Highland Dragon

by Kimberly Killion

  The man scanned his surroundings before flicking a small blade out of a leather wristband. “I am going to spread blood over your legs,” he offered coolly, as if he performed the act daily.

  Was he going to cut himself? Was he going to cut her? “Nay! Please.” The vise of her knees clamped tightly against his hips, giving him little space to work. Humiliation crawled up her chest and burned her ears as the pagan manipulated his hand intimately between their bodies. In hushed tones, she prayed for penance.

  He winced, sucking air through his nose, and proceeded to rub slick blood between her thighs. The prickling sting of tears blinded her. A muffled cough smothered the fear rising in her throat. Her chest convulsed with the beginnings of a sob. She turned away.

  The man spoke her name, but his actions repelled her to the point she couldn’t open her eyes.

  “Look at me,” he urged.

  She finally did. The amber eyes staring back at her rimmed with fatigue and trapped a thousand morsels of regret.

  “Cry out, lass,” he demanded, then cursed the saints in a harsh whisper. “Holler loud enough for the bastards to hear ye.”

  This request was not difficult to fulfill. Akira opened her mouth and screamed. The high-octave note caused the brute’s eyes to squint. He brushed the cloth across her thigh, after which he vaulted off her, holding the blood-spattered linen high for all to see. Proof of the vile deed.

  He quickly dressed, after which he caught a woolen plaid tossed at him from the crowd. Akira lifted her head enough to see her brother smile at her. The brief moment of relief was stolen from her when the man freed her from her bindings, wrapped her in a checked wool, and then tossed her over his shoulder.

  The ineffectual scissoring of her feet did little to improve her situation, so she drove her fists into his hard flanks. “Put me down, ye overgrown ox!”

  From her awkward angle, Akira could see his clansmen trailing close behind as they charged out of the pavilion. He hoisted her onto his saddled steed before mounting behind her, then stormed across the moor, leaving Tigh Diabhail in their wake. Though she relished the idea of being free of the devil’s house, Akira feared the man gripping her possessively around the waist. Who in all o’ Scots was he?

  Chapter Three

  Akira poked an elbow into the ox’s rib cage. He grunted but ignored her. They’d been riding at a jarring pace for what seemed like hours, and Akira desperately wanted to speak to her brother. She had to know if Isobel was safe and being cared for. She jabbed him again, harder this time. “I have need to stop.”

  None too soon, the man reined in his steed at a nearby brook. Her brother slowed to a canter beside them, but with a commanding gesture from her captor, Kendrick and the other warriors continued on. Akira jumped off. “Kendrick, wait!” she yelled at her brother’s fleeing back. He glanced over his shoulder, but kept riding until he disappeared over the knoll. What was wrong with him? Why in all o’ Scots did he not stop?

  She turned to scrutinize the man astride his warhorse. His plaid was a woven gray-blue and olive crossbar pattern. The woolen cloth hung loosely over an exposed bronze thigh. A double-edged claymore graced his hip, and the black hilt of a sgian dubh poked out of red deerskin boots lacing up his braw calf. Unruly dark auburn hair lay disheveled about his shoulders with a thin braid falling from each temple. His entire being emanated authority. What power did this man have that he could control Kendrick with a look?

  “Who are ye? What clan are ye from?”

  “I am MacLeod.”

  He was a MacLeod? Kin to those vile worms who’d taken her from her family? She didn’t care how much coin he’d bartered for her, she was promised to another and the last thing she wanted to do was cross the isles with another MacLeod.

  “Tend to your needs, lass. We must put more distance between us and Tigh Diabhail. ”

  She stared at him and the barb she had prepared already danced on her tongue, but she admitted distancing themselves from that barbaric place suited her tastes just fine. She darted to the stream and splashed cool water on her face, then drank heavily from her cupped hands, wondering if her throat would ever feel wet again. A silvery film concealed the sun and the scent of summer rain permeated the air.

  Tigh Diabhail smelled like a cesspit, a nauseating odor she never wanted to inhale again. But today’s air had the distinct aroma of freedom. A freedom she intended to revel in as soon as she separated herself from her riding companion. She tightened the laces of worn leather brogues and properly pleated the sturdy plaid at her waist. She secured it over her shoulders with his silver clan brooch—the head of a bull, the MacLeod crest. Every clan in the isles knew the crests of their neighbor’s flags. The bastards had been trying to claim Kinnon ground for years in an ongoing battle against the Lowlanders to regain the Lordship of the Isles from the crown. She overheard one of the Kinnon warriors discussing the battle at Ross with Kendrick just a few months back. Mayhap the MacLeod knew her benefactor and thought to trade her in exchange for a piece of Kinnon soil. This would explain why he hadn’t taken her virginity. A moment of gratification crossed over her as she contemplated the disappointment he was sure to endure when he discovered she was landless. As she climbed the hillside closing the space between them, her every step grew seven stones heavier. He looked down at her, his face a solemn mask of control. Her pulse tripped. She was fearful of the warrior, but Kendrick wouldn’t leave her with anyone who meant to harm her. As soon as possible, she intended to find out exactly who the ox was and why Kendrick abandoned her into his company.

  He kicked his boot from the stirrup and extended his hand to her. Akira ignored his offering and slammed her fists onto her hips—an action Mam always did when perturbed. “I wish to ride with my brother.”

  “Ye ride with me.” His tone left no room for compromise.

  “After what ye did to me?”

  “What I did to ye? Ye ungrateful wench.”

  “Ungrateful?” If he thought his performance at Tigh Diabhail chivalrous, he was sorely deceiving himself. “Ye practically raped me in front of your brethren.”

  “I saved ye back there. And those men are not my brethren. Had ye simply told a wee white lie about your virtue, I wouldnae have had to slice my thigh open to prove the deed done.”

  “Mayhap I did lie. What say ye to that?”

  He responded with a brooding frown. A few moments of silence heightened the tension between them. “Ye ride with me,”

  he repeated his demand.

  Akira tapped her foot and scanned the landscape. Past the blue haze swirling around the ancient stones, she knew the mountainous terrain was treacherous. With the morning so young, she could only assume he intended to ride the majority of the day, and the gray hue of a summer’s eve would make traveling a probability long past eventide. Already chilled to the core, not to mention hungry and tired, she conceded. If she were being honest with herself, she would admit that this MacLeod had, in fact, saved her and for that she owed him her gratitude, but she couldn’t quite ignore the possessiveness in his tone. She tucked her toe into the stirrup and extended her hand. He lifted her into the saddle in front of him. She sat with her spine stiff, expressing how little she liked the arrangement. When he didn’t urge the mount forward, she twisted to scowl at him. One thick brow lifted higher than the other, giving him a constant inquisitive look. The chestnut hue of his eyes was surprisingly gentle, and his strong nose didn’t appear to have ever been broken. Poorly groomed whiskers beaded with morning mist hid the majority of his face, but outlined the finest set of full lips she’d ever seen on a man.

  “Are ye able to go on?” he asked, drawing her attention back to his eyes.

  “In a moment. First, I would know if the MacLeod who so gallantly saved me has a Christian name?”

  “Calin,” he answered in an even tone as if unaffected by her sarcasm.

  “Calin,” she echoed. “’Tis a decent name.”

  The MacLeod’s one eyebrow rose yet
higher at her strange compliment. “I’m glad ye approve.”

  The warmth of his breath whispered over her cool cheeks, and his crooked grin suddenly made her realize their close proximity would not please her benefactor. The MacLeod was certainly braw. She couldn’t imagine being wed to a man so wellfavored. The women, no doubt, flocked to his bed like bitches in heat. For some insane reason, she felt the prick of jealousy. Where in all o’ Scots did that come from? She’d been promised to another for as long as she remembered and never had her loyalty to her benefactor wavered. Not even when Hugh Og tried to kiss her when she was but ten and two. Of course, the boy looked like a toad, which made restraint effortless. Wanting to distance herself from his eyes, Akira turned her attention to the stallion. “Has your mount a name?” She brushed one hand down the beast’s sleek black neck. Its nose bobbed up and down in answer. “Or do ye just call it Horse?”

  “His name is Sirius.” The horse pranced forward, stomping its white front hooves in a swaggering strut. The beast was as haughty as its owner.

  Instead of voicing her opinion of their shared character, she opted to change the subject. “How much longer afore we stop?”“I’d like to reach the waters of the Minch, but if ye need to stop for the night we will do so now.”

  Insulted, Akira stiffened and made a conscious effort not to touch him. A difficult task, given the size of the saddle. “I dinnae need to stop.”

  “Are ye weary, lass?”

  “Nay, I am beyond weary. I feel as though my bones have turned to ash inside my body. Not to mention, I am freezing and have never been hungrier in my life.”

  The MacLeod opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished.

  “I’ve spent more than a sennight in a pitch-black cavern with nary more on than a web for a gown and a cold slab of limestone for a pallet. And had my stomach not been empty, I probably would have retched on ye in the last few minutes I spent in that devil’s keep. But what I find the most tiresome of all is the fact ye have not given me leave to speak with my brother. I’ve a sister who depends on me, and I only wished to inquire about—”

  The MacLeod put one finger over her lips. “Isobel is being taken care of as weel as your mother. Your sister…” he paused in thought, and Akira waited with great anticipation for him to finish, “…the one married to a Donald. Maggie is it?”

  Akira nodded vigorously, because his finger still denied her speech.

  “Maggie is at the cot-house with her husband. Ye dinnae need to worry yourself over them.”

  She pushed his hand away. “Is someone working Isobel’s legs? Morning and night?”

  His brows stitched together with this question. No one in her family ever understood why she insisted on moving Isobel’s legs and toes twice a day. Akira still clung to the hope that her sister might one day have need of them, and she wanted them to be strong when that day came.

  “I cannae answer your question, lass, but I can promise to fill your belly when we reach the Minch.” He lifted her so both her legs draped over his right thigh, paying little attention to her protests. Then he loosened his plaid from behind him and wrapped them together in a tight cocoon. Pushing her head beneath his chin, he pulled her to his chest, and kicked Sirius into motion.Exhaustion denied her the ability to argue her position. His body was as warm as a toasted brick beneath the wool, and she had tired of being cold long ago. She nuzzled into him, yawned, and relaxed with the knowledge he’d provided her in regards to her family. She would be home soon. That thought alone was enough for her to let down her guard.

  “Thank ye,” she mumbled against his chest, not certain if he’d even heard her.

  “Och, lass. Ye are a feisty one.”

  Calin pulled on the reins, slowing Sirius to a walk behind the others when they reached the glen just outside the Minch. He inhaled the salty air and studied the landscape. Dew already moistened the short grasses and gray mist settled low on the foothills. His thighs ached from many grueling hours in the saddle, and his arm was numb from holding Akira while she slept. Her cheek rested against his chest, tilted slightly upright, and her arm curled around his waist. Her fingers worked unconsciously to draw tiny circles on his lower back. A woman never felt more perfect in his arms. A contented smile curled the corners of her mouth making his physical suffering more bearable. She really was a bonnie lass. Black lashes, thick as a raven’s feather, fanned over smooth creamy skin. His fingers poised above her heart-shaped lips itching to touch them. The warmth of her breath teased his fingers and was nearly more than his warrior’s will could resist. Her full bottom lip hinted at a constant pout, reminding him of the night he placed a squalling babe in his friend’s arms. He’d wanted to take her to his aunt Wanda on MacLeod soil, but knew the babe would not survive the journey. His steed had been seized along with the rest of the horses and the trek back to the MacLeod keep would have taken him a day or two on foot. She’d been so tiny then. Her lip quivered with her cries, and Calin had feared being caught with her. The pad of one finger brushed her bottom lip.

  Her eyes flew open and brought him out of his musing. She jerked upright out of her peaceful position. For the next several minutes, she sat with her spine stiff while both her hands gripped the pommel. The moment Sirius came to a halt, she sprang to the ground only to wince and then falter. Both hands rubbed her nicely rounded arse until her totter turned into a race to Kendrick.

  Five hundred groats Calin had parted with to rescue her, and Kendrick was her savior. She greeted her brother with an ardent hug, wrapping her arms around him. The joyful reunion, however, was short lived. She boxed Kendrick’s ears with the palms of both hands then poked his chest repeatedly with her finger. “Have ye any comprehension what could’ve happened to me in that wretched place? What took ye so long?”

  “Forgive me. I thought—”

  “Kendrick. Not now,” Calin interrupted. “This is not the time or the place. We must hunt while the light holds and much work needs to be done to make camp.”

  Before Akira could protest further, Calin delegated duties to everyone except her then grabbed his crossbow and headed for the moorland. Two of his men and Kendrick followed, leaving his most trusted warrior with Akira. He wanted her safe, yet far enough away from Kendrick to keep the two of them from conversing.

  Now hidden in the underbrush beside Kendrick, Calin stalked a covey of grouse. His gut tightened and his mouth watered at the sight. The oatcakes they’d eaten for the past sennight had done little to satisfy his hunger. God knows what kind of fare had filled Akira’s belly while held prisoner at Tigh Diabhail. He hoped to see her smile when he presented her with one of the fat little birds.

  “What are ye grinnin’ about?” Kendrick whispered.

  “Your sister.”

  “So ye talked?”

  Calin shrugged. “She asked my name. I told her. She asked my horse’s name. I told her that, too. Then she said a few things that werenae so pleasant, after which she inquired about her sister’s weel-being and went to sleep. I promised her I would kill something for her to eat, and this is what I’m trying to do. So if ye would still your tongue and take aim, I would like to uphold my vow.”

  With this said, Calin drew the arrow back and took aim. Kendrick did the same. They released in unison. The hissing noise of the arrow whistled through the air just before piercing two plump grouse through the neck. The flock scattered, but soon another warbling covey began nipping the damp ground. They repeated their actions, landing them two more birds for the spit. After walking in silence to a small pool of water, they plucked the first two birds clean of feathers. Calin felt Kendrick’s question rising before it ever slipped off his tongue.

  “Ye dinnae tell Akira ye were her benefactor. Did ye?”

  “Nay. Not yet.”

  “And when do ye think ye might be doin’ that?”

  Calin narrowed his eyes. “Think ye I am going to feed her, then say, ‘Your father is the evilest mon I have ever known. He killed my father an
d I seek my revenge on your father through a union with ye. Do ye accept?’”

  Kendrick shook his head and threw his hands in the air, causing a flurry of feathers to tickle Calin’s nose. “Weel, I can assure ye that wouldnae go weel at all, but ye have to trust the lass. She is smart and cares a great deal about her kin. She knows how important it is to have strong allies for protection. We’ve kin in the Lowlands that were slaughtered just last year by those English dogs. She hates the English as much as any other hot-blooded Scot and wouldnae want that fate for anyone in our clan. Ye’ll at least tell her your intention to marry her.”

  “Give me time.” Calin shoved another bird into Kendrick’s empty hands and gestured for him to pluck.

  “Ye’ve had eighteen years. She has known and respected ye as her benefactor the whole o’ her life. Ye are like a king in her eyes. She has been loyal and protected ye when her sisters mocked ye. For the love o’ Scots, the lass saved every missive ye ever sent.”

  Calin grinned knowing he’d done the same. Every rock, feather, stick, and drawing was locked safely away in an antechamber at Cànwyck Castle.

  “Ye cannae keep her from speakin’ to me, and I’ll not lie to her if she asks why ye came to her aid.”

  Calin stopped gutting a plucked bird long enough to offer him a threatening glare. “Ye will say naught. I’ll tell her when she has food in her belly and calms down a wee bit from her ordeal.”

  Kendrick snorted. “Think ye this will happen with Akira? The lass does not know what calm is.” Kendrick stopped pulling feathers long enough to study Calin as if he were deciphering some riddle. “Do ye fear she will deny ye?”

  Deny me? He hesitated just a bit before dismissing the thought straightaway. He pointed the sharp tip of his bloody sgian dubh at Kendrick’s nose to emphasize his statement. “I fear naught. I am laird and a warrior. No mere woman can strike fear in me, especially one who has belonged to me since birth.”