Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  For so too was his heart.

  •••

  Sylvi left Ian at the stable to care for the horses and warred with her decision to meet him later for a tryst outdoors. It was foolish, really. Cold and pointless and a waste of time better spent seeking Reginald.

  Sylvi had considered telling Ian she wouldn’t do it, but when he’d declared himself eager for their romantic interlude, she could not bring herself to tell him no.

  She knew she ought to, especially with the possibility of Reginald returning to the castle with his men. Really, the entire thing was absurd, ludicrously romantic and wasted on one such as her. And yet, there was a part of her she had thought long since dead—a tender, fledgling piece of her—and it craved the sweet words and adoring affection. Everything Ian was so willing and eager to give.

  The sun slipped between the hills in the distance. It would be nightfall within the hour, and soon after the moon would show her face in the sky. She shoved through the main door of Kindrochit and was met with the warm, savory scent of roasting stew. Her mouth watered.

  A moonlit glen indeed.

  Sylvi almost laughed. It was so foolish a thought.

  “What are you thinking of to put such a smile on your face?” Percy appeared at her side and pulled the cloak from her shoulders.

  Heat scorched Sylvi’s cheeks. She cleared her throat and smoothed at the dress she wore. “A jest I heard earlier.”

  “From Ian?” Percy probed, her grin widening.

  Sylvi cast the woman a warning look. “I’ll be gone for a while this evening but would like to speak to Liv and Isabel before I depart.”

  For all the lifetime she’d waited to find Reginald and his men, she suddenly now hoped Liv and Isabel had found nothing. Then, for one blissful night, Sylvi could set aside her rage and her vengeance and focus on the mundane. Possibly even romantic. Moonlit glens.

  If they had found something, of course, Sylvi and Ian would not leave. But in truth, how could such a large party as Reginald and his men leave no mark? If they found no indication of Reginald and his men nearby, Sylvi and Ian would be clear for a night of shared freedom.

  Percy pointed to Sylvi’s mouth. “You’re doing it again.”

  Sylvi gave a playful swipe at the offending digit and spun away. “Enough.”

  Percy’s good-natured chuckle followed Sylvi’s departure. “I’m glad to see you happy,” Percy said behind her. “You’ve been sad for far too long.”

  If Percy was grateful for Sylvi’s happiness, then she did not begrudge Sylvi the man she was with. And truthfully, Sylvi was grateful Percy did not want Ian for herself.

  What woman could possibly compete with Percy’s beauty?

  Sylvi pushed into her room and closed the door behind her. She ran her hands down her dress and considered if she ought to change or stay as she was.

  Ian had seemed to like the gown.

  Her cheeks went warm again. She stalked across the room toward her clothing trunk and stopped in front of the window. The darkness outside allowed her reflection to show. Her waist was clipped impossibly narrow in the gown and her small bosom pushed up high and … She turned to the side, admiring the swell of her breasts—they appeared almost … lush.

  While uncomfortable and impractical, the gown did become her.

  She damn near felt pretty.

  Pretty. At the very thought of the word, she scoffed. She certainly was playing the fool indeed. She ought to take off the gown and put her old trews—

  Something moved in the darkness behind her. A shadow. A person.

  Alarm prickled through her, late in its warning. She spun around to defend herself, and something whistled past her cheek. The dagger sank deep into the fine wood of the bedpost behind her. Sylvi jerked her own blade free from her belt and regarded her attacker.

  A woman stepped from the shadows, her slender body encased in a fitted black corset, her skirts flared wide with the latest fashion. A smile spread over her handsome face.

  “Distracted?” My Lady asked. “I never took you as one for preening.”

  Sylvi stared at the woman the way she might a ghost. And of all times she could have been snuck up on, Sylvi had been caught admiring her reflection, like some simpering court girl.

  Heat blazed in Sylvi’s cheeks. She thrust up her chin and straightened her back to hide her embarrassment. “I never took you for one to skulk through the shadows.”

  “You are right, Girl. Sneaking about was never my forte. I figured you might appreciate the effort.” She stepped closer, and her skirts rustled in the quiet room, accompanying a snapping pop from the fire in the hearth.

  “I’m growing weary of weapons being thrown at my head.” Sylvi grabbed the hilt of My Lady’s dagger and pulled it free from the wood.

  “Do you have so many enemies?” She stopped in front of Sylvi. Silver strands shone in the ebony black hair, and a fine sifting of powder lay over My Lady’s smooth skin. Regardless of the effects of the last seven years, she was still a beautiful woman with an air of seduction about her. Something Sylvi had never been able to master.

  My Lady’s sharp gaze swept over Sylvi, assessing with as much detail, if not more. “I don’t blame you for looking at yourself. If I had a waist like that still, I don’t think I’d be able to walk away from a mirror.”

  Sylvi did not notice anything amiss with her former instructor’s waist, but did not correct her. Seeing her former mentor brought a wealth of memories surging through Sylvi. The hours they’d spent training. My Lady’s patience with Sylvi’s novice skills, her care in honing such amateur attempts into perfection.

  My Lady had laid the foundation for the strength Sylvi possessed. Without her, Sylvi would still be an orphaned gutter rat scuttling through the streets, aimless and lost and broken.

  “Where have you been all this time?” Sylvi asked, unable to keep the wistful note from her tone.

  “I liked it better when we kept our secrets to ourselves.” My Lady patted Sylvi’s cheek. The powdery sweetness of My Lady’s perfume was still the same as it had been seven years prior. “You’ve been doing well for yourself from what I hear.”

  “I’ve heard nothing of you.”

  My Lady’s red smile widened. “Exactly as intended.”

  “For a woman so blatant with her seduction, how do you remain hidden so well?” Surely hers was a skill Isabel would appreciate. “And how the hell did you get into the castle without setting off the traps or being caught?”

  “Secrets. Do you not wonder why I’ve come now, after all these years?”

  Sylvi lifted her brows.

  “I’m here with news I know you’d be eager to hear. News I did not trust to a page.”

  “You kill them all anyway.”

  My Lady shrugged dismissively. “Perhaps I wanted to see you again.”

  Sylvi held her hands out at her sides. “Here I am.”

  “You’ve become something amazing, Girl.” The older woman’s voice went soft. “Truly amazing. I’m proud of you.”

  The words sank into her heart, soothing a place Sylvi had not known was raw.

  I’m proud of you. She lowered her head in silent gratitude, and My Lady placed her hand on the top of Sylvi’s bent head—the way a parent does to a child at night to give them their blessings before bed. Emotion welled within Sylvi, but she tamped it down. She would not have herself appear weak now.

  “What news do you have?” Sylvi asked, lifting her head.

  “What news have you spent a lifetime wanting?”

  Sylvi’s heart stilled. “The man with half an ear. Reginald.”

  “Yes, I see you know his name now.”

  “I still don’t know his exact location, though we do suspect he is near.”

  My Lady nodded. “It would appear he knows yours.” She examined the backs of her hands. As always, her nails were perfectly shaped and beautiful. “I was warned by an acquaintance that a ma
n had been sent here to kill the inhabitants of Kindrochit. It had been some time since I communicated with this acquaintance as he assumed I still resided here.”

  “The man who came is dead,” Sylvi said.

  “Of course he is.” My Lady lowered her hands. “But I know the location of the others. If you hurry, you can arrive before they realize their comrade has been slain. It’s more than two days from here, near the Isle of Skye.”

  Sylvi’s pulse roared in her ears. “They won’t leave until he comes back.”

  My Lady clasped Sylvi’s face in her hands, her palms dry and warm where they caressed her skin. “You will have your revenge, Girl.”

  “Yes,” Sylvi said with all the enthusiasm pounding through her. Her head swam and her breath was almost impossible to catch.

  She had to tell Ian. The excitement swirling through her stilled.

  He expected to take her on a romantic tryst. But he knew what this meant to her. He appreciated practicality. He would understand.

  Sylvi rushed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” My Lady asked.

  Sylvi paused, her heart thundering a rhythm in her temples. “To cancel plans.”

  This opportunity could not slip through her fingers. Not again.

  Chapter 12

  Sylvi’s heart squeezed in her chest the closer she got to Ian’s room. Surely he would understand her desire to leave for the Isle of Skye immediately. Yet no matter how often she repeated this to herself, she found the affirmation harder and harder to believe.

  His door opened before she could raise her knuckles to the darkened wood. He flashed a smile at her, his teeth impossibly white beneath his beard.

  He’d donned a crisp kilt and léine—the extra ones from his bag.

  “I see you got some washing done in the short time we’ve been back.” It wasn’t quite a compliment on her end, but he would know well enough she meant it as one.

  “Aye, I employed some aid from Percy, who performed it while we were gone.” Ian held his hand out to her. “I had to look fine for my lass.”

  She took his hand even though she willed her fingers not to slide into his proffered palm. He had that effect on her, to leave her so entranced, she did not realize what she was letting herself do until it was too late.

  “Ye look bonny.” His gaze trailed down the neckline of her simple gown, dipping lower to her bosom and waist before coming back up to rest on her face. “Verra bonny. I’m glad ye kept the dress on.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t go tonight.”

  His grin did not falter. “Aye, ye can.”

  “Ian. We can’t do this. Not now. I know where Reginald and his men are.” She clasped his hand tighter, wanting to share the thrill of excitement humming through her. “We can leave tonight to go to where they’re staying. He’s near Skye. If we ride quickly and not sleep more than—”

  Ian’s finger came to rest on her lips. The callus on his fingertip rasped against the sensitive skin of her mouth and prickled her irritation.

  “We can leave after.” He spoke in a silky tone, which may have convinced her in days prior. When she did not have so great a task on her mind.

  She shook him away from her face. He was clearly not understanding. “No, we must go now. They haven’t moved yet, and I don’t—”

  “Ye promised me.” The reminder was gentle, but it scraped against her nerves.

  “Promises change.” She pulled her hand from him. “You know what I’ve been after this entire time.”

  He put his hand on her waist. “And ye know what I’ve been after.”

  Her anger swept through any amount of charm he threw her way. “Is everything a damn jest to you? Do you ever take anything seriously?”

  He studied her for a moment, his face unreadable, before a smile broke out on his face. “Life’s no’ long enough to give in to anger.”

  Were she not so angry, she could have pushed past her ire and they might have had a conversation without it intensifying. But somewhere deep inside her, the thread of civility snapped beneath the pressure of time’s strain.

  “You have no idea what these men have done.” She shoved her hand against his chest to put space between them.

  “To ye? Nay, I dinna know. Ye willna tell me.”

  She dropped her arm and stepped away. He was right. She hadn’t told him. He had no idea the importance of Reginald’s death. He didn’t know her hurt, her loss, the rage that was so much easier to bear than the pain of it all.

  He stepped closer and reached for her. “Calm down, my angel. We’ll put this aside—”

  She pulled away from him, and her veins blazed with the desire for vengeance.

  “ ’Tis only a stroll in a moonlit glen.” He gave her a peddler’s smile.

  “With time we do not have, all wasted on a foolish venture.” She spoke in a harsh tone. “I lost them once because of you, I won’t lose them again. It’s not worth it.”

  His brow furrowed, and the realization of what she said settled into Sylvi’s heart like the prickle of winter’s first chill.

  Sylvi’s mouth fell open, but Ian put his hand up.

  “Ye know how to win a fight. I’ll give ye that.” His smile was sharp and feral. “I’ll go pack my things and meet ye in the stable.”

  Sylvi swallowed. “In an hour we ride.”

  It was perhaps not what she ought to say. But she had never been a lover, and she’d thought her heart incapable of any softness to ever coddle.

  She turned on her heel and left Ian standing with his brittle grin and disappointed acquiescence. She couldn’t be who he wanted her to be or what he expected. She would always just be herself. A leader, a fighter, a seeker of vengeance.

  No matter the cost.

  •••

  Despite the short notice, the lot of Sylvi’s household, including Ian, was on the road within the designated hour. Even Fianna, who was little more than a bump beneath a thick plaid, huddled on the bed Percy had fashioned on Liv’s saddle.

  My Lady had been introduced to them all as Lady Camille, a name Sylvi knew to be fake and one she refused to call the woman she had so long referred to as “My Lady.” Percy, Liv, and Isabel accepted her with the same willingness they had Ian, each of them trusting Sylvi’s judgement, especially when she was the most skeptical of them all. They knew My Lady to have been Sylvi’s former instructor but had been doing discreet work long enough to ask no questions despite their unspoken curiosity.

  The constant clink of Percy’s many bottles of potions and tonics accompanied the crunch of the horses’ hooves over the frosted landscape.

  It was uncommon for all the women of Kindrochit to venture out together, especially Percy, who preferred to hide and was uncomfortable with the action, and Isabel, who had tricked all of Scotland and England into believing she was dead. Both women had their own skills they could bring to the fight, but it was more than that. Sylvi hadn’t wanted to leave them back at Kindrochit. If one man could find them, more could as well. She would not leave anyone there to fend off a band of marauders on their own.

  My Lady had said there were well over twenty men. Ian was skilled, as were Sylvi, Liv, and My Lady. But more than twenty men spread over an encampment were a difficult target to wipe out with only three people. She would need the assistance.

  Sylvi glanced to where Ian was chatting with My Lady. He gave his lighthearted laugh and jested as if he hadn’t a worry in the world.

  If only Sylvi could believe the front. But she knew better. His smiles were too bright, his voice too loud—all of it a mask for the flash of hurt when he flicked his gaze in her direction. Had she not known him so well, she would never have noticed such things.

  But she knew him intimately, and the realization stuck in her heart like a dagger. What she had said had been cruel.

  She ought to have apologized, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, to form the complexity of it on
her tongue. And while she hurt for him, she could not compromise her mission for him. Not again.

  Perhaps she was truly incapable of love.

  The thought settled into her mind with a chill.

  Ian had his own problems to be sure, but he’d grown up with a family, a home, people who looked up to him and held expectations. She’d clambered through survival, assuming everything was lost until she happened upon My Lady by chance. The bud of vengeance had given her life meaning while it blossomed and grew.

  But in a world so centered on anger and hate, was there any room for love?

  •••

  Ian’s back was near breaking, and he’d held the reins so long, his fingers were frozen into claws. It was almost dusk the next day before they finally stopped at the edge of the forest. The cluster of several buildings was so small it couldn’t even be referred to as a town.

  Sylvi, who had remained silent much of the trip—especially regarding him—turned toward them all. “Stay here. I’ll go secure our rooms.”

  Ian nudged his horse forward. “I’ll go with ye.”

  She cast him a long, considering look, and he tried to ignore the barb of discomfort her gaze cast into his chest. “Very well.”

  Together they rode the short distance to where the inn came into better view. It seemed to sigh into the wind and leaned a bit in the same direction. Its pock-marked sign swung by only one side.

  Rutting Inn.

  He tilted his head to follow the path of the sign until an S and a T were revealed to him.

  Aye, Strutting Inn sounded more appropriate for a proprietor. Depending on the clientele, of course.

  “We’ve no’ had much of a chance to talk.” There. He’d extended the courtesy of conversation.

  “I haven’t.” She swung off her horse. “You’ve apparently had plenty of opportunity.”

  He leapt from his own horse and followed at her side.

  So she’d noticed him talking with the other ladies—except Liv, whose cat seemed to hate him as much as its mistress. Both had stared balefully from under the folds of a heavy plaid at his every attempt to speak with them.