by Cathy MacRae
Snatching up his fallen blade, she grabbed the back of his hair and placed the dagger against his throat. The crowd, which she’d ignored during the fight, fell into silence. She scanned the crowd for MacGregor. He stepped into the circle. She issued her challenge.
“Laird, this man owes me a life debt. Agreed?”
The laird stared at her with surprise for a moment before answering. “Aye, agreed.”
She dropped her unconscious opponent, turned and stalked toward her campsite.
“The blade,” Duncan barked.
Whirling to face him, her knuckles whitened as she fisted the dagger, tempted to fight her way back to Orion. After a moment’s hesitation, she flipped the knife over, blade now in her palm, and hurled it toward the fallen man. It struck between his legs a few inches below his manhood, pinning his plaide to the ground.
She stormed to her campsite. Fat drops of rain fell, pulling her attention away from the fight. She fixed the waxed cloth overhead on the two poles she’d cut earlier, anchoring the ends to a rock and a couple of stakes, giving it a tug to test its strength. She ambled to the stream and crossed it, not giving her back to the man following her. She washed as much as she dared with MacGregor present, then filled her water skin and a small cooking pot from her pack.
She returned to the fire and inspected her wound. A three-inch-long shallow slash oozed blood below her shoulder. Uttering a curse toward all things male, she wiped the blood away, grateful she’d sustained no greater injury. After boiling the water in the pot, Anna soaked both the needle and thread. She cleaned and stitched the wound, applying the same salve used on the injured men earlier. Fetching bandage material from her pack, she bound the cut.
Adding more wood to the fire, she positioned a number of small twigs around her site to signal her if anyone stepped close. Still seething over her treatment thus far, she sat cross-legged under her small shelter. Eyes closed, body relaxed, Anna forced her mind to still. After an hour of calm, she opened her eyes to the night. The fever from battle, along with most of her anger, had ebbed.
Stretching out, Anna wrapped up in her plaide, trying for as much sleep as possible amongst a group of men who’d proven themselves foes. She hoped her performance against Shamus would discourage any from testing her again this night.
Drowsily, Anna replayed the day’s events in her mind and wondered what the next day would bring. Though her actions had resulted in capture, she knew she would rescue those girls again if given the chance. Even if the men possessed no honor, these barbarians would not alter hers. Exhausted both emotionally and physically, she offered no resistance when sleep claimed her.
She rose before dawn and noticed she had a new watchman. She asked for privacy to take care of her early morning needs and walked to the stream. Using a small cloth, she cleaned her teeth and washed her face. After breaking camp, she had nothing to do but wait for instruction. As she finished a slice of bread and an apple, MacGregor the Younger approached with their saddled horses. From his expression, he seemed pleased about something. At least his lighter mood marked a change from the stormy expression he usually wore.
“Ye will ride with me again. We are three full days from home.”
Neither answering nor making eye contact, she secured her belongings and climbed aboard her horse. He tied Orion’s reins to his saddle, leaving her only along for the ride. All day Anna bore the men’s speculative stares, some puzzled, some amused. Though used to such scrutiny as a woman warrior, her skin prickled to have no escape from it. She realized how much she relied on her father’s and grandfather’s names as a cloak of protection.
“I wondered about yer armor and horse. They are of high quality, which would make ye under the care of a person with means,” Duncan said.
She shot him a baleful look. “And yet you insist on kidnapping me. Tell me, sir, how is it you and your father are any different from the barbarians I killed yesterday to rescue your sister and her maid?”
Her question broke his calm demeanor and his angry, brooding manner returned with a vengeance. Judging by the muscles rippling along his jaw and the fire in his eyes, he didn’t like the comparison. If he knew the difference, he chose not to explain it.
They stopped once around midday to allow the horses to graze and water. It proved to be the only break of the day. After tending to her personal needs, Anna squatted with her back against a large tree to eat, watching the men. They mostly ignored her. Still, she refused to take any chances by letting her guard down.
“The men willnae harm ye. Ye are under my protection,” Duncan remarked, his brows furrowed, hands on hips, feet wide apart as if rebuking a man under his command.
Angling her head to face him, she allowed her gaze to meet his, her features set as if carved from rock. “If your protection was demonstrated last night, I will certainly sleep more soundly tonight, sir. Thank you.”
The anger on his face shone clear as the water of the loch they’d stopped beside. Springing away without replying, he stalked several paces to finish his meal. After a few minutes, he stomped back to where she sat. Without a glance in his direction, Anna strode to her horse and mounted. Climbing on his horse, he spoke no more as they continued their journey.
The rest of the day unfolded uneventfully. Near nightfall, they finally halted. Without enough light to hunt or fish, Anna ate from the supplies in her pack. She repeated her routine of foraging for wood, creating a fire and camp. Duncan brought her a bowl of something smelling like unwashed feet and cabbage, placing the bowl on the ground in front of her.
She gave him a curt nod, but didn’t touch the rancid-smelling concoction, eating only from her dwindling provisions. She’d hunted or fished each day since leaving home to stretch her foodstuffs and would need to replenish her supplies soon.
The next day mirrored the first—the only difference was they began to climb.
“Steady, boy.” She patted her horse, murmuring encouragements along the way. Orion, not used to steep, rocky terrain, stumbled a few times until he became accustomed to the trickier footing. His skittish behavior reflected the nearness of unfamiliar men and horses. His muscles flinched occasionally, reacting to her unease.
Once, a group of five men on horseback met them. Duncan and his sire rode to meet them, leaving her in the care of another while they spoke. The conversation was brief and civil and they soon continued their trek. After another hour of travel, the damp chill of elevation replaced the warmer air of the Lowlands.
A slow, steady rain fell, a bitter wind driving the drops before it. Wrapping her braid around her neck for warmth, Anna tucked her cloak in tight with the waxed cloth on top. Though shivering from the cold and damp, she remained mostly dry. She noticed her traveling companions hardly seemed affected by the change in temperature or wind.
Highland barbarians are in their element.
She turned her thoughts from the cold to something more practical. Men surrounded her on all sides when mounted, keeping her closed in. With her reins tied to Duncan’s horse, she had no opportunity to escape. Without weapons, she would be helpless against an attack even if she somehow managed to elude them. As much as it pained, she’d have to continue to wait for an opportunity to arise before slipping away from her captors.
MacGregor made no more attempts to talk. To her relief, the stares of the men mostly disappeared. They viewed her simply as baggage at this point—noticed but not regarded.
They stopped by another stream an hour before dark. She didn’t see any fish in this one. Unwinding a sling from within her belt, she selected a few smooth stones from the stream, then headed into the woods, Duncan following several paces behind. After stalking the perimeter of their camp, she spotted a hare. She whirled the sling and silently killed the animal, dressing it before returning to her site, ignoring MacGregor.
The chill in the air worsened with nightfall. Anna built the fire a bit closer and larger than the night before to fight off the moist chill threatening to seep in
to her bones. She was full of rabbit and sitting close to the fire, and the cold remained mostly at bay. She wondered about these men who took her captive, and Duncan in particular. She’d found herself watching him surreptitiously throughout the day. Something about him drew her attention, though it made no sense.
I must be daft! Having any feelings except anger toward this man is folly.
Scraping the rabbit hide after eating gave her something to do other than make and discard plans for escape. If the air grew much colder, she would need to kill several more hares to line her cloak.
Anna remained watchful, sleeping light, waking every two hours or so, though she supposed if someone planned to attack, they would have done so by now. Perhaps Duncan’s words of protection rang true. She wasn’t willing to risk her life by dropping her guard simply because of his promise of safety. Trusting this group of barbarians could prove a deadly mistake.
* * *
After three days of being around this woman, this Anna, Duncan found himself at a loss. Not one complaint, not one request. She’d quietly gone about taking care of her own needs, relying on nothing from the others. What lass, English or Scot, behaved such? How was it possible?
Where would a young noblewoman learn these skills she possessed? Skills that should have taken longer than her apparent years to master? She accepts our food, yet does not eat it. Her swift kills of both the fish and hare—startling. She slips through the forest like a wraith—more silent than the most skilled warrior.
He’d come to realize this woman was what she first appeared, an experienced fighter and hunter, though he couldn’t fathom the how or why. The numerous scars visible on her, including a rather long one on her neck, confirmed this. The fact that he’d stood by and watched while she added another to her collection tore at his conscience.
The lass is angry—and rightly so. We will not be lulled into complacency around her. She likely would take her first chance to slit our throats and escape. Bonny lass or not, it will not do to drop our guard around this one.
Because of the potential for trouble, he informed his men not to let their attention waver. She required constant watching. This knowledge didn’t blunt his protective instincts. On the contrary, they grew stronger with every passing hour. Never one to hide from his feelings, he simply didn’t understand them. Nor did he know what to do with his confusion.
The gall of her to compare us to the cursed MacNairns! Upon further reflection, he understood her viewpoint. How indeed were they any different?
For all she knows, she is to be taken to our home and given to a man as wife against her will.
Duncan knew his da did not intend such. However, she did not. Chuckling to himself, he imagined that scene playing out. Pity any man who would attempt such a foolish thing. He would wind up with a dagger buried in his heart, or worse.
Her response to his pledge that she would not be harmed seared through him. For some reason she resurrected memories of his brother, Callum, and that terrible day many years ago that had seen the end of his young life. Something about her called to him to protect her, to ensure her safety. She clearly didn’t believe him and bore the wound to prove her right. Barbarians was the word she’d used. So far, they’d earned the name.
In spite of her manly behavior, Duncan saw her femininity, her loveliness. Like a viper, beautiful but deadly. Best viewed from a distance, treated with respect. She’d been noticeably cold since they left the Lowlands, unaccustomed to the altitude and climate. He considered offering a blanket but thought better of it. She’d want nothing from him but freedom.
Duncan continued to find it difficult to accept a collection of abilities in such a highly unlikely form. The more time he spent around her, the more he wished to know everything about her. He knew he should keep his distance, but for some inexplicable reason he found he could not. His eyes only left her when he closed them to sleep. Her presence consistently pricked at the calm guise he’d carefully crafted for years. Never before had he been more perturbed by a woman. He inwardly cursed his own weakness as he looked forward to seeing her on the morrow.
Chapter 3
Mid-afternoon the next day, Anna realized they’d stopped climbing. As the group threaded its way through a forbidding mountain pass, she was unprepared for the breathtaking beauty of the Highlands that unfolded before her. The mountains rose impossibly tall and massive, lush with greenery and sparkling with water. Streams burst from the stones and cascaded over the rocky crags toward the many lakes they’d passed. The majesty of the rugged terrain made her Lowland home pale in comparison.
Earlier in the day, they’d met another group of men from a different clan. Based on the friendly greetings, these men were personally known by clan MacGregor. Once on their way again, she addressed one of the men who consistently rode next to her. A man she’d heard called Iain.
“What are these mountains, sir?”
Surprise crossed each face within hearing distance. She’d not initiated communication with anyone but Duncan or the laird since her captivity.
“The Grampians, milady.”
His pleasant tone told her he hoped her question would mark the start of conversation. She knew they wondered about her. They can remain curious. I will not stir this matter further. She feared what they might do if they found out she was the daughter of an English baron and granddaughter to the laird of a Lowland clan.
Though, mayhap if I told them about Grandfather, they would exchange coin for my freedom. No, I will not involve clan Elliot. I could not save my English family, but can protect my Scots kin. At least these men provided escort far away from her English enemies. She needed only to find a way to escape. Anna intentionally made no further contact, and eventually the men ignored her again.
As they crested a ridge, a castle loomed in the distance. By early evening, they entered the outskirts of a small town. A cold feeling in the pit of Anna’s stomach told her they’d arrived at their destination.
The village sprawled before the castle. The northern wall of the stone fortification sat just short of a sheer cliff making a rear attack impossible. She’d not seen a better site for a stronghold. Its position gave the inhabitants the advantage of seeing great a distance, and enemies could advance only from the front.
The dark gray stone of the keep matched the stone of the surrounding mountains, making it both beautiful and foreboding. An involuntary shiver crept up Anna’s spine.
Duncan leaned toward her. “Welcome to Ciardun.”
Gray Fortress. The name was apt, though it looked anything but welcoming. The warmth and relief in Duncan’s voice made him sound as though he smelled a well-cooked meal after a long hard day. Obviously, he was glad to be home. Her sense of dread increased as she considered the slim chance of escape once they passed through those formidable gates. She shivered again as the coldness in her stomach increased tenfold.
In an effort to take her mind off her new prison, she took in the scene around her. The looks she received from the villagers-a mixture of harsh, curious, and bemused expressions—reminded her of her plight. Not a friendly face among them. She straightened to her full height, chin held high with an expressionless guise.
She suspected the cause for their curiosity was the way she trailed MacGregor, her reins tied to his saddle. Or perhaps a strange woman dressed like a man piqued their curiosity. No one dared attack someone obviously in his charge. At least he’d kept his word about her safety thus far.
Once they rode past the village, the castle’s presence demanded attention like flames in the darkness. She found it a truly intimidating structure. Not the largest she’d seen, but daunting none the less. Four stone towers, one at each corner, rose high, with a much larger square tower centered along the back curtain wall. A long, two-level stone and wood building connected the back corner towers to the square one.
I wonder if being female will keep me out of the dungeons. Likely not.
A loud commotion marked the return of the lai
rd and his beloved daughter as they entered the keep.
“Worry not, lass, all will be well. Ye have my word.” Duncan leaned closer so his words reached her ears alone.
They dismounted, handing their horses to stable lads, and Duncan led her through the door of the keep and into the main hall. A number of trestle tables and benches stood prepared. Massive hearths at both ends of the hall provided heat for the entire room. A raised dais with a well-appointed table and chairs marked where the laird and family dined.
Continuing toward the back of the room, they strode down a long corridor ending at a thick, locked door. Duncan gently placed his hand on Anna’s upper arm, guiding her toward the heavy door. She jerked away as if burned. Something in his touch affected her, though she fought not to acknowledge it. He scrunched his brow, scowling at her. Judging by his reaction, whatever passed between them he experienced as well.
On the other side of the portal stood four cells with stone walls and iron-reinforced doors. Small, barred windows high on the wall allowed the waning sunlight into each cell. Every door had a barred window looking into the hallway. Apparently this would be her home for the foreseeable future. As she entered a cell, Anna glared a challenge at MacGregor which he did not match. In fact, she swore regret lurked in his eyes. It mattered not. It was an unforgivable fact—they held her prisoner after she’d rescued the laird’s daughter. Barbarians.
* * *
Duncan knocked before entering his father’s solar.
“Is she secured?” Kenneth asked, briefly glancing up from the parchment on his desk.
“Aye,” Duncan replied. Disapproval colored his tone.