A Dark Highland Magic: Hot Highlands Romance Book 4

by Kelly Jameson

  “I have other things ye may have. I have plenty of gowns.”

  “Thank ye, but I won’t be….”

  A small group of men had gathered at the entrance to the hall and Conall stood and looked at Kat. Malcolm stood as well and looked at his wife. “We go to find and bury Beitris’ brothers.” Sorcha nodded and looked away, frowning.

  Kat rose from the table, aware that all eyes in the crowded hall were upon her. At the entrance to the hall, she was given a plaid with Maclean colors. She had no choice but to wear it, and Conall helped her to put it on.

  Outside, the men mounted their horses. Before she could protest, she found Conall’s large, warm hands on her waist, hefting her into the saddle. He swung up behind her.

  “I can ride by myself,” she cried, aware of the iron press of his thighs against her own, the strength of his arms as they held the reins, and the broad expanse of his chest at her back.

  “Aye, I dunna doubt it. But I dunna trust ye not to ride off into the hills in search of yer cave and the perfect twig family with which to spend the rest of yer days.”

  Kat bit back the protest on her lips, for he had readily acquiesced to her request to find and bury her brothers. What enemy had ever done that for a prisoner? She could think of none. The Maclean was proving himself to be a different man than the one the rumors proclaimed him to be.

  Was the man not all warrior? Still, she was wary. What would he ask for in return for these kindnesses? Surely there would be something come due. He seemed the least likely candidate to be a priest. The priests she’d known had been auld, bald, and timid, had an aversion to violence, and liked to spend hours by themselves praying and reading and writing on calf vellum.

  Conall had kissed her but he’d also told her she resembled a turnip freshly dug from the garden. So clearly he did not desire her. Why the kiss then?

  The horses began their trek and she concentrated on sitting up straight, trying not to lean against him. As the sun rose higher, they rode westward, the vast stretch of rolling hills green and brown in patches.

  Conall leaned close. “Tell me about your brothers.”

  She felt his warm breath on her neck, and for a moment, the urge to settle against that solid wall of chest was almost irresistible. She kept herself straight though her back ached from holding herself rigid.

  As the horses and men—armed with both shovels and weapons—trudged through a small, grassy field tucked high between two mountains and guarded by rock, she found herself talking, trying to keep her mind off the task ahead. Would she find her brothers’ lifeless bodies picked at by birds? Nay, she could not bear the thought.

  Below the cliffs, the sea was rough. Seafowl circled the towering precipices, making their mournful sounds. Kat kept Ragnar and Lorcan alive with her words, telling Conall stories from her childhood. She talked of how, despite being a lass, her brothers always allowed her to participate in sword games, dice, and chess. She remembered how they all turned pieces of bread into sailing ships and reeds into swords and spears, until she’d picked up a real sword and demanded to be taught how to use it.

  “Ye didna make dolls from scraps and flowers?” Conall asked.

  “I had no interest in dolls or flowers.”

  “I supposed ye also hunted?”

  “Aye.”

  “Hawked or took falcons hunting in the marshes?”

  “Nay. I was afraid of the birds.”

  “I canna imagine ye being afraid of anything.” He paused. “Did ye fish and swim?”

  “Aye. My brothers tossed me in a loch. ‘Tis how I learned to swim.”

  “’Tis how my own sister Mollie learned as well. Ye have much in common with Mollie. She ne’er liked dolls either.”

  “Are ye the one who tossed Mollie in the loch?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ye played with tiny bronze lions as a lad. I canna imagine that.”

  “Aye, the lion was given to my father at the royal Edinburgh court by the king’s magician. Its tongue quivers and it lets out a tiny roar. Mollie has one too.”

  “There is a chess set in my room. Did ye and Mollie play?”

  “Aye. Many hours of chess. She’s quite good at it.”

  It was too much for Kat, the memories of her own childhood and brothers rushing in all at once. She jerked when she felt Conall’s fingers alight softly on her cheek.

  “Shhh, lass. I only wish to wipe away yer tears.”

  Kat hadn’t realized she’d been crying. His fingers were gentle. The strain of sitting straight was too much and she finally relaxed into his chest. She felt his intake of breath but he did not speak.

  She was aware of Martainn, on the horse nearest to them, glaring at her with reproach as Conall withdrew his hand from her face.

  Too soon they approached the river.

  “We’ll cross on the horses where it’s most shallow but yer skirts will get wet.”

  She nodded, her skirts the last thing on her mind. She barely felt the cold, numbing water as the horses splashed their way across the river.

  They dismounted on higher ground, tying the horses to birch trees, and walked to the field. Her wet skirts were heavy and muddied. Soon they stood in the ruins of the battlefield. In the bright sunshine, birds sang incongruously in the trees and preened and washed in puddles. Conall waited as Kat gathered her courage. He stayed close as she began to walk among the fallen bodies of MadDonald men; he didn’t leave her side.

  “Is Angus among them?” Conall asked quietly.

  “Nay. He sent others to die in his place. It is his way not to fight himself unless it is a sea battle or mayhap a land battle with a chance to kill not only his enemies but innocent men, women, and children as well.”

  “He will die by my sword.”

  “Unless one of my own clansmen kills him first,” Kat said.

  They soon found Ragnar’s body. Kat looked away and wept as the men wrapped him in a plaid. She nearly collapsed but Conall held her up.

  Though they continued to search for hours, they did not find Lorcan.

  “Where shall we bury Ragnar?” Conall asked. “Surely not here, in a churchless field. And not on MacDonald land, as ye have no wish to return there. We could bury him in our village cemetery near the small chapel. The MacDonalds gave us our lands many, many years ago, once Mackinnon lands, as a dowry; that’s how Macleans came to own much of Mull. So there is a connection to the MacDonalds.

  “He will have a proper burial and ye will always ken where to find his resting place. I will ensure no one disrespects or disturbs the grave. For all ye’ve heard about my clan, the Macleans are not ghouls. And, after all, there have been times when our clans were not enemies.”

  Kat crossed her arms over her chest. She knew nothing about the villagers. Would they be more apt to disturb Ragnar’s grave if they knew him to be a MacDonald? What other choice did she have?

  She nodded. It was an odd and unusual circumstance and she would have to take Conall’s word. She didn’t like the idea of her brave brother being laid to rest on Maclean land, but she’d prefer he had a proper burial and be able to rest in peace. She would rather he not be buried in a trench, fully clothed and without a shroud, as was the fate of executed criminals and forgotten warriors, whose hands were often tied before their bodies were kicked into a ditch to lie face down forevermore, with no one to mourn them.

  She studied the vast stretch of blue sky and said a silent prayer to Ragnar for forgiveness, remembering his wicked sense of humor. Perhaps his soul was laughing now at the irony of it all, being buried on Maclean land, even if once the land had had a connection to the MacDonalds. Perhaps Ragnar planned to haunt the Maclean clan and play tricks on them.

  “I would be thankful if he were buried in the village cemetery,” she said quietly.

  “It shall be so,” Conall said.

  Conall and Kat rode ahead of the others on the way back to the village so she would not have to look at Ragnar’s plaid-wrapped body, which had
been placed on a horse. But what had become of Lorcan, she wondered? Had he been struck down in the river and drowned?

  Exhausted, Kat let herself lean against Conall’s wide chest on the ride back. Emotionally and physically drained, she was only vaguely aware she sought the warmth of her enemy’s big body. Yet her mind struggled with the fact that while it may not have been Conall’s sword that struck down her brothers, it was the sword of a Maclean.

  Ragnar’s burial was a blur though she and Conall both said prayers. “I will have the mason make a stone marker for him,” Conall said. Kat nodded, unable to speak. And then she let sleep overtake her as they rode back to the castle.

  Chapter 10

  Martainn ran a hand through his dark blonde hair in frustration. He had not tied it back and it hung to his shoulders.

  Martainn paced and quarreled with Conall, despite the fact that Kat sat on a bench in the great hall and could hear every word that passed between the two men. In fact, Martainn often cast loathsome looks her way.

  “The lass is bewitching ye!” he said. “Because she’s bonny, ye forget she’s a MacDonald and our prisoner. And ye have yet to decide her fate!”

  Martainn’s jaw was hard and he clenched his hands at his sides. “Ye give her a chamber to sleep in, warm blankets and clothes, and plenty of food! Ye even buried her brother in the village cemetery! On Maclean land. ‘Tis not right!”

  Martainn began pacing again, nearly stepping on Kat’s foot.

  “’Twas the right thing to do,” Conall said. “What would ye have done for the poor lass? Placed her brother in a ditch, Martainn? She has lost everything.”

  Conall was half a head taller than Martainn. Though his body was leaner than Martainn’s, his shoulders were wider and he was the stronger of the two.

  Martainn seemed oblivious to the hard edge in Conall’s voice. He gestured with his hands in frustration. “‘Tis I who have lost everything! My bride-to-be is so frightened and withdrawn she willna even speak to me! Send Beitris back to Angus. Let him decide her fate.”

  “Nay. I will not send her back to that pig.”

  “She canna stay here,” Martainn said. “She is a reminder of all Andrina has suffered. Beitris MacDonald is hated and despised. The clan does not want her here.”

  “Do ye not ken, Martainn, that ye remind her of the tragedy she’s suffered every day by the way ye look at her, with pity? Mayhap she mistakes it as loathing! Anyway, ’tis not yer concern. For now, ye’ll leave it be.”

  “Not my concern!” Martainn said. “’Twas not yer lover who was mauled by MacDonald men. ‘Twas not yer lover who had her face slashed and her bones snapped, leaving her with a limp and unable to bear children! I’ll not leave it be! And speaking of lovers, yer betrothed arrives this evening. Or have ye forgotten Elspeth? Another wretched MacDonald of Clanranald! I dunna ken yer fascination with their clan. Ye kill MacDonald men on the battlefield yet lust after their women. Ye and yer father think that by marrying ye off to Elspeth, it will bring us closer to peace with the MacDonald monsters. A foolish thought!”

  Martainn stalked away.

  Conall’s eyes locked with Kat’s but he said nothing and strode from the hall.

  Not wanting to sit in the lion’s den as she’d come to think of the great hall, she asked Ronald to take her to her room, where she was shut away from hateful, prying eyes. She paced in front of the hearth. Conall was betrothed? To someone of Clanranald? He’d said nothing of it. She chastised herself, for why would he speak of such things with her? She’d met an Elspeth once, when she was a small lass. Clanranald sometimes visited Finlaggan castle. Could it be the same lass, now a woman? She remembered Elspeth as a beautiful, pampered little girl with ghostly white-blonde hair who carried a pet squirrel in a cage. The squirrel had red fur.

  If Kat stayed at the Maclean castle, what would happen once Conall was married to Elspeth? She’d be forgotten, and at the mercy of the Macleans who detested her presence more than Conall surely did.

  She must speak to Martainn despite Conall’s kind treatment of her. She must try to gain Martainn’s aid in escaping the castle. She knew it to be foolish and dangerous, but there was a chance Martainn would help her, for he longed to see her gone. She just had to be sure he would not insist on returning her to Angus once they left Duart and gleefully demand some sort of ransom. Or kill her and leave her body for the birds and wild boars to pick at.

  She opened the door and peeked out. Ronald raised a bushy, red brow.

  “Ronald, would ye summon Martainn?” she asked. “I wish to speak with him.”

  “About what?” Ronald said, his voice gruff.

  “’Tis a private matter.”

  “Nay.”

  Kat’s spirits fell. “It’s just that I ken something of herbs and healing. I think I can help Andrina.” She felt guilty for the little lie.

  “Martainn surely would not believe ye, lass. He’d suspect ye’d rather poison her.”

  “Ye forget, Ronald, I have taken many beatings from my own clan. I ken what it is like to be at the mercy of a cruel man’s fits and fists of rage. I ken she’s suffered much more than that, but….”

  Ronald rubbed his chin. “Och, alright lassie! I guess it canna hurt. But I will take ye to him instead. I need to stretch my bony legs. They ache from sitting here by yer door.”

  Chapter 11

  They found Martainn outside in the courtyard, readying his horse for a ride.

  “I would speak privately to Martainn,” Kat said.

  “Nay, I canna let ye….” Ronald began.

  “I will speak privately with her,” Martainn said. “Rest assured, Ronald, she’ll not escape on our watch.” He handed the reins of his horse to Ronald. “Ye interrupt me when I would ride, Beitris of the MacDonalds. Be quick about whatever it is ye have to say, for I loathe the sight of ye.”

  They walked around the corner of the stable, out of earshot of Ronald or anyone else.

  The wind ruffled Martainn’s golden hair and the waning afternoon sunlight glinted off the golden whiskers on his rugged chin.

  “I ken I have no right to ask ye for any favors but….”

  “Favors? For a MacDonald? Yer a bold lass! And daft if ye think I’ll grant ye any! Ye waste my time.” He started to walk away.

  “Wait, Martainn. Please. What I have to say will benefit ye as well. And mayhap Andrina.”

  He stopped and turned. After a long moment he returned to her side, crossing his arms over his brawny chest.

  Kat wasn’t sure how to begin. “I ken ye dunna want me here.”

  “Nobody wants ye here,” he said. “Soon even Conall’s tender treatment of ye will fade. Have no doubt, for he will be married soon and he’ll forget wanting to bed ye.”

  Kat blushed at his blunt words. “Ye dunna want me here and I dunna wish to stay. I canna return to my own clan, for ‘twas Angus who gave me these bruises. If I return, he will surely kill me. And my brothers…are gone. I have no real kin left.”

  “What are ye suggesting?”

  “Help me to leave this place. Conall does not have to ken ye were involved. Give me a nag, for I am a good horsewoman. And a dirk with which to defend myself, and leave me in the forest. ‘Tis all I ask. Tell everyone I simply escaped. I can fend for myself. I am capable. I have ridden many miles on horseback, over hill and bog and wilderness. I have forded rivers and made my way through forested uplands. I can hunt and I can skin a rabbit with one pull and cook it.”

  He laughed but there was no mirth in it. “I care not about yer survival skills. But yer bold to ask for a nag.”

  “Then ye’ll help me?”

  He stared at her, his blue eyes as icy as the sea in winter. “I would not give ye a nag from the Maclean stables.”

  “Then take me on yer own horse and leave me in the forest and I will walk until I find shelter. I ken ye despise me and long to see me gone. We want the same thing. I ken I ask a great deal, for ye will need to deceive Conall to get me out of t
he keep. And Ronald.”

  “I’ll have to think on it.”

  “With tender care, Andrina will speak to ye again. It will take time….”

  “Ne’er speak to me of Andrina! Ye ken nothing when it comes to the woman I love, the woman ruined by MacDonald savagery!”

  He stormed off and soon she heard the hooves of his horse pounding the earth as he left the courtyard. She was returned to her room with her guard, to wait anxiously on Martainn’s response. Mayhap he would tell Conall of her request and Conall would be angry after the kindnesses he’d shown her as a prisoner. She was returning those kindnesses by betraying him and involving his second in command.

  So be it. She could not see a future here. Once she was gone, Conall would soon forget her. She did not wish to be a burden on anyone. She did not wish to be at the mercy of Maclean fits and fists any more than she had those of the MacDonald. She would find her own way. Even if it meant being alone for the rest of her days.

  Chapter 12

  Kat found herself seated once more at Conall’s side for the evening meal. The hall was warm and noisy, and Kat was tense, for Martainn had barely glanced at her. How long would he make her wait for an answer?

  She picked at her food, the dancers and the guests a blur of faces. Conall’s betrothed, Elspeth, had indeed arrived, with others of her clan. She sat to the right to Conall and was the girl Kat remembered. She still carried a pet squirrel in a cage, with red fur, and the cage sat on the table.

  Elspeth was beautiful. She wore a gown of deep scarlet, the low neck displaying her creamy bosom. The gown had silver stitching on the sleeves and neckline and she wore a silver belt about her tiny waist. The fabric was stiff and smelled of cedar wood. Her shiny white-blonde hair was swept up with jeweled scarlet combs. Her lips were sensual and her skin flawless, but her dark eyes were cruel.

  “I grow bored, Conall,” Elspeth said. “Tell me about yer prisoner.” She leaned forward, giving all who chose to look a grand view of her bosom, and locked eyes with Kat. “There’s something familiar about her but I canna seem to place it.”