The Warrior of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  He meandered closer, his boots crunching over the earth, and it took all her courage not to flinch away.

  “My apologies for the false pretense,” he said, standing far too close, in an intimate manner that made her skin crawl. “But I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew it was me.”

  “You are right. I would not have come. What do you want?” she demanded, shifting … turning to face him, because she did not like that he stood behind her.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you trust me?” he murmured darkly. “That’s good, because you shouldn’t.”

  Her pulse tripped anxiously through her veins. She knew nothing about the camp, having remained inside Cull’s tent since they’d arrived. But she feared she’d unknowingly been led deep inside Duncan’s territory, where Cull would have no idea she’d been taken. If she turned and ran, Duncan and his men would easily capture her if they wished.

  Duncan’s eyes swept from her lips, downward over her breasts, and hips. “I thought certainly you would want to say good-bye to Nathan before the poor man is executed.”

  “Executed!” she exclaimed in horror.

  He nodded, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “He did, after all, come to this sad and far-too-early end trying to save you.”

  Two men dragged Nathan forward, then, sending him sprawling into the dirt, his hands bound behind his back.

  “You can’t execute him.” She glared at Duncan. “Sir Cull promised to release him along with the others.”

  “Did he? Why would he be so gracious, I wonder, as to promise something like that?” He chuckled, low in his throat. “I can only imagine that your negotiating skills must be very good.” His brows gathered suggestively. “Very good indeed.”

  She ignored him, focusing her attention on the man who knelt behind him.

  “Nathan!” Derryth stepped toward the young man, but Duncan seized her back. Nathan glared up at her, before shifting his gaze to Duncan.

  “Give me another chance!” Nathan shouted, his eyes flashing.

  “Another chance?” Derryth murmured, her mind grasping for explanation. The words implied there had been a first. “Nathan, what do you mean?”

  Duncan growled into her ear. “I would … suggest that you and I enter into … negotiations, but I fear no good would come from it. I am already resolved. Poor Nathan was given one task. You see, Nathan understands who is truly in charge of this camp, and for that reason he sought me out, confessing that you were all Kincaids, and in doing so betraying his kinsmen in an effort to ingratiate himself to me.” He shrugged. “At first I sent him away, thinking him useless. What good are traitors, but for information—and he had already spilled his secrets. But then I realized I could make use of him from the inside of that castle there behind you. As a spy. And that I wanted him to take you with him.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you see?” He drew back, his eyebrows going up as if she missed the obvious. “Cull has taken something important from me.” His lips transformed into a snarl. “Inverhaven should have been mine. But for some reason my father gave this opportunity to him.” He stared at the ground for a moment. “I wanted to take something that meant as much to him. And we all know he wasn’t exactly punishing you inside that tent last night for your attempted escape. Oh, don’t play the virgin and try to deny it. Half the camp heard the sounds of your pleasure.”

  It wasn’t true. She knew it. But he leered at her, and heat scalded her cheeks. How she hated him.

  He gestured to Nathan. “But back to the matter before us.” He took a few steps, pacing, before turning back to her. “Nathan failed. I can’t let your lover know that he and I conspired, and no doubt Nathan would talk. Even if he did not talk to Cull, he would talk to someone, so I’ve no choice really. Death must be his consequence.”

  He intended to kill Nathan to silence him. And what of her? She knew the answer, and it weighted her heart like a stone. Now that he’d spoken those words to her, he wouldn’t let her go.

  As if to prove that, his hand suddenly caught her by the arm.

  “Let me go,” she insisted, trying to pull free.

  But he only held her tighter. “Don’t look at me with such fear. It’s not as if I intend to kill you. What kind of a beast do you think I am?” His gaze grew solemn, and with his other hand, he touched her cheek. “But it is me whom you must please from this moment on.”

  His words and manner chilled her to the soul.

  “You’re a horrible man. Just like your father.” Derryth broke free of Duncan’s hold, and moved quickly to put as much space between them as possible, but his warriors, their expressions hard and cold, their hands on their weapons, herded her back. She was trapped. His prisoner. Helpless—and completely separated from Cull, her protector.

  Duncan strode toward her, his eyes narrowing. “What do you know of my father?”

  She stiffened. “Just stories I have heard.”

  “I see. Well … what can I say? I do take after him.”

  Abruptly, he turned on his heel toward Nathan.

  “I’m sorry, dear boy,” Duncan said, his face a mask of feigned sympathy. “Stewarts aren’t known for giving second chances. So let this thing be done.”

  Duncan crossed his arms over his chest, and stepped back, nodding to one of his warriors, who pulled his sword free of its sheath.

  “No!” Derryth screamed, horrified. Would she be forced to stand here and watch as the young warrior was executed?

  The executioner moved nearer.

  “But I’ve something to tell you,” Nathan shouted, his eyes wild, his shoulders and legs straining toward the man who held his life in his hands. “Something you’ll want to know.”

  Suddenly she knew what he would say.

  “Nathan, no,” she pled.

  Though in truth, she knew he had no choice, if he wanted to live.

  The young man glared at her. “She is not just a Kincaid clanswoman,” he spat. “Her sister is the Lady Kincaid.”

  Everything went silent and still. The blood drained from Derryth’s face. Now this enemy knew her secret. And Duncan was not only her enemy, but Cull’s. He would no doubt use it against them both. Her stomach clenched. How she wished she’d told Cull the truth, but now it was too late.

  Slowly … Duncan pivoted on the heel of his boot, his burning gaze falling on her.

  “Well then.” Pressing the palms of his hands together, he lifted his fingertips toward his chin and peered at her as if he had never seen her before. “To think, I just thought you a pretty peasant.” A grin spread across his lips, one that bared his teeth. “You are far more valuable than that.”

  * * *

  Midmorning, Cull strode toward his quarters. Despite the weight on his shoulders, the thoughts crowding his mind, he was eager to see Derryth, and lose himself in her again, at least for a while.

  He had made some decisions. Some difficult ones, but ones with which he was at peace—as much peace as he could hope for, given the circumstances.

  As he had this morning, he would continue to lead these men, and build the fortifications and entrenchments that would be required for the coming siege. When the preparations were done, he would send word to the castle to meet with the Laird Kincaid, and do his best to negotiate some settlement, some manner of peace between the Highlander and Buchan.

  In this moment, he could not imagine what solution might satisfy both sides, but he would press through the coming days, and allow the answer to arise. However, if no resolution could be found, he would relinquish control here to whomever Buchan chose. And then …

  His mind presented no further answers. And perhaps, yes, it was best he not consider that far ahead. He only knew he would do as his heart and his honor commanded, and marry Derryth, and spend the rest of his life protecting her from hurt and harm, whatever that meant, because she …

  She was the greatest prize.

  But truth be told, the warrior in him prayed that somehow, he could win
this battle, for himself and her, and surrender nothing of his ambitions. That he could one day have a name, and lands, and Derryth too. Damn, more than anything, he wanted it all.

  But right now, he wanted Derryth, in his arms. In his bed. Aye, he would make love to her all night long, because she, more than his ambitions, gave him strength.

  He pushed through the door of the tent—

  Effric stood there, his shoulders bent. The old man turned to him, his face pale in the circle of his dark snood, and his eyes wide.

  “She is gone,” he uttered, his arms going out.

  Cull looked at Effric, the words echoing in his ears.

  “What do you mean she is gone?”

  His gaze swept about his quarters. Not finding her there, his heart turned to cinders. The world dropped from beneath his feet.

  “I mean that she is gone.” The man’s eyes widened. “The girl is not in your tent.”

  His heart thundered with fear. She’d been taken, and at this moment, might be suffering harm.

  Curse him, he’d left her alone, unguarded, without specific instructions to Effric not to leave her side. Someone among the camp had seen her attempt to escape with Nathan the night before as an unforgivable offense, and sought to punish her.

  His blood crashed through his veins, the sound filling his ears. He had to find her. He turned toward the door—

  But Duncan was there, ducking to enter.

  “The girl is gone as well?” A dark scowl etched his face. “What a damned coincidence. I was just coming to tell you that our prisoner has escaped.”

  Cull felt the first crack of ice in his veins.

  “Which prisoner?” he demanded.

  “Nathan?” Duncan waved a hand. “Aye, I do believe that was the churl’s name. The same one who was with her last night. Though I caged him myself last night, this evening when I went to issue his punishment for attempting that run to the castle last night, he was gone.”

  Cull felt as if he’d just taken a battering ram to his gut.

  “When…” he said, barely able to speak.

  “It had to have been before dawn,” Duncan replied. “Else someone would have seen them.”

  Before dawn … just moments after he’d asked her to place her trust in him. Was Nathan lurking just outside, waiting for her, even then?

  “Where would they have gone?” said Effric. “Should we send riders out to track them?”

  “No need, old man,” said Duncan with a shake of his head. “I can all but guarantee you they have made fools out of us, and fled to the castle after all.”

  Cull turned, his chest hollow, and stared at the inside of his tent with different eyes. Open eyes. There was no sign of a struggle. No tipped chair. No overturned goblet or spilled ale. The signs were clear. She had gone willingly with whomever had come for her.

  Last night, had she sacrificed herself to appease him? Only to gain his trust so that she could escape again? He closed his eyes, remembering her face as he’d made love to her … the way she’d touched him. Kissed him. The words they’d spoken.

  No. He couldn’t believe that.

  But she was gone just the same. He could only surmise that in the light of day, her loyalty to her clan and kin was stronger than what she felt for him. That when he’d asked her to trust him to find some resolution … she hadn’t.

  So she’d left him. She had made her choice, and in doing so, had left him free to do the same. And without her … what other choice did he have than to return to being the warrior he’d been before?

  “What do you intend to do about her?” said Effric, pressing close.

  “Nothing,” he growled, feeling numb … humiliated by his feelings for her … and increasingly angry. “She is gone. If that is what she wants, then I don’t want her back.”

  Without her, he could only go on as before. Once, they had told each other that it was all right to be on opposite sides, and indeed it was. But she no longer had his loyalty. He would not sacrifice himself—or his ambitions—for one who would abandon him without so much as a good-bye.

  He turned to leave his tent then—only to find Duncan still standing there.

  “I’m truly sorry, Sir Cull,” he said gravely. “I know you had come to care for the girl.”

  He did not reply. Stone faced, he strode past him, into the clouded light of day. There, he immersed himself into the construction of the perfect siege camp. He barked out orders to his men, and toiled beside them, sweating … heaving timber and stripping down to pound posts deep into the ground. That night, beside a blazing fire, he ate among them, and listened to their songs and stories. Shunning the shelter of his quarters—and the bed he’d shared with Derryth last night, and the nights before—he stared through the darkness toward the castle, wondering if she peered out from inside.

  * * *

  Derryth shivered, and inched as close to the fire as she dared, having no blanket or fur to cover her. Only the garments and cloak she wore.

  Tears slipped from her eyes, as she thought of Cull. What must he think, having found her gone? Was he afraid for her? Did he realize she’d been taken against her will? Or worse … did he think she’d escaped with Nathan again?

  Nathan, who lay on the opposite side of the fire, turned away from her, just as silent and hateful as he had been every moment since their failed escape. His betrayal may have gained him his life, and for that she forgave him. But she could not forgive him for having aligned himself with Duncan before that. In doing so, he had been disloyal to not only herself, but Deargh, and Fiona, and the entire Kincaid clan. Even so, where had his duplicity gotten him? He was a prisoner, just like her. Still, she would not trust him again.

  At Duncan’s orders, four stone-faced warriors had taken them away while darkness still shadowed the camp, though he himself had not accompanied them, to her relief. That was her only relief, for she did not know what he intended, only that he would use her in some way against the Kincaids, and no doubt against Cull.

  They had traveled for hours, riding southwest and away from Inverhaven, moving quickly, and stopping only to rest the animals, until night fell and they made their camp. One of the men caught several small hares, which they roasted on a makeshift spit, and split one between her and Nathan. Now, as she pretended to sleep, they sat all around her, silent and vigil, giving her no opportunity for escape. Even when she’d demanded privacy under the pretense of relieving herself, two had stood just a stone’s throw away, behind the trees, stepping into her path when she darted in the opposite direction. But they’d been careful not to harm her, touching her only when necessary, and she feared that meant she was being saved for something else.

  She closed her eyes, and willed herself to sleep—warming herself with the hope that soon Cull would come for her.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, his skull splitting from the endless cups of wine he had drunk the night before with Robert and Duncan, Cull dispatched a missive to the castle, inviting the Laird Kincaid to discuss terms for his surrender. Within an hour, the reply came that the laird would meet him at the gates. Only then did he return to his empty tent, a place that no longer held solace for him, only privacy, which he desired in that moment as he prepared himself to meet with the man he intended to defeat.

  And kill? He had no lust for blood or destroying families, only for winning. He considered some of his greatest triumphs to be conflicts he had won without bloodshed. If he could in some way allow the laird and his family to live, and go elsewhere, he would do so. Then, as promised, he would claim Inverhaven as his prize.

  As for Derryth … what of her? Who was she to the Clan Kincaid? Did she live inside the castle, or in the village? Was she a servant to the laird’s family? A seamstress perhaps, to the Lady Kincaid? Or a friend? He realized he did not know her at all. There’d been no time.

  Despite the anger he’d felt the night before, he did not hate her. Could never hate her. But neither would he attempt to claim her for
himself, if their paths crossed again. For one night, he had been a weaker man because of her, and he would never allow himself to be that weak again. Briefly he had considered going to see Deargh, to question him about what he knew beforehand of Nathan and Derryth’s plan, but in the end, he merely gave orders to his captain that the older man and the others, including Fiona, should remain in the camp as prisoners, without the freedom to move about or take up weapons.

  He washed and dressed, and avoided looking at the bed … and the chair … and at Derryth’s wooden trunk, which remained neatly packed in the corner, having been left behind, no doubt too cumbersome to carry as she’d made her way through the darkness away from him.

  Alone, he donned his armor … all but his helmet, and outside his tent, he climbed atop his horse. Effric handed him the reins. His men gathered round, shouting out encouragements to him, and insults against their enemy, a roar that grew so loud that no doubt those on the ramparts could hear. Perhaps even those inside the castle.

  At the base of the hillside, Duncan and Robert, on horseback, fell in behind him, along with a company of twelve warriors, all chosen by him. The camp was left in the command of his fellow King’s Guards.

  They left the shelter of the barricades and crossed the field, and in the distance, observed a wide and rushing river. They wended their way through rows of abandoned cottages and hovels, which he had ordered to be left intact, for no doubt most of the same villagers who now cowered inside the walls, fearing his attack, would return to their homes after he had won. He had seen it time and time again through his years as a warrior for powerful men. The lure of home and hearth had a way of blurring the lines of loyalty, and though there might be hard feelings and mutterings against him for years after, most would decide to stay.

  As Kincaid warriors watched from the ramparts above, silent and solemn, they made their ascent up a wide road.

  “The castle ’tis beautiful, is it not?” said Robert quietly.

  “Indeed,” replied Duncan in response. “’Twould be quite a prize for any man.”