Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) Page 3

  “Are you defending them? They kidnapped us!”

  “I am not. But I cannot be blind to the fact that their ship was stolen, either. Did you know a Macpherson ship was part of your dowry?”

  “How could I? I wasn’t included in the marriage discussions. No one told me where the ship came from, exactly. Everything I know has come to me as rumor.”

  “So typical of our fathers!”

  “But we must stay together. You certainly see that,” Emily urged. “James and Alexander may not be villains, but they’re no saints, either. We both know it. Everyone else knows it, too. When the whispering begins, my reputation will be destroyed.”

  Kenna looked about the room. She didn’t want to think that it was her husband that Emily was talking about, but she knew it was the truth.

  “Sir Quentin would turn his back on me without a second thought if he were to find out I was left alone with these Highlanders. My family needs this marriage to come about, Kenna. You must wait with me.”

  Kenna took the dirk from her belt and walked to the window.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have a different plan.”

  His brother was talking, but Alexander wasn’t listening.

  He still wanted her.

  Since the debacle of a wedding last winter, every time he thought about Kenna, his insides got so riled up that he didn’t know what to do. Seeing her today didn’t help at all.

  The union had seemed perfect. The match extended the influence of the powerful Macpherson clan, adding control of the shipping lanes of the North Minch, and the MacKays gained protection from attacks by neighboring clans while the twin sons of Magnus MacKay grew up and came of age.

  So what if it was an arranged marriage? he thought. He was doing his duty as the eldest son and the next Macpherson laird, and she had a responsibility to her clan. And there had been sparks between them from the very first meeting. He’d felt it, and he was certain she did, too.

  And it wasn’t only her striking eyes and sensual mouth and flawless skin that had captured his attention. Alexander had known many beauties in his twenty-seven years. But she had an intensity that was impossible to hide. Passion that showed through, regardless of the formality of those meetings. There were rumors of her fearlessness and her temper. Each time they met before the wedding, she had been escorted by MacKay women, guided as to what to say, where to go, how to behave. But it was impossible to hide the untamed spirit that shone in those magical violet-blue eyes.

  Only once had he kissed her, on the kirk steps after their wedding. But the surge of awareness that rushed through him, sending his heartbeat skittering, had told him everything he needed to know. Or so he thought.

  And then came the bloody prank. Thanks to his youngest brother, Colin, he’d ended up in bed with the mistress of a French ambassador. To this day he was certain that nothing had happened between them. Fairly certain.

  He was sprawled half-naked next to the woman sound asleep when the MacKay servants barged in. The news quickly spread. Alexander was embarrassed. Colin had confessed. Apologies had followed. The MacKays knew it was a prank. Everyone knew it was a prank. Everyone except Kenna.

  That was because she was already gone.

  A thousand conflicting thoughts still burned in Alexander’s brain. He had been ready to go after her, find her, and bring her back. But then he’d pieced together the truth about her departure. Kenna had run off before the embarrassing prank. He learned that she had planned her escape even before their wedding.

  “Have you heard one word I’ve said?”

  Alexander turned around sharply. Everyone else had left the Great Hall. “The abbot and Diarmad will take Kenna and our terms to Craignock Castle. We get our ship back at Oban tomorrow.”

  “I knew you weren’t listening. Kenna stays here.”

  “She goes.”

  “This is no time to be pigheaded. Even though the MacDougall started this, we should be sensitive to Emily’s position.”

  “We’ll bring along a couple of nuns with us to attest that her virtue is intact.”

  “We don’t need any nuns. Kenna is blood kin to the MacDougalls. Her word that Emily was kept safe will outweigh a convent full of nuns.”

  For months, Alexander struggled with the insanity of being married to a runaway bride. At first, he’d hoped he could forget about her, but he’d been wrong. When he found out where she was, he was driven nearly mad over what he should do. Part of him wanted to ride to Glosters Priory and drag her back to Benmore Castle, and part of him wanted to burn the priory down with her in it.

  “She goes. The plan was always to kidnap the MacDougall chit. That’s all.”

  “Her name is Emily,” James retorted. “And plans change. Now that we have Kenna, we need to keep them together.”

  Kenna. Alexander couldn’t rub out the image of her standing here barefoot, her hair wild and her clothes in disarray. She inflamed him in every conceivable way. But in those moments, the idea of her long, creamy limbs tangled with his in a bed set his heart hammering, sending fiery desire to parts of him that should remain neutral. It was no use. He wanted her, and she was his wife.

  His wife. All he could think of now was that she was his. That she should be his. Frustration welled up inside of him. He wouldn’t take her against her will. He would not crush the spirit in her, but allowing her to stay in the abbey—stay in the abbey with him—was not an option. She was like a falcon, untamable. She would have to come to him of her own accord. That was the only way, even if it killed him. But she hated him. The contradictions tore at him.

  “This is a mistake, brother,” he growled. “You know better than anyone where things stand between us.”

  “That was six months ago. This is now.”

  “Nothing has changed. She doesn’t want to be near me. Near any of us,” Alexander fumed. “You know what happened when I sent her that bloody letter explaining things. I laid it all out for her. Told her my feelings for her, by ’sblood! And what was her response?”

  His brother said nothing.

  “She burned it in front of the messenger and sent back the ashes, saying she never wanted to hear the Macpherson name again.”

  “Perhaps her feelings have changed.”

  “Did it look like that to you today?”

  “Well, I accept the possibility that you and Kenna might kill each other over the next day or two. But that is a chance I’m willing to take. I don’t care to start a clan war because we damaged the reputation of a virtuous woman.”

  “They took our bloody ship.”

  “True enough,” James replied. “And we’re getting it back, using negotiation.”

  “By the devil, James, why do you always have to be such a politician?”

  “Because we need to use our brains in this business as much as brawn. Reason is what’s called for here.”

  Alexander’s attention was drawn to the base of the stairs, where a nun was moving into the shadows and hurrying to the door of the Great Hall.

  “Then you’d best direct your reason that way, little brother, for there goes Emily.” He pointed. “And while you do that, I’ll just take my brawn up to the tower room and make sure that my troublemaking wife hasn’t murdered an old nun.”

  Roxburghshire, Scotland

  The twilight air hung heavy with the scent of battle and blood. Corpses dotted the graying landscape. In the center of it all, the castle rose up beside the river like a brooding beast. The high gate yawned wide at the horrors around it. And in the stronghold’s belly, the rank, dark dungeons bulged with dozens of the ill-fated.

  Sir Ralph Evers moved across the bloody ground. Wounded Scots cried out for mercy, praying for a quick death, a sword thrust to the heart.

  Before fighting his way into these Scottish Borders, he had been governor of Berwick-upon-Tweed, commander in the North, warden of the East March, high sheriff of Durham. But none of these titles held a straw against what lay ahead.

>   In the name of King Henry, he was the Scourge of the Borders from sea to sea. Every town and farm was his to take. Every tower house and manor was his to destroy. Every Scot he came across was his to bleed. And bleed they did, for he had no time for prisoners. Unless they had a king’s ransom to pay.

  More than wealth, more than titles, more than the gratitude of his king, he believed in power . . . and fear. They were the only “real” things in the world. In his world.

  And he saw it in the eyes of every groveling peasant and laird that knelt begging before him.

  Horsemen appeared by the river. Donald Maxwell, with his sharp hawk’s eyes, spotted him and led his band of renegade Lowland cutthroats up the hill to where Evers waited. An old man, his white hair matted and bloody, stumbled along behind them at the end of a long tether.

  “Sir Ralph,” he said, dismounting and reeling in the old man like a stray dog. “I’ve got a prize for you.”

  Evers nodded but said nothing.

  “This one is called Cairns, and they say in the village that the old bastard possesses great knowledge of the dark arts. He even knows the secrets of the dead.”

  Evers stared at the man with little interest. These ignorant Scots. Every village they plundered had a witch or wizard. Fools. Frightened villagers spewing nonsense to preserve their lives for an hour longer. Even the entertainment of it was growing stale.

  “Well, old man,” he demanded. “Is there any truth in what they say?”

  Cairns said nothing, but his restless eyes scanned the field of dead bodies around him.

  Maxwell struck him across the face, driving him to the ground. “You will speak when his lordship addresses you.”

  The old man, on his knees, stared at the blood running from his mouth to the black earth. He glanced up only once at Evers, but said nothing. Still, his wizened face, closed and guarded, bespoke secrets.

  Sir Ralph’s eyes narrowed. He knew nothing of sorcery or magic. But he knew about strength and control and power. These things Cairns had . . . for the moment.

  “Take him to Redcap Sly,” he told Maxwell. His master of torture. An artist of the first order.

  Whatever Cairns had or knew, it would all be Evers’s before the dismal Scottish sun rose again.

  Chapter 3

  If I had my mouth, I would bite;

  if I had my liberty, I would do my liking:

  in the meantime, let me be what I am,

  and seek not to alter me.

  “Forgive me, Sister. Normally, I would never raise a hand against any member of the church, but the desperate nature of our situation here demands drastic action.”

  The gray-haired woman, stripped of her habit, veil, and wimple, sat bound and gagged and entirely unhappy in a corner. Her furious glare told Kenna that there was no forgiveness in that old heart at the moment, no matter what the reason.

  “Where are you, cousin?” Kenna peered down at the courtyard. She’d given her word that she would not climb down the tower wall until she saw Emily clear of the building and running for the gates.

  Every blanket and rag in the chamber had been cut into strips and tied into one length of rope. They had even broken up the cot and used the woven pieces of cord that supported the straw tick. The clothing the nun brought up for her had been cut and added to the lengths she’d be using to escape the tower.

  Ignoring the woman’s fierce looks, Kenna tested the strength of the knots.

  “Finally.” She smiled, seeing her cousin in the courtyard. Emily paused for a moment to look up at the tower before hurrying toward the gates.

  “I’m eternally grateful for the clothes and the shoes, Sister. I’ll make arrangements to have them replaced.”

  The nun shook her head vehemently. Kenna moved to the window facing the sea and opened the shutter. The sun was dropping quickly toward the horizon, and the cool breeze whistled through.

  “Don’t worry about me. Even as a young lass, I was climbing greater heights than this.” Usually using good rope, she added silently, but that wasn’t going to stop her now.

  Always given free rein as a child, Kenna had enjoyed every rugged adventure she could find. After her mother’s death, she had been essentially cut loose to run wild. Her father had his boys by then and clan affairs to oversee. Only twelve years old, Kenna found plenty to occupy her time. All of it dangerous.

  She looked down at the wide ledge at the base of the tower wall. Beyond it, a high cliff dropped to a gray-blue sea.

  “This will hold my weight. Don’t give it another thought.” The assurance was more for herself than for the nun.

  One end of the line was tied to the frame of the bed that she’d slid to the window.

  Her captive’s muffled complaints grew more alarmed when Kenna dropped the coiled line out the window. It didn’t quite reach the ledge, but the distance remaining looked to be a manageable drop. She cast one final look back at the nun.

  “Wish me well.”

  Kenna climbed out and the bed shifted. On the outside, she almost lost her grip as she dropped a foot and jerked to a stop, banging hard against the side of the stone tower.

  “I can do this,” she whispered, holding on tight. The shoes were too big and one slid off. She kicked off the other one, too, and started down. Her descent was slow. The wind buffeted her against the rough stone. Her hands were burning from the knotted rags and rope. As she descended, the ledge between the tower and the cliff seemed to shrink by half. Her legs wrapped around the makeshift line. Kenna snaked her way down, focusing on her next handhold and forcing back any hint of fear.

  Her plan had been made hastily. She would meet Emily outside of the walls and once they were clear of abbey land, they’d find shelter for the night and get word to the castle tomorrow. This was all MacDougall territory. Any of the crofters would surely help them. And away from Alexander, Kenna would be able to think straight.

  The thought of her husband finding them gone was a satisfying one.

  The Macphersons would not rest until they had their ship back, but they would need to find another way of going about it. Kenna would speak to her father when he arrived at Craignock Castle. That would be their first communication since the wedding—with the exception of exchanging two letters: him ordering her to return to her husband, and her refusing his directive. She did it politely, but it was still a refusal. Even so, he’d want to get involved in this. She was certain he’d known nothing of Emily’s dowry, but perhaps the MacKays could do something to renegotiate the marriage terms with the Lowlander.

  Almost at the bottom, Kenna gasped as the rope suddenly lifted and she slammed hard against the building. Cursing, she looked up and found Alexander leaning out of the window above her.

  “Are you mad, woman?” he called down.

  Kenna had heard no shouting, no call to his men for help. Perhaps his pride wouldn’t allow it.

  Then he began to pull her up, and panic seized her.

  She loosened her grip and slid down, quickly reaching the last knot. She had to jump, but the drop to the ledge seemed so far now. And with every second, the distance was increasing. But she wouldn’t be hauled in like some salmon on a line.

  Below her, the narrow ledge waited. She could do this. Once down, she was fast enough to get away before he came down the abbey steps and out through the courtyard. So long as Emily was already clear of the gates, their plan would work.

  The rope shifted, and she hit the building again, jarring her shoulder.

  “By the Virgin,” she prayed. “Don’t let me break a leg.”

  Her landing was far from graceful. She landed on a rock, rolling her ankle and sending her sprawling.

  “Shite, shite, shite,” she cursed, feeling pain shoot right to her hip.

  Breathless from the impact of the fall, she tried to gather her strength. A dark image appeared above her.

  She blinked. “Oh, Satan’s hairy arse.”

  Using her makeshift rope, the beast was speeding down the si
de of the building. He appeared to have wings, and she guessed he’d be on top of her in seconds.

  Kenna scrambled to her feet, but the pain in her ankle told her she wouldn’t be outrunning him. Her second choice was the cliff. She peered past the edge at a small opening of water among the rocks. She could certainly break her neck going that way.

  He landed beside her with the ease of a cat.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Her heart pounded violently in her chest, but she refused to look at him. Stretching a hand instead toward the colorful western sky, she replied casually, “This is far too beautiful an evening to stay locked up in a tower room. I decided to come out for some air.”

  “Air? Is that what you are after? Well, I’ll give you air, then.”

  He grabbed her hand. She spun around, shoving at his chest. There was no escape. Instead, he snaked his arm around her and pulled her hard against him.

  Suddenly, the ledge was behind her, and they were flying. Alexander never let her go.

  No experience in her past could match the feeling in Kenna’s stomach. A scream that she later realized belonged to her echoed off the craggy bluffs speeding by, but there was no crunching of bones at the bottom. No spattering of brains on the rocks. Just a quick cut downward through the surface of the pool, the shock of cold water, the sharp taste of brine in her mouth, and then the rapid ascent to sunlight.

  Clutching at him, Kenna gasped for air, coughing up seawater. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart was still lodged in her throat. The water was cold, but the air was colder on her face.

  He pushed the hair out of her eyes and pulled her to him.

  Her coughing subsided and Kenna’s gaze fell on the muscles of his neck. She glanced up past the droplets of water clinging to his lips and then to his eyes. Their gazes locked, and his arms tightened around her as his kicking legs kept them afloat.

  Alexander Macpherson had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her entire life, and they were staring intently at her now.