Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  A rhythmic squeaking sounded in the distance and grew louder until it echoed from the walls. Percy appeared in the doorway with a small handcart containing several levels, each laden with food. First she served a golden-skinned pheasant, which looked both crispy and juicy, then a plate of bread so fresh, yeasty-scented steam rose in a tempting curl. A few plates of stewed vegetables completed the feast.

  She reached into her cart and withdrew one more item. A belt with many loops and pouches, which she handed to Ian. “I hope it fits.” She glanced down. “I guessed on the size.”

  Ian leapt from the table, as eager for the hard-won gift as he was to be free of Isabel’s cloying closeness. He wrapped it around his waist and fastened the buckle. “It’s a perfect fit.” The sword and dagger loops were well placed for quick access in the event of a battle.

  “Ye did a fine job, Percy.” He nodded his appreciation. “Thank ye.”

  “I’m um … I’m glad you like it.” She hunched her shoulders and hid her face behind a curtain of golden hair.

  While she was a lovely woman, her shyness was so powerful it threatened to overwhelm everything else about the lass.

  Something tugged at the center of the belt. “That is a fine belt,” Isabel purred.

  He wanted to step away from her but knew doing so for a second time might cause offense. And an offended woman was a dangerous thing, especially in front of a woman he genuinely cared for.

  He slid a glance toward Sylvi, hoping for her intervention. She lifted her brows in bland amusement.

  He was on his own then.

  Ian plucked her fingers from his belt and quickly sat down. “If ye try to take my belt, I may fight ye for it.”

  The lusty glint in Isabel’s eyes darkened. She’d clearly taken his words as flirtation. Her bosom pushed out at him as if it had a mind of its own. “Would you punish me?”

  The stares from the other ladies rested heavily upon him, awaiting his answer. “Eh … no.” The question had so taken him aback, he couldn’t even dredge up a witty remark to offset the awkward conversation.

  This was by far the most uncomfortable dinner he’d ever attended.

  Isabel blinked up at him, her expression innocent, which was almost laughable considering her obvious lack of innocence.

  He turned his gaze from Isabel and heaped a mound of food on his plate. “But what I would like to do is eat some of this delicious food. Thank ye for making it, Percy.”

  Percy pushed her hair behind a pink ear and smiled.

  “I’m sure you are not used to eating such peasant’s fare.” Isabel skimmed her eyes over his léine and kilt. “It’s obvious you are a man of great wealth.” Her breasts thrust upward and toward him.

  “I don’t think ye’ve had true peasant’s food.” Ian took an extra helping of food.

  Percy glanced away, her cheeks red at Isabel’s unkind comment.

  The gray and white cat he’d seen earlier hopped up on the table and greedily licked her mouth.

  “It appears I’m no’ the only one looking forward to eating this incredible feast,” he said.

  The ladies all laughed. The sound echoed in the empty stone room and broke apart the straining tension.

  “Fianna, off the table now.” Liv lifted the cat with the chastising tenderness of a mother. Fianna settled on the ground with a little songlike chirp.

  Liv tore a piece of pheasant from her plate and tossed it to the floor beside the cat, who greedily devoured it in jerky, purring bites. Ian chuckled at the cat and looked up to find Sylvi watching him, a fragile smile on her own lips. She held his gaze for a moment before turning to Liv and speaking softly to her about something he couldn’t hear.

  Ian bit into the meat and found it so succulent and perfectly spiced, he practically purred himself. “This is the best pheasant I’ve ever eaten.”

  Percy looked up from her own food with genuine surprise, and the worry smoothed from her brow with a quiet smile.

  A bang snapped through the air, loud and sudden enough to make Ian jump.

  “The southeast tower.” Percy leapt to her feet. “Sylvi, the trap. Someone has set it off.”

  Chapter 9

  Ian followed the women down corridors he had not yet seen, all lit by the flickering light of a candle dancing a frenzy in their haste. Up several flights of stairs, through more corridors, until they arrived at a door Sylvi shoved open with savage anticipation.

  Freezing night air rushed in and whisked out the candle flame, plunging them into darkness.

  Ian knew without being told who the trap had been set for and why Sylvi was so eager to see for herself. The landing on the castle wall was wide enough to accommodate all five of them with ease.

  All four of them.

  Isabel apparently hadn’t bothered to join them. Of that, Ian was grateful.

  Percy pushed a hand to his shoulder. “Be careful.” She dropped her hand quickly, as if touching him burned her, and pointed to the ground. Large cages lay open, their hungry metal mouths stretched wide, ready to snap closed on an unsuspecting victim.

  Ian followed the line of them to the end, near a tower, where one cage was upright and locked with something in it.

  Sylvi was already there, peering inside, her body tense. A long, drawn out silence filled the air.

  “He’s dead,” she said at last, her voice was flat. She slapped her hand against the wall and gave a loud curse.

  Ian made his way carefully around the traps to where Sylvi stood. Blood pooled on the ground, an eerie purple red in the darkness. A majority of the man’s body was in the cage, but a shoulder and an arm dangled out where it had closed over him.

  Percy gave a sharp gasp. “It wasn’t supposed to kill him.” She shook her head. “No. No. How could this happen? How could he have died?” She edged closer, peered inside, and gave a strangled cry.

  Her shoulders sagged forward and she backed away, still shaking her head. “The locking mechanism,” she said miserably. “It shouldn’t have gone through as blunt as it was, but it went so fast … ”

  Ian stepped over the rope of the man’s grappling hook and studied the shadow of the body in the moonlight. Sure enough, a thick bar protruded from the man’s back, dripping with blood.

  “Let’s get him out.” Liv pushed around Percy. “You probably don’t want to be here.” She said it in a gentle tone, which spoke of her affection for the other woman.

  The man jerked, a reflex of the recent dead.

  “I’m so sorry, Sylvi.” Percy’s voice trembled with tears. “I know what this m-meant to you.”

  Sylvi’s jaw flexed. “It wasn’t your fault.” She put a gentle hand on Percy’s shoulder.

  Tears shone on Percy’s cheeks.

  “This was an accident,” Sylvi said. “I know you didn’t mean to kill him. I know how you feel about death.” She pulled Percy close and hugged her in the way a mother does a frightened child. “It’s all right.”

  It was so tender and so gentle, Ian wondered if the darkness played tricks on him and only made him think the woman holding Percy was Sylvi.

  A wild thought slid into Ian’s mind. What kind of mother would Sylvi be? She was stoic and tough, aye, but he hadn’t seen this softness in her before.

  Sylvi released Percy and gently turned her toward the open doorway. “Go on inside. I’ll come speak to you when this is dealt with.”

  The body jerked again.

  Ian narrowed his eyes against the darkness. A river of blood from the man’s chest shimmered in the meager moonlight down his torso to where his hands were clasped near his belt.

  Something hung from his fingertips. The length of his plaid had fallen over whatever it was, blocking it from view. A breath wheezed out from the man and he wrenched his arms up, exposing a crossbow aimed directly at Sylvi.

  •••

  Sylvi lay on her back, staring up at the star-speckled sky and a mad man.

  Ian h
ad lunged at her. Before she could fend him off, he slammed into her and took them both to the ground.

  Her body remained still for a moment, frozen in shock, before pain flashed through her body. She shoved his chest, knocking him off her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He stumbled back, but maintained his footing. Sylvi sat up to find Liv drawing a hand back from the dead man.

  “What is this?” Sylvi demanded. Her voice was hard and loud in the soft night.

  “He wasn’t dead.” Liv held up a crossbow. “Ian saved your life.”

  Ian shrugged. “Guess we’re even now, aye?”

  An arrow jutted from the roof of the southeast tower, directly where her head had been. She stalked over to it and pulled it from where it had stuck fast between the shingles. A fine white strand clung to it like a length of cobweb. She plucked it free and examined it.

  Her hair.

  The bolt had come that close.

  Her heart squeezed with the realization. Ian had saved her life.

  “It appears we are even indeed.” She nodded her thanks to Ian and received a wink in return.

  The man was impossible.

  “The prisoner is still alive then?” Sylvi asked Liv.

  The other woman tossed the crossbow on the ground, where it landed with a solid clatter. “Long enough to fire at you. Looks like that was the last of what he had in him.” She pried open the cage, and its great metallic squeal filled the otherwise silent night. The man’s body held for a moment before sliding off the locking mechanism and landing at Liv’s feet in a bloody pile.

  Sylvi stared at the body in revulsion. “Long enough to try to kill again. No doubt one of Reginald’s men. All those bastards do is kill.”

  She grabbed a handful of his léine and flipped him so he lay on his back. His body was still warm beneath the fabric, and the scent of blood swam around her.

  Revulsion threatened to shudder through her, but she pushed her disgust away for the weakness it was. Death always reminded her of her family, of the finality of loss. It was indeed fortunate she did not deal with bodies often.

  “Do you know him?” She looked pointedly at Ian.

  He knelt beside the body and pulled away a length of dark hair, which had fallen over the man’s face. “Aye. And so do ye. It’s Gregor.”

  She jerked her attention to the waxy face, studying it with renewed interest. Ian was right. It was Gregor who lay still at her feet. Regret slashed through her. She had wanted it to be her blade to take his life, not the mistake of a locking mechanism.

  “We need to get him inside,” Sylvi said. “Perhaps he has something on him we can use to determine where they are hiding.”

  Liv turned away from where she’d been scouting over the wall. “There aren’t more below from what I can see. He must be the only one.”

  Disappointment edged into Sylvi’s heart. She hadn’t expected the men to all come together. But it would have been so easy if they had.

  She bent and grabbed the body’s feet. “They will once he does not arrive.”

  Ian took the dead man’s wrists in his hands, and together they hauled away the body of the man whose mistake had saved Sylvi’s life. The man she had meant to kill.

  •••

  Gregor’s body had contained nothing helpful.

  Sylvi quietly closed the door to Percy’s room and stood for a long moment in the hallway. Percy had been upset at the impact her trap had had on the man, but then she always had been sensitive.

  The hallway was dark and cold.

  Sylvi was alone.

  Her throat tensed in an unexpected knot she could not swallow away.

  Gregor’s death had upset her as well. Because she felt nothing. For years she had dreamt of his voice, his hand on her shoulders, his blade at her neck. For years she’d wanted to see him dead.

  But his death had been an accident, not fueled by the force of her vengeance. She didn’t get to tell him who she was or see the expression on his face.

  She’d whispered it into his ear while he lay stiffly on the floor, but it was not the same. The lack of satisfaction settled in her heart and left it hollow, left her hollow.

  She swallowed hard again, but the ache in the back of her throat would not dissipate.

  Ian.

  Her mind screamed his name. Because of the need to find out any additional information he might have, of course. For no other reason.

  She walked briskly. Her footsteps rang out on the naked stonework around her, reminding her how very alone she was.

  Her steps hastened toward Ian’s room.

  So alone.

  She wanted one of his foolish jests to lure a smile to her lips, and his strong arms around her, offering her support he knew she didn’t need.

  Didn’t she though?

  She wrapped her own arms around herself and squeezed. Thin muscle against thin muscle. No warmth.

  No comfort.

  But she didn’t seek him for comfort, she reminded herself. She sought him for answers. After all, she’d gone this many years without a man to offer consolation.

  Answers—she was going to see him for answers.

  She rounded the corner of the hall to his room and stopped.

  Isabel stood at his partially open door in a white gown so thin, her flesh was visible beneath. Her hair blazed in the darkness like a vibrant ruby. She did not look behind her when she slipped inside and closed the door.

  Sylvi’s heart sucked down into her gut. The lock turned with a heavy click, and she flinched.

  She jerked herself against the wall, under a blanket of shadows, lest someone see her and assume her foolish intent.

  The tightening of her throat further increased until she wanted nothing more than to scream. To throw her head back and scream and scream and scream until her throat went raw.

  Instead she lifted her head and dropped her arms from where they hugged her body for warmth. She spun on her heel and made her way back to her own room. It was a good thing she had been going to his room with the purpose of gleaning information and that she had not truly sought comfort.

  She swallowed around the swollen ache in her throat and wished she could make it go away.

  If she had gone to Ian for anything more, something of a more personal nature, this slap of rejection might have actually stung.

  Chapter 10

  Ian was surprised Sylvi had been so loud coming into his room. But then, she clearly wanted her presence known.

  He turned his attention from the fire he sat before and glanced over his shoulder to the woman in a white gown.

  He’d expected his angel, dressed in cloth as delicate as a skein of moonlight. But it was not Sylvi who stood in front of him with her body on display. Vivid red locks tumbled down her slender shoulders in place of white-blonde hair, and the fog of an overwhelming perfume slammed his senses.

  Exotic spices.

  Isabel.

  She twirled around like a dancer, putting her body on display for him. The gauzy fabric fanned around her like the skin of a ghost. “I knew you’d like it.”

  Ian got to his feet. “I dinna remember inviting ye.”

  If he could gently nudge her out, he would. No need to hurt the lass’s feelings. It would not be the first time he would have to dissuade unreturned affections.

  “I invited myself.” She gave a little shrug, and the fabric shifted open to reveal the swell of her breasts beneath. Her nipples were a rosy pink.

  Ian snapped his stare away. “Ye shouldna have come.”

  Her spicy scent swirled around him in a cloying miasma. The bitter taste of it lodged in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it away, but still his head spun with the effects.

  “I had to come.” Isabel caught his jaw in her hot palms and pushed her painted face up to his. “We never have men here. And I can’t be seen. Ian, it’s been so long since I’ve had a man. So long.”

&
nbsp; A soft whimper slid from her throat, and her brows furrowed in agony.

  He knew exactly what kind of agony plagued her. But he would not be the source of her relief. Ian backed up even though she still clutched his head, putting himself into an awkward bowing motion. “I appreciate yer attentions, but I think it’s best we—”

  She stepped closer and slid her hands down his back while he straightened. “I can’t go anywhere for risk of being discovered.” Her eyes widened beneath the kohl in a pathetically obvious attempt to make herself appear mysterious.

  Before he could pry her from him, she rubbed her body over his and moaned.

  “Isabel.” He spoke more firmly this time.

  His voice did not startle her. Instead she released him and caught his face once more. Her long nails prickled his skin, and her red lips came down on his, forceful and waxy with the grease.

  He pushed his arms away and broke her grip from him. “Enough of this.”

  She stared up at him with her dress hanging on her near-naked body by one skimpy shoulder, the garish red of her lips smeared over her jaw. Hurt blazed in her eyes.

  He shook his head and tried to rein in his patience. “I’ve tried to gently tell ye—”

  “That you don’t want me?” Isabel’s sensual facade cracked to reveal the selfish ugliness beneath. “Because you want Sylvi?” She gave a harsh scoff. “If you think that frigid bitch could ever love you, then you’re a fool. She doesn’t love anything but that dagger of hers and her ridiculous dream of revenge.” She rolled her eyes with great exaggeration.

  Anger grappled Ian’s chest. It was one thing to lash out at him, but he would not tolerate the disrespect of Sylvi. “Dinna criticize a woman ye havena taken the effort to truly know.”

  “She doesn’t want to get to know anyone,” Isabel huffed. Her gaze raked over his naked torso, and her teeth sank into the smeared red of her lower lip. “You are so handsome.”

  She stepped closer to him. “I wouldn’t tell her, you know. I’m a very discreet lover.”

  Ian put his hand up to stop her. “Dinna do this.”