Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  She was the only thing that could quench what he was feeling. As he drank from the bowl, he felt her sleeve. “This is wet. Why are you still wearing it?”

  One eyebrow went up as she took the bowl away. Alexander watched with interest as she reached under her skirt and tore another strip from her shift, but not before he had a good view of the cream-colored skin of her legs. He imagined them wrapped around him.

  “Let me wash your wounds.”

  “And I’ll help you out of this wet dress.”

  “You must be dreaming.” Her voice had suddenly grown husky.

  “I was dreaming, and you were quite happy in my dreams. Sitting naked on my lap, riding me while I suckled your breasts. You couldn’t get enough of me.”

  Even in the dim light he could see the blush that crept into her cheeks.

  “This is no way to talk to me, you saucy ape.”

  “I think you like me the way I am.” He reached up and ran his finger along the silky softness of her neck. She didn’t pull back from his touch. He slipped an arm around her and brought her mouth to his. She immediately opened up to his kiss, and he felt his loins tighten.

  Too soon she drew back, breaking off the kiss. She dipped the cloth into the water again and gently dabbed at his side.

  “I want my wedding night, Kenna.”

  “You’re not going to get it. We’re going our separate ways once we reach Oban.”

  Leaning back, Alexander smiled. “Devil take me if we do.”

  He ran his fingers like a comb through her hair.

  “You’re distracting me,” she said, inching closer without moving her gaze from the wound.

  Alexander knew women. And right now he knew Kenna. He untied the top lace. He heard the breath catch in her throat.

  “Let me finish,” she whispered.

  “You just keep on with what you’re doing.” He pulled the next pair of laces free, and the next.

  She shifted her weight from one knee to the other. He saw her hand tremble as she dipped the cloth into the bowl again before placing it against his skin.

  “You forget I have a cut on my shoulder.”

  She moved closer to check, and Alexander caught her by the waist, drawing her near. Their gazes locked in a moment of challenge.

  “You lied to me.”

  “And I will lie again.” Alexander spread the neckline open until the tops of her breasts were exposed. She shivered as he trailed his fingers along her throat and chest, slipping his hand inside the fabric. He cupped one of her breasts, lifting it and stroking the hardening nipple with his thumb.

  A soft gasp escaped her. Her eyes were wide and uncertain as she stared at him. The wet cloth slipped out of her hand.

  “I’m not done cleaning the wound.”

  “I know,” he whispered back, kissing her neck. “I’m not done with you, either.”

  He pressed his lips to the top of each breast. He pushed the clothes down and suckled her nipple.

  She cried out his name, and her fingers gripped his hair.

  Alexander’s hand moved up her leg and beneath the dress. Her skin was like silk, her legs strong and smooth. His fingers reached the juncture of her legs, and she gasped again. She was moist, ready for him.

  “Wait,” she whispered.

  He stopped, hearing the same noise. He reached for his sword.

  Someone was coming.

  Twelve wagons, laden with boxes of abbey treasure, sat in a line on the river road, while sparks and glowing embers rose from the fiery structure, lighting up the night sky.

  “But Sir Ralph,” the duke of Hertford’s messenger stressed, following Evers and Maxwell down to the river’s edge. “His Grace sent me specifically to tell you that anything taken from the abbey was to be sent to him for shipment to His Majesty.”

  Maxwell watched Evers crouch by the slow-moving water, peeling his gloves off and washing blood and soot from his face. The monks had put up a good fight, but they didn’t have a chance once the invaders smelled blood.

  When it was over, Maxwell had stood in the shadows, the hackles rising on his neck while Evers spoke to the empty air above the body of the dead abbot. Then he’d followed the Englishmen directly to a crypt in a chapel where he opened a secret passage into the abbey vaults.

  So now it all belonged to Evers. All of it.

  “It’s a dangerous job you have,” Sir Ralph said, standing and facing the messenger. “Riding through the countryside of our Scots enemy. Many messages must go astray and the messengers lost to our foes.”

  Evers stepped back as Maxwell drove his knife through the man’s throat and upward into his skull, lifting him until the messenger was at eye level with him. Even in the dark, he could see the life disappear from the man’s young face, and he let the body drop into the murky water. The chain shirt pulled the body under, and only a few bubbles remained. Soon those were gone, as well.

  Sir Ralph nodded his approval. “Henry and Hertford be damned, Maxwell. I’ll send word we found no treasure here.”

  Chapter 11

  Time goes on crutches till Love have all his rites.

  Kenna stood in the shadows next to the skin flap, dagger drawn, holding her breath. Waiting. Alexander pushed himself to one knee by the straw pallet and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the sword. Moonlight poured over him from the small window, making him the immediate target of whoever came through the door.

  She’d made no fire. They’d done nothing that might bring anyone to this hut in the middle of the night. Kenna tried to remember what Jock told them about the marauders. Five or six or more in each raiding party. Too many for the two of them to handle.

  Footsteps. Right outside the door.

  Her heart drummed. Cold sweat prickled along her spine. She and Alexander exchanged a look. At the very least, they’d both die fighting.

  The flap pulled back. A head appeared. Kenna stopped herself at the last moment from jabbing the dagger into the intruder’s neck. It was Jock.

  She grabbed the back of his shirt and tossed him inside. He rolled onto the dirt floor.

  “I’m alone,” he chirped. “No one else.”

  She peered into the darkness, listening for any other noise. She was too tense to take the boy at his word. She let the skin flap fall back in place.

  “Coming back was dangerous.” Her tone was sharp. “I could have killed you. What are you doing here?” She cringed, thinking how easily she could have hurt the boy.

  He stood up and pulled a satchel of rough woven sacking off his shoulder, giving it to Alexander. “I brought you food.”

  “Someone could have followed you,” Alexander told him.

  Her heart still hammering in her chest, Kenna looked out the tiny window. The moon was bright, but she saw no movement except for the soft breeze through the branches of the pines.

  “No one followed me,” Jock grumbled. His gaze went from one to the other, searching for an ally.

  The Highlander wasn’t satisfied. “Anyone could have seen the boat from the shore. They could be out there now.”

  “Nay, I landed a ways down the loch and pushed the boat out into the tide. No one will know where I came ashore. I’m not helping them to find you. But they’re coming.”

  “Where are they? How many?” Alexander asked, taking a deep breath and standing.

  “Their groups are getting bigger. They’re combing the loch on both shores, north and south.”

  Alexander pulled his shirt on and arranged his kilt. Kenna had washed much of the blood out of his clothes after he fell sleep.

  “They could be here any time.” The boy’s gaze flitted from the Highlander’s face to the wound in his side.

  Kenna straightened her clothing. She tucked the dagger into her belt and went to her husband to help him strap on his sword.

  “You should be with your kin,” she said. “Not here. How will you get back to them with your boat gone?”

  “None’s left.” Jock’s voice lost its tou
gh edge.

  They turned to the boy.

  “What do you mean?” Alexander asked.

  “As I rowed past the point below here, I saw it. The village was already burning,” he said softly. “The flames was shooting high in the sky. I didn’t know what to do, so I beached and hid in the trees. When the bastards moved on, I come out, but I couldn’t find my sister and her bairnie nor none of the cousins. One of the old folks hid himself under a log in the glen and come out too while I was there. He said the others took to the boats and others to the hills, aiming to work their way north, he figured. He was too old to run, he said. Them devils killed the ones that stayed.”

  “Were they Scots or English?”

  Jock spat on the floor. “Mostly Scots. Maxwell men.”

  “Who is this Maxwell?” Kenna asked.

  “He’s the youngest son of a laird down by Loch Lomond,” Alexander answered. “Fought in France. Switched sides a few times, they say, fighting for whoever paid the most gold. Cast off by his family. Bad reputation as long as I can remember.”

  She wanted to ask why Maxwell would be after her, but with the lad here, she decided to hold her questions.

  “You should go after your family. You won’t be safe traveling with us,” Alexander said to the boy.

  “I’m going north, same as you. And with those devils about, you canna go along the loch shore. You’ve got to go over to the hills to Oban. I know the way.” He touched the hilt of the dagger at his belt. “And with me, you’ll have an extra hand for protection.”

  Normally, his size would have made Kenna laugh. He was no bigger than her brothers, but she knew what the boy was capable of. Alexander was standing up straight, looking strong, but she guessed he was still hurting.

  “You should eat something before we go.” She divvied up the food. Jock shook his head at the offer.

  “You’re still alive,” he said finally to the Highlander. “Didn’t think you would be.”

  “So now we have the truth. You came back to woo my wife.”

  The boy cast a wary eye at Kenna. “You healed him?”

  Kenna heard the hint of accusation in the boy’s question. She was still trying to fathom what had happened. One moment, she’d thought her husband was going to die. The next, she was able to close the wound and stop the bleeding. Her mother’s gift had to be responsible for Alexander’s recovery. But how? Kenna could come up with no logical answer.

  She thought back to her childhood. To her mother. Sine was respected as the laird’s wife. She was valued as a healer like any physician. There’d been no rumors of sorcery. If the stone was the source of a healing power, Sine MacKay had shown no clue of it.

  Kenna needed time to think. She had to remember what exactly had happened yesterday. Perhaps Alexander’s injury wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

  Ignoring the boy’s question, she gathered up the blood-soaked rags and kicked the straw bed. It was best if no one guessed they’d spent some hours at this hut.

  “How did you do it?” Jock persisted.

  “My husband is a warrior. He has scars from many wounds.” She looked around the cottage.

  “Did you sew it closed?” the lad asked. “It’s not bleeding no more.”

  She saw Alexander reach under the shirt and touch the wound, but he said nothing.

  “Finish eating. We need to go,” Kenna ordered. “We haven’t much time before dawn.”

  Emily. One moment stubborn and fiery, the next docile and agreeable. She knew how to get what she was after, but James saw that she was careful of not pushing him too far. The two sides of her were contradictory. And yet, the mix of the two was so alluring. Too alluring.

  She had to go, he told himself. She was about to be married. He didn’t need the complication of a hardening cock every time he looked at her. He needed to distance himself from her, but he also needed to consider her safety. He could not send her directly to Craignock with Kester. The way south could be dangerous, what with the night and the marauders lurking about.

  That’s what he kept telling himself.

  So she stayed with them as they moved at a snail’s pace along both sides of the river, searching for some sign of Alexander and Kenna. She kept away from him, but not so far away that James could forget for a moment her maddening presence.

  At the first light of the day, they found bodies by the river and in a nearby clearing. James went from one bloody corpse to the next, relieved not to find his brother among the dead. He directed his men to spread and search the surrounding glen. If any of the raiding party remained in the woods—if Alexander or Kenna lay wounded somewhere—he didn’t want to miss them.

  Kester confirmed James’s conclusion a short time later. “They were here. The two of them. Tracks of a barefoot woman and a man, in the mud by the river. One raider lying dead where he must have confronted them on the bank. Alexander cut him down before the fight moved here into the clearing. Had his hands full, it appears.”

  James looked around at the dead. “They’d need more than this to kill my brother.”

  “Aye. But where are they now?”

  “I dinna think they took Alexander prisoner,” one of the Macpherson men said. He pointed west. “The trees give way to salt marsh not far from here. There’s a loch beyond, but there’s no cover for them and no sign they went that way.”

  “They must have continued following the river,” James told them. “They’ll be heading to Oban, where Alexander believes the exchange for the ship was to take place.”

  “Aye,” Kester agreed.

  James noticed Emily standing at the edge of the circle. He exchanged a look with Kester.

  It was time.

  “Can I talk to you alone for a moment?” she asked.

  James nodded and followed her until they were out of earshot of the others.

  Three days on horseback, one night sleeping on the hard ground, and the next night searching along this river. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty. Her blond hair was a jumbled mass of windblown curls. Her blue eyes had dark circles under them. But she still looked beautiful. Damn it.

  She had to go now.

  “Kester will accompany me back to Craignock Castle. You can keep the rest of the MacDougall men.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “You’re not only searching for your brother. My cousin is missing, too.”

  “She is my sister by marriage,” he said, feeling a prickle of annoyance. “I have no intention of fishing Alexander out of this river and letting Kenna drown.”

  “I didn’t think you would. I meant nothing of the kind. I’m trying to help. Nothing more.”

  “We can find them without MacDougall help.”

  “You’re being pigheaded.”

  “No more pigheaded than you forcing yourself on us at the most inconvenient time.”

  “I didn’t force anything on you. We were traveling in the same direction.”

  “You should be at Craignock Castle right now.”

  “I’ve been no trouble. I didn’t complain once.”

  “You slowed us down.”

  “I kept up with you. You’re just being difficult. And I’m the one who should be angry about the lies you told me.”

  He stared at her flushed face, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the full lips that begged to be kissed. “Enough. I have no time for this. You can complain to your father. Take your men and go. Safe journey.”

  He was about to walk away, but she reached for his arm. A hesitant touch.

  “Wait. I don’t want us to part ways like this.”

  The other Emily was back. The soft-spoken beauty. James told himself to walk away before she tangled him completely in her net, but his arm burned beneath her touch.

  “You have to go back to Craignock Castle,” he managed to mutter.

  Her hand dropped. “I’ll go. Kester and his men will deliver me safely back to my father.”

  Her gaze moved over his face, his neck, focused on hi
s lips for an extra heartbeat before meeting his. Then she took two faltering steps back.

  “I am eager for my marriage.” It was a lie. It came through to him clear as a bell. “And I’m keen to finally meet Sir Quentin. I’ve heard that he’s kind and generous. Absolutely the man of my dreams.”

  James felt the frustration rising within him. She took another step back.

  “He needs an heir. So the next time you and I meet, if that time ever comes, I’ll be holding his bairn at my breast.”

  James gripped the hilt of the sword. Say nothing, he told himself.

  “Farewell, James,” she whispered before running across the clearing to where Kester waited with her mount.

  Chapter 12

  Just to the gate of hell I will go;

  and there will the devil meet me,

  like an old cuckold, with horns on his head.

  Before they’d reached the top of the first hill above the loch, the ache in Alexander’s side had given over to a sharp, piercing pain. With every awkward step, a molten blade sliced through his belly, taking his breath away. Leaning on a stout stick he’d picked up, he did his best to avoid Kenna’s looks of concern. He would not slow them down.

  They continued to climb steadily through the hills and valleys, traversing open meadows as quickly as they could and staying close to the heavy pine forests when possible. Past midday, a steady rain began to fall. The whirling mists that hung about were a godsend. It would be difficult for anyone to see them. At the same time, he couldn’t see what lay ahead.

  The hills were steep and the waist-high gorse heavy. Before they left, Kenna cut in two the sacking that Jock brought from his village, and tied the pieces to her feet. Alexander didn’t think they could provide much protection from the sharp rocks and brambles.

  As the day wore on, he found himself stopping more and more, leaning on his stick and breathing heavily. The yellow flowers and their fragrant scent reminded Alexander of the hills around Benmore Castle. The highlands around the Spey were covered with it. The gorse was just coming into bloom when he left. He brushed aside the thought that he might not see his home again.