The Highlander's Defiant Captive

by Anna Campbell

  "Are ye plotting mayhem, my lady?" He turned in her direction.

  She realized he'd always been aware of her scrutiny. Of course he was. From the first, a bristling physical awareness had linked them. She'd attributed it to the strength of her hatred. Now she wasn't so sure.

  At this precise moment, she wasn't sure of anything.

  When heat flooded her cheeks, she knew he wouldn't miss the blush. "Of course," she said, curling her hand around the goblet of wine to hide its shaking.

  The maids were clearing away the meal. She hadn't seen Sheena all night. Most likely the girl was immersed to her elbows in a tub of soapy water in the kitchens. She'd be cursing Mhairi's name. After this feast, there would be a lot of washing up.

  As his attention dropped to her goblet, Callum tilted an eyebrow. "Och, if you’re planning on giving me another dousing, dinnae waste the good claret. Let me get ye a cheaper vintage."

  To her surprise, her lips twitched and she nearly laughed. Only last night, upending her wine over him had felt like a matter of life and death. "Mackinnon, you're worth fine French wine. Throwing anything less at ye would be an insult."

  He regarded her with astonishment and broke into a laugh that was warm with appreciation.

  Mhairi looked past him to find her cousin regarding her in horror, his own wine poised halfway to his lips. Her blush turned into a painful flush of shame. What on earth was she doing, flirting with her clan's enemy? The man who had stolen her and humiliated her?

  She cringed as John's lips tightened with disapproval. He replaced his goblet on the table without drinking. It was as if he suddenly found the wine sour.

  Mhairi’s troubled thoughts occupied her to the exclusion of what went on around her. A burst of discordant music startled her out of bitter self-recrimination. A band of musicians tuned up at the far end of the room. She was surprised to notice that the trestles had been cleared away from the center of the room while she’d been stewing on her disturbing and unwelcome penchant for a kidnapping rogue.

  The rogue rose, looking spectacularly handsome in his formal clothing, and extended his hand. "My lady, shall we lead the dancing?"

  She tore her gaze away from John and focused on her host. "Aye, sir."

  With difficulty, she ignored her cousin’s outraged glare and placed her hand in the Mackinnon's. Once the warmth in his touch had been an unspoken threat of what he meant to do to her under cover of darkness. Now his touch promised pleasure, if she could summon the courage to reach out and claim it.

  Mhairi expected the musicians to break into some wild reel, but they played the introduction to a stately gavotte. Black Callum saw her surprise and smiled. He'd smiled at her a lot today. Plague take him, she wished he wouldn't. She had enough trouble resisting him as it was, and these smiles were charming. They felt like an invitation to join him in a conspiracy against the rest of the world.

  It was a devilish appealing thought. And not one that helped her to make sensible decisions about what she did next.

  Except what she did next, at least this evening, was clear. She was about to dance with every appearance of pleasure with the man she’d wanted to kill only yesterday.

  Mhairi dipped into a curtsy as he bowed, then fell into the steps. She waited for other couples to join the line, but she and Callum remained alone as they dipped and parted and met in the graceful pattern of movement.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her cousin frowning down at her, before she became enmeshed in the Mackinnon’s unwavering gaze. His eyes seemed to make the same pledge of eternal allegiance he'd given her this afternoon. Her traitorous heart forgot it pumped Drummond blood and began to swoop and dive with a giddy excitement at odds with the music’s sweet formality.

  "You're making an exhibition of me," she murmured, as they turned together, their hands still linked.

  The Mackinnon’s grip conveyed strength and possession. She wondered why that didn't make her angry. It would have yesterday.

  "Aye, lassie, you're well worth looking at."

  "You're making a point to my cousin."

  Each time the graceful steps brought their hands together, her heart performed another skip and heat rippled up her arm. It was annoying but uncontrollable. This truce with her captor created pitfalls she’d never expected.

  "That, too."

  After today, she knew the laird wanted her for her own sake, but this new softness she felt toward him didn't blind her to his political purposes. The question was whether his political purposes were now hers. And how did her personal feelings fit in with his wider agenda?

  At the dance’s end, their hands parted. She curtsied and he performed another bow, eyes brilliant as they surveyed her. Other men had looked at her with desire. As more of that insidious heat washed through her, she realized with a shock that for the first time she looked back with interest of her own.

  When he took her arm and led her back to the high table, she stumbled. She couldn't want the Mackinnon. He was a brute and a beast, and she hated him.

  Except the emotion rushing through her blood didn't feel like hatred. It felt like joy.

  The musicians played the introduction to a minuet and a couple of men-at-arms brought partners to the floor.

  Dancing with the Mackinnon was dangerous to Mhairi’s resolution, but she couldn't help but feel disappointed when they sat down. She was about to suggest they join the line when the Mackinnon spoke to her cousin. "Would ye like to partner Mistress Drummond, John?"

  Both Drummonds regarded him in disbelief. Mhairi couldn't credit that he'd made the offer. After all, he'd refused to let her speak to her kinsman for fear she'd pass on secrets about the castle and private messages for her father.

  John recovered his wits more quickly than she did. Under the Mackinnon’s calm gaze, he came around to kiss her cheek and take her hand.

  Her cousin led her into the line, but she noticed he left a sizeable gap between them and the next couple. Oh, no, this didn’t bode well. She braced for a scolding. He’d object to her apparent ease with the enemy. She wasn't mistaken.

  "Mhairi, I could hardly believe it when ye smiled on yon Mackinnon bastard as if you like him."

  "I do like him," she said, then stumbled again as she realized just what she admitted.

  Heaven help her, what was wrong with her? Next she'd be lining up to marry the scoundrel.

  John's grip tightened. "He's set some witchcraft to ye."

  She shook her head. "No. But I can see the value of peace in the glens. I thought ye could, too. John, the Mackinnon's intentions are good. If ye can get my father to agree to a truce, it would benefit everyone."

  His lips thinned, as he swayed closer in the movement of the dance. "No’ if it means my cousin marrying a damned filthy Mackinnon."

  They both kept their voices low, but Mhairi caught a few curious glances leveled at them. She glanced up at the high table, expecting the Mackinnon to be watching her, but he was talking to Duff who had just returned from taking Brigid home.

  More amazement struck her as she realized he trusted her with her cousin.

  "I havenae agreed to marry him," she snapped under her breath.

  John’s grip on her hand firmed. "You're no’ far off agreeing, if what I see tonight is any indication. Did a good swiving addle your wits?"

  She stopped dancing and glared at her cousin. "He hasnae bedded me."

  "I heard some unlikely story."

  "Well, it’s true. He's treated me with honor and consideration." She paused. "And I do so appreciate ye asking after my welfare. Clearly my fate after my abduction has left ye sore troubled."

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. He glanced around and saw that everyone was staring at them. "Let's keep dancing."

  "I think I'd rather sit down."

  Her cousin scowled. "And go back to your paramour?"

  She ignored that. John didn't really believe she'd shared the Mackinnon's bed. He was just angry with her because she
wasn’t acting like a proper Drummond. She made her feet move to the music but there was none of the lightness she’d felt when she danced with Black Callum.

  "I'll pay your ransom and take ye home, and God willing you'll start to remember where your loyalty lies."

  "John, the Mackinnon doesnae want my father's money. I told ye what he wants."

  "My woman for his lady," John said bitterly.

  Appalled, Mhairi came to another abrupt stop. "What on earth did ye say?"

  Her cousin's jaw hardened in stubborn determination. "Your father and I arranged it years ago. You'll wed me and take your place as mistress of Bruard. It's an obvious solution. Did ye no’ wonder why he never favored any of the suitors who came seeking you as a bride?"

  "I thought he wanted to keep me with him as long as he could."

  Looking back with newly opened eyes, she realized she should have guessed some scheme like this was afoot. She was well past the age when most girls were betrothed. But still she felt betrayed by two men she’d trusted. Not just that, two men she thought respected her right to make her own decisions.

  "He does. If ye marry me, you'll never have to leave him."

  "But I dinnae want to marry ye," she said, too upset to be tactful.

  "No, because you've lost your head over yon Callum Dubh." More bitterness.

  "No, because you're my friend and my kinsman. I've never thought of ye…that way."

  "You'd rather wed your father's enemy and turn his old age to lonely misery?"

  Mhairi regarded John with real dislike. "If in the unlikely event such a wedding ever takes place, my father can see me whenever the urge seizes him."

  "The Mackinnon stole ye away. He’s wronged the Drummonds. If he willnae ransom ye, there will be a war and enough blood spilled to turn every burn between here and Bruard red."

  "There will only be war if men of good sense dinnae prevail," she said sharply. "Once I’d have included ye in that list."

  "You ken it will kill your father if ye wed a Mackinnon."

  "And it will kill a lot of good men down the centuries if I dinnae." A wedding to his enemy wouldn't please her father, but she was convinced he was tough enough to survive the news.

  John dropped her hand and stepped back. "I'm fair ashamed of ye, Mhairi. What's happened to ye here? You're ready to forsake the people who love ye. And in return for what?"

  "John…" she said helplessly as she struggled to find words to explain something that made no sense to her either.

  The music finished and Mhairi couldn't believe how relieved she was to go back to the Mackinnon. She'd itched to talk to John, to hear how things progressed at Bruard in her absence. Heaven forgive her, she hadn't even asked how her father had responded to the news of her kidnapping. But this arrogant, masculine disposal of her future made her so angry, she wanted to scream.

  All her life, she’d enjoyed a freedom denied to most women. In many ways, her father had treated her as the son he'd never had. Yet in the end, he was ready to give her away to her cousin without asking what she wished. It wasn't that different from what the Mackinnon demanded of her, by God.

  All her independence came to nothing, because she was a woman and men had the right to decide her fate. Not only that, but she'd been deceived in John. She'd never guessed he thought of her as anything other than his young cousin. But when they danced, she'd seen greed in his eyes, and his jealousy when she'd dared to defend Black Callum.

  "Time for something a wee bit livelier, I think," the Mackinnon said from behind her. "Mistress?"

  The music changed to a fast reel, and she noticed that this time, most of the people in the hall rose to their feet. This rough measure suited their liking more than the formal court dances did.

  With shaming relief, she turned to her enemy and held out her hand. "With pleasure."

  "By God, no, ye willnae!" John slapped her hand down and reached for his sword before he remembered he'd surrendered his weapons upon arrival.

  The music faded and half a dozen brawny Mackinnon warriors loomed around them.

  Black Callum gestured for them to stand back. "Master Drummond, what means this?"

  John looked ready to explode, but as he glanced around, he must have realized he had no hope of prevailing. The men who had accompanied him were half a room away and also unarmed.

  He sucked in a breath, and Mhairi prayed he would be sensible. Because despite his behavior tonight, he was a man of sense, the best hope for her clan’s future.

  When he lowered his hand from his belt, relief flooded her and her knees sagged. Right now, he wasn't her favorite person, but she didn't want him harmed.

  In the thorny silence, his voice emerged loud and harsh. "I brought ye an honorable offer of ransom for my cousin, Mackinnon. Will ye take it, or do I return to Bruard to prepare for war?"

  The Mackinnon appeared at ease, as if John hadn't just slung a challenge at him. "I dinnae want the Drummond's gold, sir. I've already got his greatest treasure. Return to your chieftain and tell him that Bonny Mhairi is henceforth the Rose of Achnasheen."

  Mhairi bit back a protest at his announcement. The possibility of violence hovered too close.

  John's head bobbed in a bow that conveyed an ocean of contempt. "I'll take the news back to Bruard, if I can trust ye to let me go in peace."

  The Mackinnon's lips tightened. "Aye, leave in the morning and tell that stubborn old man that he needs to recognize that there will be a new way in the glens."

  John's eyes narrowed on the Mackinnon. Her cousin’s self-assurance was an insult in itself. Mhairi had cause to be grateful that he wasn't armed.

  "All the Drummond will recognize is that you've snatched away his daughter and turned her mind and heart from her home and kin. Aye, I'll go tomorrow, but I'll return with an army. See how grand ye feel when you start counting Mackinnon dead as the price of your presumption."

  Chapter 17

  Mhairi stirred from a heavy sleep. Someone was standing beside her bed.

  "Callum?" she murmured, opening bleary eyes to candlelit darkness. Outside, it wouldn't be completely dark, but the shutters were closed to keep the light from the room.

  "No, curse ye, no’ Callum," a sharp female voice replied.

  In an instant, the mists of sleep vanished, and she jerked up against the pillows in swift wariness. "Sheena? How on earth did ye get up here?"

  The dancing had gone on late. John had stayed to watch, along with the rest of her sour-faced kinsmen. He hadn't tried to talk to her again, just glowered at her as she danced set after set with the Mackinnon, the wild music keeping pace with the excited rush of her blood.

  At first it had surprised her how well she and Black Callum moved together. But soon the thrill of dancing with such a perfect partner chased away her doubts, and she'd jigged and jumped and whirled with the best of them. And laughed. An almost frenzied gaiety had gripped her as she stared into the Mackinnon’s glittering eyes and given herself up to the driving rhythms.

  When Sheena woke her, she'd been dreaming of Callum. The details faded, but her skin was warm and her heart still thudded with excitement. She had a shameful feeling that the dreams had involved his hands on her body and that clever mouth on hers. She shivered with wicked pleasure as she remembered how he’d kissed her arm in the rose garden. Wicked, forbidden pleasure, because even sparing a thought to how attractive she found the Laird of Achnasheen was a heinous betrayal of her father.

  "I promised to help ye get away." The girl was dressed in a plain gray gown, and the candle she held lent her pretty features a sinister air that did nothing to soothe Mhairi’s disquiet.

  "Get away?" Mhairi repeated and wondered why her immediate reaction was dismay. From the start, her goal had been to escape Achnasheen and its intriguing master.

  "What's going on?" Flossie asked in a voice thick with sleep. She lay on a pallet bed in the corner.

  With a snarl, Sheena turned on the maid. Likely she resented Flossie for replacing
her as lady’s maid to the Mackinnon's chosen bride. "I'm here to get the Drummond bitch out of the castle."

  Mhairi barely flinched at the insult. "Are ye coming, Flossie?"

  "No’ on your life. No’ ever." The girl sat up and clutched the sheet to her chest. "And I'd think twice before I set out alone with a besom who called me such awfu’ names."

  Flossie had a point. But without her bitter hatred, Sheena wouldn’t be willing to take the risk of helping Mhairi. If the Mackinnon ever learned of Sheena’s treachery, life in the scullery would become a pleasant memory.

  Mhairi rolled out of bed, digging her toes into the carpet. "Dinnae betray me. You promised ye wouldnae."

  Even in the dim light, Mhairi could see that Flossie was torn. Eventually she gave a reluctant nod. "I willnae betray ye. But I still think this is a daft thing to do. Last night ye looked so happy. I hoped…"

  "That I'd marry the Mackinnon?" She wanted to sound sarcastic, as if the idea was outlandish in the extreme. Instead she cursed the note of regret that seeped into her question.

  A pox on the Mackinnon, she had nothing to regret. She’d spent the last days determined to escape her captivity. Now she had the opportunity to go, and she meant to take it. Once she was home again, she’d settle back into her role as her father’s darling and forget the turmoil and confusion that tormented her in the enemy’s castle.

  Flossie, plague take her, wasn’t relinquishing her impossible hopes. "And why no’? He's a good man, and he loves ye."

  Love…

  That one potent word set Mhairi's heart banging against her ribs and made her feel dizzy. "No, he doesnae." She cursed the shake in her voice. "I'm just a means to an end."

  "Aye, if ye say so," Flossie said, sounding unconvinced.

  "Blether, blether, blether," Sheena said sharply. "Are ye coming or no’, mistress? We cannae stand around, wittering like old hens. We need to be over the hills before the castle stirs to life."

  Mhairi stood up with a show of purpose, even as more and more misgivings gathered to make an acrid stew in her stomach. Which was insane. Why on earth wouldn’t she want to go? The Mackinnon had abducted her, kept her prisoner, humiliated her.