by Lynda Lukow
“I beg yer pardon. I fear I was lost in my thoughts and failed to see ye.” Kasey hoped her apology sounded more innocent than she felt. “I dinna believe we have been introduced. I be—”
“I ken yer name and ye ken mine.”
Kasey raised her brow at the lass’s tone. “Lady Shaw warned me to avoid ye, Lady MacPherson.”
“Ye would be wise to heed her counsel.”
She took a deep breath. “I wish to know how I have earned yer disfavor.”
“Ye ken verra well.”
“I do?”
“My father wanted but one man for my future husband.” Tears brimmed Lady Ciara’s eyes. “Yet every summer he comes here to see ye.”
“Ye must have me confused with some other lady. Men pay me little heed.”
“Ye be mistaken.” Ciara swiped at the tears streaming down her face. “The Mackintosh tanist has pledged his heart to ye.”
Kasey shook her head. The Camerons thirsted for Mackintosh blood. “He must have lied to ye.”
“Nay! He be an honorable man!”
An honorable Mackintosh? Absurd. But Ciara’s passionate defense made arguing useless. “I have never seen the man.”
“’Tis a shame, Lady Cameron, for he be a sight to behold. Though in truth I find his youngest brother much easier on my eyes.”
Kasey patted Ciara’s hand. “If ye dinna desire the tanist, can ye not tell yer laird?”
Ciara burst into tears and ran off.
Kasey shook her head. Too often duty clashed with desire, but an arranged marriage would be better than none. And none was what she expected.
Her clan had more enemies than friends, and their allied lairds had no sons. Though marriages often forged new bonds, without beauty she would never enamor a foe. As her laird had so often reminded her, she was naught but a burden to the clan.
She dammed the tears that threatened and sought out Broderick. The king’s cousin and most trusted emissary never failed to lighten her mood. She spied him among stable hands and ran to his side. “Broderick!”
The lines around his blue eyes crinkled with his smile. He bowed. “Lady Cameron. I be glad to see ye agin.”
“So formal?”
He laughed and winked.
She ignored passersby’s raised brows. Though not kin, her mother’s childhood friend treated her as she wished her father would. “Of late, have ye read aught of interest?” Kasey lifted a brow.
“Naught that concerns ye, milady.”
“Ye be sure?” She sighed. She never could get him to tell her anything he did not wish to share.
“Be ye ready for yer lesson?”
“What have ye planned this summer, Broderick?”
“Every lady should ken how to protect herself.” He pulled a dagger from his boot. “This be the perfect weapon. Ye can hide it several places, and mastering the skill needs but a good eye and practice.”
Kasey wrinkled her brow. She never traveled alone, so she never worried about protection. Yet she trusted Broderick’s judgment. Over the years, he taught her how to ride and how to fall after a horse unseated her. He taught her how to dance and issued no complaints, though she often stamped on his toes. He helped her improve her skill with the bow and ducked when the arrow flew awry.
He never lectured. In fact, he often made light of her ineptitude in such a way that she, too, realized the humor. She could do naught but laugh when he arrived for her dance lessons with small sacks of feathers tied atop his boots.
If only she could find a similar man her own age.
After Broderick’s lesson, as was their habit, Kasey and Evonne packed their nooning meal and supped by the waterfall. Kasey found power in the sound of the water thundering over the rocks, determination in the plants that braved to grow at the bottom, and beauty and splendor in the foliage nestled along the river. These images melded into a sense of strength, hope, and serenity Kasey carried with her always.
****
The Mackintosh tanist leaned back in his seat and rolled his head around his shoulders to relieve the tension.
As expected, the meeting with the lairds of Clan Chattan had not lasted very long. He should have taken his leave with the other lairds, for he had naught to say about this final matter.
“Do we bore ye, Connor?”
He straightened and turned to face his father. “Milord, this decision be yers.”
“I be inclined to deny Euan’s petition.”
Euan MacPherson pounded the table. “Why in God’s name would ye do that, Caedmon?”
“Calm down, Euan.” Connor pitied the new MacPherson laird. He could imagine the reception he would receive from Laird Cameron. He turned to his father. “Yer reasons, milord?”
“I doubt Euan’s purpose.”
“Deny me, and I shall withdraw the MacPhersons from the confederacy.”
Caedmon Mackintosh raised a brow. “Think afore ye threaten, laird, lest ye make yer clan an island in Chattan’s sea.”
“I believe we can find a more fitting solution.” Connor shook his head. Such folly over a woman. Yet, given a similar chance, he might threaten bloodshed. “My father fears yer petition rests upon a desire to usurp the federation’s leadership.”
“Ye jest. My father may have coveted the captaincy, but I be pleased to leave it in yer hands.”
Either Euan spoke the truth, or he masked his intent well. “Then ye would have no misgivings if father accepted yer troth but delayed the marriage for a year, enough time to prove yer claim.”
“What proof would suffice?”
Caedmon turned to his son.
Connor grinned. “Ye will have to court Annie under Maggie’s watchful eye.”
“Grand idea. Even I canna fool Maggie.” Caedmon turned to Euan. “Convince her ye love my daughter, and I will make Annie’s dowry worth the wait.”
Euan sighed. “The delay willna please the MacPherson elders, but I accept yer terms. One year, Mackintosh, no longer.”
“If ye will excuse me.” Connor rose.
The king cleared his throat. “I would like a word with ye after the others take their leave.”
Connor glanced out the window. The sun had almost reached its peak. He hoped his liege would not hold him much longer.
Euan and Caedmon took their time leaving, but after the room cleared the king turned to Connor. “Ye handled that well, Connor. Yer ability to compromise pleases me.”
“Thank ye, yer Majesty.” Though he appreciated the king’s praise, he wished the man would get on with the true reason he had detained him.
“Would ye care to join me for the nooning meal?”
Connor clenched his jaw. Dining with the king could take hours. “If ye please, my liege, another duty awaits my attention.”
“May I ask her name?”
“My liege ?”
“A future laird would never turn away the honor I have just extended, unless…” The king smiled and waved his hand toward the door, “Be on yer way, young Mackintosh. Just make sure she be worthy.”
“Aye, my liege.” Connor bowed his way out the door and strode quickly through the corridor.
His sister stepped into his path. “Have ye lost yer wits?”
“I have no time for this, Annie.”
“Euan canna wait a year. His elders will force him to choose another.”
“If he loves ye, a year will mean naught. If he canna find a way to appease the elders, then he be not strong enough for ye.”
Annie grabbed his arm as he walked around her. “What be yer hurry, brother?”
“Aught needs my attention.”
She waggled her brows. “Another hunt, mayhap?”
“Wish me luck.”
In little time, Connor reached the forest’s edge and crept through the foliage to the spot he had often visited. His breath hitched at her loveliness.
The first time he had sat on this boulder behind the bushes, others’ expectations had weighed heavily on his shoulders. After m
uch futile contemplation, he had looked around as if he might find the answer amongst the trees.
And he did. She could not have been more than six and ten summers, but the way she carried herself spoke of wisdom beyond her years. In his heart, he knew she would become his comfort, his strength, and his love.
Too often she had cried tears as endless as the water falling from the ridge. He wanted to comfort her, whatever her sorrow. On several occasions, he had almost worked up the courage to approach her, when she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. A look of quiet determination replaced her tears.
Though he found her here each noon of the past four summers, his need for her presence remained unsatisfied. He lagged behind morning hunts, during which she shot more game than seasoned hunters. He distantly escorted her early evening rides through the hillsides, when she handled her mount as well as any warrior. Most men of his station would find her deeds unladylike, but in his eyes, they made her more attractive.
Though he loathed formal affairs, he attended several but stayed in the shadows. She did not dance; she floated. He envied every man who approached her.
As she aged, his desire heightened. He wanted her to know him. He burned to wrap her in his arms.
The thought of waking to see her loch-blue eyes and touching her generous curves steeled his resolve. He rose and cursed his shaking knees. Why could she not be like the women who threw themselves at his feet? Yet, if she rebuffed him—
Nay. He refused to finish the thought. This be a battle he would win. He took a deep breath and strode toward her. Nothing would keep him from her this time.
****
“Another vision, Lady Kasey?” Evonne asked.
“Nay. I be enjoying the peace and quiet.” She barely spoke the words before a sensation of ill-boding descended.
“I be glad. Agin last night ye screamed in yer sleep.”
“I be sorry. I dream naught but frightening shadows.” Kasey sighed. “Have ye noticed anyone nearby?”
“Randall followed several paces behind us. Mayhap he hovers nearby to keep us safe.”
“I would feel safer amid a pack of wolves.”
Leaves rustled. Kasey held up her hand to silence Evonne. Grunted oaths echoed between distant rumbles of thunder. “We must go.”
She grabbed Evonne’s hand and dragged her toward the sounds. In a nearby clearing, a man lay on blood-soaked ground. Randall, sword in hand, taunted and jabbed his prey.
“What have ye done?”
“This man be a Mackintosh, Lady Kasey.”
Kasey knelt by the wounded man’s side for but a moment before Randall hauled her to her feet.
“We be sworn to kill every Mackintosh we meet. This one ogles ye every day ye visit these falls. I shall not have swine near what will be mine.”
Kasey inhaled sharply. She did not know which disturbed her more—the fact Randall had accompanied her on her outings or the idea that a Mackintosh had, too.
“Ye ken the laws of Inverness.” She pulled away from him. “Ye could be put to death for this attack.”
“Yer concern touches me, but fear not. After he bleeds out, no witness remains.” Randall narrowed his eyes. “Neither ye nor yer cowardly maid be allowed to testify agin me.”
“I order ye to get this man help.”
Randall grabbed her arm. “Yer orders mean naught. Soon I shall convince our laird I be the only man suited to wed ye. The clan Cameron and ye will become mine to do with as I please.”
“I would rather die!”
“It will be my pleasure to break ye, milady.”
His laughter sent chills down her spine.
He clutched her chin. “If ye help this swine, I shall see ye pay dearly upon our return.” He released her and swaggered away.
Kasey ran to the injured man’s side. “We must take him to shelter afore the storm arrives.”
“Did ye not hear Randall, milady?”
“I care not what he says.” Kasey stood and looked around. “The king’s hunting lodge be not far.”
“We canna move him without aid.”
“We must find the strength.” Kasey knelt, slipped an arm under the man’s shoulders, and pulled him to a sitting position. “Help me lift him to his feet.”
After they got him upright, the two women dragged him as far as their backs allowed, then eased him to the ground. Kasey straightened and let the drizzle cool her brow. Like the sky, she wanted to weep for they had gained little distance. “Dear God, help us.”
“What in God’s teeth do ye cummers think ye be doing?”
Kasey swung around. The young man did not appear strong enough to carry the injured alone, but he could certainly help. “Please, sir, we must get this man to shelter.”
He edged closer.
“Pray be quick aboot it.” His grin infuriated her. How could he be so callous?
After the man’s gaze moved from her to the injured man, his expression darkened, his pace quickened. To Kasey’s surprise, he slung Randall’s prey over his shoulder.
The women led him to the cottage and stood back as he kicked open the door. After he dropped the injured man on a raised pallet, Kasey rushed to assess the injuries.
“I demand ye tell me—”
“There be no time. Evonne, run and get the healer. I shall do what I can until he arrives.”
“Be ye not Lady Kasey Cameron?”
At her nod, he flew into a litany of curses.
Kasey ignored him. She found clean linens in a trunk near the bed and tore them into strips. She attempted to prop up the man to remove his tunic, but his weight proved too great. “Dinna just stand there shouting at the walls while yer clansman dies. Help me remove his shirt.”
“Touch my brother no more. While we wait for the king’s healer, ye will tell me all that has happened.”
Kasey leapt to her feet and poked the man in the chest. “The healer be a lame old man. Rather than stand idly aboot, either help me or dig yer brother’s grave.”
“I would rather put Hunter into God’s hands than yers. A Cameron canna be trusted to tend a sick goat.” He glared. “Did ye or yer lady’s maid inflict these wounds?”
“Do ye see a sword?”
The man’s face paled as he looked at his brother. She took pity and softened her tone. “Please, remove his shirt and brace him up so I may see his back.”
After he did as she asked, Kasey gasped at the sight of the man’s chest. Gently, she pressed the angry bruise and found two cracked ribs. Randall must have kicked him when he was down.
His worst injuries proved Randall had struck from behind. The abundance of minor wounds attested to the coward’s cruelty—he had wished this man a slow, painful death.
“I need fresh water. Will ye fetch it?”
He agreed after gaining Kasey’s promise to do naught in his absence. She assured him she could not handle the man alone and would search the cottage for soap and medicines.
By the time he returned, the injured man had paled considerably. Kasey straightened at the sound of her mother’s voice, “Trust yer gifts.” She closed her eyes and saw the man gravely ill with fever. The vision flashed to him weak, but well, in the throne room.
The slam of the door broke her trance.
“I be sorry, milady. The healer went to aid another and be not expected to return for days.” Evonne gulped in air as she pushed wet hair from her face. “I brought yer potions.”
Reassured by her mother’s words and her clear, promising vision, she vowed the man would not die. “Evonne, ye must hand me what I need. Ye,” she paused. “What be yer name, sir?”
“Gavin, milady.”
“Gavin, turn yer brother over, and then start a fire.”
As rain poured and thunder roared, all those in the hunter’s cottage attended to their assigned duties. After knotting the last stitch in the head wound, Kasey leaned back to stretch her tired muscles. As she again threaded the needle, Evonne gagged. “Take a deep breath.
I need ye to wipe away the blood.”
“Nay. I shall help ye.”
Kasey smiled at the tenderness in Gavin’s eyes as he gently lifted Evonne to her feet and nudged her toward the door. “Fresh air will settle ye.”
Then he glowered at Kasey. “Ye dinna give Hunter a sleeping potion? Be ye so heartless ye wish him to feel every prick of the needle?”
She took a deep breath. Losing her patience would serve little purpose. “Ye ken much aboot healing, Gavin?” At his silent denial she continued, “I have seen men with lesser head wounds never wake after drinking a sleeping concoction. I be unwilling to take the risk.”
She sewed the slash that ran from Hunter’s left shoulder blade to his right hip, then asked Gavin to lift his brother’s upper body.
As she applied salve and fresh linen, she desperately tried to ignore the sleek muscles and bronzed skin beneath the gashes. Had Gavin not been watching like a hawk, she might have heeded the urge to stroke Hunter’s chest.
Determined to keep her mind on the task at hand, she wrapped Hunter’s ribs. Had she more time, she would soak the wide linen strips in a boiled comfrey root to speed healing.
But time was a luxury. Would Randall seek her out? Would an army of Mackintoshes search for the brothers? She must leave before they arrived.
“Ye may lay him down now.” She ran her hands along each of Hunter’s arms. The corded muscles, firm under her pressure, made it difficult to feel the bones beneath. She prayed the minor bruises and lack of swelling meant his limbs remained intact.
She cleaned mud from his hands and marvelled that his made hers looked like a child’s. She smiled at the bruises on his knuckles. “At least ye fought back.”
“Lady Cameron?”
“Gavin?” Kasey turned.
“I dinna hear ye.” He bent to wrap a plaid around Evonne’s shoulders.
Though he addressed her, his eyes never left Evonne. The way he dried her locks soothed Kasey’s soul.
“Ye need not worry,” Evonne said.
Kasey sighed. Had any other heard her praise an enemy for fighting one of her own she would fear the consequences, but Evonne would never betray her.
A groan drew Kasey’s attention back to Hunter. She had but one more task. His legs. She closed her eyes and prayed for strength as she reached for his trews. The waistband of the tight-fitting breeches slipped several times from her trembling hands.