by Gwyn Brodie
His arm tightened around her waist. "The attempts on your life are naught to be taken lightly, lass. I'd be less than a man if I did otherwise."
She smiled. He was definitely a man, and a most handsome one at that. Settled against Duncan's warm chest, and wrapped in the comfort of his plaid, Kila couldn't seem to keep her eyes open, slipping in and out of sleep as they rode. The lingering effect of the poison, he told her.
Kila still couldn't believe she'd been poisoned, and couldn't imagine who might have done such an awful thing—and for what reason. She trusted the Highlander to protect her, and knew without a doubt he'd do so at risk to his own life.
Wyn had told her Duncan stayed by her bedside while she was at her sickest. Kila remembered very little about him being there at that time, but she did remember him being a comfort to her, smoothing her hair from her face, holding her hand in his, and whispering her name. A warm shiver washed over her at the memory.
He seemed preoccupied and they'd spoken very little since leaving the inn. She couldn't help but wonder what weighed so heavily on his mind.
A short time later he broke his silence."My three closest friends married for love, and when I wed, 'twill also be for love," he stated matter-of-factly.
Tears sprang into her eyes, as she warred with her emotions. The thought of Duncan MacDonell loving anyone but her, sliced through Kila's heart like a sharp blade. She bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears.
"Two days, three at the most, we arrive at Whitestag," he said dryly.
Her heart ached at the thought of being married to a man she didn't love. Duncan would be gone, and she'd never again feel his arms around her, nor the warmth of his lips pressed against her own. A lump formed in her throat, and she found it hard to swallow.
"If you dinnae mind me saying so, lass. You dinnae seem to be too pleased."
She didn't speak for a moment—she couldn't. "Did you honestly think I would be, Duncan?" she said, keeping her voice low. Didn't he realize how much she cared for him?
"You did agree to marry Monro." He had to be absolutely certain it was he and not Colin Monro she wanted. He had no wish to make a fool out of himself.
She turned her head and gazed up at him. "Aye, I did, but only because 'twas my father's wish, and there was no one else in my life at the time," she whispered, her voice full of emotion and her eyes misty with unshed tears.
His chest tightened and he wanted to shout with joy all at the same moment. It was him the lass wanted, and he meant to make certain she had him.
Duncan hugged her to him. He'd hold her as long as he could, but once they reached Whitestag he would have to leave her be, and he didn't relish the thought one bit, for he enjoyed having her near. His attraction to Kila had been so from the beginning, but now it was nigh unbearable. He yearned to have her in both body and soul, even in his dreams, such as the one he'd had of them making love their last night at the inn. He clenched his teeth, fighting back an array of unfamiliar feelings. All he knew for certain was that he had to have her, and by the saints, he would.
KILA SMILED. SHE'D made up her mind. If she couldn't have Duncan for a lifetime, at least she would have him for one night, at the inn the following night—their last together before reaching Whitestag. She set her plan of seduction into motion. Careful not to draw attention, she slipped her hand from beneath her cloak and placed it on Duncan's bare muscular thigh.
She heard his quick intake of breath and smiled. So the Highland warrior wasn't immune to her touch. Giddiness took over as she gently caressed him, marveling at the course hair covering his skin, so unlike her own.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, his breath, warm against her cheek. "I dinnae ken what 'tis you're about, lass, but I warn you, you're playing with a fire that there's only one way to put out."
She shivered, as his words brought to mind the image of them entwined in a lovers' embrace. Reluctantly, she moved her hand. He didn't know it yet, but she was just getting started.
AN OWL HOOTED FROM somewhere near the tent, as Kila snuggled deeper into the thick furs. She'd been struggling to fall asleep for nigh on an hour without any luck, while her stepmother seemed to have had no trouble at all, and had been softly snoring since but a few minutes after they had gone to bed.
A noise at the back of the tent drew her attention. It was most likely one of the guards making his rounds, she decided, and thought no more of it, until a large hand capped over her mouth and an arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her through a large hole in the tent. Kila elbowed her captor in the ribs, and kicked his shins several times, as she fought to twist out of his grip. But he only grunted and squeezed her so tightly she could hardly breathe.
By the light of the full moon, she saw a second man mounted and waiting for them behind a rocky outcrop, along with a second horse. Who were they? And what did they want with her? From what little she could see, she didn't recognize either of them.
While the first man kept his hand tightly over her mouth, the second grabbed her wrists and tied them together, but when he knelt down to do the same to her ankles, Kila kicked him in the chest, knocking him backwards onto the ground.
He whispered a curse, and keeping out of the way of her flailing feet, he finally managed to bind them together.
"Dinnae forget her mouth," the man holding her said.
Kila's heart pounded, and she trembled with fear, but she couldn't allow them to gag her. With both hands, and all the strength she could muster, she shoved his hand away from her mouth and let out a blood curdling scream.
"Damn ye, wench," her captor growled, as he fought with Kila to get his hand back over her mouth before she could scream again.
KILA'S SCREAM PIERCED Duncan's sleep like a sharp knife, and in an instant he was on his feet with his broadsword drawn. He rushed into her tent. "What the hell is going on?"
Verona drew the covers up to her chin. "Get out of here. Have you no sense of decency?"
"Where is Kila?"
"How should I ken? She probably went to relieve herself," she said, showing no concern whatsoever for her stepdaughter's whereabouts.
Wyn and Coira, asleep at the far end of the tent, awoke.
Wyn wailed, when she saw Kila's empty pallet.
Duncan's gaze fell upon the slice in the tent, just as another scream split the still night. "Someone has taken Kila," he blurted out to Connor and Eadan, whom he almost collided with, as he exited the tent. "Bring several of the guards and come along after me." He ran to Tearlach and swung onto his bare back, then took off after Kila, praying he was headed in the right direction. He tracked the men as best he could by the light of the moon, hoping they'd done the lass no harm.
Some distance away the howl of a lone wolf broke the silence, and Tearlach snorted. "Easy lad," he said softly, patting the horse to reassure him. One, two—or even three wolves he and Tearlach could handle, but a whole pack? He wasn't so certain, and hoped he'd never have to find out.
It was just after dawn when he heard a horse snort a short distance ahead. He slipped to the ground, tethered Tearlach to a small rowan tree and made his way through the wood. A movement caught his eye, and he squatted behind a thick shrub and peered out. The two scoundrels were watering their horses, while Kila sat on the ground, her back pressed against a rock. Her hands and feet were tied and a strip of fabric across her mouth. A dark bruise covered her right cheek; her eyes were swollen and she looked pale.
He clenched his teeth. Damn the bastards. He quietly slipped his broadsword from its sheath, and slowly approached the pair, using the dense underbrush to stay hidden. When he stepped into the clearing, Kila was the first to see him and her eyes widened.
A man with missing front teeth turned and came at him with his broadsword raised, but his skill was no match for Duncan's and he soon landed on his arse with blood streaming from a cut to his shoulder, and his sword in a thicket several yards away.
Duncan skirted the clearing, keeping a close e
ye on the man with a jagged scar across his right cheek, edging ever closer to Kila all the while. He had to get between her and the other man.
"Ye'll no' be getting the lass back," his adversary bellowed. "I've m'orders."
"Orders? What orders? Who would wish the lass harm?"
"I'll no' be telling ye that." He rushed Duncan with his targe and sword, but Duncan jumped out of the way, then twisted around and drew his blade across the man's chest.
The man yelped, then dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He wouldn't die, but he'd be doing no more fighting that day.
Connor, Eadan, and six guards rode into the clearing and dismounted.
Connor grinned. "It appears you've got the matter well under control."
"Aye, all I need to do now is find out who hired these two whoresons to take Kila."
He left the others to watch them and removed Kila's gag, then sliced through the ropes holding her wrists and ankles. "Are you well, lass?"
She nodded, rubbing her bruised and scraped arms, but she looked exhausted.
He returned to the man without teeth, and pushed the tip of his blade against his throat. "Whose orders are you following? Tell me and be quick about it."
Knowing he would be the next one interrogated, the other man, whom Eadan had been keeping an eye on, tried to get to his horse and escape.
Eadan grabbed him by the back of his shirt. "I believe you still have some unfinished business here."
The man shook his head. "We dinnae ken."
Duncan growled, pressing the point harder against the first man's throat. "I demand the truth."
"'Tis the truth. A couple of days ago a man bought us a drink, then asked us if we'd be interested in a job. He promised we'd be well paid, once we brought him the lass."
Duncan narrowed his gaze. "There were four women sleeping in that tent, how did you ken which was the one you were to take?"
"The man drew us a map in the dirt. Once I sliced open the back of the tent, the two maids would be sleeping at the far right, another woman at the far left, and the lass we were to grab would be in the middle."
He frowned. Only a handful of people knew of their sleeping arrangements. And two of those were Verona and Balfour. Could Balfour be capable of slipping away from the camp, and returning without anyone seeing him? "Describe him to me."
"Young, well-dressed, highborn, black hair, with a pretty face," answered the man with the scar.
Duncan blew out a breath. He'd just described Balfour, as well as dozens of other men in Scotland. "Where were you supposed to take her?"
"The abandoned mill, on the edge of town. He's waiting there now."
"What did he plan to do with her?"
The man shrugged. "He didnae tell us and we didnae ask."
Duncan turned to Connor. "There may be others with him, you and Eadan take the guards and these two along with you to the mill, and find out who waits there, then bring them to me. I'll take Kila back to camp."
Connor nodded. "We'll be more than glad to fetch the bastards."
After binding the outlaws' hands, they secured them to the backs of their horses, then set off to the mill.
Kila smiled up at Duncan. "Much thanks, for once again coming to my aid. Whatever would I do without you to protect me?"
Duncan's heart danced in his chest. "You are most welcome, lass. Come. I need to get you back to camp." He lifted her onto the horse, and though she shivered, the heat of her skin burned his hands through the thin smock. He blew out a breath, then swung up behind her, and wrapped his plaid around them both.
After a few minutes, her shivering ceased, but she remained tense, jumping at every noise, as if she expected another attempt to be made on her life at any moment.
"Dinnae fash, lass. I vow I'll let no harm come to you, as long as I have a breath left in my body."
Tears filled Kila's eyes. Duncan's vow of protection had touched her deeply. "I ken you would, but I pray you'll never have to, for I couldnae live with myself if you lost your life protecting mine."
Duncan's arm was wrapped tenderly about her waist, and the appealing warmth of his muscular body clung to her like a thick blanket. She breathed in his tantalizing male scent, listened to the strong beat of his heart, the song he was softly humming, and realized she would never want any man but him. But that could never be. She swallowed back her emotion, and blinked away her tears. "Is it much farther?"
"Perhaps another hour or so. Have you any notion as to who might have paid those two men to abduct you?"
She shook her head. "Nay, and I've given it much thought."
"Did your father have any enemies who might want revenge?"
She thought for a moment before speaking. "Any laird has those who may disapprove of his decisions at times, and so did my father, but none who would wish me harm."
Whether she wanted to believe it or not, someone did wish her harm. "I think it best you dinnae mention the man at the mill to anyone."
"Then of course, I'll no', but why?"
"I'm no' certain who can be trusted."
"Duncan?"
"Aye?"
"Tell me about Skye, and take my mind away from all that has happened. I've never been there, but I've heard 'tis a most beautiful place."
His chin bumped the top of her head as he nodded. "What you've heard is true, lass. No more bonnie a place in all of Scotland. The mountain peaks near touch the heavens. The seabirds nest along the cliffs, diving into the foamy water below for fish and such. Seals sun their fat bellies on the rocky shore, keeping a close eye out for any orca that might be waiting to have them for their supper."
She was deeply touched by his detailed reflection. "You love it there, do you no'?"
"Aye, I do."
"I'd like to see it for myself one day."
"Perhaps you will." If he could convince Monro to break the contract, he would make her his wife, and take her to Skye to share both his home and his life.
"Perhaps so."
"Are you warm enough, lass?" He didn't want her catching a chill.
She laughed, warming his heart. "Has no one ever told you that being near you is like standing next to a fire?"
He smiled. "Nay, I cannae say that they have."
"'Tis true."
"Kila?"
"Aye?"
"You told me once you had feelings for me. Do you still?"
"I do, even more so."
"I have feelings for you as well."
She turned her head around and looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You do?"
He nodded.
"Then show me," she whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth.
He reined Tearlach to a stop, then covered her mouth with his, kissing her until they were both out of breath, and he was aching with need.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "Will that suffice?"
She slowly nodded. "Aye, 'twill."
He grinned. "We'd best get back, before I drag you off Tearlach and have my way with you right here in this meadow."
Her body heated at the thought, and she was sorely tempted.
He gently kissed her cheek, then they headed for the encampment.
WITH HIS PATIENCE GROWING thin, Balfour crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall of the old mill, wondering what could be taking the two men he'd hired so long to arrive with Kila. He smiled. A bonnie lass, she was, and he planned to have his way with her before he sliced open her throat. She'd spurned him for the last time, always pretending to be better than him. He'd first show her what she's been missing for the last four years—then he'd kill her.
A horse snorted and he stepped back into the shadows. He peered through a crack in the wall, and spotted the two men he'd hired on horseback, but Kila wasn't with them. He was just about to go find out what has happened, when he noticed that they kept looking over their shoulders. Squinting in that direction, he spotted MacLeod and Matheson—MacDonell's men hunkered down at the edge of the w
ood. His pulse raced, and he quietly cursed. He had to get back before he was missed. He quietly slipped into the water near the mill wheel and let it carry him downstream, to where his horse was tethered. He rode a short distance, then dismounted and changed out of his wet clothing before heading back. He blew out a long breath. Verona was going to be furious.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When they arrived back at the camp, Verona exited the tent while Duncan was helping Kila from the horse. Her stepmother's eyes widened and her face paled. "Thank the saints, you're unharmed."
For some reason, Duncan didn't think she meant a word of it. In fact, he could have sworn it was something akin to disappointment he saw on her face.
Kila looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks to Duncan," she said, before disappearing inside the tent, along with Verona.
Several of the guards surrounded him.
"We're pleased to see your safe return," said Hern.
Duncan grinned. "No more than I."
The men chuckled, then went about their business—except for Hern. "Did Connor and Eadan catch up to you?"
"Aye. They've taken the two men who seized Lady Kila to the nearest town." He didn't mention the man at the mill. He trusted Hern, but could he trust whomever he might tell? "We'll spend another night here, then leave in the morn. But tonight I want the guards doubled," he said, before going in search of Balfour. To Duncan's surprise, he met him returning from the loch with a cup filled with raspberries.
Balfour smiled. "Verona's favorite," he said, continuing on toward the tent.
Duncan exhaled loudly. Could he have been wrong in thinking the man at the mill was Balfour? If so, then who the devil had it been? He found a mossy bed beneath an oak, and after a couple of hours of restless sleep, he rose, more determined than ever to find out who was after Kila.
He spotted Verona warming herself near the fire and decided she was as good a place to start as any. "Lady Murray."