Highland Captive

by Alyson McLayne

  Not that Kerr wouldn’t have kicked the man’s arse right back.

  Clyde moved to the front of the group to stand his horse beside Gavin’s. “Laird?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  “What do you know about the MacIntyre’s southern keep? I’ve ne’er been there before. It didn’t sound like Deirdre MacIntyre had a large guard with her. Maybe the keep isn’t part of their line of defense.”

  “I know that it’s the oldest of the keeps. The castle is small, built on a parapet with a moat dug around it. That moat will be filled with the spring runoff now. From what I’ve heard, Lewis is not in his father’s good graces. The laird has married several times since Lewis’s mother died, trying for another son. He’s been blessed with one daughter since.” Clyde had eight children, all girls on whom he doted, and it offended him when anyone suggested, by word or by deed, that a daughter was less valuable than a son.

  He pointed toward a mountain in the distance. “The castle is not far, maybe another hour, and we’ll need to breach it without alerting them to our presence. The hill and the moat will make that more difficult. I agree with Laird MacAlister that we should take care.”

  “And we doona know how many men are in the castle,” Kerr said. “You need to clear your head and your heart, Gavin. Think strategically. We haven’t alerted Gregor or the lads to our plan. If we’re caught, not only will we lose our chance to get Ewan back, but our allies willna be riding to our rescue.”

  Gavin pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. He was so close to Ewan he could almost feel the warmth and weight of him in his arms, the tiny puffs of air against his neck as his son slept on his shoulder.

  The lad would be different now—over two years older. Two years that Gavin would never get back. He rolled his head and tried to loosen the tension from his shoulders.

  “We’ll ride until we spot the castle. Then we’ll plan. I need to see the keep and know that someone isn’t leaving with my boy.”

  * * *

  Deirdre woke with a start. Her heart racing, her eyes wide as she listened for whatever had woken her. The fire in her bedchamber had burned down to barely glowing embers, leaving the air cool and the room dark, but she was warm under the covers. Ewan slept soundly in her arms, and he put off enough heat to warm their small keep.

  She’d just started to think it had only been another nightmare that had woken her—all of them about Gavin MacKinnon coming to steal her son—when she heard a loud crash outside her window in the bailey. The noise was followed by a man’s yell, abruptly cut off.

  Untangling herself from her son, she slipped quickly out of bed and darted across the bare, cold floor to the window. She yanked on the shutters to get them unstuck—just one of many ways the keep was falling apart around them—and wedged her shoulders through the small opening to see what was happening. The air outside was brisk. Usually one torch was left burning in the bailey below, but tonight the light was doused. The moon was out, but without that extra light, Deirdre had a hard time distinguishing shapes.

  There! She peered into the night at the shadow she was sure had moved. Was that a man? Or a rain barrel? An owl hooted. Seconds later, another returned its call. She heard what sounded like a grunt—but that could have been anything, including the horses.

  And then she saw it, the flash of metal in the dark. God help her—Gavin MacKinnon was coming for her son!

  Panic engulfed her, and she raced back to her bed, the air rasping through her lungs. She felt for her plaid, found it, and then threw the length around her linen shift. Leaning over Ewan, she gently lifted him into her arms. Soft, whispered words formed on her lips, and he snuggled closer, still asleep. His head rested on her shoulder, and he wrapped warm arms around her neck.

  She’d left her shoes by the chair and started across the floor for them. But then remembered Ewan had been playing with them. She’d never find them in the dark!

  She couldn’t outrun the devil anyway. She had to find a place for them to hide.

  “Gavin, wait!” a man yelled outside, just as the door to the great hall banged shut one level down from her. She jumped with a fearful squeak, her eyes filling with frightened tears. Stretching out her free arm, she rushed for her bedchamber door, not stopping until her palm hit the smooth surface. With one hand, she dragged the bar back, cringing as it scraped noisily through the metal loops.

  “Ewan!” A voice cried out from inside her home. His call echoed hauntingly in the dark, empty keep. But this was no ghost. She knew who it was: Laird Gavin MacKinnon.

  She wrenched open the door and ran in the opposite direction, toward a circular staircase at the end of the hall. It led upward to another level of bedchambers, the laird’s solar, and the nursery. When she reached the first step, she looked back. Light from a flickering torch shone on the wall, growing bigger as the torchbearer neared the top of the staircase.

  Swallowing her sobs, she climbed to the uppermost level, dragging her fingertips along the stone to orient herself as she raced forward. But to where? Where could she hide that Gavin MacKinnon wouldn’t find her?

  “Ewan! I’m coming for you, Son!” The disembodied voice thundered and threatened from behind her.

  Deirdre wanted to wail, terror thick in her throat. He would take her child and then what? Would he hurt him? Neglect him? Change him into an unloving man who didn’t remember her?

  God help her. They needed somewhere to hide!

  “Gavin, slow down! Where are you?” another male voice cried out.

  “She’s not in her bedchamber,” Gavin yelled back, his voice echoing. “The bed is still warm. I’m going up to the third level! Ewan! Where are you, lad?”

  Deirdre stumbled in the dark and almost dropped her son. He woke with a confused whimper. “Mama?”

  “Hush, baby. I have you. You must be quiet.” She entered the nursery just as the light from the torch grew brighter again behind her. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Her arms shook so badly she could barely hold on to Ewan anymore, and he began to slide down.

  “Mama? It’s too dark! Lift me up.”

  “Ewan?” Gavin yelled. Feet pounded down the hallway toward them. A second set followed behind the first.

  She hauled Ewan into her arms and raced blindly forward, but she stepped on something hard in her bare feet and yelped.

  “Mama!”

  “It’s all right.” She’d intended to soothe him, but she’d whimpered as she said it. She could hear the heartbreak in her voice, feel the sharp pain of it in her chest. Fear weakened her, sickened her. How could she protect him?

  The door crashed open behind her, hitting the stone wall. She crouched down and pulled the wool blanket from her shoulders, covered her son, then rose to face the fury of his father. If Gavin was going to run his blade through her breast, soak her white linen shift with her blood, she did not want her beloved child to see it.

  Gavin raged forward, his huge sword held out in one hand, the flaring, smoking torch in the other. The room came into view, the long, dancing shadows turning the nursery she’d lovingly decorated for Ewan into a house of horrors.

  Which was fitting, seeing as she was about to die in it. His lips pulled back in a tormented grimace, his eyes as they landed on her wide and feral. She had no doubt her death would be violent and bloody.

  “Where’s my son?” he roared.

  She couldn’t speak. All she could do was shake her head and pray Ewan stayed hidden under the blanket behind her.

  Gavin swept the torch in a circle, scanning the room. When he didn’t see Ewan, he advanced on her, every step a drumbeat marching her closer to death. She swayed as her knees buckled, and she grasped the back of a chair with one hand for support.

  She’d been a mouse most of her life. But now she would stay standing as she defended her son. Be the lion she’d always wished to be.

  He
swung the torch close to her, and the heat washed over her face. She gasped in pain and horror. Would he burn her instead? What if the blanket behind her caught fire and Ewan was killed?

  “No, please!” she cried.

  “Gavin, step away from her!” a voice roared from the doorway.

  The MacKinnon laird didn’t move, just stared at her with death in his eyes, his jaw as tight as a vise and his eyes filled with hatred.

  No, more than that…filled with pain.

  At losing his son?

  “You have him,” he croaked, his lips barely moving. “Please,” he continued. “Tell me where he is.”

  His tone scraped at her heart. Her soul. The desperation in his voice shredded her.

  But then a small, warm hand grasped her ankle from behind, giving her courage. My sweet boy, she prayed, please stay hidden.

  “I doona have him,” she said.

  “I heard him.”

  “Maybe ’twas me you heard. I was frightened. My voice squeaked.”

  The other man now stood behind Gavin, two massive warriors, armed and deadly, staring down at her. The other man was dark like her, his long hair tied behind his shoulders.

  She tilted her chin up, forced herself to meet their gazes. She couldn’t help but notice Gavin’s identical eye color to Ewan’s, but the shine of love and laughter was missing.

  “Give me the torch, Brother,” the other warrior said as he grasped the long handle. “And put away your sword. This is no way to find your son.”

  Her lips parted on a silent sob. “My son,” she whispered bleakly, pain roiling through her. Ewan would never again sleep in her arms, never come running to tell her about his latest adventure, never sit quietly with her after dinner and ask her all his questions. She almost collapsed, the ache in her body was so intense.

  But Gavin MacKinnon stepped forward, the rage rolling off him in waves. He grabbed her upper arm with one hand and raised his sword with the other. “You have one chance to live, Deirdre MacIntyre. One chance to tell me. Where. Is. My. Son?”

  The hand on her ankle rose higher, and then a small, soft body leaned against her leg from behind. Ewan wrapped his arms around her thigh and pressed his head against her waist. Her hand dropped automatically, and she smoothed loving fingers over his silky hair.

  The dark man behind Gavin inhaled sharply and dragged down his brother’s sword arm. Softly, he said, “Gavin, look.”

  Gavin MacKinnon dropped his gaze slowly, his pulse pounding in his throat. When his eyes finally fell on her son, his whole face changed, almost as if the tiny muscles that controlled his expression crumpled. His mouth jerked down at the corners, and his chin trembled. His brow furrowed inward as his eyes scrunched and watered over. When he blinked, tears ran down the hard planes of his cheeks.

  He blew out a trembling breath, then crouched down and stretched out a shaky hand to Ewan. “Hello, laddie,” he rasped. “I’ve missed you, Son.”

  Ewan glanced at Gavin’s hand, and then at his father. A frown transformed his sweet face, and he looked even more like the hulking man before him. Suddenly, he stepped in front of Deirdre and pushed Gavin’s hand away. “You’re a mean man. Stay away from my mother!”

  * * *

  Gavin stared at his son, feeling like his heart might burst from his chest even as it broke into tiny pieces. His son, who used to toddle to Gavin whenever he saw him, raise his arms to be picked up and swung high into the air, had called him mean. Instead of laughter and adoration, Ewan was angry with him for hurting his…his…

  Gah! He would not acknowledge that woman as his son’s mother.

  Gavin reached out again, wanting to pull his wee lad into his embrace, needing to feel the weight and warmth of his body in his arms. But Ewan pressed back against Deirdre, his face turning fearful. She crossed her hands over his chest and pulled him tighter against her legs.

  A spurt of anger surged through Gavin. She’d done this. She’d run away from him, tried to hide Ewan from him. He would never have put his sword to her throat or pushed the torch close to her if he’d known Ewan was there. His son might have been hurt. Or traumatized. He was traumatized.

  She’d ruined their relationship before they could even get reacquainted.

  But the terror on Deirdre’s face, especially when he’d pushed the torch close, pricked at his conscience. Kerr held the torch now, almost as if he didn’t trust Gavin with it. Gavin didn’t blame him. He could control his sword, but fire was unpredictable, and he could have set her long locks on fire. What would have happened to Ewan then, hiding under the blanket behind her?

  I could have lost him all over again.

  He scrubbed his fingers through his short, bristly hair before making a fist and tugging on the strands. They were too short to get a good grip, which was why he’d chopped his hair off in the first place. Maybe he’d grow it back now that Ewan was no longer missing.

  He stilled as the words reverberated in his head. Not missing.

  He covered his mouth to hide the emotional joy and relief that coursed through him, overwhelmed him. Thank the angels he’s here with me now!

  His son wore a light linen shift that came halfway down his thighs. It was similar to Deirdre’s, except hers touched the floor—one reason neither Gavin nor Kerr had seen him. Gavin looked the boy over for signs of injury or neglect, but the lad appeared healthy and well treated. He was taller, leaner, stronger than before, and his hair was shorter and thicker. Those baby-soft curls Gavin had wrapped around his fingers and kissed were gone.

  But it wasn’t just how he looked that shocked Gavin; it was the words he’d spoken. When he’d been taken, he’d barely started to talk. Gavin had been worried the boy’s speech was delayed, but the nursemaid had assured him Ewan would speak in his own time.

  She’d been right.

  The words he’d said had cut Gavin, but he’d still marveled at the precise way his child talked. In the time he’d been missing, his bairn had become a wee lad.

  That ever-present anger surged again. Years he’d never get back! Everything he’d missed!

  “How long have you had him?” he asked coldly, without looking at Deirdre.

  Her hands clenched the front of Ewan’s shift. “I… What do you mean?” Her voice shook, and he could hear the lie in it.

  “When did you first meet my son?”

  “When I gave birth to him, of course. And I think you’ve mistaken him…” She trailed off when Gavin raised his gaze to hers. He didn’t say the word. He didn’t need to.

  Liar.

  He looked back down at his son. Smiled. “Do you remember coming here, Ewan? It would have been a long trip. Riding on a horse, or maybe you sat in a wagon?”

  “Nay,” the lad answered, looking confused. “But I’ve been in the wagon for our picnics. Mama always puts lots of pillows down so it’s soft. And next year I can start riding!” His voice picked up excitedly at the end.

  “Sooner than that, Ewan. It is Ewan, isn’t it?”

  “Aye.”

  Gavin couldn’t help glancing at Deirdre again, knowing his enmity raged in his eyes. “You doona have any other names, Ewan? Perhaps a second or third one?”

  “People doona have so many names.”

  “Some do. And as sure as I’m looking at you right now, I know that you have three more names.”

  “I do?”

  “Aye. Ewan Ailbeart Gregor MacKinnon.”

  The boy’s brow furrowed in concentration, and he tried to repeat what Gavin had said. “Ewan Alban—”

  “Ailbeart. Gregor. MacKinnon.” Gavin helped him say it.

  When he was done, Ewan asked Deirdre, “What about MacIntyre?”

  Deirdre’s lips trembled, but she smiled wanly at him. “’Tis something new to think about, Ewan. I doona know where MacIntyre will go now.”

 
“For you too?” he asked.

  Her smile slipped. “Aye, perhaps.”

  Ewan frowned suddenly and returned his gaze to Gavin. “I doona want more names if Mama doesn’t get any.”

  A hand squeezed Gavin’s shoulder—Kerr telling him to choose his words carefully. “Maybe your mother has other names too,” he said. He certainly had a few choice ones for her.

  When he saw Ewan was about to ask Deirdre what they were, he quickly distracted him. “Ewan, I know you said you had to wait a year before you started riding, but I was younger than you when I first learned. How would you like to ride on a horse with me right now?” He put excitement into his voice and watched his son’s eyes light up.

  But Deirdre gasped—a tormented sound—and Ewan looked at her. His excitement faded. “Can my ma come? She doesn’t know how to ride either.”

  Gavin stilled. He hadn’t considered what would happen after he found Ewan—never imagined that his son might not want to come with him. He glanced around the nursery in the torchlight. It looked old but was filled with enough wooden and stuffed toys to make any boy happy. And someone had taken the time to decorate the chamber with wall hangings to interest a child. In the corner sat a small table and two chairs.

  It seemed Ewan was happy here. And he wouldn’t want to leave without the woman he thought was his mother.

  The last thing Gavin wanted to do was hurt his child. But was he willing to kidnap Deirdre the way Ewan had been kidnapped? Nay. It was not the same at all. No one knew where Ewan had been taken, whereas Gavin would make sure Deirdre’s husband, laird, and father all knew he had her and that he wanted them to come take her back—with an army.

  Aye, until he knew better, Clan MacKinnon and their allies were at war with Clan MacIntyre.

  He looked over his shoulder at Kerr. He knew his brother would be thinking the same thing he was. Kerr nodded.

  “Pack a few things for my son and yourself,” Gavin said to Deirdre. He smiled again at Ewan and finally he touched him—a brief tousle of his hair. “Deirdre will be coming with us. We wouldnae want her to miss seeing you ride for the first time, would we? We’re going to go back to my castle. We doona have a moat, but there’s a huge loch where we can swim. And I can hardly wait for you to meet my sister, all my other brothers, and my foster father. He’ll want you to call him Granda.”