Highland Escape

by Cathy MacRae

  A long silence stretched between them.

  “Yer brother’s death deeply affected us all, but no one was more profoundly changed than ye. Ye have borne the guilt of it, though ’tis not yer burden to carry.” The laird raised a hand to stop the argument Duncan prepared to mount. “Ye became a sober lad afterward with a strong sense of responsibility. Whilst an outwardly admirable trait at a young age, yer mother and I believe the loss robbed ye of yer youth. I cannae pretend to know what it meant to lose a twin. The two of ye were closer than any I have seen. I only know what it was like to lose a son and feared what his death would do to my remaining son.

  “Ye developed a keen need to protect all those who are dear to ye. ’Tis a characteristic that will help ye become a strong laird. I believe this fierce connection ye feel with Anna, along with her plight, calls to ye in a powerful way.” Kenneth paused then shook his head.

  “She has endured significant loss and is adrift,” he concluded. “Those things combine to inspire in ye a protectiveness so forceful ye risk scaring her away. With her, ye have found a kindred spirit not unlike the one ye lost. Perhaps she has as much healing to offer ye as ye have to offer her.”

  Duncan rose and embraced his father. “I am sorry.”

  Kenneth grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, meeting his eyes with a measured intensity. “’Twas never yer fault.”

  Duncan turned away. Of course it was his fault.

  Chapter 11

  Anna felt Duncan’s hand on her shoulder, asking her to wait as she gathered her weapons to leave the practice field. The now-familiar warm tingle from his touch tempted her to distraction. To counter the effect, she grabbed his hand and stepped to the other side of his body, applying downward pressure as she dropped to a knee, twisting away. As swift as a hawk diving for its prey, her action caught Duncan off-guard. He flipped in the air, landing on his back with a satisfying thump, struggling to regain his breath as he flopped about like a landed fish. Unable to help herself, Anna burst into laughter. Duncan clambered to his feet, his eyes wide with shock.

  “How did ye do that?” His breathing labored.

  She quelled her mirth enough to answer. “’Tis easy. Mayhap I will show ye some time.” She mocked the burr of his accent, flashing him a mischievous grin.

  Duncan stared at her in disbelief. “Anna. Tell me, how did ye do that?”

  Pulling herself under control, she replied, “I will show you another day if you wish. ’Tis not hard. I thought you only wanted to train weapons.” She walked toward her horse. Glancing over her shoulder, she faltered at the intensity of his stare.

  Duncan closed the distance between them and took one of her hands in his. He rubbed the skin of her palm with his thumb, sending a shiver chasing through her whole body. She grabbed his hand with both of hers, twisting it outward into her favorite wristlock. He dropped to his knees immediately, his face contorting with pain.

  “Saint Filan’s teeth! Ye are trained in unarmed combat, too?”

  Her mischievous grin grew wicked at his acknowledgment. She released his wrist and stepped back. “Of course. Are not you?”

  Rubbing his arm as he rose to his feet, Duncan looked at her with awe. “Anna, I am a head taller than ye, and outweigh ye by at least four stone. How are ye able to bring me to my knees with such ease?”

  Climbing on her horse, she answered, “Unarmed combat tomorrow if you wish, Sir Duncan.” Her teasing tone rang clear. Training with Duncan was much more enjoyable than training with her brother, Edrick. For one thing, she didn’t want to kill him all the time.

  Though they were plenty competitive with each other, Anna found herself protective of him, as much as Duncan seemed protective of her. She certainly sustained fewer bruises and scars than when she trained with Edrick, though her sparring with Duncan proved as fierce. And there was an odd feeling whenever they drew close, which intensified upon contact. She’d known nothing like it before and didn’t know what to do about the sensation. It seemed foolish to mention such a thing to Nessa or anyone else. However, each time they touched, she longed for more.

  * * *

  Spring gave grudging way to summer. Anna met Duncan at the stables early, as they did every morn. His face was rueful.

  “Anna, I apologize for missing our sparring, but I need to meet with the smith.”

  She shrugged. “No bother. I planned on spending time with Fiona after our training.”

  She watched until he left her sight, then glanced about for a way to fill her time. She ventured outside the stable, slipping her weapons into place, leaving her armor in the keep.

  Gazing at the beautiful day, Anna decided to walk. ’Twould do her good. Sore from yesterday’s workout, she needed to stretch her legs. After a painful start, Duncan had finally been able to throw her a number of times. He proved slow to learn the subtleties of off-balancing before a throw. She found Duncan to be like most men, thinking physical strength the answer to any obstacle.

  Though the thick grass cushioned her landings, Anna’s muscles protested from repeated impact. She recalled the look of satisfaction on his face when he finally threw her, his expression that of a little boy, pleased to learn a new trick. A faint smile played about her lips.

  Passing the cooper’s shop, she saw the man working outside on a new barrel. He waved to her, raising the tool in his hand. She smiled and waved in return. The simple act of friendly recognition made her feel more at home. The ping of the smith’s hammer on the anvil in the background punctuated the feeling.

  A voice she’d heard before stole her peace.

  “Look at the English bitch. The laird let ye off yer tether, did he?”

  Anna didn’t have to see his face to know who spoke. “Good morrow to you, Shamus. I see being home all this time hasn’t changed the sweetness of your voice.”

  A few laughs followed her reply as she kept walking.

  “Dinnae walk away from me, whore!”

  Anna blew out a breath, and with it her hopes of avoiding confrontation. She considered the many ways she might prove herself to this clan. The one at hand wasn’t among them. She’d recently learned that his brother, Alasdair, had met his end on the tusks of a wild boar while hunting. Surely he does not lay his brother’s death at my feet as he did his earlier injury? She shook her head, remembering the way he’d challenged her for his brother’s mistake the first time they met. Likely.

  Shamus growled. “Ye might be under the laird’s protection, but ye still could have an unfortunate accident if ye are not careful.”

  She spun to face him, hands curling into fists. “Are you threatening me, Shamus? If memory serves, I beat you unconscious the last time we fought. I would think you would have learned your lesson about speaking to your betters.”

  Shamus’s face flushed red, darkening to purple. “How dare ye!” he bellowed, taking a furious step in her direction.

  “I dare because if you insult me again, I will collect on the debt you owe me. This time, your laird will not be able to save you.” She glared at him defiantly, not budging an inch, awaiting his reaction.

  Roaring in anger, Shamus drew the claymore strapped to his back. She knew the long, two-handed blade gave him the advantage of reach—and that she would not survive even the slightest of strikes.

  His face distorted with malice. “I think I shall add to the scar I gave ye the last time we scrapped and finish what Alain started.”

  She drew her twin falchions and circled him. “I think I will send you to greet your brother.” Her words rang loud, goading him—as she intended. He swung wide, creating an arc of steel meant to decapitate. Stepping under his swing, Anna raised her hand and blew a kiss in his direction.

  Further enraged, Shamus changed direction, bringing his blade down at an oblique angle. Anna predicted the arc, parrying the blow by pushing his sword in the same direction with her own. Her parry caused him to stagger as his momentum, paired with hers, carried his strike further than he intended. The clang of s
teel on steel echoed throughout the village like a thunder strike. A crowd hastily gathered around the combatants, warily beyond the reach of the long blade.

  Swinging repeatedly with his whole might, Shamus’s breathing labored while Anna parried and danced lightly away. His face bloomed red with exertion, or humiliation, she knew not and cared not. He’d stepped into her snare as predictably as any witless prey.

  “For ye, Alasdair!” Shamus roared. He brought his sword high overhead, pushing downward with great force—a blow designed to cleave her in twain.

  Anna’s sword met his, hilt up, tip down. His blade scraped along hers, sending sparks flying. His strike continued inches past her, piercing deep into the ground with a dull thud. She kicked the flat side of his blade with her boot. The sword twisted in his hands, turning the flat of his blade upward.

  Using his sword as a ramp, Anna took a quick step upon his blade, closing the distance between them. Swords crossed in front of her, a blade by each ear, she swung each arm violently across her body as her voice gave cry to her anger. Both blades bit deep into his neck, and Anna straddled him as his life bled out. One spasmodic jerk, and his body stilled forever.

  Anna swiveled her head, searching the crowd, her enemy’s blood spattered over her.

  “I am Anna of the clan Elliot! My grandfather is laird! I am marked as a warrior by my clan!” She ripped her tunic, exposing her shoulder, neck, and arm, her blue markings visible to all.

  “Anyone else who takes issue with my presence can face me now!” She turned slowly, her stare defiant.

  She saw several expressions of disbelief, and more than a few approving nods. Her gaze met and locked with Duncan’s. He held a bow with an arrow notched, pointed toward the ground. He gave her a fierce look and quick bow, apparently well pleased by her actions. She took a deep breath and returned his salute. Wiping the blood off her swords on Shamus’s lifeless body, she sheathed them and strode toward the keep, her pounding steps echoing the angry thud of her heart.

  * * *

  Duncan tore his attention away from the smith as Anna and Shamus’s verbal exchange rang through the village. It required all his willpower to stand aside and watch, teeth clenched, blood pounding in his veins, as Shamus insulted and provoked Anna. To her credit, she tried to walk away. Realizing a fight was inevitable, Duncan grabbed the smith’s longbow, fitting an arrow in case Shamus appeared to gain the upper hand.

  Duncan had sworn to protect her, even if she didn’t wish it. He hadn’t forgotten her scathing remarks about his protection earlier, nor his father’s words from their last talk. The instinctive pull to fight in her place proved almost irresistible. Knowing she would be angrier with him than with Shamus was all that kept him from intervening.

  Duncan watched the lass who’d bested him many times the morning before, toy with a veteran warrior. Though easily angered, Shamus was no green lad. Never in any real danger, Anna danced him like a puppet at St. Crispin’s Festival. She moved and parried, allowing Shamus to over-commit and wind himself. All the while, she pricked his anger, prodding him to be more and more aggressive. His strikes carried him off-balance, his rage making him reckless.

  Her final move was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Running up the length of a sword to deliver the killing blow? ’Twas the stuff of which the bards sang. Her battle cry and proclamation sent chills up his spine. Her challenge to the entire clan would reverberate for years. No one would contest her now, the laird’s protection or not. She would be held in the highest regard—the fact she was female mattered not. Duncan couldn’t have been more proud of her, and he made sure she saw it in his eyes when she finally met his gaze.

  What started as fear for her life ended in a burning sense of admiration and desire for her he couldn’t fathom. He would win her or die of the effort. He no longer had any choice in the matter. He vowed to do whatever it took, however long it took.

  * * *

  Anna stood over the watering tub at the stables with no clear recollection of how she’d gotten there. She looked at her tunic, spotted with blood. Removing her sheathed swords, she leaned forward, dunking her body from head to waist in the cold water. She straightened, gripping the edge of the tub, replaying the entire encounter with Shamus in her mind as water sluiced away.

  Duncan’s voice pulled her from her daze. “Ho, the stables.”

  Anna spun to face him. A grin lit his face. Gladness seized her, knowing she caused his expression. His approval meant more to her than it should have.

  The fact that she had only moments ago killed a man, yet was now warmed by Duncan’s approval, created another battle within her. She had no right to feel joy, having taken another’s life. Shamus may have deserved to die, but he was a son, a brother, perhaps a husband and father. For certain, a MacGregor.

  Duncan grabbed a rag and threw it to her. Wiping off the remainder of the blood and water, she paced the stables, battle lust still coursing through her veins. He gave her a wide berth, leaning against the stable wall, arms crossed, still wearing a heart-shattering grin.

  “Duncan,” she admonished him. “’Tis no time to smile. I killed a man, your clansman. I could have walked away. I should have walked away.” Guilt wrapped its sticky tentacles around her. Surely she could have done something to avoid this.

  He grabbed her shoulders, halting her pacing. “Ye tried to walk away, but he wouldnae let ye, aye?”

  Anna gaped at him in surprise. “You saw?”

  He gave her a reassuring nod. “Aye, I was at the smith’s. Half the village saw and heard Shamus. He was not letting ye go without a fight. The men who witnessed his challenge last month have not given him a moment’s peace. Mostly because he was a pig-headed arse. His wounded pride is the cause of this. ’Twas not your fault Anna.”

  Relief poured over her in a giddy rush. Finally, someone on her side. She grabbed Duncan, hugging him with all her might. He returned the fierceness of her hold. Anna became lost in the smell of him, the power of his arms, the feel of his hard body. After a few moments, they eased the strength of their embrace, but held on, reluctant to part.

  “Ye were magnificent today. So very bonny. I am proud to be yer friend,” Duncan told her, his voice full of sincerity.

  “I was beautiful?” Anna heard her own voice, sounding like a little girl to her ears.

  “Aye, lass, ye’re the bonniest thing I have ever seen.” Duncan broke his grip, placing his hands on her cheeks, pulling her face up to look at him. “Make no mistake, ye just won the respect of everyone in clan MacGregor today. They will come to admire and respect ye as much as I do.”

  Releasing him, she stepped back, shaking her head. “I do not understand.”

  He let out a short laugh. “What dinnae ye understand?”

  She dared to look up at him. “You think I am beautiful, you admire and respect me—are proud to be my friend?”

  Duncan moved, but she stepped back. Stopping, he frowned. “Aye, I do. But I dinnae just say ye were beautiful. I said ye are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. There is a difference.”

  Anna grabbed her tack and blanket, fleeing the intensity of Duncan’s words. Striding to Orion’s stall, she saddled him.

  “Where are ye going?” The concern in Duncan’s voice rang clear.

  “I need time to think. I will ride down to the loch. Give me a couple of hours.”

  Patting Orion on the rump, he grabbed her hand. “Take as much time as ye need. I will be here waiting for ye.”

  She forced a smile as she mounted and rode away.

  * * *

  “He what?” Kenneth’s voice thundered across the room. He sprang from his chair, hands balled into fists, wearing an expression Duncan worried would lead to apoplexy. “My orders were verra clear. She is under my protection. No one is to harm her.”

  Duncan watched his father pace the solar. “Ye should have seen it. ’Twas like naught I have witnessed before. She was a cat playing with a mouse. He never came close to
striking a blow. After she finished with him, she challenged the whole bluidy clan. Asked for anyone who had a problem with her to step forward.”

  The laird stopped in his tracks and his head swiveled to meet Duncan’s gaze.

  Seeing the look on his da’s face, Duncan answered the unasked question. “Of course, none did. However, I am not sure if it was because of yer order, or because of what they had witnessed. They all know she is Nessa’s Curaidh.”

  The laird drew a deep breath and poured a tankard of ale for each of them. “Where is she now?”

  Duncan accepted the drink, frowning as he answered. “She felt guilty about killing him and went for a ride. Said she would be back in two hours. I thought ye should hear it from me first.”

  “Ye explained that ’twas not her fault—she isnae to blame? That there will be no repercussions?”

  Duncan took a drink before replying. “Aye. Of course I did.”

  Shaking his head, the laird placed his tankard on the table, muttering a stream of curses. “Do ye think she will return?”

  “Truly, I dinnae know, but I believe so. She said she would. Most of her belongings remain here. I told her I would meet her at the stables when she returns. I am convinced she wouldnae leave without saying goodbye to Nessa and Mother.” He and his da exchanged glances, the same thought clear in both their minds.

  How in the hell did a noblewoman become such a deadly warrior?

  Chapter 12

  Anna gave Orion his head as they raced to the loch. The rush of air over her and the surge of muscled power beneath her always helped clear away confusion. However, Anna found herself as perplexed as before. She no longer felt uncertain about killing Shamus. Duncan was right. The man wouldn’t let her walk away. Remembering what he’d said about her ‘having an accident’ made her recognize the truth of the situation. Pig-headed arse.

  That settled, she found herself unhinged by her conversation with Duncan in the stables. Recounting each word he’d said, she rolled them around her mind, trying to discern their meaning. To muddle it further, she remembered Nessa and Isla teasing her, saying Duncan favored her. They told her everyone knew but her. How could she not know? Men do not pursue me. Only idiots playing their games of dominance do, but only for what they might gain from me. I have nothing now.