by Marlow Kelly
Duncan ran past and she followed, keeping pace with him, relieved he was once again by her side. They reached the forest and the dense undergrowth engulfed them, making running harder. Isabel divided her attention between spotting hunters and finding safe footfalls. She ignored the scratches from stray branches that whipped her face. Ignored, too, the catcalls from the hunting party and concentrated on following the giant man in front of her.
Duncan swerved to the left and she followed. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her lungs ached, and her calf and thigh muscles throbbed. Even her throat hurt from trying to suck in enough air.
She flinched at the sound of twigs breaking and the jeers from the MacDougall pack hiding in the forest. Fear gnawed at her belly, her heart raced, and her mind went blank. Follow Duncan, just follow Duncan. They ran up another incline, and she scratched her way to the top using her hands and knees to gain purchase.
He made a sharp turn and disappeared into the undergrowth. Isabel tried to follow, but as soon as she entered the thicket, she lost sight of him. She stopped. Where could he be? How could he have vanished? She tried to peer around the vegetation, but the bushes covering the ground were so thick she couldn’t walk through them. He must have gone another way. She wanted to be with Duncan, needed the strength and comfort he gave her. She bit back a sob as panic and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. Which way should she go? Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer, asking for a sign. When she opened them, sunlight shone in the distance. That must be a good omen.
She sucked in a deep breath and ran. Once again, her lungs felt they would burst. Her muscles throbbed, but she couldn’t stop. Where was Duncan? Had he abandoned her? She left the cover of the trees and skidded to a halt at the edge of a cliff. Below her raged a wide river. She turned, hoping to find another way to escape but stopped dead when another MacDougall emerged from the woods, about ten paces from her. This one smiled, revealing a set of perfect teeth that seemed out of place on a man with matted hair and a filthy face.
“You’re a girl aren’t you? I’ll have a little fun before I kill you.”
Isabel took several steps back until her heels teetered on the edge of the cliff. Her opponent stepped forward. He was now only eight paces from her. She saw a movement in the trees, then her heart lifted as Duncan ran toward her. He sprinted past the MacDougall, ignoring him.
“What the hell happened to you?” he shouted.
She thought he would slow down, but he picked up speed. Before she could answer, he tackled her. His momentum pushed them off the ledge. She screamed. Her arms and legs flailed. For a moment she hovered, and then her body buckled as it slammed into the water. Shocking pain invaded every pore. Ice-cold liquid rushed up her nose and into her mouth. She struggled to clear the surface, but the strong current dragged her down, and swept her away.
Chapter Three
Duncan carried Isabel over his shoulder as he waded from the river and placed her, kneeling, on the grassy bank. Her slim body shuddered as she coughed and spluttered. He patted her back in an effort to purge the water from her lungs. Finally, her breathing grew strong and steady, punctured by only an occasional cough.
He cast an eye over the area considering their options. The bank they sat on was just a small strip of grass that edged the river. Behind them was the forest, a forest that was part of MacDougall territory. He had no doubt that soon their pursuers would be swarming through the woods looking for them. They couldn’t use the river without a boat, and on the opposite side of the water stood a high cliff. That cliff made them vulnerable. It would be easy for a few warriors to line the rock face and shoot arrows at them. They had to move.
Isabel caught his attention as she wrung out the hem of her tunic. The action showed even more of her long, shapely legs. Legs he wanted wrapped around his waist. She had said she was plain, but that was not true. Her large, gentle, brown eyes reminded him of a fawn, and her wide mouth with ripe lips made him want to kiss her. She swept her dark, shoulder-length hair from her face revealing a long, slender neck. A neck that was too dainty to ever belong to a man.
He had a hard time believing the MacDougalls had mistaken her for a boy. To his eyes she was incredibly feminine. Although she was tall and slim, she had a sensual quality he felt deep in his core. He suspected that hidden under her tunic were a pair of small perfect breasts. His mouth watered just thinking about them.
He rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks and walked toward her. It was time to head for Campbell territory. She looked up at him expectantly. Her hair had fallen across her face again, but he could see small scratches on her left cheek and a bluish bruise forming on her right cheekbone. Using the tips of his fingers, he combed her hair back, cradling her head as he did. He knew he shouldn’t, knew they had to get moving, but he wanted to touch her. He needed the contact of her soft skin on his lips. He laid a gentle kiss on her bruised cheek and another on her scratches. Then he pressed his lips to hers. His tongue swept into her mouth forcing her to open for him. She stood stock-still for a moment, then she responded, copying his advances. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. The feel of her reacting to him made him lose what little restraint he had. Warmth surged through his body. He knew this was the wrong time and place, knew he should stop, but he didn’t want to. He wanted her in every way he could imagine. Just when he was thinking of stripping them both naked she tore her lips from his and pushed hard against his chest.
“What are you doing?” she screeched.
“The same as you.”
“I—I—I’m not that sort. “ Blushing, she wrapped her arms around her body as a tremor rippled through her.
“You’re cold.”
“Of course I’m cold.”
The kiss seemed to have rattled her, and he wondered if she had ever been kissed before. He wanted to take the time to explain that their attraction for each other was perfectly natural, but that would have to wait. He took her hand in his and pulled her into the forest. He liked the feel of her long, slender fingers in his palm. Without looking at him she stopped and pulled her hand away.
“How do I get to Iona from here?” she asked.
“Iona is an island. You can’t run there.”
“I know. I’m asking, how do I get there?”
“Are you really going to be a nun and waste your life on a desolate island?”
“I don’t consider a life spent in contemplation and prayer a waste.”
“For you it is.”
“This is utter foolishness.”
She was trying to dismiss his words and resist their attraction to each other. He could not allow that. Stepping closer, he traced her lips with his finger.
“I’m going to make sure you enjoy our time spent together.”
She gasped and stepped away. “You will do no such thing. I am going to Iona, and you are going to quit talking nonsense. When this ordeal is over you will come to your senses and see I am a plain, skinny, too-tall woman, who is not suitable for you.”
“No, when this is over you will see what we have between us is perfectly natural.”
Another shudder racked her body, and she crossed her hands over her chest in a futile effort to hold in her body heat. He rubbed her arms trying to instil some warmth.
“You’ll warm up when we start running.”
Her face fell. He could tell running was the last thing she wanted to do, but they were out in the open and way too close to the MacDougall keep for comfort.
“Are we still in danger?”
“Aye, at this moment Ramsey MacDougall is probably ordering his men to search the river for our bodies.”
“Ramsey MacDougall. Is he the man with white hair?”
“The very same.”
“He doesn’t like you.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Why is that? Did you try to kiss him, too?”
He shook his head. She was impertinent for a woman who was going to live a life of quiet co
ntemplation and prayer. He wanted to give her a witty retort but nothing came to mind. Instead he said, “Do you need a drink of water before we go?”
“No thank you, I drank enough while I was swimming.”
“We need to make our way to Campbell territory.”
“Aren’t the Campbell Clan aligned with Robert the Bruce?”
“You mean Robert the coward. What kind of a king hides from his enemies?”
“He’s not hiding. He suffered a defeat, and now he’s reassembling.”
Duncan’s feelings for the king were complicated and not something he wanted to discuss here and now. Would he ever side with the MacDougalls against the king, against a free Scotland? Hell no, but the Bruce wanted him to do something so repugnant, so hideous, it made Duncan seethe with anger.
“Reassembling, is that another word for hiding?” he spat, lashing out.
“My brother rides with the king, and he is not a coward.”
“Your brother should be protecting you, not leaving you alone to fend for yourself.”
She sucked in a breath, spun on her heel, and walked away, heading straight for the MacDougall keep.
“Where are you going? You can’t get to Iona that way.”
“I don’t care as long as I’m away from you,” she called over her shoulder.
He closed the gap between them and grabbed her by the arm.
“Don’t do this. The MacDougalls know you’re a woman. If they catch you, they will not treat you kindly. Stay with me.” He knew he was begging, but the thought of her brutalized at the hands of the enemy scared him. Why did he care? He shouldn’t. He should start running and leave her behind. But the thought of leaving her alone to be captured knotted his stomach. His thumb brushed the side of her face. She had to stay with him. He could not let her go. He knew he had won when she hung her head and sighed.
“Give me your word you will stay with me, and I promise I will protect you with my life.”
“You want my word? Why?” She narrowed her eyes.
“I just need to hear you say the words.” He shrugged.
“All right, you have my word. I will stay with you.”
He smiled, turned and started to run, heading for Campbell territory.
She had just given him her vow, and he planned to hold her to that promise for longer than she imagined.
****
Within an hour Isabel wanted to cry, not a little feminine weep but big howling sobs. Her feet squelched in her boots, oozing ice-cold water between her toes, causing pain with every step. Wet clothing encased her. Her joints stiffened, making every movement agony.
To make matters worse, Duncan’s feelings for the king troubled her. Her hand went to her tunic, as she felt for the letter hidden in a secret pocket. A letter for the king. It was of vital importance to the future of Scotland and she had sworn on her life to deliver it, but how she was going to complete that task was beyond her.
The king was in hiding, somewhere in the west of Scotland, and she had no hope of finding him. She had planned to travel to the convent on the Island of Iona and ask the Mother Superior for help.
Had the letter survived their swim? It was protected by a leather pouch that was covered in grease. She would have to examine it, later, when she was alone.
If only she could trust Duncan, but when he described the king as a coward she knew he did not support her cause. What would he do if he knew of its existence? Would he destroy it? Would he even understand its importance? Could he even read? She wished she knew more about him. She needed help. And she was so tired of carrying this burden alone.
Perhaps, once they were safe he would help her reach Iona. No, he wouldn’t. He disapproved of her decision to become a nun. In some ways she couldn’t blame him. She was taking the oath because she was obliged to, not from any religious conviction. A woman who had no dowry, and who had reached her nineteenth year without a marriage proposal did not have many options.
She gazed at him running in front of her. My, he was handsome and that kiss… He made every part of her body tingle. Even now, when she knew she could not trust him, she longed for his touch. It troubled her that she wanted more of those kisses. Wanted his arms around her, holding her. He made her shiver and burn at the same time. Part of her wanted to give into her feelings, but how could she? The king of England had taken everything from her. He had murdered her parents, taken her home. She could never love a man who did not want to fight for a free Scotland. Oh, but that kiss…
She shook her head to clear her mind. Why would any man want her? She had always known she was more plain than pretty, and way too tall and skinny to inspire a man’s interest. Duncan had only kissed her in a moment of elation. To think there was more to it was absolute nonsense. She had over-reacted because she had never been kissed before and once she reached Iona was never likely to be kissed again. Duncan was right. She was going to waste her life on a barren rock, but she had to go to Iona to deliver the letter. One thing was certain; Duncan was a dangerous man, dangerous to her heart and to her cause.
Just when she thought she couldn’t feel any worse, the wind picked up and it started to snow. Not a light fluffy snow that settled pretty, white crystals on her nose but snow that hit her exposed skin like shards of glass. Snow driven by wind, it swirled in a deadly, blinding, torrent. Duncan turned into a blur in the distance. When she could no longer see him she stopped, leaning against a tree, hoping for some relief from the storm. Ice crystals clung to her wet clothes. Her legs refused to move and the world faded as her vision faltered. Then strong arms lifted her off the ground. Cold lips touched her forehead.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he whispered.
She surrendered to fatigue and closed her eyes. Everything would be all right. Duncan would protect her.
****
Duncan cursed as he carried his woman into an abandoned hut. And Isabel was his. He had been waiting for her all his life. Waiting for a woman who made him feel as alive as she did, and he was not going to let her go. And he sure as hell would not allow her to die.
She was his match in every way. That kiss at the riverbank had just confirmed what his body had known since the moment he met her. Even in the blackness of the dungeon, he had reacted to her, and since then his reaction had only grown stronger. He pictured her lips swollen from his kisses. And those long legs. He wanted them wrapped around his waist, or straddling him, or over his shoulders. In fact, he wanted those shapely, long legs in every way he could imagine.
It was not just her body that attracted him but also her wit, and strength of character. Not once had she complained, even when she had been so cold and tired she couldn’t go on. He liked how she stood up to him. Most people, men included, were intimidated by his size. But she had stood toe to toe with him on more than one occasion. Somehow, that made her more appealing. For some insane reason every time they argued he got hard. She was fresh, young, and honourable and in his war-torn, pain-ravaged heart he needed her. They belonged together, although, convincing her of that would be difficult. She seemed to be fighting her attraction to him. He had glimpsed her passionate nature when they kissed and yet she pushed him away. It was as if she put up a barricade between them. Why would she deny their interest in one another? Perhaps she thought he would bed her and then leave her with child. When she knew him better she would know he was a man who acknowledged his responsibilities, children included. No, the real problem was that a woman who was going to dedicate herself to God wouldn’t stay with him unless their union was blessed. Damn it, if he wanted her he would have to marry her. The question was how much did he want her? He remembered how she’d placed her cold hands on his head to ease his pain. The war with England, the battles, the blood, and the pain of losing his friends had taken an unbearable toll. She was young, good, and pure. She was the light to his dark and he needed her. Yes, he would marry her, but first they had to survive the night.
The hut was not much to look at, jus
t four walls and half a roof, but it would shield them against the worst of the blizzard. On one side of the shelter there was a pile of hay, and hoof prints studded the floor, evidence that pointed to its use as a storehouse.
Under normal circumstances he would light a fire, but he could not take the risk. If the storm stopped as quickly as it started, the MacDougalls would see the smoke and investigate. No, their best hope of survival would be to get out of their wet clothes and bury themselves in the hay.
He searched the hut for anything useful and was thankful when he found an old plaid hanging from one of the roof beams. It smelt musty and moldy, but it would be invaluable in warding off the cold.
He pulled Isabel’s ice-encrusted tunic over her head. She opened dull, lifeless eyes and looked at him. He held her face, placing a quick kiss on her lips.
“When we get to my home, I’ll make sure you’re warm all the time,” he said, trying to coax her to respond. She blinked but said nothing. He pulled her linen shirt off and was surprised to see bandages across her chest.
“Are you injured? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Using his dagger he sliced through the wrappings only to discover she was not hurt but had bound her chest. Red lines marred the delicate skin of her breasts. He wrapped the old plaid about her shoulders and then started on her boots, hose, and braies.
“You’re breasts are perfect. When you are better I will rub away those marks.”
That woke her from her stupor. She tried to push him away, but her uncoordinated arms had little impact.
He smiled, happy to see she still had some fight left in her.
“And I’m going to lick your nipples and see how they taste,” he said, trying to incite her further.
She groaned. Did that mean she wanted him to taste her?
“Let’s get warm,” he said as he picked her up and laid her on the haystack. He stripped out of his shirt, plaid, and boots. Hung their clothes over the rafters to dry and climbed in next to her. Then he pulled the old cloth over both of them, and packed straw all around to ensure none of their body heat could escape.