She kept her mouth clamped shut and fought for calm.
“Ah, well, ’tis only a matter of time before I uncover the truth. In the meantime, I do hope you will accept my offer of protection.”
His eyes went from the gold chain around her neck, down her gown and back to the pendant, like he was tallying their worth in his head. Alethia cringed inwardly. He was the last person she’d turn to for anything. “Like I said, I’ll certainly give your kind offer all the consideration it deserves.” She pushed through the brush to pass him and hurried back to camp. How the hell was she going to get out of this mess?
Malcolm watched the woman return to camp. Her cheeks had turned a dusky rose, and her silken tresses fell around her shoulders in damp, shiny ripples. The sight mesmerized him. Likewise, his men were transfixed. Then he caught sight of the fear in her eyes. “Make ready for travel.” He barked the order, breaking the spell.
Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm watched Hugh slink back into camp. The notion he might’ve been nearby while the lady washed at the falls sent a chill down Malcolm’s spine. Something had happened, of that he was certain. He should’ve had one of the lads follow at a distance. Nay. He should’ve seen to her safety himself.
“Robley.” He looked over his shoulder at his cousin and gestured toward the woman. “See that she’s fed. Liam, ride back a league and make certain we aren’t being followed.” Malcolm tied her small case to the back of his saddle. “Angus, go on ahead to see we aren’t riding into an ambush. We’ll meet where the road splits to Inverness.”
“Aye, Malcolm.” Angus spurred his horse into a gallop as he left. Liam’s eyes swung from Hugh to the lass and back to Malcolm. With a slight nod, he signaled that he’d noticed her fear and shared Malcolm’s suspicions. Then he rode out of camp in the opposite direction.
Robley smiled and handed her a piece of jerky and an oatcake. “Have you a name, my lady?”
“Of course I do. Thank you for asking. I am Lady Alethia Goodsky.”
“Sky, like the heavens above? ’Tis a lovely name. I’m called Robley, and the youngster over there is Galen. Angus and Liam are the two who left to see that our way is safe. That’s Hugh,” he said, pointing across camp, “and the last is my cousin Malcolm.”
Malcolm frowned. “Aleth” was the Greek word for truth. His thoughts flew back to the summer he was ten and three. He and his cousins had gone to a fair in Inverness, determined to find some mischief. They all feared an old fortune-teller who plied her trade there. On a dare, he’d agreed to have her tell his fortune. Could this foreigner be the “truth” the old woman had referred to as her?
He turned to study Alethia. Had she been left in his path, certain to be found by him? Shaking his head, he dismissed the notion and went back to readying his gear. ’Twas coincidence and silly superstition, nothing more, and he prided himself on being a modern-thinking man.
Swinging up into the saddle, Malcolm continued to give orders. “Galen, carry the lady’s larger pack. Hugh, take the lead, and Robley, you take up the rear.” Malcolm scooped Alethia up and set her astride in front of him.
“Hey,” she protested as part of her oatcake broke off and fell to the ground. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather ride with Robley.”
Robley threw his head back and laughed. Galen grinned.
“It is no’ all the same to me. Let us be off,” he commanded. Malcolm waited until Hugh was out of range and leaned close to whisper. “What happened in the wood?”
“You pulled my braid. I bit your lip,” she whispered back. “Did you forget already?”
“How could I?” He snorted and rubbed his injured lip. “I meant this morn.”
“I believe Hugh hid in the forest and watched me bathe, but I can’t prove it.”
“Why did you no’ call out?”
“I didn’t know he was there until he stepped out of hiding, and he did nothing to harm me. Besides, who should I have called? You?” Alethia twisted around to frown at him. “You used brute force and tied my wrists.”
“’Tis different.”
“Since I don’t know any of you, I don’t see a difference.” She shrugged. “If I had called out, I might’ve ended up in more trouble than I was already in.”
“MacKintosh men dinna harm women.” Her words stung his sense of honor and his pride. “We protect and cherish them.”
“Ha! After you tie them up and haul them off against their will, do you mean?”
“You have a sharp tongue.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you smell like your horse.”
Malcolm wanted to tear his hair and laugh all at the same time. He was beginning to understand why she’d been left behind.
They’d ridden for hours since their all-too-brief break. The muscles in Alethia’s thighs screamed for mercy, and she’d lost all feeling in her butt ages ago. Probably a good thing.
How much longer would she have to spend on the back of a smelly horse sitting way too close to Alpha-Jerk? Just as that thought filled her head, they came to a stop on the crest of a hill. Below them, a village nestled on the shore of a lake. In the middle of the lake sat an island with a formidable castle built on the edge of a cliff. Alethia stared openmouthed.
Fields of ripening crops turned the surrounding valley into a patchwork quilt of greens and golds. Horned, shaggy cattle dotted the hills, joined by sheep, stout ponies, and larger horses like the ones they rode.
“Lock Moigh!” Malcolm shouted at the top of lungs.
She flinched and covered her ears, just as his men echoed the shout, and two warning blasts from a horn in the village rent the air. A dozen warriors on horseback streaked out from between the cottages, swords drawn, heading at breakneck speed straight for them. No!
She cringed at the sound of swords being pulled from their scabbards around her, and a bloodcurdling shout pierced the air. A battle cry? Malcolm kicked his horse into a dead run down the hill to meet the enemy. Her gut turned over, and her heart made a leap for safety up her throat. Clinging to the horse’s mane for all she was worth, Alethia shut her eyes tight.
I’m gonna die!
CHAPTER THREE
Alethia intended to meet her death bravely with her eyes wide open like her ancestors would’ve done, but try as she might, neither eyelid would budge. No doubt Malcolm’s enemies would run their swords right through her to get to him. And if by some miracle they both survived, she planned to kill him herself with her bare hands.
Swords clashed and men shouted as they came together. She held her breath and waited for the blow that would end her pitifully short life. Laughter penetrated the cloud of fear surrounding her.
Laughter?
Alethia opened her eyes. The swordplay ended in friendly greetings and backslapping. All the fear and anxiety coursing through her morphed into red-hot anger. She wanted off the damn horse, and she wanted to be far, far away from the barbarian who had so carelessly caused the near explosion of her heart in her chest. Now.
Malcolm slid his claymore back into its scabbard and put his arm around her waist. She flung it off, swung her leg over the saddle and slid off the horse, collapsing to the ground in an undignified heap of velvet and silk brocade. Forcing herself to stand, she formed a fist and slugged Alpha-Jerk in the thigh with all the might she could muster. “You could’ve put me down before you charged down the hill, you moron!”
She walked away on shaky legs, falling to her knees in the grass a short distance away. She couldn’t catch her breath, and stars danced before her eyes. Twice now she’d believed she was going to die, and that was two times too many in her opinion. Her mind reeled with everything that had happened. This was not a safe place to be, and more than anything, she wanted to go home.
Baffled, Malcolm rubbed his thigh and watched Lady Alethia fall to her knees in the grass.
“Our guest believed you were riding into battle using her as your shield.” Liam rode up beside him. “She does no’ know this is our home and must ha
ve been frightened out of her wits.”
“She’s under my protection.” Malcolm frowned. “Why would I make the vow and then put her life at risk?”
Liam grinned. “Have you told her she has your protection?”
“Shite. I offered my aid as I would to any wayfaring soul, but no’ my protection specifically. Best do so now.” Malcolm dismounted and went after her. When she saw him coming, she rose from the ground and headed in the opposite direction. He quickened his pace and caught up, placing a hand on her shoulder to turn her around.
She shook him off and moved out of his reach. “Go away, and leave me alone.”
He stepped in front of her, only to have her turn her back to him again. Their odd little dance continued until he was filled with helpless frustration. “Hold still, ye wee termagant. You were no’ in any danger.”
She spun around to face him, her eyes wide. “There were swords drawn, and…and battle cries shouted. How was I supposed to know I wasn’t in danger?”
“As long as you are on MacKintosh land, you are under my protection.” Malcolm’s gut twisted. She made an incredulous sound, but at least the hurt he’d glimpsed in her eyes turned to something more akin to fury. Fury he could deal with. “You will trust me in the future.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” She snorted. “Aren’t you the same guy who carried me off and left my violin behind? Do you have any idea what would happen to my instrument if it rained? You have no idea what it means to me,” she said, her voice breaking.
“I know nothing of this Guy fellow and even less of violins. I intended to have someone return to fetch your belongings once we reached home.”
“And I was supposed to know this how?” She crossed her arms in front of her and shot arrows at him with her eyes. “You tied my hands—not exactly a trust-inspiring gesture.”
“You used them to put me to sleep. I had no choice.” Malcolm took a small step closer.
“You pulled my hair.” Alethia threw her hands up in the air. “Who does that?”
“My finger still pains me from the injury you inflicted.” Another step. “So does my lip.”
“What did you expect me to do? You kissed me.”
“I might kiss you again just to stop your tongue from wagging.”
Alethia gasped and blinked several times. “Because you want your upper lip to have a matching set of teeth marks?”
Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “You dinna fear me at all, do you, lass?” Her brow creased as she stared up at him. Malcolm felt as if she were reading his soul and wondered what she saw there.
“No. I guess I don’t.” She said the words as if they surprised her. “You told the truth when you said you don’t mean me any harm, and you meant what you said about how the MacKintosh treat women.” Alethia shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“Your lack of fear will suffice for now.” Malcolm drew her into his arms and kissed her, pulling back quickly enough to avoid getting bitten.
She shoved him away with both hands. “Why do you keep doing that?”
Her cheeks colored, and his breath caught in his throat. She was like the wild roses growing in the dales, lovely and thorny all at once. “Because it pleases me.”
She huffed, gave him her back and hurried off toward the group getting ready to cross the loch. “Well, it doesn’t please me,” she shouted.
Malcolm watched the sway of her hips and her braid bouncing back and forth as she moved. He threw his head back and laughed. By the saints, their exchange exhilarated him in ways he’d never before experienced. Goading Lady Alethia could well become his favorite pastime. Sharp teeth and a sharp wit—a rare lass indeed.
“Robley, Liam, to my father.” Malcolm set Alethia’s belongings on the trestle table in the great hall and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stay here until I send someone to fetch you.”
“Where else would I go?”
Malcolm didn’t like the forlorn tone in her voice. He watched as her eyes roamed around the hall like she’d never before seen the like. Mayhap people lived differently where she came from. Curiosity had been eating away at him since he first laid eyes on her, but now was not the time for questions. His father waited.
With his cousins at his heels, he took the narrow stone stairs two at a time. Knocking at his father’s solar door, Malcolm paused briefly before entering. William rose from the table where he sat with his brother, Malcolm’s uncle Robert.
“Son, nephews, ’tis good to have you home safe.” He gave Malcolm a brief embrace and gestured for them to sit. “What news from old Archibald?”
Malcolm pulled a neatly folded vellum packet from his sporran before taking a seat and accepting an ale from Robley. The packet was sealed with wax imprinted with the Douglas crest. “The rumors are true. Our James is to wed a Sassenach, Joan Beaufort, the daughter of the earl of Somerset. Since our king is marrying into English aristocracy, they are finally amenable to negotiating his freedom.
“Archibald has been arranging James’s ransom in secret. He’s forming a contingency of Scottish nobles to finalize the treaty.” Malcolm pushed the sealed vellum across the table to his father. “This missive gives the details. The earl of Douglas wishes you to join the delegation traveling to London within the month. He’ll send word when all is in place.”
His father opened the vellum and read it through.
“Will you join them?” Malcolm asked.
“I will.” He handed the missive to his brother. “Robert, I want you to accompany me.”
“Who will act as steward in my absence?” Robert asked.
“Your lads have trained at your knee since they were bairns. ’Tis time they had the chance to prove their mettle.” He grinned at Liam and Robley. “Malcolm, you will act in my stead while I’m away. Nephews, I’ll depend upon you both to take up your father’s responsibilities. For eighteen years our king has been imprisoned by the Sassenach. For eighteen years we’ve been under the ruthless thumb of our self-appointed regent, the duke of Albany. ’Tis high time our king came home to rule.”
“Aye, and the Comyn clan will at last be exposed for the traitorous lot they’ve always been.” Malcolm grinned. “Speaking of Comyns, have you discovered any more of their men lurking about in our absence, Father?”
“Nay, not since we increased the number of our garrison billeting in the village.”
“Good. Will you take Mother with you to London?” Malcolm asked.
“Nay, the unrest in Britain since King Henry’s death is reason enough to leave her here. The palace must be rife with intrigue and treachery. His heir, the young Henry, is no’ yet fully weaned from the teat. Were it not for James and the future of Scotland, I’d have no wish to go myself.” He shook his head. “Besides, as you know, your mother has no love for that cesspool and even less for travel.” His father fixed him with a pointed look. “What of the earl of Douglas’s niece?”
“She will not suit,” Malcolm answered tersely.
“I grow impatient for grandchildren, and you need heirs, Malcolm. I agreed to let you choose your own bride with the understanding ’twould be done in a timely manner.” His father scrutinized him. “What happened to your lip?”
“Uncle William,” Robley said, grinning from ear to ear, “you must ask Malcolm what we found by the side of the road on our journey home.”
“What has that to do with my finding a wife?” Malcolm shot his cousin a dark look.
Alethia studied the great hall in amazement. A fireplace massive enough to roast a whole hog filled one end of the room, and the opposite wall boasted another hearth just as large. The acoustics in this place must be outstanding. Exquisite tapestries depicting hunting scenes in rich crimsons, golds, blues and greens adorned the walls, along with weaponry of all sorts and shields bearing two distinct crests. Being torn from her life was frightening and horrific, but to see something like this castle, to exist in this time after years and years of fasc
ination with everything having to do with this historical era—it truly filled her with awe. She’d treasure this memory for the rest of her life once she got home, and she would get home.
The sudden sting behind her eyes brought her back to more practical matters. What was Malcolm’s position in the scheme of things? His arrogance and the way he strode through the bailey, the deferential greetings he’d received and how he went so freely up the stairs leading to the castle’s private chambers could only mean one thing—Alpha-Jerk had to be family. “Figures.”
Eager to test the hall’s acoustics, Alethia retrieved her violin case and looked around for the most advantageous place to play. Reverently, she placed the case on the trestle table and undid the latches. One look at the eighteenth-century German violin, with its reddish brown varnish and inlaid rosewood edging, and the link to her real life snapped back into place. Once she held the instrument in her hands, everything inside her settled. Her violin, the last gift she’d ever received from her father, always brought her comfort.
Stomping her foot, she listened for reverberation, repeating the process as she walked around the room until she’d chosen a spot before the dais. She tightened and rosined the bow, and struck the tuning fork against the edge of the table, tuning her instrument with practiced precision.
Closing her eyes, she called forth the score of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and put bow to string, pouring her heart into the music.
“La primavera,” Allegro, Largo, Allegro: Scenes from her life played like a movie behind her closed eyes. She remembered the day her father had given her the violin. She’d been five years old. He’d stopped at an estate sale in Duluth, Minnesota, on his way home from a tribal conference, and he’d picked the instrument up for next to nothing. They’d found out later the instrument was worth a tidy fortune. Alethia had an ear for music, a natural talent, and a love for the violin her father had given her.
“L’estate,” Allegro non molto, Adagio, Presto: Being accepted into Juilliard meant everything to her. She’d earned a solo part in the spring concert, and she’d worked hard to live up to the honor. Her heart swelled as images of her family played through her mind. Blue jeans, beaded medicine bags and key chains, long black braids, brown skin and eyes the color of the rich black earth shone with pride among the sea of sameness making up the rest of the audience that day.
True to the Highlander (The Novels of Loch Moigh) Page 3