Highland Redemption

by Lori Ann Bailey

  Looking like he was just out of his youth, the smallest and least threatening bandit paled and turned wide eyes on him. The young one’s arms shook as he attempted to hold up a sword that likely weighed more than he did.

  A wail rent the air like the lingering sound of a horn. The leader screamed, “The bitch stabbed me.”

  Skye, who’d apparently slipped from the mount and bested the man, ran toward Brodie. The scoundrel attempted to catch her, but fell to his knees, dropping the knife and reaching for his side. Brodie’s gaze returned toward the immediate threat.

  The last man standing took one more look at his fallen comrades and their writhing leader and bolted toward the rat, stopping only to scoop up his ornate knife and continue into the woods. Instead of chasing the thief, Brodie yanked Skye behind him so he was between her and the leader.

  The man raised one red palm, and blood spurted from the wound as his disbelieving gaze drifted between Brodie and Skye. The dirk she’d used to slice meat at lunch was lodged in the rat’s side.

  Since the man on the ground did not appear to be a threat, Brodie turned to inspect Skye. Her limbs were limp. She stared at the man on the ground as he fell on his face.

  She swayed, but he caught her before she collapsed. She looked at him with unfocused eyes, her breath uneven, then she pushed free and fell to her knees, gasping. He knelt beside her and rubbed her back, careful to keep one eye on the fallen man and the woods around them to make sure the last bandit didn’t return.

  Her body shook as he held her, but a rustling sound from the bandit leader pulled him back. What if the last one had run for reinforcements? They had to get out of there.

  “Stay here, love.” Reluctantly pulling her from his arms, he continued, “We must be on our way, but I need to clean up a bit.” She nodded, but he did not think she really understood a word he was saying.

  As the steeds were sickly and easily identifiable, he corralled the bandit’s horses and encouraged them down the road back south. After dragging the limp bodies to the side of the road and retrieving and wiping clean the dirk Skye had used, he scooped her up and set her up on the horse.

  “Are ye all right?” he asked. She nodded, but the vacant, far off look in her eyes told another story. He had to get her home and figure out how he was going to protect her from Argyll and his men.

  He signaled for the horse to move, slowly at first so as not to jolt her, but then increasing speed. Away from the carnage, away from any danger. He didn’t know how many more men were waiting in the woods. And there were still Ross and Neil to consider.

  Despite the peril being with him presented, until Skye could be returned to her uncle’s fortress, he was the only man that could keep her safe.

  …

  Trees whizzed past as their dark shadows grew longer and Skye shivered from the drop in temperature. This time of year, daylight was a commodity, and they had to take advantage of the warm rays before they faded into the evening.

  Traveling at a fast speed was catching up with Skye, and her rear end hurt from the pounding of the horse, but Brodie was obviously trying to distance them from the violence.

  He held her close, and she welcomed the embrace without question. He’d not judged her for putting a dirk in the man’s side. The bandit was the man who had grabbed her in the tavern, and she realized they must have been following her. If not for her actions, Brodie might not be with her now. Sinking into him, she savored the feel of being held in his arms. His firm hold on her had remained steadfast, and he’d not uttered a word since they’d left the site of the brawl.

  Fear for him had been her utmost concern. There had been two men attacking him as she dismounted and sneaked up on the leader. And Brodie had been magnificent. He did not even have a scratch, and she had been determined he would not be injured because he’d worried about her.

  The sun’s light dipped behind the trees. Hunger gnawed at her, and she had no idea where they were.

  “Brodie,” she said hoarsely.

  There was no response as they cantered along. Clearing her parched throat, she peeked back over her shoulder and tried again. “Brodie,” she said, much clearer this time. “Why would the Earl of Argyll want me?”

  Stirling was the first place she’d visited off MacDonald lands since leaving Cameron lands years earlier, and she couldn’t think of anything she could have done to incur the earl’s wrath. The Covenanter leader apparently wanted her dead, and she needed answers.

  “I dinnae ken, but I think ’tis best if ye stay with me until we figure it out.”

  She nodded and accepted that she had felt safe back in the clearing with Brodie. He might disappear without explanations, but he had kept her well-guarded considering the odds against him.

  “My uncle might ken what he wants.”

  “Are ye sure yer uncle isnae in league with him?”

  “Nae. He would never side with Argyll.”

  Silence met her words, and she wished she could see what Brodie was thinking, but her position on the horse kept her from glancing into his eyes. He seemed to be holding something back.

  “I’m starting to get hungry,” she said after they’d ridden along for a while longer. Brodie slowed the horse to a trot, but he didn’t say a word, so she continued, “’Twill be dark soon. How far do we have to go?”

  “We will have to stop somewhere.” His voice held a resignation that said if he had the choice, he would continue on through the night.

  “Is there another inn?”

  They had passed a few, but he had told her the less they stopped, the faster they would get back to Cameron land. She tilted back into him unconsciously.

  A nostalgia for Kentillie castle had kept her thoughts humming this afternoon, as she reflected on the people she had left behind. Once they arrived, she would see her friend Donella again. They had corresponded over the last few years, and she knew the girl was now married with a bairn.

  Would they still be as close? Before her uncle had dragged her to his home, Donella had been the only one she had been able to talk to about Brodie’s absences. If she only had Donella with her on the Isle of Skye when the worst had come, then maybe she wouldn’t be so afraid of being on her own. If she’d had someone to help her navigate through all the pain, maybe she would have been able to put it behind her. But she’d been alone, and the memory haunted her every day.

  She let out a breath and pushed the long ago memory away. She didn’t want to dwell on what she couldn’t go back and change.

  “Aye. ’Tis another inn no’ too far ahead. We will stop for the night.”

  “I hope ’tis no’ too late to get something to eat.” Her stomach gurgled at the thought.

  “I will make sure we find ye something.”

  “Brodie, thank ye for taking care of me back there.” She had spent so much time being angry at him over the years, she’d thought the words would be hard, but once they spilled from her lips, a lightness engulfed her as some hidden pressure bubbled up to escape.

  “I wasnae going to let anything happen to ye.”

  “I may have killed that man.”

  “Aye, love, but ye did the right thing. Sorry ye had to go through that.”

  Brodie’s arm tightened around her waist, but she didn’t want to think about how she had welcomed the embrace, or the kiss they’d shared earlier. How right it had felt to be in his arms with her lips pressed so intimately to his.

  She had become lost, melting into him, her heart assuring her that he was different and wouldn’t leave her again. She felt protected, like he could and would defend her from this secret threat. He wasn’t the insecure lad of his youth who’d allowed his family to push him around.

  But he’d still not told her where he disappeared to frequently, and she was to wed another. Despite the desire to feel his touch again, she couldn’t give in. She was to be married.

  An inn slightly larger than the one they’d slept in last night appeared around a bend in the road. Billowi
ng smoke puffed from one of the chimneys and welcomed them with the promise of shelter and food. Relief washed over her as Brodie slowed the mount.

  A graying, plump woman greeted them after they had settled the horse and walked in the solid wooden door. “I’m Allina. Welcome to The Ruffled Feathers. Ye lookin’ for some food or lodgin’?”

  “Aye, we are in need of both,” Brodie replied as Skye rushed over to the stone hearth where a fire blazed and crackled with dancing flames.

  Brodie followed her with the lady in tow.

  “Ye happen to be in luck. We have a room, and Patty just made up some venison stew.”

  “Do ye have a private dining area?” Brodie asked, standing nearby while he continued to speak with the woman, but the conversation faded as Skye scanned the room.

  In one corner of the common area, a family with three small children supped. The mother was spooning small servings of the stew into one child’s mouth. He rewarded her each time by clapping and opening his mouth again like a baby bird. The father was holding a small babe while the oldest, probably about five, banged the serving pieces on the table to try to divert the parents from their tasks. Skye tore her gaze away and skimmed the rest of the room.

  A table was set up on an outer wall, and two well-kempt men, both with chestnut hair and the same nose, chugged ale as they waited for a meal. The inn’s patrons seemed peaceful, reassuring company after dealing with the bandits.

  “Skye.” Brodie tilted his head for her to follow as the innkeeper’s wife led them through a door just to the left of the large stone fireplace.

  It opened into a small private dining area with its own hearth. She was delighted by the space, but disappointed that the peat was not lit. The room was cozy but cool.

  “Give me just a moment, and I’ll send in Ronan to get ye a blaze a’goin’.”

  “Thank ye,” Brodie said as he took Skye’s hand and guided her to a seat facing the fireplace. “We’ll also take some ale and some of that stew.”

  “Aye, and I’ll be right back with that ale,” Allina said as she rushed from the room.

  Skye had expected Brodie to take a seat across from her, but he sat in the empty chair beside her. The rhythm of her heart increased at his close proximity. His leg brushed against hers, and she became intensely aware of his nearness and the way it sent shivers through her.

  Collin, Collin, Collin. She tried to think only of her betrothed, but with Brodie beside her, it felt even more intimate than riding curled up next to him on the horse all day. That was a forced closeness, but this was of his choosing. But then again, she didn’t move to put distance between them. She must still be in shock from the idea that she’d killed a man.

  After the day’s events, she’d loosened her guard, but she had to remain wary. No matter how close they were becoming again, he was not for her. She tried to remember Collin’s face, but all she could see was Brodie’s.

  He turned to her. “How are ye?”

  I’m falling apart is what she thought, as she fought the need to lay her head on his shoulder and beg him to wrap his strong arms around her.

  “Ye did what was necessary. I am thankful ye had the dirk with ye.”

  She blinked as his words sank in. Och, she was a fool. He was talking about the bandits, not her body’s treacherous reaction to his nearness.

  She shuddered. Dirk, yes, that was mine. But there was something about her attacker’s weapon that looked familiar, like she’d seen it before. But that wasn’t possible.

  “Will ye be all right?” He studied her with a worried gaze.

  “I will be once I have some food and rest.”

  Thankfully, Allina whirled back in with a tray, closely followed by a man with a cheery disposition to match hers. “I have some ale for ye and some cheese and bread while cook warms up the stew.”

  “I’m Ronan,” said the man with her. “Pleased ye folks have stopped in for the night. I’ll just get ye a nice fire goin’ and let ye eat in peace.” He winked at them.

  Allina offered Skye a cup, and she took it. After a small tentative sip of the ale to test it, she was happy to discover it was smooth and warm. It soothed her parched throat and gave her hope that the food would be better than that of the last inn.

  “’Tis verra good,” she said, and Allina beamed.

  Only moments later a blaze was roaring. She nibbled on cheese and enjoyed the ale until stew and more bread were brought in. It was perfect for the cool evening, comforting and familiar, reminding her of the many nights Brodie had eaten with her and her father when they were younger. As far back as she could remember, he had been part of her family, her hopes, and her future. Now those recollections were bittersweet. That time was so long ago, but the memories were still fresh enough to taunt her.

  Brodie was uncharacteristically quiet, and she felt the need to fill the silence. “How is Donella?”

  It had been the right thing to ask, because it brought him out of his silent brooding. He smiled. “She is well, and her babe has grown so much. He crawled fast and will probably be walking soon.”

  “I have to admit that I am looking forward to seeing them.”

  She projected the happiness, but her heart ached because she’d caught the gleam in his eyes when he’d mentioned the babe. Brodie had always loved children, and he’d told her how badly he wanted his own family and how he would be there for his sons, unlike his father, who was often away.

  The memory angered her—he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him. He was still evasive about where he had been. It was just a reminder that she couldn’t trust this man.

  “Ronald is a lucky man. They look so happy.” His wistful gaze slid down and then back up to hers with an emotion she couldn’t place. Was it real longing for her or a practiced seduction he used on every woman? Och, he knew how to knock a lass off balance.

  Bounding back into the room, Allina held a small tray of tarts. Turning her attentions to the innkeeper’s wife, Skye focused on a topic she always wanted to talk about—cooking. “The stew was perfect, Allina. The combination of mushrooms and sage was genius.” Once Skye got back to the kitchens, she would have to try to replicate the recipe.

  “Thank ye, lass. ’Tis one of Ronan’s favorites. It has taken me years to get it right. Let me ken if I can get ye anything else. The second door on the left up the stairs is waiting for ye when ye wish to retire.”

  “Thank ye,” Brodie said as Allina offered him a small curtsy and left.

  “How is Lachlan? I heard he married.” She picked up a piece of a tart and inhaled the buttery scent before taking a small bite.

  Brodie’s eyes lit and both dimples appeared. “Ah, he is smitten. After Eileen, I thought he would never find another, but Maggie suits him.”

  “He is a good man. ’Tis nice to ken he has found the right one.”

  “They are expecting their first babe.”

  “Do ye think they will be pleased to see me?”

  “Aye, I ken they will.” He reached out and took the hand she still kept on her lap. The touch was reassuring, and her head screamed at her to pull away, but her heart thudded and thrilled at the touch.

  How did he still do that to her?

  Reaching forward with the hand not clinging to hers, he tucked a stray tendril of her hair behind her ear. Heat crept up her cheeks, and her breath hitched, and she sat mesmerized as her defenses fell away.

  Trailing his fingers down to under her chin, he tipped her head up, and she watched, helpless, unable to flee, as he moved in to place a sweet, gentle kiss on her lips.

  Remembering her betrothed, she shook her head and leaned back to escape his touch as she took his hand from her face and placed it back on his own lap.

  “I need sleep,” she said as she stood and waited for him to do the same.

  He rose, the look on his face anything but repentant. The corner of his mouth had curved up to reveal one of his dimples. Warmth spread through her, but she skirted around him and mad
e her way to the stairs. The last thing she needed was for him to know how much he still set her heart racing.

  Chapter Eight

  Frantic knocks sounded in the hall outside their room, putting Brodie on alert as he halted pulling on his boots. He held his breath as he heard a door open and two men begin to speak in heated tones.

  “Four dead,” a weary, but angry voice stated.

  A curse flew through the air, followed by something pounding on the plaster outside with such force that it vibrated through the walls of the old tavern. “Was it the MacDonalds again?” He’d heard this voice before but couldn’t place it, and now they were talking about Skye’s uncle’s clan.

  “Aye ’tis what it looks like. Angus wrote out MacDon in his own blood as he lay on the floor dying. ’Tis unspeakable to attack a family while they sleep.”

  “The brutal bastards. We have to put an end to it,” said the familiar voice.

  “I ken no MacLeans will sleep soundly until we do.”

  Brodie recognized the voice now—it was Ross MacLean’s oldest brother, the man who would one day be laird.

  Ice spread through him as he turned his gaze to Skye, who had frozen, standing at the end of the bed in the process of dressing in a rosy pink gown he’d had delivered from the town seamstress the evening before. She eased down on the end of the bed, angling her ear toward the door.

  The MacLeans were staunch Royalists. If Skye’s uncle was attacking them, it could be the proof he needed that the MacDonald was a Covenanter sympathizer. The letter he’d given to the innkeeper on their arrival last night to be delivered to a post-boy invited the MacDonald laird to come retrieve Skye at Kentillie, but there was no way he’d let her go with a Covenanter, especially when Argyll wanted her dead.

  A bang reverberated as a door shut, and Brodie assumed both the men went inside one of the rooms, because all he could hear after that were muffled tones. He could feign inebriation and listen as he lay outside the door. On numerous occasions, he’d had to put himself in a vulnerable position and suffered a few cracked ribs and bruises when he’d been kicked to make sure he was of no threat to the men talking. But Skye was here, and he couldn’t put her at risk.