Highland Archer

by Hildie McQueen

  Chapter Seventeen

  The jostling of the wagon made Valent bounce with every dip and rivet they rolled over in the haste of whoever his kidnappers were to get away. He cursed when his shoulder slammed onto the bottom boards. They’d managed to knock it out of its joint and he was sweating from the throbbing brought on by the injury. Once again, he struggled against the bindings, but was not successful in loosening the straps.

  Whoever drove the wagon spoke in low tones to another man. Thankfully, the cloth they’d wrapped over his eyes had slipped enough for him to see. They’d knocked him out when they’d overtaken him near his cottage. He’d gone back to look for his bundle of belongings he’d left there and hit him from behind.

  He lifted his head to make out whether or not his dog, Arrow, followed. If they’d hurt Arrow in any way, Valent swore he’d kill them.

  “Where is my dog?” he yelled so they could hear him over the creaking. “Who are you and where do you take me?”

  One of them looked over his shoulder, not seeming discomfited by the fact Valent could see him. “Ye’ll know soon enough.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  The men mumbled to each other and one looked past him to the road. “If you mean that one, he’s been behind us the entire way.”

  Once again, he lifted his head to see Arrow keeping pace to the side of the wagon. Valent whistled and Arrow raced to catch up, easily jumping into the back of the wagon before settling next to him.

  The same man chuckled upon spotting Arrow. “If yer beastie bites me, I will delight in killing it.”

  “If you do, then I will kill you,” Valent replied, not bothering to look at the man.

  They continued on for what seemed forever before coming to high, thick gates, which were opened upon their arrival.

  Valent prepared himself for what came next.

  A large, muscular man appeared at the end of the wagon and reached for Valent only to stop when Arrow growled. The man moved away. “How am I to retrieve him with a snarling beast with ’im?” the man snapped at the men who’d kidnapped him. “The laird will not be pleased.”

  For the moment, they left him there. Valent maneuvered himself to sitting, leaned on the back of the cart and studied the surroundings while he waited for the throbbing to subside.

  The cart was stopped in a courtyard. It was larger than the McLeod’s with neat rows of stables on one side and quarters that he assumed were for the guards along the opposite side. In the center was a well and to the back were gardens. A large fire just outside the guards’ quarters warmed whatever brewed in the large pot hovering over it. Several dogs gathered, looking to Arrow with interest. His dog ignored them, too busy sniffing the air and keeping a keen eye on whoever neared.

  Instinctively, he knew it was his brother’s keep. Why he was brought there was the one thing Valent was not sure of. Why would his brother go to such lengths to bring him back? If he planned to hold him for ransom, he’d be sorely disappointed.

  Finally, the laird appeared flanked by two warriors and headed towards where Valent sat. Valent didn’t try to move, the pain from his shoulder reaching an unbearable level.

  Steaphan neared and barely glanced at a growling Arrow. “Fetch a healer to see about his shoulder.” The order was given without looking away from Valent.

  “Arrow,” Valent whistled softly and the dog moved back, lowering his large head onto his paws. “Why do you bring me here? Release me at once.”

  Steaphan studied him for a moment before speaking. “As I told you, there is much you must know. We have reached a truce with the McLeods so I do not do this as an affront to the laird, but to allow you a choice.”

  “My choice is to leave.” The gate was closing and, along with it, any opportunity to escape dashed.

  “Brother, you are welcome to stay in a chamber or the dungeon. Either way, you will be guarded at all times until we come to an agreement.”

  “I would prefer to leave,” Valent repeated and searched the cart for any sign of his bundle and bow. He was relieved to see them tied to the side of the wagon. “I will require a horse and my weapon. You will never see me again.”

  Steaphan moved aside. “Get him down from there. Bring him inside.” He met Valent’s gaze. “Keep your dog under control.”

  Although Arrow growled softly, he did not snap at the men who pulled Valent from the wagon and untied his feet. They guided him to the interior of the keep. Truth be told, he almost wished they carried him as the pain was intolerable at that point.

  “Come now, bring him to sit here.” An old man motioned them forward and without preamble, shoved a piece of leather between his teeth. “Ye will want to bite down on this lad.” The man smiled, the few teeth left were dark and yellow. “It will hurt a bit.”

  Before Valent could prepare, the old man had two men hold him and he shoved at his shoulder. There was a hollow pop and it was set into place. Valent almost passed out, darkness swirled and he let out a groan. He blinked the stars away and spit out the leather. “Whiskey.”

  A cup was brought to his lips and he swallowed down the fiery liquid, hoping it would take effect soon.

  He studied the large room. With bright tapestries on the walls and clean long tables, it was impressive. Large candleholders lit the space and gave it a welcoming ambience. It had a second level along the sides, which allowed for viewing of the space where he sat. The room was completely empty except for him, the healer and three guardsmen.

  “Steaphan?” a woman called and hurried into the room. The attractive woman looked to him. “Did you receive a message back from the Grant?”

  When he didn’t reply, she narrowed her eyes at him and moved towards Valent. The closer she came, the wider her eyes became. “Darach.”

  It was not a question but a statement. The woman’s hands went to her chest and she took a wobbly step back. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She lifted a hand as if to touch his face, but curled her fingers into a fist and moved away. She looked to one of the guards. “Where is my son?”

  The men looked to each of the others. Obviously they knew Valent was her son as well as Steaphan. From the question, however, it was also obvious she did not consider him such.

  “He comes now, milady,” one of the men answered and she turned to Steaphan who entered the room and stopped short. “Mother. You have met Valent, I see.”

  “Valent?” She turned to him. “Is that who you are? Valent McLeod?”

  He didn’t bother responding. Instead, he studied her face in an attempt to remember her. The woman seemed uncomfortable under his scrutiny and looked away.

  “Why did you bring him here?” she asked Steaphan. “You are putting the entire clan in danger.”

  Steaphan ignored her and came to Valent. “Valent, this is our mother Lorna McKenzie. Do not be distraught at her lack of caring for you. I fear I, too, am treated without warmth. She is not the maternal kind, never has been.”

  Lorna McKenzie glared at Steaphan. “What are you going to do? Allow him to go free? You must send him away at once.”

  Valent almost spoke up in agreement, but was still unable to form a word at meeting his mother. His family. No they were not that, perhaps to the young Darach, but to him they were strangers.

  Steaphan neared and looked to the healer. “I thank you.”

  The healer took a long swig of whatever was in a dirty jug. “’Tis a thing, my laird, to see the looks of both of ye at the same time.” The old man cackled and bent to pick up the leather. He rubbed it against his tunic and threw it into his sack. “I’ll be on my way then. Will ye be at the festival next week, Laird?” The old man looked at Steaphan. “My wager is on ye for the toss.”

  His brother chuckled. “Aye, Tilam, I will be there. Do not wager too high. I hear Dugan is tossing it quite far these days.”

  It was interesting to watch his brother’s interactions with the old man. The McLeod would never lower himself to such a conversation. Yet everyone seemed at ease
around Steaphan.

  His brother waited for the healer to leave before speaking to him again. “Valent, I will allow you to leave after you hear everything I have to share.” Steaphan’s gaze met his and held it. “I am glad you are here, brother.”

  The laird looked to the guards. “My men will ensure you remain in your chambers. If you require anything, ask them.”

  “Did you look for me?” Valent ignored Steaphan and asked the woman who paled visibly. “Or were you the one who sent me away?”

  Lorna looked to him. For a brief instant, he saw something akin to hurt, but she quickly recovered and assumed a façade of annoyance. “I will never speak of that day.” She lifted her skirts and stormed away from them. “Steaphan, I will not attend the evening meal,” she called out as she crossed the doorway.

  Steaphan seemed to be used to his mother’s ways as he ignored her last comment and spoke to him. “There is something I must do. I will be gone and return in two or three days. At that time I will seek you out and we will speak. Upon learning the truth, you can decide what you wish to do. I will not allow you to go until you are fully aware of the circumstances before making a decision.”

  “I already know,” Valent snarled. “Let me go. There can be no reason for me to remain here.” He was surprised the guards allowed him to stand.

  There was sadness in Steaphan’s eyes when locking to his. “You may change your mind once we speak.” He moved closer, his brother’s lips to his ear. “It is your birthright that you be laird. Not mine.”

  The announcement hit Valent so hard, he fell back into the chair. What his brother said should not affect him but it did. It was hard to keep a neutral expression at the knowledge of how different his life should have been.

  He did not fight the guards who escorted him to private chambers. Truth be told, he needed the time right now. To be alone with the pain and new knowledge.

  Valent was deposited into a spacious set of rooms. He remained by the door taking in the space.

  An oversized bedroom with a bed so large, three men could lay on it shoulder to shoulder. He walked around it taking in the intricate word carvings on the bedposts. On both sides of the bed were tables with lamps and across from it a large fireplace with a fire already burning. The window was large, but barred from the outside. Interesting, did the McKenzies always insure their visitors could not escape?

  In a small adjoining room there was a table, two chairs covered in thick fabric and another smaller fireplace. On the table was a tray of meats, cheeses, and bread.

  Lain across the back of one of the chairs was a McKenzie tartan. The rich blue and green fabric felt thick under his palm when he ran his hand over it. A crest pin fell with a thunk to the floor and he stared at it.

  The silver pin, meant to hold the tartan in place would never grace his chest. Valent didn’t bother to pick it up off the floor.

  Everything was set for someone of high regard, someone who expected the best. This was not for him. Why did his brother insist on treating him with such respect? He did not want this, was not used to this kind of treatment.

  A jeweled goblet next to a pitcher caught his attention and he reached for it realizing he was thirsty. Just as his hand touched the cup, he noticed his bruised, labor-marred hand and he snatched it away as if burned.

  He moved away from the table and kept walking backwards until his back hit a wall.

  Valent closed his eyes when his knees buckled. As he slid to the floor, the first tears streamed down his face. He took a hard, shaky breath that came out as a sob. His head lulled forward onto his knees and in that instant, he felt like that small boy who’d been snatched from his home.

  So alone, so scared, not sure what to do or think except to want his father and mother and security of his home. He fell to his side cradling his injured arm and allowed the salty tears to continue falling.

  In that moment, he didn’t care that someone could walk in. Hurt and sorrow enveloped him and Valent did not fight the barrage of pain that sliced through his heart and soul.

  He never aspired to the life of a laird. Would not accept to lead this clan. They were not his family, not any more.

  Valent’s chest ached with each sob as grief surrounded him, squeezing the air from his lungs. His life should have been so different. All those years of hunger, pain and loneliness, fighting for scraps as a child could have been avoided.

  Now, it was too late for him.

  He was a man with no one.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fiona McLeod pulled weeds from the garden. How had so many sprung so soon? It was only a week past she’d cleaned the entire area where her herbs grew and it was already overrunning with the horrid things.

  Horses approached. Fiona shielded her eyes from the sun and looked past to the expanse of the lands. Horsemen rode toward the keep.

  The McLeod guards looked on without alarm. Whoever came was not a threat. She tried to ignore the flipping in her stomach at the thought it could be her husband and went back to her gardening.

  It annoyed her that whenever she pondered on their one night together, her treacherous body demanded his touch.

  One night. That was all they’d had. Yes, it had been wonderful and like nothing she’d ever experienced. But the memory soured at remembering her husband attempted to leave the next day without bothering to say a word to her. She was too angry to consider what would happen between them if he who came now.

  There was commotion behind her as the riders were received. She continued about her work, ignoring the voices of the guards and whoever arrived. Once the weeding was completed, she’d feign a headache and hide in her room, avoiding the evening meal.

  “Fiona, I came for you. Your message was unreasonable. I will not wait a fortnight for my wife. Are you prepared?” His voice fell over her like a soft, warm blanket. She fortified herself before looking up to the glowering man. Did he have to be so handsome?

  “No, I am not prepared. I insist. I must wait a fortnight before I come to your keep then.” She continued weeding.

  “I can take you, now. With or without belongings matters naught to me.”

  He stepped closer and she feared he’d pull her up by her hair for daring to speak so freely, so she jumped to her feet and moved away. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He didn’t speak. Instead, he moved closer and closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. “You will either pack now or you will leave with me by force.” His gray eyes were almost black with anger. The darkness of his gaze reminded her of when he lay with her. She looked to his lips and had to take a step backward.

  “Are you always to be so demanding?” she snapped. “I don’t understand why the hurry for me to prepare to leave with you. After all, you were in such a hurry to be away.”

  His gaze swept her face. “You have dirt on your face. Do you always do such work?” Steaphan motioned to the ground.

  Did he attempt to distract her? She smoothed her hands down the front of her apron. “Aye, I like being outdoors.”

  “Then you will enjoy the ride back to my keep tomorrow. We leave at daybreak.”

  She let out a huff and spoke slowly. “I. Am. Not. Prepared. You will have to leave without me. I will come in a week.”

  He moved closer and reached for her. Would he punish her? She’d pushed him to lose his temper, perhaps?

  Fiona attempted to take a step back but her foot hit her spade and she lost her balance. She flailed her arms out to the sides knowing any second she’d land on the damp earth on her bottom.

  Perfect. Just great. She was angering the man and now would fall onto the ground at his feet.

  Steaphan grabbed her arms and kept her from falling.

  Unfortunately, it meant she fell forward into his hard chest. Fiona pushed away and stepped sideways. Her heart pounded, her breathing in soft gasps.

  “Don’t push me away.” With his hand, he gently lifted her face and frowned. “I cannot stop thinking of you. Of us tog
ether.” His words were like a caress. “I am anxious to have you in my bed again, Fiona.”

  Fiona couldn’t stand the nearness any longer, she was still angry with him. “You left me.”

  “It was for your safety.” His lips curved, mesmerizing her.

  “Of course.” It was necessary to move away from him. She needed space in order to think. “If we are to leave so soon, I will see about packing.” She pushed his hand away and went toward the entrance only for him to fall in step beside her.

  “I will accompany you.”

  “No need.”

  “I want to.”

  “You should visit with Da.”

  “I wish to visit with you.”

  “It will take me some time.”

  “I do not mind.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you do not. You desire me as much as I do you.” He took her by the shoulders and, in the next instant, she was against the wall, her husband’s probing tongue between her lips and her fingers threading through his hair.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Reckoning

  The dew was fresh on the grass as Fiona McKenzie paced outside in the garden. The wet hem of her skirts brushed the top of her feet and she shivered at the coolness of it.

  It bothered her that no one seemed to be as upset about her upcoming departure as she was. Her mother came outside and rushed to her. “What are you doing out here? You will catch your death.” She gave her an incredulous look. “Fiona ’tis time to grow up and act like what you are. A laird’s wife.”

  Her mother was right, but it didn’t stop her from letting out a huff of indignation. “I tried to pack, but the oaf kept getting in my way.” Her face reddened at the different things Steaphan had done to distract her. He’d gone from kissing the back of her neck to pulling her against him, his hands roving over her body. Thankfully, he’d not spent the night in her chamber as he’d joined her father to discuss whatever men discuss and drinking until the wee hours. As soon as she’d woken and broke her fast, she’d hurried out to the garden to think.