Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  “I’ll no’ allow that.” Ross thrust out a hand to give the ‘Blade of Red’ back to Squall as he passed the table. “For the weal of every MacLeod, my cousin cannae live.”

  “So that’s the way of it?” Borg sounded doubtful.

  “Aye.” Ross wouldn’t explain more.

  “Shall we waylay him in the hills?” Munch reached for a salted herring, eating it almost whole. On a belch, he added, “There be enough bogs hereabouts to take the body.”

  “Nae.” Ross shook his head. “Bog bodies dinnae always stay buried. Folk find them when they search for bog oak and still-good weapons, tossed in the muck by ancient warriors.

  “What I want…” He let the words trail away, lowering his voice even though the Hag posed no danger. “I’d have you follow his ship, the Solan, when he leaves Skye. Take him down at sea, and every man with him. Winter seas are rough, the weather fierce. All will believe his ship lost its mast, or whate’er.”

  “You want us to sink the Solan?” The thieves spoke as one.

  “Aye.” Ross stood, slapped a few coins on the table. “I’ll no’ risk having his blood on Skye.” He waited as Borg and Munch also pushed to their feet. “I want nae reason for men to doubt he’s gone, or for him to return if you fail.”

  “We havenae yet,” said Borg.

  “Nor will you now.” Ross led them through the crowded tavern, opened the door to the night’s darkness and cold. Outside, he pushed back his sleeve and removed four of the silver arm rings he’d worn for this reason.

  Giving two each to the men, he smiled when their eyes lit. “There’s more such treasure tucked in my saddle bag,” he told them, already striding into the mist, knowing they’d join him. “I’ll give you both a garnet-edged chalice this night. You’ll receive more after the deeds are done.”

  “Deeds?” Borg fell in step beside him, Munch just behind.

  “So I said. There cannae be any reason for my cousin to return – should you no’ sink his ship.” Ross kept walking, following the bank of a wildly rushing burn, its waters splashing over the edges, muddying the ground.

  He didn’t like dealing with dimwits.

  Of course, they might fail – no man was infallible.

  Scowling, he quickened his pace. Once back at Druimbegan, he’d take a long bath, scrubbing himself of the foulness of such fools beside him.

  Borg caught up with him, grasping his elbow. “There was nae talk o’ more.”

  “‘Tis a small thing,” Ross said, jerking free. “There’s a lass. A MacKenzie kitchen wench has caught his eye. He wants her, and badly. She cannae-”

  “You’ll no’ be wanting us to hurt a woman?” Munch stared at him, his eyes round.

  Borg shook his head. “There be lines, sir. Hurting women-”

  “She’s no’ a woman.” Ross started walking again, furious they’d balk. “She’s a threat.”

  Too bad for her, she’d soon be raven fodder.

  ~ * ~

  Ross didn’t wait for them to catch up to him. He knew they would. Such men were aye turned by greed. So he kept on, heading deeper into the gorge. The weather had worsened. Sleety rain spit down like needles and the burn splashed along its steep-sided banks. Thick fog swirled everywhere, hiding the winter-bare branches of the few trees that grew in the Vale of Thieves.

  Welcoming the gloom for it matched his mood, he strode ever faster along the rain-slicked path.

  Then…

  He stepped wrongly, his foot flying out from under him so that he fell, slamming hard onto his knees.

  “Lord!” Borg ran to him, extending a hand – only to howl in pain as Ross whirled on the mud, whipping out his sword to slice across the backs of Borg’s thighs.

  “Aggggh!” The big man reeled, swaying crazily. He stared at Ross, disbelief all over him as his legs buckled. “Ye cut me…”

  “So I did.” Ross again spun with lightning speed, this time leaping to his feet to aim his blade to catch Borg in the belly as he fell. Dead before he crashed to the ground, the thief sprawled silent, his end serving a good purpose for his friend was pounding up the path, yelling as if all the hounds of hell were chasing him – and Ross supposed they were.

  So he yanked his bloodied sword from Borg’s gut and turned to face Munch.

  “Are you mad?” Munch skidded to a halt, keeping a fair distance from him. “You killed him!” he cried, reaching for his own sword, his face ashen.

  “I’m cautious, no’ mad.” Ross wiped his blade on his plaid, well aware that Munch wouldn’t do more than challenge him. The mark of a good thief aye being that he knew when the gods were with him – and when they weren’t.

  This night belonged to Ross.

  The powers that be favored him.

  So he thrust the tip of his blade into the mud and leaned on the sword’s jeweled hilt. “A wise man kens that thieves cannae be trusted.” He spoke as calmly as if they were still at the Toothless Hag, eating salted herring and bread, drinking ale. “Borg’s blood is my guarantee that you’ll do as I say, and no’ breathe a word of our business to anyone.”

  “I should kill you where you stand.” Munch glared him. “Borg was my friend.”

  “He was nothing.” Ross glanced at the dead man, then nudged his burly body, slowly pushing him toward the steep bank of the burn where he hovered a moment before rolling over the edge, into the angry waters. “Lest you’d join him in insignificance, you’ll make Katla MacKenzie disappear. You’ll bring me her head so I’ll know that you dinnae try to trick me.

  “She’s a bonnie lass,” he added, recalling how she’d caught his eye at the Kyleakin market. “Spirited, and well made. She would’ve bred fine sons – if she’d had the chance.”

  Munch spat on the ground. “‘Tis sick ye are.”

  “I say clever.” Ross sheathed his blade, knowing he wouldn’t need it. “See you, I have other men. Loyal servants who ken our business, and who’d follow you to the ends of all seas should I no’ return to Druimbegan.”

  “There be other nights,” Munch snarled, his fist flexing on his sword hilt.

  Ross smiled. “Think you I havenae considered them?”

  “Nae man can guard his back always.”

  “Perhaps no,’” Ross agreed, his smile widening. “Neither can he always watch o’er those who are precious to him.”

  “Dinnae speak in riddles.”

  “Take your hand off your sword, and I willnae.” Ross waited.

  Munch did as he asked and crossed his arms. “Tell me true, MacLeod. What is this about?”

  “My cousin and the MacKenzie wench.” Ross sighed, weary of explaining himself. “Rid this land of them, and you’re a rich man. I’ve a chest at Druimbegan that’s filled with silver. There’s land – a nice fertile spot in a remote corner of MacLeod territory. I’ve strong-armed workers for you. Men to build you a fine stone house, and who will bring at least four prize bullocks with them. If you desire a woman, they’ll fetch you a score of buxom, well-lusted beauties.

  “All that,” he added, hooking his thumbs in his sword belt, “for two small tasks and your silence.”

  Silence he’d ensure the same way he gained Borg’s.

  “I dinnae trust you.”

  You shouldn’t. Secretly, Ross admired Munch’s sharpness. He hadn’t expected him to have such good sense.

  Not that it mattered.

  “I dinnae need your trust.” Ross glanced at the dark-stained mud that marked the end of Borg. “You willnae be wanting to meet such an end.”

  “Nor you, lord.”

  “Indeed.” Ross flicked at his sleeve as he prepared to shock Munch. The man had ignored his threat to ‘those men held dear.’ Clearly he didn’t grasp the reach of Ross’s arm, the care he’d taken in choosing his henchmen.

  So he strove for an agreeable tone. “I plan to live a long, untroubled life.”

  Munch said nothing.

  Ross strode over to him, gripping his collar, twisting hard. “You have a m
istress and bairns on the Isle of Lewis. If you want them to live equally well and long, you’ll see to our deal.”

  “They have naught to do with this,” Munch spluttered. “They dinnae even ken my past, how I earn their keep.”

  “So I heard.” Ross released him, dusted his hands.

  “My Annie is a good woman,” Munch wheezed, rubbing his throat. “She’s God-fearing, and-”

  “All the more reason you’ll no’ want her joining Borg.” Ross set his hand on the big man’s shoulder. “The men I set to watch her cottage ken nae mercy.”

  Before Munch could respond, Ross turned and walked off into the mist, satisfied with the night’s outcome.

  Munch would do as he’d bid.

  If there was one thing he’d learned from his cousin, it was that some men put loved ones over everything, even risking their all to protect them.

  Munch was such a fool.

  It was the reason Ross had chosen him.

  And why he’d win.

  Chapter 10

  Eilean Creag Castle

  Several nights later…

  “Oh, come!” Katla paused near a certain curve in the courtyard wall, waiting not too patiently for Glaum to ‘greet’ a few of the wall’s stones.

  It was a ritual – one he kept each time they passed this way. He’d long ago selected special places that required a sniff and other marks of his attention. Only after giving each spot just due, would he move along.

  This night Katla was in hurry.

  She didn’t want to be on the shore when the night patrol made their round along the stronghold’s outer perimeter. The guardsmen knew that their chief’s plans to find a husband for her were meeting failure. Some of the men cast speculative glances her way.

  One or two were bolder. They came into the kitchens for no good reason, found an occupation in the hall when she set the tables for meals, or cleared them. The looks they gave her, the things they said, hinted that they wouldn’t mind having her, tainted or nae.

  It was only a matter of time before one of them sought Duncan’s permission to court her. Too bad she didn’t dream of any of them. How could she when her heart was given?

  Nae, foolish girl, you threw it away.

  To a Norse god who turned out to be a scoundrel – a bluidy MacLeod!

  He did visit her dreams.

  His blue-black gaze would then lock on hers and he’d cradle her face, telling her again that he wanted to win her heart. Then she’d waken, the dream spinning away, as she remembered how unwise it was to soften toward him.

  She didn’t trust him completely.

  She wasn’t sure she ever would.

  Frowning, she drew her cloak tighter against the wind and glanced about the bailey. Blessedly, she saw nothing except misty smudges of yellow light where torches illuminated arches and sheltered walkways. Two guards stood outside the keep’s main door on the far side of the courtyard, but they wouldn’t leave their post. She didn’t have to worry about them tagging along as she walked the shore, plying her with compliments and offering their elbows so she wouldn’t trip in the chilly dark.

  It was the patrol she hoped to avoid.

  Glaum’s endless sniffing would delay her, putting her in their path.

  “You little bugger – there is nothing there.” She tapped her foot on the cobbles as he ignored her, his inspection of the wall stones taking more time than usual.

  “Aye, well, then…” She walked on, making for the postern gate. Glaum would bolt after her. After all, their late night shore walk was a necessity for his comfort. He also enjoyed barking at the stars that twinkled in the tide pools. The sparkles reminded her of faeries winking from a magical realm.

  Sometimes seals slept on the rocks, their presence giving Glaum even more excitement.

  So she smiled when he charged across the courtyard, barreling toward her. As always, the ruse worked. Striding off was the surest way to get his attention. He careened into her now, jumping up to paw her skirts, his eyes bright as he barked happily.

  Pushing her own cares from her mind, she opened the gate and stepped onto the rocky shore.

  A strong north wind blew and clouds hid the moon, but a river of stars glittered across the heavens. Their light silvered the tidal pools, and Glaum dashed to the nearest one, circling the glistening water. Across the loch, Kintail’s highest peaks shimmered with a blue-white sheen. She couldn’t say for sure, but she was almost certain snow would be falling on Odin’s Flame.

  The thought both soothed and frustrated her. She loved Kintail with the whole of her heart, for she was a MacKenzie. Clan blood ran hot in her veins. She was hewn of the rocks here, the rich peaty earth, and the icy water of the loch. Cold, clean Kintail air filled her lungs, and had done so all her days.

  Yet…

  Her gaze slid to Odin’s Flame, its peak hidden by a fringe of cloud. Shivering, she felt a hot thickness rise in her throat, a tightness spread through her chest. A powerful yearning that – she knew - came from far away to the north.

  “There where gods truly are gods,” she told Glaum as she picked her way across the shingle. “In the frozen lands, no mortal man would dare pretend such greatness.”

  How sad that Gunnar MacLeod had done so.

  “He is over-bold,” she declared, speaking to the wind for Glaum wasn’t listening. His attention belonged to tide pool stars and a bull seal sleeping on the shore up ahead of them.

  Hitching her skirts, Katla splashed through the rock basins, hurrying to reach Glaum before he challenged the seal.

  He might think himself ferocious, but a bull seal could blow him away with a breath.

  If the seal resented being wakened…

  “Glaum!” Katla yanked her skirts higher and ran. “Come back here! Now, before-” She skidded to a halt, her chest heaving as she stared at the big grey seal – at wee Glaum who bounced around it excitedly, barking a storm.

  The seal didn’t mind.

  Indeed, the ‘seal’ wasn’t a seal at all.

  It was a coracle.

  ~ * ~

  Katla stared at the small, skin-covered rowing boat that someone had pulled ashore. It’d been secured on the rocks, well up from the tide, and looking indeed like a large seal.

  At least, it had from a distance.

  Now…

  “Mercy!” Her eyes rounded, her heart slamming into her ribs. She lifted her hand to her breast, slipping her fingers inside to grasp her hammer amulet.

  Any other time, she’d grab her dog and run for safety.

  A strange boat meant an intruder – or intruders as this particular coracle could hold four men. Enemies prepared to whisk her away, perhaps mistaking her for a highborn daughter of the great House of MacKenzie.

  She knew to be wary.

  Duncan often warned the women in his household of such threats. He made certain they all had lady daggers, and knew how to use them if need be.

  But this night she wasn’t fearful.

  It was joy that made her heart pound. The coracle hadn’t brought an enemy.

  A lout, perhaps.

  But, oh, how she wanted to see him.

  Her woman’s instinct told her who’d rowed here, and her entire body prickled with the knowledge. For whatever reason, her Lord of Winter was here.

  He’d come for her.

  Already, she heard the crunch of footsteps on pebbles. Whipping about, she saw him. He was just coming around the far curve of the curtain wall, heading her way. His strides were long and sure, his gaze seeking hers. There was an intensity about him – a proud and powerful maleness - that made her heart squeeze. She could so easily forget where they were, and who might see them. All the reasons she should greet him coolly.

  But it was so hard.

  And she was, after all, a woman.

  She desired him fiercely. Even her soul trembled, straining toward him as he approached. She stood straighter, strove to calm her emotions, await him neutrally. That she could do. But her body’s
reaction to him wasn’t as easily hidden. She might be Highland-born, but her mother’s Viking blood heated quickly – in temper, and in pure, unguarded female lust. She’d been raised to honor her womanly needs, to embrace passion and be glad for its pleasures. And the gods help her, she knew the bliss this man could give her.

  Knew it, craved it, and ached for more.

  Her pulse leapt as he drew closer. She felt her breath hitching, allowed her gaze to glide over him, drinking him in. Doing so was heady, for his dark good looks were even more notable in the night shadows.

  How could he appear more magnificent each time she saw him?

  She didn’t know, but he did.

  He’d flung his plaid over one shoulder and his dark hair blew in the wind. Starlight glinted off his mailed shirt, and along the sword at his side. If he wasn’t a Norse god, he could be an ancient warrior, a long ago Celtic prince.

  She hadn’t expected him to come for her.

  Yet here he was.

  And his every stride forward felt like a lifetime. She touched her fingers to her lips, not surprised to find that she trembled. Happiness swept her, filling her so completely she could hardly think. She did know that she might melt – here on the wet, seaweedy rocks, beneath her chief’s walls.

  Who would blame her?

  Gunnar MacLeod would stir madness in any woman.

  But her wonderment began to fade the closer he came. He looked fierce, even grim.

  She slid her hand to her breast, seeking the hard outline of the Thor’s hammer through the wool of her cloak. Her legs began to feel hollow, her heart stuttering as he closed the space between them.

  The hard set of his jaw struck her as a physical blow. His unsmiling face, warning that she’d erred in thinking he’d come to claim her. To gather her up in his arms and carry to his coracle, rowing her away into the starry night.

  That was not going to happen, she knew. Stealing away with her was the last thing on his mind.

  She doubted he even wanted to kiss her.

  ~ * ~

  “What are you doing here?” Katla asked when he reached her. She knew she sounded breathless, but he’d grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I didn’t expect to see you.”