“Aye, ye made yer feelings well known to one and all. Yet my conscience would not allow me to sit idly by and do nothing while my brother suffered,” Aiden shot back, his expression revealing no remorse. “We stumbled upon a small party of McKenna retainers and noticed a well-dressed female among them. I dinnae know fer certain ’twas Lady Katherine until we had taken her. I knew then that her father would be eager to exchange her fer Robbie.”
“It will be rather difficult to ransom the lass if ye dinnae have her,” Lachlan replied sarcastically. “All ye have succeeded in doing is raising the wrath of the McKennas, which will most likely put Robbie in further danger. Yer daft actions can easily start a feud that will hurt us far more than it will benefit the clan.”
Aiden’s gaze slid away. “She has no horse, no supplies, and no knowledge of the area. She cannae have gotten far. We’ve returned fer fresh mounts and more men to widen our search. Lady Katherine will be found and a ransom, as well as the demand fer Robbie’s release, will be sent to the McKennas the moment she is once again in our hands.”
“I’ve little faith in yer ability to achieve that lofty goal, given the way ye’ve handled yerself thus far,” Lachlan said grimly. He walked slowly around his brother, his hands clasped behind his back. “Ye’ve risked the clan’s future fer naught. I will organize the search fer Lady Katherine. Ye will stay here!”
“Nay!” Aiden sputtered.
“Ye will do as I command,” Lachlan insisted, his fierce expression brooking no argument, his eyes giving no quarter. “Under my direction, teams of men will depart at first light tomorrow. I, too, will join the search and ye will stay inside the walls of this keep. Do I make myself clear?”
Aiden grumbled again. In no mood to listen to any more excuses, Lachlan loomed over his brother, his fist clenched, his face set in stone.
Aiden understood. He wisely refrained from making any further comments, though his stomping boots as he left the great hall spoke loudly of his displeasure.
Lachlan made a harsh noise in the back of his throat and slowly unclenched his fist. Wrestling away his frustration, he turned his mind toward organizing the search for the missing woman. He had much to prepare if they were to leave at first light.
Whatever it took, he would find Lady Katherine, return her to her father, and somehow make amends to the McKennas.
* * *
Lachlan looked around the clearing, then glanced up at the darkening sky. The light snow that had started at dawn was becoming thicker, the flakes larger. He glanced behind him, not surprised to see the snow was rapidly covering his tracks, erasing all trace of them.
’Twas barely past noon, too early to end his search. He had been out here for hours and was loath to admit that this task was proving to be far more daunting than he had anticipated. Alone and on foot, he assumed the McKenna lass would not have strayed too far off MacTavish land. Yet thus far, there had been no sign of her.
Lachlan steered his horse to the edge of the forest, dismounted, and knelt. Carefully, he examined the ground, brushing away the newly fallen snow, hunting for tracks. Finding none, he shook his head in disgust, cursing beneath his breath.
Mayhap some of the other MacTavish search parties were having better luck, yet somehow he doubted it. ’Twas like trying to find a single blade in a meadow filled with grass. Impossible.
Resolutely, he stood, determined not to give up. He would continue to search until darkness prevented it. Then he would set up camp, try to stay warm and dry throughout the night, and start again at first light.
He traversed a stream, guiding his mount over chunks of ice floating through the swift current. He moved at a slow trot, surveying all around him, looking for any natural shelter that might be concealing the lass.
His keen eyes scanned the drifts of snow-covered bushes and leaves—stopped—then looked again. Hold. A dot of vibrant blue stood like a beacon against the white of the snow. Have I found her?
Tamping down the burst of excitement, Lachlan eased his horse forward. Surrounding the spot of blue beneath a fallen tree trunk was an oddly shaped pile of snow-covered leaves—the form of a woman?
Senses on tense alert, conscious of the slightest movement from the mound, Lachlan dismounted and approached cautiously. Squinting through the white haze of falling snow, he could tell it was indeed a body, curled into a ball, huddled beneath the leaves and snow.
The blue he had seen was part of a larger garment, most likely a cloak. It had to be the McKenna lass! Lachlan moved softly, fearful of startling her. Fearful, too, of having a dirk or any other weapon pressed against his throat.
“Lady Katherine,” he called softly. “I’ve come to aid ye.”
The body shifted slightly, revealing the top of a shoulder and one leather-clad boot. A dainty woman’s boot. Encouraged, Lachlan knelt at her side, brushing back the snow, small twigs, and rotting vegetation, freeing her face and upper torso from its leafy cocoon.
She lay motionless, save for the occasional trembling of her gloved hands. Her eyes were shut, her complexion unnaturally flushed. Yet he could not help but notice the feminine perfection of her features; the high cheekbones, pert, straight nose, delicate arched brows, and sweet, crescent mouth.
Her breathing was labored, her eyes ringed with purple shadows. Gingerly, he touched her forehead, startled by the warmth—he had expected her to be chilled.
“Christ’s blood,” Lachlan muttered beneath his breath. “Ye’re ill.”
He pushed back the hair that had fallen over his eyes and stared down at her. The edges of her lips were blue and she shivered visibly. Almost as though sensing his presence, she suddenly bolted upright, her eyes flying open. Brilliant blue, they were bright with fever and confusion.
“I must escape,” she whispered hoarsely, before slumping back, limp and exhausted.
Lachlan lifted her securely in his arms. She stirred again and instinctively pulled herself closer to his warmth. He felt an odd twist of emotion in his chest at her vulnerable, trusting gesture.
If ye only knew who I am, lass.
When he stood, the remainder of the leaves she had buried herself beneath fell off her like raindrops, showering them both. Her body hung lifeless in his arms, indicating that she was no longer conscious.
’Tis fer the best, Lachlan decided. Given the tenacity of her actions, he suspected she would not have come quietly and could have been further injured if a struggle between them occurred.
He hoisted her over his saddle, then vaulted up behind her. Steadying her upright in his arms, he wheeled his horse around, following the path that had led him into the forest. The snow continued falling and occasionally a larger portion would tumble down from a heavily laden branch.
He bent over Katherine, protecting her from the worst of it and by the time they reached the clearing, Lachlan’s head and shoulders were covered with snow. He scanned the terrain, trying to decide the best way to the Convent of the Sacred Heart.
The northern route would be the most direct, but the path was slick with ice in many spots and dotted with deep ruts. His mount was sure-footed and strong, but if he went that way, they would need to move at a snail’s pace.
He elected instead to sweep around to the south, hoping to find more hospitable road conditions. Holding her tightly in his arms to keep her warm, Lachlan fought the elements and plodded ahead.
Their progress was far slower than he had hoped. He glanced down at the silent woman huddled in his arms. She had not made a sound for the last hour; not even a cough. He had tried to limit the amount of jostling she had to endure, but that had been impossible. Yet it appeared at this stage not to make much difference.
Darkness fell quickly on this moonless night. Lachlan crested the hill and glanced at the sky, dismayed to find no stars. The air was heavy with cold and dampness. The snow that had plagued him most of the day was now pelting icy droplets. He had tried his best to keep the moisture off her, but he could smell the wet wool of her cloak.
His plan to ask the sisters of the convent to shelter and care for her was quickly unraveling. The journey was taking far too long and the darkness increased the risk of injury to his horse. Accepting that he had no other choice, Lachlan directed his mount off the narrow path, through the thickest section of the forest.
Miraculously, his memory was correct for he soon came upon an abandoned crofter’s hut. ’Twas in deplorable condition, but it offered some protection from the harsh weather. He carried Katherine to the threshold and kicked open the door.
There was little difference in the temperatures inside the hut and outside in the elements. When he moved, Lachlan’s breath formed visible puffs of air from the cold. He gently propped Katherine against the wall while he made a bed for her from the pieces of straw and dried leaves that covered the earthen floor. He removed her cloak and shook off the bits of snow and ice that clung to the wool.
’Twas then he noticed that the inside was lined with fur, which was dry. Absently, he rubbed a section between his thumb and forefinger, marveling at the quality. The McKennas truly were a wealthy clan if they could afford to put fur this costly inside a cloak.
Katherine coughed. With the back of his dry sleeve, Lachlan wiped the ice from her face, then remembering that his childhood nurse had always said that wet hair was the surest way to catch the sweating sickness, Lachlan unbraided her hair.
The gleaming tresses spread over the ground like a blanket of silk. Even in the darkened hut he could see them shine. He placed her cloak over her, tucking it tight to her body before going back outside to search for kindling dry enough to catch fire and burn.
After leaving a sizable pile of wood next to Katherine, he fetched his horse, tying the mount on the far side of the hut. ’Twould be cruel to keep the animal exposed to the harsh elements, and its body heat would be welcome in the enclosed space.
She began moaning and moving her head back and forth. Lachlan touched her brow, concerned at the heat he felt. Her fever had intensified and being exposed to the cold, icy snow had not helped.
As he gazed down at her, a peculiar feeling invaded his chest. She looked so helpless. The desire to cure her, protect her, save her, ran deep inside him. Not only because he felt partially responsible for her current state—though he had expressly instructed Aiden to have very little contact with the McKennas—but there was more.
He had always felt concern for those smaller and weaker, an impulse that sometimes placed him in harm’s way. It was thus with this woman, yet somehow the emotions stirring inside him were stronger than usual. Which seemed utterly ridiculous, since he didn’t know the lass at all.
There would be no taking back what Aiden had done, but if she were returned unharmed to her family, the McKenna’s anger might be appeased and his retribution lenient. Especially if his daughter pleaded their case.
Sitting close, Lachlan leaned his head against the wall. He looked down at Katherine with renewed apprehension. She was warm and dry, away from the biting cold and harsh elements. Her sleep appeared peaceful, though her chest rattled with each breath. She was young and apparently strong, for she had weathered the days of hard riding since she had been taken with enough stamina to enact a successful escape.
The best Lachlan could hope for now was that she had the strength to recover from this illness.
If she did not, well, that was simply too dire to consider.
Chapter Six
A male voice penetrated her mind, calling to her. Deep, smooth, and kind, Katherine struggled to make sense of the words, but could not. Papa? Nay, Papa’s voice would not have been so soothing, ’twould be bellowing with anger.
The thought made Katherine briefly smile. Her mirth soon brought on a fit of coughing. Her legs flayed involuntarily as she fought for breath, her body shivered and shook.
Hurts. Everything hurts.
Her limbs ached; her lips were dry and cracked, her throat scratchy and parched. She could feel herself being lifted and carried and then a sudden blast of warmth. He must have placed me beside the fire.
A strong hand elevated her head, a metal cup was raised to her lips. She tried to swallow, but her throat was too tight. The cup disappeared and she moaned, then miraculously droplets of water bathed her lips. Katherine thrust her tongue out to catch them, ignoring the pain they caused when she swallowed.
Exhausted by the efforts, she collapsed, a wave of chills running through her. A damp tendril of hair was brushed from her eyes; strong arms cradled her, wrapping her in comfort and security.
A male spoke to her in a low, gentle voice. Who was this shadowy figure of a man who showed her such tenderness and consideration? A man of God, she thought, skilled in aiding those in need.
He must have found her, rescued her. Bless ye, fer delivering me from my fate. Ye are truly one of the good Lord’s angels.
She must thank him properly for his kindness. Katherine struggled to open her eyes, but they were weighed down with fever and would not do as she commanded. She could feel herself sinking, losing control. She drifted into a bleary fog, soothed by the warmth of the fire, the unfamiliar voice and his gentle touch.
Sleep, I must sleep. No longer resisting, Katherine blissfully sank into the darkness.
* * *
An angel? Had she just called him an angel? Lachlan’s face broke into a rare grin. He knew well that a strong fever could cause a person’s mind to wander from reality. She must be very ill indeed to believe him to be an angel.
He looked down at the woman lying so still on the pallet. A sheen of sweat glistened on her upper lip. Her cheeks and brow felt hot to the touch. Putting one hand under her shoulder blades, Lachlan again lifted her into a sitting position, cradling her against his chest.
“Drink, milady,” he said coaxingly, holding another cup of fresh water to her lips.
Once again, she moaned and turned her head. Determined, Lachlan placed the cup on the floor, dipped his fingers in the water, and brought the droplets to her lips. He repeated the motions until her tongue darted out to catch them.
Encouraged, he picked up the cup and once again placed the vessel at her mouth. This time she sipped greedily until it was gone, then collapsed against him, clearly exhausted.
He brushed his fingers through her hair, then softly caressed her cheek. She sighed. He continued trying to soothe her, moving his hand over the smooth, bare flesh of her slender throat, down to her chest.
He watched her breasts rise and fall with utter fascination, like a green lad catching his first glimpse of a woman. Her tight-fitting gown displayed the curves and contours of her generous form, causing an ache to blossom inside him. A jolt of heat struck him and Lachlan realized that his body was starting to respond to her nearness.
Disgusted with himself for having carnal thoughts for a senseless woman, Lachlan abruptly pulled his hand away. She was an innocent victim caught in a situation that was not of her choosing.
Just as he was.
He was well aware of the harshness of fate and one’s inability to control it, but perhaps this time he could change its course. For her sake, as well as the MacTavish clan’s. If the unthinkable occurred, the blame would fall on their heads and the retribution that the McKennas would extract for her death would be swift and harsh.
Yet when he once again stared into her lovely, pale face, that worry gave way to a true concern for her well-being. Lachlan had no great healing knowledge, but he was a practical man possessing a fair amount of common sense. She must be kept dry and warm and fed a hearty broth. Honey would be best for her throat, but there was none to be found at this time of year.
Crushed mint leaves steeped in hot water would have to suffice. The woods were covered in snow, but mint grew like a weed and since the storm had finally eased, Lachlan planned to search for some at first light. He would also lay some rabbit traps—they would provide a rich broth that could help Katherine regain her strength.
She will recover, he told himself. And t
he moment she was strong enough to travel, he would bring her home to her kin and pray to the good Lord that would be the last time he had any dealings with the McKenna clan.
* * *
Katherine awoke with a start, blinking her eyes against the weak ray of sunlight that danced across her legs. Lifting her head, she saw that she was inside a small, crude dwelling, lying on a lumpy floor pallet that even through her clogged nose gave off a distinctly musty odor. Two cloaks covered her—one she recognized as her own, the other a larger, plain, well-worn garment.
Anxiously, she gazed about the chamber, yet puzzlingly saw no one. The room was barren of furniture, indicating the hut was uninhabited, yet a substantial fire blazed in the hearth. Hanging from a hook over the fire was a black kettle. The contents boiled and bubbled vigorously, wisps of vapor escaping and rising to the low, thatched roof.
Katherine sniffed, but the cauldron was too far away for her stuffed nose to catch any aromas. Her stomach growled and she hoped it was broth or stew simmering in the pot, not laundry or soap.
Her throat was sore, her head ached, but her chest didn’t feel as tight and her cough had loosened. ’Twas a hopeful sign that she would soon recover, and sooner still return home.
The door opened. Tensing, she looked up expectantly, her breath coming in short, shallow pants. A stranger entered the hut, stomping snow from his boots. It soaked into the hardened earth floor, creating a pattern of dark spots.
He wore no cloak and she realized that she was snuggled beneath the garment. ’Twas no small sacrifice to brave this cold winter weather without the protection of a cloak. Did she dare to assume that this considerate gesture was proof of his good character?
She didn’t recognize him as one of her captors. He was tall and broad, with hair dark as night that hung nearly to the top of his shoulders. The muscles in his arms and chest looked solid and well-defined. Dark stubble shadowed a strong jaw while deep-set eyes brimmed with curiosity and intelligence.
The Bride Chooses a Highlander Page 6