Highland Barbarian

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger. Wet, slippery fingers. For one moment she allowed the knife to slip from her fingers while she wiped them on the bed linen beneath her. Then, picking up the dagger, she clutched it firmly and raised herself to her knees.

  She lifted her arm and brought the dagger down with all her might. At the last second she closed her eyes. She could not bear to watch the blade pierce his heart.

  ~ ~ ~

  Brice was dreaming. A beautiful woman dressed all in white was running toward him, her arms outstretched, her long dark hair streaming behind her on the breeze. He caught her and lifted her, pressing his lips to hers. Slowly, languidly, she slid down his body until her feet touched the ground. He could feel the press of her breasts, her hips, her thighs. His hands spanned her waist as he drew her closer. Suddenly she was pulling away from him. Her smile twisted into an evil leer. Her hand snaked out. Instead of caressing him, she slapped him. Hard.

  Brice awoke, twisting away from the dark, angry vision.

  ~ ~ ~

  Meredith felt the mattress shift as Brice rolled aside. The dagger caught the edge of his shoulder, barely biting into flesh. Blood spurted and ran down his arm. She pulled the dagger free and lifted it again, intending to take better aim. But before she could once again plunge the blade her hand was caught and pinned in a grip of such strength she cried out.

  He swore, loudly, viciously, as he crushed her small hand in his. “You will drop the dirk or I swear I’ll break every bone in your lovely body.”

  “Nay. I’ll not submit to you.” She was still on her knees, straddling his prone body, struggling for control of the dagger.

  “Submit?” The word was a snarl as he rolled over, pinning her beneath him. “You’ll do more than submit, woman. You’ll die unless you give up the weapon. Now.”

  He pressed a thumb to her wrist until the bones threatened to snap. With a shriek of pain she let her fingers go slack until the knife dropped from them.

  He picked up the knife and tucked it beneath the bed linens, then stared down at the figure pinned to the mattress beneath him.

  “I thought it was a dream.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Had I not awakened in time, you would have killed me.”

  “Aye. You deserve to die for what you did.” She felt the sting of tears and tried to blink them back.

  Her hand was so numb she had no feeling in it. Had he broken it? She tried to move her fingers and felt searing, burning pain.

  “What I did was avenge my honor.” His hands continued to hold her roughly. “Gareth MacKenzie has made false accusations against me, attributing crimes to me that he knows I could not have committed.”

  “What has that to do with me?”

  “Nothing.” His tone was abrupt, cutting off her protest. “My fight is not with you. You just happened to be a minor obstacle in the path of my justice.”

  “Justice. What you have done is far from just.”

  “Aye.” He looked down at her and felt his anger continue to stir him, though it was already beginning to diminish. “I had not intended to involve you in this, lass. It just happened.”

  “Then you are honor bound to release me.” She felt a moment of hope before his next words dashed it.

  “The MacKenzies do not respect honor. They respect only strength. I have already told you. You will be the bait that lures Gareth MacKenzie to my lair.”

  Her heart plummeted. Was there no reasoning with this madman?

  From the floor he lifted a shirt and tore a strip of fabric. With an economy of movement he wrapped the cloth about his wound and turned to her.

  “Tie this. ’Twill stem the flow of blood.”

  She fumbled with the cloth and managed to secure the dressing. It was incongruous that moments ago she had been prepared to kill him. Now she was bandaging his wound.

  A million hot needles pierced her hand as the feeling returned. He noted the way she tentatively wiggled her fingers.

  “It’s broken.” Her voice was flat. “You’ve broken it.”

  He stared down at her hand in silence.

  Her tears started, and though she made a valiant struggle, they flowed freely.

  She knew it was not only the hand that caused her to cry, but the knowledge that she had lost her chance to escape.

  Moved by her tears he caught her hand in his and expertly ran his fingers over hers. His tone was gruff. “Not broken. But probably badly bruised. If you lift a weapon against me again I will be even harder on you.”

  Without realizing it he continued holding her hand. So small. So soft. How could one small hand hold his life in it? The anger inside him merged with other, newer emotions. Instantly his touch gentled.

  “Such lovely bait. How can Gareth MacKenzie resist?”

  She saw the look that came into his eyes and felt a new terror grip her. She was too vulnerable. He was too dangerous.

  “As you said, Gareth has no feeling for me. He will not be ensnared in your trap.”

  His voice was suddenly harsh. “I think you place too little value on yourself, woman. There are not many men who could turn away from your obvious charms.”

  Her heart leaped to her throat. Aye, he was far too dangerous.

  He lowered his face until their lips were inches apart. She felt the heat of his breath as it mingled with hers.

  Damn Holden Mackay, he thought. He had planted a seed in Brice’s mind this night. And now, with the woman so near, the thoughts expressed by Holden were taking hold of Brice’s will.

  “I fear I shall have to sample the bait.”

  “Nay.” She tried to pull away but was held fast.

  His lips brushed hers.

  She felt the first rush of heat and turned her head, avoiding the lure of his lips.

  With a muttered oath he placed a hand on either side of her head, holding it firmly as he brought his mouth over hers.

  In that first instant he felt a jolt, like a blow to the midsection. Her lips trembled and he knew that she felt it, too.

  He was so startled by his reaction he lifted his head a moment, staring deeply into her eyes. Wide, shimmering pools of green stared back at him. He could read surprise there. And innocence.

  Innocence. God in heaven. A virgin?

  But she had been betrothed. Could it be that she and Desmond MacKenzie had never known each other?

  He studied her face, mesmerized by her beauty. Beneath the beauty, beneath the innocence, he could read something more. There was fire there. He was nearly consumed by the heat.

  Slowly, seductively, he touched his lips to hers and thrilled to the feelings that poured between them. With a sigh he took the kiss deeper, savoring all the sweetness, all the innocence he could taste.

  Meredith had been kissed before. There had been lads waiting to steal a kiss along a darkened lane. There had been wedding banquets, where the young people were allowed to taste the brew. Such things often led to the first stirrings of youthful desire. She had once been kissed by Gareth MacKenzie. It had frightened and repulsed her. She had sensed something dark and unsavory in Gareth’s manner. From that moment on she had avoided him. She had kissed his brother, Desmond. But they had both been children and the kiss had been no more than a touching of lips to lips.

  But this. This was something so new, so breathtakingly sensual, she could hardly contain her heart. It was hammering so painfully in her chest she was certain he could hear the sound.

  The hands that cupped her face were rough and callused, and strong enough to break her in two. Yet their touch was so unexpectedly gentle, she felt herself melting into him.

  Brice felt the gradual change in her as he lingered over her lips. Though she was still tense and frightened, she was responding, like a woman awakening from a deep sleep.

  If he held her here long enough, she would be his.

  The thought startled him. And disturbed him. If he was right, she had never been with a man. He had not expected this. Had not expected one so
innocent. Had not expected to want her. It complicated matters. He knew he had to end it.

  Still he lingered for a moment longer, unwilling to break the contact. Never had he felt such a desire to lie with a woman and take all she had to give.

  The need to take became a need to give. Unless he ended this now, he could very well find the situation out of control and not at all to his liking. It had never been his way to take a virgin.

  He lifted his head and drew back.

  Meredith lay very still, watching him. Her breathing was ragged, her heartbeat erratic.

  “A very nice sample,” he whispered.

  “May you be damned to hell.”

  He smiled, but the feeling curling in the pit of his stomach was still there, still prodding him to take what he had no right to.

  He thrust her away from him. “Go to sleep.” His voice was rougher than he’d intended.

  He saw the look that came into her eyes. Relief. Gratitude. She had thought she’d have to fight him.

  “I’ll not sleep in the same bed with you.”

  He gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. “Then sleep on the floor. But beware the dogs.”

  He pulled the furs over himself and rolled away from her. His pulsebeat was as wild as if he’d just led a charge of brigands through the Highlands. His hands, he noted, were certainly not steady enough to hold a broadsword.

  Meredith rolled away, curling herself into a tight little ball at the edge of the mattress. What choice had she been given? The floor or the bed—with him in it. But then what had she expected from a lout like Brice Campbell?

  She would never be able to sleep in the same bed with this brute. If she dared to fall asleep, he might take advantage of her weakness.

  As her eyes grew heavy she was forced to admit that it was not she who had ended the kiss but Brice Campbell. If he had wanted to take advantage of her, she would have been powerless to stop him. Powerless. The feeling enraged her. She had been powerless to refuse the marriage offer between herself and Desmond, despite the fact that she had not loved him. And now she was once again powerless to escape this barbarian who held her prisoner in his Highlands.

  She would be powerless no more.

  She thought about wrapping herself in a fur and sleeping with the dogs in front of the fireplace. But she was so weary. So drained.

  Before she finally fell asleep, she spent a very troubling night wrestling with the dark thoughts that plagued her. And all of them centered on the man who slept as peacefully as a bairn beside her.

  Chapter Four

  Meredith clung to the safety of sleep. Outside the windows a breeze whispered through the trees. A chorus of birds filled the morning with song. Water splashed. A nearby waterfall, Meredith thought, rolling to one side. Her hand encountered a warm spot among the bed linens. Instantly she opened one eye. The place beside her was empty. But the warmth of Brice’s body still remained. She fought a sudden chill. She had spent the night in his bed.

  The splashing grew louder. A waterfall inside the room? She looked up to see Brice washing his face and arms in a basin of water. Her gaze fastened on his muscular shoulders and she felt her throat go dry.

  He was terrifying. He was magnificent. Never had she seen a man to match him. His shoulders were wide, corded with muscles. His waist and hips were narrow beneath the bit of cloth tied about his lower torso. She watched as he lifted his head and shook it, sending a spray of water into the air before pressing a linen square to his face. He turned. She studied the mat of dark hair that covered his chest and disappeared below the cloth tied at his waist.

  He caught her watching him. God in heaven, she was lovely. Her dark auburn tresses spilled across the pillow and framed the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. Though she had modestly pulled the bed linens to her chin, he could still recall the lush young body beneath the sheer night shift.

  “I trust you slept well.”

  “Nay.” She avoided his eyes. “I am not accustomed to sharing my bed with a man.”

  She saw the frown on his lips before he turned away and began pulling on his tunic. He did not bother to add that her presence in his bed had cost him more than a little sleep as well. He’d been forced to wage a terrible battle with himself over her.

  The hounds had been sitting, watching Meredith from across the room. Now they began timidly approaching the bed. One by one they pressed their noses to her. And though she told herself they were big ugly brutes, she found herself scratching behind their ears, rubbing their thick coats. Two stayed beside the bed, enjoying her tender ministrations. The others turned away, having satisfied their curiosity about this strange female.

  “Cara has brought your clothes.” Brice indicated the neatly folded pile of garments. “I will leave you to your privacy. We will break our fast as soon as you join us below stairs.”

  Meredith watched as he pulled on his brogues and tossed a length of plaid over his arm. His strange manner of dress, leaving his limbs bare, was appealing to her. The sight of his muscular legs was oddly arousing.

  “Will I dress for traveling?” she called to him.

  He paused in the doorway. The dogs milled about his feet. His tone was sharp. “Where would you be traveling?”

  “Home.” She tossed aside the fur throw and sat up. He caught a glimpse of thigh before she slid the night shift down modestly. “I had hoped that you would return me to my people.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Last night you said that I had no part in your plan for revenge.”

  “Aye. But I also told you that now that you are here, you will become the bait.”

  He saw the frown that darkened her features. She clamped her mouth shut on whatever angry words she was about to hurl.

  When the door closed behind him, Meredith sprang from the bed. If he would not take her out of this wilderness, she would find a way to go by herself.

  ~ ~ ~

  Meredith crept down the stairs. In her arms she carried a coarse woolen cloak and a fur throw. Both would be needed for the arduous journey home. She might be forced to wander through these mountain forests for days before finding her way out. She had decided to borrow a few warm things from Brice Campbell’s own closet.

  At the foot of the stairs she paused to listen. Judging by the voices, the refectory was at the far end of a dim hallway. Casting a furtive glance around, she hurried in the opposite direction and pushed open a door. Inside was a cozy room where a fire had already been prepared in the fireplace. There was a large desk and several oversize chairs, as well as a settle draped with fur in front of the fireplace. Atop the desk were books and ledgers.

  Meredith stared around the room with a sense of wonder. This library was even more magnificent than her father’s. Did this mean that Brice Campbell could read? She had thought all the Highlanders, and this man in particular, were vulgar and uneducated.

  Locating a tall armoire she thrust her bounty inside and quietly latched the door. Then she made her way back down the hallway and followed the sound of voices to the refectory.

  She paused outside the door and listened.

  “... to the Borders alone.” It was Brice’s voice, low, calculating.

  “But why can I not go along?”

  Meredith peered inside. Angus and Holden sat across the table from Brice. Angus was arguing with his friend. She could not see his face, but she could hear the note of protest in his voice. “The MacKenzies are not the only ones who will kill you on sight. Do not forget, old friend, that you have incurred the wrath of the MacAlpin clans as well. You have their woman.”

  “Their leader,” Brice corrected.

  “Leader?” It was another man, tall, red bearded, who had ridden with Brice on the morning raid.

  Meredith saw Brice’s head nod. “With Alastair MacAlpin dead, she is now the MacAlpin.”

  There was a murmur among the dozen men at the table. Jamie, seated on Brice’s left, looked impressed. “Why, she’s no bigger th
an I am. How can a helpless female be leader of her clan?”

  “Helpless?” Brice gave a mirthless laugh, recalling her attack of the previous night. “Never let the looks of a woman deceive you, Jamie lad. The lady is far from helpless.”

  Though Brice’s words were more amused than irritated, Meredith was more impressed by what she’d heard before that. She stood back, pondering all that had been said. Brice Campbell did not sound like a man who had knowingly murdered her father. Nor did it sound as though Angus or the others had anything to do with that terrible act.

  Obviously Gareth MacKenzie had been wrong. But why had he seemed so certain that Brice Campbell was guilty?

  When she returned home she would confront Gareth. But for now, there was only one thought. She must elude her captors and make her way back home.

  Brice and the others looked up as she entered. The hounds circled about her ankles, then settled down once more by the fire.

  Beneath the bulky shawl, she was wearing the filmy white confection. Her wedding gown. Brice felt a swift pang of remorse. How she must hate him for altering forever the course of her life.

  He stood and held a chair as Meredith seated herself beside him.

  “You may serve, Cara,” he called.

  The young serving wench came forward with a tray of steaming meats, followed by other servants bearing trays of warm bread and biscuits and platters of sweet puddings.

  Meredith’s stomach was in knots. The very thought of what she was about to undertake had her hands trembling, her insides turning over. But she must eat all she could in order to sustain her energy for what lay ahead.

  Brice watched as she loaded her plate with meats and breads. Each time he looked away, she slipped some of the food onto her lap and hid it among the folds of her gown.

  Jamie, busy feeding the hounds who lurked beneath the table, thought it amusing that the lady’s hands were also working beneath the table. Odd that she had befriended the hounds so quickly.

  “So ye be the MacAlpin now, lass?” A burly man in coarse woolen garments addressed her.

  “Aye.”

  “Alastair MacAlpin withstood many an attack from the English,” he said, tearing off a strip of meat with his hands. “He was a clever warrior.”

  “You knew my father?”

  “We met from time to time. He sat on the king’s Council, as did Brice’s father. The Campbell clan and the MacAlpin clan were part of the king’s own guard.”