A Dark Highland Magic: Hot Highlands Romance Book 4

by Kelly Jameson

  Kat was all too aware of the steep cliff and drop-off only feet from where she stood. Her grip on the dirk tightened. Now that the men stood close, Kat could see the grime on their faces and hands, the lice crawling and jumping in their hair and beards. She could smell their foul stench and her stomach lurched.

  “The warrior who used this dirk is a breed apart,” Kat said, noticing a faint flicker of fear in their eyes. “He stands as tall as two men and they say he has witch blood in his veins. He is the son of the Black Wolf, and like his father can cut a man’s heart out with a glance. He drinks the blood of his enemies from their hollowed out skulls. Anyone who misuses his dagger, to hurt or kill women or children or even mermaids, will suffer a curse.”

  Ewen licked his lips. “Och, lass, ‘tis a fine dirk indeed. And ye say it belonged to Conall Maclean? The Conall Maclean, the son of the Black Wolf? But even for such a dirk we willna be trading ye our bow and arrows. We’ll take yer dirk and we’ll keep our bow and arrows too. Then we’ll take ye, right here. Each of us will have a turn. What think ye, Patrick? I’m not afraid of a Maclean warrior who lives beneath the sea in gold chains. I’m not afraid of any Maclean.” He nudged the other man with his elbow and grinned. “I’m more interested in the bonny treasures ye have hidden beneath that plaid, lass. When we’re through with ye, ye’ll be too sore to walk for days, mermaid or no.” He licked his pasty lips.

  Patrick frowned. “Ewen the Toothless, she wears the colors of a Maclean. Perhaps we should leave her alone. They say some Maclean warriors have the Sight. Mayhap one of them watches us even now, if that is truly his dirk.” His eyes scanned the horizon as if he expected a warrior to appear.

  “Aye,” Kat said. “’Tis the plaid of my lover and I can loose him from his golden chains with only a thought, summoning him from the sea.”

  Ewen laughed and then stopped, his eyes growing round with fear. He pulled a wicked looking dagger from his boot and rushed Kat. She deflected his arm easily as the thrust of her dirk met his stout belly. They fell to the ground, rolling to the edge of the cliff. Ewen plunged over, and for a second, Kat thought he would drag her with him. But she wriggled loose and watched in horror as his body was broken on the rocks below. She turned, half expecting Patrick to shove her over the cliff after him, but instead she found the man cowering. In the presence of a warrior.

  For a moment, she believed she actually had summoned a warrior from the sea. His visage was dark, his hazel eyes burning with gold fury.

  “God’s teeth, she is a Maighdean Chuain!” Patrick croaked. “She summoned ye from the stormy sea!” He trembled. “Ye’ll not cut my heart out with a glance!” Patrick scooped up Ewen’s dagger from the ground and tried to stab Conall with it, but Conall quickly dispatched him to the next realm with his sword.

  Kat was as still as a statue, trying to calm her breathing. She had stabbed a man and he’d tumbled over a cliff. She was on the ground, her head hanging over the rocks. She started to move and stilled as a rock went tumbling below, cracking apart.

  Conall was by her side in an instant, pulling her away from the ledge. His black hair was not tied back and the wind whipped it around his face. He stood close to her, so close she had to look up into his face. He said nothing and Kat was acutely aware of the mournful cry of sea birds.

  “I treated ye more than fairly and yet ye deceived me,” he growled, his voice low.

  “Ye kept me prisoner! No one grieved my departure.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Ye convinced my second in command to deceive me as well. A man who has been my trusted friend since childhood, a man who is like a brother to me and who has never deceived me before, not once.”

  As if by magic, Martainn appeared on his horse, followed by Conall’s father Malcolm and a heavy, sweating man she didn’t recognize. Her eyes searched Conall’s face but he gave her no explanation for their presence.

  He took her hand firmly, led her to his horse and hoisted her up, swinging up behind her and imprisoning her in his iron-hard thighs as his muscled arm encircled her waist. The party of men and their captive rode away, down the mountain path as dusk softly lit the skies in twisting blue-gray and tangerine ribbons. Shadows were thin and rippled around them like a loch that had been disturbed by someone tossing a stone into the water.

  They did not speak. Kat struggled with her thoughts. She had killed a man. ‘Twas true he would have killed her if she had not defended herself, but she felt as if she might be sick. Is this what men felt after their first kill in battle? Would the feelings of shock and guilt at taking a life eventually fade with time? Or did all men simply become hardened to the flesh they pierced in battle, to seeing an enemy’s red blood spilled before them while lives drained away?

  After a while they came to an old stone kirk, long abandoned and more of a ruin. It was crumbling and sat in a valley. Mountains loomed above. Black-faced sheep grazed in a distant field and an old cemetery with tilting stones sat behind the kirk. There was ivy where the roof of the kirk should be.

  Martainn, Malcolm, and the stout man dismounted and tied the reins of their horses to a nearby tree. Without saying a word they headed inside the old roofless structure, startling a sea bird who quickly vacated its nest with a flurry of flapping wings.

  Conall dismounted next and helped her to the ground. He tied his horse’s reins to a tree limb.

  “He stands as tall as two men and they say he has witch blood in his veins?” Conall said. He placed a finger beneath her chin. “Is that truly how ye see me, a grotesque, brutish monster? Perhaps it is time I acted the grotesque, brutish monster. Perhaps then ye would cease lying.”

  Kat felt a cold fear and shivered.

  Conall withdrew his hand. “They say this kirk may have been used during Viking times,” Conall said. “Others say there’s a tomb of a royal knight buried somewhere beneath this stone.”

  “Why do we stop here?” Kat said.

  He held out his hand but she would not take it. “Ye can walk in with dignity or I will carry ye in myself.”

  Kat crossed her arms over her chest.

  He said nothing as a brutal smile touched his lips. He lifted her and slung her over his shoulder. She beat her small fists against his back but it was like pummeling a mighty rock.

  Inside, he strode down what used to be an aisle. Her view of the floor was excellent—a carpet of withered leaves and creeping green moss. He set her on her feet, sliding her down the hard length of his body, and she realized they stood near a crumbled altar. She watched in silence as Martainn opened a satchel and set a candle on the moss-covered pulpit. He lit the candle, a frown on his face.

  “Do we camp here for the night? In a kirk with no roof when there is a cave but a few miles off?”

  He did not answer, but gave her the cool, appraising smile again. The open roof revealed a river of grey clouds rolling above them, portending another storm. The stout man plopped himself down on a stone bench, clearly wearied by the ride.

  “This is Martainn’s cousin, Fat Alpin,” Conall finally said. Fat Alpin offered a half-hearted smile.

  “’Tis interesting ye told those men I was yer lover,” Conall continued, “bound beneath the sea by golden chains, my auburn-haired mermaid.” He reached out and caught a lock of her fiery hair in his fingers. Kat did not move away from his touch. She knew he was enjoying baiting her but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing she was not a cowering weakling. She knew she was a worthy opponent, despite the trepidation she felt.

  The sound of approaching hooves made them all turn toward the door and Conall gently pulled his hand away from her hair. Mollie, her black hair wind-tossed and free about her shoulders, practically ran into the kirk. In her hands she held a bunch of withered heather. Her vivid green gaze roamed the room and then fell on Conall. “Dear Brother, I’m hurt ye did not tell me of yer plans to wed this day, for I would not miss it! We will discuss this later.” She marched up to Kat. “These are for you.” She held the flower
s out. “I could not find anything else at such short notice, so these will have to do, though they are long past bloom.”

  “But where is Elspeth?” Kat said.

  “I’m not marrying Elspeth,” Conall said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve broken the betrothal. Ye said yerself ye were bound to a warrior beneath the sea and so ye shall be bound to me officially, only I prefer land.”

  Bound? Kat felt her knees go weak. When she didn’t take the flowers, Mollie pouted. “A bride should always carry a sprig of heather for good luck,” she said. “I dunna have a silver coin with me that ye could place in yer shoe, so the flowers will have to do.”

  Kat stared at the brown bouquet in Mollie’s hands.

  Heather, Kat thought, which is used to make ropes and baskets and to re-thatch homes. Heather, which is used to weave things together. Her life and Conall’s.

  “Alright, I’ll just hold these for now,” Mollie said. She turned to Conall. “I’ve been following ye, brother. I canna believe ye would wed and not tell me!”

  “There is no time for a proper ceremony. We best begin and get it over with.”

  Fat Alpin got up. It took some effort. He stood in front of Conall and Kat and pulled a Bible from his coat. Opening it, he turned some pages. Then he frowned and turned some more pages. Then he coughed and turned still more pages. Martainn and Malcolm stood off to the side, both of them frowning too. Fat Alpin looked at Conall.

  “Shall we begin already?” Conall said.

  “What madness is this?” Kat cried. “I will not marry ye Conall!” She trembled and couldn’t hide it. “We are not suited….”

  He looked down at her, his eyes burning with an emotion she could not name. “We’re perfectly suited. Ye cannot deny ye love a good battle as much as I do. Our life together will be full of interesting battles, my dear.” His face had taken on an almost feral look.

  “As God as my witness, I will not marry a Maclean!” Kat cried.

  “Ye will,” Conall said. “Today. Now. Alpin, begin.”

  Kat turned her vivid blue gaze on Alpin. He was still fumbling about, trying to find the right passage to read. “Are ye truly a priest?” she asked.

  Alpin looked away from her direct gaze to the other men.

  “Nay, he is not,” Malcolm said. “It matters not. This thing shall be done.”

  “Not a true priest!” Kat cried. “Then we canna be married! The marriage will not be official.”

  Conall pulled her to his side and her smile disappeared. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp but he was too strong.

  “My God, yer all mad,” she said.

  “’Tis the only way I can keep ye safe from yer own clan…and from mine,” Conall said quietly.

  “Ye’ll not find a better husband than my brother,” Mollie said.

  Husband.

  “No true priest…no rings….” Kat babbled. “Nay. Nay!” She nearly sobbed.

  Fat Alpin pulled two plain gold rings from his coat. “I have rings.”

  The meaning dawned on Kat.

  “Ye planned this before ye found me?”

  “In time ye’ll see this was the only way,” Conall said. “I have given ye my word I’ll ne’er hurt ye. I will not send ye back to that cruel bastard Angus. And if I dunna offer ye protection as my wife, ye’d be in constant danger at Duart. This is the only sensible solution.”

  Sensible? Wife? Dear God. Wife to the warrior Conall Maclean!

  “Ye did put yer mark on me after all,” Conall said. “With yer sword. Mayhap ye should have had better aim on the battlefield, my dear, or we would not be standing here.”

  “But Alpin is not a priest,” she mumbled, watching the candle flame flicker and nearly go out from a gust of wind that whistled through the kirk, stirring the leaves at their feet, making them twirl and skitter about. The wind made a high keening noise as it wound around corners of stone.

  “Certainly ye ken we dunna need a priest to make it official. Consummation will bind us together.” There was a ruthlessness in Conall’s voice.

  After that Kat barely heard a word as Alpin spoke and Conall slipped the plain gold band on her finger and guided her hand to do the same for him. The words seemed hollow and far away though somehow she managed to utter them. She had no choice. There were five of them and only one of her. Even if she somehow managed to get out of the kirk, she wouldn’t get far.

  Conall surprised her by bending down and gently brushing her lips with a kiss and she shivered, as if in a dream. The clouds gliding over the roofless church darkened and the winds rose. A great gust knocked the candle over, putting the flame out.

  On the ride back to Duart Castle, all Kat could think about was escaping again, before he had time to consummate their marriage.

  When they entered the great hall, they were greeted with cheers and toasts. A fire was lit in the hearth. There was laughter and the whisky and ale flowed. Wine was brought up from the cellars. Women and men danced. She did not see Martainn in the crowd. He had no doubt disappeared upstairs, clearly not wanting to take part in the marriage feast. She felt a stab of guilt for having driven a wedge between Conall and Martainn.

  Conall guided her to the table on the dais.

  “Ye certainly were sure of yerself,” she said, looking up at him. “What if ye hadn’t found me? What if ye hadn’t returned with yer reluctant bride?”

  “I told them I would return and when I did, ye would be my wife. And so ye are. I told them they would accept ye as a member of our clan and as ye are under my protection, no one should ever think to harm ye. Or would ye prefer to go back to Angus and his fists?”

  For the first time, she noticed the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the exhaustion. She thought of the hours he’d ridden in the cold rain, searching for her. If he hadn’t shown up when he had…would she have followed Ewen over that cliff? And because of her foolishness, two men were dead. Two men who had wanted to harm her, but still, they were dead.

  Conall ran a hand through his dark hair. “I offer ye my protection, a home, Beitris. Warmth and food. More than ye ever had from yer own brutish clan.” He looked at her and there was a question in his hazel eyes. “There may be other ways we are bound, Little Neep.”

  “What other ways could we possibly be bound?”

  “As a small lad, I had a vision of the bloody battle in the bay when Angus MacDonald took over Lordship of the Isles. I saw it long before it actually happened. Although at the time I did not ken it was Angus MacDonald. Macleans swam ashore and took refuge in a cave. I saw Macleans slaughtered as they emerged from the cave. Angus fought his own father for title of laird. Angus of yer clan. Ye were a wee lass then, when I had the vision about yer clan, for I was just a wee lad.”

  “How do I ken what ye say is true? And why would ye offer me yer protection? And what of poor Elspeth?”

  “Elspeth and I are not suited.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I had dreams of ye, more recently.”

  “Did ye dream of returning me to the Maclean dungeons? Of driving a stake through my heart? Of shackling me and taking me out to sea and throwing me overboard…or maybe….”

  “I dreamed I kissed ye like this.”

  He lowered his head and his mouth claimed hers. Kat found the hall and its dreamers and dancers falling away under the touch of his experienced lips. His arm went around her back and he pulled her taut against his wide chest while his other hand cradled her head. His arms were strong. He was in control, all man, authority and strength. His tongue was bold. Her breasts were pressed against his chest; his legs were iron hard muscle against her thighs. Of their own accord, her hands crept up around his neck and her fingers threaded his dark hair, which was still unbound. It was silky to the touch.

  He pulled away. “We all need a home, Kat.” His breath was warm on her ear. “A shelter and a hearth. A cold cave filled with twigs, plucked flowers, and stones is no place for a lass like yerself.”

  Her senses were returning and she balled her hands
into fists at her sides while his eyes searched her face.

  “Even though ours is a marriage of convenience, I can offer ye safety here. A home, of sorts. In time, as my wife, people will forget yer a MacDonald, and people will forgive ye.”

  “Forgive me? What of the slaughter of my brothers? I will never forgive them for that!”

  “I wish it hadn’t been so.”

  Kat didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “Ye may find me a hideous toad with a scarred face, but marriage to me will be better than returning ye to the animal Angus or a lonely life living in caves. Ye think me a monster, but I am not. I merely offer ye a different life. And if not romance…or love…ye’ll have a home, a hearth. Ye’ll have a less than perfect husband with a scarred face…a husband who would never harm ye.”

  “And when ye grow tired of me? What then? Will I still have yer protection?”

  He frowned. “Will ye take my protection?”

  “Why would ye offer me, a MacDonald who slashed at ye with a sword, such a thing? Why would ye toss away yer own future on a woman ye dunna love?”

  His eyes were a dark, heated hazel. “Do ye believe a man and a woman should marry for love and be true to each other for their entire lives, Beitris?”

  Kat bit her lip softly. “If they are in love.”

  “Then let me be clear. Though ours be a marriage of convenience, I will not tolerate other men.”

  Kat bit her lower lip and he watched. Her face flamed thinking of how her body traitorously reacted to his kiss. “What if....” She lowered her voice and he leaned his head closer to hers to hear what she had to say. “What if ye find me lacking in yer bed? What if I dunna produce heirs? What if I am not as strong as ye think? Would ye leave me alone then? Would ye poison me? Would ye just forget about me then?”

  He laughed, his eyes nearly devouring her. “I have imagined ye in my bed more than once, lass, yer fiery hair tousled, yer body slated from hours of passion after I made ye mine.”

  His words and the images he conjured made her body grow even hotter. “Yer bold. But yer boldness is displaced. I will no doubt disappoint ye. My hair may be tangled and unruly but my body…I dunna ken….”