“I dinnae ken what to think of ye anymore. Ye are obviously no’ the man I thought ye were.” Ross glanced at Skye, but Brodie growled. “Dinnae even look at her.” He called over to Skye, “Are ye all right, love?” His tone lightened as he glanced through his lashes at her, but she could tell he was still aware of every move Ross made.
She nodded but couldn’t speak. He must have recognized the fear on her face, because his tone eased yet again.
“Come, love.” Brodie finally looked directly at her. His gaze softened as he tilted his head to indicate the spot behind him. She rose, but before she could take a step, Ross was between Brodie and her. She was several paces behind Ross, but there was no way around. She gulped and moved slightly to the side so that she could keep watch on both the men.
“I need her. I cannae let ye take her.” Ross stood with his hands fisted on his hips.
“Ye wish to die, then?” The words frosted the air like a cold wind.
“If I have to.” Ross’s frame seemed to double as he squared his shoulders and lowered his balled fists to his sides. He matched Brodie in height, but was slightly broader. “If she means this much to ye, I will return her to ye when I am done with my business.”
“Ye have no business with her.”
“Ye can have any lass ye want, Brodie. I need this one.”
Brodie’s grip on the club tightened. He was shaking with barely contained fury. “This is the only one ye cannae have.”
“I think we can work this out, old friend.” Silence permeated the air, a brief moment of calm before the dam walls broke.
Brodie lunged for Ross with the club, but Ross stooped and hit him in the stomach with his shoulder. The branch went flying out of his grasp as the men connected. They both tumbled to the earth.
Brodie was first to recover. Rolling, he emerged on top of the tangled limbs on the ground and pinned Ross with one arm while he pulled back with his other. Brodie’s fist connected with the man’s cheek with a heavy thud then slid into the soft soil.
Inching backward, Skye almost tripped over the rock she’d been sitting on. She clasped her hands together, wringing them, as the men continued to pound on each other.
Ross drew his knee into his chest and planted his foot on Brodie’s shoulder. “Get off,” he grunted as he flexed his leg and pushed with enough force to knock Brodie on his ass. Rolling, Ross came to his feet and braced his legs in a defensive stance with fists ready to strike again.
Her abductor lifted one hand to rub his cheek. “Have ye gone daft, man?”
“Nae, I’m seeing as clear as ever.” Brodie stood and faced his foe. They were so intent on each other, it was as if both men had forgotten she was even there.
“I’ll take ye out, and we will find ye one even bonnier,” he said in a light tone, probably the same one the men used when they were out drinking and wenching together.
“Our drinking days are done.” Brodie spit and swung at Ross, who nimbly avoided the swing by ducking to the side.
“Dinnae let a lass come between us, man.” Again with the lighthearted tone, but this time it was mingled with disbelief.
It was as if they had some sort of code only men understood, a secret language she’d never been a party to. It seemed Brodie knew it well but was not reciprocating in the fun.
“She is mine.”
Skye stiffened at his proclamation. At the same time Ross froze, then his head turned to her with a blank expression.
Brodie pounced and connected with the side of Ross’s face.
Ross snarled, more angry than hurt. He swung back, but Brodie evaded the blow. Ross overreached and stumbled, but recovered and came at Brodie again. His fist struck just below the jaw. Brodie inhaled sharply, and his hand rose to finger the tender spot. His gaze returned to Ross’s, his eyes cold and dark.
Brodie held back nothing. She honestly thought he would kill Ross, then she looked to the body on the ground, which still hadn’t moved. Had he killed Neil with that club?
“And did ye decide she was yers when ye stole her from the back of my wagon?” They moved in circles around each other, and Skye backed to avoid their combative dance. “Why were ye there anyway? There is no way ye kenned what I was doing.”
Brodie had never told her why he’d been there the night Ross had abducted her—he had not even known who she was.
“I was trying to find out if ye were behind the raids.”
“So, ye are the Raven. I had my suspicions. A member of the Resistance told me the Raven thought I was one of the Covenanters.”
“Yer sister?”
“Aye, but she didnae tell me it was you.”
The Raven. Skye had heard of the Royalist spy wreaking havoc on the Covenanter’s plans to convert all the Catholics in the Highlands by force. But Brodie had not confessed anything to her. Ross had to be wrong.
Or maybe Brodie had been playing her for a fool all along. Could he have used her to get to Ross? Like he’d used her to learn about her uncle?
Skye shook her head to dislodge the words. She wanted to unhear them, erase the truth and pretend he had cared for her and wasn’t using her to get information about Ross or her uncle.
The tears fell then, fast and unrelenting. She couldn’t stop them, and as the men continued to fight, she gasped at the air that refused to fill her lungs. Struggling to take the next breath, she felt as if she was drowning in pained pride and regret. Stumbling, she tried to yell out, but there was not enough air.
Then she was falling and was submersed in an angry current. She was carried away, drowning in the same river that had stolen her mother.
…
A squeak and a flash of movement pulled Brodie’s gaze toward the spot where Skye had been standing just moments ago. The space was empty, but for the rock Skye had been resting on. Ross had also stilled and looked that way.
Skye? Where is Skye? Panic engulfed him.
“In the water,” shouted Ross.
As the man pointed, Brodie’s gaze followed the direction the fingers indicated.
At first there was nothing, then her head bobbed above the current. Fear snaked through his body. Kicking off his boots, he rushed for the edge. His veins turned to ice as he ran for the frigid water. He was vaguely aware of Ross following. “She cannae swim.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her or she would be lost. She was already so far away, and her slight form kept disappearing. Her head dipped above the surface again, and he thought he saw her gasp for breath. She was still in all of her garments. With the bulk the water added to them, they probably weighed more than she did.
Unpinning his plaid, he dropped it and dove out as far as his legs would propel him. Valuable seconds had already ticked away as he’d removed his clothing.
He regretted not persuading her to learn to swim after her mother drowned, but she’d shut him down so fast he never bothered to ask again.
Her protests would not stop him this time. When he got her home, she was going to learn.
When he got her home.
He had to get her home. Her shiny blond locks disappeared again, and his heart gave a painful lurch.
He was closer, but still so far away. The current was strong and relentless, but he used it to propel his body closer, praying he would be in time.
Just a little farther. He was so close to where he’d seen her last. She came up again, but sank so quickly she’d not had time to take a breath, and he kicked harder and dove.
He could see the dark of her plaid billowing under the water and grabbed for it. The heavy, dense material almost slipped through his fingertips, but he was able to grasp it at the last second.
He pulled and was rewarded with the feel of her soft body colliding with his. Wrapping his arms around her malleable form, he pushed up.
When they broke above the surface, she lay limp in his cradling arms. She was pale, head hanging to the side at an awkward angle with flesh that had changed to the temperature of the frigid water,
and he couldn’t tell if she was breathing.
The plaid draped around her body pulled on something, dragging them along with the furious current. He couldn’t get his footing. If he tried to get it free, he might lose his grip on her.
A splash sounded beside him, and Ross was there. The man’s arms steadied him, but whatever had Skye’s clothing was stronger than both of them.
“Her plaid is caught. I cannae get it off.”
Ross let go of Brodie’s shoulders and pulled at Skye’s wrap. It did not budge.
Limbs trembling with fatigue as he held on, he kept her head above the water by sheer willpower. If they didn’t get her free, he would go down with her, because he was never letting go. If she didn’t live, he couldn’t.
His eyes blurred as Ross fumbled in the material with no success. The pin that secured the long swath to her unmoving form eluded the man’s searching hands. It was lost in the folds of the drenched fabric. Ross grabbed at where it should have been and pulled in opposite directions.
The garment fell from her shoulders, and the weight that was threatening to pull her and Brodie under eased as the material was ripped from around her and carried away with the current. Their accelerated pace down the river slowed.
Load lightened, he kicked toward the shore, careful to keep a firm grasp on the precious bundle in his arms. As the slippery rocks beneath his feet gave way to a thick, sludgy coating of solid ground, he started to run. The oozy mud shifted, and he almost lost his footing but managed to catch his balance just before her head went back under.
Back on shore he collapsed with Skye still in his arms. His gut twisted as the bile in his belly bubbled and threatened to surface. Tilting her head toward his, he tried to speak.
“Skye.” The strangled sound was half sob and half command. There was no response.
“Skye.” Louder this time.
Connecting his cheek to hers, he was met with ice cold flesh as frigid as the water he had just pulled her from. His ear tilted toward her mouth to listen for any sound of breath.
Nothing.
No. His mind screamed as he rocked her back and forth. No Skye, Dinnae leave me.
Despair clawed him, and he pulled her into his chest and squeezed. He willed her to breathe as his shaking hands wrapped her waist. He held onto her as hard as he could, keeping her here and grounded to him.
She convulsed, and a small cough escaped then another and another. His hands flew to her shoulders to hold her up where he could study her face. Her eyes were vacant, but her limp body had stiffened as she continued to cough and sputter. Water dripped from her lips, and with each cough she inhaled sharply. It happened a few more times, then she stilled. Her eyes fluttered and shut, and she collapsed into his chest.
He put his head to her breast and let out a sigh as he heard a slow steady beat and felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Relief flooded through him as deep breaths filled her lungs. He said a silent prayer of thanks that she would live.
He didn’t know how long he sat there rocking her, but he startled when Ross came up behind him. “Ye need to get her out of the cold.”
He didn’t look up. “She will be all right.” It was more to reassure himself than the man who had risked his own life to help save her. Gathering her closer, he stood with her still cradled in his arms and started in the direction of their cottage.
Raising up a thick colorful bundle, Ross held it out to him. “Dry tartan,” the man said.
Nodding, his gaze shifted to focus on the mountain of a man who was standing to the side with the horses—Neil. Obviously he had recovered from Brodie’s blow.
Ross must have seen the doubt. “We have had a talk. Aye, he is still angry and may come at ye later, but he’ll wait till the lass is on her feet again.”
Brodie gave a curt nod, and Neil did the same.
After covertly divesting Skye of her wet garments and wrapping her ice-cold body in the woolen warmth of two plaids, they climbed up on the horses and set off together toward the house.
“Ye can come back to our place. We have a lot to discuss. ’Tis no’ so far, and ye can dry yer clothes,” he called to the two men.
“Aye, I’m freezing,” Ross said.
The sun was still high above, so they took the main road, since it was faster and there were fewer trees to block its warmth. They had enough time to get home before the dark of the night closed in.
Not wanting to jostle Skye more than needed, he set a slow but steady pace. Some color began to return to her cheeks as she began to warm in his arms beneath the blankets.
Ross cantered up beside him and tilted his head. “How did ye ken she couldnae swim?”
“We have kenned each other since we were bairns.” He thought about ending it there, but the man had put himself in harm’s way to help save her. “Her mother was lost to the river when she was only eight. She refused to go near the water after that.”
“She’s the one ye came out to forget all those nights?” Ross’s gaze held a silent understanding. The man looked away, and he saw then his old drinking companion had a hidden reason for visiting the tavern as well. He didn’t ask—he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what demons were beneath the surface, and he was almost certain Ross would not want to share.
“Aye.” His tired gaze fell to her. Skye’s skin had warmed slightly, and her worried frown had become peaceful and relaxed.
“Ye ken I wouldnae have harmed her?” Ross asked.
He scowled. “I didnae ken what to think. Why?”
“The MacDonald has my father. I need Skye to get him back.”
“Ye willnae be using her.” He pierced Ross with the intense fury he’d pushed away the moment he saw Skye in the water.
“I am no’ a blind man.” His old tavern mate’s eyebrows rose. “And I dinnae wish to fight ye again.” Ross rubbed his cheek.
They rode silently for a while. Ross broke the quiet first. “Do ye ken her uncle? Will he listen to ye?”
Brodie didn’t want to squash the hope he heard in Ross’s voice, but could not lie, either.
“Nae, the man hates me,” he said. “Cairntay is a fortress. Ye will never get to him. Yer best bet is to beg.”
“That is the one thing I cannae do.” Ross said.
Brodie saw the MacDonald’s face sneering at him. The smell of the salty water and the pain in his ribs flashed through his head at the remembered beating by his men.
If he were forced to face the MacDonald again, one of them would not walk away.
Chapter Twenty
Skye realized she was safe in the bed with Brodie. Shuddering, she snuggled closer to his warm body.
“Yer awake, love.”
“Aye.” Her throat scratched and ached as if the drowning in her nightmares really had torn the breath from her. She’d have to make some tea. “I just had an awful dream.”
He sat up and skimmed his hand down her jaw as his brown eyes beckoned with warmth. “Ye are safe here now.” The low, sleepy burr of his voice grounded her. “But I willnae ever let ye scare me like that again. When the weather warms, even if I have to come to that awful island, someone will be teaching ye how to swim, and ye willnae have a choice in the matter.”
Memories crashed over her just like the punishing currents had, and her breath caught. She had been in the river and had struggled to break through the surface to get to the bank.
“Ye are the Raven?” Shivering, she closed her eyes, not really wanting to know the answer. From all the accounts, he was one of Argyll’s most wanted, a dangerous spy capable of sneaking in and out of places undetected and gaining deadly secrets, many of them leading to successful skirmishes against the Covenanter crusaders. Although the Raven’s actions were in the best interest of anyone supporting King Charles and the Catholic faith, the brutality and dangers of that kind of lifestyle were unimaginable.
When he didn’t reply, she opened her eyes to see him focused on the ceiling. Slowly, he nodded, and her breath caught in
her throat. How could he have become mixed up with such dangerous people?
“’Tis why I cannae ask ye to stay.” Twisting toward her, he kept her pulled close and continued, “Ye arenae safe with me.”
Inhaling sharply, she tried to let all the implications wash over her. “Why?”
“If the Earl of Argyll finds out who I am, he’ll go after anyone I care about.”
“How did ye get started?”
“I was spying for the old Cameron laird before ye left. ’Tis why I disappeared all the time and couldnae tell ye where I was.”
“Ye were spying the whole time.”
“When I realized ye were no’ coming back, I spiraled down and started drinking and staying out all night. To give me a purpose, Lachlan’s father sent me on more missions, but with the ruse of a wastrel. It just kept growing from there.”
“The drinking and the wenching?”
“’Twas all a lie. Part of my disguise. No one expects a drunken rogue to be stealing secrets.”
He’d not been a lecherous toad, but was a wanted man.
“Were ye no’ scared?”
“Nae, at least I had a purpose again.”
Her chest felt as if it would cave in—she’d pushed him into that life. “Ye have to stop.”
“I cannae, and ’tis why ye must leave. I’ve received word yer uncle will be here tomorrow.”
The last thing she wanted to do was think about her lonely nights ahead and his spent as a hunted spy. It was too painful and raw to talk about. She just wanted to enjoy this last night with him. Knowing he could not give up his missions to stay with her, she would have to sacrifice him to the Royalist cause. Life suddenly seemed crueler because she was betrothed to another, and according to Parliament, Brodie was a notorious criminal.
Pushing away the pain, she vowed to make the most of their last night, to hold him and make love to him one more time. The memory would have to last her a lifetime because tomorrow, she would have to leave.
His fingers massaged her scalp and sent tingles vibrating through her as her thoughts scattered and his head dipped to gently place his lips on her forehead. The wall she was attempting to resurrect around her heart crumbled a little more.
Highland Redemption (Highland Pride) Page 15