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mariel tensed in preparation to attack when Colin’s voice came from the great shadow.

  “Mariel?”

  The breath she’d been holding released in a rushing exhale.

  The stinging brilliance of light eased against her eyes and Colin’s form stood apparent in front of her. “I’ve never been happier to see you, Colin.” She glanced at the crowd of people scurrying behind him. Tentative footsteps filled the stairwell below. “Where’s Kieran?”

  Colin backed into the hall and motioned for her to follow as the women and children emerged from the cellar with eyes squinted against the glow of the torches.

  Before he could answer, Blair appeared with Dougal clasped in one hand and little Coira in the other. Blair gave Mariel a knowing smile. “I’ll take Coira to her grandmother. When you find my brother, give him my love, aye?”

  Mariel nodded and tried to shrug off the urgency of finding Kieran. Children could sense unease and the two had been through too much already. She bent low and gave them both a kiss on the cheek. “You were both very brave. I’m so proud of you.”

  Blair translated Mariel’s words to Gaelic for Coira and both children flushed with pleasure before disappearing down the crowded hall.

  Mariel immediately turned her attention to Colin. “Is Kieran here? Is he all right?” She did a visual sweep of the crowded area and frowned. “I don’t see him…”

  The throngs of people were mainly women returning from battle. While many had blood on their clothing, only a few appeared injured.

  Colin rubbed his shoulder and rolled his neck in the opposite direction. Weary lines etched his face. “He’s fine, but he’s no here.”

  Mariel sagged with relief. She was right. Kieran was fine. But not here? Confusion pulled at her brow. “I don’t understand.”

  “The MacLeods ran. Kieran split us up. Some returned back here to protect the clan and castle, and some are chasing the bastards around the island.”

  “How long do you think that will take?” She knew her question was useless, but could not stop herself from asking.

  Colin gave her a sympathetic frown. “Hard to say. Could be hours, could be weeks.”

  “That’s what I expected.” She took a deep breath to still her pounding heart. “I won’t keep you any longer. I know you must be ready for bed.”

  “It’s no a problem. I’m waiting for someone anyway.”

  A voluptuous woman with long blond hair and a suggestive smile peered around the corner.

  Colin grinned down at Mariel. “Now I’ll be going to bed.” He hesitated, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Ye can join us if ye like.”

  Mariel laughed in spite of herself at the outrageous invitation. “I don’t think Kieran would like that.”

  “Ye’re right. He’d have me strung up by my bollocks. I would say come see me if he ever gets tired of ye, but…” The dimple appeared in his cheek. “I dinna think that will happen.”

  “Go on,” she chided through her mirth and swatted his shoulder.

  Mariel’s smile faded from her lips. The activity in the hall had dispersed and only a few people remained. Though exhaustion pulled at her, she had no desire to return to her room. Nothing waited for her there but the ghost of regret.

  No, she could not go there and lie in the darkness alone. The company she would keep turned her stomach.

  A warm hand wrapped around hers, startling her from the draw of her own despair.

  Blair’s kind green eyes regarded Mariel with concern. “You needn’t worry about him. Kieran is very strong and an excellent warrior. He knows how to protect himself.”

  Words that had meant to comfort squeezed Mariel’s heart like a fist of ice. Blair was a good woman, an innocent caught in a dangerous scheme.

  “I’ll take you to your room. You can sleep—”

  “No.” Mariel shook her head. “There has to be something else I can do.”

  Blair cast her a wary look. “There are wounded to tend to. Are you sure you don’t want—”

  Mariel touched Blair’s forearm. “I’m fine. Please, I’d like to help.”

  Blair nodded and led Mariel through the doors of the great hall. The long tables had been cleared away and replaced with makeshift pallets. Men lay upon them, some with bloodied bandages and some with gaping wounds.

  Mariel shoved Kieran from her thoughts and rolled up the satin sleeves of her dress. These men needed her, and she would not come to their aid distracted.

  • • •

  The wind ripped through Kieran’s heavy plaid as if he wore nothing at all. The hard tack he’d eaten several hours ago no longer staved off the gnawing hunger, and his stomach growled in protest. Exhaustion tugged at his heavy limbs, but he sat prone on his horse and pushed onward. What he was feeling was no different than what his men endured.

  The sun had begun to rise and speared shards of crimson light through the dense copse of trees overhead, rendering the forest floor a
brilliant shade of red. The effect was disconcerting. There had been too much bloodshed over the last two weeks to allow appreciation for the otherwise magnificent sight.

  The MacLeods were hiding and had long since refused to fight face-to-face. Kieran and his men were relentless in their search. This was MacDonald land and they would do more than defend. They would punish.

  The warriors he lost in defense of the Caisteal Camus had been avenged. Still, Kieran would not cease until every last straggler was found. Scotland would know that Kieran MacDonald was not a man easily taken advantage of, just as Brennan MacDonald had not been or their father before them.

  Only a few MacLeods remained. Four by the looks of the tracks they made, and Kieran was on their trail. Like a predator closing in on his prey, he and his men had foregone sleep and hunted through the night with stealth determination. They would bring the last of the MacLeods down and return home to their comfortable beds, warm food, and willing women.

  Home to Mariel.

  Kieran’s gritty hands clenched at the thought of her smooth skin beneath his fingers. He wanted to erase the faces of the dead with her beauty and obliterate the odor of blood with her heady rose scent.

  He thought back to the night the battle began and a hollow ache filled his chest. Again. He had not been able to stop reliving it, damn it. She had been so desperate to speak to him, frantic almost. What she needed to say was important. He had no doubt of that. Hopefully she would be as eager to speak with him upon his return.

  A patch of blue shifted behind a cluster of bushes. Kieran stilled. His body honed in on the enemy, his muscles tense in preparation to strike. A raw cry broke through the silence and four MacLeods charged through the brush with their swords drawn.

  Their efforts were in vain. They were struck down before Kieran reached them. His men outnumbered the fallen MacLeods and yet they had still attacked in a valiant end to their lives, unlike their cowardly brethren. They died with a battle cry in their throats and swords in their hand. A warrior’s death.

  The poignancy of their courageous defeat struck Kieran’s men and rather than cheers of success, their triumph resounded with solemn silence. Too many had died for this victory.

  “To home, men,” Kieran said in a low voice and turned his horse around. The ride to Caisteal Camus was long and they would arrive late in the night, but the final push through exhaustion, discomfort and hunger would be well worth it. They were going home.

  • • •

  Mariel wound a length of soft linen around a gash on a warrior’s torso as he waited in grumpy silence. Very few men remained in the great hall. Some had healed, some insisted they had never belonged there in the first place, and others had stormed out, muttering about being coddled.

  “You did well, Murdoch,” she said to the warrior. She pressed a small loaf of still-warm bread into his hand. “For the warrior who can never get enough to eat.”

  He gave her a rare grin and nodded his gratitude.

  Mariel rose to leave and felt the familiar wave of desperation wash over her.

  If Kieran did not return soon, she would be forced into action on her own. Her only hope was that she could somehow manage to free Jack before Aaron’s men caught her and killed her. But then there was Blair and Dougal to consider. If Mariel left, another assassin would take her place. One who was far more ruthless.

  She scanned the room, anxious to start another task in an effort to occupy her mind.

  Blair approached, drying her hands on her apron. “You are swaying on your feet. You need to go to bed, and I won’t take no for an answer this time.”

  “There’s so much to do. Bandages need to be changed, supper needs to be dispersed, and you know no one can deal with Murdoch but me.” Mariel’s few attempts at sleep had not been worth the effort. Every time her eyes closed, she saw Kieran’s face, his eyes tender, trusting. The image was more than she could bear.

  “Murdoch is the one who sent me over,” Blair said. She nodded to the grizzled warrior who clutched the loaf of bread Mariel had given him. Blair caught Mariel’s hand in her own cool grasp and gave her a sympathetic look. “I know that something has been bothering you. I don’t know if it’s Kieran being gone or fear for his safety, but you need to take care of yourself, aye?”

  “How did you do it, Blair?” Mariel asked quietly. “How did you manage to escape your past? How did you forgive him?”

  Blair’s face registered her surprise at the question, but she did not seem offended. “If I did not have my son, I would probably have stayed until he killed me. But Dougal was so small.” Her eyebrows knit together. “No matter what happens in life, the young and innocent should never suffer for the mistakes of their elders. As far as forgiving…” She shook her head. “It’s not that I’ve forgiven him, but that I did not want that hatred to follow me here. My focus is what I have in life rather than what I lost. I have been blessed with my sweet Dougal, a brother who cares for me, and a clan that is loyal.” Blair gave Mariel a loving smile and squeezed her hand.

  Blair released her hand. “Please go to bed.”

  Mariel nodded and allowed herself to be shuffled in the direction of her room. She trudged up the stairs and tried to convince herself exhaustion would provide a dreamless sleep.

  Once the heavy door shut behind her, she fell onto her bed and reveled for one sweet second in the coolness of the sheets against her aching legs and the softness of the rushes cradling her heavy body. Her eyes closed and sleep slid over her like a heavy velvet blanket.

  Six days left.

  Her lids flew open.

  Though her body was fatigued, her mind would not let her sleep. If she did not come up with another alternative soon, she would fail her mission and Jack would pay the price. Her heart raced and her body remained alert in stubborn defiance to the rest she so desperately needed.

  The only remaining option resonated within her.

  “No,” Mariel whispered into the empty room. Tears ran hot down her cheeks.

  There could truly be no other way.

  Kieran would do anything to protect Blair and Dougal, just as Mariel had done for Jack. Without the opportunity to seek his help in coming up with a plan to defeat Aaron, she had no choice but to comply with the original demands. She sucked in a deep breath of air as though the act could still the pain of her breaking heart.

  Kieran MacDonald would have to die.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The journey home took more time than anticipated, and the moon hung high over Kieran’s head long before he and his men arrived at the castle. He fought the weight of exhaustion and trudged up the narrow staircase toward the comfort of his bed. Toward Mariel.

  He entered the narrow hall and fixed his gaze on her door.

  His arms ached with the need to cradle the softness of her body against him. She would be warm from sleep. The thought was almost more than he could bear.

  He stilled. What if she woke and thought he was the assassin? He didn’t want to frighten her in the middle of the night, not when she already suffered from night terrors.

  Irritation tightened his shoulders. Damn that English bastard for ruining this for him. Kieran would kill the whoreson as soon as he had the chance.

  He turned from Mariel’s door and entered his room where he was greeted with dark, cold loneliness. The servants had not known to anticipate his arrival and no fire had been lit. Were Kieran not so fatigued, he might have done it himself, but the lure of his bed was too strong to ignore. With a heavy sigh, he lay down, not bothering to pull the blankets back, and fell into sleep’s embrace.

  • • •

  Mariel’s frantic heartbeat hummed in her ears. The sounds of movement in Kieran’s chamber had ceased. The time had come.

  She sat up and the room spun. Her stomach lurched in protest. Despite the chill of the room, a sheen of sweat moistened the surface of her skin.

  True, she could flee and attempt to rescue Jack, but that would do nothing for Blai
r and Dougal. She could not leave them to suffer.

  There was no other way. This had to be done.

  She knelt before her chest of clothes and pulled a pair of black pants and shirt from its depths. They were men’s clothing that had been tailored to fit her small frame. The perfect attire to complete a heinous crime and slip through the night undetected.

  Her fingers trembled as she dressed and plaited her hair. Her movements were quick lest she lose her nerve. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain lancing her heart. If she did not do this, Jack would die. Her darling, sweet Jack who had done no wrong in the course of his short life.

  She slid the black mask over her face and nausea threatened her composure. She had worn it to a masque she’d attended the previous year, back when she thought her sins could not slide any deeper. The small mirror caught her reflection. The woman who stared back at her was not Mariel Brandon, but a stranger, a foreign beast borne of desperation.

  She turned from the horrific image, unable to stand the nightmare looking back at her. The knife lay on her bed, a silvered glint of moonlight upon her mattress. Were it not for Jack, she would sooner plunge that blade into her own chest than Kieran’s.

  Mariel wrapped her hands around the hilt of the blade and drew a deep breath. Now.

  Soundlessly, she slipped from her room and made her way down the hall to Kieran’s door. The metal latch was cool beneath her sweat-dampened palm.

  With a slight press of her thumb, the latch gave and the door shifted open. Unlocked. Fear and dread mingled in a bitter, metallic taste in the back of her throat.