Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8)

by Vonda Sinclair

  Red Holme nodded silently, his bushy auburn brows lowered. He and Blackburn always saw eye to eye on everything. Blackburn liked how ruthless the man was.

  "On second thought, Keith, you stay here and oversee things in my absence." Blackburn could easily see his brother causing trouble when they forcefully abducted Kristina.

  "I'd rather not."

  "Well, you're going to, like it or not." Blackburn hoisted himself into the saddle. "We'll return in a few days with the ladies."

  Chapter Sixteen

  While he ate a bowl of mutton stew, Sleat eyed Gegrim across the table at the Red Stag Tavern in Acharacle. Gegrim was one of the guards from Bearach that Sleat had managed to lure to his side through Parlan MacDonald. Sleat thought he could trust the guard but was unsure as of yet. He glanced around the tavern, making sure no other clansmen from Bearach were around.

  Korbin MacDonald owned the establishment and he'd already informed Sleat that Neacal was helping some lady that another chief, named MacCromar, was looking for. And that there had been a wee skirmish just outside in which Neacal had killed some men. The remaining ones had all left, returning to their chief. If only Sleat knew where to find MacCromar, they could join forces, storm the castle and easily defeat Neacal and his dwindling clan.

  Gegrim took a sip of ale, swallowed, then wiped the foam from his mustache. "Matthew MacDonald, the war leader, made us believe he was on our side but when the chief disappeared for a few days, Matthew locked up five of our men in the dungeon."

  "Parlan and Roy?" Sleat asked between bites, outrage crawling through him.

  "Aye, and three more they'd recruited. 'Tis where they remain."

  Sleat muttered a curse. "Why did Neacal disappear and where was he?" He already knew it had to do with the lady but he needed more information.

  "He wouldn't tell us, but after I saw who he returned with, I gathered he'd gone off with a woman, a singer named Anna Douglas." Gegrim shrugged. "I don't keep up with the chief's liaisons."

  "A singer? Or is she a lady?"

  "She's part of a traveling band of minstrels. And now I reckon she's caught the chief's eye. He already killed one of his own guards over her."

  "Indeed?" Sleat felt his eyes flare wide. Neacal's madness could only work in Sleat's favor. "What did the clan say about that?"

  "Some were worried at first, but then Neacal made it known the guard had tried to rape the singer. She is rather bonny."

  Sleat shook his head. Neacal and his women. Even though he was scarred hideously, the women were still after him. He would never understand it. "How many men loyal to me remain free?" Sleat asked, then took a bite of bread.

  "'Tis uncertain. I've been trying to sway more of the guards to our side but some are stubborn and daft enough to believe Neacal is a good chief."

  Sleat chewed and swallowed. "We both ken that's a stupid notion. One inside man is all I need. I wish we'd arrived before Neacal returned to the castle, or better yet, encountered him outside the walls. Since we didn't, we'll need to sneak inside."

  "Inside the castle?" The guard's eyes widened. "When?"

  "Tomorrow night. Simply get me a key to the postern gate."

  Gegrim hesitated. "What is your plan?"

  Why would the guard waver? Was he not on Sleat's side? Was he a spy for Neacal? He'd best not betray Sleat or he would be a dead man.

  Unfortunately, to get what he wanted, Sleat had no choice but to tell him the plan. "'Tis simple. I intend to slip into the castle, unseen, unheard, and kill Neacal while he sleeps. Everyone else will live, as long as they don't challenge me or my men. Taking over will be easy and no one in your clan need suffer, except Neacal, of course."

  Gegrim nodded.

  Sleat eyed him critically, watching for any deception. A man who betrayed his own chief was not trustworthy, of course. "I know the inside of the castle well. I can find my way to the chief's chamber."

  "He usually has a bodyguard posted outside his door at night," Gegrim said.

  "He may not fare so well, but I'll leave the rest unharmed."

  "The chief also has a large Irish wolfhound."

  Sleat snorted. "I remember, but I'm not worried about a dog, unless he can wield a sword."

  "Nay, but he will bark and wake the chief, giving him forewarning."

  "By then, it won't matter. I'll have several soldiers with me. We can easily break down the door, kill the dog, then kill Neacal."

  "Another thing—when he returned, Colin Cameron came with him, bringing a few dozen men."

  "Good to know, but I'm nay worried about it. I have the whole of the MacRankin clan to back me, in addition to my clansmen. You'll fight on my side, along with the men you release from the dungeon."

  "Release?" Gegrim lifted his brows.

  "Aye, you're to let them go tomorrow night just after dark. Tell them to stay hidden and then notify them when the fighting starts. Make certain they're well fed and armed so they'll be able to fight."

  The guard nodded. "Very well. And I will be rewarded?"

  "Aye, of course. You'll be named head of the guard for my son, Hamish, when he takes over as chief." Whether this statement was actually true or not remained to be seen. Hamish might make a different decision. But for now, he would tell the guard anything he wanted to hear.

  Gegrim held out his hand and Sleat shook it firmly. Then Gegrim passed a key to him.

  "This is for the postern gate?"

  "Aye."

  Sleat cradled the piece of metal in his hand. This was the precious object which would secure his younger son's future as a chief.

  ***

  Neacal watched Anna sleep in the firelight. Such a golden angel, she was. He wanted to do naught but stroke her silken hair but he dared not, for he might wake her. Their earlier lovemaking had worn her out.

  He was sleepy but he wanted to take in every detail of her lovely face. What they shared seemed more like a fanciful daydream than real life. And he'd not conjured any sort of daydreams prior to her arrival. Before he'd talked to her, he'd been lucky to get through each day. But now, she gave him so much to look forward to. Simple things… meeting her gaze, seeing her smiles, listening to her voice.

  Making love to her was the best experience of his life, hands down.

  There was no way in hades he was giving her up now. Never had anything in his life held this much importance.

  Trying not to disturb her sleep, he drew her closer into his arms and laid his head on the pillow beside hers.

  He slept and when next he became aware, she was snuggling tight against his chest in the pale dawn light, her head tucked under his chin, her arms around him.

  Thank the saints, this was no dream. She was his. The best gift, the only gift he ever wanted.

  He wrapped his arm tighter around her and kissed the top of her head. "Are you cold, lass?" he whispered.

  "Aye."

  "I could build up the fire again."

  "Nay. You are so warm."

  He stroked the satiny skin of her back, well aware she hadn't put on any clothes last night and neither had he. But a plaid covered them both.

  She shivered.

  When his hand reached her derriere, he tugged her toward him, wanting her to feel how aroused he was. Her flat belly pressing against his erection set his nerves on fire.

  Anna could not believe how hot-blooded Neacal was this morn, so early.

  He slid down and brushed his lips across her breasts, his short whiskers stimulating her, making her arch toward him.

  "Mmm." He drew her nipple into his mouth, suckled at it enthusiastically, then moved to the other. She buried her hands in his hair, urging him closer. Pleasure and sharp arousal surged through her body.

  He growled and rolled onto his back, bringing her to lie on him. Then he drew her legs forward so she was straddling him.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered.

  He gave her a half devilish grin. "I want you to ride me."

  "What?" she gas
ped.

  "You've never done this before, have you, lass?"

  She shook her head, heat burning her face.

  His grin slipped out a bit more, a glimpse of white teeth. Good heavens, he was even more gorgeous when he smiled.

  "Would you like to?" His dark blue gaze dared her.

  "Aye," she whispered, especially if it amused and aroused him as much as he appeared.

  "All right then. Lift up a bit."

  When she did, he positioned the tip of his erection at her entrance, then stroked her there. Need surged through her, making her arch her back and close her eyes.

  "Aye, now lower yourself onto me."

  She eagerly followed his instruction, and he slid inside. She gasped, unable to believe how amazing he felt. He grasped her hips on each side and helped guide her in the rhythm. Placing her hands on his hard chest, she raised and lowered herself. The waves of her hair fell all around her to brush over his chest.

  "Aye, that's it, mo cridhe." Tangling his fingers in the long strands of her hair, he stroked her nipples. "Let go and ride me," he urged.

  And she did. She allowed whatever inborn instincts she possessed to take control of her body. The hard length of him filling her, sliding deep, felt more amazing than anything and she could not get enough. She gasped at the sparkling sensations her own movements propelled through her body, from her toes to the top of her head.

  Forcing her eyes open, she took in the intense way he watched her, his brows lowered, eyes midnight blue, his teeth gritted together as if the pleasure was near too much to withstand. The same way she felt. But looking into his fierce eyes as she rode him was the most erotic thing she had ever done. Such raw need written there, reflected back to her.

  He growled and, holding her hips, thrust up into her fast and hard. Without warning, the pleasure exploded like colliding stars. Her strength gone, she fell and he caught her against his chest, continuing his wickedly divine thrusting. One last plunge deep and he shuddered against her, a savage growl rumbling from his chest.

  He rasped a Gaelic curse. "You possess my soul. I swear it, lass."

  Tears dripped from her eyes, but she knew not why. He was something she never could've expected.

  "Are you crying?" he asked.

  She shook her head.

  "Aye, you are. Did I hurt you?"

  "Nay." She didn't bother to wipe her tears away. He'd already seen them.

  "Why then?"

  "Because I love you." Oh good heavens! She hadn't meant to blurt that out. But it was the truth and she refused to regret it.

  He drew her to him and rolled her to the side until they lay face to face. "And I love you," he said, stroking her tears away with gentle fingers.

  Joy erupted inside her like a fresh, gushing spring. He felt the same? How could she be so lucky? Someone above was smiling down upon her… someone who had guided her to Neacal.

  While he dried her tears, his gaze searched her eyes. "When you're free of that beast, will you marry me?"

  Her mouth dropped open. "How—?"

  "Do not fash yourself over the how of it. I'll make it happen; mark my words."

  "'Twould be my fondest wish to be your wife," she whispered, more tears burning her eyes.

  A small grin quirked his lips. "And my fondest wish as well."

  But how on earth could she get free of Blackburn?

  Neacal didn't realize he'd drifted off to sleep in Anna's arms until a pounding at the door awoke him. "What the devil?" he muttered. "Who is it?" he shouted.

  "Bhatar, lad. Hugh is with me."

  Neacal ground his teeth. "Devil take them," he whispered to Anna.

  Blushing, she snickered softly, then hid her grin.

  He shook his head, then rolled off the mattress and onto his feet. "I'll meet you in the library," he shouted.

  "We can wait here. 'Tis nay a problem," Hugh returned.

  Neacal muttered a string of curses. "Meet me in the library," he ordered, grabbing his shirt. The last thing he wanted was the elders to see Anna in his chamber. Especially in his bed.

  Once he was dressed, he opened the door only wide enough to step into the corridor. The two hoary-haired codgers awaited him.

  "What is it now?" Neacal asked.

  "One of the servants returned from Acharacle," Uncle Bhatar said. "A large force of soldiers is camped out there in the wood."

  ***

  The following night was near black as pitch as Sleat and his men, along with the MacRankins, crept from the wood and toward Bearach Castle. Torchlight reflected up from within the castle walls, guiding them across the wet sandbar that led to the small island. Taking an indirect route, they climbed over the rocks and up the steep bank which led to the castle. Low growing gorse and heather scratched at his legs.

  Avoiding the portcullis, they silently edged along the high wall, seeing no one. Sleat peered through the thick iron bars of the postern gate. Distant torches lit up the exterior of the castle and the bailey. A guard stood about fifty feet away, his back toward Sleat. The guard was going to be a dead man in only a matter of moments.

  Grinning, Sleat carefully inserted the key into the padlock on the gate… but it wouldn't budge. As quietly as possible, he jiggled it.

  "Hurry, Da," Hamish whispered beside him.

  Sleat pulled the key out and inserted it again, then wiggled. Nothing. What the hell? Had Gegrim given him the wrong key? "That double-crossing bastard," Sleat hissed.

  A flaming torch dropped from the wall above and a battle cry rang out. The torch struck one of his men and his clothing burst into flames. He yelled and danced about. Hamish shoved him to the ground. "Roll, you idiot!"

  Through the gate, Sleat saw the guards running toward them, swords aimed.

  "Retreat!" Sleat yelled. Some bastard had warned Neacal and his men. Probably Gegrim. He should've known not to trust the whoreson.

  Men's shouts echoed from distant parts of the castle and more torches were tossed from the wall to light up the battle ground, catching the heather afire. An arrow struck the ground beside Sleat, shot down from the wall-walk. He leapt aside and lifted his targe.

  Guards and soldiers charged along the wall from the front portcullis. How did they have so many men at the ready? Gegrim must have told them of Sleat's plans, for no one else knew. He and his men were already outnumbered.

  "Retreat!" Sleat scrambled back down the hillside over the rocks, heather and gorse. Some of his men had already escaped. One of Neacal's guards chased after him, his sword raised. Sleat slashed his blade at the man. He blocked it and struck back. More enemies approached, trying to halt their retreat and trap them. Battle cries resounded around him.

  Blades clanged behind him and a man shouted. Was it one of his own men? He couldn't take his eyes off his opponent to see.

  He had to kill this bastard, or die himself. He refused to be trapped on this island and at Neacal's mercy. Sleat redoubled his efforts and struck at the enemy.

  Seconds later, he ran the man through, then shoved him to the ground. Glancing back, Sleat could not tell who was who in the torch-lit gloom.

  "Retreat!" he yelled again in the event some of his men hadn't heard his order the first time.

  Several of his clansmen, as well as MacRankin's, followed him down the steep hillside, across the rocks and along the sand bar causeway. Neacal's guards gave chase. Some of his soldiers turned back to hold them off while Sleat and MacRankin headed toward the wood.

  Where was his son? Sleat stopped and turned back to stare into the dimness, lit here and there by torches and burning heather.

  "Hamish!" he yelled.

  One of his soldiers ran past him.

  "Where is Hamish?" Sleat demanded.

  "I've nay seen him."

  Sleat growled a string of curses, then headed back toward the castle. Dozens of soldiers poured down the hill now.

  He paused. To run toward them by himself would be certain suicide. "Hamish!" he roared, fear and rage such as he'
d never felt before consuming him.

  One of Neacal's guards slowly stalked toward him.

  "Where is my son? Send him to me!"

  "You're the one who brought him here. If he's dead, his blood is on your hands," the guard said.

  Nay, he could not conceive of it! "You bastard! I'll kill you!"

  "Aye, come on, then!" he challenged, beckoning with his hand.

  Sleat glanced toward the wood. Had Hamish escaped before him? Mayhap he was already hiding with the others.

  The guard hastened his approach. "'Haps you would like to go inside and talk to the chief," he taunted.

  "Go to hell!" Sleat ran across the damp sand toward the wood, praying with each breath that Hamish waited there. When he arrived, he was gasping for breath and lightheaded. "Hamish? Where is… Hamish?"

  "Is Hamish here?" MacRankin yelled.

  Unable to see everyone in the darkness of the wood, several of the men asked around.

  "Hamish!" Sleat shouted.

  Silence.

  Sleat fell to his knees, rage and grief overcoming him. He cursed Neacal MacDonald to hell and back, stabbing his dirk into the loamy soil over and over, imagining it was Neacal he gored.

  ***

  "Chief!"

  Neacal glanced in the direction the shout had come from, the postern gate. One of the guards ran toward him. "Sleat thinks his son was injured or killed outside."

  "Was he?"

  "Don't know yet. We'll have to round up the dead and injured."

  "Some traitor must have given Sleat a key to the postern gate," Neacal said. "We were wise to change the padlock after we heard about the troops camped at Acharacle."

  "Aye. Speaking of the traitor… the five in the dungeon were released when the fighting began."

  "Damnation!" Hackles raising at the very idea some man he thought he could trust was the worst backstabber, Neacal glanced around the bailey. He suspiciously eyed each of the men, but none appeared guilty. "We have to find out who it is. Are any of the five still here? Or did they escape during the battle?"