The Highlander's Little Lass

by Ava Sinclair

  “I’d think you’d have enough sense to keep to yer chambers,” the larger man said. “We all heard yer husband tell ye that, in the courtyard.”

  Glynis climbed to her feet. “And I would have thought you would be helping my husband to quell the thieving McLeods,” she spat. “Or are ye here because ye know full well there was no thieving save what you and this one carried out to break the peace.”

  Angus at least had the good grace to look unnerved by her words, but beside him, Duncan threw back his head and uttered a high, almost effeminate giggle as he clapped his hands together. He turned to the larger man, smiling a satisfied smile.

  “I told you this one was too smart for her own good,” he said, and then turned a malicious gaze on Glynis. “You overheard us that day, didn’t ye? In the hall? You were eavesdropping.” He walked over and grabbed her viciously by the arm. “Weren’t ye?”

  Glynis grimaced against the pain of his grip, but did not cry out as her green eyes met his narrow dark ones.

  “And you risk much by voicing your planned deception in the very halls of the man who trusts you,” she said.

  “Oh, my dear lass,” Duncan said, his tone dripping with false sweetness. “What you heard was only half the plan. ‘Tis true that we’ve been taking money and even staged the robbery to fund those on the border with lingering resentments toward your filthy McLeod kin. But I know Bran McKinnon, and have since he was a child born entitled to his role.” Duncan made that point with a deep bitterness. “And I know his strength; any skirmishes I paid to start he’ll easily stop. But the lads I bought off won’t betray who paid them, even if they are found out.”

  Glynis shook her head in puzzlement. “So if you knew you’d not raise enough McKinnon to break the truce, then why do it at all?”

  Duncan looked at Glynis as if she were slow. “Why, to draw him away from the castle, of course. Your husband believes in confronting his kin directly. He knows he may not be able to stop the McLeod, but he can stop the McKinnon. His strength, like your father’s, is in gaining the obedience of his clan.” He paused. “But both men have a weakness.” He smiled. “That weakness is you.”

  “Me?” Glynis felt an actual chill now that had nothing to do with the air in the chamber.

  “A man can forgive his fellow man for disobedience and betrayal. But he’s hard-pressed to forgive the woman he loves. The last words yer husband spoke to ye were harsh and scolding. There were many witnesses, and none will be surprised to learn that ye fled. When word comes back later that ye made for McKinnon lands, playing the whore along the way to spite him, then he’ll nae care for ye, or for your kin.”

  Glynis shook her head fearfully as he continued.

  “He’ll hardly want one so used, and as ye know, it won’t sit well for yer kin across the border to hear that no McKinnon was surprised that to find that Kiernan McLeod’s daughter turned out to be a faithless slattern. At that point, your adultery will become a point of dishonor over which both sides will happily restart the fight. I’ve been laying a cunning trap, my dear, and you’ve walked right into it.”

  Glynis’ eyes flashed angrily as she tried unsuccessfully to jerk her arm free.

  “And let me guess,” she hissed. “The man my husband has trusted to do his business on his behalf, and speak for him at court, the man who has no doubt been politicking behind his back—that man will offer himself up to the king as the new McKinnon laird.”

  Duncan stepped back, swept off his hat, and dropped into an animated bow. “Duncan McKinnon at your service, my liege,” he said as Angus laughed. “I am both humbled and honored to accept this responsibility that you have so unexpectedly bestowed. I promise to discharge my duties with the leadership my predecessor sadly lacked.”

  As he rose, Glynis stepped forward, her hand raised to slap his face. But the factor caught it with surprising strength. “Careful, lass. You’ll not want a taste of my justice just yet, not unless you wish to be carried from these halls in a sack.”

  Ina! Glynis called the older woman’s name in her mind, wishing now that she’d not drugged the nanny. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes as she realized that she’d underestimated the depth of evil she’d detected in her husband’s factor. She imagined the fear and betrayal the woman who raised her would feel when she awoke to find her gone. And what would become of her? Surely they would not leave her alive to tell her story to either side when all was said and done.

  And Bran? Oh, Bran, she thought, I may not survive this. If you are never able to forgive me, at least forgive my memory.

  Chapter Nine: The Laird’s Regret

  Bran McKinnon paced the floor of the hall, as on a chair nearby, nanny Ina sat with her head in her hands. Had Glynis been there, she would have been unnerved to see the older woman openly weep. Nanny Ina never wept. But Glynis was not there to see her nanny’s distress. Glynis was missing.

  “I canna believe what I hear,” Bran said, shaking his head. It had taken him less than a day to ride far enough to send word of his impending arrival in the west. That alone had been enough to quell the uprising. When he came back to Castle McKinnon, eager to make up with his sore wife, he found her gone. Now he paced, clasping and unclasping his huge fists as he traversed the room in front of nanny’s chair. “I canna believe she would run away. But here before me is evidence abundant. I return to your claim that she made you sleep drunk on herbs, and then hear reports from Duncan of a lass riding across the moors on a white pony. It still boggles the mind why no one thought to go after her!” He stopped, banging his fist so hard on the table that several cups were upset.

  Nearby, Duncan stepped from the shadows. “I would think that given her small size and plain dress, most mistook her for a maid. She’s small, and not one given to… convention.”

  Now Ina stood, angry.

  “They did not stop her because it dinna happen that way!” The larger woman turned to face the laird’s factor and then turned to Bran. “She was more sad than angry that night. She loves you, my laird. She would never leave on her own.”

  “So what are you saying? That she was taken?” Duncan laughed shrilly.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Ina’s voice was icy. “And I thinking now that the two people closest to Glynis would have been wise to listen to her concerns.” She turned to Bran, her finger pointed at Duncan. “She tried to warn me of this one, you know. She overheard him in the hall. He was planning to take money. And then he returns with a story of being robbed of funds just before an uprising? And now you return to find him still here and your wife missing?”

  For the first time, Bran looked upon Duncan with suspicion. The factor stepped forward, his face twisted in anger.

  “So now you’re paying heed to a servant? A McKinnon chit’s servant?”

  “I’m more than just a servant,” Ina said, and Bran had to restrain the nanny from advancing further on his factor. “I raised Bran’s lady.”

  “You should have done a better job,” Duncan said. “What kind of woman leaves without an escort and runs off? I’ll tell you what kind! A McLeod whore. A filthy McLeod whore who was never worthy to be brought among us.” His sharp face was red as he spoke. “We can only hope that Angus and his men find her before she disgraces us all.”

  Bran’s fist smashed into Duncan’s face so hard that Ina could hear the man’s upper teeth and nose crack from the impact. The room was silent now as the laird stood over his factor, who sat on the floor moaning with his hands over his face. Bran turned now to two men by the door. “Ronald, Seamus… lodge this one in the dungeon.” As the two men dragged the bleeding man away, he turned to his second-in-command. “Colin, rally the McKinnon. We’re going to go find my wife.”

  Colin nodded. As he left the room, Ina walked over to Bran. “So you believe her now?”

  “I know a viper when I see one,” he said. “And the hatred in that man’s eyes gave him away.” He ran a large hand down his face. “What have I done, Ina? She tried to wa
rn me.”

  “She tried to warn me, too,” the nanny said.

  “’Tis my fault.” Bran looked at the nanny, his expression one of misery and remorse. “I have been so selfish, keeping her as a child.”

  But Ina shook her head. “You were nae selfish. It’s what she wanted, too, and what she loved. But there are times than even a child bride must be taken seriously, and we both found it too easy to forget that while small and dependent on us for guidance and correction, she is a grownup, and a smart one at that.”

  Bran put his hand on his sword hilt. “If they’ve hurt her, kin or no, I’ll make them all pay.”

  “Dinna think like that,” Ina said, blinking back tears. “Just go save her. Please.”

  “You’ll nae have to ask me twice.”

  He was gone then, striding purposefully through the courtyard, determination in every step. The men were already mounted, having been ordered by Colin not to wait. As Bran leapt onto his horse, his brother turned to him.

  “Ye think Angus has her, then?”

  “Aye,” Bran said. “He and Duncan have been thick as thieves these past months. Thicker, it turns out. Angus nae went after her; I’m thinking he took her.”

  “But where?” Colin asked.

  “If you were to use a wee lass to break the trust with the former clan, where would you take her? To it or away from it?”

  Colin thought about that. “To it. But not direct. It would be too obvious. The way south and west is less rocky. It would make for faster travel. But it will most certain by in that direction…” He looked down, not wanting to meet the laird’s eyes. “So that when the McLeod find her… in whatever state… it will surely mean war.”

  “Exactly,” Bran said, his mouth set in a grim line. He turned to the men. “We ride south and west!”

  Chapter Ten: A Wildcat Fights Back

  At first Glynis thought for sure she would be raped. Angus had put her on the saddle in front of them as they’d ridden off across the moors. As the horse moved beneath them, her captor’s pelvis was pitched forward and she could feel his stubby cock jutting into her lower back.

  She could tell by the stars that they were heading toward the west, but not directly. With each stop to rest the horses, she steeled herself for an assault. But Angus seemed to avoid her on the ground, and as she listened to the whispered conversation, she realized why. Duncan was the mastermind behind the plan, and Angus the muscle. But now that the deed had been done, the larger man was having misgivings about his role.

  “There will be hell to pay should this go wrong,” one man warned, and Angus only scratched his scrubby beard in reply, a look of worry in his eyes.

  It was enough to make Glynis want to smile. Angus was more brawn than brain, but what brain he had was likely telling him that should things go awry, he’d not be able to count on Duncan for support. The factor would leave him to hang—or worse—at the hands of the furious laird.

  As Glynis sat on the ground by the fire one of the other men had built, she assessed her situation. Her hands were bound in front of her. Even if they had not been, she had no weapon, and even with one she would be no match for four burly men. But what she did have was a quick mind.

  “May I have some water?” she called to Angus as he passed, being careful to stare up at the man with wide eyes full of false trust and free of guile. He stopped, looked around, and then dropped down beside her, putting the skin of water he carried to her lips.

  “Thank you,” she said after taking a long swig, and looked around at the moors. “It is beautiful out here. And I know I shall die before dawn, but even so I shall at least have peace and be free of my fear. But you…”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She dropped her gaze submissively and shook her head. “I’m but a simple female, but I know enough of the ways of men to have discerned your plan. You’ll find some resentful McKinnon lad just across the border from McLeod land to rape me. Then you’ll send me dead or shamed to my own people, who will no doubt want honor satisfied. The McKinnon will remember me as a whore; the McLeods will remember me as a victim. But what of you, Angus? Once Duncan is laird, how will you be remembered when he silences you?”

  “Shut your mouth, woman,” Angus said nervously. “You don’t know of what ye speak!”

  “Don’t I?” She looked up at him again, and in the dim firelight could see the uncertainty in his eyes. “You think a man cowardly enough to send another to kill his laird’s lady will be brave enough to risk discovery?” She sighed. “No, of the two of us, I’m the lucky one here. My troubles will be over after a bit of pain. But for you…” She visibly shuddered. “I once watched two tinkers hang. It was not a clean death. They twitched and kicked like rabbits in a snare. And I’ve heard tales of drawing and quartering—the fear, the slow agony. But maybe you’ll be lucky and Duncan will just have a dirk stuck in ye.” She looked around at the other men, chatting on the other side of the fire. “Who knows,” she whispered. “Maybe he’s already given one of them orders to cut ye down.”

  As if on cue, one of the other men raised his eyes to Angus. The look was the kind of straightforward look one man gives to another, but the directness of it seemed to rattle the larger man.

  “Have ye a problem with me, Rob?” Angus asked. The men on the other side of the fire fell silent and looked at their companion, who seemed genuinely confused.

  “Should I?” Rob asked, clearly baffled by his leader’s behavior.

  Angus stood and spit on the ground, his gaze on the other man clearly challenging. Then he stalked off into the darkness. The other men remained silent for a moment, and when they eventually went back to talking, Glynis edged closer to the fire. A piece of glowing wood lay on the ground nearby, and she held the rope binding her hands in front of her, just against it. She prayed that the men would not notice the thin rope smoking as the threads of the binding shriveled and snapped under the heat. She prayed harder that it would not catch fire. The heat was hurting her wrists, but she gritted her teeth. This was something she had to do.

  Glynis stifled a cry of relief when the rope finally burned enough that she was able to pop free. She looked back. There was no sign of Angus, who had obviously gone to cool off before his paranoid thoughts she’d stoked put him at further odds with his companions.

  Now all she needed was a diversion. There was a gorse bush nearby, dead and dry. She glanced back at the men, who were into their cups now with whiskey she was sure they had not been given permission to bring. She wondered if they’d brought it to ease their nervousness. They all seemed wary, looking out into the darkness. But they were not looking at her, where she sat on the other side of the fire. She wondered if they’d not noticed Angus’ departure, and were counting on him to be keeping watch.

  The men were laughing at something now, a joke perhaps, and she took this distraction to grab a burning stick from the fire and toss it into the gorse bush. She held her breath as it spit, crackled, and burst into flames. Immediately the men looked not to her, but into the darkness.

  “I saw a flaming arrow!” she cried with a scream, knowing that they knew such tactics were common from the McLeod. The men were on their feet, swords drawn as they faced out in the direction she pointed.

  Glynis didn’t look back as she darted in the opposite direction, falling on her hands and knees as she reached the horses. During the ride, she’d studied the animals to determine which one was the least herd bound, the least likely to call to its neighbors if separated. She’d decided it was a sturdy dark mare with a grumpy disposition toward the other mounts, and this was the one she now untied from the line and pulled into the darkness. She could hear Angus now back with the other men, shouting. And then the shouts turned to outrage. By then, she’d led her horse to where she’d seen softer ground and mounted, pushing the animal instantly to a gallop as she rode off across the spongy turf into moonless night. She knew the shouts of the men and the softness of t
he ground would blunt the sound of her horse’s hoof beats. When she did not hear anyone immediately follow, she realized she’d been successful.

  Glynis smiled to herself. Her father had always called her a wildcat for her temper, but it was her wits that had the claws on this night. Now she clung to the mare like a cat, letting the horse open up at a gallop. She had no idea where she was headed, but let the horse run until finally—after what seemed like ages—it had run itself out. The gallop became a canter, which became a trot and a walk. Glynis sat up, patting the sweaty neck and feeling a bit guilty for taxing the animal so, but it had brought her freedom. The only problem now as that she was in complete darkness somewhere on McKinnon land in the pitch dark. Dismounting, she dropped the reins of the horse and groped around until she felt stone. She could not tell what kind, but lay beside it, bundling her wrap around her.

  Sleep did not come. She would not let it. When light finally dawned, her horse was nowhere to be seen. Glynis sat up and blinked in the early dawn light. She was in the ruins of an old stone cottage on the shores of a loch. The beauty around her was breathtaking. But she was cold and hungry, and had no notion of where she was. She knew she’d headed east, but could see no inhabited cottages about. Sinking down on the ground, she pulled her wrap around her and was trying to decide what to do next when she heard a strange sound on the wind.

  For a moment it scared her, for it sounded almost like her name. She thought back to what Bran had said, about the faeries that lived in wild places, and wonder if they’d found her. That made her smile; the wind could play tricks. But then she heard it again, this time more distinctly. She stood, her heart pounding. On the horizon she could see horses.