Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  When he returned to the cave, she sat just inside the entrance, her knees pressed to her chest. He set a handful of mushrooms and blaeberries on the ground beside her. She made no move to take a morsel but kept her gaze downcast, hugging her knees close.

  “Eat,” he urged her impatiently. “We’ve a lot of ground to cover.”

  Without looking up, she snaked out her hand and grabbed the wild forage. When she had finished, he bade her stand. Taking her hand firmly in his, he started back down the slope.

  Hours passed in silence. Finally, they neared the outskirts of MacLeod territory, coming upon the first watch tower. From the highest lookout the MacLeod banner flapped in the breeze. As he expected, when they were close enough for the guard on duty to recognize his laird, the tower gate swung open and a warrior rushed out. Untying one of the horses from its grazing lead, he mounted the animal and galloped toward them.

  Jamie recognized Mitchel straightaway with his broad shoulders and tangled red hair. Mitchel brought the animal to a halt in front of Jamie and slid to the ground. “My laird, what has happened?”

  Jamie took the reins from his man and mounted, then reached down to the woman at his side, lifting her into the saddle. “We were ambushed on the Hidden Pass. Grant and Niall are dead. Keep watch for a large party with Seumas in the lead. I only pray they’ve fared better than we did.”

  Mitchell looked at him with stricken green eyes. Then he dropped his head, crestfallen by the news of their departed kinsmen. Fury and heartache coursed through Jamie. He still could not believe Grant and Niall were gone. He rested a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “We will stop the bloodshed. These dark days will end. Stay vigilant, Mitchell.” Words of consolation fled Jamie’s lips, but they did nothing to sooth his own pain or the rage burgeoning within his soul.

  “Ye’re hurting me,” Fiona blurted, bringing his mind to the present. He realized his body had tensed with anger, and he held her arm in a fierce grip. Taking a deep breath to regain his control, he loosened his grip and nudged his mount in the flanks. They raced over open moorland. When they reached the village of Làidir, he pushed on, weaving through narrow pathways, skirting peat huts and stone cottages, children at play, and chickens roaming for insects and food scraps. He did not stop, even when his kin called out to him. Grief marked his homecoming. As laird it was up to him to impart the woeful tidings to Grant and Niall’s kin.

  As they approached the outer wall of Castle Làidir a horn sounded signaling his arrival. He charged over the drawbridge, passing under the inner wall into the courtyard. Young Edward raced out from the stables to meet him.

  “I’ll take yer horse, my laird,” he said breathlessly.

  Jamie dismounted and clasped Fiona’s waist, setting her on her feet.

  Edward looked about the bailey. “Where are the others?”

  “Seumas rides with Lady MacDonnell’s entourage.”

  “But what of Grant and Niall?”

  Jamie closed his eyes against the pain that shot through his heart. He pressed his lips in a grim line. He shook his head, signaling to Edward that their kinsmen would not be returning.

  The lad’s eyes welled with tears.

  “Get ye to the stables and wipe down the mare,” Jamie said, keeping his tone gentle. “Then clean out the stalls, all of them. Do ye hear.” Jamie did not want word to spread of his kinsmen’s passing until he had personally told Niall’s wife and Grant’s parents.

  The lad’s eyes widened. He nodded and hurried off to do his laird’s bidding.

  The weight of Jamie’s duty forced his pace to quicken.

  “Faster,” he barked at Fiona, pulling her behind him. He thundered up the steps of the keep and swung open the door to the great hall. Instantly, he was struck by the sound of a woman screaming. In that moment, he knew that Katie, Niall’s wife, was soon to be a new mother.

  When they had left three days before, she had complained of occasional pains and had been brought into the keep while Niall was away. As another scream echoed through the hall, coming from the direction of the east wing, it was clear the occasional pains had turned to full blown labor. He took another deep breath. Poor Katie struggled to bring her babe into the world, a babe that would never know its father.

  Heartsore, he started to walk forward, but for the first time, Fiona resisted. He turned and looked at her. Her face was pale and drawn. Her eyes darted around the hall.

  “Aren’t ye going to help her?” Fiona cried.

  Jamie lifted his shoulders. “What am I to do? Tis the will of God that women suffer.”

  Her eyes nigh bulged out of her head. “Are her cries not excessive? Surely, she has done nothing to warrant such agony.”

  “It must be a stubborn one, ‘tis all,” he answered.

  Still, her gaze scanned his hall with a look of sheer horror. He circled around taking in the room, searching for what caused her upset. The tables were clean but bare. The woven rushes were due for a change, but they had not begun to rot. The bare stonewalls could have used a tapestry or two, but in general the room was tidy enough but not nearly as fine as the hall in Castle Creagan. He knew then that she turned her nose up at his keep. Long had it been since a lady oversaw the running of Castle Làidir, and it showed in the plainness of the great room. But he was not about to explain this to his shallow bride when he had grieving kin to think about. “Follow me,” he snarled.

  Straightaway, she complied. He stormed across the great hall and up the stairs of the high dais and then on through the solar. From that wide room, he took the left staircase that circled around to the next floor. At the very far end of the wing, he opened a door to a small chamber and led her inside. “Ye will stay here until the morrow. Do not think of trying to flee. The door will be locked and a guard posted.”

  She grabbed his plaid. “Ye cannot mean to shut me away. I am not yer prisoner. I am yer wife.”

  He raised a brow at her. “Until yer my wife in name and body, ye should think of yerself as my prisoner.” Then he motioned around him. “And if ye think this room and my keep not good enough for yer refined tastes, then remember, Làidir has a dungeon where prisoners are usually kept.”

  That silenced her complaining tongue. He could not entertain the vapid concerns of his spoiled betrothed, not when he had real tragedies with which to contend. “A maid will bring ye something to eat.”

  “Can I have a bath?” she asked. Then her gaze traveled across his soiled body. “That is if ye do bathe here.”

  He brought his face a breath from hers. “Do not test me as I am in a foul mood!”

  Then he spun around and thundered out of the room, slamming the door on her and her complaints. He locked the door, putting the key in his sporran. Raking his hand through his hair, he expelled a deep breath, hoping to rid himself of some of his anger.

  His clan needed a different kind of strength from him that day—his people needed compassion and a shoulder upon which to cry out their pain. He prayed for God to give his own broken heart the strength to console his people.

  Chapter 14

  Fiona sagged into a rough-hewn wooden chair positioned near a cold hearth. At least she could no longer hear the cries of that poor woman. Fiona could only imagine what offense would be deserving of such a fierce punishment. Had she spoken without her husband’s permission or gleaned some hint of pleasure in her miserable life and laughed too loud? The woman had made the cries of ultimate suffering, and yet Fiona’s own betrothed—the poor lass’s laird—hadn’t even been surprised. Clearly, the stories she had been told about the cruel tempers of MacLeod men had all been true. Women screaming was business as usual at Castle Làidir

  Fiona moved to the thin casement and opened the shutter, letting in light through the glazed window. She swallowed hard when she remembered Jamie’s response to her fear and outrage over the poor woman being tortured.

  ‘Tis the will of God that women suffer.

  Did he really think it was the will of God that men be
at their women like they might a stubborn mule? Aye, that was what Jamie had also said…Must be a stubborn one.

  Fiona slammed the casement shut as fear and anger battled for dominance in her mind.

  Dear God above, why had she surrendered to such a fate?

  She had wanted to do what was right for her people. It was not just her duty but her desire to put her clan first; however, the reality her choice came crashing in around her. She would be like that poor woman today. He would beat her. She would scream in agony and not a soul would defend her. Abby was right—there must be another way to save her people.

  A sob tore from her throat as she rushed to the door and beat upon the wood.

  “Open the door. Please, open this door.”

  The door swung wide, and a young warrior with wide green eyes met her gaze. “What is it, my lady? Are ye hurt? Are ye bleeding?” he said quickly while his gaze darted over her.

  “Nay,” she answered.

  His perusal of her body stopped, and once more they locked eyes. “Then why are ye screaming like there’s not going to be a tomorrow?”

  Panicking, she seized his plaid and tunic in her fists. “But there isn’t going to be a tomorrow, not for me. Please,” she begged. “Ye must let me go. Ye cannot keep me locked away, waiting for him to return.”

  The lad shook his head slowly, his eyes turning ice cold. “Ye want me to help ye run away?” He pushed her hands away. “For the sake of both our peoples, I’m glad my laird is better at keeping his word, than ye are at keeping yers. But as a MacDonnell woman, we could hardly expect more. I pity my laird. He deserves better than ye. We all do.” He started to shut the door. “I will go now and tell him what went on here. Be prepared for punishment, although what ye receive from him will be merciful compared to what I would do to ye, if ye were mine.” He slammed the door.

  Shaking, she dropped to her knees and brought her hands to her face. What cruel punishment awaited her now? Would he take a lash to her back? Fear consumed her. Her breaths came in short, shallow heaves. Gripping her head with her hands, she tried to steady the room that was spinning around and around. Her hand flew to her mouth just as the rush of bile spilled from her lips. She ran to the chamber pot, giving over to the sick, which twisted her from the inside out. Then she heard steps thundering down the hall.

  He was coming for her

  She looked for a place to hide, but then, she stood straight and wiped her sleeve across her mouth. Nay, she would not cower. If she had married the devil, then she would rail against the flames of hell. She rushed to the hearth and took hold of the poker, turning with it, raised at the ready, just as the door swung wide.

  “Ye viper,” he snarled. “Is the word of the MacDonnell so invaluable—or is it just the women of yer clan that lack honor?” He thundered toward her, his brow heavy, his eyes glinting with anger.

  “Stay away from me,” she shrieked. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Do not touch me!”

  Though her hands shook, she did not lower her weapon, even when he stood in front of her, so tall, so massive. She pulled back to strike him, swinging with all her might, but he caught her wrist in his fist. She winced, the poker dropping from her limp fingers. He released her. She darted away. Then he whirled around. Now, she was a hare and he a wolf. Her eyes flitted to the window, then to the bed. There was no place to hide, no place to run. But that did not stop her feet. He stepped toward her, and she turned on her heel and darted around him. Racing to the door, she pounded once again on the slatted wood.

  “Help me,” she cried, although she knew her pleas fell on deaf ears.

  She cried out as he cruelly seized her wrists. He pinned her hands behind her back, his fingers biting into her flesh. Still, she thrashed and fought, struggling to break free.

  “Ye’re mad,” he exclaimed as his grip on her wrists tightened still.

  “Ye’re a monster,” she cried, pain shooting up her arms.

  He thrust her face close to his. His tangled, dirty hair fell in front of his eyes that blazed bright amber. Through his beard, he gritted his teeth at her. “Remember this,” he sneered. “As much as ye may not want to marry me, I resent this wedding more. Ye’re nothing to me.” Then he released her arms and seized her hands and dragged her toward a door near the hearth. He swung it open, revealing a small room with two pallets on the floor but nothing else. He released her wrists and shoved her inside.

  He leaned down, once more bringing his face a breath from hers. “I will not have ye driving my men crazy with yer cries and pleas for undeserved mercy. If ye haven’t the worth in ye to honor yer word and the word of yer father, then I will protect both our clans from ye. Cry all ye want. No one will hear ye in here.”

  Tears stung her eyes, his words slicing to her core.

  As he straightened to his full height, she squeezed her eyes shut, readying her body for the blow that would surely follow. But a moment later, she heard the door slam. She opened her eyes. She was alone. Her wrists throbbed. Finally, the walls of her resolve crumbled, and she choked out bitter sobs.

  Chapter 15

  Jamie slammed the door shut. He couldn’t ever remember being so angry. He turned to the guard. “Ignore her cries, and under no circumstance will ye open this door without orders from me. I do not trust her to not lie her way out of here. I will cancel the bath I ordered for her, and she ate well enough this morning. She will not perish if she misses a meal. Perhaps, hunger will teach her some compassion.”

  He stormed down the hallway, reflecting on what he’d been doing when he was pulled away so suddenly. He had been in the solar imparting news of Grant’s death to his parents. When the guard arrived to report his betrothed’s attempt to run away, Grant’s mother had been sobbing in his arms. Knowing that Niall and Grant lost their lives trying to protect his reluctant bride made his fury grow ten-fold. He could not have regretted his decision to make an alliance with Clan MacDonnell more. Despite having to cross MacKenzie territory to do so, he should have taken his bid to Clan Ross or the Sutherlands, promising them whatever it took for their aid.

  He couldn’t stomach the idea of binding himself to a woman of such little honor that she would seek to run from her father’s promise—especially when both clans faced such difficult times. Theirs was not a simple union to bring an end to an old feud. They had come together to save their people. Clearly, she cared nothing for her people or anyone else but herself. One night spent hungry with only a simple pallet to sleep on might go a long way to humble his spoiled bride.

  What he would give to face Ranulf MacKenzie right at that moment while fury boiled in his blood. He thundered down the stairs to his solar and paced the room, trying to stay focused on what still had to be done.

  Matthew soon joined him. “What would ye have me do next, my laird.”

  At least, his betrothal had not been entirely in vain. It was the necessary evil to gain the support of his kin on the Isles of Harris and Raasay. “Send messages to my cousins, informing them of our alliance.”

  “Consider it done, my laird,” Matthew replied. He started to turn toward the door but paused before turning back to face Jamie. “May I inquire after the Lady MacDonnell?”

  Jamie’s body tensed. “She came at me with a poker. Truly! She’s mad, I tell ye. She was behaving as if we’d kidnapped her and threatened her very life.”

  Matthew rubbed the back of his neck. “Are ye certain her father agreed to the match?”

  “I’m not daft, Matthew!”

  “I meant no offense. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. I could understand if she was angry—especially with ye smelling like ye do—but ye make it sound as if she’s afraid.”

  Jamie threw his hands up. “She was probably just furious about the plainness of her chambers, not to mention having to wait an hour for her bath. I will not stand for such tirades, not when there are real challenges facing our people.” He stopped and expelled a long breath. Shaking his head, he looked at Matthew. “I feel
like I have failed ye, failed everyone. I had hoped to marry a lady fit for these halls, a lady who would help raise my people high. Now, at best, I can only hope that she keeps to her room.”

  A smile curved Matthew’s lips. “Ye could also make more of an effort. I’ve ordered ye a bath after the evening meal.”

  Jamie shook his head. “Cancel it. Let her believe I am nothing more than an uncouth savage.”

  Brows draw, Matthew put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Why don’t ye go for a ride to clear yer head. I will fetch her for the evening meal, sparing ye the task.”

  “Nay, she must understand that I do not tolerate such behavior.”

  Matthew raised a brow at him. “What exactly have ye done?”

  “I’ve locked her in the maid’s antechamber.”

  “My Laird—”

  “She is lucky I did not stick her in the dungeon.”

  “As true as that may be, I caution ye, my laird. To insult Lady MacDonnell in such a public way may undo all ye have sought with this alliance. Take care or else ye’ll force the hand of the MacDonnell against ye.”

  “I care not if our feud with the MacDonnell is not truly put to rest with this marriage. He has no choice but to combine his forces with ours or perish beneath the might of the MacKenzie.”

  “My laird,” Matthew said pointedly.

  But Jamie raised his hand to silence him. “I will hear no more on this subject. If ye only knew what I wanted to do to the so-called lady upstairs, then ye would at least give me some credit. I very nearly took her over my knee and tanned her backside.”

  “It would be within yer husbandly rights,” Matthew pointed out.

  Jamie shook his head. “I’ve never laid a hand on a woman before, and I don’t intend to start now—despite how she might drive me to it.” His shoulders relaxed. He once again expelled a deep breath. “Despite my dirty hair and beard, I’m not actually the savage I am letting her believe I am.”