Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  Liv motioned at the rocks ahead of them, indicating they were near.

  Large, gray boulders jutted from the ground, shooting up above tender, green grass and only several feet ahead. The trees beyond were heavily grown, far too close together to bring the horses.

  Ian’s body tensed for the onset of war, and energy blazed through him. He was ready to help Sylvi, to prove his loyalty. To do the right thing for once in his damn life.

  They slowed as they neared the rocks and leapt from their horses. Sylvi looked to Percy and nodded.

  Percy slid behind a large boulder with a pile of small clay pots at her side and slung her bow from her back. Liv waited beside Sylvi, impatiently bouncing on her toes.

  Sylvi looked at him, put her arm in the air, and dropped it.

  It was time.

  Ian sprinted forward. His muscles practically sang from engaging the energy firing through him. He made sure to stay at Sylvi’s side, his senses sharp, aware. No matter the cost, he would see her protected.

  They ran through the surrounding trees, the clearing immediately becoming visible.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Liv and Sylvi breathed deep and even in their running beside him. Even still, the sounds were too loud.

  It was too empty. And too quiet.

  All three sprinted faster, running to the thing they all knew but could not bring themselves to say.

  They did not stop until they reached the clearing only a second later, revealing the truth.

  Reginald and his men were gone.

  Sylvi dropped to her knees, lifted her face to the sky, and screamed—a long, savage cry of rage directed at the heavens and all else who would listen. The sound was worse than seeing her cry. A woman blazing at the peak of her power, and yet so helpless.

  Ian stepped beside her. “We’ll find them.”

  Liv shook her head at him, but he would not listen. He would not cower behind Sylvi while she wallowed in such pain.

  “We’ll find them.” He said it with all the conviction that pumped through his heart. “We will not rest until they are found.”

  “Was this you? Did you tell them?” Sylvi spun to face him, her gaze large and wounded and angry.

  He kept his stare locked on hers. “I dinna know how they found out, but I can promise ye it wasna me who told.”

  “Just like you didn’t tell me about the coins before.” She scoffed and pushed herself to her feet the way one did in preparation to fight.

  His body still hummed with the unspent energy of the battle that hadn’t come. He knew she felt the same way, only she was always charged with the added fuel of rage.

  “I dinna tell ye everything before, no,” Ian said. “But I’ve no’ lied about anything and have told ye everything since. I swear on everything I hold sacred I’m telling ye the truth now.”

  “I don’t think you hold anything sacred.” She shot him a hard look and then turned away toward the empty camp site.

  He grabbed her arm. She swung around, and her fist flew at his face. He stopped it with his palm and curled his fingers around her hand, trapping her. “I hold what we shared sacred. I hold ye sacred. I hold the life I gave up as sacred. Sylvi, I care about ye—I wouldna ever see ye hurt.”

  She jerked her arms free and turned from him. Something nearby on the ground caught his eye, bright red and glinting, perhaps an item intentionally left behind by men who were otherwise so damn careful.

  Sylvi obviously saw it as well as they both began running toward it simultaneously. She got there first and bent to retrieve the garment. A dress.

  Sylvi sucked in her breath and crumpled it to her chest, but not before Ian could determine how very fine the fabric was, and caught sight of the numerous paste gemstones sparkling along the neckline.

  It was the kind of dress only one woman would have worn.

  Isabel.

  •••

  Isabel was missing and presumably naked.

  Sylvi had been desperate to find Reginald and his band of marauders, but after hours of searching, they’d had to give up. Again.

  Like the last time she’d tried to track them, she followed the clearly marked trails from the camp to where they blurred with many others on the main road. Once more, there were too many tracks to follow the path they had taken.

  Determined, they had followed all paths in an attempt to see if one branched off with the wagon wheels and footfalls of twenty men. As the afternoon grew later and thunderstorms drenched them, they were forced to give up their efforts.

  She hadn’t wanted to relinquish their search, not when Isabel was missing, not when My Lady had been murdered. And yet she’d had no choice.

  They’d found an inn not far from the main road and had easily secured four rooms, though it pained Sylvi to have to do so. The floorboards of Sylvi’s room at the inn were grayed and soft from a lifetime of people walking. Perhaps pacing as she did now. Back and forth through the narrow room, her mind churning, her feet moving, while Percy and Liv watched on in solemn silence.

  The red gown lay upon the dark blanket of her bed, a slash of color in a blend of gray and black and dirty wooden walls. But it did not inspire an idea of a thought, as she’d intended, it only served to unsettle the concentration she sought and rattle her nerves.

  Isabel was missing, and might die if not found in time. If she was not already dead.

  But then, would they bother to leave a message if they’d killed her?

  Though Sylvi had bathed and changed into fresh garments, and was far away from the original inn where the bodies were left, she could not stop the scrabbling restlessness from chasing over her nerves.

  “They left the gown there for a reason.” She turned to Percy and Liv. All that remained.

  Ian was with them in his own room, but she could not bring herself to face him just yet.

  Her head ached as if it were trapped in a vice.

  “We know it was a warning,” Liv said. “But how? What are we supposed to do?”

  “I hate that she’s out there somewhere with them,” Percy said softly. She’d pulled back the long hood she used to conceal her appearance.

  All her girls cared for one another. Even though they’d had their issues with Isabel, her loss was still tangible among them. A loss of any one of them was devastating. They were women who had no one left to care for them or love them in the world save each other—a band of broken lives bonded by desperation.

  “What of Ian?” Liv asked. She’d been casually looking out to the busy street below the window. Sylvi’s heart flinched at the mention of his name.

  “He should be planning with us,” Liv said. “He’s risking his life, it’s only fair—”

  “He’s the only one of us who could have told the men where we were.” Sylvi fought to keep her voice controlled. “Who else could have done it?”

  “It could have been Isabel,” Percy said. The room went quiet, and her cheeks stained a deep red. “Men who have no qualms about hurting children and women have ways of getting information they need.” Her suggestion hit the room like a blow. Of course she was right. It was an awful thing to imagine Isabel, beautiful and soft, under the duress of torture.

  “It makes sense when you think about it.” Liv bent, lifted Fianna from the floor, and stroked the cat’s soft fur. Fianna arched in appreciation, and her vibrating purr could be heard from where Sylvi stood.

  The pain in Sylvi’s head echoed in on itself, like someone was beating at her temple with a blacksmith’s hammer. She pressed her fingertips into the tender spot, unsure if the pressure gave relief or exacerbated the discomfort. “How does it make sense?”

  “Isabel was not as strong as the rest of us,” Liv stated bluntly. “Her flirtation made her easy prey. It was all too simple to separate her, then take her.” Liv hesitated. “And then there’s Lady Camille.”

  Sylvi’s heartbeat slammed with splintering volume in her head.
“What about her?”

  “I think they didn’t mean to kill her.” Liv met her gaze from across the room.

  Sylvi’s throat went tight as she accepted for the first time the fear niggling in the back of her mind. “They meant to kill me instead.”

  Liv nodded slowly.

  Silence settled in the room, a hot, suffocating blanket.

  Percy gave a soft gasp. “Isabel left before Lady Camille switched rooms with you.”

  Sylvi’s mind whirled. Had she been the intended victim? If so, My Lady had paid the price instead. An image from the room came to Sylvi’s mind, the way My Lady’s hands had been bound, tied behind her, unable to stop the blade in its path to her neck. The two dead left behind by the man or men who had finally killed her. My Lady had fought for her life based on the disruption in the room, yet no one had heard. It appeared there had been a struggle, and two had been slain before she could finally be bound and subdued. Despite her strength and her bravery, no one had come to rescue her.

  “You may not want to hear this, Sylvi,” Percy said. “But I trust Ian.”

  Liv sighed and crossed her arms. “I do too.” It was said grudgingly, but Liv was not the type of woman to say what she did not feel.

  “What if you’re wrong and it is him?” Sylvi let her gaze linger on each woman. She could not lose these brave, loyal women. They’d found a place in her heart and burrowed there, replacing the family who’d been taken from her. She had not realized the impact of her attachment until she had begun to see them disappear, one after the other.

  The pain was considerable. She could not bear the idea of also losing them.

  The glance Percy slid Liv said they had already discussed as much between themselves.

  “If it is him, then we’re all dead anyway,” Liv replied. “At least this gives us a chance to stand. United.”

  A carriage drove past on the street outside. Sylvi stalked over to the bed and lifted Isabel’s dress to her chest. Sweet, spicy notes of a familiar foreign perfume wafted up from the silky fabric. Sylvi’s heart crumpled. She was willing to do anything to save Isabel, wasn’t she?

  Even work with someone she suspected might be a traitor. But Liv was right, to go at this united and equal made for a better team.

  Resigned, she nodded. “Very well. I will allow Ian to join in the preparation. I’ll trust him.” But even as she said the words, she knew she could not clear the suspicion in her heart. Any form of trust in Ian would only be an illusion.

  Chapter 19

  Ian had been shut up in his room like a lad who’d stuck toads in his ma’s slippers. Not that he’d ever been a lad to have done such an awful thing. At least not any more than he’d been a lad who’d laughed at the horrified expression on his ma’s face when she discovered the prank.

  The memory drew a smile.

  He leaned back in the bed and crossed his arms under his head to compensate for the lack of support offered by the thin pillow. It had occurred to him more than once to venture out on his own and seek out Reginald and his men.

  But then if he found them, he would appear all the more suspicious to Sylvi. After all, who better to “find” them than a man spying for them? No, it was better to wait in his room, staring up at the mottled plaster ceiling, than do anything further to splinter Sylvi’s trust.

  He continued to stare upward. There were seven cracks, three splotches of something dark that might or might not be mold, and a section toward the right with enough flaking pieces to entertain him for at least several minutes.

  Of course, he could devise a plan for his next move after they did eventually kill Reginald. The bleakness of the future made the ceiling as appealing as cards in comparison.

  He sighed and began to count.

  Just after 269, a knock came at the door, so firm and abrupt, it pulled him from his dull game with a start.

  He looked up from his bed, lazy with his forced sedentary existence. “Who is it?”

  There was a pause long enough to invite him to reach for his dagger. “It’s Sylvi.”

  He freed the dagger from its sheath at his belt. Experience had taught him it was unwise to be in her presence unarmed. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  She’d washed and changed into a fresh black léine and trews. Only a few braids were twisted back and secured behind her right temple, while the rest hung loose around her face.

  “Coming to check on me?” He held both arms open.

  She glanced at his dagger.

  “Do ye blame me?” he asked.

  “I’m not here to harm you.” Exhaustion lined her face, and mourning dulled the shine in her eyes. Even her voice was softer than usual. “May I come in?”

  He stepped back to allow her to enter and faced her once the door was closed. She was no longer his, and somehow reminding himself of that made her even more beautiful.

  He always had wanted the things he could never have. Perhaps that had been her appeal all the while.

  But no, he knew it was not. There was so much more with Sylvi. So many more levels and depths and dimensions with her than any one woman he ever possessed before.

  She eyed the dagger once more in silent reprimand for its presence. “I was … not in my right mind after having found My Lady, nor still when we realized Reginald had slipped away and confirmed they had Isabel.”

  Ian lifted a brow and slid the dagger into one of the many wonderfully useful sheaths on his belt.

  Sylvi squared her shoulders. “I may not be good at apologizing, but I’ll admit when I’m wrong. I was wrong to accuse you of being a traitor.”

  Her expression was stern and fierce. He wanted to kiss her until her mouth softened under his and her beautiful strength opened to him.

  “Ach, it isna a thing to worry over, angel.” The endearment fell from his lips and landed flat. Ian cleared his throat. “Do ye know anything new?”

  “Only speculation at this point. We think Isabel was the one who gave the information to Reginald. She was the only one who didn’t know My Lady and I had switched rooms.” Sylvi looked away, her gaze distant. “We believe Isabel would only give this information up under extreme duress.”

  “They meant to kill ye—no’ Lady Camille.” Ian narrowed his eyes. “I’ll kill any man who touches ye. I’ll stand by yer side and see ye defended until I know ye’re safe.”

  Sylvi’s brow crinkled, and she peered up at him with something akin to desperation. “How can you be so forgiving and so charming to me when I’ve done nothing to deserve it?”

  “Ye’ve been through enough.”

  Sylvi gave an almost imperceptible wince, a slight twitch of her mouth, but evident to him.

  “Besides, I dinna hold grudges well. It’s so much easier to be charming.” He winked at her. “I’m also still hoping to find out how much ye were paid to kill me.”

  And then it happened—the twitch of a smile from the corner of her mouth, like the first warm spring day after a grueling winter. She rolled her eyes at him.

  “Was it enough to buy a castle?” he goaded.

  She exhaled a chuckle. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ian Campbell.”

  “But I’m so verra good at it.”

  “Too good.”

  He grinned at her. God, how he’d missed this play, this banter between them. “Does that mean ye’ll tell me?”

  She cocked her head in consideration. “It was enough to … buy a couple horses.”

  “Destriers or nags?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

  He grinned. “That’s part of my charm too.”

  Their eyes met, and they fell into a comfortable silence. He wanted to pull her into his arms, as he’d done so many times before, and let his mouth come down on the softness of her lips. The need for her ached through him like the most incredible thirst.

  “Thank you.” She spoke with such quiet intimacy, a shiver teased over hi
s skin.

  “For being charming?”

  “For being more inclined to forgive than me. For staying at my side and helping me bury My Lady, and wanting to protect me even though we both know I don’t need it.”

  She leaned closer to him, as if she were drawn by the same force as he to her. As if she yearned for him with the same tangible need.

  “Sylvi.” He savored the sweetness of her name. “My angel.” He stroked a hand down her cheek and caught her beautiful face in his hands. Her eyes closed, and the heat of her mouth whispered against his own.

  A knock came from the door, so sharp it jerked them apart and sent them racing toward the door. Liv stood on the other side, her eyes wide and a note held in her outstretched hand. “This was delivered just now.”

  Liv’s name was written on it.

  Sylvi took the folded parchment and opened it.

  Come to the market to find the one you seek, or face dire consequences.

  “It was addressed to you.” Sylvi frowned.

  It was just past midday. The marketplace would be swarming with people.

  “I think we’re right. They think you’re dead.” Liv glanced down. “And the boy who delivered it said it was extremely urgent to read immediately. He raced off before I could ask him any questions. They must mean now.”

  “It’s a trap.” An icy ball of dread knotted in Ian’s stomach.

  “I know it is.” Sylvi stared at the note, and her jaw clenched. “But I can’t see we have much choice. We’ve lost one of our own. I will not have another lost. Tell Percy to prepare for battle. We leave in five minutes.”

  Liv turned away to follow her orders, with Fianna padding behind her, but Ian put his arm against the door, stopping Sylvi from following. “Let me go. They think ye’re dead.”

  “I will not have another person I care about die in my stead.” Her eyes flashed with determination.

  A person she cared about. Such sweet words to say at such a bitter time.