Heart of the Highlands: The Beast (Protectors of the Crown Book 1)

by Holthaus, April

  The Munro warrior narrowed his eyes as he scanned the trees looking for her assailants. But he stood and said nothing. Surely, he would want to make haste.

  “I dinna think ye understand. My captors will return soon. Tis best we leave at once! My father is a good friend of yer Laird. I am certain ye will be compensated for my rescue.”

  The man turned toward her, one brow raised at the mention of a reward. Puzzled by his silence, Keira felt uneasy and his reaction made her wary of him. Had she said too much? Was he going to help her? Her gazed locked on his.

  Licking his dry, parched lips, his eyes lowered, and he looked at her intensely as if he was trying to take her all in. His gaze made her uncomfortable. It took only moments for alarms to go off in her head like church bells. Cold sweat caused a chill down her spine, and hairs stood straight up from the goosebumps on her arms. Keira took an apprehensive step back causing him to mimic her movement, but he took a step toward her, maintaining the distance between them.

  “I dinna think we will be going anywhere, lassie,” he said, a taunt in his deep voice.

  With sly movements, he unsheathed his sword, laid it upon the ground and began unlatching his belt from around his waist. The moment it dropped to the ground, Keira pivoted and ran in a sprint, but it wasn’t fast enough. She felt a tight squeeze on her arm as the man grabbed her, tossing her to the ground. Keira screamed out for help but was rendered helpless as he climbed on top of her and covered her mouth with his hand. With his other hand, he lifted her skirt and began unlacing his trews.

  Keira fought underneath him like a cat that’d been thrown into a watering trough, as he pressed his hard shaft against her thigh. Bile rose in her throat. Continuing to wrestle, she fought with every bit of strength she could muster.

  “Get off her,” Ian roared, his voice resonating around her.

  Ian lunged. The two men rolled on the ground, fists swinging. Kicking Ian hard in the gut, the Munro warrior regained his balance, stood and ran for his sword. Ian pulled himself to his knees. Unsheathing his own sword, he raised to his feet. His blade collided with his opponent’s as they swung their weapons, each man grunting at the force of the impact. Raising his sword up high, Ian’s blade sliced through the air making contact with the man’s right arm, disarming him. Hitting what Ian felt must have been bone; he pulled the blade back toward him, opening a deep gash in the man’s flesh. Blood seeped through the Munro’s linen shirt until his sleeve was soaked in bright red blood. But the wound Ian inflicted was not meant to kill him; only render the other man useless.

  From a distance, Keira had seen her clansmen battle while on the training fields, but it was nothing compared to watching a real battle play out before her eyes. The anger, the blood, and the murderous atmosphere stimulated every nerve in her body, making her tremble. Panic began to set in. Ian was going to kill him, she was certain of it. She had never seen death before. Not even when her own mother died.

  Her eyes were fixed on Ian. He was a born swordsman, and must have spent countless hours honing his skill. He held his claymore above his head with ease as if it weighed no more than a feather. Keira found herself concerned for his welfare, though she knew he was capable. Ian, she imagined, could take on an army, much less just one Munro warrior. But still, the thought of Ian getting hurt caused her chest to tighten and heart to ache.

  ~*~

  The moment Ian saw the man assaulting Keira, fury raced through him like a bolt of lightning. As they fought, Ian gripped his sword tighter, ready to end this man’s life. The warrior lifted his left hand and instinctively covered the wound Ian had inflicted. His reaction gave Ian an open strike. With full force, Ian rammed his sword into the man’s shoulder. He howled in pain. To Ian it was the satisfying shriek of victory.

  With his boot, Ian pushed him to the ground, removing his blade from the man’s shoulder. As Munro lay helpless, Ian pressed his blade to the man’s throat. He wanted to seize this moment, to relish it, and rid the world of the bloody bastard for assaulting Keira.

  Everything around Ian went black as his eyes focused on the pulsating vein, visible on the warrior’s throat. Even the noises around him faded, except for the beat of his own pounding heart. Today, there would be one less despicable bastard walking the earth.

  As Ian leaned forward, the tender touch of a soft hand along his forearm brought him back to the present. Angrily, he looked down at the lass, but his anger dissipated at the sight of her mortified expression. In the downward cast of her eyes, he could see her compassion and understanding but there was fear there he had never witnessed, and the forlorn expression on her face was as depressing as afternoon rain.

  Ian had become so hardened over the years after giving his life to king and country, he’d rid himself of compassion. But this man did not deserve leniency after what he had almost done.

  “Ian, don’t,” she said softly.

  Ian kept his blade firm.

  “Please, Ian. Let him go. Ye have done enough damage. There is no need to kill him.”

  Keira spoke in hushed tones; her voice as soft and sweet as an angel’s harp. Ian loosened the grip on the hilt of his sword. Of all the moments in Ian’s life, this one was the most significant. It would be the moment he would rise from the ashes.

  “Get up,” Ian growled, in a deep, threatening tone.

  The man struggled to rise. Holding his shoulder to prevent from bleeding out, he stood.

  “Fate must be on yer side, as I will no’ shed more of yer blood, this day!” Ian growled.

  Letting the man go was the last thing he wanted but he imagined the man would not last long. The amount of blood he had lost was more than a man could survive. He would probably pass out in the woods and bleed to death. That at least offered Ian some satisfaction.

  ~*~

  Keira sat quietly near the fire as Rylan and Leland began cooking the rabbit, with the herbs and mushrooms she had found, in a large pot. The thought of food now, however, was nauseating. She used to pride herself on being a good judge of character, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. Even worse, Ian was completely ignoring her and she did not know why. Bothered by his misplaced anger, she kept to herself.

  “Did the mon say anything to ye?” Leland asked as he stirred the pot of food.

  She could see pity in his eyes as he gauged her reaction. Saying “no” was all she could respond. The man had no intentions of engaging in conversation with her. When her father learned of what had almost happened, he would demand retribution from Laird Munro. Had it not been for Ian, he would have…would have… Keira broke down in tears.

  Burying her face in her hands, she wept. The two men seated with her around the fire offered no comment, allowing her to cry. She at least deserved that! Leland nudged her shoulder. When she raised her head up, he held a bowl of stew out to her.

  “Here ye go, lassie. It may taste terrible but I did no’ claim to be a cook,” he said.

  Wiping her tears, she thanked him and cupped her hand around the bowl. She took a small sip, and the hot liquid burnt the tip of her tongue. The taste was bland and could use salt but wasn’t as terrible as Leland suggested.

  Leland sat down next to her to eat his own meal. Trying to make small talk, he spoke of the weather. He seemed nervous as he spoke. She could not imagine that a mighty Highland Warrior like him could be shy. Was he attempting to distract her or was there something else that he was not telling her?

  “I have no’ spoken to Ian for some time. Do ye think he is alright? Did he get hurt in battle?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

  Leland laughed.

  “Dinna worry about my brother lass. When he thinks, he likes to no’ be bothered.”

  “Is that what I am? A bother?”

  “I was no’ referring to ye lass. I was referring to…”

  “LELAND,” Ian barked out as he returned to the group.

  Leland jolted upright.

  “Dinna ye know no’ to startle a mon like that?” Le
land exclaimed.

  “Tend to the horses. We are leaving. I want to get a good distance away in case we encounter other men lurking through these woods,” Ian ordered. “Rylan, we leave fer MacKenzie’s.”

  “MacKenzie’s? Why the hell are we stopping there? What of Linlithgow, where Laird Gudeman awaits our report?” Rylan asked.

  Keira looked at each man as they spoke. At the mention of Laird Gudeman, Rylan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Whoever this Laird Gudeman was, Keira hoped their paths would cross. She wished to give him a piece of her mind. Perhaps if their laird knew how his men behaved they would think twice about their transgressions the next time they decided to kidnap a lass.

  “I wish to seek safe shelter for Lady Sinclair until she can be reunited wit’ her family. I will have MacKenzie send a message about our delay. Tis only a half day’s ride from here. If we leave now, we should make it before that bastard opens his next bottle of whiskey.”

  “MacKenzie? How can I trust that I will be safe there? Will he send word to my father? I refuse to go if yer plans are to dump me there and leave,” Keira protested.

  “Is whining and complaining all ye do? Tis no wonder why yer father could only marry ye off to that bastard son of a whore, Chisholm,” Rylan muttered as he walked off.

  Keira scowled but remained silent. Rylan was a mean bastard but she would not cower to him. It was clear he, for whatever God awful reason, was stuck in his selfish ways. How could she expect him to care even a little for her?

  “Is he always like that?” she asked, nodding her head toward Rylan.

  “Rylan? Aye! Ye caught him on a good day,” Leland replied.

  “Leland, I thought ye were attending the horses?” Ian stated, staring him down until Leland did as he was told.

  “Rylan is a good mon, though he may not always be too friendly. He is wanted by the English,” Ian explained.

  “Is he no’ afraid that someone will turn him over to the English?”

  “Nay! No true Scot would ever surrender their own, no matter how wicked a mon may be. They’d rather slice him through instead. I think any Scot would rather die at the hands of their own than the bloody English.”

  “Is Rylan yer brother?”

  “Nay, but we are like brothers.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “When my father was on a hunt wit’ his men, they came across Rylan as a wee lad in the woods. He had no home. No family. One of my father’s officers, Aldrich Arnett took him in, raised him as his own. He taught Rylan how to be a warrior and direct his anger through his sword.”

  “What happened to his family?”

  “Nobody knows. I dinna e’en think Rylan knows who his parents are and he dunna talk about his past.”

  “I dinna think he likes me verra much.”

  “Dinna mind him, lass. Rylan is a hard mon but he means well.”

  Keira folded her hands in front of her and looked down. This was the first time he had spoken to her in over an hour and now she did not know what to say.

  “By the way, I meant to thank ye, for saving me.”

  “I was no’ saving ye any more than I was ridding the world of another bastard traitor. They are like weeds in these parts. But…yer welcome.”

  “These MacKenzies ye spoke of, do ye know them well?”

  “Aye. Laird MacKenzie is a good mon. Ye will be safe there. The road to Linlithgow is a dangerous one. Ye can stay at Castle Leod until I return. When I do, I will keep my promise and return ye to yer family. The MacKenzie’s are good people and a good clan. I have no doubt they will take good care of ye.”

  “If ye think it is fer the best, I will no’ argue.”

  “Dinna worry lass. Everything will be fine,” Ian reassured her.

  If only things were fine! But Keira knew that things were only going to get worse.

  Chapter 9

  From across the river, Castle Leod could be seen in the distance; blurred by the thick summer haze. Staring out at the castle, Ian hesitated in his decision to leave Keira behind. The only comfort was its high walls and fortified towers provided enough protection to satisfy Ian’s high standards.

  He had faith in its inhabitants offering the same care and concern for her as he had. His hesitation came from the worry that Chisholm would find her. It would only be a matter of time until he and her father would start looking for her but Daniel MacKenzie, Laird of Castle Leod, was a good man, and he would keep her safe. Ian had met him on several occasions at court and knew that he was trustworthy. These days, there were not many men Ian could trust.

  Peering up at intently, Keira asked, “Is that Castle Leod?”

  Ian sensed her nervousness. Wanting to offer her comfort and ease her worry, he smiled.

  “Aye, Lassie. Its Laird will take good care of ye while I am gone.”

  “And will he send a missive to my father?”

  “Aye. He will. I am sure of it.”

  Keira gave him a soft smile; it broke his heart that he had to lie. Though in time her father would be made aware of her whereabouts, until Ian reached Linlithgow and revealed what he had learned, only then would Laird Sinclair be summoned.

  The urgency to speak to James was driven by the fact that Ian knew an attack was imminent. It could have very well been Chisholm’s plan to steer Ian and his men away from the castle by sending them on a wild goose chase while Sinclair, a man no one had even considered dangerous, made his move. Though Linlithgow was well protected by the King’s guards, they would have no way knowing that Sinclair was involved. Gatherings of the nobles and Lairds were quite common at Linlithgow and it would be easy for any one of them to be a traitor, walk right in the front gates and kill the king themselves. That alone was the reason Ian felt it best to return to the castle but leaving Keira behind created a void within him that he could not explain.

  He made a vow to protect her and felt that he was breaking that promise. He knew his guilt was partly due to what had happened to Sarah. Just the thought of her and his lack of judgment tore at him like a dagger ripping at his own flesh. He tried to convince himself that it was just his sense of honor and duty to care for the lass’s well-being but there was something else, a feeling perhaps, he could not explain.

  Ian glanced down at the timid lass. Her tender smile filled him with contentment. It was the first time he had seen her smile since he came upon her on the road; then again he was partially to blame for that. Her eyes glistened the way a child would at the sight of a sweet roll; glossy and full of joy. Ian wanted to smile in return but guilt weighed him down. If her father was tried and convicted of treason, he wondered if he would ever see that soft, beautiful smile again.

  “When ye leave, will ye be gone long?”

  “Are ye in that much of a hurry to get rid of me?” he teasingly asked.

  “Nay! I only want to wish ye a safe journey.”

  “I should be gone no more than two or three days.”

  “Will ye be leaving straight away?” she asked.

  Ian had not missed the strain in her voice. Had he not known better, he’d think the lass acted as if she did not want him to go. It had been a long time since he felt the sense of being wanted by someone. He grinned, but his smile vanished as quickly as it had come. No woman would ever want him again, and in good conscience he could not have her. He was a damaged, broken man. His heart now belonged only to Scotland.

  “I shall be taking my men and leaving in the morning.”

  ~*~

  As they entered the village, Keira watched the busy men and women tend to their duties. A few young lads were cleaning the animal pens, women were hauling armfuls of linens to be washed, and a few of the older men were hammering away replacing a damaged fence. The sight of these fine people reminded her of her own clansmen and made her miss them very much.

  Keira let out a sigh. It would be only a matter of time before she would see them again, but patience was not one of her strongest qualities.

  As they neared the
keep, a young lad of roughly fifteen summers ran toward them. Grasping the bridle, he led the horse to a post near the trough.

  “Good day, Sir. My name is Jacob. I would be more than happy to care for yer horse during yer visit.”

  The lad was cheerful. That was a hopeful sign.

  “Verra good lad, I’ll need ye to fetch the blacksmith as well. The horse has a hitch in his gait and will need re-shoeing. I leave in the morning. Have him ready by then.”

  “Aye, Sir. I will make sure it is done in haste.”

  “Good lad.”

  Ian slid his leg over the side and slid down to the ground. Reaching up, he grabbed Keira by the waist and helped her down. As soon as her feet touched the ground, though, he immediately released her. Untying the saddle bags, he threw them over his shoulder and walked over to his men.

  Ian spoke softly to his men, his expression serious, and Keira wonder what matter was so important it had to be discussed in private.

  She thought with regret that it was a pity she was not as gifted as Alys when it came to reading lips. For hours, Alys would practice. Keira felt it was a result of too much time on her hands, but now she understood how the talent could prove to be useful. Though she was younger than Keira by two years, Alys had shown much wisdom for a lass of seventeen summers. She had so much more courage and bravery than Keira. Only now did Keira realize that her sister’s many follies and foolish ways had helped mold her into a strong woman. If only Keira had paid more attention to her as a sister and less than acting as a mother-figure, she might have picked up a few useful skills.

  “My lady,” Ian said as he nodded his head, signaling he meant for her to follow him.

  Keira stood tall, mustering her confidence, and followed the three MacKay men inside the large castle keep. As she stepped through the entrance, she was surprised to find that the castle was much smaller on the inside than it had appeared from outside. She followed along the narrow corridor toward the great hall.

  As they reached the end of the hallway, they saw men and women already enjoying their evening meal. The tables were crowded with clan members and were full of trenchers containing food, but at the head table were several empty seats. It was odd for the Laird to not be in attendance during an evening meal.