Treasures of Skye (Women of Honor Book 2)

by April Holthaus

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  The Treasures of Skye

  Women of Honor

  Book Two

  Tarah Scott and April Holthaus

  Copyright © 2018 Tarah Scott & April Holthaus

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art: R. Jackson Designs

  Edited by Casey Yager

  www.scarsdalepublishing.com

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Mysteries of Skye

  Chapter One

  Isle of Skye, Scotland

  1321

  There are things in this world some say are invaluable. Time, happiness, and love being among the most sought after. But to Helena, the gift of story was the greatest gift of all. Stories, legends...fables, live forever. And in the darkest hours, they might even change one’s life.

  The snow-covered ground reflected a dazzling glow against the sun. For hours, Helena had walked without a village or a croft in sight. The sun as her guide, she kept a northerly course. When a rainbow of iridescent colors painted the darkening sky, flickering stars appeared and still, she encountered not a single soul.

  A bitter, westerly wind brought with it freezing snow. Pulling her fur cloak tighter about her, Helena clutched close the satchel she carried and trudged forward, head down, blocking her frozen cheeks from the squalls of heavy falling snow that made it impossible to see more than twenty feet in front of her.

  With each step, regret and sorrow weighed more heavily on her shoulders. But stopping or turning back would strip her of her dignity. Everything she had done, everything she believed in would stand for nothing. No matter what happened, she would live the rest of her life with the knowledge that she’d changed her fate and had fought for her freedom.

  The snow tapered off and Helena slowed. Despite her determination, her legs felt as if she slogged through mud and her back ached with fatigue. Her toes—never mind her toes. She’d stopped feeling them two hours ago.

  The distinct scent of burning wood stopped her in her tracks. Her heart began to pound. Where was the smell coming from? She whirled in an effort to locate the source. A stronger whiff stopped her. She turned left and started walking. Soon, the trees thinned and, across a flat, snow-covered field, she spotted a flicker of light amongst trees that bordered the far side of the field.

  Bless the saints!

  Helena quickened her pace. The flickering light grew in intensity. Please, she prayed, be kind to a stranger.

  She neared the trees and discerned the shadow of the small cottage where shone the light. Helena abruptly skidded. She flailed, found her balance, and stopped. She looked over her shoulder at the snow-covered expanse. Nae, it couldn’t be. Carefully, Helena took one step, then another. A loud crack sounded beneath her. She froze. Sweet God, this was no field. She stood on ice.

  Helena glanced at the trees. Given the distance of trees and the steady slopes encircling around her, she’d crossed half a mile of the frozen loch. Her heart thundered. Trees were thirty feet away. The shore would be closer than the trees. If she trod carefully, she might make it back safely.

  Slowly, she inched toward shore. Frigid air curled in front of her with each labored breath. She halted, heart pounding.

  “Just a little farther,” she whispered.

  Suddenly, the world flew above her as the frozen ground tilted. Helena shouted. Then the cold swallowed her.

  Chapter Two

  Kaden pulled aside the fur curtain and gazed out the window of the croft. Yesterday’s storm, which had left them covered in snow, had begun again. Tall drifts had accumulated in spots around the small croft. Just his good fortune. The snowfall was the worst he recalled in his lifetime. After being gone for two years, what had induced him to return?

  He knew the answer. The ambush of his clansmen four months ago by the Donalds.

  But the men were no longer his men. His cousin Caeleb had taken Kaden’s place as leader of the MacLeod clan two years ago. Which is why returning had been foolish. He was no longer a member of the MacLeod clan—much less their leader. Never again would he stand with the men he’d grown up with or fight alongside them. Especially those who’d died at the hands of the Donald dogs.

  Anger flared, as it did too easily these days. Had Jacob MacKinnon betrayed them to the Donalds? Did Caeleb suspect the MacKinnon? Why hadn’t Caeleb retaliated? The questions bounced off the inside of Kaden’s skull. So many questions and too few answers. None of it was his business anymore. He’d given up the right to demand answers the day he’d betrayed his brother.

  Curse his father for hanging his youngest son, Kaden’s only brother. Curse this damn feud that had embroiled the clans of Skye for an entire generation. And curse this bloody storm. Once the story ended, he would leave. Isn’t that what he did best? Leave, when things became difficult?

  A fierce down-draft blasted through the chimney, causing the fire to dance wildly on the logs. Kaden released the curtain and turned back toward the room. His gaze caught on the sparse stack of logs stacked in the corner. The wood wouldn’t last the night.

  Kaden grabbed his boots from near the hearth and sat on the bench. He laced them, donned his fur, then piled on more fur to cover his head and neck. Like a large beastly bear, he pushed open the door and stepped outside.

  He waded through knee-high snow around the building to the shed in the back. He pulled the cart from within the shed, then slung the rope over his shoulder and continued toward the trees. Thankfully, his brother had long ago replaced the cart’s wheels with wooden slats.

  With care, Kaden kept between the frozen shore of Loch Haven and tree line of the forest as he pulled the cart to where he’d stacked a load of wood. The remaining wood in the cottage was the last of that which he’d stacked near the shed. He reached a tall, snow-covered mound and dug through to the logs, then filled the cart. At last, the cart full, Kaden grabbed the rope and began to retrace his steps. His teeth chattered, and his nose had long ago turned numb. A rumble, then a woman’s shriek broke the eerie silence. Kaden stopped. A woman? Out here? Impossible. Another scream was followed by a loud splash of water.

  Kaden dropped the rope, then ploughed through the snow like a battering ram against the knee-high wall of snow between him and the loch. An instant later, he spotted the break in the white surface of the snow-covered loch. His heart lurched. It might already be too late.

  He halted at the cluster of saplings that marked the water’s edge, dropped to his knees, then onto his belly. Snow collapsed in around him. He fanned his hands out around him, as if swimming, and shoved aside
the snow as he wiggled onto the ice. Twice, he looked up over the snow to ensure he was on course, snorting out snow when it filled his nose.

  The snow abruptly opened up to the break and he thought for one horrible instant he would slide into the dark water. He threw his hand out and caught his palm on the edge of the broken ice. His legs swung to the side, but then halted. Kaden plunged his arm into the frigid water. Cold pierced bone-deep. His fingers closed around an arm. He dragged the woman up onto the ice and shimmied back toward the shore. God’s Teeth, her soaked fur cloak and thick skirts made her weigh as much as an ox. They reached the shore and he dragged her off the ice, his breath coming in labored gasps.

  Kaden shoved onto his knees and was startled when he glimpsed the woman’s curves. When he’d grasped her thin arm, he thought her a young girl. He pressed two fingers to the pulse point at the neck and cursed. No heartbeat. He placed an ear against her chest. Through the thick fabric of her bodice, a faint heartbeat thumped against his ear. He whipped off his coat and quickly wrapped her in the coat. Stinging cold whipped across the exposed flesh of his neck. He lifted her limp body in his arms and started back toward the croft. By the time he reached the cottage he was shivering.

  He unclasped her cloak and let it drop to the floor, then hoisted her over his shoulder and threw back the blankets. Kaden started to lay her on the bed, then stopped. Her dress would soak the blankets. He had to remove the dress. Kaden hesitated, then shook off his worry. Her anger was preferable to her death. He slid her down into his arms, sat on the bed, then fumbled with the laces of her bodice. He cursed. His large fingers couldn’t grasp the tiny, wet knots. He pulled his dagger from its sheath and cut the tight lacing. Her bodice expanded. He slid the knife back into its sheath, shimmied the skirt up her thighs then, careful to keep his gaze on her face, dragged the dress up and over her head.

  Eyes tightly closed, he grimaced at the press of her soft flesh against his fingers and cursed the pulse of his cock as he twisted and laid her on the bed. Kaden opened his eyes, glimpsed creamy white breasts in the instant before he yanked the blanket over her. Quickly, he covered her with several more blankets, then shed his furs and added enough logs to the fire that the room would soon be as warm as a midsummer’s day. He draped her dress and cloak across the bench near the hearth, then returned to the bed.

  Her eyes remained closed. With a feathery touch, Kaden swept her long copper-colored hair from her face, then touched her cheek. Still too cold for his liking, and she’d begun to shiver. She shifted and her arm slipped from the bed and dangled over the side. Kaden grasped her wrist and noticed several dark purple and blue bruises along her forearm. Checking her other arm, he found the flesh also marred with bruises. He made a tight fist and noted how his fingers were aligned. Glancing back at the bruises, there was no doubt the bruises were made by a man’s fist. Anger shot through him. Only the worse sort of whoreson hit women. Maybe that man was the reason she’d been alone and on foot in a snowstorm. That took courage. Or desperation.

  Kaden gently tucked both arms beneath the blanket, then rose and pulled sage and honey from a cupboard. He filled a small cauldron with water, then set it on the table. He retrieved his mother’s journal from the night table and settled in front of the fire.

  As the night wore on, his eyes grew heavy, but he forced himself to stay awake and checked on the lass twice before his gaze caught on the stack of wood. He sighed. He’d left the cart full of wood on the path.

  Chapter Three

  Dazzling orange light met Helena’s gaze when she woke. She jammed her eyes shut against the blinding light and snuggled deeper beneath the blankets. Fuzzy memories rose of unbearable cold permeating every fiber of her being. The smell of old musk and burning wood penetrated the fog in her brain. Helena poked her head from under the covers and blinked the light into focus. She lay on a large bed in the corner of a one room cottage. Two swords were mounted on the wall to her right. A short battleax hung over the hearth alongside another battleax—

  Helena tensed. A large man slumped in a chair in the corner to the left of the hearth. She stared another instant before realizing he was sound asleep. Long brown hair hung to his shoulders. His broad shoulders and wide chest fit tight in his white tunic, and she spotted a dark patch of chest hair between the laces of his V-neck shirt.

  Draped over his shoulders, he wore a long brown tabard like a cleric’s sash, but by the presence of weaponry that hung on the walls and leaned against the wall to the right of the hearth, she would wager he was no priest.

  According to the warrior’s oath, she owed him a life debt, but it was a debt she couldn’t pay. Another already owned her life. Helena eased into a sitting position as she caught sight of her cloak—and dress, on the bench near the hearth. She yanked her gaze onto her bare arm where should have been her dress sleeve and drew a sharp breath.

  The man leapt to his feet and spun to face her.

  Helena stared.

  He stared back.

  “Why the bloody hell did ye get remove my clothes?” she demanded.

  He frowned, then his expression cleared. “You fell through the ice, lass. If I had of left them on, ye would have frozen to death.” His voice, smooth as honey, sent a strange ripple through her. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I was decent with you,” he added.

  She hesitated. He was right, of course. Still, her cheeks warmed. “Please give me my clothes. I will dress and be on my way.”

  “On your way?” he said in surprise. “It’s snowing like the devil out there. And you need rest. Ye have gone through a great ordeal.”

  “How would ye know what I have been through?” she said.

  “You almost died, lassie. I may no’ know a lot, but that is something.”

  Helena considered. If he had discovered the lock pick set in the hidden pocket of her cloak he would be asking questions, not inviting her to stay. A terrifying thought struck. What if she’d lost the lock pick set when she’d fallen through the ice?

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Kaden.”

  “I thank you, Kaden, for saving my life. My name is Helena.”

  He angled his head. “Helena, I beg you, rest a day, at least. I am no’ the best cook by any means, but my vegetable stew is filling and will warm your belly.”

  Helena considered. She was tired. And if it was still snowing as it had been yesterday… She shivered. A day’s rest would be wise. Could she spare the day? Did she have a choice?

  “Thank you. I will stay.”

  He smiled and her breath caught. The man was uncommonly handsome.

  “Good.” He crossed to the chair and fetched her dress, then laid it across the foot of her bed. “I will give ye a few moments to dress.” He went to the door, pulled a fur from a hook, put it on, and went outside.

  She waited until the door clicked shut behind him, then threw back the covers and pushed to her feet. The room spun. Helena clutched at thin air. Her knees buckled and she collapsed back onto the bed. Her stomach pitched. She groped for the dress. Through blurry eyes, she discerned the green fabric and pulled it to her. Blood pounding in her ears, she shoved her arms inside the long sleeves. Her stomach pitched again, but she managed to get the dress over her head, and down her body.

  Helena collapsed onto her back, breathing hard. It seemed she had no choice. She would be staying at least a day, maybe longer. She hadn’t realized the effects of nearly drowning would take such a toll on her body. Nae, it had to be the cold water. This wasn’t the first time she’d nearly drowned. During her eighth summer, her father had taken her fishing for the first time. When they leaned over the side to gaze down at the fish, the boat tipped, and they tumbled into the rapid currents. But even then, she felt nothing like she did now. She grasped the front laces, but they fell apart in her fingers. She looked down and found them cut.

  The door handle jiggled. Helena scooted back and yanked the covers up over her breasts as Kaden entered.

&n
bsp; “How are ye feeling?” he asked.

  “Tired and a little dizzy,” she said, though loathe to admit it. “Have ye any laces?”

  He frowned as he slipped off the fur. “Laces—ah, nae, lass. I am sorry. I couldnae undo the laces so—” he gave her a sheepish smile and her heart stuttered “—I cut them. I have needle and thread. Can you sew your bodice?”

  She would have to. This was her only dress, and without laces, her breasts wouldn’t remain bound. Helena smiled. “I dinnae know what would have happened had ye no’ come along.”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “I am glad I was nearby.”

  An awkward silence drew out between them. Helena wanted to ask who he was that he lived alone in the middle of nowhere. But to ask questions was to invite questions. She had no wish to explain why she traveled through the woods during a storm. She couldn’t admit that she was a Sister of the Sinister Order and that her destination was Castle Dunvegan where she intended to steal one of the most important MacLeod treasures in existence. The one question she had to know the answer to, however, was where they were.

  “Are ye hungry?” he asked.

  Without waiting for an answer, he crossed to a table in the corner were sat a large black pot. Helena watched as he placed it on a hook over the flames in the hearth. Her stomach growled. She glimpsed his smile as he removed the pot’s lid and stirred the contents. Mouthwatering aromas of onions, potatoes and turnips filled the small room. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. It had been a day since she’d eaten. No wonder she was dizzy.

  He pulled a modest wood box from a cabinet and gave it to her. Inside, she found several needles and white and gray threads. Helena looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Kaden.”

  He nodded and quickly turned away, but she glimpsed the pleasure in his eyes.

  “After supper, I will give you some privacy to sew the dress,” he said as he returned to the stew.