by Mary Wine
His grin melted back into a firm line, while his keen stare settled on her face. He stroked the bruise, lightly fingering it with a touch that was so delicate, no pain resulted from it. She shivered anyway. Her skin had become sensitive, so much so that she was aware of each fingertip resting on her face. Gooseflesh covered her throat and traveled down her body beneath her gown. Never once had she been so aware of a touch.
“Take yer hand away. I am nae a slut to be seen by others with a man’s hands on me. Grant me that respect, if not my freedom.”
He didn’t remove his hand. Hard determination glittered in his eyes, and she met it with just as much resolve.
“Does that mean that ye would be more receptive to my touch in private?”
Excitement rippled across her skin, her imagination offering up an idea of him pulling her against him for a reason other than taking her north as his captive. A flicker of heat appeared in his dark eyes, shocking her with how wild her ideas were.
“It doesnae.”
Her palm itched to connect with his smug face, but guilt gnawed at her as well because she was more angry with herself than him. She jerked against his hold on her bound wrists but only succeeded in pulling herself off balance when he didn’t give even a single inch. Her body tumbled forward a step, drawing a snarl of frustration from her, but at least her face was no longer in his hand.
He stiffened and stepped back, releasing her completely. “All right, lass. I believe I understand ye.”
“I doubt it.” She hissed at him in a low tone, because now that he’d moved, she could see that most of his men were still watching them. Amusement decorated their faces.
“I suppose ye think I deserve to be humiliated because I am a McBoyd. Is this what I am to expect from a Highlander?”
“It is not.” His tone hardened now, every hint of playing vanished. His expression tightened too, the grin completely gone.
“Then what is yer game?”
He raised one hand, and another lad brought him his horse. He grasped the reins in a large hand that drew her eyes. A tingle went across her cheek with the memory of having those fingers against her skin. She shook off the strange feeling, ordering herself to stop looking like a demented fool.
“I sought to understand what sort of a person ye are, Shannon McBoyd. Wanted to know if you would watch others suffer when ye held the power to keep it from happening. I do know the difference between a fresh bruise and one that has been healing for a few days.”
He swung up onto the back of his stallion with an ease that still amazed her. He wore a pair of trews beneath his kilt to protect him from the cold weather, but the soft fabric still showed her the corded muscles that covered his limbs. He clamped those powerful legs around his mount and kept the animal still while he leaned down and offered her his hand. A challenge lit his eyes, and there was no mistaking why. The man wanted to see if she knew when she was beaten.
She took his hand of her own doing, because if she didn’t, his men would place her behind him. The only choice she had was to decide if she wanted only his hands touching her, or others’ as well. In a way, the beast was giving her what she’d demanded, but that didn’t make it easy to lift her hands toward his. She gritted her teeth while she did it, cringing when his fingers curled around her wrist. At least she was able to jump and help gain the back of the horse faster.
He lifted her bound wrists up and over his head once again. Her body scooted up close to his without hesitation.
“I can’t see as how it might matter what sort of person I am.”
Her head was pressed against his back now, and her words soft. His men were mounting, the sound of leather and metal filling the air.
“It matters because it is very possible that I am going to have to keep ye, Shannon McBoyd, and I do nae fancy the idea of having someone under me roof who will slip a dirk in me back while I sleep.”
“I’m happy to leave the killing to you men.” And she would certainly not be going anywhere near the man’s bed. Even if his touch was inviting and strangely enjoyable.
“Yer father started the blood spilling, but I aim to end it, even if that means taking you back to Donan Tower with me.”
“Trust a man to think that is not a harm.”
“I never said it was not a harm, only that I will do it because I see no alternative. Ye cannae be allowed to wed the man yer father has struck a bargain with.”
There was an odd note of compassion in his voice, one that her frayed nerves wanted to cling to. For just a moment, she allowed herself that luxury. But once she dispensed with her fear, her body began to notice his far more intently. The scent of his skin was clean and strangely enjoyable. Shannon bit her lip, firmly ordering herself to think of other things.
“I’ll see ye treated decently on my land, for ye seem to be a honest lass.”
“And if I hadna passed yer test?”
She was mad to ask the question, but the words passed her lips before she was able to remind herself that agitating him was not wise. Not when her wrists were tied and she was helpless.
He turned his head, looking back at her. “I’d be forced to treat ye as such actions deserved.”
“I force nothing upon ye.” She couldn’t help but pull against her bound wrists. His hand suddenly landed on top of hers, stilling the motion.
“Which is why ye have my word that ye will be treated decently.”
With a sure hand, he pulled the stallion’s head about to face north. He was taking her to the Highlands without hesitation. She flinched when the horse began moving.
The chill increased in spite of the sunlight throughout the day. More snow became visible, and Torin had to steer his horse around patches of slick ice. Shannon found herself grateful for his warmth as the sun began to set. Her legs shivered with the cold, and she found herself looking with envy at the knee-high leather boots worn by the other men. Her little shoes let the winter cold in to torment her toes, and her ankles ached.
The clouds pressed down on them, finally beginning to rain near sunset. Becoming soaked completed her misery. Shannon gave up the fight to think of positive things; she felt the icy droplets soaking into her clothing and running down the front of her body.
Torin suddenly pulled his horse to a stop, the animal dancing sideways in protest. The horse wanted to be in its warm stable, not standing on the road in such weather. Torin turned and reached behind her to raise her arisaid up. Her jaw would have dropped open if her face hadn’t been pressed against his back. The fabric became wet, but at least it helped cut some of the chill.
“Yer father is a harsh man to send ye out in shoes.”
Torin didn’t give her a chance to answer; he raised his own plaid up to shield his head and gave the stallion its freedom to continue up the path. The last of the light shimmered off a long loch, and her belly began to rumble. No one seemed to have provisions.
Of course they didn’t. The harsh truth cut into her thoughts with the glaring fact that these men had ridden out from their homes to defend their land against a raid. They hadn’t returned home for comforts but had pressed on until they discovered those guilty of killing their kin.
Highlanders. They were feared for good reason. If you expected them to act like other men, you would be shown the error of your thinking quickly. Maybe it was the harsher climate into which they were born; or perhaps it was bred into them. Whatever the reason, Highlanders possessed a determination that was unmatched. As the light faded, the only complaints came from Fergus. The rest of Torin’s men pressed forward, focused on gaining their home before they rested.
“There.”
Shannon heard the word as much as she felt it. Torin’s chest rumbled beneath her arms. She shifted her head under his arm to look.
“That’s Donan Tower, lass.”
He was proud of it too. And relieved to have made
it back home. Dread punched clean through her heart, the combination of his elation at seeing his home and the sight of it rising up from the rocky landscape too much for her.
For her, it was to be a prison.
Donan Tower sat on a rocky pile of land surrounded by Loch Alsh on three sides. A long bridge led to its gate. It was more than a single tower—one larger keep sat in the center of several other buildings. On the shore surrounding it was a village full of thatch-roofed homes with smoke rising from them. Even in the rain, the sound of work drifted on the night air. Sounds from the blacksmith and sword makers as they hammered. There was also the sound of sawing and the scent of stew cooking over fires. People began appearing as they were sighted. The villagers didn’t let the rain intimidate them. With McLeren plaids covering their heads, they emerged from their shelters, waving to the returning retainers. Torin’s men sent up a roar that sounded as ferocious as it did joyful.
Shannon found herself nursing self-pity. That tower was naught but a prison for her. There would be no friends there for the daughter of their enemy. Her father’s disdain would feel quite warm in comparison.
They reached the village and were forced to slow down. Not a simple task, because the stallion wanted to gain its warm stable and knew where to head. Torin pulled up on the reins to keep from trampling anyone. Shannon felt the stares of his people on her and her McBoyd tartan. They gave her harsh glares and a few even spit when they sighted her. A sudden feeling of gratefulness for being on the back of Torin’s horse swept through her. She had to be grateful that the man wasn’t leading her by a length of rope behind his horse. It would not have been the first time a captive received such treatment, considering the circumstances.
Torin was being quite decent to her, just as he’d promised he would.
She banished the good feelings toward her captor instantly. The man was her captor, not her friend. Even if he were the gentlest man in Scotland toward her, his people would only hold that fact against her and hate her more. Aye, she saw the hate in their eyes. Some weren’t so harsh, but many glared at her with the anger at her father’s raiding written on their faces. The first touch of hoof to the stone bridge made her cringe. The chill crept inside her until it encased her heart, loneliness wrapping tightly around her.
If her captor noticed her quivering, he never let it impede his progress toward the raised gate on the other side of the bridge. The steady clop of the stallion’s hooves cut into her like a knife.
Once inside the curtain wall, she could see that the tower and its surrounding buildings rose several stories into the air. The stone was gray and darkened with age, except for one building that was lighter than the rest. New construction spoke of a wealthy clan, because there were enough resources to add on to the castle. Her father was more fool than he knew. A clan that could afford new additions to their towers was also bound to be valued as a friend to other clans too. Making war on the McLeren could very well bring down the wrath of any other clan that wanted to be aligned with one doing so well.
So foolish and such an unkind fate for her…
Torin pulled up in front of the wide stone steps that led up to one of the outer buildings. He pulled the dirk from the top of his boot, and she felt the rope holding her arms around him give way. A soft sound of relief passed her lips as she was able to sit up completely. The muscles along her back complained bitterly of the hours they had been held in a single position. Torin swung one leg right over the lowered head of his mount and jumped down while she was gently stretching out her spine. A second later he reached up and grasped her, his large hands easily closing around her hips.
“What are ye doing?”
She sounded breathless and clamped her mouth shut to try to compose herself. Her feet landed on the ground, and Torin grasped one wrist. He pulled the rope off and studied her skin.
“Welcoming ye to Donan Tower.”
“Welcome…” The man was clearly insane. Her jaw dropped with shock. “Now there is a misused word if ever I heard one.”
He shrugged, but his face remained stony and impossible to read. “It can be what ye make of it. I do nae plan to lock ye in the dungeon unless ye give me reason to place you behind iron bars. I made ye a promise, and I will keep my word.”
“Why would you consider anything you said to me a promise?” She pushed her soaked arisaid back so that she might look up at his face. The man loomed over her, the top of her head only rising to his shoulders.
His eyes narrowed at her question. “Because I spoke the words, Shannon McBoyd, and I keep my word.”
“Most men wouldn’t consider anything said to the daughter of their enemy a promise.”
He stiffened. “I am a Highlander.”
His fingers remained curled around her wrist, and his tone was solid steel. He used the grip to tug her along behind him as he climbed the stairs and entered a large receiving hall. The air inside felt hot against her chilled face. Two large hearths were set into the side of it, and both had fires blazing in them. Her belly began rumbling as the scent of food hit her. Her stomach was so empty, it ached. Torin’s men were filing past them on their way toward the hearths and the women tending the large iron pots hanging over the fires. But everyone in the hall was busy staring at her. Conversation died down, leaving only the crackle of the fires and the footsteps of the returning men.
“This is Shannon McBoyd, daughter of Laird McBoyd.”
Eyes narrowed in response to her name. The happy expressions that had greeted the return of their laird and retainers were replaced with hard looks. All of them aimed directly at her.
“She will be treated decently, or ye will answer directly to me.” Torin pulled her farther into the hall. “And she is no’ to leave the tower.”
He released her and turned to mount a set of stairs built into the wall opposite the hearths. He climbed them without any hint of distress and disappeared through a doorway at the top. Conversation resumed, and she heard her name being repeated. The women at the hearths began dishing up bowls of steaming food for the retainers, and benches scraped against the stone floor as they sat down to enjoy their meal.
She was suddenly grateful for the scorn her father held for her. Standing in front of a hall full of people staring at her was nothing new. Her cheeks did not turn hot, and her chin remained firmly in place.
She would endure, because Shannon McBoyd was no coward. Such was the only thing she had control over, but she didn’t miss the fact that no one watching her cared.
***
“What are ye planning to do with the lass?”
Malcolm followed him often. Most of the time Torin was happy for the counsel; today he wasn’t. He untied his scabbard and set his claymore aside before looking back at the other man.
Malcolm grinned back at him. “Did ye think no one would ask, on account of ye are laird now?”
“I was hoping.”
Malcolm sat down in front of the fire that was warming the outer solar and stretched out his feet toward the flames. “She’s a bonny thing.”
“She is a bundle of trouble that I do nae need on my land, old man. Douglas will nae be pleased to hear she’s imprisoned beneath my roof.”
Malcolm responded by laughing. He gave in to a full-bellied chuckle that filled the chamber.
“Och now, only a young man would look at a sweet lass like that and call her trouble.”
“She’s a McBoyd. The earl will nae consider it a light matter, even in these times. He might order her hung for her blood. There’s a duty we can do well without.”
Torin shook his head to dispel the distaste filling him. Shannon McBoyd had a spark of life in her that he would hate to see strangled. Even if the king’s counsel ordered her death, Torin doubted he’d find the discipline to carry out the sentence. He withdrew his claymore and began to dry the long blade so that it would not rust.
“Oh aye, my mind still works well. The earl is known for his ways of killing off the relatives of those who strike at him. That’s the only way to gain a crown if ye weren’t born wearing one.” Malcolm stroked his white beard. “But there’s a beauty in having that girl here, don’t you know. A more perfect way to pay back McBoyd, I cannae think of. Knowing his daughter is here will surely drive him insane. The man cannae cry to the earl without admitting what he was doing sending his daughter south. I’ll sleep better tonight, knowing that he’s boxed in and unlikely to do any more raiding.”
“What it will do is send him south to Atholl looking for men to come up here to slaughter us all.” Torin held up his sword and inspected the blade. “With his daughter here, he has an excuse to feed his hunger for killing McLerens.”
“All ye need do is threaten the lass. Her father will nae need to know that we McLeren are not so ambitious as he is, and would not follow through with harming her.”
Torin slid the claymore into a dry scabbard and placed it against the wall.
“Except that I believe McBoyd would prefer we kill his daughter, because that would give him the excuse to validate his attack on White Hill by saying that we were plotting to steal her. It would be my word against his.”
Torin turned away from Malcolm to hide the rage that took command of his features. For the first time in his life, he was in favor of stealing a woman. He wasn’t sorry, not one bit, about bringing Shannon back with him as his captive. She had too much honor in her to stand anywhere near her bastard father.
Malcolm resumed stroking his beard. A pensive look entered the old man’s eyes.
“Well then, I suppose it is a good thing ye took the girl before she cemented this bit of business. The Douglas will nae be letting Atholl march on the Highlands.”
There was that. Both earls might want to quarrel, but the Highland Douglas was stronger, and Atholl knew it. Torin pulled his wet clothing off without a care for the other man in the room. Being alone with his thoughts wasn’t the best of ideas, not when he was spending too much time dwelling on Shannon and not enough on the plot that she’d been the seal on.