“When we return, I'll marry ye.”
She nodded.
“Will yer father say aye?”
“He will. He cannae say no once he hears of yer bravery. Even if he did, he wouldnae keep me away from ye.”
“No doubt he is aware of yer stubbornness,” Blane said with a tilted grin.
“Aye, he knows well enough he cannae tell me what to do. Besides, there are few men who would take on a near blind wife.”
“Then they are all fools.” He skimmed a finger down her nose and let it rest on her bottom lip. “But I cannae help but be grateful for that. It meant ye were saved for me.”
Her smile widened again. “Do ye believe in fate, Blane?” She lowered her gaze when he took a moment to respond. “That sounds foolish, I know.”
“Nay, it doesnae. I cannae help but think that, aye, fate brought us together. How can I not? I didnae know I was capable of caring for someone so much but for ye, I feel like...” He shook his head at himself and his loose tongue yet Ceana appeared enraptured, gazing up at him and waiting for his next words. “I feel like together we can do anything. With ye at my side, I shall never fail. Ye are like my guiding star.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then murmured into her ear, “My beautiful, shining star. Ye shall always see me right. And I will endeavour to do the same. I only hope I never fail in that task.”
“Ye couldnae. Ye shall never fail me.” She shivered a little.
“Yer cold.”
“Nay.” She shivered again and he saw the lie. As much as he wanted to lie here with her forever, he'd left the castle in the hands of Fraser and he needed to get her home and warm.
“Let us get ye dressed.”
He eased up and away from her inviting body and began to help her dress.
“I can do it, ye know?” Ceana said with a smile.
“Aye, but 'tis much more fun when I help ye, do ye no' think?” He deliberately skimmed a hand over her breast while tugging on her dirtied gown. By some miracle, he was able not to think on the bruises on her skin and how he wished he could have protected her even from that.
Once she was dressed, he turned his attention to himself, finally fastening up his plaid and taking in their position. “We'll have to follow the falls down,” he told her. “'Twill no' be a long journey, though.”
He grasped her hand and they began the walk down the ledge at the side of the falls. Water rushed past them and he tightened his grip on her hand. He certainly had no intention of losing her to a nasty slip after what they'd just been through.
As they rounded a corner, keeping close to the rocks, he stilled. The sound of something other than the rush of water snared his attention. Finger to his lips, he motioned for Ceana to stay quiet and then realised his idiocy. She likely had no idea what the movement meant. He listened intently again but the sound was gone. It could have been an animal, he supposed. The chances were it had spotted him and decided not to gamble with its life today.
They continued their journey down and the ground began to level out. Ceana moved with too much confidence under the shady canopies for his liking. He wished she'd have more caution. Blane suspected he'd spend the rest of his days worrying for her then being scolded for doing so. Aye, she was courageous and more capable than anyone he knew, but that wouldn't stop him from worrying for her.
Using his hold on her hand to guide her, he turned to help her over several large rocks. They could move onto the mossy grass that would take her away from the edge of the ravine and to safety. As he turned back, he stilled.
“Blane?”
Ceana must have sensed there was something wrong. His heart did a thud against his ribs so hard he thought he might have added to his injuries. When he eyed the five men approaching them, his stomach bottomed out. He didn't need to hear them to know who they were.
Sassenachs.
He tucked Ceana behind him and drew out his sword. “Stay here,” he urged. “Dinnae get in the way of my swing. Stay here.”
“Blane?” Her tone was frantic now. Her gaze had fallen on the men so she must have spotted them. And she'd know from the tension in his voice that these men were enemy.
How could he have let down his guard? But these were not part of the group he'd been tracking. He'd have known if he'd missed out on killing five men.
One of the men approached. He wore clothes that only a lowlander or Englishman would wear with a hauberk and leather surcoat. The other men were dressed similarly.
“I think ye have something that belongs to us there,” the man said in English. He nodded toward Ceana.
“I dinnae think so,” Blane replied.
“Last we heard, we had a fine Scottish noblewoman in our hands. I'd been told we were to ransom her for a great deal of coin.”
“Well she's no' in yer hands any longer.”
The fair-haired man narrowed his gaze at him. “Hand her over, Scot, or pay with your life.”
“The rest of ye Sassenachs already paid with theirs. Do ye want to join them?” Blane widened his stance and brandished his blade.
The leader gave a nod to his companions and all blades were drawn. Blane liked his chances. Ceana couldn't be handed over to them and they were in daylight. It was easier than defeating many men in the dark, to be sure. Though the darkness had aided him in some respects. He had no element of surprise here.
The man in front of him made the first move. Ceana released a cry and he prayed she'd stayed back but his focus was too intent on the blade that skimmed past his side as he jumped back for him to check. Others approached but only one took a step forward. With so many blades, combat between more than three of them would prove impossible and dangerous.
His determination focused and he saw the movements in the men as though slowed down. He dodged their swipes and retaliated with his own. A knick to an arm. A slice to a cheek. But no fatal blows. When they were all drawing in ragged breaths, he said, “I'll no' let her go with ye but I will give ye yer lives if ye go now.”
“Not a chance,” the fair-haired man spat.
“As ye will.”
The clang of steel upon steel cracked the peaceful forest air. Guttural grunts rang in Blane's ears. He took several aggressive steps forward and swung his sword before feeling it bite into flesh. The other Sassenach fell to the floor, his blood staining the soft moss. Behind him Ceana said his name, as though in prayer. He hoped she was praying for his victory.
Another man took up the mercenary’s position and they fought again. He hissed when a blade connected with his thigh after a particularly clumsy lunge. The leader took advantage and came at him, near skimming his neck, but Blane met his blade with his own and forced the man's hand back. The Englishman’s sword fell from his grip.
He had his chance and he’d take it. These men deserved no mercy from him. But a shout from behind him caused him to whirl around. He clenched his jaw when he saw the blade against Ceana’s throat. The leader retrieved his blade and pointed it at Blane.
“We would have let you live had you handed her over.”
Blane barely looked at the man. His focus was on Ceana, on the fear blazing in her eyes, not for herself but all for him. Brave, foolish lass. Did she not know her life was worth more than his? But how could he rescue her now, with that blade so close to her fragile skin?
His mind whirled. It was better she survive and stay in their clutches than be killed because he could not protect her. His gut rolled. He’d failed her once and he was going to fail her again.
The Sassenach thrust his blade forward, aiming for Blane’s torso. He moved but a sharp slice of pain seared him. Clarity struck him as the sword retreated in a strange, slow movement. He knew what he had to do, even though leaving Ceana warred with every instinct he had. Her scream seemed distant. He tumbled back and saw her try to tug away from the man holding her. Blane wanted to remind her to trust him but no words came before the edge of the rocks greeted his feet.
As he fell backwards, everything sped
up. The rush of water hammered in his ears and before it spilled over him, he saw Ceana drop to the ground in one last frantic tug. Her head struck the rock and the last image he had of her was her knocked senseless with blood pooling from her head. The water swallowed him.
Chapter Thirteen
“Blane!” Ceana uttered his name before she’d even dragged open her eyes.
The image of him being impaled by the Englishman’s blade before falling over the waterfall edge lingered. She forced herself to focus on her surroundings. A blur of green, people walking past, no trees though. They were out in the open somewhere and far from the waterfall.
She winced when she shifted a little. Her head pounded and her wrists and arms ached. They were bound together with coarse rope, she realised, and she was lying on her side, presumably having been dumped there. As she sat, her stomach lurched and she swallowed down the bitter bile. More memories filtered in. The Englishmen dragging her to her feet, laughing as they peered over the rock edge.
He was gone. Dead.
Tears welled in her eyes and clogged her throat. This was her fault. She should have known he’d come after her. Any strength deserted her and when a huge sob welled from inside, she collapsed again. Footsteps echoed past her but she was beyond caring. Nothing mattered now, not with Blane dead.
A painful grip sealed around her arm and hauled her upward. Even if she’d been able to make out who this man was, her tears blurred what remained of her vision.
Ceana didn't even see the hand coming. Her cheek felt like it had exploded with the sharp blow, and she cried out, unable to keep her surprise at bay.
“We have walking to do and your father to find.”
These men must have been working with the others, she realised. That was how they'd found them. No doubt they were not happy that Blane had slaughtered more than half of them. She'd likely find no compassion from them now. Not that she assumed she would, but her captivity would be even less pleasant.
She hardly cared. The pain in her cheek burned, aye, but it was nothing compared to the crippling agony inside. She'd never touch Blane again, never feel his warm arms about her and hear his whispered words. With him, she had felt complete. It mattered not that her body was broken. He empowered her.
“If you cause a fuss, you can expect more than a light slap,” the man told her. She recognised the voice as the one who had killed Blane.
Ceana spat at him. By his sound of disgust, she managed to hit her mark. She heard the movement this time and tried to turn her face away but his heavy palm struck her. This time she held any noise back and lifted her chin. The temptation to surrender and let him do as he would with her battled inside her. She wasn't sure she had the strength. But what would Blane think? He admired her courage. Called her a brave lass. For his memory, she wouldn't give in.
She lifted her chin. “Sassenach,” she spat.
“You better be worth this hassle. We'd better get some decent coin for you. Word is we'll be returning to England soon and I have little intention of returning as a poor man.”
“My father will pay well for me. Then he will kill ye. Ye'll return to England on yer shield.”
She had little idea how he reacted to her words. With a smirk perhaps. He seemed to study her for some time and the tears had cleared from her sore, tired eyes. A thatch of fair hair, some vague features, broad shoulders and a confident stance. This was all she knew of this man.
“What is your name?”
“Ceana,” she responded but heard the tremor in her voice. The fear didn't come from the proximity of this Englishman. It was from the grief tangling around her windpipe. Her strength was waning quickly.
“Ceana, you would do well to listen to me.” He shifted closer and breath that smelled of mint leaves scuffed her cheek. “If you wish to see your family again, if you wish to be treated well, ye will cooperate. We have a three-day journey ahead and 'twill be eased by you being well-behaved, do you understand?”
“Ye wish me to make yer kidnapping of me easy?” She let out a fragile laugh. “I think ye dinnae understand Scotswomen at all.”
Silence. Aside from the hammer of her heart.
Ceana anticipated another swipe across the face but nothing came, only the harsh blow of his breaths too close to her face. There was a movement, a ripping and a rush of air across her chest. She instinctively brought her bound hands up to her chest and found her bodice torn. Before she could register what had occurred, fingers curled around her neck and pressed deep. She fought to breathe, to tear his hand from her but she might as well have been fighting against a mountain. He was immovable.
“If you do not behave yourself, I shall hand you over to my men for entertainment. I was prepared to be lenient, given your value but now I think not. I think it likely your father will pay for you, damaged or not, and we know you were lying with the barbarian Scot so you are no innocent.”
All she could do was flail and gag for air while his words rattled through her skull. He intended to let his men rape her? She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let the memory of Blane's touch upon her skin be tainted. Her attempt to say as much was lost to his steely grip so she merely nodded.
The pressure eased and she drew in ragged breaths. Someone else's voice filtered in and she focused on the second figure. He leaned in to say something to the leader—Sir Guy, she discovered.
“Yer a knight?” she spluttered, her voice feeling harsh and painful in her throat.
“Aye.”
“I thought ye Sassenach knights held great stock in chivalry.”
He chuckled. “Chivalry does not keep a man clothed and fed.”
“I dinnae think ye likely poor enough to go hungry.”
“Mayhap.” She felt him finger where he had torn her bodice and resisted the desire to slap her hands across her chest. Likely he could well see the rise of her breasts against her chemise, perhaps even the outline of her nipples against the linen. She was exposed and vulnerable.
“We move out in but a moment. Save your spitting and your fire for then. You'll need it for this journey.”
He spun away from her and she watched his hazy outline until he was lost amongst the men around her. She spied several horses but could make out little else amongst the jumble of scenery. At least Guy had not discovered her lack of sight. It would not do for him to discover her weakness. As it was, she was vulnerable enough. Bound, in pain, at their mercy.
Yet again, a hand wrapped around her arm. Grateful for the lighter touch, she obeyed this man's tugs. Her hands were unbound momentarily. The brief moment of relief ended quickly. Her hands tingled as blood rushed back into them but her wrists were bound once more. Cold horror filled her as the man set to work tethering her to the horse. They intended for her to march along bound to the steed.
She pulled briefly against her bonds but she had little energy. The ache in her skull hammered away and made her dizzy. How she would keep up with a horse, she knew not. The first tug took her by surprise and she stumbled before being hauled up under her armpits.
“Keep up,” the man said, “or you’ll be dragged.”
Ceana had little intention of suffering the pain of being dragged but she wasn’t sure how long her legs would hold her up. Surely they had no intention of letting her be hauled along? She’d die if pulled along for too long.
The horse remained in a trot and she was able to keep pace most of the time. However, after what seemed like endless hours of walking along the uneven terrain and fighting hard to keep up and not trip over, her thighs burned and the pain in her skull had turned almost fiery. It seared behind her eyes and down the back of her neck. She could feel the crispness of dried blood in her hair which at least meant she had stopped bleeding long ago. Her limited vision kept fading, however, as utter exhaustion tore at her.
They stopped briefly and someone gave her some water. Much of it sloshed down her front and she grimaced as she imagined how much the water revealed as it soaked her chemise.
Several male chuckles rang around her but someone muttered something about hands off. A small mercy, she supposed.
The break in their journey proved short. Not long enough for her to gain any strength or ward off the feeling of defeat. Blane would be disappointed in her. She wished she had more courage but without him, all seemed pointless. Perhaps it would be easier just to give up now? Let the horse drag her to her death? It would be a painful way to go to be sure but surely less painful than continuing on without him?
A light rain started up, soaking through her garments and sticking her hair to her face. It grew heavier and in the distance the rumble of thunder split the air. They would stop soon. They had to. The ground turned boggy and her boots kept sinking into the mud. Even the horse had slowed.
But they pushed on. Ceana trembled from cold and exertion and she hardly knew where she was putting her feet now. Even the agony in her head seemed to become distant. Her boots sucked into the mud and her wrists were jerked forward. She stumbled. Dirt filled her mouth, coated her face. The pull on her hands didn’t let up and the ground slid beneath her. Though she fought briefly to gain her feet, the darkness was too inviting. Pain didn’t even seem to exist there, even as jagged rocks skimmed her body. Perhaps if she let it take her, she’d see Blane again.
Chapter Fourteen
Blane groaned. The noise sounded far away, as though it didn’t belong to him. He did it again. That meant he was alive, did it not? A painfully loud rushing noise filled his hearing. He cracked open an eye, then the other. He became aware of his body resting upon hard rocks and water sloshing around him. He winced and peered up at the waterfall not far from where he lay. It wasn’t the one he’d gone down. The chances were, he was somewhere near the bottom of the falls where they turned into a river.
Her Highland Defender Page 11