He wouldn’t allow her to say vows and become a nun. ’Twould be a life wasted if she did, because she would be confined to the grounds of the abbey. Maggie belonged out here in the wild, and she needed a man who could appreciate the sway of her lithe body as it leaned into his and he gently kissed her. She deserved a man who made her gasp and arch into him the way she had back in that stable, because her body was made not only to give a man pleasure but to experience it herself. Once he had taken her to his bed, she would see that.
He let his eyes stray from her long enough to see Malcolm had grabbed her bag. As he nodded, his brother tossed it to him, and he winced when vials clanked together inside. Returning his attention to her, he let out a breath as he saw she was back to picking the berries and hadn’t heard.
“Thank ye.” Her eyes lit when he gingerly placed the bag next to her and knelt down to inspect her loot. “’Tis sometimes hard to spot, but ye seem to have more of it farther north.”
“Do ye ken all the plants, then?”
“Aye, most, at least.”
“What will ye do when the nuns dinnae let ye out to collect them?”
Her fingers paused and her eyes shut as if he’d dealt her a blow she’d not yet considered. Squaring her shoulders, she didn’t meet his eyes but gazed longingly at the riches in her arms. “I’ll do what is asked of me.”
So she understood sacrifice for duty as well. He didn’t want her to have to give up something she cared for. Not liking the far-off desperation that had taken over, he said, “Mayhap they will have need of yer talents.” The corners of her lips turned back up, and he found himself wanting to keep the smile there. If Coira, the healer at Kentillie, needed help, he would talk her into taking the lass under her wing. It would keep her within his reach and out of the smothering solitude of a convent.
Pulling strips of cloth from her bag, Maggie lay them on the ground and spread her prize on them before rolling it into a bundle and placing it reverently back into the depths of the bag.
“Come, we need to find a place to camp tonight.”
A short time later, they had made camp and settled in for the night. He had watch the first part of the night, so when he finally nestled into her warmth, he was instantly pulled into a deep sleep. Traveling all the next day, he attempted to ride ahead of her most of the journey, because just looking at her stirred desire so intense he ached with it, and he didn’t wish to spend the rest of the journey pining for something he couldn’t yet have.
The following evening, he wasn’t so fortunate, because he lay next to her with his body on fire as he longed to bury himself inside her. He would have left her side, but he’d grown accustomed to her warmth and melding into her soft curves.
He wanted to beg her to tell him who she was so that he could alleviate the torturous longing in his cock, but even if she would tell him, the forest floor wasn’t the place to take her innocence. So he settled for whispering to her all the things he wanted to do with her and pulling her arse into him so that he could nestle his swollen member into that sweet spot between her legs.
He’d thought her asleep, but as he spoke of tasting her with his tongue, she gasped and her head turned over her shoulder toward him. In the dim glow of the moon, it wasn’t repulsion or fear he saw in her gaze—’twas desire and surrender in the depths. She would have opened to him right then had he not the honor to hold back. “Dinnae look at me like that or I’ll lose control.” She nodded and turned her face away, but the image of her heated, needy eyes remained and had him painfully engorged.
Cursing to himself, he redirected his thoughts to the tasks that awaited tomorrow when they got home—getting Robbie to safety, meeting with his council, and then tupping the lass in his arms. Och, he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.
…
Relishing the calm peace that washed over her when she woke, Maggie sighed, because her thoughts were clear and the pain had receded. Although the haze in her head had evaporated, thick air shrouded the camp in a wet mist. The eerie way the fog moved over and about them was unsettling, but she was rejuvenated and ready to start the day. She was closer to freedom, and the rest of her life would begin. They broke their fast with the remaining cheese and bread from their trip to the tavern and broke down the camp earlier this morning than usual.
“We will be there soon,” Lachlan said as he lifted her up onto a horse.
Maggie smiled at the pride in his voice. The love and longing reverberating in his thick, husky brogue slid through his lips and lulled her soul like a soothing balm when he spoke of his home. She wanted to see it.
“What does Kentillie look like? I fear the mist may block my view.”
“Kentillie itself is a bit stark and imposing with its gray stone walls and high turrets. But ’tis the landscape that pleases the eye. The mountains shield it from the north. The river empties into a loch with a beach where the children play. Heather grows on the moors and nearly glows when the sun sets.”
She loved the way he spoke of it so fondly; she had no such affection for her home.
“’Tis large and comfortable.”
She’d heard stories of raids and wondered if they happened here. Mostly, she’d known peace back home, so she thought nothing of asking, “Has it always kept yer clan safe?”
“’Tis a fortress, but also a home.”
Alan’s voice broke in. “The air is becoming thicker.”
“Aye, the horses will be easily spooked,” Lachlan said.
They continued to talk, but their voices faded as Maggie trailed behind, and her thoughts turned to her plans. As soon as they reached Kentillie, she would find maps and plot her journey to the nearest convent. Lachlan would most likely not let her set out on her own, and she would have to ask for an escort. More probably she’d be forced to sneak away, since his reaction had warned her that he was skeptical about her interest in taking vows.
Of course, she wouldn’t leave until Lachlan showed her the pleasures she was certain awaited her in his bed. He’d held her these last couple of nights but not done more than talk, and she longed to feel that burning desire he had awoken with his kisses. She’d lain awake fighting the unfamiliar ache in her treacherous body that just the thought of his touch ignited.
While he’d thought her asleep, he’d whispered words of what he’d wanted to do with her, things that had made her skin flush and heart beat faster, promises of how he would make her feel once other matters were resolved. What those were, she didn’t know. Thrumming now at the mere remembrance of his heated breath in her ear, her body yearned to experience what he spoke of as he had held her possessively.
Lachlan was suddenly at her side, grabbing her arm and whispering, “Halt.” She did as a shiver ran down her spine.
A bird chirped, but ’twas the only sound she heard. Even their horses had gone silent. Ahead of them came a roar as a horde of men appeared from the mist, their weapons raised.
The fog shrouded a number of the attackers, but from the pounding of hooves and shouts that echoed a fierce battle cry, they seemed to be everywhere. Since Lachlan had sent away three of his men, they were down to five, plus Robbie and her. Her heart stuttered—the odds weren’t in their favor.
She couldn’t help—her brothers had taught her many things, but how to wield a sword was not one of them. If their father had seen her in the lists with them, he would have tanned their hides, so they’d never risked it.
“Ten at least, maybe more.” Alan’s voice penetrated through the vapor.
“We will have to split up. We ken this land better than they do,” Lachlan returned. “Maggie, stay with me.”
“Aye,” she managed to eke out.
Alan’s voice cut through from somewhere in the fog. “Robbie, stay close.”
“Meet up at Kentillie,” Lachlan called to the others then tugged at her reins. “This way. Stay close.”
She didn’t argue, just rode, thankful Lachlan knew where he was headed. The haze added to the dis
orientation of being on unfamiliar land.
Several men shouted, then the voices faded in different directions, likely to follow the dispersing Cameron men. Hooves followed them, almost as loud as her heart, but she couldn’t tell how many. Her head started spinning from the jostling of the increased pace. She couldn’t keep up and stay seated. “Lachlan,” she cried out and pulled on the reins to slow.
“What the hell are ye doing, woman?” he fired at her.
“My head. I cannae go that fast. I willnae be able to stay seated.” She wanted to cry in frustration.
He cursed, then said, “This way.”
At least two men closed in on them fast. Lachlan led Maggie deeper into the woods and up a steep incline. They came to an area where they were forced to dismount—the fog was too thick, and they’d risk breaking their horses’ legs otherwise.
Lachlan jumped down and grabbed her waist to pull her from the horse and set her on her feet. He pointed to a thicket of bushes and whispered, “Behind there. Stay low to the ground. Dinnae move until I come for ye.” Then he rushed off in the direction they had come from, likely to put himself between her and their assailants.
Her heart beat so rapidly she was afraid she would faint for the second time in her life. How she wished she could do more than hide, but her head was pounding, and she’d be more hindrance than help, so she dashed into the greenery.
“Lachlan Cameron. Where’s me brother?” a harsh voice rang out. She crouched down farther, hoping to remain unseen.
“I dinnae ken who ye are. Why would I know yer brother?” he boomed back.
“Because ’tis his horse there ye had a lass riding on. The air is no’ so thick that I wouldnae recognize me own brother’s steed.” The venom in the man’s voice was thicker than the air. “Glenn, here, his brother was with that party, too.”
“What about the boy?” she heard another of the men say.
“He rode off with the other group. Dinnae worry. We’ll get him.” The sound of a sword sliding from its sheath pierced through the thick air, and she put her hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp. “Ewen, find the wench. She’s around here somewhere.”
Maggie stopped breathing. There were at least three men to Lachlan. She had seen him fight a huge ox days earlier and he’d handled himself well, but how many could he take on at one time?
No other words came, just the clang of swords and grunts. Unable to see much, she made herself as small as possible but snapped a twig in the process. She bit her lip and prayed the one coming for her had not heard.
“Come, lass. I willnae harm ye,” a man crooned to her, and panic set in.
She’d heard the voice before. What had someone called him? Her heart sank as a name penetrated her hazy memory. Ewen. Conall’s friend. The one who sneered at her every time they came to visit. The toad who had cornered her, groped her, and told her Conall sometimes let him watch. He’d said he would take pleasure in seeing him break her. Her head spun, and she was going to retch. She reached for her dagger, then remembered she’d lost it when she’d stitched up Malcolm.
Wood snapped, and boots clomping in the brush came nearer. Ewen was close. He was headed straight toward her, and she had nowhere to run. Cowering, she closed her eyes against the dizziness and prayed the thick bush was enough cover. A nearby sound caught her attention, and her eyes flew wide to see his face looming toward her as the mist cleared. A startled squeak escaped her lips.
He squinted, and the corners of his lips turned into a malicious smirk. She tried to bolt, but he caught her by the arm before she could even rise.
“Well, now, Margaret Murray. Conall has been looking for ye. Wonder what he’ll do when he finds out ye were with Lachlan. Isnae going to be pretty, wench.” He let go and kicked at her, striking her in the ribs.
She doubled over and drew a breath in sharply at the pain.
“Get up.”
She attempted to creep farther into the brush, but branches and leaves scratched her hands and face.
Trapped.
The toad reached down, grabbed her again, and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her out of the bushes and into the clearing with a dirk to her neck.
Maggie was glad to see Lachlan had defeated one man and was about to go in for the kill on the second. He swung and struck the man on his left side, and dazed, the man dropped to the ground and rolled to his side.
Ewen yelled, “Look what I have here.”
Lachlan froze.
“Put yer weapon down, or I’ll slice her throat.”
Lachlan turned to glare at the man holding her. Only one time before had she seen him look so deadly and menacing—when he thought she’d hurt his brother—and his furious gaze should have instilled horror in the man who gripped her. It terrified her.
Ewen boasted, “Do ye see this, Glenn? Look who I have here.” Thankfully, Lachlan was facing them and missed the recognition flashing in Glenn’s eyes as he writhed on the ground.
…
His blade grasped tightly at his side, Lachlan strutted casually toward Maggie and the bastard holding her. “Let her go,” he commanded.
The man tightened his grip on her arm and twisted the point of the blade so it almost dug into her neck. It appeared as if the breath caught in her throat.
“Glenn, get up. We can take ’er with us. The Cameron wouldnae risk the lass getting hurt.”
Lachlan spared a passing glance for the man he had just cut down with a killing blow from his claymore. Although he still squirmed, Glenn didn’t appear as if he would be going anywhere.
“Ye are already dead. If ye harm her, I shall make it slow and excruciating. Let go of her now, and ye can die a swift, painless death.” Tensed and ready to pounce, he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. His steady voice was deceptive; he was anything but calm. Maggie was under his protection, and no one would threaten her and live. A rage he had never experienced before coursed through him and threatened to unleash the primitive beast he kept buried deep inside.
The fool backed up as Lachlan stalked forward. He stumbled slightly with Maggie but recovered quickly. The dead man—for he was dead as soon as he’d laid a hand on her—jerked her along with him, and her feet dragged on the ground.
Maggie peered straight at him. “Dinnae worry with me, Lachlan. I had rather die than go with him.”
His lip turned up at the brave words from his little lass. She was reckless, but he would get her out of this safely, and she would never be harmed again because of him. These men were here because they wanted Robbie and because of the piece of paper he had tucked in his sporran. She was an innocent.
“L-let go of me, ye brute,” she stammered as she grappled with the arm encircling her waist.
The dead man only laughed at her, then whispered in her ear, but Lachlan couldn’t hear what he’d said. The color drained from her face, and she went completely still. She stopped struggling and seemed resigned to whatever fate would come. Rage erupted anew.
“Ye willnae leave this land alive, ye ken that?” Lachlan shook his head at the man’s ignorance. “Do ye ken how far north ye have come?” He let out a harsh chuckle as Ewen tensed and his eyes darted from side to side. “Ye are on my land now.”
“If ye step closer, I will slit her throat. I’d rather take ’er alive, but I will kill ’er if I have to.”
White-hot fury exploded in Lachlan’s veins.
Just as he was readying to pounce, Maggie’s hands darted up and grabbed the arm holding the dirk at her neck. She yanked the blade away from her as the heel of her boot came down on the scoundrel’s foot. Despite her attempt, his filthy hands still held their grip on her. She struggled, but the other arm holding her did not budge.
As Lachlan dropped his sword, bolted forward, and latched onto the arm with the knife, Ewen yelped. Maggie ducked down, out of the man’s reach, and won free. The dead man and he tumbled to the earth with Ewen pinned under Lachlan’s much larger body. He raised the rogue’s arm and forcefull
y thrust it back into a nearby rock, over and over until the man’s fist unclenched and the weapon fell to the ground.
Lachlan struck the man in his face. Once, it felt good—he would never touch Maggie again. Twice—the man’s hands had been on his woman. Three times—he would never touch what belonged to another man again. With each punch, some of the rage that had overwhelmed him was released. He didn’t know how many times he hit the battered and bloody face before he heard Maggie’s calming voice through his haze of fury.
A light touch on the small of his back roused him. “Lachlan, ’tis enough,” she said.
He kept going.
“Lachlan, he cannae harm anyone.”
She knelt down beside him as her hand moved to his shoulder and he stopped the relentless pounding. The bastard didn’t move. He was motionless, and it appeared as if he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Maggie circled around to his front and took his bloody hand. She inspected it as he blinked her back into focus. “Are ye hurt?” she asked.
He wanted to laugh. She was asking if he was hurt—she was the one who had had a blade to her throat. Stretching his hand out for her, he tenderly took her chin and pushed it up so he could inspect the damage. There was a small pinprick where the tip of the blade had dug into her tender flesh.
“Are ye hurt?” he questioned as he rose and pulled her up with him. He wanted her away from this violence. A lass like her should never have to see anything like this.
The horses were still close by, so he gathered them quickly. He spared a thought for the fallen men, but his priority was getting Maggie to the castle and making sure the others had made it back. He would send someone to dispose of the bodies later. Glancing around to inspect the carnage before they left, he noticed one was missing.
The one he had fatally wounded was gone, and his horse was missing as well, although he wouldn’t make it far. Lachlan would send a few Camerons out to look for him. In his weakened condition, he shouldn’t be difficult to track.
“Come, we arenae far from Kentillie. We need to get ye to safety. I dinnae ken how many more men there are.” In the back of his mind, he considered the missing man, although Maggie probably hadn’t noticed and had no idea they were still in danger. Better he did not tell her.
Highland Deception (Highland Pride) Page 9