A Highlander's Christmas Kiss

by Paula Quinn

  “Where the hell have ye been?” Patrick asked him with equal force.

  “Patrick.” He came close. The need to take hold of his cousin and shake him until he answered overwhelmed him. “Where is Temperance?”

  “Duncan came—he took her, Cailean.”

  Cailean stepped back. His head spun. His heart pounded, making it hard to see anything but red, blind fury. “What do ye mean, he took her?”

  “He means to take her as his wife. He—”

  “And ye let him go?” Cailean shouted. He looked around at the terrified faces around him, including William’s. “Did anyone try to stop him?”

  “He would have killed Gram.” Patrick tried to calm him. “He had a dozen men and a blade at Gram’s throat.”

  For an instant a well of emotions threatened to erupt inside Cailean. He felt the sting of moisture at the brinks of his eyes as he thought of Temperance seeing a blade at her loved one’s throat again. This time her grandmother.

  He wouldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t let her lose Gram.

  “Where is she?” he asked. “Where’s Gram?”

  “He took her too.” This time William answered, his voice strained, his eyes and nose red.

  Cailean didn’t need to glance at Patrick to understand what Temperance meant to her childhood friend.

  “This is all my fault,” William lamented. He leaned against the doorframe for support when he seemed to fall apart before them.

  Cailean didn’t have time for mercy now.

  Patrick did, though. “Ye would have died and gotten Gram killed along with yerself if ye had tried to fight.”

  Deware shook his head and ran his hands down his face and then up through his hair. “You don’t understand. The arrow…” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, as if what he wanted to say refused to be uttered. “I… I believe ’twas mine.”

  “What arrow?” Patrick asked, lifting his hand to the wound in his chest. Finally the truth dawned on him. “It was ye?”

  Cailean wanted to kill someone. Deware would do. He moved toward him like a deadly storm. “Her faither was killed fer shootin’ a man that afternoon.” He reached Deware and stood over him. “Ye didna want me with her because I was a Black Rider—when all the time, ’twas ye who started everything.”

  Cailean wanted to hit him, knock out a few teeth. But wasn’t he guilty of even more? He was a Black Rider and he was too cowardly to tell her. It was he who’d wanted blood for blood that night. When he leaned in closer, Deware stared him in the eye, awaiting his judgment.

  “And I was the one who gave the go-ahead.”

  He said nothing else, but turned for his mount.

  “Wait! Where are ye goin’?” Patrick called out to him.

  “I’m goin’ to get them back,” Cailean called back as he leaped into the saddle. He paused a moment before he took off and turned back to Deware. “Where’s TamLin?”

  “At my house.”

  Cailean nodded, then turned his horse toward the hill.

  “We’ll speak another time about why ye shot me,” Patrick told William, and then hurried after Cailean. “Cailean, wait, I’m comin’ with ye.”

  Cailean stopped and waited for Patrick to catch up. “There will likely be killin’,” Cailean warned him in a voice as cold as the open braes.

  They reined in on the snow-covered crest of Càrn Gorm. Cailean looked around as the wind slapped his hair across his face and eyes. Dark clouds rolled across the pewter sky, promising more snow. It was Christmas Day and not a soul was to be caught celebrating.

  The wind echoed in the silence like Temperance’s laughter… like William Deware’s confession. Cailean still reeled from it. Something about Seth Menzie pricked at him. He couldn’t think on it now. He knew getting Temperance and Gram out of the castle wouldn’t be easy, but nothing precious was ever easy to attain.

  “Are ye goin’ to tell me the plan?” Patrick asked from his mount beneath the tall outer wall. In their younger days they’d always had a plan.

  Cailean didn’t have one now. Not yet. He wanted to kill Duncan. That was as far as he’d gotten.

  “They’re goin’ to let us in,” Cailean informed him, scanning the battlements.

  Patrick turned to cast him a wry grin. “That’s it? We’re just going to walk through the doors?”

  Cailean returned the look. “D’ye have something better ye wish to discuss?”

  Patrick thought about it and shrugged his shoulders. “No’ off the top of m’ head.”

  “Murdoch!” Cailean’s shout pierced the night air, stirring movement and sound from above. Several guards called down, demanding to know who was there. “’Tis I, Cailean Grant. Tell yer lord I’ve returned from the grave!”

  More shouts erupted from the wall.

  “Cailean,” Patrick said, stopping him before the guards gave the call to let them in. “Once ye go in, she’s goin’ to find oot the truth.”

  Aye, Cailean knew that as soon as Murdoch saw him the truth of who he was would come to light. “I should have told her from the beginnin’,” he said, tightening his jaw. She was going to hate him. What would he do if he lost her? He couldn’t. Somehow he would win her back. He had to. But first he would save her from marrying Duncan.

  Another few moments passed before a small group of armed men appeared at the gate.

  “Grant?” John Gunns called out from the other side. “But you’re dead!”

  “I’m verra much alive,” Cailean corrected him. “Let us in.”

  Gunns opened the gate as Cailean and Patrick dismounted. Immediately they were met by ten of Murdoch’s men, all curious about where he’d been. Where had he met up with Patrick? Cailean promised to give them answers later. Right now he needed to get inside the castle.

  “Where’s Duncan?” he asked them.

  “He’s with his father in the solar,” Gunns told him. “Been locked away in there with Seth Menzie’s daughter.”

  Cailean did his best to remain calm. “Is a priest with them?”

  Gunns shook his head. “Just them and the old woman from Linavar.”

  They were in the solar. Cailean considered busting down the door and taking them back, but they’d never get out alive. He needed to remain rational. Only fools rushed in. They were with Edward, so they were safe for now. He would see her later, when he could tell her the truth in private. He didn’t want to think about what he would say to her, or her reaction. He needed to think clearly. He had plans to make. First he had to see how many men he might be up against.

  “Are you going to tell us where you’ve been?” Erik MacCormack asked, following him.

  “Aye, but first I could use a drink.”

  The men approved with boisterous exclamations. Patrick joined in, clapping the men on their backs as if no time had passed at all.

  The castle was abuzz with whispers from the many lasses and servants watching as the two Highlanders strode through the corridors.

  On the way to the great hall, Cailean pondered what he would do about Duncan. He realized that killing him right away wouldn’t be in Linavar’s best interest. It would only push the lord to wage war against them. He wanted to keep the hamlet safe. But Duncan had to be stopped and Cailean was going to be the one to do it.

  Following the aroma of black bread and the stale odor of ale, he stepped into the hall and looked around. He eyed a few more of the men and wondered how he would kill them if he had to. He knew he could take at least three at a time. Murdoch’s mercenaries were skilled men, but none had trained with MacGregors and Grants since they were of six summers. Cailean was thankful he’d never gotten too close with the mercenaries, preferring to be alone. It would be easier to do what was necessary to save Temperance.

  “Grant?” Tavish Innes stood up from his chair and squinted in the soft glow of the firelight. “Grant!” he called again when he was sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “Where the hell—?”

  “Cailean Grant!” Brodie Garrow als
o left his seat and hurried toward him. “We were told ye were dead!”

  Aye, Duncan thought he’d killed him. But at least, Cailean concluded, these two weren’t in on it.

  He grinned at the men and accepted the seat they offered him. “I was attacked and left fer dead,” he told them. “But I’ll no’ be defeated by a coward.”

  “Who?” Garrow asked, his dark eyes fixed on Cailean. “Who attacked ye?”

  Could Cailean tell them the truth? He wanted to, but he knew some, mayhap all of the men were loyal to Duncan, so he shook his head. He wouldn’t make any accusation, but lead the men to the truth and see where they stood after that. “I’m no’ sure who. I was on m’ way to Kenmore and someone attacked me from behind. But I’ll find oot and then I’ll see that they’re repaid fer tryin’ to kill me. As good fortune would have it, I met up with Patrick on m’ way back here.”

  While they ate and drank, John told him about Duncan’s going to fetch his long-awaited bride that morn.

  Cailean leaned back in his seat and brought his cup to his lips. He slid his gaze over the men. “So the night we rode into Linavar to avenge Patrick had nothing to do with the attack on us. Duncan had the leader killed so he could take his daughter.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Brodie Garrow argued. “She’s a fine-looking woman. I would have done the same.” He laughed and held up his cup to a few of the others who agreed Duncan had bollocks.

  Cailean’s gaze settled on them like the weight of the moon, cold as steel. Save for John Gunns, Garrow and these others wouldn’t stand idly by if Cailean tried to kill Duncan. He glanced at his cousin. Patrick nodded slightly, reading his thoughts. Cailean was glad his cousin was here. If they had to fight to get out alive, Patrick’s arm would help gain them victory.

  “’Twas likely some scoundrel from Linavar who attacked ye,” Garrow warned. “Just like one of them attacked Patrick. Duncan says they want us all dead and will stop at nothing to see our end.”

  Cailean stared at him blankly. So a town of thirty untrained farmers was planning an insurrection against their lord’s most skilled assassins?

  He could have laughed in the men’s faces, proving what he thought of Duncan’s accusations and what he thought of them for believing him. But mocking them wouldn’t gain him an advantage.

  “Nae,” he said, shaking his head, “there was a witness.” He remembered what Patrick had told him about his horse. “I was told m’ attacker left me in a pool of blood and took m’ horse. I went to Linavar in search of m’ mount but the beast was no’ there.”

  “Duncan brought back yer horse,” John Gunns told him.

  Good. Letting them come to their own conclusion would help convince them of the truth.

  “Hell, I would hate it if ye’re correct,” Cailean told them. “’Twould mean he has no regard fer his faither’s elite and might even be capable of tryin’ to kill one or two of them.”

  “But why would he?” Erik asked, after guzzling his brew and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. His eyes caught the gaze of one of Maeve’s girls. His fingers shackled her wrist and he yanked her into his lap.

  Ellie, Cailean believed was her name.

  Ellie giggled and shoved her free hand down the Red’s breeches.

  “Duncan didn’t do it,” Tavish Innes told him in a low voice. “Suggesting it could cause trouble.”

  “Aye, drink what’s in your cup.” Dougal held his up. “We’ll blame your mutinous talk on weariness.”

  Aye, now this was what Cailean needed to see. Who was most loyal to the wee twit in the solar? He looked around. What about the rest?

  He set his hard gaze on Dougal first. “Do I look weary to ye?” Rather than lie straight to his face, Dougal looked at his brother, who had paused in his grunting when he heard Cailean’s threatening tone.

  He pushed the rest with a curl of his mouth. “I think he did it.” He set his gaze on each of them, looking for anger or offense and finding it. When his eyes settled on Gunns, the mercenary gave him a subtle nod.

  A few shouts erupted, which Patrick subdued with a loud request for more jugs on their table and more women in their laps.

  Cailean didn’t care if they went to Duncan with his accusation. He knew what he had to do next.

  He rose from his place and left the dining hall alone, leaving Patrick with the lovely lass in his arms, and headed for the lists. He’d see who was there—find out whom else he might have to kill in a fight.

  He stepped outside when he reached the carved doorway and spread his gaze over the faces, some—and then more—turning to gape at him. He spotted Cutty sitting on a stone bench, his eyes wide with fear as he recognized Cailean.

  Stunned, he managed to rise up, produce a dagger, and fling it at Cailean.

  It came close enough to Cailean’s shoulder to tear his flesh.

  “’Tis a phantom!” Cutty shouted, terrified and reaching behind him for one of the swords resting against the short wall.

  Cailean held up his hands as he stepped out of the shadows and into the light. “Easy, Cutty,” he said in a calm voice. “Do phantoms bleed?”

  He unlaced his shirt and pulled it over his head and one shoulder, exposing his own fresh wound.

  “I’m real,” he said, walking toward him. “I was attacked on the road and left fer dead by a thief who stole m’ horse. Or, as I’ve recently been corrected, Duncan Murdoch. D’ye know anything aboot that, Cutty?”

  He watched the mercenary squirm a little, and he enjoyed it.

  “I sure as hell didn’t,” Cutty swore. “I know him and you don’t share fondness, but I’d have nothing to do with killing you.”

  Cailean didn’t let him off so easily. “But Duncan tried, aye?”

  “He might have.” One edge of Cutty’s mouth tilted upward. “You did threaten to beat him senseless.”

  Aye, Cailean agreed, he had. He wished he’d done it too. “We killed the wrong man that night in Linavar.”

  Cutty shrugged. “It happens.”

  It happens.

  Once again Patrick’s urgings to leave this life behind and return to Camlochlin seeped through Cailean’s flesh, his bones. He hadn’t been born to be a cold, mindless mercenary. He had been raised to fight and defend with honor. He’d trained since he was three, practicing defense two days of a sennight in the yard with his mother, and offense three and a half days with his father. When he was six, he’d begun training with his uncles. He wasn’t afraid to fight anyone, anytime, but his passions ran deepest with the pen, the cooking knife, and sometimes the brush. He’d stopped using them all for a long time and chosen to exist solely on the one thing that was easiest to feel—anger.

  Until the night Seth Menzie died.

  “Why do you care about Menzie?” Cutty asked. “And why do you think he was the wrong man?”

  Cailean wouldn’t tell him what he’d learned. William had to live with the guilt of what he’d caused, just as Cailean did. “Because,” he said, “the leader of the people of Linavar would never have risked the wrath of the lord. There was mutual respect between them. Menzie made certain his farmers produced a good harvest and supplied Murdoch’s coffers with plenty of coin. The lord is goin’ to be angry when he finds oot Menzie is dead. If he doesna already know, thanks to the two women Duncan foolishly brought back here today.”

  He watched Cutty’s doubts and the fear that followed. Aye, Cailean had had a part in it, but Cutty had done the killing.

  “What do you think he’ll do?”

  Cailean held up his hands. “We’ll find oot soon enough, I imagine.” He hoped Cutty would run. One fewer Black Rider to deal with.

  “I’d better have one of the girls see to m’ wound.” Without another word Cailean left the lists.

  “Oh, dear,” a worried voice said behind him. “You’re bleeding all over the floor.”

  Cailean turned, preparing to apologize. His mouth closed and he blinked as if he was hoping his eyes deceived him. “Marion?” />
  Chapter Twenty-One

  Marion?” Cailean rushed closer to her and had a better look at her in the soft light. It was she! So Maeve hadn’t brought her to Perth. No wonder William hadn’t found her when he’d gone looking. What the hell was she doing here?

  Before he had a chance to ask her, another voice made the frosty air crackle.

  “Grant!” Edward Murdoch stood at the open solar door and then strode to him. “I was told you had perished.” He eyed him from over the bridge of his thick nose and then broke into a wide grin. “You look well!”

  Despite the terror his son had caused Linavar, Cailean liked the lord of Glen Lyon. He was a big, boisterous man who knew when to settle himself down for a quiet game of chess. He was damn good at the game too, beating Cailean half the time.

  “Come.” Murdoch tossed his arm over Cailean’s shoulder. “Tell me what the hell happened to you.”

  Cailean angled his head, trying to have a look over Murdoch’s shoulder into the solar. Was Temperance still inside? He wanted to call out her name. For a moment it seemed as if his heart existed for that single purpose. But he leashed that passion the way he had done before… before Temperance Menzie had led him gently out of the dark.

  He called instead upon that dark now. He needed to keep his head and not let his heart carry him into a rabid attack that would likely find him dead at the end. He and Patrick against nineteen were not good odds.

  He settled his gaze on Murdoch instead. “M’ lord, I understand ye have guests. Where have they been taken?”

  “To the hall, why? Do they have something to do with you?”

  “Aye, they do,” Cailean told him truthfully.

  Murdoch’s smile faded into a look of concern, and then he led the way.

  Cailean looked toward the hall. He wanted to find out what Edward had agreed to, but he wanted to go after her also. Patrick was there.

  He followed Murdoch into the chamber and took the chair usually reserved for Duncan. The chair where he’d sat and played chess and sometimes listened to the lord’s concerns about his vile offspring.