The Reluctant Bride

by Temple Hogan

  “There they are,” someone shouted from the hoardings and a hail of arrows rained down on them.

  “Take a breath,” Logan ordered and with a mighty kick dragged them both beneath the surface of the water.

  He swam underwater, cursing the pain in his thigh. To his relief Cailla swam beside him in long even strokes. They reached the sheer stone wall that was part of the castle and broke the water’s surface without a ripple, gasping quietly, desperately for air.

  “They’ll have men down here in a few minutes to search for us,” Logan whispered. “We must get away from here. Can you swim further?”

  “‘Tis best to swim upstream,” she said without answering his question. “There’s a bluff, which will hide us from view, and a path we can follow through the wetlands.”

  “Good, lass. They’ll expect us to follow the current. They’ll be searching downstream.”

  Nodding in agreement, Cailla set out, moving sleek and silent beneath the shadowed surface until they rounded a rocky point and were out of sight of the castle. Still she swam on and Logan followed, praying she wasn’t leading them into a trap. Her strokes were strong and tireless for a woman and he gained new respect for her stamina and bravery. When even he had begun to tire, she swam to shore and drew herself, shivering and breathless, on the bank.

  “We have to keep moving,” Logan gasped, stumbling upright.

  Cailla nodded, conserving her breath. She staggered to her feet, weaving with fatigue. Logan caught hold of her and half dragged her along until she got her second breath and began to walk on her own.

  “Stay low!” he commanded and set out through the tall river grass.

  At an advantage point, Cailla looked back at the castle towers and made a small sound of anguish deep in her throat as dark smoke rose over the fortress. “They’ve fired the castle,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I must go back.”

  “Nay, lass, ‘tis naught you can do about it now. We must move on.”

  He took hold of her hand and set out at a relentless pace until they gained the woods, where they paused once more. Cailla gazed back at Tioram where flames rose higher than the towers. Logan heard her sobs, low and heart rendering.

  “If we hadn’t managed to escape, we’d be caught in those flames,” he reminded her. “You’ll get Tioram back and you can rebuild. Many a Scotsman will face the same task. We have to stay alive and go on. As long as there’s life, there’s hope.” Deliberately, he kept his voice hard and free of sympathy. This was no time for sympathy if Scotland and its people were to survive.

  He turned away from her and studied the marsh they’d just crossed for signs of pursuit. “They’ll be patrolling these woods for stragglers,” he muttered low. “‘Tis best we be well away from here.”

  “You need have no concern for my clansmen,” Cailla answered. Her voice was stronger now. “They won’t be caught by blundering horsemen who are unfamiliar to these lands.” She made a movement away from him and his hand closed like a vise on her shoulder.

  “Don’t try to escape, m’lady,” he warned. “I didn’t risk my life and the lives of my men to come away empty handed.”

  Cailla expression changed to one of anger. “Are you saying I am your prisoner and cannot go where I wish?” she asked shrilly “What do you intend to do with me? Demand a ransom? My uncle will surely pay it but you’ll not live long to enjoy your ill-gotten gain.”

  He glared at her with dark impatience. “Aye, if that is what it takes then you’re my prisoner and if you don’t obey me, I’ll slit your throat.”

  At his words she tried to jerk away from him. His strong arms gripped her, dragging her against his body, subduing her physically without effort, but her determined expression signaled her continued rebellion. She had planned to abandon him once they were clear of the castle—that was clear to him now. He couldn’t trust her and he couldn’t leave her behind. Damnation. If he’d known what Gowain’s request had entailed, he wouldn’t have sworn to it. Even as the thoughts crossed his mind, he remembered Gowain’s face and knew he couldn’t have denied his friend even if he’d been forewarned his daughter was this troublesome. And she was driving him mad. Ever since he’d kissed her back in that closet at the castle, he’d been unable to think of anything else but seating his cock deep within her.

  One large fist gripped her flying hair, capturing her head so she was forced finally to stand rigid in his embrace, her breasts flattened against his chest, her womanly scent filling his nostrils. He lowered his head and captured her lips. They were soft with a sweetness that made his head spin. At first she resisted, then her lips changed, grew softer, more clinging to his. His tongue stroked across her lips and invaded her mouth, thrusting against her tongue in a primitive action that left them both moaning with a need for more. Her compliance turned to protest and suddenly her sharp teeth closed over his tongue.

  He pulled his head back and released her, putting the back of one hand to his mouth. They stood glaring at each other.

  “You she-devil,” he snapped.

  “‘Tis best you don’t forget. Even a cat has claws and unexpected weapons to be used against an enemy when they least expect.”

  “‘Tis a lesson I’ll keep to mind.” He lowered his hand and gave her a dark, ominous look that he hoped evoked fear in her, but he doubted it. Nothing seemed to frighten her.

  “Just remember this,” he warned. “The next time you try to escape, I won’t stop doing what I want with you. You’re my bride, given to me by your dying father, and I’ll claim my right.”

  “You have no rights over me,” she snapped, meeting his stony expression with one of her own. She was magnificent in her anger, he saw, but a pain in the ass. He cursed Gowain for even thinking his daughter needed Logan’s protection. He’d have to try another tactic, distasteful as it was to him.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he said quietly. “I was wrong to have kissed you. ‘Tis a long time since I’ve had a woman.”

  “Well, you’ll not have me,” she cried, “even in rape, for I’ll tear your black heart from your body with my bare hands.”

  “Upon my life, I swear you need have no fear of rape at my hands.”

  “I draw no comfort from the promise of a murderer.”

  His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Nevertheless, I give it.”

  “Prove your good intentions. Let me go,” she demanded.

  “I can’t do that, lass. I promised your father and I’ll not go back on a promise to a dead man. Say no more,” he warned when she opened her mouth to no doubt give a scathing retort. “I know well your feelings of me and I have no time to try to make you understand. But know this, I gave my pledge to Gowain as he lay dying and I will not fail him again.”

  “Did you even know my father? Or have you made up this story to gain Tioram?” She questioned him with a sneer.

  “Look yonder, m’lady,” he said in a burst of anger. “There’s your beloved Tioram. Soon it will be naught but a burnt shell of a castle. Why would I want to trouble with that or with you, for that matter, if not for a pledge I made?” The pain in her face made him sorry for his words, the instant they were uttered.

  “You’re no better than the cursed Moncrieffes.” The rest of her shrill words were smothered behind his large hand.

  “Be still,” he whispered, “unless you really do have a death wish.”

  He released her slowly, so she could see for herself the danger that surrounded them. Cautiously, she glanced around, her head high in a pose not unlike that of a wild young animal sensing a predator.

  They crouched, waiting, listening to the sounds along the edge of the woods, the creak of leather, the occasional muffled thud of an iron shod foot against rock. The unseen riders passed by them and Logan relaxed for a moment. He sensed Cailla doing the same beside him. So she was no fool after all. He guessed it was just her nature to rail against those who would seek to control her.

  “Mayhap I am no better than the Moncrieffes
, lass,” he whispered with irritation. “But you will do as I say or by God I’ll set you astride a horse and send you back to them myself. Don’t forget Papa Moncrieffe is dead. He cannot protect you from his remaining son. You wouldn’t last more than an hour at his tender mercies. Now be still and come with me.”

  In answer she uttered a shrill battle cry and lashed out at Logan. Her fist connected with his wounded thigh and he grunted in pain. Without hesitation, he raised his fist and socked the perfect little chin jutting out defiantly. She was out before she hit the ground. He caught her and heaved her over his shoulder then set out toward the woods.

  * * * *

  She woke sore and dizzy with a jostling pressure in her stomach. Disoriented she flailed out with her hands, trying to assess what was happening to her. Her fingers brushed across slim hips and a taut backside and at last she realized she was being carried across Logan’s shoulder. She hung helpless as a baby lamb. Cailla kicked, trying to free herself but hard bands of unyielding sinew clasped her knees against his chest, effectively leaving her immobile. All she could do was pound her fists against his back, which seemed to have no impact at all.

  From her upside down position, she caught a final glimpse of the smoldering shell that was Tioram, the only home she’d ever known. Tears stung her eyelids. Would she ever return there, she wondered. Could it be rebuild and restored to its former glory or was she destined to be always at the mercy of this ruthless outlaw who had claimed her as his bride? Never. For now, he was her best hope of gathering an army of men to regain her home.

  “Cease your struggling, lass. There’s no going back now,” Logan said and his voice was not unkind.

  Cailla lay quiet against him, her mind working furiously. His wounds must be bothering him and the added burden of carrying her must be slowing them.

  “Put me down,” she said tonelessly.

  Logan paused. “Aye, we’ll make better time if you carry your own weight. Will you co-operate now or will you try to escape me?”

  “I’ll do as you say for now,” she answered. “But I don’t promise anything else.”

  “If you try to run away, you’ll only endanger both our lives. We must travel swiftly and quietly. Are you willing to do that?”

  “I’ve told you I will. I give you the word of a MacLaren and though MacPhersons, if you are one, may not hold their word in high importance, I assure you a MacLaren does.”

  He dumped her on the ground. She landed hard on her hip and glared up at him, rubbing her derriere most inelegantly.

  “I’ll not have you casting dispersion on my clan,” he said plaintively. “Not when I’ve gone to such lengths to uphold my word to your father.” He ripped a length of tartar and bound her hands with one end.

  “You have no need to do this. Have I not given you my word?” Cailla demanded.

  “You’ll excuse me, m’lady MacLaren, if I question the credibility of your claim and take precautions.” He jerked her to her feet and set out again.

  “I will not be led about on a string like a…a docile agreeable milch cow,” she snapped.

  “Aye, ‘tis few who’d find you agreeable,” Logan observed.

  “You…you…my father would not entrust his daughter to such a man as you.”

  “But he did and there’s naught you can do about it now.”

  “When I’m able, I’ll make you pay dearly for this treatment.”

  “Dwell on that thought if it helps,” Logan said. “The need for revenge has carried many a man beyond his capabilities. We have a long walk, lass. ‘Twould be best if you refrained from talking to your husband and wasting your strength.”

  “Someday, I’ll come back and reclaim Tioram,” she muttered under her breath. “The cursed Moncrieffes will feel my sword for this day’s treachery.”

  “Aye, we all have wrongs to right,” Logan answered bleakly. “In the meantime, my men are waiting and Lundy’s men are combing the woods and glens for us.” He set off at a brisk pace and there was nothing for her to do but follow.

  A wind blew against their damp bodies, chilling them to the bone, but she would not complain, she resolved and stoically followed her captor through the shadowy woods. She wondered if Logan MacPherson was able to find his way in the dark or if they were wandering aimlessly. Fatigue numbed her. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Instantly, Logan was beside her, his hand surprisingly gentle as he took hold of her arms and helped her rise.

  “We can’t take time to rest,” he said roughly. “We must be far away from here by first light.”

  Logan studied the delicate girl. He knew he was pushing her far more rigorously than she might be accustomed to, yet she’d made no complaint. Even now, as she raised her chin and attempted to steady herself on her feet, her slender shoulders sagged with weariness. Without the heavy mail shirt, she looked small and vulnerable. Moonless shadows delicately carved her pale face and turned her glorious hair into a dark tangled rope across her shoulders.

  Logan turned away, deliberately embracing the anger that had carried him thus far. He’d wasted precious time detouring to rescue this ill-tempered vixen who had not one word of gratitude for his trouble but had instead tried to disembowel him. He didn’t want to feel admiration or sympathy for her.

  Gowain had said his daughter was beautiful but somewhat temperamental, but he’d understated the truth. Cailla MacLaren was as mean-spirited and sharp-tongued as any harpy he’d ever seen. He’d be all too happy to rid himself of her once they reached Cluny Castle. No doubt his mother would take the saucebox under her wing. Mayhap she could gentle the lass. God’s blood she’d had no gentling under Gowain’s guardianship.

  His thoughts turned to Lundy MacAuley. Once they’d been boyhood friends, riding the Highlands as freely as a pair of wild cubs, vying with each other for whatever prize was offered be it a comely wench or the spoils of battle. Now they were sworn enemies. Logan knew Lundy would come to Cluny Castle. The challenge was to get there first and prepare the castle’s defenses. He’d already sent word ahead, a rallying cry for MacPherson clansmen to gather.

  Regret cut at him. He was tired of fighting, tired of the stench of blood, the rage of battle. He wanted days in the sunlight with laughter and peace. He longed to walk in the heather and see the gorse blooming on the hillside, to hear the sweet voices of his unborn children, to sit by the fire with a cup of mead and converse with old friends about such mundane things as crops and cattle and most of all to feel a woman, silken and willing, in his warm bed of nights. For a wild improbable moment, the image of Cailla MacLaren with her fiery tangle of hair and the blazing pride in her stormy gray eyes flashed before him and was quickly rejected. He’d sooner bed a wounded boar.

  He increased his pace and turned to growl when she lagged behind. Without a grumble, she half jogged, half limped to keep up. Logan couldn’t help feel a niggle of remorse for his barbaric behavior but he didn’t relent. Mayhap this would take the nettle out of her.

  Chapter Six

  The pace was unrelenting. Cailla trotted to keep up until her legs were leaden and she gasped for each breath of air. She’d long since stopped feeling pain in her blistered heels. When she thought she could go no further, Logan came to an abrupt halt and looked around.

  “Over here,” he whispered and led her toward a clearing. Instantly, men stepped out of the trees.

  “You made it,” Jaimie said with obvious relief. “We feared you’d not get away from the castle afore morning. Moncrieffe’s men caught sight of us outside the castle wall and immediately began searching for the hidden exit.”

  “They searched but had no success. We couldn’t risk trying to escape that way. M’lady had another way out,” Logan explained. “Is everyone here?”

  Jaimie looked shamefaced. “All save the serving woman. She slipped away from us somewhere in the woods. We searched for her, but she had vanished. I fear she may be dead.”

  “Nay, Aggie knows these woods and she has family nearby,” Cailla sa
id. “She’ll have gone there.” She noticed the tight lines form around Logan’s mouth at her lie.

  “You had no intentions of coming with us,” he accused. “You sent her elsewhere. Now her life may be in danger. Tell us where to find her and I’ll send a man back for her.”

  “She’s safe and already on the way to my kinsman,” Cailla answered, unwilling to put even one of his motley band in more danger. “I had no desire to leave Tioram. My father would have expected me to stay and defend her to my dying breath.”

  “Nay, he put more value on your life than on a pile of stones.”

  “A pile of—” She anchored her fists on her slim hips and faced him, eyes flashing. “You’re no true Scotsman, Logan MacPherson, or you’d know a man’s castle is more than…than a pile of stones. I’ll not be coming with you, thank you.” She turned away with full intentions of retracing her steps to Tioram. Lundy’s men and the Moncrieffes would be gone now that they’d fired the castle. She’d find shelter somewhere within its blackened stones.

  “You’ll go with us, lass, and make no mistake about it.” His hateful voice was gruff without an ounce of relenting.

  “I make no promises to a man who’s named a murderer.” She whirled to meet his glare. “Whatever you hoped to gain by your little game is gone, burned and ravaged.”

  Jaimie looked startled, his long face registering shock. “Why does the lass babble so?”

  “She overheard Lundy’s condemnation of me as a murderer and will not listen to naught I say,” Logan answered wearily.

  “Does she know?”

  Logan shook his head. “Not yet, not now.”

  “What does he mean?” Cailla cried, stomping back to confront them.

  “Is Kermichil safe?” Logan asked, ignoring her question.

  “Aye and the pack horses. We managed to borrow ponies from the enemy camp for m’lady to ride.”