“Did you tell your chief?”
“Nae. He does not believe what he cannot see.”
“What does any of this have to do with the match?”
“Isobell must hate Archibald. When he learns she is not truly missing and has participated in the raids against the clan this past year, ach, he will never forgive her. A most impossible match as the queen’s challenge dictates.”
“Interesting. Perhaps—”
“Who else could it be?”
Caitrina raised a finger to her chin. “Not sure. Seems too easy for a final match. The last two matches traversed time, brought star-crossed strangers together. Archie and Isobell are in the same time and already in love.”
“Were in love. I believe Isobell is mightily averse to a union with Archibald.”
“Hmmm. There is that,” Caitrina conceded.
“Then…”
“I sense something faulty with your logic. Oonagh has left the game board unattended.”
“Where has the queen gone?”
“To seek out Finvarra in Ireland. You ken she wouldn’t leave unless she believes she will win the final match. I can’t allow her that success.”
Munn understood Caitrina’s concern. If the Queen of the Fae won the final match, Caitrina would never regain her royal status. She would remain a slave to the queen for eternity. As a halfling—half-mortal, half-fae—Caitrina would wither under the burden.
Munn shivered. He’d nearly faded into nonexistence at the whim of the queen when he failed to keep Caitrina from completing the first match.
The faerie’s hands clenched and unclenched. “I cannot allow her to win. For Danu’s sake, my father was a faerie prince. I should be treated as a prized princess. If only Oonagh wasn’t so jealous of mortal women.”
Munn smirked. “She would forget all else if she learned King Finvarra whored with a mortal woman again. You ken how flighty a full-fledged faerie is. The queen is the worst of all.”
“There is some truth in that.”
The King of the Fae was well known for his many trysts with beautiful mortal women. Something the queen found intolerable.
“So what about Isobell and Archie?”
“I am not convinced. Oonagh refused to disclose the target this time around. Why?”
“You think too much.”
“Perhaps.”
“So…”
Caitrina frowned, turned away, and then bestowed upon him a most beauteous smile. “Let the game proceed.”
She vanished into mist.
Munn clapped hands in glee then spun in a circle and disappeared from the knoll too.
* * *
Isobell reined Dealanach Dubh to a halt, inhaled a deep breath to clear away the smell of smoke, and wiped soot from the side of her face. She hated the burning. Hated the useless destruction. But she hated Archibald MacLachlan more. So whatever it took to bring him and his clan to their knees…
“’Tis nae time to stop, lass. We need to keep moving.”
Isobell threw a glare at her second in command. As always, his horrendous facial scars sickened her. Scars caused by Archibald’s twin brother Patrick. Another reason to despise the MacLachlans.
She wiped soot onto already-filthy leggings. “We should split up here.”
He sidled close, reining his horse in tight, and tugged on her loose hair. “Where is your cap?”
“Dinnae touch me.” She slapped the dirty hand away.
“Aren’t you still the high and mighty…” A mean look crossed his face and he worked his jaw before forcing a crooked smile. “Those raven locks of yours will be our defeat if anyone recognized you.”
Her long hair had flown free of the cap when Dealanach Dubh took a jump too fast and they’d nearly fallen, but Isobell doubted anyone at the cattle raid noticed. She tugged the cowl of her tunic over her head. “The herdsmen were too busy fighting off our attack and putting out fires to notice my retreat.”
“You better hope that is the case. If MacLachlan learns you are behind the raids, he will stop at nothing to capture you. He will make you regret crossing him. Dinnae be thinking you can flash that comely smile of yours and all will be forgiven.”
She smirked. “He has to find me first.”
“Aye, that he does.” Malcolm chuckled—his quick changes of temper sometimes made her dizzy—then glanced across the meadow to the game trail at the far side. “Dinnae like you going off unprotected.”
“You ken I move faster alone.”
“Aye. That does not mean I have to like it. Your father would never forgive me if anything regretful happened to you.” As if that had mattered to Malcolm Maclay in the past. He hadn’t held allegiance to her father in years, but the damage to his head from that fall from a cliff during a fight with Finn MacIntyre last year had changed the man, addled his senses. It had surprised Isobell and their band of Lamont renegades when Malcolm allowed her to take the lead of their small party of reivers.
Still, she didn’t trust him. She slid a hand to her boot, comforted by the cold steel secured at her calf. And by the weight of the sword on her back.
Maclay caught the telltale movement and raised a brow.
Isobell inwardly cringed. It wasn’t good to display any sign of weakness. She’d need to be more careful in the future. Maclay’s health improved each day and, with his renewed vigor, he became more dictatorial. Soon he’d force her out, or worse. She mustn’t let him get in the way of her revenge.
“We have been over this before. You and the lads take the cattle southeast to meet the traders and secure the funds. I will meet up with you on your return.”
“Then be off with you.” He slapped Dealanach Dubh’s rump and the horse shot into motion, racing across the meadow.
Isobell hung low over the horse’s neck, reveling in the speed. She would have her revenge.
After an uneventful trek across the disputed land, she slowed Dealanach Dubh to a walk as they approached the glade with its hidden cottage, cautious, senses alert. Something seemed off. Too quiet. She slipped from the horse and with reins in-hand crept closer.
Isobell covered her mouth to muffle a surprised gasp.
A beautiful woman, auburn hair spilling over narrow shoulders, sat on the hewn-wooden bench in front of Isobell’s hideaway. A spotted fawn lay curled on her lap and two gray doves perched on an arm, like some woodland nymph. She shrugged and the birds flew away. Displeased with the motion, the fawn jerked to its feet and darted to the edge of the wood where a doe waited to greet it. Together they ran deeper into the trees.
“I ken you are there. You need not fear me.” The woman gracefully rose and smoothed away nonexistent wrinkles from her green gown, the unusual iridescent cloth sparkling in the afternoon light. The green and purple plaide secured by an amethyst brooch at her shoulder displayed the characteristic pattern of a Campbell weaver, but Isobell had never seen the woman before.
Wary yet curious, she entered the small clearing within the shadow of the forest and faced the stranger. “Who are you?”
“I am known as Caitrina.”
When the woman said no more, Isobell asked, “Why are you here?”
“To help you meet your destiny.”
“What do you mean?”
“’Tis time to wed Archibald MacLachlan and bear an heir.”
Isobell shivered and took a step back, jerked a glance from left to right, expecting Archibald to swoop in on horseback and whisk her away. No reason to panic. He wasn’t there. When she returned attention to the woman, the woman was gone. Vanished. With a gasp, Isobell made the sign of the cross.
Who was the woman? A witch? A faerie harbinger of bad fortune?
There would be no wedding with the MacLachlan. How could she wed with him after the sorrow he’d wrought upon her clan? Once upon a time, she’d thought herself in love with Archie. But then Da had told her of the despicable things Archibald had done to the clan and of the women with which he consorted and bedded.
Oh, why had Da
forgiven him and signed the marriage contract?
Isobell glanced toward the woodland track. Quiet. Except for trilling birds and ginger-coated squirrels nibbling on pinecones.
Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe the mysterious woman merely strode away. Maybe the woman didn’t ken of what she spoke. But a thorough search of the area proved fruitless, as did a search of the cottage. Isobell dropped onto the bench the fae woman had previously claimed. An unusual floral scent lingered in the air. Tears of despair prickled, and then fell unchecked.
What was she doing crying like a bairn? Enough! She swiped wet cheeks with a jerky motion. She was the daughter of a Highland chief. The strength of generations of Lamonts flowed within her blood. She refused to be trapped in an unwanted marriage.
Isobell leapt from the bench determined to flee before Archibald found the hideaway. From the cottage, she procured a chunk of moldy cheese and stale bannocks. After wrapping them within a cloth, she gathered warm clothing, placing the lot in a woven basket of heather, which was shrugged over stiff shoulders onto her back. Without a glance at the hovel, she straddled Dealanach Dubh and, with a heel kick, galloped from the only home she’d known for the last year—bent on escape.
CHAPTER TWO
Archibald leaned forward in the saddle and eyed the approaching scout.
“The trail has disappeared as if it never existed,” the lad confirmed his fear.
They had ridden the better part of three days and were nearly at the southeast border of MacLachlan land. How could a herd of Highland cattle, twenty head strong, disappear without a trace?
Wretched luck. Unusually dry weather followed by unending rain contributed to the feat surely. Glad the most recent storm had passed, Archibald shook rainwater from his wet hair like a dog. Would he ever get the smell of wet wool out of his nostrils?
Water gushed over rocks in the swollen burn. Gloaming would be upon them soon enough. Tonight they would sleep in the wet greenwood again. This wee glen as good a place as any. “Prepare camp. We will renew our pursuit at daybreak.”
He scraped a tense hand over his face, bone weary. He could only imagine where the MacLachlan cattle would end their journey. Probably fattening some Lowland laird’s larder.
Disgusted with the whole affair, he yanked the saddle from his horse. There was little talk over the fire that night, the men subdued. Their despondency was his fault. He’d never been meant to be chief. His eldest brother, Donald, thus named after their grandfather and sharing the same name with their uncle of questionable loyalty, was the firstborn and trained to lead. When he died too early, Archibald’s twin, older by mere minutes, had been groomed to follow their father as heir. Archibald travelled on embassage to France for King James IV and lived a merry life until returning several years after Da and Mairi’s disappearance and suspected demise—blamed on the Lamonts, of course—and became reacquainted with his twin’s betrothed…
Isobell. The mere thought of her beauty left him breathless. Archibald adjusted his plaide and shifted his weight. The last thing he needed this night was an arousal.
He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair.
After Patrick’s wedding to the outlander and subsequent move to France, Archibald became clan chief and inherited a future he never anticipated. The bright spot in his existence had been Isobell. He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. They’d fallen in love.
Isobell had returned home, and he negotiated with her father, the Lamont, for a betrothal.
Archibald’s smile faded. The memories were bittersweet.
Once the betrothal agreement was signed, he rode to Toward Keep to fetch Isobell. She’d put him off on several occasions while visiting relatives. Then she went missing.
Perhaps she hadn’t changed her mind and run away. Maybe she’d disappeared as his parents had, never to be heard from again. Could the Lamont be responsible for his daughter’s disappearance too? Archibald stared into the campfire, but the golden flames held no answers.
Duncan nudged him and passed a flask. Uisge-beatha—water of life. The whisky burned as it slid down his throat, spreading heat through his gut, fortification against the evening chill and his bleak thoughts.
Archibald woke before dawn, roused the men, and resumed the search. Several fruitless days later, he admitted defeat and ordered the men back to Castle Lachlan and their families. He and Duncan searched for another day only to give up when they reached the border of the disputed lands. They could go no further without enraging their Campbell neighbors.
As they crested a ridge, Duncan pulled up short, raised a hand, palm outward, stopping Archibald, and pointed across the meadow below. Horse and rider burst from the tree line, racing straight for them. The same midnight stallion they’d seen before. Probably the same horseman. He noticed their presence, pulled back sharp on the reins, and halted the beast. The horse reared nearly tossing the lad who quickly regained control and altered direction, though lost speed in the process. Archibald slapped the rump of his horse and gave chase, Duncan and his mount on their heels.
Though horse and rider were light and fast, they seemed to tire quickly. Archibald felt the power of the horse beneath him and, with his thighs, coaxed greater speed from the animal. He and Duncan gained ground, each approaching from an opposite side, pinning the quarry between them. The rider flustered and the horse faltered, allowing Archibald to stay abreast and race for a distance until he was in position. Now! He leapt from his horse—a maneuver practiced often with his twin—and onto the back of the black stallion. Damn! A slight misjudgment sent him and the suspected cattle thief over the side, tumbling to the ground.
Grumpf! Archibald hit hard then lost his breath for the second time when the lad landed atop. He rolled quickly, taking control before the lad pulled a weapon. They had to roll again to avoid being trampled when Duncan’s mount charged passed in pursuit of the runaway horses. Archibald maintained a firm grip on the lad’s arms, avoiding thrashing legs.
The lad struggled, broke free, and crawled away, but Archibald tackled him back to the ground. With a quick move, he flipped him over, and pinned the lad beneath his weight. Then he froze. This was no lad. Soft breasts pressed against his chest and as the lass wiggled, his cock, cradled between her thighs, reacted to the friction.
What the—
He raised up onto his forearms, maintaining control, and quickly disarmed the lass of several blades. He slowly rose from her, and she scrambled to her feet. The cowl had slipped from her head, exposing long raven hair matching the cattle herder’s description. Just who was this woman?
Archibald grabbed a fistful of thick hair and yanked it away from her face. Chin jutted forward, a familiar violet stare scorched him, and his gut ached as if punched.
He held his wayward bride-to-be—Isobell.
“Why?” The question torn from a tight throat.
“Because I hate you.” Words filled with venom.
“Should have kenned ’twas you by the fancy gait of yonder horse.” And by his body’s reaction to her pressed against him.
“Dinnae hurt Dealanach Dubh!”
“What do you take me for? I would never harm such a fine beast.”
“You only harm villagers?”
“What?”
“Swine!” She spit in his face.
He tightened the hold on her hair, hauled her closer, a breath away.
“Let me go.” She squeezed his forearm.
He wanted to throttle her. Take her over a knee. Instead he shoved her toward Duncan and strode to his grazing horse. He couldn’t come to terms with her hatred. Or her betrayal.
And what did she mean by you only harm villagers? He never…
“What do you want me to do with her?” Duncan asked.
Archibald held stiff, his back to them. He couldn’t look at Isobell, the pain in his chest too great. “Take her on your horse. We ride to Castle Lachlan, where she will be sequestered in the pit until judgment is delivered.”
Isob
ell gasped. “You dare not hold me in such a manner. I am the daughter of a Highland chief.”
Archibald spun around and glared. “Do you ken how cattle thieves are punished in the Highlands?”
She blanched.
He hated her lean, disheveled appearance. Was obvious she wasn’t getting enough to eat. But he must harden his heart. Offer no sympathy. His clan deserved justice.
They rode until nightfall, stopping to camp in a quiet glen. She hadn’t uttered a word since her capture. It killed Archibald to tie her to a tree like a criminal. Unfortunately that was exactly who she was—a cattle thief.
Archibald motioned with his head for Duncan to step away to the fire with him out of Isobell’s earshot. He placed an arm across the man’s back, leaned close, and whispered, “Ride to Toward Keep. Meet with the Lamont. Request he reunite with his daughter at Castle Lachlan. I will escort Isobell to our keep.”
Duncan glanced over his shoulder at Isobell. When his gaze returned to Archibald, deep grooves surrounded pursed lips. “I should not leave you without a guard. What if the other reivers learn you have her? They might attack.”
“’Tis a risk I am willing to take. I want the Lamont at the castle to witness the wedding immediately upon our arrival.”
Duncan hissed. “You plan to go through with the marriage?”
“I do. ’Tis the only way I can keep Isobell from suffering a fate worse than death.”
“I dinnae like it, but I will do as you ask.”
“Good lad.” Archibald patted his back. “Be sure to inform the priest to be ready for our arrival.”
After reallocating supplies, he watched Duncan ride away with Isobell’s horse in tow then braced for a fight.
* * *
Isobell struggled against the leather strips binding her wrists until the raw skin burned and the pain near made her pass out. Bleary-eyed, she glowered at Archibald’s back where he knelt by the fire. Fear made her stomach rumble. Or was it lack of food?
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. And she couldn’t guess when the next meal would be. ’Twas unlikely Archibald would offer anything beyond water if even that.
Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens Page 2