The Rebel of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  He made the excuse so that he could speak to her alone, and do what he could to calm her fears.

  “Agreed. Poor lass.” Chissolm nodded, and flashed a wry smile. “I wouldn’t want to marry Hugh either.”

  Striding forward, Magnus wrenched open the wooden, metal-banded door—which he’d expected to be locked. Bringing his booted foot up, he climbed half inside.

  “Mistress—” he said in a gentle tone.

  “Get out,” she shouted, her slender body pushing as far away from him as she could, into the corner, turning her face away and holding her hand up so he could not see her. A nun’s wimple concealed her hair. “You have no authority over me, no right to stop my carriage.”

  He hated her fear. Her desperation. And his part in creating it.

  “Tara,” he said more loudly, leaning toward her.

  “Is it her?” Chissolm shouted from his horse.

  Hissing through his teeth, he eased back and nodded, waving Chissolm off.

  Climbing inside, he closed the door behind himself, and saw the bar lock destroyed, something which must have occurred the night before during the attack by the brigands. The carriage started roughly into motion.

  “Tara, look at me—” he began.

  Seating himself on the bench beside her, he reached, grasping her shoulders, bringing her around. As before, a linen veil covered her face—everything but her eyes, which remained tightly closed.

  “Don’t touch me,” she cried, twisting away, her hands coming up to shove at his shoulder, his chest.

  “It is I, Magnus.”

  She went utterly still—then turned to him.

  Two vivid green eyes flew open, shocking him through, causing his breath to stagger from his lips. Beneath them, the carriage shook, moving over the earth with greater speed.

  “Magnus?” she gasped. A tear trickled down her cheek, to be absorbed by the linen.

  Her hands, which had shoved against him, twisted, seizing handfuls of his tunic. She slid closer, her hands moving to his shoulders.

  “Please,” she begged, peering up into his eyes. “Please release me.”

  ’Twas not relief his presence inspired, and certainly not joy. Nay, she threw herself on his mercy, only out of the deepest desperation.

  “Tara…” he said, his heart clenching with regret.

  He could not be this close to her and not see her face. He gently pulled the veil free.

  She did not flinch away but remained in place, her lips hovering near his, so close that her uneven breath brushed across his lips.

  “You don’t have to take me back there,” she pled, looking up—her eyes flashing fire and tears. “Let me go.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hands coming up to hold her arms.

  He was sorry, for what he could not do. Outside, horses’ hooves sounded alongside the carriage, a reminder that a company of men surrounded them, and that there was no other possible path in this moment, but the one that returned them to Burnbryde.

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  *

  “Do whatever you will then,” she snapped.

  Tara jerked back, out of his grasp, withdrawing as far away from him as she could, which was not far given the close confines of the carriage.

  Her teeth snapped shut on a torrent of furious, irrational words that would accomplish nothing.

  Magnus—the man whose face she’d only imagined before now—stared back at her in all of his glorious truth. Golden haired and noble featured, his vivid blue eyes scored her through, above a Viking’s nose and unsmiling lips. A warrior angel, who took her breath away … more magnificent than any man she’d ever seen.

  Yet she hated him, and more than anything she wanted him to disappear.

  She wanted them all to disappear, so she could hie fast away to a place where she didn’t feel afraid.

  “Tara—” he said again, gently—as if to comfort her.

  As if they were friends. As if mere sympathy could console her.

  “Stop saying my name,” she cried. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

  “I know you are upset. I know you are afraid.”

  A veritable giant beside her, his body—his chest, and shoulders, and long legs—seemed to occupy every available space, making her feel even more small and helpless than before.

  “You don’t know anything,” she spat.

  In a fit of frustration and hopelessness she tore the wimple from her head, and threw it at him.

  He clasped the veil against his chest, his long, square-knuckled fingers splayed wide. His eyes flared—then darkened, fixed on her hair.

  Suddenly, he moved toward her, one booted leg coming forward, crushing against her skirt. The wimple fell to the floor, as he took hold of her shoulders. Her heartbeat raced and she gasped, overwhelmed by his swiftness, his power and his size. And though afraid because she was being returned to Burnbryde, to an unknown fate, she did not fear him. Just as she’d instinctively known in the forest he would not harm her, she knew it now.

  But she knew better than to let down her guard to this man again. And if he tried to kiss her, as he had done before, she would make him duly sorry for it.

  “Release me!” she insisted, trying to jerk away.

  “Be still, and listen to me,” he commanded.

  He was not her friend. He was not her ally. He most certainly was not her protector. She had only herself to rely on.

  “There is nothing you can say to me that I wish to hear—” she exclaimed, through tears.

  “Listen,” he hissed through his teeth—and gave her a firm shake.

  She blinked at him, startled into silence.

  He glowered down into her eyes. “I will do what I can to get you out of Burnbryde. Do you hear me? But you must trust me.”

  She stared at his lips.

  “Trust you?” she repeated.

  She did not feel she could trust any man, and it broke her heart to think it, for she wanted very desperately to trust again.

  “I don’t know that I can.”

  “Well, try.” Exhaling through his nose, he released her, and scooted away, as if he could bear to touch her no more. “It’s not as if you have any other choice.”

  She exhaled raggedly. That much was true.

  A long moment passed before he spoke again. “If I am to endeavor to help you, you must be patient—and brave. Understand the position I’m in, and the danger not only for you, but for us both. There are matters of blood here. Of family and clan loyalty. They must be dealt with carefully. You must not doubt that I will do what I say, or question when I will do it. Just know I will get you out of that place before you are wed.”

  He looked away from her, his jaw rigid. His manner, tense. As if he might not trust her either. What sort of an alliance was that, with neither of them trusting the other?

  “Be patient? Brave?” she said, her voice wavering with anger. “When Hugh has a key to the tower, and can come and go in the night, into my chamber, at will, to do as he wishes?”

  His head snapped toward her.

  “He did that?” he snarled, the muscles at his neck and shoulders flexing beneath his tunic.

  She stared back at him, her emotions too tangled to speak. She could only nod, and peer at him through tear-blurred eyes.

  He twisted toward her again on the bench, his body appearing larger and even more imposing in such close quarters, his long, muscled legs, bent at the knees, brushing against hers, but he did not come close—as if he understood that in this moment, to touch her would be wrong. His nostrils flared, and his face contorted with anger.

  “It’s why you were crying last night. Damn him to hell, did he…” He gritted out his words through clenched teeth. “You must tell me if he…”

  “He did not.” She shook her head. “But he told me when he so wishes, that I must submit. I do not know if he meant before or after we are married, but I am afraid—”

  And afraid because she
felt certain someone had hurt her sister. Only she had no proof. Only suspicion, and therefore, she couldn’t speak the words to this man.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he uttered harshly.

  “Take care of it?” she answered, agonized, because the wheels of the carriage still turned, carrying her again toward shadows and darkness. “How?”

  “I will.” The scant afternoon light that permeated through the walls of the carriage illuminated his face—the tight clench of his jaw, and blue eyes gone dark and vengeful.

  Fear still weighed heavy on her heart. Why should she believe him?

  “You are an Alwyn,” she said in a low voice. “Why would you help me?”

  His gaze pinned her from across the bench.

  “Don’t I owe it to you? For deceiving you? For falsely claiming that which I had no right to claim?” Only his eyes touched her. And yet the intensity of that look brought the memory of their kisses blazing to life. Her cheeks burned hot.

  In the next moment his gaze narrowed. “But mostly it’s because I don’t like Hugh that much myself, and I would do anything to thwart him.”

  “The wrong eldest son,” she murmured. “Those were the words you used last night. Because you are the laird’s son, too, are you not? Just not the one who bears his name.”

  She spoke the words softly. Even so, she all but branded him a bastard.

  Neither his gaze nor his tone wavered. “So I am told.”

  “I can only surmise that there is a longstanding grudge between the two of you, that has nothing to do with me.”

  His jaw twitched. “One grudge? Nay, mistress, more like thousands.”

  Aye, and she could see them now, like a thousand burning candles in his eyes. Eyes that seemed to allow her a glimpse of his heart, one that bore wounds, as deep or deeper than hers.

  He had promised to help her, and he seemed sincere. She did not know what to think. How to feel! She only knew he carried with him a deep unhappiness, just as she did. And yet rather than speaking words of cruelty, or trying to use her toward his own end, he had done his best to allay her fears and give her hope.

  “Whatever lot life has cast you,” she said. “You are a far finer man than he.”

  The words spilled from her lips before she could stop them, before she could consider what reaction they might invite.

  He leaned toward her suddenly, his muscled shoulders stretching the cloth of his tunic. He was handsome—dangerously so—and he looked at her mouth in a way that, despite everything, made her chest go tight with yearning. He lifted a hand, as if to touch her hair. Her breath wavered in her throat.

  “Do I have your permission to speak your name again?” he asked, his voice husky.

  In another time, and another place, perhaps he would chuckle when speaking those words, and she would laugh at hearing them. But there was nothing amusing or joyful about this moment. There was no teasing about his manner.

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  Instead, with solemnity in his features, his lowered his head closer.

  “Tara…”

  Her heart pounded heavily, and heat spread out, seemingly from her soul, to filter through the rest of her body. He was going to kiss her … and this time, she wanted him to.

  Danger surrounded her. The last thing on her mind was a rebellious warrior’s kisses … and yet, she needed to feel something other than fear. She needed to trust another human, and to believe in the hope he offered her. She’d become so thickly tangled in this dark, shadowy place that had devoured her sister. She had to believe that somehow, some way, she’d break free. Else she too would be swallowed whole.

  The sound of the wheels beneath the carriage signaled an obvious change, from earth to stone.

  Closing his eyes, he exhaled through his nose … and lowered his hand.

  “We’ve arrived,” he said.

  “Already!” she whispered, her stomach clenching with dread.

  He drew back and looked out through the crack in the shutter. “The laird and Hugh are waiting.” He turned his face toward her. “I would spare you these next few moments, if I could. Remember this. You are the Earl of Buchan’s ward, the laird’s most valuable possession. You might get a tongue lashing, but you won’t be harmed. Soon, you’ll be in the safety of the tower.”

  “I don’t want to be in the tower.” She closed her eyes, and clenched her hands. “It is a prison.”

  His gaze flared hot. “The tower will soon be the safest place for you to be.”

  Moments later, the carriage drew to a stop.

  “Trust me,” he urged again, looking at her as he reached for the door. “Give me time, and I will see you safely gone from here.”

  She stared into his eyes, doing her best not to tremble. Not to drown in the maelstrom of fear and helplessness closed in around her. She wanted to trust him but couldn’t decide … couldn’t devote another thought to it. Already her thoughts were focused on the coming confrontation. As he said, for now she need only survive these next few moments.

  She nodded jerkily.

  “Are y’ ready, then?”

  “Aye,” she whispered, knowing he could not shield her from this. That this challenge, she must face alone.

  With one final glance into her eyes, he pushed open the door, and climbed out first, turning back to extend his hand. Taking it, she climbed down as well, into the path of a cold wind that tugged at the nun’s habit she wore.

  As she’d known he must, Magnus released her and stepped away, leaving her to face her judgment alone.

  The laird descended the stairs, his face red and angry. Behind him Hugh followed, piercing her with his eyes. At the top of the steps, at either side of the door, guards were posted, two to each side.

  The warriors on horseback, who had intercepted her carriage, continued on toward the stables.

  Tara shored up her courage, determined not to wither. Determined to do what she could, on her own behalf, to change the path of her wayward destiny. Perhaps she had been impulsive in agreeing to Grizel’s plan, and her freedom could be achieved in another, less dramatic, way.

  The laird, arriving at the bottom step, approached her, appearing no less furious near, than afar.

  “Mistress Iverach,” he gritted. “I can only say I am shocked. You have betrayed our trust unforgivably. What could have inspired you to turn so cruelly against your betrothed—your new family—with such callous and unfeeling disregard?”

  She moved toward him, trembling, but determined to speak the words. To say what she should have said late last night. This morning. All along.

  “What you say is true,” she answered in a clear voice. “What I’ve done is unforgiveable, and yet still I beg your forgiveness and your understanding. I should never have fled in such a manner. I should have come to you first, and informed you directly, and face-to-face, that I was afraid—” She glanced at Hugh, then, recalling how he had come into her room. The demands he had made. She thought of Arabel, the details of whose death everyone stuttered and stammered over. “—so afraid, I felt I had no choice but to leave Burnbryde.”

  “What?” barked Hugh, squinting at her, the corners of his mouth turned down into a devil’s scowl.

  She glanced at Hugh.

  “What are you talking about?” the Alwyn demanded. “What made you afraid?”

  “Ask your son,” Tara replied, emphatically.

  Suddenly, Sister Grizel emerged from the door behind him, accompanied by an enormous man who held her by the arm and led her along.

  “Grizel!” Tara cried.

  “Dear child,” Grizel replied, tears dampening her aged eyes, and her short gray hair visible to all. “I hoped y’d made it far from here.”

  There was no opportunity to say more. The man nudged Grizel past Tara, down the steps to the carriage.

  Tara took a step toward them, but a hand gripped her arm, stopping her. It was Hugh.

  Off to the side, she glimpsed Magnus, tall and strong, his legs braced
and his arms crossed over his chest. Though his face showed no emotion, his eyes blazed with the fire of one forced to stand by and watch.

  She felt a strong connection to him, that much was true, but if he could do nothing to help her now, if he had no influence over his father or his brother, and must remain silent out of blood and clan loyalty, how would he ever be able to help her?

  Turning to the laird, she implored, “Please reconsider. I throw myself on your mercy. Let her stay, please.”

  The laird dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Cling not to the past. From this day forward, this clan will provide for your every need.”

  Without a moment’s ceremony, the door of the conveyance was opened again, and Grizel hoisted inside. A servant followed, carrying her small, solitary chest, which he deposited inside at her feet. The sister’s face appeared at the window for only a moment, before the carriage started into motion.

  Tara watched, feeling as if her heart was being ripped out, sinking further into despair with each turn of the wheels, until the carriage disappeared through the gate.

  Alone. Now she was truly alone, and without a single friend. Without anyone to witness the manner in which her days would unfold.

  Behind her, the tower waited, dark and silent.

  “Gilroy, escort the Mistress Iverach to her chambers,” the laird instructed.

  The giant who’d dispatched Grizel, moved toward her. She yanked free of Hugh’s grasp. Turning, she proceeded up the steps, feeling as if her legs were encased in stone, ignoring his hard stare.

  Behind her, she heard Magnus speak. “Laird, a moment please, in your chambers, if you will.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the turn of Hugh’s face, and the hateful expression he directed toward his half-brother.

  “You have been to Inverhaven?” the Alwyn answered, brusquely.

  “I have,” Magnus answered.

  The chief nodded. “Let us go then.”

  Magnus added, “Hugh should come as well.”

  Suddenly, she feared that Magnus would betray her. That he would tell the laird that she attempted to persuade him to help her. That she had every intention of escaping again. As she preceded Gilroy inside, she looked aside at Magnus, looking for the slightest reassurance, but he did not spare her a glance.