Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  “Hold yer tongue, my lady,” her maid whispered. “Ye do yerself no favors by provoking his temper. Do as he says now or risk his greater wrath later.”

  Fiona swallowed hard and glanced sidelong at her betrothed. He exuded power and strength. Her gaze followed the thick veins in his forearm to his large hands, hands that could squeeze into rock-hard fists. Esme was right. She should not provoke the MacLeod’s ire.

  Legs now trembling, she saw her father approach. It was all she could do to not sprint into his arms like she had as a frightened child.

  “My sweet lass,” he whispered, pulling her into a tight embrace. “I fear I sent ye forward into hell. I can only pray I burn for all eternity for what I’ve done.”

  “Nay father,” she said, her voice breaking. “Ye have done what is necessary to save our clan, our people. I would die a thousand deaths if it prevented further destruction.” She held him close. “Think not of me. Meet this alliance with yer whole heart. Join ranks with the MacLeod and save our people. Do this, so my own sacrifice is not in vain.”

  “My brave girl,” he said, cupping her cheek. Then his gaze shifted over her head. His face hardened. She glimpsed the young warrior he once was.

  “Jamie MacLeod,” Gordon boomed. Her father wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and together, they faced the impatient rider. “I give my daughter to ye, placing her in yer care. But know this…alliance or not, if she comes to any harm, I will tear down Castle Làidir stone by stone and take her back from ye, leaving a bloody wake behind me if need be. Do ye ken?”

  The MacLeod’s eyes narrowed on her father. “Ye’re not in a position to make threats.”

  “None of us are,” Gordon growled, thrusting out his chest.

  Fiona pulled her father back. “Our forebears could afford the feud between our clans. We do not have that same luxury. If ye do not come together now, both our peoples will fall to the MacKenzie.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed with her whole heart. “I love ye, Da,” she whispered, her heart aching.

  “I love my sweet, wee lass,” he crooned.

  His words forced her tears beyond the confines of her lids. He squeezed her tightly, then drew back. “Ye stay strong, ye hear?”

  She nodded. “I promise.”

  Then she turned to her maids.

  “This is not goodbye,” Esme declared, her voice strong, despite the glistening of unshed tears in her eyes. “We’ll depart as soon as we’re ready.”

  Fiona hugged her close. Then Esme pulled away and clasped Fiona’s hands. “’Tis never a good idea to poke a wolf. Mind yer tongue,” she said quietly for Fiona’s ears alone.

  Fiona swallowed hard and nodded. Then she turned to Abby who did not share her older sister’s restraint.

  “Oh, my lady,” Abby wailed as she threw her arms around Fiona’s neck. “Whatever will become of ye!”

  “Wheest,” Fiona chided gently. “I’ll be fine. Now, listen to me, Abby. Ye must get a hold of yerself so that ye can help Esme. I need ye both at my side. The sooner ye can journey to Castle Làidir, the happier I will be.”

  Abby sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Aye, my lady. I promise ye, we will make haste.” Abby hugged her again and whispered, “If he hurts ye, I’ll poison him.”

  “Wheest, Abby,” Fiona snapped.

  “No one will know,” Abby hissed.

  Fiona glanced sidelong at Jamie whose scowl deepened with each passing moment. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and stepped away from her kin. Then she opened her eyes and met the MacLeod’s gaze. “I am ready.”

  He looked at her, his expression unreadable. Her pulse raced beneath his scrutiny. Then without a word of warning, he bent in the saddle and seized her by the waist. She soared high. He set her down in the saddle in front of him. “The ceremony will take place one week from today. All are welcome to attend,” he said in a clipped voice to her father. Then he made a clicking sound, and they set off at a trot.

  She leaned past his shoulders to look back at her kin. Esme and Abby’s faces were drawn. Her father’s eyes glistened with tears. Her people waved and called out words of comfort and devotion. Still, she gazed back when they passed through the outer wall and as they wove their way through the village. Only when they rounded the bend and Castle Creagan was no longer in view did she shift her gaze forward.

  Adjusting her skirts, she stiffened her spine to keep from touching the MacLeod. Despite her effort, she could feel the heat of his body, and when the horse rocked her too much, she bumped against his hard stomach. Nothing was more alarming, however, than the mighty hand gripping her waist and the other hand steering the reins. Her mind raced with stories from her youth of the hateful MacLeod men and their angry fists.

  Once upon a time, her own grandmother had to flee Làidir for her very life. Would Jamie raise his fists against her? She shivered, looking at his large, calloused hands. No doubt, if he wanted to, he could take her life with one blow. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to imagine the worst. Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep her attention on the road ahead.

  They trekked on for less than an hour when the MacLeod pulled on the reins, steering their mount into the woods.

  “This will not be an easy ride,” he said behind her.

  She stiffened, scanning the forest. “Trust me,” she said. “Easy is not what I imagine for the next years of my life.”

  The hand around her waist tightened. “Cooperate with me and ye’ll be spared many hardships.”

  “What choice do I have?” she muttered, fully grasping the meaning of his words. If she did not disappoint, contradict, or delay him or any other number of inconveniences for which she might be guilty—then she would not force his hand. Choking back bitter tears, she said, “Lead on, my laird. Yer every wish is my command.”

  Chapter 11

  Jamie caressed his hand down the curve of Fiona’s waist. His body betrayed him. The scent of her hair lingered in his nose. Despite it all—the feud, his distrust, her own repugnant response to his person—he could not deny his own treacherous desire. Her beauty was unmatched. Silken black waves draped across his thigh. Her fair skin shone porcelain in the sun, and her blue eyes sparkled. It didn’t matter that it was her fury that made them so vibrant.

  His fingers splayed wide across her stomach. She was petite. He towered over her, but her body did not have a frailty to match her height. Instead, she was trim but curvy and strong as if she did not while hours away in the family solar doing needlework, but spent time out of doors, on horseback or walking.

  They had been riding for more than four hours over rugged land with no roads or settlements for miles. His chosen way was untamed—steep hills cut by jutting rocks and thick forests with clawing bramble. Still, she had not complained nor had her back lost its rigidity. He knew that, in part, her pride fueled her strength, not to mention her own desire to distance herself from him. She, no doubt, was not enjoying such a pleasing ride—he had yet to wash away his labors. His chest, which she refused to rest against, still bore the streaks of ash and dirt from his efforts days earlier, rescuing his kin and salvaging as much of their belongings as he could. Over the last few days, the shadow of a beard had thickened. His plaid needed a good wash, but he cared not. Let her think him the ignorant brute she clearly had deemed him to be.

  Suddenly, he stiffened. His gaze settled on a cluster of five jagged rocks ahead of them, each taller than a man. He tensed and drew his mount to a halt, signaling for Grant and Niall to do the same. His gaze scanned the woods while he listened, straining to hear even the smallest sound, but he heard nothing.

  The forest was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  “We passed a dense patch of thicket on the right, about twenty paces behind us,” he whispered in her ear. “Do ye remember?”

  “I do,” she whispered back.

  “When I tell ye to, I want ye to slide to the ground and race back to that thicket as fast as ye can. Then
get low to the ground and don’t move. Do ye ken?”

  She tensed in her seat. “Aye.”

  A horse nickered from deeper in the woods. “Go,” he hissed.

  Fiona slid from his grasp. Her feet landed with a soft thud, and she sprinted back the way they’d come, the instant before the Mackenzie war cry rent the air.

  Half a dozen men on foot raced from behind the rocks, swords and axes gripped in their fists and raised at the ready. Twice as many riders poured out of the woods from the left. About their hips and slashing across their bare chests was the MacKenzie plaid.

  “Strike to kill,” Jamie shouted to his men. Withdrawing his sword from the scabbard strapped to his back, he braced himself to face the descending enemy.

  He brought his mount around and charged forward. His horse and sword collided with a MacKenzie rider. He slammed to the ground, then jumped to his feet an instant later, deflecting a blow, then another. Growling, he swung his blade back around faster than the enemy could recover, cleaving the man’s head from his neck.

  He pushed forward on foot, parrying and striking his way through the throng. Screams of the dying combined with the din of clashing blades. Then an arrow whizzed past his head, grazing his cheek. A garbled cry resounded behind him. He turned and saw Grant fall, the arrow lodged in his throat.

  Rage consumed him. He whirled around to see where the arrow came from and spotted a MacKenzie warrior perched on one of the boulders, reloading his weapon. Jamie bent and snaked his dagger from his boot and hurled it toward the enemy, hitting his mark. A breath later, the crossbow slipped from the warrior’s fingers. His body tipped forward, crashing down below. Jamie’s horse raced by. He gripped its mane and swung up in the saddle, turning his mount around in time to see Niall being pulled from his horse.

  “Nay,” he shouted, swinging his sword, cutting down MacKenzie warriors with every blow, but he could not reach Niall in time.

  His men were dead, along with more than half the MacKenzie warriors. The others thundered after him. He whirled his horse around and raced back toward the thicket.

  “Fiona,” he shouted. “On yer feet!”

  She appeared just as he sped past. He grabbed her waist, flinging her over his horse and charged through the narrow pass. He leapt over fallen logs and bent forward with Fiona, ducking beneath low branches. Pounding hooves coming up behind blasted in his ears.

  They were outnumbered, but he knew this land like no other. He charged down a slope and jumped over a steep but narrow ravine, his horse not hesitating for an instant. He doubted the untried Mackenzie beasts would make the same jump, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. Weaving around trees, he tore across the land to the Firth of Luath. Water splashed their legs as they raced across. On the other side, he swung down with Fiona in his arms. Setting her on her feet, he gave his mount a firm spank on its rear. It jumped forward, then galloped down the pass while he cut through a cluster of trees, heading up into the Famhair Hills.

  ~ * ~

  Fiona lifted her skirts, struggling to keep up with the MacLeod’s fierce pace. They climbed the steep pass, scrambling over rocks and down again through narrow stone crevices. She had never traversed the Famhair Hills that divided their lands, but she had heard men speak of the treacherous terrain.

  For the third time, her foot caught on her tunic. She stumbled, landing hard on her knees. An involuntary cry fled her lips. Her eyes widened when the MacLeod whirled around and grasped the hilt of his sword behind his head. In a flash, he unsheathed his blade, his eyes narrowing on her. She flinched, shielding her face behind her arms, but then she felt a tug on her skirts. He sliced through the front of the fabric, bringing the length to just below her knees.

  She blushed when she saw her bare ankles and calves, but she had no time to protest or express her embarrassment. He grabbed her arm and pulled her ever upward. She panted. Her heart raced. She kept her eyes trained on the ground to secure her footing, but she chanced upward glances. This time she spied the entrance to a cave. He jerked her forward. In moments, they were enclosed in darkness.

  “Stay here,” his voice was deep and heavy in the musty gloom. “Do not move from this very spot. I am going to search the area and wipe clean our tracks.”

  She sat on the stone, her heart pounding in her ears, her breaths coming quick and loud, echoing around her. His steps retreated. He crossed into the dim light. The outline of his massive frame filled the entrance, and then he was gone.

  She sat there in the blackness feeling as if she were waiting at the gates of hades—for that is what her life had become—Hell. Not a month ago, she had been betrothed to an angel, securing for her kin an alliance with the wealthiest and largest clan in the northwest Highlands. But those blissful days had shattered around her with the speed of lightning slashing across the sky. Her sweet, soft-spoken Adam was dead. And in Ranulf MacKenzie, a new, cruel and powerful enemy had arisen. Tears stung her eyes, thinking of the poor cottars whose last moments must have been so hellish that they welcomed the mercy death had brought to them. She prayed their souls now rested peacefully among the angels.

  But there were no angels for her, only a dark cave where she sat awaiting her betrothed, whose harsh tongue and fierce hands terrified her. Her heart pounded harder. She pushed against the cold, jagged walls.

  Were they closing in on her?

  Her chest tightened, making her breaths even shorter. Panic sought to claim her mind, and she was losing the battle.

  Chapter 12

  Jamie’s heart ached with grief. Grant and Niall had been two of his finest captains, not to mention his kinsmen. Ranulf MacKenzie had already stolen so much from his clan, and now Jamie had to return home and tell poor Katie, Niall’s young wife, that he would not be home to welcome their first child into the world. Grant had yet to marry, but his mum and da would be devastated to learn of their son’s death.

  He gripped his head in his hands. How had it happened?

  He had been so careful.

  It was not happenstance that put the MacKenzie warriors in their path. It had been an ambush. This he did not doubt. Somehow, the enemy had known their course.

  Could the MacDonnell have betrayed him? But Jamie shook his head. He did not doubt Gordon MacDonnell’s affection for his daughter. Mayhap, Fiona had earned the malice of some of her kin. A selfish lady was bound to have enemies. Still, he remembered the devoted farewells called out by her people as she left Castle Creagan.

  In that moment, his mind turned to Seumas and the bulk of the MacDonnell party. He prayed, then, that they would not fall victim to a MacKenzie attack, and, if they did, that they had enough warriors in their number to be victorious.

  Having surveyed their surroundings, he wiped away any tracks left behind from their hasty climb up the peak. He returned to the cave, and as he entered, he took a deep breath. Inside was his bride, a woman who despised him. He could not see into the depths where he’d left her, but a muffled noise reached his ears. He paused and heard her quiet sobs. In that moment, his heart softened. Fiona MacDonnell had withstood numerous hardships that day. Not just the grueling trek, but she would have been huddled in the thicket, no doubt watching the bloodshed and fearing for her life.

  He quietly moved into the darkness, resolved to give her what comfort he may. He knelt beside her, feeling for her back to soothe.

  “Don’t touch me,” she cried out. He could not see her but heard the malice in her tone. “Don’t ever touch me!”

  Her harsh words once again hardened his heart. For a moment, she had been a lass, scared and alone. But he had forgotten she was a viper with a sharp tongue and poisonous fangs. And to think, he was going to try to comfort her. If the prospect of his touch was so repugnant, then she could console herself.

  “I suggest ye get some sleep,” he said coldly. “We have a hard road tomorrow.”

  Then he lay down and unfolded the top of his plaid, wrapping his shoulders against the chill of the cave. After a while, h
er soft sobs renewed, and he could hear her teeth chattering.

  “Damnation,” he cursed. “MacDonnell, come here…now!”

  ~ * ~

  Fiona froze, choking back her tears. He demanded she go to him, but why? Was he going to ravish her or beat her for crying?

  “I will stop,” she said, her voice trembling. She ground her teeth to keep them steady.

  “I told ye to come here,” he barked. “You will obey me.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. Dare she make a run for it?

  “Do not make me come over there,” he snarled.

  She gasped and scrambled toward him.

  “Lay down beside me,” he ordered.

  Her heart quaked. “But we are not yet wed.”

  “Ye’re my betrothed, which in the eyes of God and everyone else means we are as good as married. But I’ve no intention of bedding ye this night, nor am I overly eager to touch ye at all. I will do my duty, and when ye give me a son, I’ll not touch ye again. But for now, I am ordering ye to lay down. The chattering of yer teeth is keeping me awake, and I’ve no wish to be accused of murder if ye were to freeze to death. Now, lay down!”

  Trembling, she did as he bade, lying down on her side near him but not touching. Then she felt his large hand spread across her stomach. He dragged her against him. His whole body curled around hers, and he wrapped the top of his plaid about her shoulders. Within his strong embrace her body grew warm, but her heart ached. His strength surrounded her like a steel cage, hard and unfeeling. The devil was now her master, and she was powerless to refuse him.

  Chapter 13

  Hazy with sleep, Jamie caressed the soft contours pressed against his body. He nestled his face into lavender scented hair. Then his eyes flew open, his senses fully awakened. The events of the day before came crashing down on him. The attack. Niall and Grant’s deaths. His bride’s rejection of his comfort. His anger. He shimmied away, steeling his heart once more against Fiona’s feminine softness. Her breathing remained even. He would let her sleep while he foraged for food.