Awoken: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Sisters of Kilbride Book 2)

by Jayne Castel

  With outlaws and bands of starving men roaming the barren hills of Skye, and news of a terrible pestilence now ravaging the mainland, Mother Shona had warned them that there might come a time soon when they would need to defend these walls from outsiders.

  Leanna was grateful that she’d learned to wield a longbow and defend herself if a man grabbed her. Who knew what the future would bring—even Kilbride Abbey couldn’t keep the world at bay forever. And yet, at that moment Leanna just wanted to return to Duncaith and take back the old life she’d been forced to give up.

  Leanna revealed none of what lay in her heart to the abbess. She felt too ashamed. “I will reflect, Mother Shona,” she agreed, lowering her gaze.

  “May the Lord grant ye a safe journey,” Mother Shona said. “Go now … the day is waning, and ye have much ground to cover.”

  Leanna nodded and stepped back. As she moved toward the stables, she cast a glance right, at where Coira stood. The older woman’s expression was veiled this afternoon, and Leanna wondered if she was upset with her for going away.

  Meeting the nun’s eye, Leanna offered her a weak smile. “Peace be with ye, Sister Coira … I shall see ye soon.”

  However, her friend merely nodded.

  3

  Leanna’s Savior

  ROSS CAMPBELL WATCHED the party leave Kilbride Abbey. Gaze narrowed, he tracked the five riders that trotted through the gates and onto the narrow, rutted path that led south through the hazel thicket.

  Shifting position, Ross stretched out his left leg, which had gone numb. It had been an uncomfortable wait.

  “And here they are … finally.”

  Carr Broderick’s whispered comment made a grim smile curve Ross’s lips. His companion, who crouched next to him in the undergrowth, had been impatient during their wait.

  Four riders had entered Kilbride, and five departed. One of them was a small woman swathed in black, who rode side-saddle upon a sturdy grey pony.

  “Lady Leanna MacDonald of Sleat,” Ross murmured. “We finally have ye.”

  “Are ye sure it’s her?” Carr grumbled. “All the nuns look the same to me in their crow’s garb.”

  “I’d wager ye all my savings that’s her,” Ross replied. “It’s one of the sisters we saw earlier.”

  Indeed, shortly after the arrival of the MacDonald party, Ross and Carr had spied two nuns also approach from the south. Hauling a dead deer between them, they’d made an incongruous pair—one tall and broad-shouldered, the other much shorter. The smaller of the two nuns also carried a long bow and quiver of arrows slung across her back. The sight had intrigued Ross.

  He’d no idea that the Sisters of Kilbride hunted their own deer.

  No doubt, MacKinnon would be interested to learn so. It appeared that these nuns were not as helpless as one might think.

  Rising to his feet, Ross brushed dirt off his braies. “Come on … let’s fetch the horses.”

  Wordlessly, Carr nodded, and the pair of them shifted back into the heart of the hazel thicket, where their coursers awaited. Untying the horses and tightening their girths, the men swung up onto their backs. Then they set off south, following the MacDonald party.

  Despite her chest-crushing sorrow, Leanna felt better the moment she left Kilbride Abbey. Riding across the hills of Skye eased the warring emotions within her. Panic, shame, guilt, and anger—each of them sought to dominate. But out here in the open, she could outrun them.

  Evan and the three warriors accompanying him weren’t men prone to prattle. Leanna was grateful for that, although it meant that shortly after leaving the abbey, she retreated into her own thoughts.

  And when she did so, memories of her father returned.

  She could still envisage him, seated in his carven chair by the hearth at Duncaith, his white-blond hair spilling over his shoulders, his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement as he listened to his wife lamenting how tiresome it was to have five daughters.

  Leanna’s throat constricted, and a sob welled up deep in her chest. Choking it down, she blinked rapidly as her vision blurred. She was riding blind, but the pony was docile and merely plodded after Evan’s leggy courser, happy to follow.

  Her father really was gone. She’d never see him again.

  How would she feel upon arriving at Duncaith again? How could she bear to step back inside the broch and not see him? It would seem empty and cold without Niall MacDonald.

  Life was empty and cold without her father.

  A wind blew in from the west, bringing with it the salty whisper of the sea. They were just out of sight of the coast here, although as they entered the woodland, the rich smell of vegetation and damp peaty earth dominated.

  Golden afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, and birds twittered, but Leanna scarcely paid her surroundings any notice. Instead, grief shrouded her, blocking out the rest of the world.

  The afternoon drew out, and eventually they left the wooded valley behind and rode out across windswept hills. Huge mountains rose to the east, their smooth sides turning red and gold as the setting sun caught them. Finally, Leanna emerged from her fog of despair, her gaze alighting on the majesty of the mountains. This isle was so beautiful that it could take your breath away.

  And yet a heavy sensation settled in the pit of Leanna’s belly as she gazed upon the peaks. Da loved these mountains.

  A keen hunter, Niall MacDonald had led a number of hunting parties into the steep, wooded valleys at the base of those peaks, where great stags were known to roam. And in the end, his love of hunting had been his demise.

  Eyes stinging as fresh tears surfaced, Leanna swallowed hard. Closing her eyes, she whispered a soft prayer for her father’s soul.

  The light was fading when Evan drew the party up. “We won’t reach Duncaith before dark,” he announced, dismounting his horse. “It’s best we make camp here overnight.”

  They had reached a stand of pines that grew in the mountains dividing MacKinnon and MacDonald lands. With the setting sun, the air had grown cool, and the scent of pine resin filled the narrow valley where they halted.

  It had been a long while since Leanna had slept out under the stars. Not since before she had entered womanhood. The thought made the ache of sorrow in her breast ease just a little; a night out in the wild would bring her closer to her father. It also gave her time to compose herself before seeing her mother and sisters once more. She slid down from her pony’s back, her sandaled feet sinking into a bed of pine needles.

  Leading the shaggy grey mare over to a tree, she tied it up and unsaddled it. Then she broke off a piece of pine from an overhead branch and began to rub the pony down in long, smooth strokes.

  “I see ye haven’t forgotten yer upbringing, Sister Leanna,” Evan observed from behind her. “Yer father taught ye how to look after horses well.”

  Leanna glanced over her shoulder to see the man watching her, a smile softening his hawkish features.

  “Aye,” she replied, her throat thickening as other memories surfaced. “When I was a lass, I wished to sleep in the stables with the horses … until Ma forbade me.”

  Evan’s smile widened. “Ye were a wild lass.” He paused then, his expression sobering. “Although I see the past two years have tempered ye.”

  Leanna looked away, her fingers clenching around the prickly pine. “They have,” she replied softly.

  Evan might have replied then—and their conversation may have lasted a while longer—but Leanna was never to know.

  The snap of a twig underneath a heavy tread made Evan swivel around, his gaze sweeping their surroundings. He then drew his claidheamh-mor, the great broadsword that hung at his waist.

  Around him the three other warriors had also grown still. Wordlessly, Evan motioned to his companions. A moment later they left their horses, drew their own weapons, and formed a protective semi-circle around Leanna.

  Heart pounding, she tried to peer around her escort. Her skin suddenly prickled with awareness. There
was someone out there, hiding in the trees, watching them.

  The unmistakable twang of a bow string cut through the gloaming.

  Thud.

  In front of Leanna, Evan grunted.

  Thud.

  He then staggered forward, before he turned.

  Horror rose in a cold, sickly wave within Leanna when she saw an arrow protruding from his throat, and another arrow embedded in his chest. Evan went down on his knees. His gaze seized upon Leanna, and he wheezed, “Run!”

  Leanna dropped the pine and glanced around frantically, her breathing now coming in panicked gasps. Although she hadn’t yet seen their attackers, she realized they were now surrounded. Where did he expect her to go?

  Outlaws.

  They were under attack, yet Leanna couldn’t see anyone.

  Arrows flew across the small clearing. The horses squealed in fright, pulling at their tethers.

  Another man went down in front of her, his cry echoing through the trees.

  Heart pounding, Leanna dropped to a crouch and edged back against the tree trunk. She carried no weapons on her. Unlike Sister Ella who’d never gone anywhere without a few blades strapped to her person, Leanna didn’t carry her longbow with her usually. The only item that hung from her belt was her crucifix, and that wasn’t going to help her now.

  Shapes burst out from the undergrowth. A group of around half a dozen men dressed in soiled braies and léines. To Leanna’s shock, she recognized the tattered sashes some of the men wore: a deep red crisscrossed with pine-green.

  It was the plaid of her own people—the MacDonalds of Sleat.

  A wave of dizziness swept over Leanna.

  These outlaws, who were cutting down MacDonald men, had once served her father.

  That’s impossible. Niall MacDonald’s men were loyal. They didn’t desert the clan and attack travelers. And yet, there was no mistaking the plaid.

  An agonized grunt split the air, as another of her escorts went down, stabbed through the chest with a dirk.

  Leanna reached up, clutching her throat as panic clamped its iron grip around her windpipe. She had to do something, or she’d be on her own out here—soon an arrow would find her too. Weakness flooded through her, and for a moment she thought she might faint.

  Move or ye are going to die—or worse. Somehow, she had the presence of mind to drop to her hands and knees and scramble forward to where Evan lay. His pale blue eyes stared at her sightlessly, even as his limbs twitched.

  Bile rose in the back of Leanna’s throat, yet she forced it down. With trembling hands, she drew the dirk from Evan’s belt and turned—just in time—to see one of the outlaws bearing down upon her.

  He was a huge man with unkempt auburn hair and a feral expression. The MacDonald sash he wore across his chest was dirty and threadbare, yet recognizable.

  “It’s a prize we have here,” the outlaw called out to his companions as he advanced toward Leanna. He leered at her, the sword he held gleaming dark with blood. “I’m having her first, lads.”

  Terror sliced through Leanna, ice-cold and paralyzing. She never knew fear could be like this, so utterly immobilizing. For a heartbeat she merely stared at the outlaw, freezing like a frightened fawn—and then she remembered Mother Shona’s advice when she’d been showing the novice nuns how to fend off a man with their hands.

  Let them come to ye. Many men don’t believe a small woman can do them harm. Wait for them to get close, and then strike.

  The outlaw reached out a meaty arm, grabbing for her, and Leanna slashed at him with the dirk. She’d held the weapon against her skirts, concealed. He hadn’t seen it.

  The blade cut into his forearm, and the man bellowed, reeling back as if he’d just discovered an adder sleeping in the grass.

  “Whore!” he snarled. Blood poured down his arm, but he appeared not to notice. Instead, there was a murderous glint in his eye. “Ye are going to regret that.”

  Leanna scrambled back, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her defense had been clumsy. She should have gone for somewhere more vulnerable than his arm, but her nerves had gotten the better of her.

  A wave of dizziness rose once more, surging like a spring tide, and black spots suddenly appeared in Leanna’s field of vision. He was going to hurt her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  But instead of lunging at her, the outlaw gasped, his big body going rigid. And then, as Leanna watched with horrified fascination, he keeled over.

  Someone had saved her—had one of Evan’s men survived the attack?

  However, she didn’t recognize the man standing behind him.

  As the outlaw fell, the stranger withdrew the dirk blade he’d shoved under his ribs.

  Tall, dark-haired, and with chiseled good-looks, Leanna’s savior straightened up and met her eye. And then, to her surprise, his mouth curved into an arrogant smile. “Looks like we arrived just in time, eh … Lady Leanna?”

  4

  We Mean Ye No Harm

  LEANNA SWALLOWED HARD. “Sister Leanna … but how do ye know my name?”

  The newcomer’s smile widened, but he didn’t answer her. Instead, he glanced right, his gaze narrowing. “Are we done here, Carr?”

  “Aye.” A broad, heavily muscled man with short blond hair emerged from the bushes. He carried a dirk—its blade dripping with blood. “They’re all dead.”

  “How many of them?”

  “Six.”

  Leanna’s savior’s smile widened. “Two against six … we haven’t lost our touch, I see.”

  The man’s companion snorted. “We had some assistance … it appears this lass isn’t completely helpless. His attention then shifted to where Leanna still crouched on the ground a few yards away. “Is Lady Leanna hurt?”

  “I don’t think so.” The dark-haired warrior replied, his gaze returning to Leanna. “She’s quick with a knife. I’ll grant her that.”

  The man named Carr frowned.

  A tense silence fell in the clearing. Around them lay the bodies of the four men who’d accompanied Leanna south. And now that Leanna could divert her attention from the big auburn-haired man who’d attacked her, she spied the corpses of some of the outlaws around the fringes of the glade.

  “Who are ye?” Leanna finally managed. Still clenching her dirk in a death grip, she rose to her feet.

  The dark-haired man’s smile faded. “Just travelers, milady.”

  “But how do ye know my name?”

  “Ye were traveling south with a MacDonald escort … most folk in these parts know that MacDonald of Sleat’s eldest daughter is a nun.”

  Leanna’s gaze narrowed, and she took a step back. “Do they?”

  “Ye can lower the blade, milady,” The man’s companion rumbled. “We mean ye no harm.”

  “Aye … so why don’t ye put away yer dirks?”

  The two men shared looks, before they both did as bid. The dark-haired man then moved toward her, arms raised. “As ye can see, I’m unarmed now.”

  Leanna’s fingers flexed around the handle of the dirk. She knew this man had saved her life, yet something felt ‘wrong’ about this rescue. As she studied his face, she realized that she’d seen the man somewhere before—however, the context eluded her.

  “What’s yer name?” she asked, still holding her weapon aloft.

  The warrior paused, his head inclining as a smile curved his lips once more.

  Mother Mary save me, he is handsome. The thought rose unbidden. It was true though; this close, the chiseled lines of the man’s face drew clear in the gloaming. He possessed moody good looks: a firm, well defined jaw shadowed in stubble, with a slight cleft in the chin, and dark eyebrows winging above penetrating midnight blue eyes. A mane of wavy black hair that fell just short of the shoulders framed his face.

  “Ross Campbell at yer service,” he replied. “And my companion here is Carr Broderick.”

  Leanna went still as she suddenly realized where she’d seen him in the past. “I remember ye,”
she murmured. “Ye were at the MacKinnon and MacDonald clan gathering two years ago.”

  That comment wiped the arrogant smile off his face. “I was,” he admitted, wary now.

  Leanna’s pulse accelerated as she finally placed him. “Ye stood at Duncan MacKinnon’s side … ye serve him.”

  “I do … please lower that blade, milady.”

  Leanna backed up farther, heart hammering now. “What do ye want with me?”

  Ross Campbell heaved a sigh. She could see he was tiring of her defiance, yet Leanna didn’t care. Her instincts were on alert now; it seemed that there had been more than just a band of outlaws tracking their progress south.

  “If ye keep waving that dirk around, ye will only risk injury to yerself,” he said lowering his tone as if talking to a frightened filly. He took a cautious step toward her, and then another. “Put it down. Ye are coming with us now.”

  “Get away from me,” Leanna snarled. Terror pulsed through her. She swiped the blade between them, warning him off. “I’m more than capable of defending myself, and I’m certainly not going anywhere with ye.”

  She didn’t know what these two warriors had in mind, but any men who served MacKinnon weren’t friends of hers.

  Ross Campbell moved then—so swiftly that Leanna barely registered it. One moment he’d been standing a few yards distant, the next he was right before her. He caught her wrist in an iron grip.

  Leanna cried out, struggling against him. “Unhand me!”

  “Take her knife, Carr,” Campbell instructed coolly. “And bind her wrists.” The big blond man stepped close and wrested the dirk from Leanna’s clutching fingers. She gave a wail as he did so—that weapon was the only thing she had left. The only thing between her and capture.

  They took her north, away from the pine clearing strewn with bodies, and into the heart of the mountains. Night had settled over the world, a waxing half-moon rising into the inky sky, when the party of three stopped in a rocky gorge and made camp for the night.