A Warlord's Prize: A Medieval Highland Romance (Highlander's Honor Book 3)

by Avery Maitland

  She loved Lachlann, but she could not abandon Morag.

  He would have to understand that.

  The knowledge that he would have sent someone after her—or that he would be coming himself—spurred her onward.

  If he caught her on the road he would drag her back, and, if she knew her husband, he would not let her out of his sight until he could leave her somewhere under the guise of keeping her safe.

  But safety also meant control, and she had had quite enough of being told what to do.

  A small trail of white smoke hung in the early morning air and Cat reined in her mare. A stone hut, surrounded by gardens and livestock pens that held the last of the summer lambs was nestled against a small hill—the first sign that she was drawing close enough to Oban that she would have to be careful. She pulled her horse off the road to give the house a wide berth. Barking dogs would give her away, and draw unwanted attention. Rose followed her direction without complaint, and Cat was thankful once again for Lachlann’s care in choosing the mare for her.

  The sun had barely risen, and Cat’s stomach rumbled. Since their pace had slowed, she leaned back to reach into her saddlebag. She looked back over the mare’s rump and toward the road. Another trail of smoke hung in the air, but the longer she looked, the more suspicious she became. She had only passed one house.

  “Dust,” she whispered. “That bastard.”

  Lachlann had noticed her absence and sent someone after her. She narrowed her eyes at the approaching figure. A single man on the back of a black horse, riding hard down the road.

  She abandoned her search for the food she had packed and pressed her heels into the mare’s flanks. Rose leapt forward with a snort and broke into a gallop. Cat held onto the reins tightly, but her foot slipped from the stirrup, putting her off balance as the horse barrelled toward a stand of trees. Cat looked over her shoulder, the man was drawing closer, but she could not yet see his face.

  Fear prickled up her spine and tasted sharp on her tongue. The mare shied, changing direction sharply. Cat was knocked to the side, and she let out a cry of surprise as her other foot slipped out of the stirrup and the world tilted.

  She hit the ground hard and the breath was knocked from her lungs. Cat gasped for air and tried to push herself up, but pain lashed through her shoulder and she choked on the intensity of it. She lay in the grass and tried to bring her breathing under control. Every breath sent searing pain through her chest, but though it throbbed intensely, it faded. Cat blinked away tears and moved her shoulder carefully. It hurt, but the pain was fading.

  She groaned and rolled over onto her stomach. Her horse galloped, riderless, through the grass toward Oban and she cursed under her breath. The vibration of hoofbeats pounded against her stomach and she pushed herself to her knees, and staggered to her feet to await the arrival of her captor.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Cat had not yet made a decision about whether or not she trusted Angus Mackenzie, so to see him on the back of one of Lachlann’s great black horses set her on edge.

  “Why’re ye here?” she demanded.

  The man grinned at her. “Lachlann sent me tae fetch ye back. We ride for Inveraray.” He reached down for her hand, but she pushed her braid back over her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “No,” she said firmly.

  Mackenzie chuckled and slid down out of the saddle. “Come now, Lass,” he said amiably. “Yer presence is requested… I’ll not be goin’ back tae Lachlann Mackay empty-handed.”

  Cat looked over her shoulder, but Rose had galloped out of sight and she sighed heavily. Her knife was strapped to that saddle, and she wished she had it now. Lachlann’s men knew better than to threaten her, but she wished for it all the same.

  “Ye’ll not be given a choice,” she snapped. “I’m goin’ tae Oban, and ye cannae stop me.”

  Mackenzie’s expression changed quickly, and Cat wondered how she had not noticed his changeable moods before. “I can and I will,” he said darkly. Fear prickled her spine once more, but as quickly as it had disappeared, Mackenzie’s amiable smile spread across his handsome face once more. “But y’must be hungry… thirsty?”

  Cat nodded reluctantly. She was hungry… and her throat was dry. “Aye,” she said softly.

  “I saw ye fall from yer horse, are ye hurt?”

  “No. Just… No. I’m fine.”

  Mackenzie smiled and reached to his saddle to unstrap a waterskin. He held it out to her, and she took it gratefully. Their fingers brushed briefly, and she saw a spark in the man’s eyes before she looked away.

  She tipped the waterskin up and drank, wincing as the cold water filled her mouth. She had not realized how thirsty she really was.

  “What will ye tell Lachlann?” she asked. “I’ll not be goin’ back.”

  “He didnae give me an option,” he replied. “He said ‘Mackenzie, fetch my dear wife back tae my side.’”

  His tone was almost mocking. Cat lowered the waterskin and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her woollen dress.

  She could feel the man’s eyes on her, and she did not like it. She threw the waterskin back to him.

  The leather bag hit him squarely in the chest, and he fumbled awkwardly and then laughed at the fact that she had startled him. He reached into his saddle bag and tossed her a linen-wrapped package. She stared at it for a moment and then unwrapped it.

  “It’s cold, but it’s fresh,” he said. “I didnae think ye’d want dried meat again…”

  Cat smiled briefly and took a bite of the roasted venison from the night before. After Donnal had been discovered she had been too angry and upset to eat and she chewed with relish.

  She swallowed the mouthful and tilted her chin in the direction she had been heading. “I need tae go to Oban,” she said.

  “Ye dinnae have a horse,” he observed.

  “No…”

  Mckenzie hooked his thumbs into his belt and looked at her with an amused expression on his face. “How d’ye expect tae get there?”

  “Will ye take me?”

  It was a bold request, and one she did not expect that he would agree to.

  “Yer husband will be expectin’ us back before sundown,” he said.

  “Aye… Oban isnae far. It will be easier for me tae sneak intae Manus’ camp this way—y’can keep watch while I find Morag…”

  It seemed logical enough. He had a horse. She needed a horse.

  “And what will ye give me in return?”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

  Mackenzie’s smile was crooked. “I said… What will ye give me in return?”

  “My… gratitude. There will be a reward for Morag’s safe return, Nathan McArthur will see tae it—”

  He laughed. “Yer makin’ promises for the laird now?”

  Cat pressed her lips together. What could he want from her?

  “I dinnae want the laird’s reward,” he continued. “I want tae know what my help is worth tae you.”

  “I have nothing tae give ye,” she choked out.

  She had not noticed that Mackenzie had moved closer to her, and when he reached out to take hold of her arm, she cried out in surprise. “What’re ye doin’? Let go! Ye cannae take me back!”

  He jerked her forward and she stumbled, off balance, into his chest. “I”ll take ye on tae Oban,” he whispered fiercely. “But first ye’ll give me a taste of what ye’ve been flauntin’ around…” His breath was hot on her face and his hand grabbed for her breasts, fondling them roughly. “D’ye think the men canne hear ye? Moanin’ like a whore in the night…”

  All the bravery and confusion drained from Cat’s body as cold fear gripped her. She struggled and tried to push him away, but his hands were like iron and she could not shake him free. “Let me go!”

  He laughed and the sound was hard and rough in her ears. The man bent his head to press his mouth wetly
against her throat and Cat tried to pull away. Her free hand brushed against his belt and impulse drove her to grab for his knife.

  Cat pulled the weapon from its scabbard as Mackenzie tore at the shoulder of her dress and tried to push her down to the ground. She screamed and twisted away, but he did not stop. She closed her eyes and stabbed wildly. Once. Twice. The blade missed, but she stabbed again with a wild cry and this time, the blade found its mark.

  Mackenzie’s grip on her arm loosened and he let out a strangled grunt. She tried to tug the knife free, but it was lodged in the man’s side, and Cat pushed herself away from him. She stumbled backwards and tripped over her own feet. She fell to the ground but scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could.

  Mackenzie’s face was a mask of surprise as he tried to locate the source of his pain and Cat swallowed hard as she saw the hilt of the knife protruding from his side. He grabbed for it and missed and Cat stepped back as he stumbled toward her.

  “Bitch,” he spat. “I would have helped ye… Now I have tae tell Lachlann that his stupid whore of a wife was thrown from her mare… and that I found her dead on the road. A shame tae waste such beauty—”

  He pulled the knife from his side with a groan and Cat gasped at the gout of bright blood that gushed from the wound. She had struck more viciously than she could have hoped possible. The knife tumbled from his fingers and fell into the grass, and Mackenzie staggered as his knees weakened. He dropped to one knee and his face was pale and drawn in lines of confusion and pain.

  Cat pulled her dress back up over her shoulder and walked toward him carefully, as one might approach a wounded animal. He lunged at her, but missed and Cat stepped out of the way of his reaching hand easily.

  “I’ll be takin’ yer horse,” she said. Her voice sounded calm, a far cry from the turmoil and panic that roiled in her stomach. She felt sick to see him wounded, but he had brought it upon himself for daring to touch her.

  “Ye cannae leave me here,” he choked on a mouthful of blood and spat it into the grass.

  “I shall,” she snapped. “Yer lucky Lachlann willnae be able tae give ye his own thoughts on what ye’ve done.”

  Mackenzie looked down at his blood-stained hands and chuckled wetly. Cat darted forward and plucked the knife from the grass. Mackenzie reached for her, but fell onto his side and lay, groaning, at her feet.

  She nudged him with her foot and then backed away. The knife in her hand was covered in blood and she leaned down to wipe the blade in the grass.

  Mackenzie’s black horse grazed nearby and she kept her eyes on the man who lay motionless on the ground as she picked up the gelding’s reins and held him steady so she could swing herself up and into the saddle.

  “Rot there, ye bastard,” she snarled as she slid the knife into her belt. The black gelding shied at the smell of blood and Cat held the reins tightly before setting her eyes on the road that led toward Oban. She pressed her heels into the horse’s flanks and concentrated on the path ahead.

  Onward.

  * * *

  The sun was high in the sky when the outline of stone houses and sheep fences took shape. Cat pulled the black gelding away from the road and led it through the trees. She could see people moving through the village and smelled cooking fires burning. Groups of men—more men than she had ever seen in one place with a single purpose. They sharpened weapons, packed wagons, and broke down camps. Manus and his men were on the move.

  Donnal had not lied. Manus was going south, like Lachlann. But their purpose was very different.

  Cat swallowed thickly. She had to move quickly if she were to find her sister. If she waited too long, they would be gone.

  Feeling panic rise in her chest, she looped the gelding’s reins over its neck and hobbled it so it could graze, but not range too far away.

  She moved quickly along a low stone wall and ducked behind a small house. The men were preoccupied with their departure, and some had already begun to leave. Desperation twisted Cat’s stomach into knots.

  How was she to find Morag amid all of this chaos?

  Her throat was tight and she felt cold even in the warmth of the sun that beat down upon her shoulders. She wished she had brought a shawl to conceal her hair, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

  Tears pricked at her eyelashes as she scanned the movements of the gathered men. There were some women mixed into the ranks. Servants and cooks, but none of them looked like Morag—none of them were tall enough or held themselves the way her sister did.

  Suddenly a commotion in front of one of the small stone houses caught her eye. The wooden door slammed against the stone and two men dragged a struggling woman into the sunlight. She screamed and fought them, but her hands were tied and they overpowered her easily. The woman turned her head to spit at one of the men and Cat slapped her hands over her mouth to smother her involuntary cry as she caught sight of the woman’s face.

  Morag.

  She was dirty, bruised, and tear-stained, but it was Morag.

  Chapter Six

  “What a tale this will make. Lachlann Mackay has lost his wife!”

  Lachlann looked down into his mug of ale as his mother’s laughter echoed off the rafters of the banquet hall.

  “You are not helping matters.”

  “Aye,” Ginny Mackay laughed. “Marriage has changed you, my son, and I cannae be certain that it’s for the better!” His mother sat down beside him and refilled his ale. “Y’have a duty tae yer laird, and yer bound to it.”

  “I have a duty tae my wife!” he snarled.

  “Of course ye do, but if she was foolish enough tae run off wi’out yer leave, then she can fend for herself. Ye sent a man after her?”

  “Aye. Angus Mackenzie.”

  His mother snorted. “And ye trust him?”

  Lachlann bristled. He wasn’t used to his mother questioning his decisions. He wasn’t used to anyone questioning him. Especially now that he had taken over his father’s keep.

  “Aye, I trust him.”

  “Good. I’ve sent word tae Nathan McArthur. He’ll be expectin’ ye.” His mother drank deeply from her cup of ale and slammed it down upon the wooden table. “But I dinnae think he’ll listen to ye, and Alistair MacCullach willnae take kindly tae any plan that requires him tae leave his newfound comfort.”

  Lachlann gritted his teeth at the mention of Cat’s father. The man had not made a favorable impression upon him, and it was clear that he had not changed for the better since the wedding. He had not even heard word that the man was looking for his missing daughter. “He’ll have tae listen.”

  “The man ye brought. Who is he tae Manus?”

  Lachlann filled his mother’s cup and took a gulp of his own ale. “His brother.”

  “He put his own brother in a state like that? He’ll be lucky tae see out of that eye again.”

  Lachlann shook his head. “Manus didnae know who he was.”

  Ginny Mackay snorted into her cup. “I’d expect ye tae know yer own brother if he marched into yer camp.”

  “I dinnae have any brothers.”

  “Aye, but ye’d know them in an instant. That Manus is a fool.”

  “The man is layin’ claim tae lands and titles that he never set foot in. He didnae know his father. Only who he was.”

  “A bastard tae the bone.”

  “Aye, so it seems.”

  Ginny Mackay sighed and leaned her elbow upon the table. “What does he want?”

  Lachlann’s eyebrow rose. “Who?”

  “The bastard’s brother.”

  Lachlann shook his head. “I dinnae know.”

  “He’s made no demands?”

  “No. And I havenae asked him.”

  Ginny Mackay chuckled. “Ye might want tae have words wi’the man sooner than later. Before ye ride for Inveraray to be sure.”

  “Aye,” Lachlann muttered. He had been so focused on getting to the laird that he had not thought to suspect that Donnal Camran might
have an agenda of his own. He was wounded, yes, but not gravely. Had he really been left for dead? Or had he been left there for them to find?

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Donnal had been placed in a small chamber within the keep. He was attended by Brother Aldus, a monk that his mother kept around for his healing skill, but more for his knowledge of winemaking and ale brewing. He was kept busy in both areas, and Lachlann had always liked the man.

  Brother Aldus was seated beside the bed. He was in the process of mixing a poultice in a small stone bowl, and Lachlann wrinkled his nose at the smell of the herbs he had chosen.

  “Are y’certain that’ll be helpful?” he asked as he entered the room.

  “Most certainly,” the monk replied with a smile. He was always serious, and though Lachlann knew the man had a sense of humor, it was reserved for instances that did not involve medicine or the brewing of ale. “The nettles alone will aid in—”

  Lachlann chuckled and held up his hand to stop the monk from explaining the foul smelling recipe.

  The monk set down the bowl and crossed his arms over his narrow chest. “You should not have allowed him to ride,” he said primly.

  “I had no choice. He must speak tae the laird. Nathan McArthur must see the threat that Manus poses to all of us. I need him well enough tae ride.”

  The monk sighed heavily. “I need several days. He has three broken ribs, his shoulder is dislocated, and I do not know if I will be able to save the sight in his left eye—”

  Lachlann rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. “This isnae a request,” he said tersely. “Ye’ll bandage him and make him ready tae ride. We leave for Iveraray in the morning.”

  “I can ride,” Donnal choked out. He groaned as he tried to push himself to sitting and Brother Aldus reached out to assist him but Donnal pushed him away. “Get yer hands off me, monk,” he grunted.