She turned back to Hector. “You orchestrated the elopement?”
He sank back in his chair, stretching his legs out before him, looking well pleased. “Aye. And it was a brilliant plan. It would have worked perfectly had Coll not interfered.”
Flora thought of the fate that she’d narrowly avoided. “I won’t marry Lord Murray. He is a coward who left me to the mercy of brigands.”
Hector gave her a hard stare. “Yes, little sister, you will.”
He said it with such confidence, a shiver ran up her spine.
Like Lachlan, Hector was a fierce and ruthless Highland chief. But Hector had a cruel and brutish streak that Lachlan lacked. A lump of dread settled low in her belly. Without a doubt, she knew she’d made a mistake in coming here.
Hector was looking at her strangely. “What’s that?” he asked, indicating her amulet. “I’ve seen it before.”
Flora resisted the urge to cover it with her hand protectively. “It belonged to my mother.”
He frowned, and before she could stop him he reached for it. Turning it around in his hand, he examined the inscription on the back.
His eyes lit with excitement. “The old curse…it’s the Campbell amulet from Lady’s Rock.”
She didn’t respond.
“Lady’s Rock,” he repeated. “That’s it.”
“What are you talking about?”
But he only started to laugh. Laughter that chilled her blood and made the hair on her neck stand straight up.
A few hours later, she would learn why.
It had taken Lachlan all morning to rally his men…and to convince Rory MacLeod not to challenge him to a sword fight.
They were about one hundred strong—including a dozen of Rory’s men who’d accompanied him to the wedding. There simply hadn’t been time to send for more. Although Hector’s warriors numbered close to four hundred, only half that number were on Coll.
“If you are wrong about this,” Rory said as they tied the birlinn to the dock at Arinagour, “I will take my men and return to Dunvegan—after we settle our differences.”
“I’m not wrong,” Lachlan said with more confidence than he felt. “Flora was angry. She acted rashly in running to Hector—which I’m sure she has come to regret. She will be happy to see us.”
“Knowing Hector, you are probably right. But as to the validity of your ‘marriage,’ I am undecided.”
Lachlan opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut just as fast. Rory was right. Though every instinct in his body screamed to hold what was his, it would be Flora’s decision whether they stayed married. “I will not press my claim if she does not wish it.”
“Damn right you won’t.” Rory was still furious with Lachlan’s deception—as he had every right to be. Only the fact that Lachlan had convinced him of his love for his sister had kept the MacLeod at bay. If it came to it, Lachlan and Rory would be well matched—Rory was bigger, but Lachlan younger—but he didn’t relish finding out who was the better swordsman.
It took some time to unload his men from the boats, and Lachlan was surprised when they didn’t encounter any resistance. Hector had left the beach and docks at Arinagour largely undefended—something he would never have done.
It was strange.
Rory must have come to the same conclusion. “I wonder where our greeting party is.”
Lachlan shook his head. “I don’t know. But it makes me wary.”
“Aye,” Rory agreed.
After they’d marched south the few miles to Breacachadh, they had their explanation.
Hector stood outside the gate with only a handful of men behind him. The rest, Lachlan assumed, were stationed in the castle, ready to repel an attack.
The boldness of the man was mind-boggling. Lachlan could easily kill him right now. Though tempted to do just that, he stepped forward. “You have something that belongs to me.”
“Your castle? I’m afraid you can’t have it. I’ve rather grown to like it here.”
“No, my wife.”
Hector pretended not to understand. “If you mean my sister, I’m afraid you can’t have her, either.” He sneered. “Unless you can swim.”
He pointed behind Lachlan out to sea. Lachlan turned, and his blood ran cold. For a moment, he couldn’t process what he was seeing. He didn’t want to believe it.
Less than a hundred yards from shore, Flora stood marooned on a rock, surrounded by nothing but merciless blue water. But that wasn’t all. He’d been wrong about the location of Hector’s men. Nearly his entire garrison must be lined up on the beach—a human wall of defense between him and Flora.
Worst of all, Lachlan knew he didn’t have much time to reach her. The tide was moving in fast.
Flora had never been so scared in her life. She was cold, wet, and horribly aware of the rising water all around her. She shivered, the thin white sark she wore like some hideous virgin sacrifice a useless barrier to the elements. Except she wasn’t a virgin, and she had no intention of going to her death without a fight.
She gazed out to sea, watching and waiting with burgeoning dread. Oh no, here comes another one. Holding her breath, she turned her face as another huge wave crashed against the rock, pelting her with a deluge of icy seawater. Her fingers slipped for an instant with the force, causing her a moment of heart-stopping panic before she found her grip again.
God, how much longer could she hold on before he came? If he came.
Was this how Elizabeth Campbell felt? Forsaken. Left to die. Praying for someone to come? Never had she felt such compassion for what her kinswoman must have gone through on Lady’s Rock. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like in the dark…alone. At least she could see what was taking place on the shore.
She stood on the side of a jagged rock that protruded from the sea in a sharp peak. There was barely enough room for her to keep her feet flat, and she had to stand with her arms around the slippery rock in almost an embrace to avoid being knocked off. The castle seemed deceptively close—close enough to see the anticipation on her brother’s face and hear the orders that he shouted back and forth to his men. So close, but infinitely far away.
The rough waters of the sea were nothing like the placid water of the Faerie Pool, precluding any thought of testing her new water skills. Just the thought of going under…
She fought the wave of panic rising in her throat as the memories assailed her. The cold black water covering her mouth, her nose, her head. Struggling to breathe. Flailing wildly, trying to capture one more breath of air.
Not again. This couldn’t be happening again.
She’d thought Hector was joking. How could her own blood do something like this? He’d remembered her fear of water from her near drowning in the loch all those years ago and had decided to use her as bait to destroy Lachlan by staging this macabre re-creation of the incident that had befallen Elizabeth Campbell so many years before at Lady’s Rock.
She’d stared at him dumbly when he told her of his intentions, believing it only when he’d ordered his men to take her. She’d fought, but it had been useless. There were too many of them. He’d ordered her to remove her gown, and she’d refused—until he’d pointed out that his men could do it for her. Part of her still couldn’t believe it…until she saw the boat. She’d panicked, and it had taken half a dozen men to drag her down the beach and force her into the waiting birlinn. Her terrified pleas had fallen on deaf ears. He’d claimed that she wouldn’t be hurt—if Lachlan cooperated.
Lachlan…
God, what a fool she’d been. Lachlan was nothing like Hector. She could see that now, when it was too late. Lachlan would do his duty as chief, but his ends were noble: to help his clan and save his brother. Her brother acted for ambition and greed and without compassion. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she could perhaps see why Lachlan had chosen not to confide in her: Her own fears would have prevented her from understanding had he told her the truth.
She was still furious at him for
deceiving her, but she never should have run. She’d reacted rashly, out of fear. Fear that she would end up like her mother. But she’d had one thing her mother had never had, love. And she’d thrown it all away.
She’d left him on their wedding night, shaming him horribly and forsaking her vows. She thought of the things she’d said to him and deeply regretted her harsh words. She’d struck where she knew it would hurt—his pride. Now with his brother freed, she feared he was probably glad to be rid of her.
But Hector had been so certain Lachlan would come after her. And deep in her heart, she knew her brother was right. She was his wife. Lachlan would hold on to what was his no matter how much she’d shamed him. And maybe, just maybe, he did care for her.
God, how she wished they’d been wrong. Her brother’s men had watched for his arrival, and as soon as the birlinns were spotted, the plan was set in motion. But Lachlan and his men took longer to reach the castle than Hector anticipated, and she was running out of precious time.
Her heart leapt when she first caught sight of him marching up to the castle with her brother at his side. She drank him in, even from a distance making out the hard lines of his ruggedly handsome face. He seemed even larger and more impressive armed for war in his yellow chieftain’s cotun, leather trews, and steel knapscall.
Her husband had come for her.
Chapter 21
Across the wide expanse of sea, his penetrating gaze found hers and closed the distance between them. If she’d harbored any doubts of Lachlan’s feelings, his reaction told her all she needed to know. His entire body went still, and for an instant beneath the fading amber light of day, she could have sworn she saw him pale. He looked…haunted. She’d seen that look before. It was the same expression he’d worn when he’d rescued her from drowning. If only she’d remembered it sooner. Lachlan Maclean was the most fearsome man she knew, but for her, he was scared.
He did love her. Despite her circumstances, for a moment a surge of nearly incomparable pleasure filled her.
There was so much she wanted to say to him: to tell him she was sorry for running, to tell him she loved him, to beg for another chance. And though she knew he could not see all that, she felt that he understood.
He turned back to Hector with his hand on his sword. She tensed, knowing how badly he wanted to attack Hector. She breathed a sigh of relief when he spoke. As the conversation between the two men unfolded, though she could not hear exactly what they said, it became clear what Hector intended—to let her drown if Lachlan did not surrender.
“You bastard!” Lachlan roared.
Flora didn’t have to strain to hear that. Lachlan lunged for Hector, but Rory held him back.
“Get my sister off that damn rock right now,” Rory said.
“Stay out of this, MacLeod. She’s my sister as well,” Hector said.
She couldn’t hear Rory’s reply, but she could tell he took umbrage at Hector’s claim of kinship.
“Flora will come to no harm,” Hector swore. He gave Lachlan a meaningful look. “Assuming Coll here cooperates.”
“What do you want?” Lachlan’s voice was deadly calm.
“It’s simple. You surrender to me, and MacLeod here will be allowed to rescue Flora.” Hector had planned it perfectly. A battle would eat away at valuable time. Lachlan might be able to break through and reach her…might. He seemed to have reached the same conclusion, because when he turned back to Hector, she could see the resignation in the set of his wide shoulders.
“No!” Flora didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until the men turned to face her.
Their eyes met, and her heart squeezed. She shook her head. “Don’t,” she whispered. She didn’t want to die, but neither could she bear the thought of Lachlan giving his life for hers. Another wave hit, and she lost her footing but scrambled to hold on by sticking the tips of her slippers into a crevice.
Lachlan swore and then shouted to her, “Hold on just a little longer!” She couldn’t hear what he said to Hector, but she knew what he was doing when he dropped his dirk and started to unfasten his baldric. He didn’t hesitate, acting without thought. He was surrendering to his enemy, to the man he’d fought his entire life, exchanging his life for hers. Once Hector had him, it would be too late.
God, how could she have doubted his love for her?
A Maclean life is given in love for a Campbell.
The words of Elizabeth Campbell’s curse came back to her. She couldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t allow the curse to become a reality.
Flora knew what she had to do. Lachlan was right: She was strong. She’d allowed her own fears to be the weapon that had nearly killed her; she would not allow it to kill the man she loved.
“No!” she cried again. “Wait!”
And taking a deep breath, she jumped into the icy blue water.
Lachlan heard her cry and turned just in time to see the splash. His heart lurched. God, no! Flora! Panic gripped him. He knew what she was trying to do, but she wasn’t a strong enough swimmer for these stiff currents. She’d never make it.
He glanced at Hector, who was even more surprised than he by what Flora had done. Obviously, he’d assumed she still could not swim.
Lachlan realized that she’d given him an opening. Taking advantage of Hector’s shock, he pulled his claymore from his discarded baldric and attacked—his only thought to save the woman he loved.
Hector raised his own sword, but it was too late. Lachlan would not be denied. Not this time. Not with Flora’s life in the balance. He felt a surge swell through him of almost inhuman strength, and with one mighty swing of his claymore, he knocked the sword from Hector’s hold. He spun sideways, rammed his elbow into Hector’s nose, heard the satisfying sound of bone crunching, and had his sword at Hector’s throat in a single move.
It all happened so fast, Hector’s men hadn’t had time to react. They did so now, but Rory and his men held them back.
“Call them off,” Lachlan warned. “Or I’ll stick this blade through your damn throat like you deserve.”
Hector’s face turned red with rage. He looked as though he wanted to argue, so Lachlan dug the tip of his blade a little deeper, drawing blood. He’d never wanted to kill a man so badly; bloodlust pulsed through him at a frenzied pace. It would be so easy to draw the blade across.
But something held him back.
He was Flora’s brother. And despite what he’d done, he knew she would not want him killed. Not like this.
He glanced out to sea, relieved to see her still moving atop the water. Damn, he was proud of her. She was doing it; she was swimming. But even with the tide coming in and carrying her toward shore, she was struggling. The current was taking her east, and she was trying to swim directly toward the beach. “Call them off,” he repeated. “Now.”
Hector’s eyes met his with such hatred, Lachlan thought he might refuse. He hoped he would. Then Lachlan could kill him with impunity.
Much to his regret, Hector lifted his hand and motioned for his men to stand down. It was over. Lachlan’s victory was definitive and swift, but strangely anticlimactic. Defeating Hector meant nothing if he lost the woman he loved.
Lachlan twisted Hector’s arm behind his back and shoved him toward Rory. Without another glance he raced down the beach, tearing off his cotun and helmet along the way—knowing they would only drag him down. Hector’s men parted like the Red Sea, and Lachlan dove headfirst into the waves.
Flora was exhausted, but she refused to give up. Realizing that if she continued to fight the current she would soon grow too tired, she rolled on her back and floated as Lachlan had taught her—conserving her strength and allowing the water to carry her in.
It was growing dark, and she could no longer see what was happening on the beach, but she wouldn’t give in to her fear, even when a big wave dragged her under for a moment. She had too much to live for. She wanted Lachlan to hold her in his arms again and tell her that he loved her. She wanted to call him hu
sband. She wanted to make a life with him. Her throat squeezed. She wanted to hold their first child in her arms.
If only it weren’t so cold. Her teeth were chattering, and her limbs had gone stiff. All she wanted to do was close her eyes. Her lids fluttered….
“Flora!”
The mere sound of his voice jerked her fully awake. “Here,” she cried, tears of relief springing to her eyes. “I’m here.”
“Thank God.”
Though it was only a few moments, it seemed to take an eternity before she caught sight of him. Her emotions, barely contained, shattered when the achingly familiar ruggedly handsome features came into view—the hard angles of his face made more pronounced by the shadows of the beckoning night. A pillar of strength in a sea of danger. He’d found her; the nightmare was over. With a strangled cry, she swam toward him.
Seconds later, he had her. His steely arms wrapped around her and pulled her against the solid wall of his chest. She breathed him in, savoring his strength and vitality. He gripped her tight, his fingers raking through the tangle of her hair and pressing into her back as if he would never let her go. She clung to him, taking refuge in the security of his embrace.
His wet cheek pressed against hers, the scrape of his day-old beard against her chilled skin achingly familiar. He was breathing hard, and she could feel the heavy beat of his heart against hers. Even soaking wet in the freezing sea, a subtle warmth radiated from him.
Overwhelmed, she started to sob.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, smoothing her hair. “You’re safe.” Cupping her chin, he looked into her watery eyes. “You nearly scared the life out of me. I thought—” His voice broke. “I saw you floating like that, and I thought you were dead.”
Flora shook her head. “I’m afraid you won’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Get rid of you?” He pulled her close and pressed a hard kiss on her freezing lips. She tasted of salt and sea, but nothing had ever tasted sweeter. “Never,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. And then he kissed her again, longer this time, with an aching tenderness that sent a tingle of warmth to her icy limbs. “Now if we both don’t want to freeze to death, I suggest we get back to the castle as soon as possible.”
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