Bedding the Highlander

by Sabrina York

  Kirk glowered at him. Hopefully they would soon reach Fortingall and this torment would end. Not the walking, but the nagging.

  Of course Kirk hadn’t been able to tie wee Ann hand and foot.

  It was hardly a romantic thing to do.

  Aside from which, he’d been convinced she felt the same for him as he did for her. He’d thought she’d enjoyed their interlude in the cave. Her coquettish smiles had made her desire clear.

  But blast it all.

  She hadn’t felt the same. She hadn’t felt the same at all.

  Because she’d left him. Not just left him. Duped him and left him.

  And now he was filled with the bitter realization that it had all been a coy pretense to make him drop his guard with her. She and her sister had gotten what they’d wanted all along. The horses and their freedom.

  He felt like a fool. He certainly didn’t need Brodie reminding him of it every five steps. He knew exactly how stupid he’d been.

  How on earth was he going to explain this to Ben? To the duke?

  But that wasn’t the worst of it, was it?

  The worst of it was that he’d liked her. Tremendously liked her. His body still ached for her.

  What kind of woman went to such lengths to hoodwink a man? Certainly not an innocent one.

  Despite what her body had told him, despite what he’d felt when he’d entered her, he could no longer believe she’d been a virgin. She’d been so wild, so easy to please. No woman of virtue would trade her chastity for a horse.

  Nae, she couldn’t have been pure. Which, sadly, didn’t make him feel any better.

  Beyond that, what kind of woman seduced a man with such ease, only to use him and toss him away?

  And then it hit him. He realized the fullness of his folly, and oh, he’d been a fool of the first order.

  She was a Killin.

  What more was there to say?

  The clan was known for their duplicity, for their deceit, betrayals, and heinous acts.

  And her actions had been heinous indeed.

  Suddenly, his dismal thoughts were shattered by a scream. It had undoubtedly come from a female, and it sent chills down his spine.

  He and Brodie exchanged a glance and then broke into a run. They rounded the curve in the road and stopped short at the scene before them. Kirk’s vision went red.

  Four men, two women, six horses.

  Both the women and two of the horses were his.

  Something—something fetid and feral—clogged his throat at the sight of Ann and Katherine struggling in the arms of two brutal-looking men while the others looked on and laughed. One of them snarled something foul, grabbed Ann’s breast, and squeezed.

  She screamed, but Kirk barely heard it over the roar in his ears.

  That bastard was touching her.

  Rage blinded him.

  He made a sound, one that rose from the depth of his soul. It reverberated on the air around them, and the men stilled. As one, they turned to see what beast was upon them.

  Before they had a chance to register what was coming, Kirk and Brodie drew their claymores and attacked, running into the fray with another bone-rattling battle cry.

  One of the men simply turned and ran.

  The second, holding Katherine, tossed her to the side and drew his weapon. The third man drew his weapon as well. The man with Ann backed away, toward his horse, holding her in front of him as a shield. The shite-eating worm.

  That man would die.

  But first Kirk had to deal with the other two. Driven by fury, and with skill honed during a thousand hours on the lists, he whipped into action, advancing on the closest man and pummeling him with one smashing blow after another. The man was an adequate fighter, Kirk supposed, but he lacked any appreciable fervor. Before long, the rogue realized he was outmatched and scampered off into the forest with his other cowardly friend.

  Meanwhile, Brodie was hacking away at the other man, so Kirk turned toward the bastard who had his hands on Ann. Kirk stalked toward them with his pulse pounding. And then, he broke into a run.

  Good glory.

  Relief had gushed through Kate when she’d seen Kirk and Brodie coming over the hill with their swords drawn.

  But now, seeing this man, her man, with his muscles swollen with effort, his nostrils flared, and a look of rage in his eyes…it frightened her.

  The man holding her must have been intimidated, too, because his entire body began to shake. He took a step back, which seemed pointless indeed. Kirk would advance on him nonetheless.

  Finally, the man released her and drew his sword.

  A cold feeling whipped through her.

  Kirk was large, but this man was larger. He was a true brute, while Kirk was a gentle soul.

  Although he didn’t seem gentle now.

  The two men came together in a tremendous clash of metal. As their swords tangled, they stared at each other, taking their opponent’s mettle. Kate watched with bated breath. She hated to think Kirk could be injured or killed. She couldn’t bear the thought. But there was nothing she could do to help. Not with her tiny dirk. Given their intensity, if she interfered, one man or the other might cut her down before he realized what he’d done.

  All she could do was watch as they circled each other and then came together again with a savage roar and clang of steel.

  It was not a delicate exchange. There was no elegant parry and thrust. There was merely brute force and muscle, and slash after savage slash.

  To Kate’s horror, the warrior drew first blood, nicking Kirk on his sword arm. The sight of it made her feel ill. To her surprise, Kirk tossed his claymore into the air and caught it with his other hand. He battered the man brutally with his weapon, left-handed, until the bastard collapsed into the dirt. His sword fell at his side and he held up his hands, crying, “I yield.”

  Kirk did not stand down. He raised his sword, ready to let fall the lethal strike.

  “Kirk!” Brodie bellowed. “He yielded.”

  Kirk turned to his friend and snarled, “He touched her.”

  “For that he deserves to die?” Brodie asked in a jesting tone. It was clear he was attempting to calm Kirk down. It did not work.

  “For that, any man deserves to die.”

  Oh, dear.

  Kate had to admit, it was a touching declaration. “For heaven’s sake, Kirk,” she said in a light voice, stepping forward to study her erstwhile mauler. “Do you no’ think you might be overdoing it a bit?”

  His eyes narrowed. “He offended you.”

  “Perhaps you could cut off his hand,” she suggested. “Or anything else that might have offended me.” She waved in the general direction of the poor man’s codpiece, which he was in the process of soiling.

  “Mercy,” he wailed. “Please. Mercy.”

  “Oh, look at him,” she said, tipping her head to the side. “He seems contrite.”

  “I doona care if he’s contrite. Have you forgotten what he and his friends intended to do?”

  “No, I havena. I suggest, instead of lopping off his head or his hand or…anything else, we take him to Calder Sabin in Tummel. It is not far.” Surely that was an excellent idea. Her grandfather was Laird Tummel, after all.

  Kirk stared at her. If nothing else, her suggestion had bemused him enough to cause his rage to fizzle. “Calder Sabin? Why would we take him there?”

  She pointed out the crest the man wore on his jerkin. “These are Sabin’s men.”

  Brodie stepped forward, pushing the other ruffian until he fell at his compatriot’s side.

  Elise joined them, walking with a limp.

  “Oh,” Kate gushed. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Did you hear what she wants us to do?” Kirk asked Brodie, sheathing his claymore.

  “What?”

  “She wants us to take this lot to Laird Tummel.”

  For some reason Brodie boggled. He gaped from Kate to Elise and back
again. “She wants us to return these men to our enemy…because they are his men?”

  Kate sniffed. “Put like that, it makes no sense. But perhaps they should be returned to Laird Tummel for punishment. Remember, Katherine Killin is Calder Sabin’s granddaughter,” she said, nodding to Elise. “Laird Tummel would reward you for saving her from them. He will want to wreak vengeance on the men who attacked her.” This last bit she said with bloodthirsty glee, solely for the benefit of the men cowering at her feet.

  “Our mission is no’ to bring Katherine to Tummel,” Kirk said. “Our mission is to bring her to Rannoch.” He shared a glower with Brodie that made clear they’d seen through her ploy.

  Blast.

  Well, it had been worth a try.

  It had been beyond frustrating to run into Sabin’s men—to have been flown with hope, only to have it dashed when the blackguards attacked them. The worst part of all was that these were her grandfather’s warriors. The men she had been looking for all along. The men who could get her safely home.

  But when she’d told them who she was, they had laughed. And then they’d yanked her from her horse, started pawing her, and said truly awful things.

  Despite her usual aplomb, she had to admit, she’d been frightened. And not only for herself. For Elise as well. The notion that they could have been robbed, raped, or killed by the very men they’d been seeking was a horrible realization.

  And the fact that the fellows they’d just robbed were the ones to rescue them was even more mortifying.

  For here she was, in the same unfortunate predicament. In Rannoch clutches and heading for their castle with no hope of escape.

  Her stomach lurched when she heard Brodie say to Kirk, “What do you think? Do you now agree we should tie these lasses up?”

  To her horror, Kirk glanced at her with a cold glimmer in his eyes and said, “Aye. Aye, I do.”

  Chapter 12

  Had he really thought her demure? Sweet? Submissive?

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Wee Annie was ferocious. Most especially when tied hand and foot.

  She gored him ruthlessly with her elbow, wriggled in his arms, and swore a blue streak. Some of the names she called him made his toes curl.

  Aye. She was not pleased in the least.

  Kirk stiffened his spine and closed his hold on her—though this did not deter that vicious elbow, with which she stabbed him at every chance. Though she was a wee lass, she had exceptional aim and occasionally left him breathless. There would be bruises on his left leg where her savage heel barraged him as well.

  Thank heaven they were not far to Rannoch. A mere two days away at the most. As they passed through the village of Fortingall, he tried not to mourn the delicious plans he’d had for that inn.

  Even if they did stop here—which would be foolish because it was just past midday—it was obvious to him there would be no seductive bath, no night of passion in an actual bed. In fact, there would be no future nights with Ann. At least, not until he could soothe her wrath.

  He was convinced that with his legendary charm, he could woo her and win her back. He used the time on that uncomfortable ride to plot his seduction.

  Unfortunately, those thoughts did nothing but inflame his arousal.

  And aye. That made the ride even more uncomfortable.

  When Ann realized his cock was as hard as a pike and gouging into her lower back, she shot him a furious glower over her shoulder.

  “Really?” she hissed at him.

  He attempted to look as innocent as he could. For truly, this was not his fault. She was simply too attractive for any man to resist. Even when she gored him. It was only fair he…gore her back. At least a little. Certainly not as much as he might like.

  “Stop that,” she snapped.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop rubbing it against me.”

  “I’m doing no such thing.”

  Another killing glare. “You know you are. Honestly. You men are all alike.”

  This made him bristle because surely he was not like other men. He was much handsomer than most. “That is untrue.”

  “’Tis not.” This from Katherine, who rode, bound, before Brodie on his horse. “All men know is brute force. You are nothing but animals.” Seriously? Was he to suffer her insults as well?

  “We are no’ animals. We’re taking you to safety,” Brodie responded, to which both women snorted. They were not ladylike snorts. Not in the least.

  “You are no’ concerned with our safety,” wee Ann said in a tone that speared him. “You are no different than Connor Killin, using us to your own ends.”

  Fury rose in his breast at the accusation, but it was tangled with another emotion he could not define. Could it be guilt? Of course it was not guilt. That would be ridiculous. Whatever it was, it sent a white heat coursing through his veins, and he bellowed—regretfully, right into her ear—“I’m nothing like Connor!”

  “Bollocks.”

  Kirk blinked. Had she really said bollocks? He opened his mouth to respond, but she did not give him time.

  “You took us prisoner.”

  “Forcibly,” Katherine added.

  “You’ve tied us like criminals and…” Her voice softened.

  “And what?” he muttered.

  She held up her hands, trussed as they were with a thick hemp. “You hurt me.”

  Ye gods. There were red marks on her tender wrists.

  “Kirk.” A low growl from Brodie. “Doona soften. Remember what they did?”

  Kirk frowned. “Perhaps we need no’ tie them so tightly?”

  “Nae,” Brodie said on a huff. “We could just give them our horses. That would be easier.”

  Kirk glowered at his friend. He hated that Brodie was right. He hated that Brodie knew him so well. He hated that he had a soft heart when it came to women in distress.

  And ach, he hated that Ann had been trying to cozen him with her whimpered complaint. He knew this when the wench whirled on Brodie and snarled, in a truly alarming tenor, “Bastard.”

  Brodie only chuckled and spurred his horse to trot.

  Kirk could feel Ann’s fury as she glared at his friend’s back. She fairly shook with it. It was only natural to want to calm her, being the gentleman that he was.

  “Stop that,” she growled.

  “Stop what?”

  “Get your hand off me.”

  And aye, he was running his palm up her side, but only in the most comforting way. Alas, she was not comforted.

  “Get your hand off me or, I swear upon all that is holy, I will chop it off.”

  “You have no weapon.” It was an utterly logical response. He and Brodie had searched them and confiscated their dirks.

  “I have no weapon at the moment,” she said in a chilling tone. “But mark my words. There will come a time when I have one and I assure you, it will give me nothing but pleasure to lop your hand off.” She speared him with a cold appraisal. “And your cock as well. So, be advised.”

  He yanked his hand away as though she were on fire.

  Aye. Wee Ann was not demure in the least.

  Bollocks.

  Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

  Och, it was so infuriating to be held captive.

  Kate wasn’t sure why her fury blinded her, but she had a suspicion. Men had treated her with nothing but callousness her entire life. She knew what they were to their core. She’d been such a fool to imagine this one would be different.

  But he’d been so gentle with her that night in the cave. Sweet, tender, and—dare she say it?—loving. Somewhere in the back of her mind, though she’d tried to resist it, she’d started hoping he might actually care for her.

  What a laugh.

  The man didn’t give a fig for her feelings or her discomfort. The rope around her wrists chafed, her bottom ached from hours in the saddle, and she was hungry and needed, very badly, to relieve herself. But when she mentioned these things, he ignored her
pleas.

  To make matters worse, with each mile they came closer and closer to her fate, her anxiety rose. She was possessed with worry about what might happen when they reached Rannoch.

  Och, aye, she did look forward to making her brash revelation when Kirk introduced “Katherine Killin” to his brother. Though she couldn’t wait to see the horror in his eyes when he realized the woman he’d debauched was his brother’s bride.

  What worried her was what would come next.

  Her father, faced with such an admission of betrayal, would throw her from the highest window of the tower. Judging from what she’d heard about the Beast of Rannoch, she would be lucky to get away with a whipping. And then what, if they didn’t execute her? When she was of no use to them, what would they do?

  Turn her out? Force her to make her way to Tummel on her own? That wouldn’t be so bad…which made it a highly unlikely outcome.

  More likely, they would force her to work as a servant in the castle, as her father had done with the women he’d stolen. Her father and his men had used those women for other purposes, as well. Kate shuddered at the thought.

  She didn’t fancy being handed round the Rannoch men, one after the other.

  But she worried about Elise’s fate even more. It devastated her that her sister was in this predicament because of her. She’d asked Elise to come along. And now, they would share a dismal destiny.

  Unless they escaped.

  They had to escape.

  Their very lives depended upon it.

  And thus she resolved to attempt it that night, while the men were sleeping.

  When they stopped to make camp, Kate caught Elise’s eye and sent her a speaking glance. Her sister nodded. She understood. They suffered through a miserable dinner—though Brodie had brought in a brace of rabbits—and then the men began preparing their pallets. It fell to them to do all the work, because they’d refused to untie her and Elise.

  When it came time to bed down, she realized they’d not made four pallets. They’d made one, covered with the hated Rannoch plaid. It was set close to a tree, which was unusual, but the reason for the tree became clear soon enough.

  Not only did Kirk and Brodie take the spots on the ends—while she and Elise were wedged in between them—but the bastards tied Elise and Kate’s hands to the tree.