by Gwyn Brodie
He smiled lewdly, and she shuddered. "What I have in mind willnae take much time. He grabbed her arm and began dragging her toward the tiny room in the back.
"Let the lass be," the man said, stepping forward, his hands balled into fists.
Quick as lightning, Lyall's dirk was out of its sheath and pressed against Osgar's throat.
Bridget screamed.
"If you dinnae wish to make your wife a widow this day, you'll mind your own business."
Osgar stilled beneath the blade, but as Lyall lowered the dirk, he lunged for him but was not quick enough.
The Campbell chief brought the hilt of the dirk down hard against Osgar's forehead and sent him sprawling across the cottage floor, where he lay still.
Bridget screamed again, and raced to her husband's side, sobbing.
Lyall came after Ceana.
She snatched up the crock and threw it at his head.
He ducked, grabbing her around the waist, as the crock shattered against the stone wall behind him.
"Get away from me, murderous bastard!" she shouted, pummeling and kicking him with all her strength, but he was much larger and stronger than she was, and it did naught but make him angrier.
He growled, and tossed her over his shoulder, then carried her into the room, and threw her onto the bed. She quickly rolled off the other side.
"Come here," he ordered, going after her.
She tried to dodge him, but he grabbed her hair and jerked her against his chest.
He shoved her down on the bed, and jumped on top of her, pinning her beneath him. With his dirk, he sliced open the front of her bodice, exposing her breasts to his lustful gaze. "I have you now, MacGregor's daughter," he said, with an evil grin, then began to lift her skirts and his plaid at the same time. "Children of the Mist, they call you, but you couldnae hide from me, could you? None of you can, and I intend to find every last MacGregor and send them to hell."
Hate and anger burned through Ceana's veins as hot as a firestorm, giving her the strength and determination to keep fighting. And when he raised himself up enough to push her skirts further up her thighs, she drew up her leg and kneed him hard in the crotch.
He grunted, then dropped down beside her.
She quickly rolled off the bed, fled from the room and across the cottage.
"I'll kill you," he growled and came after her, his dirk clutched tightly in his hand.
Quaking with fear, she threw open the door and rushed out into the falling snow, shivering as an icy blast of wind hit her bare chest. Cree was tethered but a few feet away, and with unsteady hands, she untied the reins, and quickly crawled upon an old stump, used for splitting firewood. She was almost in the saddle when Lyall seized her around the waist.
Ceana clawed at his face, while her heart drummed against her chest, and tears of desperation filled her eyes. She would not give up until she had drawn her last breath.
He captured her hands, crushing her fingers until she cried out. "Scratch me again, and I'll break your neck."
The warhorse stomped the ground and tossed his head, as the Campbell chief dragged her, fighting and screaming, back toward the cottage.
Chapter Thirteen
Hours had passed since Lyall Campbell had taken Ceana, and Alex prayed he had not harmed her. When the miserable cur had forced her into the wood, he had never felt such fear, for he could do naught but watch her go, but he had fought even harder, so he might live to go after her. But he had failed her then. He would not fail her now.
Ignoring the constant throbbing from the gash on his forehead, he kept his gaze on the wolfhounds, several yards ahead. Since the dogs had picked up Ceana's scent, their pace had not slowed. But suddenly, they turned off the trail, then stopped.
When Alex came upon the animals, he found them with their noses to the ground, and a horse standing nearby. The stallion's head was hanging, and he was trembling. "I heard Ceana tell Campbell this was her father's stallion," he said to Drostan. "From the looks of him, the whoreson gave him little—or no time to rest. But I believe he'll be fine, once we get him back to Blackstone. Let's leave him be for now. Considering his condition, he'll not be able to travel very fast. We'll retrieve him once we've seen to Ceana."
"Aye," Drostan said, his gaze on the snow-covered ground. "There's quite a few tracks. It appears they stopped here for a time, perhaps to swap horses."
Alex's gaze trailed over the thick growth of pine trees and rocky glen that began a short distance below. "Osgar and Bridget's cottage is nearby, and there's a good chance Campbell has taken her there." He hoped he was right—for Ceana's sake, but at the same time, he feared for the young family's safety.
Leith nodded. "Aye. I ken the place well, as I visit with my sister and her wee family often."
"Aye. We'd best hurry. There's no telling what Campbell might do if Osgar confronts him, which he might very well do if he learns the truth." Had Campbell already forced himself upon Ceana? Fear squeezed Alex's throat until he could hardly breathe, and the knot in the pit of his stomach grew with each passing minute. Until she came into his life, his heart had been an empty hole, but she had filled it with joy. If anything happened to her... He forced the unthinkable from his thoughts.
Ross yelped and turned right across the moor, with Duff on his heels.
"We must be close to the cottage," Drostan said, squinting into the wind, as he watched the dogs.
"Aye, 'tisn't much farther." Alex's heart pounded against his ribs, as the three struck out after them. He lost sight of the dogs for a moment, and fear ripped through him like a sharp blade. What if Campbell had not taken her to the cottage? Then the hounds came into sight again, growling and barking to his left. He drew his broadsword and turned Jet in that direction.
From a distance, he could see Ceana outside the cottage, struggling to free herself from Campbell's grasp, and could hear her terrified screams, each one, slicing him to his soul.
Alex took Jet into a run. He had to get to her before Campbell was able to hurt her more than he already had.
CEANA'S HANDS ACHED, but she continued to fight to free herself, knowing the alternative if she failed. "Leave me be," she shouted at the top of her lungs, swinging her fists over and over at his face.
"To hell if I will. I'll have you here and now."
"I'd rather be dead than be bedded by the likes of you!" she screamed, bringing the nails on both hands down across his cheeks.
He backhanded her across the mouth and sent her sprawling into the snow. "'Tis certain I'll kill you, because you're a MacGregor, but not until I make good use of you."
She quickly got to her feet, as the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth from the cut on her lip.
Nearby, Cree squealed and pawed at the ground.
Lyall took a step toward her, but the black stallion trotted between them.
"Get out of my way, black devil!" he shouted, but the horse stood his ground, snapping his teeth in the air, and sending Lyall stumbling backwards to keep from getting bitten.
He drew his sword and went toward the horse, but before he could do him harm, the wolfhounds reached Lyall.
"Get away from me," he shouted at the dogs, swinging his broadsword to keep them at bay. Ross managed to somehow grab his sword arm, and the weapon fell from his hand and disappeared beneath the snow. Growling, Duff leapt into the air. His massive jaws latched onto Campbell's throat, and the dog's weight sent the chief sprawling onto the ground. After a moment, Lyall ceased struggling, and the dogs released him, then raced to Ceana's side.
She squatted down, and held their massive heads against her, planting a kiss on each one's furry forehead. "I thank you both," she said, before going to Cree and slipping her arm around the horse's neck. "And I thank you." She pressed her cheek against his neck, and he softly whinnied in return.
Alex was the first to reach the cottage. He quickly dismounted and hurried to her side.
"Alex! I was so afraid you would die after I saw you
lying there, bleeding, on that battlefield." She sobbed against his chest.
When he caught sight of her bloody lip and torn bodice, his blood boiled with rage. If Campbell was not already a dead man, he would have killed him. Calming himself for her sake, he slipped his finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. "I'm fine, lass, and looking forward to our handfasting." He removed his cloak and wrapped it around her.
She smiled, and wiped away her tears, gently touching the gash on his forehead.
"'Tis obvious those animals love you greatly." Drostan nodded toward the dogs. "I cannae believe Cree protected you as he did."
"I love them as well," she said, smiling. "Did you come across my father's horse on your way here? Lyall Campbell just left him to die."
Alex frowned. "Aye, we saw the poor beast. We'll fetch him soon."
"Much thanks. Now, I must see to the man inside the cottage. He was injured while trying to protect me." They followed her through the door.
When Bridget saw Leith, she rose from the floor and jumped into his arms, sobbing.
Alex smiled at the surprised expression on Ceana's face. "Leith is Bridget's brother."
She nodded her understanding, then retrieved her cloak to cover herself, and returned his.
Osgar sat propped against the wall beside the fire, a lump, the size of a duck egg, on his forehead.
Alex and Drostan helped him from the floor, and onto a chair.
"I appreciate yer help," he said, propping his head in his hands.
"I'm so sorry this happened, Osgar," Ceana said.
"'Twasn't yer fault, 'twas the man with ye. Where is he?"
"Dead," Alex said matter-of-factly.
"Thank the saints," Bridget said, checking her husband's head.
Nightfall was not far off, and Alex was not about to allow Ceana to spend the night outside in the freezing cold. "Osgar, would you and Bridget mind if we stayed the night?"
"Yer most welcome here," he said, "but I'm afraid we have little food to offer."
Alex shook his head. "Dinnae fash yourself. Drostan and I always carry oats in our packs, and I'm certain Leith does as well."
"Aye," Leigh agreed.
Bridget smiled. "Fetch them then. I'll make oatcakes."
Alex left the cottage with Drostan and Leith. A few minutes later they returned with the oats. "We took what Campbell had in his pack, as well. He'll no longer be needing them." He handed the four pouches to Bridget. "We put Campbell's body in the byre loft until morn, to keep the wolves away."
Osgar nodded. "There's plenty of room for your horses in the byre, as well as the cow."
"I thank you. I hope there's room for one more. Lass, we're off to fetch your father's horse, before the wolves make short work of him. We'll not be long."
"Have a care," she said, her loving gaze locking with his.
Though she had told him she loved him, the love in her eyes said more than words ever could. Swallowing back the unfamiliar jolt of emotion threatening to consume him, he nodded, then left the cottage.
After returning with the stallion, the three men made certain all the animals were watered and well-fed, before fastening them inside the byre and going back into the comforting warmth of the cottage.
They had just finished their meal of oatcakes when the bairn began to cry.
Bridget reached into the cradle and gently lifted out the small babe, with hair the color of an autumn leaf, and held it against her. It immediately quietened.
Ceana smiled. "Is it a wee lad or lass?"
"Lass," said Bridget, gently touching a round pink cheek.
"Might I hold her?" Ceana asked, her eager gaze locked on the bairn.
Bridget nodded, then placed her in Ceana's arms.
"What is she called?"
"Mora," her mother said softly, her love for the child evident in her voice.
"A fitting name for a wee bonnie lass, such as yourself," Ceana cooed to the bairn, whose tiny mouth spread into a toothless grin.
The expression on Ceana's face as she gazed down at Mora caused Alex's chest to tighten. He could well imagine the amazing mother she would one day become. After a time, she returned the babe to her mother, who once again placed her in the cradle.
Osgar insisted Ceana sleep in the tiny bedroom with Bridget, while he bedded down beside the fire with the rest of them.
Alex lay awake, listening to the snoring of the others, the crackling of the fire, and the rattling of the shutters, with each gust of wind. He thanked God for sending Ceana to him and prayed naught else would befall her. But if it did, he meant to be there to protect her. He fell asleep knowing, that at least for now, the woman he loved slept safely a few feet away.
OVER A WEEK LATER, in the great hall of Kilchurn Castle, Mungan MacDougal shoved a chunk of bread, dripping with mutton stew, into his mouth, then reached for another. During his brief time at the Campbell stronghold, he had been treated well—most of the time, anyway. Many of the guards and residents eyed him with contempt, especially the laird's nephew, Dougal, and his mother. The woman was a witch. He was certain of it. The way she cast her dark gaze upon him, while her lips moved in silence. A shiver assailed him just thinking about it. A fresh platter of butter-laden bread was placed on the table, and he grabbed a thick slice.
After licking the creamy goodness from his fingers, he drained his cup of heather ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Lyall should be returning soon, and if all had gone according to plan, Mungan could return to Teineaer as their laird. Caught up in his own thoughts, it took a moment for him to realize the room around him had quietened, and he looked about to see the cause.
Eight of the fifteen guards, who had accompanied Lyall to Blackstone Castle, had entered the hall, battle-worn, and haggard. Several of them had injuries that had obviously been tended. Their clothing was bloody, and their faces cut and bruised, but other than that, they appeared to be none the worse for wear. But where were their chief and his warlord?
One of the younger guards walked up to the high table, where Lyall's nephew and his mother sat having their supper, and bowed—which was odd in itself. After a lengthy discussion, the man took a seat with the other guards and began to fill his trencher.
Dougal and his mother bent their heads in conversation for a considerable time, before he rose to his feet and looked out over the crowded room.
The returning guards stood as well, which signaled the rest of those in attendance to do the same, even though they did not yet know why.
Mungan's heart pounded against his chest, and his last bite of bread formed a hard lump in his throat, while he waited for Dougal to speak.
"I've just been informed that my uncle, the laird of Kilchurn and Campbell chief, is now dead, as well as his warlord and seven of our guards. We'll store their bodies, and bury them once the ground thaws enough to dig the graves. And as his heir apparent, I'm now the Laird of Kilchurn, as well as your chief."
The room was silent for a moment, then shouts and cheers echoed against the high ceiling. Everyone was smiling—everyone except Mungan. His hopes and dreams had been dashed against a rock, as surely as a small boat in a storm. He rose from his seat and started toward the side door, but a guard stopped him.
"The laird wishes to speak with ye."
Mungan followed him to the high table, where he reluctantly bowed. "Congratulations on yer new position, chief." He forced a smile.
Dougal raised a brow. "I well ken the nefarious arrangement my uncle had with you, and I'll have none of it. There's no place here for a man who would betray his own people for personal gain. As soon as you finish breaking your fast on the morrow, you'll be escorted from my lands. Is that clear?"
"Aye, laird," he said, seething inside. If he thought he could have murdered the bastard, and gotten away with it, he would have.
"Good," said the new laird, turning to his mother, who appeared to be most pleased with the whole matter.
Muttering a curse beneath his breath,
he drew his cloak about him and walked out into the bailey. Perhaps Lyall had slain Ceana before he met his own death. If so, then all was well, and he was laird of Teineaer. But he had to know for certain. All his plans depended on it.
Angus, a young guard who had gone to Blackstone with Lyall, walked past him on his way to the stables.
Mungan quickly caught up to him. "What happened at Blackstone?"
The guard shook his head and blew out a long breath. "We were waiting in the wood when the MacPherson laird and the MacGregor lass came riding out across the moor, and she was mounted on the lai... Lyall's warhorse, just as pretty as ye please, which didnae set well with him at all. MacPherson and the lass were kissing, and didnae see us at first, but once they did, they turned and raced back toward the castle. MacPherson guards surged from the portcullis, and their archers fired upon us. We were quickly outnumbered. During the battle, Lyall somehow managed to get his hands on the lass, and left with her. Seven of our men were killed, including his warlord, Gil. The rest of us were captured and our wounds seen too."
"What happened to Lyall?"
"As to that, I can only tell ye what I heard afterwards. The MacPherson laird came upon Lyall and the MacGregor lass outside a cottage. The two wolfhounds, the other guards took from Teineaer and sold, were with him. The two devils attacked Lyall and ripped out his throat. Upon his return to Blackstone, Laird MacPherson released us, and sent us back here to Kilchurn with the dead."
Mungan stopped walking, and Angus continued on. He had never cared for those damnable dogs. They had growled at him enough—especially whenever he came near Ceana. Perhaps they sensed how little he cared for her. It appeared his cousin had found her a rich laird to take care of her every need, while he had to return to a life of being little more than a lowly peasant. Jealousy ate at him like maggots in rotting flesh. Damn her!
A smile suddenly spread across his face as a thought struck him. Aye, his plans might have changed, but he was a resourceful man. Before leaving Teineaer, he had stolen whatever he could find—which had not been a lot, as the Campbells had taken most of it—and sold it on his way to Kilchurn. It had turned him quite a tidy profit. He patted the heavy pouch hanging at his side, well-hidden beneath the folds of his plaid. But his items of most value were safely tucked inside his shirt—a necklace and brooch belonging to Lady MacGregor, which must have been dropped by the Campbell guards during their ransacking of the castle.