Ceana’s heart already pumped hard from running for her life, from having to fight through the throng by the gate. And now added to that was her fear. She-muscle would kill her. There was no doubt in her mind. But she couldn’t let that happen. Not when she’d not even made it to the wood’s edge.
As much as her legs screamed in protest she pushed harder, faster, reaching the bow just seconds before She-muscle. She ducked low to the ground, grabbing it up and skidding out of the way of She-muscle outstretched arms.
No arrows.
“Dammit!” Ceana swung the bow over her head and shoulder and kept going. One glance over her shoulder to make sure She-muscle wasn’t coming after her. But the behemoth was bent over where she’d stopped running, hands on her knees.
She could make arrows. But she couldn’t do it if she were dead.
“We’ll meet again, pretty lassie!” the woman shouted.
Ceana gritted her teeth. She certainly hoped not.
Lungs starting to burn, she had to find shelter soon or she’d collapse. Thank goodness she’d been active. Hunting, running, climbing. All because they were constantly being invaded. In a sick sort of way, she had her enemies back home to thank.
Even when they were having a moment of peace, Dougal had made sure the clan was prepared. They often had physical challenges, and though Ceana didn’t always come in first, she worked darn hard to get close. Oh, just thinking of her brother made Ceana’s heart ache. Life would never be the same without him. Tears started to blur her vision and she swiped them free. Wouldn’t do now to go blind with sorrow. Entering in the games would have been all for naught, and she had a lot of people counting on her to succeed.
She kept her gaze riveted for arrows, but saw none.
A few more strides and she’d be within the woods. Ceana pushed herself harder, aware of all the other bodies breaking through the foliage, feet slamming down onto the forest floor. Those that had made it this far were no longer bent on killing anyone they saw. In fact, her gaze connected with several who turned away, ignoring her presence, and she did the same, recalling that though they were all enemies, they would face a common foe within the forest.
A shiver snaked over her, and she stumbled over a thick root jutting from the earth. She crashed hard, hands and knees striking the ground, teeth biting into the tip of her tongue. Ceana cried out, blood coating the inside of her mouth. She spit, and pushed herself up, body so sore and tired she nearly collapsed back onto the forest floor. But somehow, she found the will to push ahead.
Within the shroud of the forest, the light of the waning sky diminished. Even with her vision lessened, Ceana ran blindly forward aware of only one thing—finding shelter.
The sound of beating drums caused Ceana’s steps to falter. What did the drums mean? She turned in a circle, eyes taking in every inch of bramble, pines, oaks, leaves on the ground, roots jutting up like snakes ready to bite, fallen branches and trees that gave into age and rot. Animals scurried. Birds took flight. Though she’d been in plenty of forests in her life, somehow this one seemed like a whole new world. Because this forest meant more than any other. This forest was a murdering place. A haunted woodland filled with death and dying.
But the drums? What did they mean?
The vile woman atop the horse had mentioned horns. Not drums.
With the beat of the drums the light of the setting sun slowly faded, like the flap of a tent gently folding in on itself until finally all light disappeared, blanketing her in darkness. Ceana felt around blindly, searching for a tree she could put her back up against. Her fingers caught the roughness of bark and she turned, pressing her spine against it, facing the darkened forest and blinking until her eyes began to adjust.
It didn’t really matter how much her eyes adjusted, because there was barely a drop of light filtering through from her spot. It was as if she’d found the only corner in all the forest where the leaves had yet to fall. Cursing herself for not paying better attention, she crouched to the ground, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. Rocks, thick sticks. Her fingers slid through leaves and dirt, a few tiny sticks and equally tiny rocks. Nothing very useful. Nothing she could make an arrow with.
She bit her lip, suppressing a curse that might alert any foe to her whereabouts.
Howls filled the night, making all the blood drain from her face and limbs. She jerked her back against the tree, stomach flipping. Her hands trembled.
Wolves.
Dozens of them.
They cried out into the night sky. It was a warning to all those in the forest that they were on the prowl. That they’d hunt down any who lingered. But also a call to the pack to join together.
Ceana’s breath hitched. Heart pounding against her ribs, echoing dully in ears.
This was the first round. Hungry wolves who would tear the flesh from their bodies. And from the sound of it they’d sent out enough to pick apart at least a third of the entrants.
Tears streamed down her face as fear took hold. To be mauled by a wolf was a horrible death. Worse than being struck down by your enemy who might show you mercy. It was painful. Gory. And, how could she outrun a wolf?
Even at her fastest, she’d not be quick enough.
Hopelessness encased her, dragging her down to the ground where she stayed, tears streaming down her face and body shaking. She’d not the ability for this. Aye, she was a trained hunter, had taken down many game in her lifetime. But wolves?
Ceana had had nightmares about wolves since she was a lass.
Her father… The late Laird MacRae had been attacked by a pack of wolves. Shredded from limb to limb along with the guard he’d traveled with.
To come up against one of her darkest fears was unthinkable.
She’d fail.
Deep in her heart she believed that. How could she have ever thought she’d survive these games? She should have offered herself up to the MacLeod warrior when she’d encountered him in the cave. Should have died beside Dougal. But to have done that would have meant disappointing her clan. Sentencing them to certain death.
A low rumbling growl came from her right. Ceana froze. Eyes widening in the dark, and without moving she tried to see. Tried to figure out just where that growl was coming from. Imagined thin, black, wolfish lips pulled back, revealing long, sharp teeth, glistening with saliva. Eager to tear her apart.
Uncertain of where the growl was coming from, as it sounded all around her, inside of her, Ceana leapt to her feet, whipped around and grabbed hold of the tree. She yanked her skirt up, biting the hem so it wouldn’t tangle, and jumped into the air gripping a branch overhead. Wrapping her legs around the thick trunk, her feet pinned to the bark, she pulled herself up, ignoring the scratches to her sensitive skin.
Animal instinct within her, bid her to make the leap.
This was survive or die.
Moments before she’d been immobile, but not now. Not when death growled at her.
Her palms were sweaty, making it hard to grip, but hold tight she did, inch by ever-loving inch. The growl came closer, followed by another. There was more than one wolf ready to make a meal out of her. But not now. Not this minute. Hopefully not this hour. And if she had to sleep in this tree all night, and stay up here the remainder of the next day, so help her gods, she would.
Ceana swung her leg up around the first thick tree limb she could find that felt sturdy enough to hold her, and was high enough away from the beasts.
She straddled the limb, tucking her legs around it, shaking uncontrollably as sobs escaped her. She was tough, she knew that. But anyone would cry when they came face to face with death and their nightmares come to life. Anyone, she kept telling herself. She was weak because of the tears. And yet, she was strong for having risen up and escaped. For having found a way to survive this.
Three orange glowing sets of eyes stalked toward the tree where she was perched, their growls vibrating through her insides. Thank goodness for the lack of food, else she woul
d have certainly messed herself by now.
She was shaking so hard she feared she’d fall. Laying her belly down on the branch, she ignored the stabs of tiny twigs against her breasts and abdomen. One of the wolves leapt up into the air, snapping his teeth. She jerked, only held in place by the death grip her arms had around the tree limb. He didn’t get close enough, not even by two feet, even still, the saliva foaming around his snout managed to splat against her cheeks. His fellows took his cue, jumping up into the air, leaping toward her, pawing at the tree. From their shadowed figures, they looked half-starved. This was how the game stewards ensured they killed many, she mused. They made sure they were hungry.
Well, she was, too. Hungry to live.
Damned starving.
A snap of a twig from somewhere below stilled the three wolves, their ears perking. Oh, gods… There was someone there.
“Stay away! Wolves!” Ceana cried, hoping to warn whoever it was off a heinous death, but she was too late. The wolves pounced and though she could not see who the woman was, her death cries echoed painfully though the forest.
Ceana squeezed her eyes closed, unwilling to lay witness to any of it. The screaming didn’t last long, the woman’s cries fading to nothing and the only sound that of the wolves feasting on her flesh. Keeping her eyes closed, Ceana whispered prayers to the gods that they protected the woman in her after life.
“Protect me,” she whispered.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a blast of air slapped her cheek and a sting sliced her ear. Jolting up, she saw an arrow protruding from the tree, and quickly grabbed it before ducking back down.
“Are you dead up there?” It sounded like She-muscle.
“There are wolves!” Ceana called down, swallowing hard. She fumbled to pull her bow over her head and nock the arrow. “And no.” Not yet, and gods willing, not at all.
“We’ll have to remedy that.” A wave of relief flowed through her when the woman stepped under the tree, her arrow pointed upward. It wasn’t She-muscle, but a woman half her size. Why she cared, she didn’t know. Only one of them could win this.
“There are…” Ceana swallowed, her voice catching on her fear. She pointed her own arrow at the woman. “Wolves. They were just here.”
Her attacker wrenched her arm back, prepared to shoot, and Ceana did the same. “Wolves you say? I don’t see—”
Her words were strangled on a cry of pain as one of the wolves launched itself at her, knocking her to the ground. Ceana let her arrow fly, sinking it into the wolf’s shoulder. The animal howled but only seemed to take his anger out on his victim. Her screams echoed in the darkness. But the sound ebbed, warbling into silence as his mighty jaws wrapped around her throat. What little moonlight shown through the leaves caught her lifeless eyes directed at Ceana.
She shivered, and tears streamed down her face in earnest. In every victim she saw her father. Saw his death. Saw her own. And yet she lived.
Not wanting to be left out of the spoils, the other two wolves leapt on the dead body below her. But the wolf who’d won this woman’s life did not want to share. The animals started to tear into one another, blood splattering up into the tree. Ceana wasn’t sure whose it was—the wolves or their victims. The stark ferocity of it startled her. She jerked enough to the right when a glob of something flew up that her balance shifted. Hands, covered in sweat, lost their grip, and her limbs so tired from running, from climbing, from gripping seemed to forget how to hold on. Her fell sideways, and scrambled to grasp, wrapping her arms tight around the trunk, her legs dangling.
“No! Oh, gods, no!” She screamed as she felt herself slipping, preempted the feel of the wolves’ teeth on her legs. Clenched her eyes tightly closed and let all her fear out in a scream she hoped toppled trees.
But her grip held tight and their teeth never came. Instead painful yowls.
Ceana opened her eyes to see Macrath finish off the last of the wolves with a wicked ax before stepping up to her and wrapping his hands around her waist.
“I’ve got you, lass.”
She opened her mouth to give him her thanks, but no words came, and even if they had, the enormity of what he’d done for her deserved more than a simple thanks.
“You can let go of the tree.”
Glancing upward, she saw her hands still wrapped around the limb she’d fallen from. “I don’t know that I can.”
“Trust me, lass.” He was tall enough that with her hanging from the tree, they were at eye level with each other. She stared into his eyes, felt herself sinking, and then her arms were around his neck, her face pressed to his shoulder and a torrent of tears pouring out.
“I trust you,” she sobbed. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
“Hush, now. You don’t want to call any more attention to us. We’re not wholly safe.”
Ceana forced her sobs to quell and nodded. She searched the ground for signs of her opponent’s arrows, but found only one broken one.
Macrath’s gaze darted around. “We must go.” He lifted her into his arms and started to run.
She clung to him, fearing for both their lives, and mumbling that he could put her down, but glad when he didn’t. If she weren’t scared for her life, she might have marveled at his strength in running up a hill, encumbered by her weight, but the sounds of death all around them kept her firmly praying they’d make it to higher ground.
Macrath crested a hill, paused and turned in a circle. Then he darted to the right and gripped her tight as he half-ran, half-slid down an embankment. At the bottom of the gorge, he raced beneath a niche provided by overhanging tree roots, hiding them both from enemies above.
Their breaths came fast, and still clinging to him, she pulled back, her gaze locking with his once more. “What a miracle it is that you found me. I’d have been dead by now.” Her voice shook in a way she wished she could flatten. But it felt like her whole body was wobbly, burning and so out of control. Even her toes were trembling.
His lips quirked up in a smile that had her imagining they were anywhere but here. “I admit to following you. You’re one hell of a runner.”
“Oh,” she breathed. He still held her tightly, cocooning her in warmth and safety.
“Took me a little while to find you. And I’m glad I did.”
“I’m glad you did, too.”
Macrath set her on her feet, where she swayed until she wrapped her fingers into his shirt to steady herself.
“Why did you follow me?” she asked. Lifting the skirt of her gown, she wiped at the grime on her face and shivered.
“Because…”
He paused for long enough that Ceana wasn’t sure if he’d say anything more. Thought maybe he’d heard something and so she tilted her head, hoping to hear what it was. What she did hear made her whimper in the back of her throat. The sounds of death filled the forest.
“I don’t know,” he whispered.
She glanced down to stare at his hand pressed to her elbow. Heat singed through the fabric of her sleeves to brand her flesh. His touch was light, but so heavy. And she wanted more of it. Desperately needed it.
“I don’t know,” he said again.
When she looked up at him, their eyes locked, and she sank deeper into him. Wanting in this moment to be anywhere than where they were. Wanting in this moment for him to kiss her. To stroke her arms, her waist… To touch him.
She slid her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, pressed them to his chest where she felt his heart beat a rapid pace against her palms. A surge of desire encompassed her. The need to celebrate life in the midst of death.
“I’m glad you did,” she, too, repeated her words.
And then she closed her eyes, lifted up on her tiptoes and waited for his kiss to take her to oblivion.
Chapter Five
Macrath gazed down at Ceana’s closed eyes, soft lips waiting for his kiss. And he desperately wanted to kiss her. To escape this moment if only for a breath. To give her the comfo
rt she sought, and take his own in return.
He was shocked by how much he wanted her. Cared about her. Why else would he have followed her? Maybe it was an inner strength he saw that reminded him of himself, of maybe he even wanted to leach some of it, absorb it. Just being near her, he felt like a better man.
But did he deserve her? She was a lady—or at least he was pretty sure she was. He might have been the son of a powerful earl, but he was a bastard. Would a lady see it to her advantage to marry him? All his life he’d had it drilled into his head that she would not.
But wasn’t that what winning these games was all about? Victory and respect?
And she wanted him to kiss her. Perhaps just as much as he wanted to kiss her.
What was one kiss? The meeting of lips and the sharing of a moment of pleasure. One kiss couldn’t hurt.
Macrath dipped his head, catching the warmth of her soft lips on his. At just that one brush, a fire ignited inside him. Desire, flamed by fear and the need to survive, the need to protect her. Macrath slid his hands around her back, splaying one against the small indent above her behind and the other across the top of her spine. He hugged her close, cradling her against him as he continued to softly press his lips on hers.
Her skin was cold and soft and sweet, like cream.
He tilted his head, slanting his lips across hers and gently swiping his tongue across the plush flesh of her mouth. Ceana sighed into him, sinking, tugging. Her fists were wrapping into his shirt at his chest. That small sigh, that one little sign of her pleasure sent a thrill of yearning through him. She liked him kissing her. And he liked it, too. More than liked it. Wanted to stay like this forever.
Macrath nibbled at her lower lip, tugging gently. When she gasped, he teased her teeth and the tip of her tongue with his, giving her a satisfied sigh of his own. He’d never enjoyed a kiss more. Never wanted a lass as much as he wanted Ceana. Tracing a path from her lower back to her hip he softly massaged the gentle swell. She tucked herself closer to him, a silent message she enjoyed his touch. Wanted more of it.
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