by D. K. Combs
These men had kidnapped her. Had hurt her horse. Were planning to kill her father and take over Shaw territory. Not only that, but she couldn’t imagine what they would do to her mother when they got their hands on her. The thought made her sick to her stomach and the fury rise anew. What would her father do? Would he let them off easy, or show them that the Shaw’s were not to be messed with?
She knew before she finished questioning herself what the answer was.
These bastards would wake up when the good Lord wanted them to—if they were experiencing purgatory first hand, then that wasn’t her fault.
She carefully stepped over the line of ale and began pouring it on the ruffians’ plaids. She didn’t make it as thick as the lines on the ground because, honestly—she wasn’t as brutal as her father. She might have the bloodlust, but she was still a lover at heart. They would wake up a little singed if they didn’t put out the fire in time. After that, it wasn’t her fault.
Her work complete, she drank the last of the ale and threw the single skin to the ground, grinning with triumph. All she had to do was get her whack-stick all hot and fiery, then put it on the line of ale, and then…it was over. She would have her revenge.
Moments later, she was doing exactly that. It took a bit for the flame to light, but when it did, she couldn’t stop the laughter that was bursting from her throat. This would definitely teach the ruffians not to mess with the Shaws.
The fire crackled and burned, the scent tinging her nose almost instantly. Still, there was no movement from inside the circle—that is, until the circle of fire was leaping. She jumped a little, cursing when the ground decided to misplace itself. She fell on her bottom, but the sight she’d seen was enough to make the giggles unstoppable. The flames had leapt to the other men as well, who were beginning to stir from their drunken stupor.
“Mayhap next time, you bastards will think twice!” she half shouted, half squealed. The struggle to her feet was as epic as her little gift to them. As epic, and as terrible. “The earth must be angry with me,” she thought, blinking. “It does no’ want me to get up.”
She started to laugh as she beat the earth, using a nearby tree as support.
Then she hiccupped.
It was such a strong hiccup that she fell onto her bum…right as a bellow sounded through the trees. The source of the enraged cry? In the middle of the fire. And upon looking up…she found that the man on fire was staring right at her, with the look of murder in his eyes.
She screamed.
“McGregor! McGregor, open the damn door!”
He made a low sound in his throat. People, especially Tomas, knew better than to bother him when he was in this room. He made eye contact with the woman on the bed. Blue moonlight spread across the duvet, until it reached her pale legs. The light breached the edge of her thighs, close to revealing the soft blonde curls that covered her mons. He forced his eyes away.
Aye, he wanted nothing more than to go over there, grab her by her thighs, and jerk her fully into the moonlight, but…nay. She was as bare as she had been the day she was born, with perfect breasts and hips, but he couldn’t.
Not tonight, and not with this woman.
“Do not leave me,” she whispered, her English accent carrying across the room. It was low, distraught, pleading.
“McGregor—there’s a fire in the forest. We heard screams. Ye’ have to come immediately.”
The woman sat up in a fluid motion. Her legs left the moonlight, curling under her body. This time, it was her hand that touched the light. She reached out for him, and he knew that in her eyes, there would be a desperation he had seen hundreds of times, on hundreds of women’s faces.
“I will return to ye’ later,” he said reassuringly, pushing aside the concern and getting to his feet. “Tomas needs me.”
“I…I need you more, Alec. Please, I…” He shook his head, silencing her.
Her hand retreated into the darkness when she realized he was unwilling to bend to her pleads. “Have I wasted my time here?” she asked.
He narrowed his eyes on her. Women like this would use any tactic they could to gain what they were after.
He knew that better than anyone.
“If ye’ feel that you have,” he said cooly, refusing to give into her tricks, “the door is this way. Ye’ may follow me out.”
She sucked in a harsh breath, obviously shocked. After all the years that he had been doing this, he knew better than to fall for whatever card they pulled. Either they wanted him, or they did not. This woman…he could not yet decipher what she wanted from him.
Of course, that was quickly taken care of when she moved herself to the edge of the bed with jerky movements. Ah. She was angry with him, was she?
Alec watched her coldly. “If ye’ think to pull this again, donna bother to come back here. I have better things to do than waste my time on women like ye’.”
She froze in the middle of pulling on her dress. The woman was still in the edge of the darkness, but her hair was blonde and filled with curls. Errant pieces fell into the light, drawing his attention. It was a shame. Such beauty was wasted on a woman like this—but then, he felt this for more than half the women that approached him.
“Alec—”
“McGregor,” he corrected her shortly.
“…McGregor,” she tried again, her voice unsure, confused, angry. So many emotions within one woman. “I thought I gave you valuable information…”
“That will be determined in time. That’s all I’ll be saying on the matter.” He gave her a curt nod, then moved to the door. “I’ll have a maid escort ye’ off of my lands. So should you choose, he will take you back to James’ court.”
She made a sound of distress. “Al—McGregor. Tis late, dark. This is no hour for traveling.”
“Aye, but I donna want ye’ on my land and spreading rumors.” He couldn’t help how condescending he sounded. People came to him, giving him supposedly valuable information, and expected asylum. Normally, they received it—but this… She was turning to the wrong person with her information.
People who did not recognize his allies had no use coming to him.
Another sound came from the woman, and then she was slipping her shoes on. As she came near, he held the door open for her. The elegant jaw of the woman was stiff, clenched. He honestly had no clue whether she would be leave peacefully or not—and he didn’t care.
“Have a good evening. Mr. Tomas, would you send for Jacob to escort the lady to wherever she wishes to go? As long as it’s not on my land, I couldn’t care less.”
“Aye, laird—but we have an…an issue.”
“An issue that will play itself out by natures hand,” Alec said, giving the man a look. The woman flew down the hall, her fashionable dress held up by only her hands and the few strings she had bothered to tie. He turned his attention back to Tomas, the matter of the woman forgotten. “The fire is not close to the village or my keep, correct?”
“Aye.”
“Then why is it a concern of mine? I’m guessing by the urgency in your voice that the fire borders the Callahan’s lands.”
“How did ye’ ken—”
“I just do.” The Callahan’s were growing leery of the McGregor’s success. It’s become an almost petty obsession of theirs to blame every problem they encounter on the McGregors for hopes that the king will take action. What they do not know—and he found this vastly amusing when he realized it—is that the king couldn’t care less. James refused to settle feuds between Highland clans now, ever since his last trip to Shaw territory all those years ago.
The lady Saeran had done a daring act in not only slapping the king, but refusing him a room at her keep. Though cousins, she hated his every breath and had not made a secret of that.
Alec could not remember the exact details of her hatred for he had been but a lad of nine when the events had occurred, but it had something to do with her older sister Blaine—who had not been her actual sister,
but an adopted child of a prostitute—and a promise the king had lied to her husband about. Something about returning his exiled family in return for The Lion marrying a pregnant Blaine. Only after he had proposed was it revealed that his family had been dead for a very long time.
“Well, ye’ can expect for them to contact the king over this—”
“A forest fire is no’ something we can control,” he said, indifferent, waving away the problem. “We are only human. No’ the God we worship.”
“Are ye’ no’ going to see it for yerself?” Tomas asked, contrite. The lad had been his squire since Alec had come into the lairdship nine years ago. Tomas would have been ten and three at the time, for he was now a man of twenty and two, while Alec was thirty and one.
Alec snorted. “Why would I bother with it?”
“There was screaming, laird. As if they were crying to the high heavens.”
“Of course they were. Being burned alive is no’ verra pleasant.” He started down the hall. The forest fire would not reach the village, nor the keep if it continued to burn. There was a large river that put quite a healthy distance between the Callahan and McGregor lands. If it even reached that far, it would not be a problem.
“Alec, please. The clan will look down on ye’ for not assisting—”
He stopped in the middle of the hall. “The clan already looks down on me. I’m sure a little more disappointment on their part will no’ tip the balance—”
“They do no’ look down on ye’ right no—”
“Oh, please, Tomas. Of course they do. They see men and women from all over the world come in and out of my keep a year.”
Tomas scowled at him. “Well, it is no’ as if yer—”
“If ye’ promise no’ to ever bring this up again, I will come with you to the forest.” Lately, they’ve been going back and forth over his clans’ opinion of him. Tomas was beginning to worry about Alec’s image more than his own father. While he did not much care what they thought of him as a person, he knew they respected him as a laird.
Why?
Because they were still alive.
“Really?” Tomas asked, shocked.
“Aye.” If that would get him to shut up about the matter, of course Alec would. He hated pointless talk--he also hated matters that did not concern him…hated talking in general…
Actually, Alec hated just about everything.
And he didn’t care who knew it.
“Oh my—ground, why do ye’ move like so? I ken,” she panted as she stumbled through the forest, “that yer not much for being burned—and I am actually very sorry for this. But do ye’ no’ think it would be kind of ye’ to just…just stop yer wiggling? Tis…tis making me dizzy.”
And out of breath—but there was a man with an agenda to kill her, and she would not be taken down so easily! Pushing through it and sorely regretting drinking the ale, she ran as fast as her sluggish legs would carry her, until she was crying with the effort it took.
That, and the fact that there was a very strong possibility that tonight, she would cease to exist because the man she had set on fire was seeking revenge—even though she couldn’t possibly imagine why. He had asked for it, she thought angrily. The second he had hurt her mare, he had asked to be lit on fire—hell! Every single man there had asked for it!
She grunted, coming to an abrupt stop. She had not told her body to stop it’s running, and suddenly, her chest and face hurt. Something grabbed her arms and she squealed, rearing back. The man that she had obviously run into was staring down at her as if he’d seen a ghost. It was too dark for her to make out any features besides the odd look on his face, so she gave up. She would rather not waste her last moments of life trying to figure out what he looked like.
“My—lad, what on earth are ye’ doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she demanded. “I’m running away from the fire!”
The man, a tall, lanky man with dark hair, took her by the arm. He began to drag her in the direction she had been going, though she tried to struggle against him. She was far too drunk to make any progress, though.
“That did no’ look like running to me, lad. I fear that ye’ looked more like a fish out of water, but with legs. I have to ask ye’, lad. Are there any people that have survived the fire that were in your party? Why do ye’ run alone?”
“Does not one,” she said with a hiccup, frowning when he started to pull her more quickly, “scatter like mice in the face of a fire?” She didn’t want to admit that there was a possibility that there were survivors. The men, if fated to live after their horrible transgressions, would be given life without the aid of others!
“Aye, but a boy as young as yerself does no’ often travel alone. Where are the rest of them? Have they run ahead of ye’, or did they fall behind?”
“Does it matter?” she asked spitefully. Why would this man want to help such foul beings? She narrowed her eyes on him, trying to get a better look at him. She had not properly established if this was friend of foe, but now that she saw he wanted to aid the enemy…well, he must be one of them.
She ripped herself away from him, stumbling backward. When he turned around to grab for her, she reached for the closest thing to her.
“This is no’ my whacking stick, but I can still make use of its whacking-abilities, sir. Leave me untouched and go about yer way, and ye’ll find that ye’ still…” She paused, trying to think quickly for a valid threat. The ones the men had given her before seemed so petty and cliché. Nay, she would no’ be cliché. She would be original and dangerous. “Ye’ll find that ye’ won’t be touched with the deadly whacking stick if ye’ leave me alone.”
He stared at her, then over her shoulder. After a moment of seemingly searching for something, he bent on his haunches in front of her and plucked the whacking stick out of her hands. Throwing it aside, he took her by the jaw and tilted her head toward the moonlight.
“Yer a lass, and yer drunk off yer arse in a burning forest. Why does this no’ seem like a good combination?”
She snorted, trying to twist her head out of his grip. He held fast, studying her still. “Tis a brilliant combination. I’ve gotten my revenge on the men who harmed me and I’ve aided nature in the cleansing of the woods. She does no’ need ruffians like those running amuck now, does she?”
He let her go with a sigh. “Take my hand, woman. We must get ye’ out of here and returned home. I’m guessing yer a Callahan?”
She barked out a sharp, amused laugh. “Callahan? Sir, do ye’ take me for a ninny?”
“Well, ye’ are running around in the woods, drunk, dressed in trews for God’s sake. What do ye’ think I take ye’ for?”
Apparently, the question was rhetorical, because he made a move to aid her to her feet. She took his help, then did the only thing she could think to in the face of an enemy.
She bonked him on the head with her fist. When he released her, she took off, running as far and fast as her wobbly feet could carry her. Twigs snapped off, tall plants stained her clothes, and she was sure she looked like a disgruntled wood nymph.
Then it all came to an end.
Something shot out, wrapped around her waist, and held her above the ground. She screamed, hitting at the man who had grabbed her. She was going to die! The burning man had finally caught up to her and she was going to die a slow, agonizing death, without even her whacking stick to keep her company.
Before she could stop it, a sob left her throat.
It was simply too much for her to bear, especially with as addle-brained as she was at the moment. Her stomach hurt from the running, her head hurt from the ale, and her body hurt in general from the rough treatment of the men, and it all came down on her like a bucket of water.
She had been kidnapped and escaped—only to be taken captive again.
But she was a Shaw, The daughter of The Lion. She would not go down without a fight, even as drunk as she was.
“Let me go, you dis
gusting excuse for a human!” she shouted, letting her hands and legs fly out in every direction they possibly could in hope that they would connect with something. When she heard the grunts, she hooted triumphantly, continuing her fight until the burning man was setting her on the ground.
“Ye’ said she was no’ violent,” an unfamiliar voice snarled. It gave her pause—but only for a moment. It was as dark as the night, as deep as rolling thunder. It was…intense. Like her fathers, yet…not. This man cared not for her fate, whereas her father would fight to his death to keep her safe.
That was the difference in his voice.
He had no compassion, no mercy inside of him. No warmer feelings that spoke of a conscience, and that truth was so painfully obvious that it rang from every word he said.
She shivered.
Nay, no fear! She would not die like this!
“It was an assumption. Are we taking her back, or no?” The man from before! The one she had threatened with her whacking stick! He was in league with the burning man—she’d known it all along.
Shuddering, unable to stop the trepidation that was running through her, she shrank away from the men. Aye, she may be a Shaw, but she was also a lone woman who was too weak and terrified to defend herself properly.
She blamed it on the ale.
“Seeing as she just destroyed what little chance I had at having children, aye. We’re taking the chit back.” To kill her. She didn’t need the words to be said out loud to know what he planned to do when he had her in his grasp. The Burning man reached for her arm, and she screamed. Loud enough to make the two of the men wince—but it did nothing to deter them from taking her by her arms. It was all she could think to do, all she could manage. The advice her father had given her in self-defense fled her in that moment.
Not even her fighting and kicking saved her this time. They put rope around her hands, once again, and began to lead her away.
“She’s, ah…she’s been asleep a long while.”
“I noticed,” Alec muttered, putting a hand on his hound’s head. The great, floppy-eared beast lifted its face to him, vying for more attention. He gave it absentmindedly, eyes focused on the fire, mind nearly lost to the world.