by Jayne Castel
Fighting nausea, Leanna tried to get down off her grey pony—not an easy task when her hands were bound. However, she didn’t want either of her captors touching her.
She was halfway down, when she realized the ground was rushing up to meet her. Unfortunately, she couldn’t put out her hands to break her fall.
Leanna cried out—and then a pair of strong arms fastened around her, catching her.
“Easy there.” Campbell set her down upon the ground. “Ye will do yerself an injury if ye aren’t careful.”
“Bastard,” she snarled. His touch wasn’t rough, yet it made her clench her jaw all the same. “If ye hadn’t bound my hands, I could have dismounted without yer help.”
Campbell huffed a soft laugh. “Nice try, milady. But we can’t take any chances with MacKinnon’s prize, can we?”
Leanna made a choking sound in the back of her throat as fury gripped her. “Loathsome worm! Ye will burn in hell for this!”
Campbell merely raised a dark eyebrow in reply, whereas behind him, Broderick barked a laugh. “Looks like MacKinnon’s fallen for a feisty one.”
Broderick set a small fire going while Campbell saw to the horses. Meanwhile, Leanna sat in stony silence on a rock a few feet away.
Neither man conversed with her. In fact, they appeared to have little interest in her at all.
Leanna glared at Campbell’s back as he unsaddled one of the horses. “We shouldn’t have left Evan and the others like that,” she said finally. She knew her voice had a high, querulous edge, but she didn’t care. “They were charged with protecting me … they deserve a proper burial. My father would have given them one.”
Campbell glanced over his shoulder at her, his dark brows drawing together. “There wasn’t time for that.” He paused then, watching her for a heartbeat. “They’re dead now anyway … whatever becomes of their corpses now, it won’t matter to them.”
The harshness of this comment made Leanna’s heart start to hammer against her ribs. “Evan was one of my father’s most loyal warriors.” She gasped out the words. “He deserves better.”
Campbell turned away. “He probably does.”
Heat exploded within Leanna, spiraling up from her belly. Anger felt good—it chased away fear and sorrow, it made her feel strong. When she finally spoke again, her voice had a raw, harsh edge. “So, MacKinnon sent ye to fetch me … to steal me away?”
“Aye.”
“He wishes to wed me, I take it?” Even as she said the words, Leanna’s already racing pulse sped up to a gallop. She couldn’t believe MacKinnon had stooped to this; it was unthinkable.
“I believe that’s his plan, milady.”
“Stop addressing me as ‘milady’,” Leanna snarled, panic causing her temper to fray. “In case ye hadn’t noticed, I am a Sister of Kilbride.” She drew in a sharp breath, in an attempt to master the wobble in her voice, before continuing. “I won’t wed him.”
Ross Campbell turned to face her properly this time. Strangely, he didn’t answer her. His dark-blue gaze was veiled.
Leanna drew herself up, outrage bolstering her courage. “I’m a nun,” she spat out the word as if speaking to a halfwit. “I have taken vows.”
Campbell’s mouth compressed. “Ye are yet a novice. Ye have done nothing that cannot be undone.”
Leanna stared at him, shocked by his callousness. “If those outlaws hadn’t attacked us, ye would have killed my escort, wouldn’t ye?”
“Aye … but fortunately it didn’t come to that,” he replied. Did she imagine it or had his gaze shadowed slightly at her accusation?
“Ye are MacKinnon’s hound,” Leanna snarled. “What ye are doing is wrong. Have ye no will of yer own?” When he didn’t reply, she balled her hands at her sides. “My uncle, Bard, will be enraged when he hears of this … he’ll rip out yer guts!”
Campbell didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reply. He merely bestowed her with a withering look, before he gave her his back once more and resumed unsaddling his horse.
“The lass has some spirit,” Carr murmured, poking the glowing embers of the fire pit with a stick. “Unfortunately for her.”
Ross glanced up and frowned, before he looked across the fire at where Lady Leanna slept. The woman had curled up into a ball, and Ross had lain his cloak over her. Her face peeked out; illuminated by the fire’s glow, the nun looked young and vulnerable in slumber. It had been a tense evening. They’d attempted to share their supper of dried meat and bread with their captive, but she’d refused to eat anything.
“Aye … MacKinnon likes his women biddable,” Ross replied, deliberately keeping his voice low lest they wake Leanna.
“I don’t understand it really,” Carr said, his expression genuinely puzzled. “Is meekness that attractive?”
Ross’s mouth quirked. “What? Ye would prefer a shrew … like Drew MacKinnon?” The comment had been deliberately aimed. The two men had known each other many years, having arrived at Dunan at about the same time—long enough for Ross to have caught Carr staring at MacKinnon’s blade-tongued sister on more than occasion.
He’d expected Carr to look embarrassed, yet he merely shrugged. “Lady Drew is a survivor,” he replied, his expression unreadable.
Disappointed at Carr’s lack of reaction, Ross glanced back at their captive’s sleeping face. “Let’s hope Lady Leanna is,” he said softly. “MacKinnon’s not easy on his wives.”
As soon as the words were out, Ross regretted them. Although he and Carr were friends, he was still wary of being too open with him. Both of them were the youngest sons from large families. Both had been set on carving a new life for themselves elsewhere. MacKinnon had given them the future they’d craved—and as such their loyalty was primarily to him, not each other.
However, Carr didn’t appear irritated by the veiled criticism of the clan-chief. Instead, he raised a blond eyebrow. “I take it ye speak of yer cousin?”
Ross nodded. As always, his mood shadowed when he thought of Siusan. She’d deserved so much better than the life she’d been given. Wed to MacKinnon, Siusan had died the previous summer. An exhausting pregnancy culminated in a grueling birth that had claimed the lives of mother and bairn.
“She was gentle and quiet … an ideal match for MacKinnon,” Ross said finally. “But I didn’t like how his manner cooled toward her as soon as he got her with child … or that he started frequenting whores again.”
Carr frowned at this, although he didn’t contradict him. They both knew it was the truth.
“I liked even less how he raged when she died … how he blamed her,” Ross continued.
Silence followed this admission, and when Carr frowned, Ross knew he’d gone too far.
“It was grief,” Carr replied, a warning edge in his voice now. “Her death came as a shock to him, that’s all.”
Ross didn’t reply. His tongue was too loose as it was tonight—if he kept talking. he was going to land himself in trouble. Nonetheless, he didn’t share Carr’s conviction.
5
Trapped
LEANNA AWOKE TO a pain in her side and a breeze feathering across her face. For a moment she merely lay there, disoriented. For a blissful instant, the events of the last day eluded her, and then they hit her with the force of a charging boar.
Her father’s death.
Her journey back to Duncaith.
The attack.
Her capture by MacKinnon’s men.
Leanna sucked in a pained breath and clenched her eyes shut. Maybe if she tried hard enough, she could go back to sleep, return to oblivion. But such wishes were useless. She was awake now, and the weight of sorrow settled upon her breast once more.
Stifling a groan, Leanna sat up and rubbed her flank. Somehow, she’d rolled over onto a sharp stone during the night. It had dug into her while she slept. However, she welcomed the pain—it distracted her from the fog of hopelessness that now rose around her.
A few yards away, Carr Broderick was saddling the horse
s while Ross Campbell kicked dirt over the ashes of last night’s fire.
Meeting her eye, Campbell favored her with a cool smile. “Ready to go?”
He reached out a hand then, offering it to her.
Leanna ignored his hand. Instead, she glowered at him and pushed herself to her feet. They’d released the bonds on her wrists while she slept, and she wondered whether they’d bind her again. She guessed they would refrain from doing so. It wouldn’t look good—bringing her into Dunan as a prisoner.
“I need some time alone,” she informed him, shoving her grief behind an icy tone. And when Campbell gave her an incredulous look, she compressed her lips. “I need to relieve myself … and then I must conduct my morning prayers.”
“No prayers this morning,” Campbell replied, his expression irritatingly neutral. “But ye can empty yer bladder before we leave.” His gaze flicked to his companion. “Carr … can ye accompany her?”
“I’m saddling the horses,” the warrior grumbled.
“I’ll finish them off … go on. Nature calls Sister Leanna.”
Balling her hands at her sides, Leanna tensed as her temper flared. How dare this cur mock her?
“Come on then, Sister.” Broderick left the horses and approached her. “There’s a boulder behind ye … let’s visit it.”
Ross turned from tightening the pony’s girth, to see Carr and Lady Leanna emerge. As often, his friend’s expression was impossible to read, while Leanna’s face, framed by that austere white wimple, was stony. Grief strained her delicate features; she was doing her best to hide it, but the cracks were showing.
“Let’s get going,” he greeted them. “Dunan isn’t far … if we ride hard, we can reach it by noon. Ye’ll feel better once ye arrive at the broch, milady—ye’ll see.” In truth, Ross thought it highly unlikely, but telling her so wasn’t going to help things.
“I told ye … I can’t go anywhere until I’ve completed my morning prayers,” Leanna countered, folding her arms over her breasts.
Ross suppressed a sigh. He should have anticipated this; the lass was spoiled and used to getting her own way. “And I told ye that we don’t have time. Ye’ll just have to conduct yer prayers on horseback.”
To his surprise, Leanna marched up to him. Tilting her chin, she fixed him with an imperious stare. Not for the first time, Ross was struck by the loveliness of her face. The shapeless habit and enveloping veil and wimple did her looks no favors, yet there was no denying this woman was a beauty.
No wonder MacKinnon fell for her.
She had smooth, milky skin; large, expressive, hazel eyes; and a small, lush mouth. He remembered her from that gathering two years earlier—under that veil her hair was a pale ash-blonde, like her father’s.
“Ye won’t get away with this.”
Ross couldn’t help smirking. “I think ye’ll find that we already have.”
“My father wanted to protect me from MacKinnon for a reason,” she countered, high spots of color appearing upon those creamy cheeks.
Ross snorted. “Aye, there’s never been much love between the MacKinnons and the MacDonalds.”
“This isn’t about feuding. Would ye want to wed yer daughter to Duncan MacKinnon?” she demanded, her voice growing husky. This close, Ross could see the tell-tale gleam in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. Sorrow vibrated off her, as did fear, and Ross’s smirk disappeared. Her defiance was a shield, and a brittle one at that. The lass was close to breaking.
Silence fell. Ross inhaled deeply in an effort to ease the unexpected tightening in his chest. Since taking Lady Leanna prisoner, he’d put up a barrier of his own. Yet at that moment, he realized he pitied her.
He hadn’t wanted to take on this distasteful task—and neither had Carr—but orders were orders.
MacKinnon wanted her. And Duncan MacKinnon never gave up once he set his will upon something. Ross knew the man he served was flawed—but who wasn’t? Ross deliberately didn’t examine his own soul too deeply, for he too had a darker side. Ambition had driven him for years now. All he’d ever wanted was to make something of himself, to rise from being a callow youth without purpose or pride. MacKinnon had given him something his own father never had—respect. And for that, Ross was prepared to turn a blind eye to some things.
This situation was becoming more of a challenge than he’d anticipated. But he couldn’t let his comely captive get to him.
Shoving aside the urge to empathize with Leanna, Ross deliberately hardened himself against her. “Yer father dishonored MacKinnon by refusing a betrothal between ye both,” he said finally, injecting a callous drawl into his voice. “MacKinnon believes that ye belong to him, Lady Leanna … and if ye are unhappy with his decision, he is the one ye need to discuss it with.”
The morning passed swiftly—far too swiftly. A chill wind blew in from the north, a reminder that although spring had come to the Isle of Skye, the last of winter’s chill still lingered.
Bleak, carven peaks rose above the party of three, their bulk dwarfing the travelers. The landscape of this isle often awed Leanna. However, this morning, it depressed her. This morning, the mountains reminded her how little control she now had over her fate.
It occurred to her then that this was merely a continuation of the powerlessness she’d felt until now. She hadn’t wanted to take the veil, but her father had given her no option. Her choice of husband wouldn’t have been up to her either, even if she hadn’t wed MacKinnon. And now that her father was gone—the only barrier between MacKinnon and his desires—another man had merely taken her by force.
And these two warriors, who followed MacKinnon so loyally, didn’t see anything wrong with that.
Once again, fury writhed up within Leanna. She welcomed its heat, which cut through the chill of sorrow and made her feel stronger.
She knew it was a man’s world—but her time at Kilbride had taught her a few things. Mother Shona was strong and independent. The abbess bowed to no man, and Leanna wanted to follow her lead.
At the same time though, she was no fool. MacKinnon’s reputation as a brute preceded him. He wouldn’t hesitate to raise a hand to her. She wouldn’t be able to rail at him the way she had with Campbell.
Her pulse accelerated then as resolve flowered within her. She couldn’t give up yet; she had to try and get her captors to see sense.
Her father had once told her that every man had his price.
Casting a glance in Ross Campbell’s direction, Leanna studied his proud profile. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said, breaking the silence between them. “If it’s silver ye want, my kin can give it to ye. Take me to Duncaith instead of Dunan, and I’ll see to it that my uncle pays ye and yer friend handsomely. Ye could leave Skye … become yer own masters.”
Campbell’s attention swiveled to her, his dark brows drawing together in surprise. Ahead of them, Broderick twisted in the saddle, his own expression incredulous. Clearly, neither of them had expected such an offer.
“This isn’t about silver,” Campbell replied after a pause.
Leanna’s fingers clenched around the reins. “Ye follow MacKinnon willingly?”
“Aye.”
“But he’s a beast!”
Broderick had already turned from them, his attention focused on the road ahead. However, Campbell watched her for a few moments more, his gaze shuttered. His lips parted, as if he was about to answer her, before he closed his mouth. A muscle feathered in his jaw. Then he looked away, making it clear the conversation was over.
Leanna glared at him, her throat closing up. No, she’d been mistaken. Neither of these men would help her.
They approached Dunan through a densely wooded vale. Dark spruce and pine carpeted the hills, and a meandering watercourse, the River An, cut its way west to east along the valley. They’d made even better time than Campbell had predicted; Leanna guessed that it was not yet noon.
Leanna’s gaze focused on the bulk of what had once been an ancient round-to
wer, turned into the MacKinnon broch over generations. The broch rose high, over-shadowing its encircling walls, and the village spread out around its base.
Her belly clenched at the sight.
Leanna had been here once before, when she’d been a child. Despite that the sun was shining, the broch appeared a gloomy, oppressive place as it loomed in the distance. Leanna’s gaze slid from the broch to the tightly packed rooftops beneath it. That would be ‘The Warren’, a network of fetid alleyways in the village. She and one of her sisters had sneaked out to catch a glimpse of the taverns and brothels there—and had both received a scolding from their mother upon their return to the keep. Dunan was far different to the wind-swept broch of Duncaith, which perched on the edge of a loch, and the clusters of shepherds’ huts that encircled it.
Leanna straightened in the saddle, her breathing now coming in short, shallow gasps. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Right now, she should be with her kin at Duncaith, not here.
Ma will be wondering where I am. How long before Uncle Bard sends out riders to look for us?
The thought of the grim scene they would find in the forest glade made her feel queasy. Evan had been a good man, and he’d died protecting her.
She felt as if she’d strayed into a night terror—one there was no waking from.
They rode into Dunan along a road flanked by fields. This river valley was fertile indeed, and the spring greens grew riotously. Men and women, weeding in amongst the vegetables, glanced up at hearing the tattoo of hoof-beats. Their gazes widened in curiosity at the sight of two of the clan-chief’s men accompanying a nun.
Leanna’s fingers clenched around the reins. The urge to cry out to them for help reared up within her. She could throw herself off the pony and run to those strangers, begging them to assist her. She opened her mouth to cry for help, yet the words choked in her throat.
All she’d achieve would be utter humiliation. These folk wouldn’t help her. Just like Campbell and Broderick, they’d merely throw her to the hungry wolf who waited for her in his lair.