Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8)

by Vonda Sinclair

  Regardless of the situation, temptation teased at his instincts, for he had once been more roguish than most. Shoving the feeling aside, he quickly carried her around the stables and across the cobblestone bailey. He absorbed the instant she relaxed in his arms and held on around his neck… the most rewarding sensation he'd experienced in a long time. Trust emanated from her and he even glimpsed it in her eyes when she chanced to look up at him. Saints, but she was enticing… even more so because of her trust.

  Halting outside the kitchen, he lowered her to her feet and made sure she was steady before releasing her. "You'll be all right, then?"

  She stared up at him, her eyes still red and glistening with the remains of her tears. "Aye, and I thank you again, m'laird."

  "Neacal," he reminded her.

  "Neacal."

  The sound of his name in her feminine voice sent a hot shiver through him. Pushing the sensation away, he nodded. "If anyone should bother you again, let me know."

  "I will." She gave him a small smile.

  He forced his gaze away from that beguiling sight. "And don't be wandering about the bailey alone at gloaming or at night until I make sure all my men are trustworthy." He opened the door and helped her inside. "Take her to Tavia," he told one of the kitchen maids.

  "Aye, m'laird."

  "I am well, truly," Anna protested.

  "Allow Tavia to examine you for bruises and broken bones. I'll ask her later if she's checked you over thoroughly."

  Anna blushed, appearing uncomfortable. "Very well. I'll find her myself. No need to bother the kitchen staff."

  Neacal gave a brief nod, then closed the door. Tavia was a skilled healer and if Anna had any serious injuries that hadn't come to light yet, she would find them.

  As he crossed the bailey, four guards carried Farquar's body from the shed. A few more men had gathered there including his sword-bearer.

  "Tell all the men to come out into the bailey," he said to Matthew. "Not the elders, but everyone else."

  "Aye, chief." Matthew frowned but hastened up the steps toward the front entry. He wanted every man here to clearly understand his stance against rape.

  While Neacal waited, several of his men gave him a wider berth than usual and watched him warily. What the devil was going through their minds? Did they think he'd murdered Farquar? His anger returned by slow degrees. He didn't trust most of his men, and they obviously didn't trust him either. A potentially explosive situation.

  Once all the men were assembled, gloaming was creeping toward night. In the torchlight, he climbed the steps and addressed the men, raising his voice. "Farquar is dead because he tried to force himself on a female guest. When I stopped him, he drew his sword to fight me. Any man within these walls who forces himself upon a female will suffer the same fate. Do I make myself clear?" Renewed rage slid through his veins.

  "Aye, chief," they said in a chorus.

  Neacal searched the face of each man present as he spoke, looking for any expression which indicated disrespect or deception. "Farquar swore fealty to me but clearly he was lying, otherwise he would not have dared challenge me. Any other traitors here will be dealt with accordingly. I'm a new chief, true, but I expect and demand loyalty, respect and obedience. If any of you cannot willingly offer me that, leave now." He pointed toward the gates.

  Everyone stood in frozen silence for a moment, then, of their own volition, the men took turns kneeling before him, offering their dirks, hilts first, swearing their fealty yet again. Although Neacal did not require it at this time, he certainly appreciated it. He hoped he could start trusting some of them. He made note of the men who hung back. They were the ones he would have to keep an eye on. Parlan was among them. Although they did finally come forward and mimic the actions of their fellow clansmen, they did so reluctantly.

  ***

  Anna lay as patiently as she could in a small, sparse bedchamber of the servants' corridor while Tavia examined her arms and legs for bruises and broken bones. She even checked her ribs through her shift.

  "Mistress Pottenger wanted me to tell you she regrets sending you out to the shed," Tavia said. "And she is sorry you were attacked."

  "It wasn't her fault." Anna still could not believe what had almost happened. Good heavens! No man had ever forced himself on her, not even the despicable Blackburn, and she prayed such a thing would never happen.

  How had Neacal known she was being assaulted? He must have heard her scream. Regardless, her prayers had been answered, thank God. In that moment, when Neacal had charged in and kicked the beast off her, then fought with him… so many emotions had assailed her she could not comprehend them all—gratitude, joy, relief, and then fear for him. She'd not thanked him enough and surely owed him a grand debt of gratitude. He was a true hero. How could the clan think him mad? He was far saner than most men.

  Tavia pressed her fingers against a tender spot on Anna's elbow. She hissed at the soreness. "I tell you, Tavia, I might have a few bruises, but I have no broken bones. If I did, they would be paining me severely, don't you think?"

  "Aye, but if the laird wishes me to check you over good, then I will. If some injury comes to light, he would be angry with me for not finding it right away."

  Anna nodded. She was right, of course. Though she hadn't known Tavia long, she liked the healer, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. "You are extremely loyal to him, are you not?"

  "Of course. I have great respect for his lairdship."

  Anna did, too. In fact, he was one of the few men she'd met, aside from her late husband, who was completely honorable. The way Neacal had carried her across the bailey had at first alarmed her, but once she realized he only wanted to help, she'd felt comforted and protected.

  Female voices echoed in through the half open door from the corridor. "Did you hear?"

  "What?"

  "The laird killed one of his own guards, out behind the stables. He is mad, in truth!"

  A flash of anger took hold of Anna. She shoved herself from the bed, despite Tavia's protests, and widened the door. "He is not mad," she told the two gossips. "'Twas a fair sword fight. The guard challenged the laird. What do you think he would do with someone so disloyal?"

  They gaped at her wide-eyed. "How do you ken? Were you there?"

  "Aye, I was." She closed the door and returned to the bed. "The chief is a good man," she said, lying down again. Irritation still simmered inside her.

  "Indeed, he is," Tavia said, her green eyes more intense. "I'm glad more people are seeing this. I detest the rumors that he is mad. 'Tis true he is very troubled but he has a right to be."

  "The servants were whispering that he was tortured in the past."

  "Aye."

  "What happened?" Anna asked.

  "I know not all the details, but when his clansmen brought him back here, he was knocked out. If only you could've seen how severe his wounds were." She shook her head, sorrow in her eyes. "'Tis a miracle he survived at all."

  Anna hated to imagine Neacal in such terrible shape. The scars on his face were evidence of how horribly he'd been treated. But how many more scars did he have beneath his clothes?

  "Did you attend to his injuries?" Anna asked.

  "Aye. Thanks be to God the lad is healed and stronger than ever before."

  "He does appear strong." And the way he had easily carried her proved that. His arms and chest had felt as if they were made of steel.

  "The scar on his face frightens some people," Tavia observed.

  "Not me." Anna would mention her sister's facial scar, but then Tavia would ask what happened. 'Twas too dangerous to talk about the past.

  Tavia allowed a small grin. "Can you turn onto your stomach so I can examine your back?"

  Anna turned over, wanting to ask more about Neacal, but she wouldn't. Obviously, Tavia didn't want to discuss the details of his injuries, and Anna was unsure she was prepared to hear how awful they'd been, especially after dealing with such a traumatizing event only a s
hort time ago. In addition, perhaps Tavia didn't want to be accused of gossiping… and neither did Anna. Still, she couldn't help that he'd peaked her curiosity. Especially his protective nature.

  "He probably saved my life this eve," Anna said, turning her head toward the other woman. "Certainly, he prevented that beast from forcing himself on me. For that, I'll be ever in his debt."

  "He would never expect repayment, lass. 'Tis simple—he doesn't want to see others harmed and abused as he was." Tavia pressed her fingers along Anna's backbone. "Are you married?"

  Anna shook her head, thinking of John, her beloved husband, sudden tears stinging her eyes. Though he had been a decade older than her, he had always treated her with great respect and she'd loved him for it. "Not anymore."

  "You lost him?"

  "Aye."

  "I'm sorry. I lost my own husband as well. In battle, years ago."

  "Oh. I'm sorry to hear of it."

  "Of a certainty, we understand each other." Tavia stepped back. "Well, the bruises appear to be the worst of your injuries, thank the heavens. Those should fade in a week or two."

  "I appreciate you looking me over." Anna arose from the bed and started dressing, wincing when a stitch of soreness latched onto her shoulder. "Ouch!"

  "Here, let me help." Tavia assisted her with the rest of her clothing. "If you would like an herbal tea to help you sleep, let me know."

  "I would appreciate that."

  "For your elbow and other bruises, apply the salve I gave you for your neck when you first arrived. If you can't reach the bruise, I'll apply it for you."

  "Very well. I thank you."

  A knock sounded at the door and it opened a crack.

  "Enter," Tavia said.

  A maid stuck her head in. "His lairdship wants to know how Mistress Douglas is."

  "Tell him I am well," Anna said, warmth filling her at his concern for her.

  The maid gave a nod. "He wishes to see you, Tavia, for a full report. And he requests that Mistress Douglas retire to her room and get some rest."

  "Ah. I see," Anna said, hiding a smile. 'Twas only because of him that she would feel like smiling after such a disturbing attack. She didn't even mind that Neacal was being bossy. She couldn't argue with getting some rest. She was exhausted after fighting off that beast.

  "Please tell him not to worry over me," Anna said.

  Tavia sent her a crooked smile. "Very well. He'll no doubt want to see for himself how you are in the morn."

  Anna nodded and headed up the back servants' stair. She would look forward to seeing him in the morn as well.

  ***

  "How could you, Neacal?" Constance demanded. "How could you kill Farquar?"

  Standing by the library's fireplace, Neacal glared at his cousin. Tears streamed from her eyes. Why was she behaving in this way? "What was he to you?"

  She quickly swiped her tears away. "My… friend."

  "Damnation, you were sleeping with him," Neacal growled.

  "Nay," she blurted. An obvious lie.

  He narrowed his eyes. Damn her hide. Dallying with a guard. She could even now be carrying Farquar's bastard. As her guardian, Neacal was the one responsible for finding her a husband. Since she'd only been his ward as long as he'd been chief, he'd had no time to even think about her.

  "I'll find a suitable husband for you," he said.

  "What? Nay!"

  "You could be with child," he growled. "And if you are, 'tis far better for you to be married to someone when that child is born."

  "I wanted to marry Farquar, but you made sure that didn't happen!" She burst into sobs again.

  "Hell," Neacal muttered. "Farquar tried to force himself on Mistress Douglas, you daft lass!"

  "That is ridiculous!" she cried. "He would not do that. He was a sweet, gentle man."

  Neacal shook his head. "And then he drew his sword and challenged me. If he had gone quietly to the dungeon, he would yet be alive."

  "You wanted rid of him because you knew I loved him and you thought him beneath me! Not good enough for me to marry. But he was. You and that Douglas whore concocted this lie so you could murder him!"

  Rage streaked through Neacal at blinding speed, but he forced himself to remain where he was and take a deep breath. Constance had annoyed him his entire life but she was growing worse.

  "I cannot believe this has happened. You will regret this, Neacal!"

  He wished he could tell her to pack her trunks and get out, but 'twas impossible until he married her off to someone. He would have to find someone suitable, who could deal with her forceful nature.

  A knock sounded at the door. He crossed the room and opened it. Tavia waited in the corridor holding a tea tray. "Come in," he said. "Constance was just leaving."

  His cousin gave him the evil eye as she exited. He closed the door behind her.

  "I brought you more chamomile tea to help you sleep, m'laird. I mixed it with mint and honey just the way you like it." She set the tray on the table.

  "I thank you, Tavia. I was able to sleep better the past two nights."

  She straightened and faced him, her eyes curious. "I'm glad. What caused this improvement?"

  "I'm not certain," he fibbed, knowing it had something to do with Anna, but to admit that would sound foolish. He trusted Tavia above anyone in the clan, for she'd dragged him back from death's door when she'd healed his severe injuries. She was almost like a second mother to him, even though she was less than ten years older than him. Still, he didn't want her to ken the extent to which Anna affected him.

  "How is Anna Douglas?" he asked. "Did she sustain any injuries?"

  "Several bruises. Nothing broken that I could tell. I checked her from head to toe."

  Relief eased his tense muscles a bit. "Thank God I got to her in time." Aye, thank God ten thousand times over. And Dunn, too, for he'd alerted Neacal.

  "Indeed. It could've been far worse. She wanted me to tell you not to worry over her."

  He wouldn't now that Tavia had given her the once over. He had never known of another healer as skilled. "I wonder, did she tell you where she's from or anything about herself?"

  "Nay. She seems a very private person."

  He nodded. "I merely wondered if she is married, widowed or betrothed."

  Tavia lifted a curious brow. Damnation, she saw right through him. Now she knew he held a bit more interest in Anna than he should.

  "She's a widow."

  "I see." He was relieved to hear there was no husband who might arrive and be furious about the guard attacking her. And, although he didn't want to admit it, he was also glad Anna was unattached. "Can you check on her in the morn and see how she is?"

  "Of course. I'd be glad to. She's a very pleasant and likable lass."

  "'Tis true." Beyond pleasant, truth be told, but he would keep his mouth shut on the matter.

  "Have a good night, then, m'laird." Tavia could not hide the small smile as she exited.

  Neacal glared after her as the door closed, then muttered a curse. He hadn't wanted her or anyone to know how he was drawn to Anna. But at least Tavia wouldn't tell anyone. Since she'd spent so much time with him while he was recovering, she probably knew him better than anyone.

  He wished he could go see Anna for himself, to make sure she was all right… and just to glimpse her lovely face in the candlelight… but she needed her rest.

  And he needed to remember his place as chief of the clan. He could not dally with someone like her. He respected her too much, and she deserved far better.

  ***

  Chief Aonghus MacDonald of Sleat disembarked from his galley on the Scottish mainland at the MacRankin clan's tower house and glanced around at the gray, tempestuous sky. The stiff breeze smelled of rain.

  "Come on, son." He motioned to Hamish.

  As their clansmen dragged the rest of the galleys ashore, Sleat, Hamish and their main bodyguards headed up the rock-strewn heathery hill from the shore. After greetings were exchange
d and ale served as refreshment, Sleat sat with the young MacRankin chief by the fire as the rain beat down outside.

  "I wondered if you have forgiven Neacal MacDonald for spying on you as he did," Sleat said.

  MacRankin bristled, his cold gray eyes narrowed. "Nay, why? Is the bastard still alive?"

  "Aye, indeed. And he's clan chief now. I've only just come from Bearach Castle. He wanted me to tell you, if I ever saw you again, to burn in hell." Sleat forced himself not to snicker at the lie.

  MacRankin shot up from his chair and paced, calling Neacal a long string of vile names. "The bastard is a traitor to Highlanders everywhere."

  Sleat hid his grin, glad to see the MacRankin was just as enraged by the thought of Neacal as he'd always been. He did wonder though why MacRankin hadn't checked up on Neacal and finished him off long before now. No doubt he was afraid the king would send a fleet of warships after him.

  "He is no Scot, but an arse kisser to a king who is more English than Scottish now. I wonder how much gold he earned for spying on us."

  Sleat shook his head. "His da was knighted and he aspired to the same distinction."

  MacRankin snorted. "Was he knighted?"

  "Nay, I believe you halted his ambitions at court."

  "Thanks to you for telling me of his duplicitous deeds. I hope he is a cripple!"

  "Far from it. He appears strong in body. His mind is another matter entirely, though."

  "He may as well have killed my betrothed," MacRankin said. "She threw herself from the tower after his clan attacked. I'll never forgive him for that."

  "'Tis the same as murder." Sleat hoped to add fuel to the fire.

  "Aye!" MacRankin's furious eyes near glowed like a devil's.

  "If you want revenge, now is the time to act. His clan is weak," Sleat said. "The MacKenzies attacked and killed many of them. He has few soldiers."