Highland Conquest

by Alyson McLayne

  “So you’ll stay until just before the first snowfall, then?” she asked.

  “Most likely.”

  “Sounds like you wouldnae want to be trapped here o’er winter.”

  “I doona know, Amber. At this point, I just want to catch Murray.” He leaned forward in his chair so his fingers touched her knees. “And I want to be with you.”

  “Until winter,” she insisted.

  “I have to get back. I canna leave my own clan for too long.”

  She nodded. Then picked up her cup and walked in a stilted fashion back to the kitchen.

  “Amber—”

  “When you leave, I willna be able to tell you things.”

  He rose and stared at her back, the tension thrumming in his veins. “Nay, but you can write to me.”

  “Then I will have told you everything. What about the things you are to understand even though I tell you naught?”

  He frowned in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense. How can I understand something if you doona tell me? Are you worried someone may find the letters?”

  “Nay. I’m worried I’ll lose something far more important.”

  He raised his hands, palms up. “Lose what? Amber, what do you mean?”

  “Isla said a man could understand the things I say even if I doona use words. I said it sounded like witchcraft, but all I have to do is look at her and Alban to know it’s possible.”

  “That he can read minds?”

  “That something sacred can be formed between a man and a woman. Something divine.”

  He crossed the room and placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing her back against him.

  “I can show you divine, Amber.”

  She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on his chest, and inhaled. “I’m sure you can. I keep imagining your hands and mouth on me…”

  “As do I, believe me—”

  “…but I doona think it would be enough.”

  His fingers squeezed tight, and he forced himself to ease up. But it was hard to let go—he felt her slipping away, possibly further away than she’d been since they met.

  “So you want me to marry you, then?” he asked. “Because I doona e’er plan to marry. Be verra clear on that. And I doona want bairns, either.”

  “I’m not asking for that.”

  “Then what are you asking?”

  “I doona know. Divine possibility.”

  He released her and turned around, shoving his hands through his hair.

  “I thought you were different.”

  “Why? Because I curse? Or I’m not afraid to get my hands bloody? I know lots of lasses who do those things.”

  “Nay, because you ne’er seem to care what people think of you.”

  “’Tis not about what other people think of me. ’Tis what I think about myself.”

  He walked to the hearth and leaned on it. “So is that it, then? Have you decided against me?”

  “I doona know, Lachlan. I think… I think I care about you, which complicates things.”

  He turned to look at her, the blood thudding slowly in his ears. “Are you saying you love me?”

  “Nay. I doona know you well enough to love you, do I? But…you make me laugh, and while you annoy me, ’tis not in the same way the other men annoy me. Understand?”

  “Not in the least. Should I be pleased that my level of annoyance is different from the other men that dog your heels?”

  “You should be whate’er you like. ’Tis not my job to placate you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to placate me. Bloody, aggravating woman!”

  “Nay, you just asked me for everything else and expect to give naught in return!”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Why was this so difficult? He’d ne’er had such trouble with a woman before.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “You’re young. You’ll want things I canna give you.”

  She tossed her head, her arms crossed over her body. “I doona want anything from you that I canna have from another man. You think this is about marriage and bairns? ’Tis not. I could walk to the castle and be married within the hour if that was what I wanted.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  She pressed her lips together, her jaw tight, those beautiful eyes bright.

  He threw his hands in the air. “If you doona tell me, Amber, I canna know.”

  “I want balance.”

  His brow crinkled. “What does that even mean?”

  “When you leave, will you forget me? Will you pine for me? Will you be with other women after me? If we’ve been intimate, that changes things for me. I doona want to pine. ’Tis not in my nature.” She pushed her hair back with both hands, but the shorter stands fell forward and framed her face. “Maybe I need to be with someone else first. If I weren’t a virgin—”

  “What? That makes even less sense.”

  “Well, you can treat it as tupping and naught else because you’ve been with other lasses. ’Tis not so with me. So maybe if I have carnal pleasure with someone else first, someone I like who doesn’t belong to my clan, I willna feel this tie to you. You said your foster brothers were arriving, aye?”

  A wave of black fury crashed within him, and he stalked forward. “You are not tupping one of my brothers!”

  “Who would you suggest, then?”

  “No one!”

  “Ever? You need to be practical about this, Lachlan. I will be alone all winter. I may meet someo—”

  “Are you deliberately trying to rile me? Because it’s working. These are the kind of things my mother would say.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “To you?”

  “Not those exact words. I meant she would try to manipulate people and their emotions. I will not be manipulated, Amber.”

  “What part of me telling the truth is manipulation? You want to tup me, Lachlan, and then you want to leave. Do you expect me to be chaste until you return? Will you be chaste for me?”

  He opened his mouth then closed it, and did so again before saying, “I could be.”

  “So you want to commit to me? And for me to commit to you? Some might call that marriage.”

  He ground his teeth, the two conflicting emotions fighting for dominance within him: possession and freedom. “Nay. Not. Marriage.”

  She nodded and blew out a breath. “I agree. Maybe the next time you’re here it will be different. But for now, I think we need to find some socks to darn.”

  She moved toward a basket full of clothes by the fire. Her hair fell forward as she leaned over, and she tucked it behind her ears. As she rummaged for a sock, a curl fell forward again, and he sighed.

  At least he could help her with that.

  He strode to the exit, their argument riding him hard. From the corner of his eye, he saw her straighten, watch him go. The cool air from outside was a refreshing blast across his face when he opened the door.

  She made an inarticulate sound just before he left, but he didn’t dare look back.

  He didn’t dare do a lot of things he wanted to do.

  Twelve

  Amber stared at the closed door, in shock that he’d left but also feeling like her heart had broken into a hundred pieces. The sock she held in her hand fell to the floor as she moved forward slowly. Were his men still here? Had he given up on her and their plan to catch Murray?

  Maybe there had never been a plan. Maybe he’d enlisted Callum into getting her into a compromising position just so he could tup her, and now that it was proving difficult, he’d decided to end the ruse. But that would make both him and Callum dishonorable, and she would bet her life, had bet her life, on the opposite.

  She heard a sound behind her, a soft thump, and relief washed through her. Lachlan must have walked aro
und the cottage and come in the back door, maybe to talk to the guard out back. She thought she’d slid the bar across, but she must have forgotten.

  When she turned and saw the man standing by the alcove that held her second bed—now leaning on its side against the wall, a black gap where the mattress had been—she froze in disbelief. She was almost unable to comprehend what she was seeing—a much thinner, haggard, and dirty-looking Machar Murray, his arrow notched and bow drawn, pointed at her.

  He’s here, she thought before terror surged through her and she opened her mouth to scream.

  “Not one word, witch, or I’ll shoot you through the heart and then shoot Lachlan MacKay when he runs through the door.”

  Her teeth snapped together—so hard she thought she might have broken them. Panic engulfed her, more for Lachlan than for herself, and her breath came in short bursts through her nose. Desperate tears pricked her eyes and she prayed Lachlan had left for good.

  “I’d hoped to snare the two of you together,” he said. “Catch him when he was tupping you. Maybe I’d tie up the both of you and then let him watch me swive you too.”

  “That’s not called swiving. It’s called rape,” she whispered hoarsely.

  He shrugged, not bothered by her words.

  “He and the other one think they’re so smart, surrounding the cottage, waiting for me, but they ne’er counted on your wee bolt-hole, did they?”

  She moaned, part fear, part regret, and clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from bursting into tears. She didn’t dare put Lachlan in any more danger than she already had.

  How had Murray known about her escape route? No one but her knew it existed. Dug out by her grandfather when he’d built the cottage, the tunnel started behind the low, built-in cupboards that made up the base of the smaller bed and ran all the way to the goats’ shed. A lever allowed her to release the lock that kept the bed and mattress in place. Once she was in the tunnel, she could reposition the trap door and lock it behind her.

  She’d agonized over telling Lachlan, but her father and grandmother had sworn her to secrecy, saying someday the tunnel would save her life. And it had. Twice. Both times when Machar Murray had come looking for her in the dead of night.

  Now it stood open, the mattress shoved to the side, the cold air from below pouring into the cottage. How long had he been waiting in there? And what had he heard?

  “How did you know?” she croaked.

  “That you had a way out?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’d escaped me twice. The second time I searched for a hiding place. I didn’t see the lever at first, but the cupboards under the bed weren’t as deep as the mattress was wide. Did your grandfather build it?”

  On her nod, he said, “I heard he was a smart man, as was your da. Too smart. I had to kill him sooner than I wanted, before I got rid of the old laird.”

  Her breath caught, and a sob squeaked out. She knew Murray had killed her father, but to hear him freely admit it released all the hurt and grief she’d pushed down—and the rage. If she had the chance, she would kill him this time. Exactly as Adaira had said. She could incapacitate him long enough to stab a knife in his heart.

  She might die in the process, but no way was this monster getting away.

  Lucy hopped from the back of one chair to another, moving closer to Murray. He smiled and pointed the arrow at her bird. “Should I kill your crow before we leave?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want her pet to die, but she would sacrifice him, the goats too, to prevent Murray from getting away and hurting Lachlan or anyone else. He’d made a mistake coming after her when she was alone. He had no leverage over her other than her death, and she didn’t think he would kill her until after he raped her. Probably several times.

  She would take him down when he tried to force her into the tunnel. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Aye, you are, or—”

  The front door pushed open behind her. Amber knew it was Lachlan, not by anything she heard or saw, just because she knew. Jumping on instinct and screaming, she slammed the door closed on him before he could get in. Murray loosed his arrow.

  Pain exploded in her shoulder as she was pinned to the door, and she shrieked in agony.

  “Amber!” Lachlan yelled, his voice frantic. “MacKays! Attack! He’s in the cottage.”

  Murray loosed two more arrows at him as he tried to push inside. One scraped her cheek, causing splinters to fly into her face, and the other landed just above her head.

  The guards banged at the back door and shuttered windows of her cottage, trying to break in, but the wood was solid and the cottage well built. Murray nocked another arrow, eyes filled with hatred. He had just pointed it at her when Lucy cawed in outrage and flew at his face.

  With a startled yell, Murray lifted his arms to protect his eyes, loosing the arrow into the ceiling. He swung at the bird, hitting it with a sickening thud, and her heart broke all over again as Lucy dropped to the floor, dead.

  “Amber!” Lachlan cried again. He pushed past her into the room and rolled behind the wooden table. Flipping it on its side, he dragged it in front of her. Two more arrows hit the table just as Callum broke through the back door.

  Murray cursed and ran to the escape route, Callum and several others in pursuit.

  Crouching beside her, Lachlan yanked the arrows out of the wood around her face and picked out the splinters. She felt a wet trickle down her cheek and could see blood on his fingertips—she was lucky the wood hadn’t landed in her eye.

  “Amber, sweetling, look at me,” Lachlan said, his voice shaking. His eyes were creased with fear for her, but his fingers stroked gently. Exhaustion washed over her, and she rested her cheek in his hand, closing her eyes.

  “Look at me, Amber. Now.”

  She dragged her gaze back to his. “You didn’t go…after him.”

  “Nay. Amber what do I do? Are you hurt anywhere other than your shoulder?”

  She shook her head, but even that movement made her head swim, and again she had to close her eyes.

  He lifted her chin, his face close when she opened them. His lips found hers, a soft, pleading kiss. “You stay awake, love. Tell me what to do.”

  It was hard to catch her breath, the world spinning. She managed to force the words past her lips, suddenly dry. “Get Mary from the village… Tell her…it’s a similar wound to Gillis.”

  “Someone get Mary!” Lachlan yelled over his shoulder. “Two men!” Seconds later, she heard horses galloping away.

  “You’re losing a lot of blood. Should I take out the arrow?” He ripped off pieces of his plaid and used it to staunch the bleeding.

  She sucked back a gasp as he pressed on her wound and could barely think past the pain. “Nay. Wait until…Mary’s here.”

  “Can I break off the arrow so we can move you?”

  The last thing she wanted was for the shaft to be jolted; breathing was bad enough. Still, she nodded.

  “Malcolm!” he called out, and the young MacKay warrior who’d refused her entry into the castle that first night appeared. “Press your fingers here,” Lachlan said. The warrior did so, and Lachlan withdrew his hand. “Doona let up,” he ordered, then looked behind the door.

  “Hello, Malcolm,” she said to the warrior, remembering how they’d first met. “Come to claim…your kiss?” Her words were low and starting to slur.

  “Maybe. If you doona faint on me. You did promise.”

  “No kissing,” Lachlan said as he moved close again, grasped her rib cage on both sides, and pulled her forward along the arrow a few inches.

  She screamed as the movement tore at her wound, causing what felt like fire to lick through her body. Lachlan added more bandages to the wound around the arrow. Malcolm held the shaft tight in one hand and laid the other against her back so sh
e leaned into him.

  She moaned, knowing what was coming. “Ten kisses…if you stop him.”

  She screamed a second time when Lachlan slid his sword between her and the door and cut off the arrow pinning her in place with a sharp, hard slice. She sagged forward.

  “You did well, sweetling,” Lachlan said, running his hand over her hair.

  “I’d wager Malcolm…disagrees. His hearing will ne’er be…the same.”

  “Aye, ’tis ringing like a bell,” Malcolm said. “But we all knew you had strong lungs on you.”

  Lachlan smiled—more a twisting of his lips—and he pressed a bandage to the wound at the back. The arrow went through close to her collarbone, but she didn’t think it was broken.

  “Do you have a stretcher we can use to move you?” he asked.

  Her vision had blurred—whether from tears or pain she didn’t know—but she didn’t think she could stay conscious much longer. “Near the back door.”

  “I’ll get it,” Malcolm said, and she was grateful to be transferred to the safe haven of Lachlan’s arms, her head resting on his broad shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent.

  He pressed his lips to her hair. “You threw yourself against the door. Stopped me from coming in.”

  “Of course… I didn’t want…you killed.”

  “So you would kill yourself instead?”

  “I’m still alive.” She was growing more and more sleepy and fought to stay with him. “Why didn’t you…go after…Murray? You finally had…your chance.”

  “Because you needed me. I’ll always come for you, Amber.” He brushed her hair back from her face, then reached for a torn parcel on the floor.

  He pulled out a beautiful, shiny blue ribbon. “For your hair,” he said as he looped it behind her neck and around her head to hold back her hair.

  “You left to get…me…a present?”

  “Aye. So we’d stop fighting.”

  She smiled weakly, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it even as a tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “Maybe if you’d given me the ribbons first…we wouldnae…have fought.”

  He smiled back, but she could still see the fear in his gaze. “Maybe.”