My Seductive Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  The overly round one in the middle had to be the chief. The men looked to him, mirroring their moves according to his. Except one. The man sitting to his left. That one had to be the chieftain’s son.

  “What a face.” Lilia reached down and snagged her bow and an arrow, soundlessly placing them atop the rock in front of her. The Buchanan’s son looked like he either smelled a stink or was straining to take a shit. He sat much taller in the saddle than his father and wasn’t nearly as round. He kept scanning the area. His oversized beak of a nose twitched while his nostrils flared with every turn of his head.

  “Ye made an oath t’me, MacKenna.” The Buchanan shifted in the saddle, squirming from side to side as though his ass itched.

  “Aye, I did at that.” Gray kept his back to the wall, taking care to stand to one side of the crude window. “That oath is broken. Ye’ve attacked m’kinsman and threatened m’clan. I owe ye nothing.”

  “Give me MacTavish and his witch.” The chieftain pointed a pudgy finger up the hillside.

  Lilia retreated a bit more behind the boulder, a chill stealing across her when the man’s hawk-faced son looked her dead in the eye.

  The Buchanan slowly lowered his hand but kept his scowl trained on Lilia. “I came here personally t’restore me honor in front of me son. I’ll no’ be leavin’ this place ’til I’ve done it. Turn them over now and I’ll leave yer clan in peace.”

  Lilia tensed as Graham stood, readied the spear in one hand, and moved closer to the window. Don’t do it, Graham. Stay back.

  “The woman ye call witch is my wife,” Graham said, his tone deep and rumbling like the warning growl of a beast. “I’ll thank ye no’ to insult her.”

  “And she’s my good sister,” Gray added.

  “And mine as well,” Colum warned.

  “She’s a witch—just like her kin that ha’ poisoned the blood of yer clan.” This time it was the Buchanan’s son who spoke. “Our spies ha’ told us what goes on at yer keep, MacKenna. Speakin’ t’demons through the hearth fires. Strange healin’ of those who shouldna live. ’Tis time t’purge this land of yer evil. Reclaim it from Satan and bless it as our own.”

  Shit. Witch hunters. Lilia nocked an arrow and pulled back, aiming the missile’s tip right between the son’s beady eyes. Holding her breath, she waited for Graham or one of the MacKennas to make a move. Give me the sign to part the son of a bitch’s hair. She forced the memory of Granny’s horrific accounts of witch hunters and their methods of torture to the back of her mind. This situation had evolved into something much worse than Graham insulting the chieftain. These holier-than-thou fools were threatening her loved ones. They had to be stopped. “Kismet—get down there and help them. I’m safe up here,” she whispered.

  Kismet leapt from the rock, then melted into the tangled undergrowth and made her way silently down the hillside. Lilia didn’t exhale until she saw the cat reappear beside Karma. Good. Now the men had more furry firepower.

  A calloused hand closed around her throat and yanked her backward, knocking the weapon from her hands. “Ye’ll no’ be shootin’ yer bewitched arrows this day, witch!”

  Alberti’s training kicked in. Lilia went limp, balled up, then shifted while jerking her captor over her shoulder. The man lost grip of her throat but snagged hold of her thick braid and swung her over, bouncing her flat on her back against the ground.

  Lilia wheezed in a strangled breath, struggling to regain her footing and the wind the man had knocked out of her.

  “Yer a spiteful bitch, I gi’ ye that.” The henchman cuffed her hard across the face, knocked her back to the ground, then snatched her up again by her hair.

  Lilia pivoted with a sweeping heel kick aimed directly at his crotch. He caught her foot in both hands and twisted hard, nearly ripping her hip from the socket. With a bone-chilling guffaw, the man flung her to her back again.

  Lilia rolled away, crab-crawling sideways to stay out of his reach. This son of a bitch is too big. Gotta get free and run like hell. The man was three times her size and seemed impervious to pain. No way could she win bare-handed.

  “Enough play. Time t’take ye down to himself.” The man lunged, grabbing her by one arm and her braid, then started down the hillside, dragging her beside him.

  Lilia clawed and bit at the brute, doing her damnedest to wrap herself around his legs as he walked. If it worked for Kismet, it just might work for her.

  The man kicked her free, wrenching her upward until her boot tips barely scraped the ground. Blood roared in her ears. Blinding lights flashed from the bastard’s hard knee to her temple. Lilia struggled to remain conscious. Graham will kill him. Soon as we’re in range. One of the guys will kill him. She twisted and fought with every jerking step. The son of a bitch might win this round but she damn sure wasn’t going to make it easy.

  As her captor drew closer to the base of the hill, he crushed her across his torso and pressed his dagger to her throat. His arm tightened around her rib cage. Lilia swore she heard her ribs crack and bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  The bastard arched his back, lifting her up higher as he shouted to the men taking cover in the ruins. “I’ll soak the ground with her blood if ye raise a weapon. Dinna think I won’t gut this witch here where I stand.”

  Blinking against pain and dizziness, Lilia barely made out the mixture of fury and fear on Graham’s face. I’m so sorry. She willed him to hear her thoughts, praying he’d know what she felt right now. So sorry. If they got out of this alive, she’d admit that he’d been right and she’d been dead wrong.

  As the man sidled the rest of the way into the camp, holding her as a shield, she struggled and clawed with the last of her energy. Nothing worked. The focused beast was impervious to everything. Lilia finally decided to go limp again. By God, if the bastard wanted to present her to the Buchanans, he could damn well carry her the rest of the way.

  Her spirits lifted the barest bit as a deep warning growl rumbled from beyond the stones. Sweet Karma. He was pissed. If and when the men unleashed him, the Buchanans wouldn’t know what hit them.

  Still holding Lilia between himself and the MacKennas, the wretched Buchanan sidled in front of his kinsmen still astride their horses. The bastard lifted her up by the back of her shirt and turned, presenting her to the Buchanan’s son for closer inspection. “Yer witch, Master Andrew.”

  Two rapid-fire thuds sounded. A gurgling wheeze hissed free of the man. He dropped Lilia, staggered to one side, then collapsed with a pair of arrows protruding out of his rib cage.

  Lilia balled up and rolled under Master Andrew’s horse, screaming at the top of her lungs while dodging the spooked beast’s frantic stomping. Clearing the animal’s sharp hooves, she launched herself up with a gimping hop, still yodeling out a high-pitched squeal and clapping her hands. All the horses reared and stomped, the first mount’s hysteria quickly spreading to them all.

  Karma leapt out of the ruins, barking and gnashing his teeth. A streak of black sped past Lilia with a high-pitched yowl, then a Buchanan shouted and cursed as Kismet reached her target.

  Arrows flew overhead as Lilia zigzagged toward safety, the treacherous route hindered by panicked horses and men swinging their swords.

  Lilia’s heart leapt as Graham cleared the wall. Teeth bared and spear raised, he was headed to save her. A swipe of a Buchanan shield knocked her into a backward roll. She staggered to her feet, nearly back where she’d started.

  A horse screamed beside her. Lilia shied away from the lethal hooves pummeling the air.

  The chieftain’s son lost his seat, cursing as he hit the ground in a controlled roll. With an agile leap, he gained his footing, a deadly mace clutched in one hand. Advancing on Lilia, he didn’t blink or look away as he bent and scooped up his shield, never faltering a step as two arrows and then two more hit and stuck into the disc of metal-covered wood.

  Oh shit. Gotta get to safety. Now! Lilia turned and screamed, “Graham!”

  “Die,
witch!”

  The roared words echoed in her ears as the hard blow cracked between her shoulder blades and lifted her up from the ground. Her lungs exploded, filled with unbearable fire. Pain crackled through her like a jolt of lightning.

  Tumbling through the air, the first thing that registered in her mind was the horrified look on Graham’s face as he ran toward her. A dull roaring resembling the hollow growl of a gale force wind drowned all other sound. Lilia tried to reach out to him, clutching the air as she spun into a strangely muted darkness. She hit the ground with a sickening thud. A sharp popping filled her ears as she flopped across the rocky ground and rolled to a stop.

  A strangely distorted clash of metal on metal sounded both close and yet far away at the same time. Men were shouting but for the life of her, she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Fighting. That’s what it was. Definitely the sound of battle but it seemed so far away—as though she’d been lifted out of the chaos and tucked away into a secluded room. Excruciating pain radiated from the middle of her back all the way through to her chest, making it hard to focus. The unbearable ache radiated out to her fingertips in throbbing waves.

  She couldn’t breathe. Or could she? Was she the one making that high-pitched wheezing sound? She kicked—at least she thought she kicked but couldn’t tell if anything happened. She knew for certain her legs hadn’t moved. She struggled to roll to her side and make it the rest of the way to Graham but her body refused to obey.

  The din of the skirmish grew ever softer. Almost hollow and so much harder to discern. Every sound seemed muffled as though wrapped in wool. Why was it suddenly so much darker? It was the middle of the day.

  Strong hands gripped her arms, rolling her until she felt the cool wind brush across her face. An embrace held her tight. It’s so dark. I know my eyes are open. Why can’t I see? She tried to move her mouth, tried to speak. Graham? Why wasn’t her voice working? Flinching against the searing burn spreading through her lungs, she struggled to open her unseeing eyes even wider. I’ve got to make it through the darkness. I’ve got to make him hear me.

  “Daren’t ye die! Can ye hear me, dear one? I love ye, Lilia! Ye must not die and leave me!”

  She vaguely felt arms tighten around her, clutching her close. Finally safe. The pain didn’t seem so bad now. Maybe she’d just rest for a little while before they went back home. We’re finally safe.

  “Lilia! Dinna leave me!”

  Graham’s voice sounded so far away and filled with unspeakable panic. Why? We’re safe now.

  “I swear by the gods I love ye and I’ll ne’er let ye go.”

  Arms tightened around her. Poor Graham. She had to make him feel better. She couldn’t bear to hear him so afraid. And then it came to her. My vision. This is my vision. If she could figure out how, she’d smile up at him and tell him to relax. Everything was going to be all right—at least she thought it would be. She recognized the feel of all that was happening but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember how the vision had ended. Surely it had turned out all right. Hadn’t it? She tried to lift her hand toward the sound of Graham’s rasping groan but her arm didn’t seem to want to work. Her hand was so…heavy.

  A hard muscled chest rubbed beneath her cheek. The steady hammering thump of a heartbeat tapped against her face. A shaking hesitant touch brushed across her jawline.

  Graham’s voice—broken by a heartbreaking mix of a sob and a groan. Clearer now. Closer. “I beg ye, m’love. Ye must not die. I canna live without ye.”

  Die? A distant roaring rushed closer, drowning all other sounds and sensations. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was about to die. A bleak sadness filled her as a sense of free falling overtook her.

  Poor Graham. I am…so very…sorry.

  Chapter 29

  Graham lifted Lilia up into his arms, clutching her all the tighter. He slowly stood, taking care to jar her as little as possible. She dare not die. He’d no’ allow it. He’d sworn an oath to protect this woman and he’d be damned if he broke it. He’d ne’er broken his oaths—not once in his long life.

  He looked up, his gaze pinned to the bright patch of blue peeping down through the softly swaying leaves. Raw fury and uncontrollable rage exploded from him in a long throaty roar. He stepped forward, cradling Lilia higher, offering her to any great being that might choose to look down upon him. He’d beg if he had to—I’ll do anythin’. This is no’ just and ye ken that as well as I. I beg ye. Give her back t’me.

  How could the gods be so cruel? The most precious piece of his heart had finally been found only to be ripped away from him.

  Wisps of clouds floated overhead. Birdsong tittered through the trees as though all were right with the world. How could it be so? How could all about him keep marking time as his beloved lay dying in his arms? Where the hell were the damn gods now that he truly needed them?

  “I will not allow this!” he shouted, stepping forward and curling Lilia to his chest. “Ye will not take her from me—I swear that ye won’t—not without the likes of a battle that ye’ve ne’er seen afore and will ne’er see again.”

  Gray and Colum slowly approached, their somber expressions burning into him like salt in an open wound. Gray rested a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “I’ve sent the boy to fetch her kin. Logan is the clan’s fastest rider. Hopefully he’ll get them back here before—”

  “Daren’t ye say it.” Graham jerked away, gathering Lilia’s limp form up to his cheek. He closed his eyes, softly rubbing his face against hers. God a’mighty. She’s so verra cold. He ground his teeth, fighting the urge to roar aloud again.

  He opened his eyes and looked down at her, searching, vainly hoping for a sign, or maybe a miracle—nay—he wished for the almighty ones themselves t’reach down and make his dear one live and laugh again.

  But her skin remained a ghostly white and a sickly blue shadow tinged her barely parted lips. Lilia’s chest rose and fell at a more rapid shallow pace. Graham cringed at the bubbling wheeze escaping with her every gasp for air.

  He’d easily killed the son of a bitch that had struck the blow but now he stood helpless, clutching her in his arms, the one precious love he’d ne’er thought t’find and now—now that he knew life would be senseless without her, he couldna do a damn thing t’save her. “She’s drowning in her own blood and I canna stop it,” he whispered.

  A large paw raked at his leg, gently, but digging with an urgency that refused to be ignored. Graham turned and glanced down. Karma, sitting tall and somber, whined and pawed at the air again. Graham easily understood the great beast’s silent plea. Slowly, he went to his knees and held Lilia out to the dog.

  Karma carefully tucked his nose into the crook of Lilia’s neck and softly brushed the top of his muzzle back and forth against her cheek. A faint whine came from the great dog as though he was begging her not to leave.

  Graham swallowed hard. The dog’s caring gesture nearly shattered his wavering control and sent him keening his unbearable grief to all the Highlands.

  Ears drooping and tail sagging, Karma stepped aside, threw back his great dark head, and shattered the unholy stillness of the clearing with a mournful howl. As the chilling cry echoed and faded away, the clearing and the woods around them fell reverently silent.

  Kismet appeared at Graham’s side, purring loudly and rubbing against his side. She tenderly placed her paws atop Lilia’s wrist and gently began licking away the blood, cleaning Lilia as though washing a kitten.

  “God a’mighty,” Colum groaned, choking back a strangled sob as he turned away and strode across the clearing to stare out over the land.

  Gray bent and squeezed Graham’s shoulder. “I go to watch for them.” He squeezed Graham’s shoulder again, then silently walked away and joined Colum, standing beside him, scowling out at the rolling glen opening before them.

  A damp rag appeared in front of Graham’s face. He looked up. Angus stood with his broken arm clutched against his body, his expression grim, holding out t
he bit of cloth. “I thought ye might wish t’wipe the dust from her face.” He cleared his throat, glanced away, and shuffled in place. “Thought it might give her a bit a peace—make her feel better. Ye ken how clean she always was.”

  “I thank ye.” Graham nodded and took the rag. “I’m sure it will.” As he gently wiped the blood and dirt from Lilia’s face, Angus quietly moved away.

  “Riders approach,” Gray called out. “Karma. Greet them. See if they be friend or foe.”

  The dog rose from his seat beside Graham and loped out of the camp.

  Friend or foe. A bitter snort escaped him but Graham didn’t take his gaze from Lilia’s ragged breathing. How the hell could it be anyone other than more Buchanans? The boy had nary had the time t’reach MacKenna Keep, much less fetch the Sinclair women. He settled Lilia more comfortably in his arms. He hoped it was more Buchanans. Surely he could goad them into sendin’ him on his way to join his dear sweet love on the other side.

  An excited happy bark traveled back to them from the stretch of open ground at the base of the glen.

  Graham looked up. Colum and Gray both shielded their eyes with their hands, squinting at the approaching riders. Whoever it was—Karma liked them.

  “It canna be.” Gray hurried back to Graham. “ ’Tis Mother Sinclair, Trulie, Lady Mairi, and Lady Kenna.”

  “Ye’ve gone daft.” Graham gently lowered Lilia to the pallet of blankets Angus had spread beside him. He slowly rose, took up his sword, and positioned himself at Lilia’s feet. “They’ve no’ had time t’receive word.”

  “See for yerself,” Colum shouted, waving to guide the women’s horses into the clearing.

  Granny rode in first, her twisted staff held high in one hand. Trulie followed, with Mairi and Kenna close behind. Granny dismounted with the ease of a woman a third of her years, not bothering to wait for the girls before rushing over to Lilia’s side.