“I willnae.” She fisted her hands on her hips.
“Aye, ye will, or I will haul ye and Malcolm home tonight.”
She peeked around him to make sure no one could hear them. “Someone is trying to kill my brothers.” Her lip quivered.
“How would ye ken that? I want to kill them almost every day.” It was a poor attempt at trying to lighten the mood. He didn’t know how to react to the frightened lass who stared back at him. She was easier to manage angry.
“I was in the stables, and I overheard some men talking about it.” She gulped and bit her lip. He heard laughter and pivoted again to reassure himself no one could hear their conversation.
“So ye decided the best thing to do was break into the earl’s room? Have ye gone daft? Why did ye no’ talk to me?”
“Because I dinnae want to spend time with ye.” That stung. At least she was cautious enough to lean in and whisper, “And ye have only been with Covenanters since ye arrived. How do I ken ye are not part of it?” Her cheeks reddened, and she poked him in the chest.
She sounded confused and hurt when she continued, “I want to think ye wouldnae harm them, but I feel as if I dinnae ken yer heart anymore.”
“’Tis crazy, kitten, ye think I would do something to yer brothers.” Still looming over her, his fury abating, he gently clasped his fingers around the hand that had been assaulting him. She pulled back as if burned.
“Nae, but yer up to something.”
“Why did ye no’ tell Malcolm what ye overheard?” He leaned closer; she smelled earthy but floral at the same time.
“Because I was afraid he would do something foolish.”
“Anything he would have done couldnae have been worse than what ye attempted.” He wanted to pull her in and hold her, just to know she was safe. “Ye are lucky ye are no’ dead.” He was dangerously close to her ear now, and his breathing had become heavy.
“Please, leave me be,” she whispered. Her blue eyes were full of longing, fear, and unshed tears.
Some primitive part of him reacted to the luscious scent of her and the husky way her voice trembled. His hand went to her waist, and she shivered at his touch. Eyes fluttering for a moment, she bit her lip. She was beautiful, and he wanted to sink into her and give in to the emotions welling up, the ones he had worked so hard to hide.
She must have seen his reservations, because she shook her head. “Ye arenae my brother, and ye arenae anything more to me. Stay away from me. I dinnae wish to see ye.”
She pushed away from him, and emerging from their private alcove, she ran for the door.
Hell, that could have gone a little bit better. Och, he doubted Finlay or Dougal saw her leave, and she wasn’t safe out there on her own. Worse, she might not be safe with him. He followed but walked slow because he knew where she was going and he wanted to give her time to calm down. Hell, he needed time to simmer, too.
As he reached the entrance to the stable, Kirstie’s scream penetrated the cool night air, and his blood froze.
Chapter Six
As Alan bolted for the entrance, fear snaked its way around his heart and constricted painfully.
“Nae, stop.” Kirstie’s voice was pitched an octave higher than normal, like the time she’d run for help after her father had fallen from his horse lifeless, a sound he’d hoped to never hear again.
Frantically running down the aisle of stalls, the only thing he saw were horses stabled for the evening with heads tilted toward the sounds of a struggle coming from farther in. Deep male laughter taunted, “Did ye no’ come down here looking for yer stallion?”
“She’s a bonny one, Ceardach. I want her first,” a second voice came, this one slow and slurred.
“Get yer hands off me.”
The long row of stalls became a blur as he focused on the sounds of the voices.
“Ah, ye bitch,” the deeper voice spoke again.
The crack of flesh hitting soft skin was followed by a gasp and whimper. The sound had been branded in his head as a child and could never be removed.
“Dinnae mess up her face.” The slurred response confirmed his suspicions.
Almost there. A soft thud sounded, followed by Kirstie’s sharp intake of breath. Helplessness washed over him, a feeling that had plagued him through his childhood years.
“That’s right, lass, stay down there, cause that’s where ye belong,” said the thick, beefy voice.
“Nae, I get her first, Willy. Ye watch the door. She willnae fight ye when I’m done with her.”
Alan rounded on the stall at the end. Kirstie was on her knees bent over, holding her stomach. He tensed as the sight of her injured hit him like a horse at full speed, so blinding that his gaze narrowed in to the threats before they could strike again. There were two men standing over her with smug smiles plastered on their faces. The bigger one started to unbelt his plaid.
“I believe I heard the lass say she wasnae interested.” Alan tried to look calm and uninterested as he leaned against the side of the entrance, arms folded, hiding the fists that trembled as fear and fury ignited in his chest.
“Go away. ’Tis no’ yer concern,” the larger one said as he stopped unfastening his belt and took a step toward Alan. The wiry man, he assumed Willy, didn’t move.
“Aye, ’tis when two men are forcing themselves on an unwilling lass.” The rage he kept buried inside sprung to life, ready to unleash itself on these cowards.
“Ye should leave now. I willnae show mercy on ye.”
“Like ye have for the lass doubled over in the corner. Where is her mercy? I dinnae think ye have any in ye.” His words were becoming more clipped, and his voice shook with the pent-up energy surging to the surface.
Ceardach, the man who seemed to be the leader, advanced, and Alan rose up to meet him, blocking the exit. “The only way ye will leave is on yer knees begging for the lass’s forgiveness.”
The man grunted and charged, knocking him in the chest; they both went flying with the momentum. He turned during the fall and was able to land on his side instead of under the beast.
A moment of remembered fear assailed him as the smell of the brute reached his nostrils. A potent mix of sweat, ale, and whisky permeated from his pores. The man had probably drunk enough to make a horse sick. It made him dangerous because in his current state, consequences wouldn’t mean a thing to the arse. Alan had seen it enough with his own father.
Jumping to his feet just before the other man, Alan moved into a braced stance ready for attack, something he’d not known as a wee lad.
The drunken brute swung and missed then swung again in rapid succession. As Ceardach’s second blow connected with the side of his arm and slid off, Alan ignored the sting. Taking a step back, he struck and planted his fist squarely on the drunken man’s jaw.
The brute staggered but recovered quickly, pinning him with the fury of someone convinced of his own self-worth.
Standing tall, Alan straightened his shoulders as he waited for the next attack.
“Ye can still walk away if ye leave now,” Ceardach spit out.
“And leave the lass to endure yer bad breath and unwanted attention.” He was not going to let this abuser of women leave standing upright. They were out in the passage between stalls now, but the image of Kirstie on her knees was still fresh in his mind. No man would ever raise a hand to her again.
The drunk stepped closer, but Alan stood his ground. “Ye will regret that. Mayhap I will let ye watch before I kill ye.”
Rage rose in his chest and threatened to overwhelm him.
Taking advantage of his distraction, the brute swung, a hard hand landing on Alan’s jaw.
The sting bringing him back from the horrid image, he threw a punch of his own. Bone crushed beneath his fist as the man’s nose collapsed, and a strangled sound came from deep in Ceardach’s throat. When he pulled back, blood was streaming down the arse’s face.
His arms were grabbed from behind, and he realized he’d forgot
ten about the smaller man, Willy. Already having dismissed the willowy man as a non-threat, he kept his focus on the raging beast in front of him. Ceardach, too drunk to feel the injury to his nose, wiped the blood from his face and ranted, “Ye will pay fer that.”
Stepping forward, he spit at Alan before the arse planted a fist in his side. Oh hell, a crack followed by a stab of pain meant the brute had done some serious damage.
An unfamiliar thwack sounded, and Willy’s hands were wrenched away, jerking to the side. With Ceardach’s attention focused on whatever had happened to his partner, Alan spared a glance at the man behind him.
“Ye bitch.” Willy stumbled then charged at Kirstie, who was holding a large metal object.
She shrieked and threw the shovel at him, but Alan didn’t see the rest because another blow landed on his side and he almost fell over. Turning, he pummeled the man just under his jaw, and the brute’s head flew back as he stumbled and blinked.
Alan didn’t wait to see the man fall, instead bolting toward Willy, who held Kirstie up against his body by her hair. “Dinnae come any closer.”
This man was scared. If the brute had Kirstie, Alan would listen, but this man just wanted to get out of here with his friend.
Alan stepped forward, and Willy pulled harder. Kirstie’s head was forced up, and she beat at the man with one hand while she cradled her other arm at her chest.
“Alan, behind ye,” she yelled.
Pivoting just in time to miss the next blow, he straightened. The evil smirk on the man’s face terrified him more than anything else he could have done, and Alan realized instantly what had pleased him.
“Ye ken the lass, then.” The man rubbed his hands together then wiped at the blood that was still dripping from his nose. “Willy, bring her.”
Fury burst behind his eyes, burning like an angry blaze of a roaring fire in the pitch black of night. That brute would not put his filthy hands on Kirstie again.
Flying through the small space between them, he knocked Ceardach to the ground with such force a whiff of alcohol-soaked breath was pushed from the man’s lungs into Alan’s face. He wanted to gag.
It only fueled the flames. The years he had stood by helpless as his father beat and raped his mother exploded to the surface. Unleashing a storm of punches, he stood and drove his boot into the arse’s side as the man tried to evade the assault. Alcohol apparently no longer keeping the pain at bay, Ceardach curled into a ball.
Alan jabbed again, and the man moaned and tried to roll away. He kicked two more times, the anger taking over as his body tensed and the coil that had tightened around his chest spilled over. Everything else blurred.
“Alan.”
He heard his name but kept going.
“Alan!” It was Kirstie. She had managed to break free from the wiry man’s hold. He was hunched over as if she’d managed to get a direct hit on the man’s groin. Not only that, he glanced toward Ceardach, who lay motionless on the ground whimpering.
Willy’s gaze darted back and forth between his fallen friend and Alan. Alan took another step closer, but the man moved behind Kirstie, pushing hard into her back and propelling her forward. She landed straight on Alan’s chest.
After catching her, he looked up to see Willy was halfway to the exit. He could give chase, but that would mean leaving Kirstie alone with the piece of shite on the ground. That wasn’t going to happen.
Kirstie’s hand rose, gently caressing his cheek. It was so tender that he turned into the soft touch. Glancing down, he caught sight of undercurrents of worry and relief swirling in the blue depths of her gaze. “Are ye all right?”
“Aye, I’m fine. What about ye?” She still cradled her other hand. He brought his up to touch it but was afraid of hurting her so he stopped short.
“’Tis just a sprain, I think. The big one bent it back.”
“Are ye hurt anywhere else?”
“Nae, I’ll be fine. What about ye?”
“’Tis nothing. Let’s get ye out of here and get someone to take care of that arse before he wakes up.”
…
Wincing inside and trying her hardest not to flinch, Kirstie turned her focus to the nearby wall to study a portrait of a portly man, the same doctor who was wrapping a bandage around her wrist. Although she’d wanted to shut herself in her room and pretend the night had not happened at all, Alan had insisted they come to see the physician after the guards had dragged away the barely breathing, tree-sized attacker that he had taken down.
The guards had directed them down into the city to see this particular physician, but he’d only confirmed what she already knew—it was a sprain. The doctor gave her some kind of medicine for the pain, and she took a spoon of it right away because it did hurt.
“Ye should have him look at yer side,” Kirstie said. She’d seen him grimace a couple of times when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“Nae, ’tis fine.”
“Please. Ye made me. Now ’tis yer turn.”
Giving in, her savior sat as the physician fumbled around a bit and declared his ribs bruised, giving Alan the same medicine, but he refused to take it. By the time they were done, she could barely keep her eyes open.
Glancing up the stairwell on their way out, her gaze was caught by several more portraits lining the stairwell up to what she assumed to be a private residence above stairs. She wasn’t sure how much Alan had paid him, but she was certain his fee would be exorbitant if he was able to afford such luxuries.
Shivering as they stepped out into the cool late night air, she stumbled.
Alan said, “I’ll send word to Blair. My tavern is close. Ye can stay there tonight.”
She froze.
He was probably relieved not to have to escort her up the long hill to the castle with the pain in his side. He looked as exhausted as she felt, so she ignored that silly childish part of her that at one time had wanted him to ask her to stay with him.
The medicine had made her so tired she could crawl into a bed of old rushes and fall asleep right now. “Aye, that will do.”
Shrugging as a mixture of excitement and trepidation threatened to shock her out of her exhaustive state, she squashed the feelings down and let the bone weary tiredness reign.
“I dinnae think I can make it all the way back up there tonight.” She didn’t want him to try, because she was certain his injury was worse than he was letting on.
“I remember ye used to fall asleep under the big tree out in front of Kentillie when ye were supposed to be doing yer chores.” His words brought back fond memories of warm summer days and childhood innocence.
“I loved that spot. It was my favorite. Ye and Lachlan would always tell on me.” Strolling down the street, she held her hurt arm close to her chest as she let Alan lead the way.
“Aye, we only did that a couple of times and usually ’twas because ye had done something to get Lachlan in trouble.”
“’Twas because ye two always left Malcolm and me out. Ye were forever hiding from us.”
She stopped to look in the window of a bakery that still had a light burning in the background. She’d been so busy with Hamish and Niall that she’d barely eaten dinner. The fruit tart in the window looked dry, but her mouth still watered.
“I saw ye protect that boy playing in the great hall.” Drawing her gaze from the window, she glanced at Alan and saw a man of honor and generosity before her, not the lad who had teased her as a child. She felt a new appreciation for the person he had become, and although she’d been able to grow as a caregiver to animals, she’d missed seeing his transition the years she had been gone.
“They were just lads having fun.” He shrugged casually, not realizing that when he’d turned, the lads had gazed up at him as if he were a conquering hero. She was glad she had seen their admiration, and she wondered if that’s how she looked upon him now.
Her gaze returned to the bakery window, hoping he didn’t see. “Aye, but no’ many adults would have defended
them the way ye did. I admire that ye are always looking out for others.”
And he’d been looking out for her tonight as well. She didn’t want to think about what could have happened had he not been there. It didn’t matter if he viewed her as a friend or a sister, he had been there. She liked that he was dependable.
And despite the childhood feelings, which threatened to erupt, she was proud of the man he was now. Some lass would be lucky enough to catch his heart one day, and if it couldn’t be her, maybe she should keep an eye out to make sure the woman was worthy of him.
When her gaze returned to his, she saw something there that made her want to lean into him, and it frightened her. Turning away, she continued walking, not quite sure where to go but certain she couldn’t stand with his eyes focused on her like that and not delude herself into thinking that more emotion reflected back to her than sibling affection.
“Aye, and I fear tonight nothing will wake me. That medicine is strong.”
Weak from the tonic and the night’s events, she drifted into him, and he wound his arm around her waist as they walked the dark street. She felt warm, safe, and all too comfortable in his strong embrace. Despite her fatigue, she wanted to remain in the moment, but they arrived at the tavern too soon.
“Ye’ll stay in my room tonight. I dinnae trust this place.” Clinging to her, he pulled her up the stairs as his gaze darted in every direction. He may have been looking for threats, but the streets and the tavern were deserted at this late hour. She saw no one. The hall was dark and smelled of stale ale, smoke, and urine. She held her breath as Alan unlocked the door at the end of the hall.
“Och,” she said as he stood back, holding the door for her to enter. The door clicked shut behind him, and he pivoted to bolt it. “Why are ye no’ staying with Malcolm? This place is filthy.”
Turning back to her, he avoided her gaze, but it wouldn’t have mattered—she couldn’t see in the darkness of the room. He fumbled around as he lit a candle. “Finlay and Dougal are there. He has enough company.”
Highland Temptation (Highland Pride) Page 9