Angel of Skye Page 30

Fiona clamped her hand on the woman’s mouth at the sound of someone moving outside the door. Thinking fast for a way to escape, she gripped the woman’s tartan and pulled her closer to the door.

  “How far are we from Benmore?”

  Fiona let the woman catch her breath again.

  “It’s only a little more than an hour from here.”

  “Which way is it? How do I get back there?” Fiona demanded.

  “This...this stream runs into the Spey River down past the next bend. The castle is just upriver. It’s very close! You won’t kill me, will you? I beg you, Fiona. Please don’t cut me again. I’ll help you. On St. Andrew’s bones, I swear I’ll—”

  Fiona’s cold glare, coupled with the tighter press of the blade against the skin of her neck, made Kathryn cease her frantic pleading. Pushing Kathryn against the wall behind the door, Fiona took the torch from the wall and threw it into the pile of old straw across the room. Instantly, the flames leaped up, and clouds of smoke began to fill the ceiling spaces between the rafters. She took hold of the quaking woman beside her and put her lips close to her ear.

  “You will come after me willingly,” Fiona threatened in harsh tones. “Or you will pay for your crimes the Druid way.”

  While Kathryn was still nodding vigorously at her wild-eyed cousin, Fiona commanded, “I want you to call for help, Kathryn. I want you to yell ‘Fire!’ now.”

  “Neil!” Kathryn screamed without hesitation. “Help, Neil! Fire!”

  Fiona crouched and pulled her cousin down beside her. The smoke was getting thick under the rafters, and she could see the flames licking the wooden walls above the stone foundation. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for the oncoming showdown.

  It only took Neil a moment to burst through the door. He hesitated for only the briefest of moments at the opening, covering his mouth and nose with the cloth of his tartan. “Where are you?” he cried. “Where the hell are you? Kathryn!”

  As Neil moved through the smoke to where his captive had been dumped earlier, Fiona pulled Kathryn around the door and out into the yard. A semicircle of men stood close, gaping as Fiona pulled the plank door shut and barred it.

  She whirled on them as the men moved closer.

  “Tell them to back away, Kathryn,” Fiona ordered coolly, prodding her in the back with the dagger.

  “You heard her,” Kathryn croaked. “Get away from us.”

  “No! Open this!” came Neil’s screams from the burning mill. Fiona listened for a moment to the cold-blooded killer. She hesitated, then steeled herself to his cries. Behind them, Neil began to pound at the door. This was the man who had a hand in killing her mother, and this day, he’d planned to kill her for money. But she was not about to give him the opportunity.

  The pounding continued as Fiona pushed Kathryn wordlessly along the wall of the mill, the dirk still pressed into her back. The men moved away from the wall, making room, and the two women angled their way across the small clearing toward the cluster of horses tied at the edge of the woods. Fiona could hear Neil still calling from inside the burning building and throwing himself against the door. She looked about her for a path to the river. She couldn’t see the stream, but she knew it had to be to their right and beyond the bristly hem of encroaching pines.

  Suddenly Fiona heard the cracking of wood and, turning, saw the door split at the upper hinge as Neil kicked the pieces into the yard.

  Halfway across the opening, Fiona watched her enemy crawl coughing through the smoke-filled doorway. None of Kathryn’s men, nor any of his own paid henchmen, made a move to help him as he stood hunched over, spewing smoke from his lungs. Fiona tried to move the sobbing Kathryn faster, but her cousin stumbled and fell unceremoniously on the grass, her legs splayed in front of her. Recovering, Neil pushed past the dozen or so men and halted at the sight of the bloodied Kathryn sprawled on the grass with a kneeling Fiona behind her, a knife at her throat.

  Fiona cringed inwardly at the look of hate in the renegade warrior’s face.

  “You tried to kill me,” he rasped accusingly, taking a step closer.

  “Stop!” she commanded, looking steadily at her foe. “You deserve to die, you butcher...woman killer. Tell me, how many times have you tried to kill me? You expect me to wait for you to succeed? Do you propose having me lie down like some sacrificial lamb and have my throat slit by you? Stand, Kathryn.”

  As the two women rose from the ground, Neil took another step forward. The men standing between the smoking blaze of the fiery mill and the three adversaries watched helplessly, unsure of what to do.

  “Stop, you fool!” Kathryn spat at Neil. “Don’t you see? We shouldn’t have done this. We must let her go. It’s our only way out of this!”

  “Nay, Kathryn.” He slowly shook his head. “You were right the first time. This is your only way out of this. But it certainly is not mine.”

  “What are you talking about, you idiot? She’ll kill me, I tell you.”

  Neil moved in again as Fiona and Kathryn backed away a step. Fiona could feel the heat of the blazing inferno on her face. Flashing the fiercest expression she could muster at her foe, she lifted Kathryn’s chin with her blade.

  “One more step and she dies, Neil MacLeod.”

  “Do it!” he cried.

  “Neil!” Kathryn cried. “It is I! Don’t let this happen! By all the love we share—”

  The warrior stepped in again, drawing his sword.

  “Neil!” Kathryn screamed, looking wildly past him at her own entourage. “Stop him! I’ll reward you! My father... Neil, I’ll marry you! My father will give you a dowry, Neil...land and wealth, Neil. Stop, Neil!”

  “Go ahead. Kill her.” His voice had the edge of cold steel biting into flesh and bone. “If you don’t, I will. I am sick of you, Kathryn. You and all your kind. I am sick and tired of the dirty, ‘noble’ blood that runs in your veins. And you are next, Angel. Our little princess. Ha! You wench! You’re next one to die. No woman fools me. Do you hear? No one. Go ahead and kill her...if you can.”

  Fiona felt her skin crawl in fear at his words. He was calling her bluff. She was finished.

  The discontented protest that erupted among Kathryn’s men caused Neil to turn back toward the contentious warriors. With a quick look at his own men, he raised his sword, gesturing for silence.

  “You dolts,” he began. “She’s—”

  The explosion blew the roof of the millworks high into the sky in a shower of sparks and splintering wood. The blast knocked everyone in the clearing flat on the ground. But Fiona, the farthest away and the most shielded, was up and running before the echoing hills could return the detonation’s booming report.

  Dashing across the opening to the right toward the sound of rushing stream, she broke into the line of trees. Working her way around the burning building, she prayed that she had picked the quickest route to the river. She prayed Neil would not be able to catch her. Lifting her skirts, she ran with all the speed she had in her. Finally, she came to the stream behind the building, with the mill wheel tilting precariously out over the water. Reaching the edge, she threw herself into the current without a moment’s hesitation. Though the coldness of the water shocked her as she was swept beneath the roiling surface, Fiona quickly pushed herself to the surface. Gasping for air, she tried to steer herself toward the embankment on the far side, but the current carried her back into the white foam and then into the clear, fast-moving water above the short waterfall and just beneath the looming wheel.

  As she swept under the falling cinders of the mill, she braced herself for the drop, but then she saw the rough hand waiting for her. Fiona struck out with her dagger, but the water kept her off balance. She went under, searching desperately for a way to evade Neil’s reach. But the next thing she felt was his hand grabbing a fistful of her hair.

  Neil viciously dragged Fiona’s thrashing body from the water. Kicking the dirk from her hand, the warrior threw her ferociously to the stony embankment. Putting
his knee hard on Fiona’s chest, the brute slapped her savagely.

  Fiona’s head seemed to burst open as his hand fell across her face. Tasting the blood in her mouth, she looked up into the malevolent eyes of the man looming above her.

  Neil couldn’t react fast enough to avoid the rock smashing into the side of his grimy jaw. When he saw her reach beside her for another, he drew his sword up in one swift motion and lay it heavily across her throat.

  “You move that hand, and you’re dead.”

  “I’m dead anyway, you filthy bastard,” she retorted, spitting blood in his face.

  Neil wiped the spittle with the back of his hand. “I’ll be sure to tell your lover boy that even in the moment of death, I wasn’t able to dampen your spirits.”

  “You are a fiend from hell, but you make sure you tell him that. And you know what, devil? You are cursed in this life and in the life hereafter. Alec is going to hunt you down, you Satan. There won’t be a rock large enough for you to crawl under, nor enough gold in the world to see to your protection. He’ll come to you when you least expect it. You won’t be able to sleep, to close your eyes. Because you’ll be terrified that when you open them, his sword will be at your throat. He’ll skewer you on a spit, Neil MacLeod. He’ll kill you in a slow and painful way.” Fiona saw the man’s face twitch at her words. “He’ll make you pay! You have my word on it, he’ll make you pay!”

  Neil lifted his elbow as he prepared to pierce her throat. Fiona closed her eyes, feeling the sharpness of the weapon. Even at this moment of death, anger—not fear—was the sensation that dominated her body.

  “Nay. He’ll never know what happened to his fairy. So just say your last prayers.”

  Fiona thought of how short life is. She thought of Alec, the brief time that they’d shared. She thought of how much she loved him and she felt pain at how hurt he would be. In her mind she heard him calling her name. He would be with her in this life and the next. She would wait for him.

  Fiona felt the point of the sword push sharply at her throat, and then she felt Neil’s weight on her no longer.

  What did I ever do, Lord, to deserve such a painless death? she thought prayerfully.

  Chapter 20

  Turn to thy friend, believe not thy foe,

  Since thou must go, be ready at the gate;

  Amend in time, and rue not when it’s too late...

  —William Dunbar “Vanitas Vanitatum”

  Alec galloped into the clearing ahead of John and the others and quickly scanned the scene around the burning mill. Four men, holding five horses a safe distance from the raging conflagration, stood dumbstruck at sight of the onrushing Macphersons. Alec and his men were on them before they could mount their jittery steeds, and the one foolish enough to draw his weapon on them quickly paid the price for his lack of judgment.

  Alec sheathed his sword and, leaping off his black stallion, took the closest one by the throat.

  “Where is she?” Alec shouted above the sound of the fiery blaze. The hired outlaws behind him exchanged furtive glances until one of them pointed fearfully toward the mill.

  “By the river, m’lord,” he whined. “But we’ve nothing to do with him.”

  Alec threw the man to the ground and sprinted around the side of the burning building. God, let me not be too late. Let her be alive. Those words kept coming to him over and over. Fate had been on his side when he met Hugh Campbell and the pirate prisoner not even a half day ride from Benmore. He was on his way back when, before reaching Benmore, he ran into David, who, bloodied and shivering, managed to inform them of the attack. And then, tracking the wagon, they had seen the smoke rising over the mill.

  “Fiona!” Alec shouted as he made his way through the smoke and shadow of the flaming mill. Turning the corner, he saw the mill wheel hanging menacingly over a kneeling figure. His heart nearly burst when he saw Neil lifting his long sword over the red-haired woman he held pinned to the ground.

  Dashing toward them, Alec snatched Neil from Fiona’s motionless body like a falcon plucking a hare from the ground. Heaving him to the stony earth, Alec drew his dirk and dove after him.

  Neil’s shock was short-lived, and before the warrior could leap onto him, he rolled away and came up quickly, his sword cutting a deadly arc in the air between them.

  Alec, too, was quick to recover and whipped his sword from its sheath. His fury showed in every line of his face, and as he advanced on Neil, the killer backed away, his expression shifting swiftly from grim belligerence to that of unabashed fear.

  “You craven dog. Is that what you saved your crippled arm for? For killing a defenseless woman?”

  Suddenly, from behind him Alec heard Fiona’s voice. Jerking his head around instinctively, he saw her standing beside the millstream.

  That was all the opportunity Neil needed. His sword flashed through the air toward Alec’s unguarded head.

  Fiona cried out as Neil’s weapon descended. But Alec’s catlike reflexes responded, and his blade deflected the blow in a shower of sparks. Then, wheeling his own sword high overhead, Alec brought it crashing down on the collar of his cringing foe, cleaving bone and sinew with lethal resolve.

  Neil sank to his knees amid his own pooling blood, his eyes glazing over as the horrible knowledge of his fate gave way to the shock of oncoming death. As his brain ceased to function, he heard the fading echo of a young woman’s curse, “...in this life and in the life hereafter.”

  Alec drove his bloody sword into the ground as Fiona rushed toward him. As he lifted her into his arms, she was shaking with the tumult of relief and exultation that whirled within her.

  He came for me.

  Thank you, God, for saving her.

  Alec stood, his arms closed around her tightly as the heat of battle slowly ebbed from his consciousness.

  Her face tilted up to his, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. He kissed away her salty tears and held her shivering body until he thought their bodies would melt into one another. Her breaths were coming in short gasps as she lifted her lips, seeking his and the comfort they offered.

  Hungry for the feel of her soft, yielding mouth, Alec tenderly kissed away the memory of her horrendous ordeal.

  “Fiona,” he whispered. “I thought I’d lost you, my love.” His hand reached up, caressing her face, assessing her injuries. He gently wiped away the drying clot of blood by her mouth, and then, feeling the large lump on the side of her head, he cursed himself furiously for not protecting her the way he should have. Cursed himself for leaving her alone.

  Fiona reached up and gripped his hand as it cradled her face. “My mother didn’t commit suicide, Alec. She didn’t!”

  “What happened here, Fiona? Did he hurt you?”

  She placed her fingers to Alec’s lips and silenced his words. “Nay, my love. A mere slap is all. But I have to tell you some things.”

  The sight of John and a few of the Macpherson warriors hurrying around the corner cut Fiona’s words short. She huddled tightly to Alec as the men surveyed Neil’s dead body.

  John’s angry tone conveyed his disgust. “Our men spotted a group of men and a woman going over the ridge to the west. One thought it was Kathryn Gray.”

  Alec looked at Fiona. “Was she here?”

  “Aye, she was with him.” She nodded toward the corpse.

  “Go after her,” Alec commanded sharply. “I want her brought back.”

  “Nay, Alec,” Fiona pleaded. “Please don’t. I want you to let her go.”

  Alec gazed at her uncomprehendingly. “Fiona, she was behind all this. Why let her escape?”

  “Alec, let her go. I’ll explain everything. She was not planning to have me killed. She just wanted me back in the Priory. There’s someone else. Neil was being paid by someone else.”

  “Who else if not Kathryn?”

  “I have an idea. But I know it wasn’t her. Alec, I gave her my word she’d have a chance to leave Scotland. But she had to promise never to come back.
”

  Alec looked steadily into her earnest face.

  “Please, Alec.”

  The young warlord turned toward his brother.

  “Have her followed, John. Make sure she sets sail, even if we have to pay the passage for her.”

  As John moved off to convey his brother’s orders, Alec turned to the shivering woman in his arms. “We need to talk, Fiona.”

  “Please get me out of here first. I can’t bear the sight of this place any longer.”

  The men dragged Neil’s body around the smoldering building, and Fiona and Alec were about to follow when one of the warriors trotted up from behind.

  “Lord Alec, you dropped this.”

  Fiona reached over and took her dirk from the fighter’s hand. She smiled up at Alec as she slipped the weapon into its water-soaked sheath deep in the pocket of her dress. “I’m starting to like carrying this around.”

  Wrapped in Alec’s warm cloak, Fiona sat in his arms as Ebon carried them slowly back toward Benmore Castle. John had ridden ahead to spread the news of Fiona’s return. Alec wanted everyone to be prepared for her return, and he wanted to alert the other search parties that had gone out from the castle. When he told her of David’s survival at the hands of their attackers, Fiona wept in relief. Now she felt a strong inclination to sleep, and only halfheartedly fought the urge.

  They rode in silence for a while with the fast-running Spey to their right. Alec bemoaned the fact that Kathryn had been the one to tell Fiona about their past. He wondered what image she had portrayed. He had been a fool to wait this long. He should have confided in her earlier. There were still a few hours of daylight left, but the orange sun was being blotted out occasionally by the thickening clouds that were rolling in from the northwest.

  “Did she tell you?” Alec asked softly, breaking into her contented reverie.

  Fiona became alert at his question.

  “Did she tell you about our engagement?”

  “I heard her speak of it with Neil.”

  Alec’s hand took hold of Fiona’s chin and raised her eyes to meet his. “Will you ever be able to forgive me for not telling you about the past? About myself?”