Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  After returning his scowl, Ann gently dragged a wet piece of linen across his injured shoulder, then repeated the action several times.

  The cool water felt good against his heated flesh, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He’d show her no weakness, and the sooner she finished, the sooner he could put some distance between them. He found having her this close unnerving—the lavender scent of her hair and the gentleness of her touch, causing his head to swim and his groin to stir.

  “You were right. The cut is na deep, but if left, it could easily have festered. A stitch or two should close it and stay the bleeding.” Ann reached into a small leather pouch and took out a needle and a length of black twine. She wiped the tip of the needle on a clean linen rag then prepared to close the wound.

  As her hand neared his shoulder, Logan gripped Ann’s forearm and tugged her toward him. Nose-to-nose, he stared into eyes a man could easily get lost in. “Why are you doing this?”

  She blinked several times and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “Doing. . . what?” she stammered.

  “Why are you helping me? I am your enemy, and one would think I would be the last person on earth you would wish to aid.” When a wistful smile graced her lips—one that caused his heartrate to double and his palms to sweat—he lightly stroked his knuckles across her cheek.

  She shied away from his touch and lowered her gaze. “I have no enemies. At least not of my making. You are an injured man in need of tending and that is who I see seated before me, nothing more. Now, if you will let me finish, I have some work to do.”

  Logan released her and relaxed against the tree. She certainly was unlike any woman he had ever met, and were circumstances different, she was someone he would make a point of getting to know a lot better. He saw stars when the needle pierced his skin for the first time and rather than watch her work, he glanced away.

  “It is done.” Ann rocked back on her heels, smiling. “With a clean dressing and a bit of rest for a day or so it will heal fast.” She retrieved a dry length of linen from the pouch and wrapped it around Logan’s arm several times, then tied the ends securely.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, then without warning or thought, he cupped her chin and pressed an unexpected kiss to her lips.

  Drawn by a force too powerful to ignore, Ann leaned into the kiss—something she had not intended to do, and certainly could not explain. But for some reason, she found him impossible to resist. When he lay her down on the grass and rolled her beneath him, she didn’t protest.

  With his powerful body molded against hers, he wove his fingers through her hair, holding her head in place. His tongue playfully teased the seam of her lips, willing her to open. As if she’d lost all control over her reactions, her lips parted, welcoming his sweet invasion. His mouth covered hers, his tongue searching and plundering, swallowing her whimper of pleasure when his hand strayed to her breasts.

  Shrouded by a euphoric fog—the likes of which she had never known—Ann reveled in the moment of bliss. She’d heard the women of the keep talking in whispers about such things, but until now, had never experienced, and she found herself wishing it would go on forever.

  The daughter of a laird, she’d grown up knowing the day would come when her father selected what he considered a suitable husband and they would marry. Such was the case with Lord MacKenny. There was no love between them, no commonality, no shared or stolen moments of passion. Putting her needs and desires aside, she would marry out of duty, and leave her beloved Highlands. She would serve as a faithful wife, bare his babes, and give him heirs to follow in his footsteps. She would do all of this for the good of the clan, because it was Highland tradition, and her father ordered she do so.

  She and Logan were not in love, and while it was an unseemly match, she could not deny the strong attraction she felt for him the minute she first saw him stalking toward her. Her heart hammering in her chest, she craved his touch. But like most good things, this too ended abruptly when reality reared its ugly head. She was in the arms of her captor not her lover, a man who intended to kill her father and had threatened to kill her as well. Determined to end things here and now, she planted two hands on his broad chest and shoved.

  “Get off me,” Ann gasped. When he did as she ordered, she sat, dragged a shaky hand through her dishevelled hair, and released a short sharp breath. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “I would ask your forgiveness, m’lady, but you dinna seem to mind.” Logan wiggled a brow, grinning. “You actually appeared to be enjoying it.”

  “Swine!” Infuriated by his brash comment, Ann stood, then kicked some dirt at him. “You are a rogue for letting me help you, then taking liberties. My father was right, you MacAllens are the vilest creatures on earth.” Her actions were more like those of a spoilt bairn than a grown woman, and her words left her lips before she could stop them. She honestly didn’t mean what she said, but she also knew that nothing good could come of a dalliance with Logan MacAllen. Regardless if she craved it with every fibre of her being.

  “Then I ask your forgiveness, Lady Ann. I willna let it happen again.” Logan climbed to his feet, bowed, then cast her a wary glance.

  He looked sorry for his actions, and part of her wanted to tell him she was as much to blame for what happened as he was, that she had unintentionally encouraged him, and really did not hate it as much as she claimed. But she’d not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right, and her first kiss was everything she’d hoped and more.

  “Logan!” Brodie appeared at the top of the hill. “Are you ready to leave?” When he caught Ann’s gaze, a frown creased his brow. He trotted towards them. “What is she doing here? I thought she was tending to her needs. Not yours.” He searched the small clearing, then scowled at his cousin. “Where are her guards?”

  “I allowed her to clean and dress my wound.” He tugged his tunic over his head. “James and Thomas are standing watch at the top of the trail and we were just about to head back to the horses.”

  Brodie grunted as he cast his glower from Ann to Logan and back again. “That is na what it looked like to me.”

  Ann wondered how long Brodie had been standing there, and how much he’d seen and heard. The heat of a blush rose in her cheeks and she had no doubt it was noticeable. Trying to appear calm and in control, she lifted her chin and addressed Brodie. “I dinna know what you think could possibly be going on between a captor and his prisoner, but it is as your laird said. I offered to see to his wound, and he accepted. Now if you will excuse me, I will tend to my needs.”

  Her heart racing and her lips still tingling from Logan’s kiss, she fisted her skirt and headed up the hill, with the two men following on her heels. When they passed by James and Thomas, she kept going, without giving either man so much as a sideways glance.

  When they reached the clearing and the other warriors came into view, a sharp tug of trepidation twisted Ann’s stomach. Once on their way, they would not likely stop again until they reached MacAllen castle. She thought about how close she and Logan had come to an intimate encounter on the riverbank and feared what might happen the next time they were alone together—especially if uninterrupted.

  “We have dallied long enough. Tend to your needs so we can be on our way.” Logan pointed at a nearby thicket. “James, accompany her.”

  Chapter 8

  Determined to reach MacAllen Castle before dark, they only stopped long enough to rest and water their mounts for a few minutes, and to stretch their legs. The only good thing about the last part of the arduous trek over miles of rocky Highland terrain was that Logan did not bind her hands to her saddle this time. He did however maintain control of her horse by tethering it to his own.

  The MacAllen stronghold loomed like a sleeping giant on the horizon. A large two-story, stone keep sat upon what she assumed was a rise in the land to afford a better view of the laird’s holdings. With four towers and surrounded by a tall, heavily guarded curtai
n wall, Ann wondered how anyone could launch a surprise attack on such a well-fortified castle. Yet Logan and his cousin claimed her father’s men enter unimpeded, managed to plunder the crofts, slaughtered innocent women and bairns, then killed the laird. But she still did not believe her father capable of such a heinous act.

  When they reached the portcullis and Logan signalled for the men atop the wall to open the gate, chains rattled, and iron groaned until the large passageway yawned before them. After passing beneath the iron spikes, Ann squared her shoulders, expecting to see an impressive inner courtyard filled with crofters and cottages. Instead what she saw sickened her stomach.

  Of the crofts that remained standing, none were without burned thatched roofs and broken doors, the occupant’s belongings littering the yards. The attackers appear to have spared no one or nothing, leaving destruction and desolation in their wake. Upturned vendor carts—the wares they once contained most likely stolen—the trampled gardens, and fact that not so much as a lone chicken wandered about, proved the ruthlessness of the invaders.

  Ann found the absence of crofters and the fact there were no bairns running about most disturbing. “Where are your clansmen?” The words spilled out before she could stop them, then she covered her mouth to stifle a gasp when she noticed three large wagons, stacked high with shroud-covered bodies in the graveyard beside the kirk.

  “It looks like many of the dead have yet to be buried,” Brodie growled as he dismounted, then handed the reins of his horse over to a waiting servant. “I am glad I personally saw to Jenna and her family before I left.”

  “There were so many killed and only a few men left behind to see to their internment. I am sure they did their best,” Logan replied and slid from his saddle.

  The sadness resonating in Logan’s voice tugged at Ann’s heart. When it came to his kinsman, he was not the ruthless bastard her father made him out to be. So far, he had prevented Brodie from killing her and released Rowena, and for that she was grateful.

  Logan wrapped his hands around Ann’s waist and lifted her from the saddle. “Not a bonnie sight, is it?”

  “It is horrible. Where are the women and bairns?” Ann was afraid to ask, but had to know, and prayed they were safe somewhere in the keep.

  “What was left of them are sequestered in the castle. I gave the men left to guard them instructions to keep the survivors inside until we returned. Logan made the sign of the cross and nodded toward the kirk. “The rest are there, in the carts awaiting burial.”

  Speechless, Ann blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. The destruction of their village was bad enough, and it saddened her to think many of the MacAllen warriors had died, but the thought of the women and bairns amongst the deceased was something she could not understand or condone. She still could not believe her father was responsible for such a heinous act and until she had proof, she refused to accept it. There had to be another clan responsible.

  Logan faced his men, addressing those in charge of the spoils from the MacRyan caravan. “See that the food and supplies are taken inside. I am sure they will be most welcomed.” He then addressed a male servant standing near the entrance to the castle. “James and Thomas will escort Lady Ann to a chamber atop the north tower, then stand guard. See that she has some clean pelts, wood for the brassier, and a change of clothes. Also have a tub sent up for bathing. I must see to my mother and sisters.”

  Brodie clutched Logan’s uninjured arm, halting his departure. “You are giving her a chamber and treating her like a princess, na a prisoner. The pit is where she should be.”

  Ann had to admit Logan’s idea was much more appealing than Brodie’s. Having witnessed the condition of the bailey, she better understood why rage consumed him, but she had not personally done anything.

  “It is my decision to make, na yours.” Logan scowled at his cousin until he released his hold and took a step back. “I could put her in the pit, but see no reason for it. The chamber at the top of the north tower is easily guarded and where I want her kept for now.”

  Upon receiving no further arguments, Logan climbed the steps of the keep—the door opening as he reached the top. A slender, weary-looking woman who Ann guessed had seen about two score, exited the castle. “Praise the Lord you have returned, my son. Did you accomplish what you set out to do?” she asked, then looked past Logan, catching Ann’s gaze.

  Given her disheveled appearance and torn, bloodstained gown, had she not referred to Logan as son, Ann would never have guess this was Lady Helen MacAllen and the wife of one of the most powerful lairds in the Highlands.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Lady Helen’s face contorted with anger as she brushed by her son, pinning Ann with a glower of contempt.

  As the question left her lips, the door to the castle opened and two lasses emerged. “Mother, who is that lady?” the older of the two inquired.

  “I just asked your brother the same question, Moira,” Lady Helen snapped, her eyes still fixed on Ann.

  “Tell her cousin.” Brodie didn’t bother to hide his sarcastic tone. “She has a right to know who is sleeping under her roof.”

  Logan raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled sharply before answering. “Lady Ann MacRyan, may I present my mother, Lady Helen MacAllen.”

  “Tell me why she is still alive, when you promised me that justice would be served,” Lady Helen snapped. “I canna believe you would bring her here after all that has happened. Or do you forget so quickly what her father did? If so, just look around the bailey. Better yet, visit your father’s grave and explain to him.” She pointed toward the kirk with one hand and clutched the other over her heart. Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them at bay.

  “I have na forgotten. I know this may na be what you expected, but what I have planned will see da avenged and stop the MacRyan from doing this to any other clan in future.”

  Ann bobbed a deep curtsy and studied the ground at her feet. “I am truly sorry for your loss, Lady Helen.” She wished she could say more, something that might ease the woman’s sorrow and anger. She wanted to defend her father by proclaiming his innocence, but figured it might do more harm than good.

  Logan motioned with a sweep of his arm to her guards. James, would you and Thomas please see her to the tower? Now.”

  “Aye,” James said. “What of her clothing and personal items?” He pointed at two large trunks stacked beside the supplies taken from the MacRyan camp.

  All eyes, turned toward Logan, awaiting his reply. She hoped he would allow her to keep her things, but had her doubts.

  “Select two gowns and two kirtles,” he said to Ann, then spoke to James. Take the rest of her things to my chamber. I will search the trunks for anything of value, then distribute the rest to the women of the clan. Most lost everything in the attack.”

  James opened one of the trunks, then flicked his hand at Ann. “You heard the laird. Pick two outer garments and two undergarments, and be quick about it.”

  After doing as requested, she draped the clothes over her arm and faced Logan. “May I keep my cloak and the combs for my hair?”

  Logan offered a curt nod. “Take Lady Ann to her chamber and lock the door. At no time are you to leave it unattended. I will send men to relieve you in a few hours,” he said to Thomas.

  “Aye, m’lord.” Thomas handed the garments to James, then cupped Ann’s elbow. “Let us go.”

  Lady Helen crossed her arms over her chest and widened her stance, blocking the stairway. “I willna have that woman in my keep. Your father wouldna have permitted it and neither will I.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes, a frown creasing his brow. “Sadly, Father isna here and I am laird. I have decided to give Lady Ann the chamber at the top of the north tower, and that is where she will stay until further notice.” He gently moved his mother aside, so the guards and their prisoner could pass. “It is na like you to show so little compassion.”

  “You expect me to show compassion for the daughter of th
e man who would massacre women and bairns, the man who is responsible for your father’s death?” Lady Helen shook her head and clucked her tongue. “You ask too much.”

  Logan looped his arm around his mother’s shoulder and hauled her against his chest, hugging her tightly. “I know you are grieving father’s death and I agree, the deed must na go unpunished, and it will be,” he quickly added. “I just want to be sure the right person pays. If all goes according to my plan, Laird MacRyan will come for his daughter. When he does, he will die, and father avenged. I also dispatched a messenger to the king on the night of the raid. I want him to know any attempt on our behalf to retaliate was provoked and justified.”

  “What of the lass?” his mother asked.

  “I will decide when the time comes.”

  Ann truly felt sorry for Lady MacAllen and understood her anger. But despite the mounting evidence against him, she was still not convinced it was her father’s men who raided the stronghold. If he was responsible, she believed the king should dole out punishment, not the MacAllens.

  “I dinna agree and I am sure Brodie doesna either,” Lady Helen said.

  “If things were turned and you were Laird MacRyan’s prisoner, I would hope he would off you the same courtesy.”

  “You know that would never happen. He wouldna have bothered to take me prisoner. Instead, he would have slit my throat without a moment’s pause, na treated me like a guest,” his mother countered. “Keeping her here is na safe for your sisters or the other clan members. The MacRyan attacked us once and willna hesitate to do it again. He will come for her.”

  “And we will be ready for him this time,” Logan said. “I have made my decision and it stands.” He ushered his mother to the door of the keep. “I am exhausted and would appreciate it if you could look at my wounded arm.”

  Lady Helen gasped and stroked the bloody sleeve of Logan’s tunic.” You were wounded and have na had it tended afore now?”

  “Lady Ann cleaned and stitched the gash na long after it happened. The cut isna deep, but I would feel much better if you would look at it.” He cast Ann a sideways glance, then held the door open, allowing his mother to pass.