Bride of Fire

by Glynnis Campbell

  “And the rest?” Hallie said in a warning tone.

  The rest? There were more?

  Feiyan snorted in disgust. Then she lifted one corner of her skirt to pull something out of her boot. It looked like a folded silk fan. But when she snapped it open, the moon reflected off spines of metal embedded in the silk.

  Finally, with a heavy exhale of regret, she swirled back her skirts to reveal a long leather sheath hidden on a belt between her surcoat and black linen kirtle.

  When she unsheathed the weapon, Colban audibly gasped. The sword was unlike anything either of them had seen before. Long, narrow, curved, and impossibly sharp.

  Feiyan gave Colban a smug smirk as she drew the dull side of the blade slowly against her upraised palm. Then she placed the sword with reverence on the ground before her.

  “Feiyan,” Hallie said, nodding her chin upward.

  Feiyan’s brow puckered for an instant. Then she remembered her last weapon. It was a wicked pair of long pearl-topped pins stuck into the nest of braids atop her head.

  Now that Feiyan was disarmed, all eyes went to the naked lass Morgan held captive against his hip.

  “Well, don’t look at me,” she snapped. “Where would I be hiding a bloody weapon?”

  Chapter 11

  Unlike her cousins, Jenefer had no intention of going quietly into captivity. She planned to force the Highlander to carry her, kicking and screaming, all the way.

  He had other plans.

  “Ye can wear my leine,” he said.

  His offer surprised her. She expected no mercy from him. But it was tempting to take him up on it. The sweat of battle was upon her, making the cold wind even more chilling.

  Still, that would be surrendering. She didn’t want to give him the pleasure.

  “I don’t want your filthy leine,” she said stubbornly, half hoping his entire clan would witness the travesty of their laird forcing a helpless, naked lass into captivity against her will.

  “I’m not givin’ ye a choice,” he said.

  “I won’t wear it.”

  “Ye will.”

  “Nay, I won’t.”

  “Aye. Ye will.”

  “Nay, I w—”

  Before she could finish the word, he dropped to the ground with her, pressing her back onto the icy grass and straddling her.

  Holding her fast between his knees to prevent her escape, he tore off his cotun and hauled his pale saffron leine off over his head.

  Jenefer lay stunned. She told herself that he’d knocked the wind out of her. That she was too cold to move.

  But the truth was she was rattled by the impressive sight of him. Highlanders were as massive as the rumors purported. His shoulders seemed impossibly wide. His arms were well-muscled. His chest was as broad as a bull’s. Yet for all the tales she’d heard about the furry, bearlike men of the north, his torso had only a light dusting of dark hair.

  Only when he tried to sit her up did she remember to fight back.

  It was a bad decision. In his efforts to wrench the leine down over her, his hands brushed her intimately more than once. Alternately gasping and cursing, batting ineffectually at his arms, she did more harm than good.

  In the end, he had to settle the weight of his hips atop hers to anchor her to the ground. And all her shrieks of protest did nothing to prevent him from dressing her in his leine.

  When he was done, and he set her on her feet again, her cousins’ silence was damning. Jenefer’s defiance had gained her nothing and only embarrassed them.

  But she didn’t care. In her opinion, her cousins had surrendered too easily. It was more proof she was the better warrior.

  Worse than weathering their disapproval, however, was being forced to wear the Highlander’s leine. The despised garment hung down past her knees, enveloping her as if to claim her. It was still warm from his body, and it smelled of spice, sweat, and smug triumph.

  Still, that was the least of her troubles. If he was able to subdue her so easily, what might he do to her later, in the privacy of his chamber? What would happen to her cousins? Both of these men’s faces bore numerous cuts and bruises, marks of violence. Would they try to beat her and her cousins into submission?

  She cast another quick glance at the battle-hardened Highlander, who was slipping back into his discarded cotun and retrieving his claymore. Her heart pounded at the sight of his rolling shoulders and rippling back. Even if she could make a break for it, she couldn’t leave her cousins in the arms of these powerful beasts. She had to protect them.

  But she’d do it on her own terms.

  When he made a move to pick her up in his free arm, she stepped back.

  “I can walk on my own, Highlander.”

  “I’m sure ye can,” he muttered. “But will ye?”

  She chose not to answer. Instead, she let willfulness replace trepidation. She tossed her head and strode brazenly through the palisade gates and toward the castle. If her courage held, she could imagine she was attacking the keep rather than marching to her own imprisonment within its walls.

  The others fell in. The tall fair-haired man still had a firm grip on Feiyan. Hallie came of her own accord.

  It went against all Jenefer’s instincts to surrender. But perhaps that was for the best. Perhaps they should go willingly and wait until the Highlanders had their guard down to make their move.

  Once they were inside the walls, she and her cousins could take account of their resources, look for weaknesses in the castle defenses, and combine their strengths to figure a way out of this.

  Jenefer shivered as a rogue breeze whipped the linen of his leine against her thighs. She only hoped the three of them could escape before the men decided to prove their manliness.

  When they pushed through the door and entered the courtyard, she was dismayed to see how quickly the Highlanders had made themselves at home. The once abandoned outbuildings were now filled with goods and tools. One pen was full of sheep. Another held half a dozen coos. And from the tower above, where her colors of du Lac and Rivenloch should have flown, waved the arrogant pennon of an unfamiliar clan.

  A guard stood at one of the towers of the keep. Jenefer shot him a hateful glare, and he scrambled back, probably to alert the castlefolk.

  Moments later, the doors to the great hall suddenly flung open to make way for them.

  “Och shite,” her captor muttered, getting a firm grip on her arm.

  Apparently he’d hoped to enter the castle quietly, unseen, not in front of a crowd of curious clansmen.

  She couldn’t blame him. After all, marching through the hall with three unarmed lasses—one of them not even decently clad—was the act of a coward.

  Naturally, she decided to make the most of it.

  Coloring her voice with desperate fear, she cried out, “Please, m’laird, do not murder us!”

  Chapter 12

  Morgan’s eyes closed to slits. It was bad enough that about a dozen of his clan lingered in the great hall. But this wicked-tongued lass was inciting them with her words.

  Her ploy worked. Already they turned to him in askance.

  Before he could explain, she spoke again, addressing his clan.

  “I beg you,” she entreated, blinking back tears from her enormous green eyes. “We mean you no harm. Don’t let him slay us.”

  There was a collective gasp.

  “Is it true, m’laird?” Symon the cook asked. “Do ye mean to kill these lasses?”

  “O’ course not,” he snapped. How could his own clan doubt him? Did they believe a Lowland whelp over their own laird?

  The lass, who’d been fearless enough outside the castle walls, now cowered as if in fright.

  Colban tried to clarify. “We ne’er said we were goin’ to kill them.”

  The lass somehow managed to blush as she lowered her voice to a murmure. “But you can see…he’s already tried to ravish me.”

  The clan fell silent in shock.

  Morgan shook his head. “
I did no such thing, lass, and ye know it.”

  She sniffled. Twice. And tugged down the hem of his leine with her free hand.

  Whispers of speculation circled the hall.

  If Morgan weren’t so vexed and tired, he would have laughed at the maid’s cleverness. She’d made them think he’d taken her clothes. And now that he saw her by the firelight of the great hall, he could see why she’d gained his clan’s sympathy.

  For all her devilish wiles, she had the face of an angel. Her eyes were like deep emerald pools. Her trembling mouth was rosy and voluptuous. Her hair fell in soft and tempting dark honey-colored waves over her shoulders. And despite her uncommonly tall frame, she was dwarfed by his leine, which made her seem frail, delicate, fragile.

  She’d managed to earn their compassion and cast doubt on him.

  But he’d show the lass that two could play at that game.

  To her, he said, “I’m no ravisher, and my clan knows that. They can see whose leine ye’re wearin’.” Then he announced to the clan, “I brought these lasses out o’ the cold to warm their bones by our fire.” He shook his head in pity and confided, “This poor creature was runnin’ naked through the grass, like a madwoman. Lendin’ her my clothin’ was the least I could do.”

  When he glanced at Jenefer, her eyes had gone flat and were fast filling with ire. The meek, fearful victim had vanished. He’d spoiled her plot. And the minx apparently had a hot temper when she was foiled.

  “Madwoman?” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m no madwoman.”

  “Why else would ye be skulkin’ about in the middle o’ the wintry night without a stitch on?”

  “I wasn’t…skulking,” she argued, obviously grasping at straws for an explanation. “My cousins and I often go for…for strolls in the dark.”

  “Indeed? And are ye in the habit o’ strollin’ onto others’ property?”

  Fire flared in her eyes. “Others’ property?” she choked out.

  “Ye see?” he whispered to the clan. “I fear she’s not right in the head.”

  “I’ll tell you who’s not right in the head,” she snapped. “You, Highlander, if you think you can lay claim to my castle!”

  Everyone gasped at that, including her cousins, as her words sank in.

  In the long silence that followed, Morgan asked the obvious question. “What do ye mean, your castle?”

  Hallidis rushed to intercede. “My cousin misspoke, m’laird. I fear she’s in her cups.”

  “I’m not in my—” Jenefer blurted.

  “The cold’s affected her mind,” added Feiyan, trying to help out.

  “What?” Jenefer demanded.

  “Aye,” Hallie said, “or the full moon.”

  Feiyan nodded. “Aye, the full moon.”

  But Morgan knew she was neither drunk nor mad. He held up his hand for silence and repeated his question to Jenefer in measured tones. “What do ye mean, your castle?”

  Jenefer ignored her cousins’ attempts to silence her and drew herself up proudly. “Castle Creagor rightly belongs to me, and—”

  “Jen!” Hallie said sharply.

  “Bloody fool,” Feiyan muttered.

  “Nay,” Morgan said, “let her finish.” This he wanted to hear.

  She obliged him. “And I’ve come to claim it.”

  Morgan was suddenly wide awake. “Is that so?”

  “Aye,” she said.

  He stroked his chin, wondering if she was mad. How could she believe that possible? “By what right do ye claim this castle as yours?”

  He saw an instant of hesitation in her eyes before she answered. “By the right of the king.”

  Morgan narrowed his eyes. The wench was lying. Surely she knew the king had decreed that Creagor should go to Morgan Mor mac Giric. The documents so decreeing were on their way even now.

  “Is that so?” he asked. “And if ye’re so certain o’ that, then why did ye feel the need to dress like a ghost to frighten me away?”

  “A ghost?” Colban asked. “Is that what ye were supposed to be?”

  “’Twasn’t my idea,” Jenefer declared. She added proudly, “If ’twere up to me, I’d have besieged the keep.”

  Colban made the mistake of snickering then, which only fueled the blaze of her rage.

  “Or declared war,” she announced, “and sent the lot of you scurrying back to the Highlands!”

  “Are ye threatenin’ me?” Morgan asked, incredulous.

  He could feel the tension in the hall as his clan waited for her answer.

  Jenefer’s eyes took on a wicked gleam. “’Tisn’t a threat. ’tis a pro—”

  “Nay!” Hallie interrupted. With icy calm, she decreed, “This is not the time or place for threats.”

  Jenefer countered, “If not now—”

  “Hist!” Hallie scolded. “You’ve wreaked enough havoc already, Jenefer.”

  Jenefer blushed hotly at the reprimand, but she bit her tongue.

  Hallie continued. “’Twas kind of you to offer us a warm fire, m’laird. We are grateful. Perhaps on the morrow we can discuss terms of our return to Rivenloch.”

  He drew his brows together. Return? He thought not.

  Colban might have scoffed at Jenefer’s attempt at intimidation, but Morgan knew it was more than an idle threat. He’d seen the ferocity of the lasses. If the women were that well-trained in battle, what were the men like?

  He didn’t know how soon his title would arrive, but until he had the document in his hands, his claim was in question.

  If what Jenefer said was true, if there were those who believed the castle belonged to Rivenloch, he might indeed have a skirmish with the neighbors on his hands.

  Morgan sighed. As much as he wished to be rid of the troublesome lasses, they had just become his only leverage against war.

  Chapter 13

  If Jenefer didn’t know better, she’d think Hallie was plotting against her. Since when did her battle-seasoned cousin back down from a fight? Hallie had not only surrendered to the Highlander. She’d practically apologized to him for the inconvenience.

  Jenefer’s blood was so hot now that she scarcely felt the autumn chill. A hundred curses perched on the tip of her tongue.

  Of course, she’d utter not a one. She might be short-tempered and impatient. But she was also a good soldier. Like it or not, Hallie was her commander.

  “Do we have a cup o’ refreshment for our guests?” the Highlander called out.

  She didn’t miss the subtle edge he put on the word “guests.”

  “Aye, m’laird,” a woman answered, hurrying to do his bidding.

  Jenefer had to admit a drink would be welcome. Perhaps a healthy swig would cool her boiling blood.

  Hell. She dreaded the idea of staying at Creagor while the Highlanders were still in residence. She’d planned to frighten them away tonight, then return to claim the empty keep on the morrow.

  She’d hoped to surprise her parents on their return by moving their household into Creagor.

  Hallie had ruined everything.

  And Feiyan hadn’t helped.

  If the two of them hadn’t intervened in Jenefer’s affairs…

  The Highlander addressed the others. “Return to your beds. There is much to do on the morrow.” Then, as if to rub salt in her wounds, he added, “We’ll need to purchase more livestock and provender for the winter ahead.”

  When the drink arrived, Jenefer snatched her cup with a vengeance and tossed it back all at once. But whatever devil’s fire the Highlanders put in their strong brew, it proved her undoing. Her bold gesture ended in a humiliating bout of eye-watering coughs and choking.

  Feiyan smacked her on the back, which didn’t help at all and only increased her anger. Hallie’s knowing sigh made Jenefer feel like a disappointing child.

  In the midst of the embarrassment, the Highlander’s fair-haired friend leaned toward him and murmured, “Where will ye store them, m’laird?”

  Jenefer glared at the r
ude man. He had a black eye, and she was suddenly glad that someone had given him a good drubbing. How dared he insinuate the Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch were to be “stored” like goods?

  “Upstairs,” the Highlander replied. “In my chamber.”

  Jenefer exchanged dark glances with her cousins. Of course the savage would want them taken to his chamber. He no doubt intended to take turns upon them.

  She wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Hallie might have submitted to the enemy. Feiyan might have yielded all her weapons. But Jenefer wasn’t about to give in to the Highlander. Not as long as there was breath in her body. And she’d make sure he didn’t lay a finger on her cousins either.

  As it turned out, she needn’t have worried.

  After leading them upstairs and into his chamber, he stirred the fire and opened the wooden chest at the foot of the bed to haul out a thick fleece coverlet. He quickly assessed the room and, apparently satisfied with its contents, headed toward the door again.

  “Leap from the window, and ye’ll break upon the stones below,” he warned. “Come through the door, and I’ll be waitin’ on the other side with four feet o’ steel. Ye’re welcome to try scalin’ down the garderobe chute, but I’d not advise it.” With a curt nod, he added, “Sleep well.”

  Then, to her amazement, he closed the door behind him, leaving them alone in the chamber. Apparently, he intended to treat them with courtesy.

  “Interesting,” Feiyan remarked.

  “The fool,” Jenefer scoffed, amused at the idea anyone could keep the Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch prisoner. “He has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

  She knew there was a way out. There was always a way out.

  “Nay, Jen,” Hallie said, sinking down onto the edge of the bed.

  Jenefer gave her an innocent blink. “Nay? Nay what?”

  “Nay, we’re not going to try to escape.”

  “The hell we’re not,” Jenefer huffed. “He may have left us alone tonight, but make no mistake, once he’s rested from his journey—”

  “He won’t harm us,” Hallie said.

  “You don’t know that.”