Highland Barbarian (Highlander Series)

by Langan, Ruth Ryan

  He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes as he moved closer. But though she was bound to be afraid of him, she lifted her chin in a defiant gesture and faced him boldly.

  Damn the woman! Why did she not beg, or at least flinch?

  He stood before her, the blade of the dirk glinting in the candlelight. Without a word he caught her hands and brought the knife cleanly through the rope that bound them.

  Though she felt a rush of relief at his gesture, she prayed that no emotion showed on her face.

  “If you are wise you will sleep. For you shall have little of that tonight.”

  He turned away and strode across the room.

  She watched as the door closed. She heard the timber being thrown into place. And with her ear to the door she listened as Mackay’s footsteps receded.

  She began an immediate search of the chamber. Apparently it had been a storage room of sorts. Though it contained several pallets and mounds of furs, there was little else. The room was cold. There was no fireplace. And except for the door, which was bolted by a heavy timber, there was no other way out.

  Wrapping herself in several layers of fur, Meredith fell upon a pallet to fight off the chill that rattled her teeth. Despite her best intentions, she gave in to an overpowering weariness and slept.

  ~ ~ ~

  Brice rode at the head of his line of men, setting a brisk pace. Though tree limbs snagged at his sleeves and raked his face, he could not slow down. One thought drummed through his mind. Meredith. His beautiful, beloved Meredith was now in the hands of a brute. A brute who would take delight in causing her pain and humiliation.

  “We must not take a direct route to Mackay’s fortress,” Angus advised.

  “And why not? We know who has Meredith.”

  “Aye, old friend. But has it not occurred to you that Mackay might expect you to follow?”

  “I will follow. To the ends of the earth and back to rescue my woman.”

  “It is what Mackay hopes for. Then he will have it all. Meredith to abuse, and you to kill when you attack him in a blind rage.”

  “What would you have me do?” Brice slowed his mount as they approached a boulder-strewn ridge. “Leave Meredith to that monster?”

  “Nay.” Angus put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “All of us know what you are suffering. If it were Mistress Snow who found herself in the clutches of Mackay, I would move heaven and earth to save her.”

  Brice shot a look at his friend. It was more of an admission than Angus had ever volunteered before.

  “But I would hope that you and the others would keep me from doing something foolish.”

  Brice took a long breath, then nudged his horse into a brisk walk. “How then do you propose to keep me from doing something foolish, old friend?”

  “While we ride north we must come up with a plan. ’Twould do no good to ride blindly into a trap.”

  Brice nodded. “I will think on it.”

  Angus smiled. “Think with your head, Brice, not with your heart.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Meredith heard the sound of the heavy timber being scraped back. She sat up, instantly alert. The door was pulled open. Holden Mackay strode into the room. He wore clean, dry clothes. At his shoulder was a fresh dressing covering the wound Meredith had inflicted with her sword.

  Mackay was followed by a figure in a dark hooded cloak. Upon closer inspection Meredith realized the figure was a woman. A short, stooped woman.

  Her cloak was damp, which indicated that she did not live within the walls of this fortress. She had been brought from somewhere outside Mackay’s home.

  “Well? Is she not a prize?” Holden Mackay’s voice bounced about the small room. The stench of ale clung to him.

  “I cannot tell, with all those clothes.”

  “Soon enough you will see her without them.” Mackay grasped Meredith’s arm and hauled her toward the open doorway. “Come. We will retire to my chambers.”

  Meredith was led down a long hallway and into a cavernous room. Several servants moved about, stoking the fire in the great stone fireplace, setting out an assortment of beautiful gowns on a fur-covered bed. At Mackay’s command the servants hurried from the room and closed the door behind them.

  Meredith stared at the huge basin of water in front of the fireplace, then at the array of gowns spread out on the bed. At her arched look, Mackay gave her an evil leer.

  “You are here to amuse me, Meredith MacAlpin. I want you to look like a lady when I take you. Not,” he added, pointing at her breeches and tunic, “like some muddy stable boy.”

  “Rowena,” he said to the stooped woman. “You will bathe the lady and wash her hair in scented water.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The woman tossed aside her cape and walked toward Meredith.

  “Do not touch me,” Meredith said sharply. “I am capable of undressing myself.”

  Instantly the woman paused and glanced at Mackay, awaiting his orders.

  “We are not barbarians here.” His voice was low with seething anger. “I can give you everything that Brice Campbell gave you. Especially servants to assist you. You would not know it to look at her, but Rowena was once an assistant to royalty.”

  Meredith studied the woman. Despite her crooked spine there was a look of elegance about her. And the gown she wore beneath the damp cloak was expertly tailored.

  What would it hurt to allow her to assist? Meredith wondered. It would certainly buy some time. She was away from that horrid storage room and into a room with doors and windows that afforded some means of escape. That was a first step. But she needed time to formulate a plan.

  While Mackay crossed the room Meredith took a moment to peer about. There were two windows, which apparently led to balconies. A possible means of escape. Unless the guards were still posted below in the courtyard.

  Mackay peered at the gowns spread out on his bed. He lifted a shimmering white satin gown, encrusted with pearls, and ran his hand suggestively across the bodice. “She will wear this one,” he said to Rowena.

  Then to Meredith he added, “It will remind me of the bride Brice Campbell abducted from the altar. The woman who will now be my bride.” He threw back his head and roared with laughter at his own joke. “At least until I tire of her.”

  “Surely you do not intend to watch while I undress her and bathe her?”

  The laughter was gone. His voice was low and dangerous. “And why not? I am her captor. I will do whatever pleases me.”

  He sat in a chair stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Remove her cloak.”

  The woman seemed to hesitate, then stepped forward and slipped the heavy cloak from Meredith’s shoulders. It dropped to the floor.

  Meredith forced herself to show no emotion as the woman reached for the tunic and removed it. Beneath the tunic Meredith was wearing one of Brice’s saffron shirts.

  “’Tis a man’s shirt.” Rowena’s voice was low, cultured, reminding Meredith of the women who surrounded the queen.

  “Aye. And not fit to cover a woman’s body.” Mackay pointed a finger. “Remove it.”

  Before Rowena could reach for the buttons of the shirt, Meredith stopped her. “It is a shame—” she spoke directly to the woman, ignoring Holden “—that your lord Mackay cannot be with his men in the great hall, drinking ale and sharing stories of their exciting hunt this day.”

  Mackay’s eyes narrowed. “What game do you play with me, wench?”

  “Game?” Meredith gave him an innocent smile. “I merely thought you would be more comfortable with your men than here with women, sharing women’s talk.”

  To Rowena she said in a conspiratorial tone, “Did you know that my lord Mackay hunts humans in the forest? Female humans are his favorite game. Because most of them are helpless. Most,” she said with meaning, “but not all.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Holden Mackay rub a hand over his stiff shoulder.

  “How many females have you captured in the past year, my lo
rd?”

  For one long minute Mackay could only stare at her. Then he leaped up with a look of fire in his eyes. “I need some ale!’ He stepped to the door, intent upon calling to a servant. From below he heard the sound of laughter drifting from the great hall, where his men were gathered before the fire.

  Below stairs, his men would not make him feel foolish for having nearly been beaten by a woman. Below stairs, there was the comradeship of men who had gone to battle together and had tales of bravery to share.

  As a servant stepped forward, Mackay shook his head and sent her away.

  For one long minute he turned and stared at the little female who taunted him, who infuriated him. With a look of menace he hissed, “Much as I would enjoy watching you bathe and dress, I would enjoy a tankard or two with the men more!’ He strode to the door, then turned with a gleam of laughter in his eyes. “Besides, my lady, I will have the pleasure of undressing you myself in just a very short time. And then we shall see who is the victor and who the vanquished.”

  He pointed to the white gown on the bed. “Remember, woman, I want her to look like the bride Brice Campbell abducted from the altar. The bride Brice Campbell will never have for himself.”

  His words brought a terrible shaft of pain. But she must not let him see how easily he could hurt her.

  Mackay gave a hollow laugh and turned away.

  Through narrowed eyes Meredith watched as the door closed behind him. In that brief moment she had noted the guards, whose presence would make her escape more difficult. But she was not about to despair. There were still the windows. And if that attempt failed, she would find another means of escape.

  As Holden Mackay’s booming voice rang through the hallway, she vowed that he would never hold her in this prison of horrors.

  She touched a hand to the dirk hidden at her waist. And no matter what, she would never again allow him to sully her with his touch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brice and Angus lay on their stomachs on a ridge that afforded them a view of Holden Mackay’s fortress. For nearly an hour they had noted every sign of movement outside the castle.

  They had watched with great interest as a horse and rider approached the courtyard. The rider, a stooped old crone in a dark, shapeless cloak, had slid from the back of the horse and had been greeted warmly by the guards. A bundle had been removed from behind the saddle. Within minutes the doors to the castle were opened to admit the rider and bundle.

  While Angus continued to lie and watch, Brice got to his knees and kneaded the stiffness in his shoulders.

  “I tell you the best way to attack is simply to storm the courtyard and kill the guards.” Brice’s tone was harsh with determination.

  Angus grimaced. “The doors will be braced from within. ’Twould take a battering ram to force them open.”

  “Every minute we wait is another minute of agony for Meredith.”

  “Aye.” Angus noted his friend’s drooping shoulders. “Do you think I do not know? But there are only ten and two of us. There could be many more times our number within the castle walls. If we can surprise them, we have a chance. But if the guards have time to shout a warning, all is lost.”

  “Aye.” Brice stood, running a hand through his hair. “But with every passing moment I grow desperate.”

  “I know.”

  Just then both men looked up as Alston hurried toward them. “Two riders approach.”

  “Are they headed for Mackay’s fortress?”

  “Aye, Brice. They are just below us on that ridge. See?” He pointed and the two men followed his direction.

  Brice’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then he turned to Angus and saw that he was smiling. Both men had come to the same decision.

  “They are the perfect foil,” Brice said. “At all cost we must intercept them before they reach the fortress.”

  Alston’s lips curved into a smile beneath his bushy red beard. “Leave them to me.”

  A few moments later, as Brice and Angus watched, the two riders were suddenly knocked from their mounts. There was a brief sound of a scuffle. And then the riders’ clothes were being removed.

  Within a matter of minutes Brice and Angus had exchanged clothes and horses with the dead men.

  “You will watch until you see us enter the doors to the fortress,” Brice instructed his men. “Before the doors can be closed, you must disarm the guards and storm the castle. Else, all is lost.”

  “Aye. Have no fear.” Alston looked around at the others who nodded and indicated their eagerness to attack. “It will be done.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Meredith stood facing Rowena. She had managed to get rid of Holden Mackay. Now the only one who stood in the way of her freedom was this hunchbacked woman. She would bide her time and watch and listen. And when the time was right...

  Rowena dipped a hand in the water. “Disrobe, my lady, and I will wash your hair and see to your bath.”

  For the moment, Meredith decided to go along with the woman’s wishes. Slipping the dirk from her waistband she buried it beneath her folded cloak, then removed her shirt and breeches, carefully folding them as well.

  As she crossed the room Rowena studied her with a professional eye. “You have a lovely body, my lady. ’Twould please me to create gowns for you.”

  “Did you sew all these?” Meredith swept her hand to indicate the gowns that littered the bed.

  “Aye. These are a sample of my wares.”

  “Yours is a fine talent.”

  Meredith saw the woman beam at her compliment. As Rowena helped her into the water and began lathering Meredith’s hair she said, “I was once the royal seamstress.”

  “You sewed for Queen Mary?”

  “Aye.” The woman’s tone grew dreamy. “I was but ten and three when I accompanied the infant queen to France.

  Because of my deformity, ’twas determined that I would never marry. So I was taught from childhood how to sew. When the queen mother, Marie de Guise, saw my work, she insisted that I would spend my life dressing her child.”

  “How wonderful. Did you enjoy your time in France?”

  “At first. It was so gay there. There were so many balls and state dinners. I was kept so busy I hardly had time to sleep. I was given a little room filled with bolts of silks and satins and a clean bed of my own. Though it was drafty, and far from the queen and her ladies-in-waiting, it was heaven after the humble cottage I had been born in here in the Highlands.”

  Meredith leaned back in the water, loving the feel of the woman’s strong hands against her scalp.

  She had been cold, so cold, on the long journey from Kinloch House to this ancient fortress. The warmth of the bath, the fingers at her scalp, threatened to lull her into a false sense of security. She cautioned herself to stay alert to any chance at escape.

  “It all sounds wonderful.”

  Meredith heard the note of pain that crept into Rowena’s tone. “Aye. It was. For a time. But when the young queen married the dauphin, his mother, Catherine de’ Medici, stated that I was an embarrassment at Court. She insisted that I be sent back to Scotland at once.”

  Meredith’s sense of fair play overcame her earlier dislike of this woman. “Was the queen not able to use her influence on your behalf?”

  “Influence.” Rowena gave a hollow laugh. “As long as Catherine de’ Medici lives, there is no other influence in France save hers.”

  “But Queen Mary has returned from France.” Meredith sat up as the woman wrapped a linen about her damp hair. “Perhaps you should entreat her to reinstate your position and once again use your talents.”

  Rowena toweled Meredith’s hair vigorously, then picked up a cake of fragrant soap. Her tone was one of resignation. “I am a humble Highlander. The queen is surrounded by important people, her time taken up with matters of state. By now she has forgotten her childhood dressmaker. There is no way I could ever approach her.”

  “What of your lord Mackay? Could he not use his influen
ce as a Highland chief to intercede with the queen?”

  “My lord Mackay,” Rowena said with a note of contempt, “would never act as an intermediary for one of his clan. He is a cruel leader who thinks only of his own pleasures.”

  “Then why do you assist him in this?”

  The woman looked away, unable to meet Meredith’s steady gaze. In a soft voice she whispered, “I must survive, my lady. To refuse Holden Mackay is to invite death.”

  Meredith fell silent for a moment. She had not given a thought to the many people who were at his mercy.

  “What made him so?”

  Rowena handed the soap to Meredith, then lifted a kettle of hot water from the fire. As she emptied it into the bath she said, “It is rumored that when he was born, his father, Douglas Mackay, was engaged in a terrible battle with English soldiers who had stormed their Highland fortress. One of the soldiers ran his sword through the swollen stomach of Douglas’s wife, Genevieve, who was close to her birthing. Genevieve died, but a servant delivered the bloody bairn and placed it in Douglas’s arms. He scarce looked at the babe before turning it over to be suckled by a village woman who had also recently given birth.”

  So caught up in the story was Meredith that she barely took time to appreciate the luxury of her bath. In minutes she stood and wrapped herself in the linen offered by Rowena. Seated before the fire she listened while Rowena dressed her hair and continued the tale.

  “Douglas Mackay was gone for two years, locked in terrible battle with the English. When he returned, he stopped at the village and claimed his son, who was still living in the cottage of the woman who had nursed him. Father and son were never apart after that. When Douglas Mackay died, Holden Mackay became obsessed with amassing as much land and power as he could.”

  “But the death of his mother at the hands of the English and his own cruel birth should not be sufficient reason to be cruel to his people.”

  Rowena’s voice lowered to a murmur, as though fearing that at any moment the object of their discussion might come through the door and overhear her words.