DevilsHeart (26 page)

Anger uncoiled within her belly, drowning out the
trepidation over his arising temper. “You think I was raped?”

His brows rose in seeming surprise.

“I remember every moment of that day,” she snapped. “The
attack of warriors where there was nowhere safe for me to hide. It is why Rathe
sent me away, thinking only of how close I was to MacAirth land. He wanted to
get me away from the danger. But from out of nowhere, a man grabbed me when I stopped
to rest my horse. It was like he was waiting for me.”

He tilted his head as though attempting sympathy. “Oh, my
darling. To be violated—”

“There was no rape because I killed him.”

He parted his lips as though to speak but remained silent
and then cast his eyes to the tabletop.

It was as good as admitting his guilt. Tears stung her eyes.
What kind of monster would do that to someone? Try to poison her against the
man she’d married and then send some stranger to attack her in the hopes of
destroying her trust in Rathe or simply cause him anguish for not protecting
her?

And people called Rathe—the man
she
loved—the Satan
of the Highlands. She almost snorted. She was sitting across from the real
devil this very moment and it sure as hell wasn’t her husband.

Andrew sat back in his chair, watching her in silence. She
shrank back as well, losing her appetite and fighting for deep, even breaths as
the rage boiled within her.

“You are a clever one, I will give you that,” he murmured.
He shrugged and poured more wine into his goblet. “Sometimes a man must do
unpleasant things to right a wrong.”

“You made me kill someone.”

The anger and hurt in her voice were surprisingly not lost
on him. He nodded. “I will buy you an indulgence, my lady. The bishop is most
understanding about such things.” Then he smiled as though they had just made
up. “You are such a sensitive little thing. Pure, dutiful. It is regrettable
you had to sully your hands in such a way. Or debase yourself for a man of such
dark, unspeakable lusts.”

He motioned toward her goblet with the carafe of wine and
she shook her head.

“Are you carrying the Sinclair’s child yet?”

Her lashes fluttered. She pressed her lips together as a
strange calmness descended upon her. There was no way in hell she would give him
any more ammunition to hurt Rathe or to manipulate her. “No.”

He smiled and nodded. “Good. I am glad of it. For your sake,
of course.”

Of course.

“I often think of Marjorie, the Sinclair’s last wife. She
was so much like you. Delicate, lovely, pious.” He uttered a wistful sigh. “I
tried to help her while he was away in France for so long. To aid in her escape
from his clutches. It was a tragedy how it ended. But no matter. I will not
allow you to succumb to the same fate.” He lifted his goblet in the air as
though to toast her and then threw back a healthy swig.

Tried to help her? Helped himself was more like it. But did
he even know about Daniel?

“It wasn’t some Frenchman she took up with at court, was it?
It was you.”

He chuckled. “Ah, your perceptiveness is amazing, my lady.
There was a Frenchman for a time. The lass was so starved for attention. She
loved the feasts the king gave, the dancing, the intrigue. But her interest in
him faded once I got a hold of her.” A self-satisfied smirk spread across his
lips, his eyes turning smoky as he stared at her. “A dalliance with her
husband’s rival excited her. Meeting in dark corners roused her passion. She
had had little with the Sinclair. He was too rough, too lurid. I, on the other
hand, am a gentle lover. Slow. I only want to please.”

Her stomach churned with a sickly violence. The bed behind
Andrew seemed to grow larger before her eyes. Meeting here wasn’t a
coincidence. Her legs twitched in an impulse to run.

Could she distract him somehow? Somehow buy herself and
Rathe some time? The light in the chamber had grown dimmer as they ate. She
threw a quick glance toward the window. The fur had been drawn just enough for
her to catch a sliver of the cloudy, dying light of day. It would be nightfall
soon. Surely Rathe was near home, if not already there. With no visible moon to
guide them, Andrew wouldn’t be likely to send warriors to the Sinclair holding
if she revealed anything about little Daniel, would he? Maybe she could even
lie about the child’s whereabouts.

“She gave birth, you know. Marjorie.”

Her voice had been low and measured, but Andrew reacted as
though she’d shouted. He jumped, leaning forward in his chair. “What?”

He doesn’t know.

Agitated now, he sat back and then leaned forward again. “When?”

“Only a few days before she killed herself.”

His eyes shifted as though calculating events and time in
his mind.

And then she hit him with it. “He looks just like you.”

He grabbed the table and it wobbled. His knuckles turned
white. “He? I have a son?”

She nodded and he leapt from his chair. Startled, she
jumped.

He walked toward the door and then back to her, his face
darkening. “How do you know this? Where is he?”

She swallowed hard, her mouth drying with unease. “The
mormaer took him in. Rathe refused to accept him since the child wasn’t his.”

His spine stiffened as he backed away from her, lost in his
own thoughts. She blew out a long breath.

Then he shook his head, pacing again. “That little bitch.
She was supposed to stay. We had a plan.”

A plan? Leah’s eyes darted back and forth between Andrew as
he muttered to himself and the bed. Was her kidnapping a simple continuation of
his stalled plan to destroy Rathe?

A knock broke through the strained silence.

“Enter!” Andrew barked, stopping in the middle of the room
and crossing his arms.

Jacob appeared in the doorway and gave Leah a nod before
turning to Andrew. “Forgive me for the interruption, but I have reports the
Sinclairs are on the move.”

Andrew’s dark, brooding demeanor flipped to its polar opposite.
His face lightened and he smiled. “Good. Let them come. Put our men on alert.
With the Dunlop coming in from the east, we will trap them in the valley.
Annihilate the lot of them.”

An ambush. Leah pressed her lips together, meeting Jacob’s
gaze. Guilt floated through his eyes and he tore them away.

Her eyes dropped back to the table, landing on her dinner
knife. She moved one hand upward. Andrew’s back still faced her and Jacob was
no longer paying her any attention as he spoke in hushed tones with his laird.
She slipped the knife under the table and with careful attention, slid it
tip-first into the sleeve of her chemise, tucking the handle just inside the
hem.

Andrew glanced back at her and she folded her hands in her
lap, forcing what she hoped would be a placid expression onto her face.

He sighed and walked over to her, offering her his hand. “I
do apologize, my sweet, but I fear we shall have to cut our evening short.”

Relief flooded her limbs and she stood, accepting his hand.
He guided her across the room to Jacob and brought her hand to his lips.

“It will be all the sweeter once this unpleasantness is
behind us.” He placed a soft kiss upon her hand.

Her skin crawled with disgust and it was all she could do to
not rip her hand away. She spun her head toward Jacob, needing something to
anchor her through the storm of terror raging through her.

Jacob’s face remained expressionless as he led her back down
the hallway to the chamber she’d bathed in earlier. The footfalls of the guards
echoed behind them until the men took up their positions to either side of the
door. The two women who’d assisted her earlier stood as she and Jacob entered.

“I wish you a peaceful rest, my lady,” he stated with a bow
before slipping back out into the corridor.

Rathe glanced over his shoulder. The old Dunlop laird
stumbled, pulling on the rope binding his wrists together and causing the young
warrior holding the rope at the other end to jerk backward.

Rathe sighed in annoyance and shook his head. The Dunlops
put up little resistance once they were surrounded by the troops of three
larger, more skilled clans. He could have left the old man behind, but he did
not want to risk the Dunlop scheming again. They would be stopping for the
night soon. When they arose, they would tie him to a tree and retrieve him
after the battle.

By the time they stopped, it was well past dark. They were
just beyond the MacTavish border. The loch on which the keep sat was not far
through the valley. MacTavish would be expecting them on the morrow. But in
just a few short hours they would move in under the cover of darkness. If all
went as planned, the mormaer would meet them from the south. He just prayed
Leah could hold on and the mormaer’s presence as the king’s emissary would
ensure her safety.

There would be no fires tonight. The sky was black, giving
them a modicum of cover. The longer they could keep their location hidden, the
better. Many warriors now stood guard, positioning themselves along the edge of
the woods, on the lookout for anyone who might be scouting out their position.

“Galen,” Rathe whispered, fighting the weariness in his
bones. His body wanted sleep but his mind had other plans.

Galen grunted.

“If I die, help her to find the stone which will take her
home. If she wants, let her take Màiri and Daniel with her.”

There was a long pause before Galen spoke. “But Màiri is
your heir.”

Rathe snorted. “Her husband would be my heir if the
MacTavish were killed and God knows who it might be. No, Leah is her mother
now. I would not want Màiri to be without her. You and Calum take over the clan
though. Find someone worthy to lead them. The mormaer will abide by your
decision if he can.”

“And if we do not find the stone?”

Rathe shook his head in reluctance. Leah would need a
protector—a husband. He bit back a snarl forming in his throat. As much as he
despised the notion of another man touching her, preparations needed to be made
in case he did not see the end of this battle. She might be carrying his son
and, if she were, she’d need someone to care for them, help her raise the child
to manhood, and be a good caretaker of his clan until his son was ready to take
over. Someone he could trust.

Calum sat against a nearby tree with his eyes closed. Rathe
kicked him in the foot.

“Hey,” he muttered. “Damn it, Rathe. Can I not have a moment
of rest?”

“You need to marry her.”

Calum opened one eye and stared at him. “Your wife?”

Rathe nodded, his chest tightening.

Calum shrugged, snapping his eye back shut. “What the hell.
Guess I could do that.”

“You will like her,” Galen commented. “Pretty little thing.
Quiet. If she can put up with this ass, she will probably get along quite well
with you.”

Calum nodded. “Huh. Just so I am clear, Sinclair, you have
to be dead first, right?”

Rathe’s fist twitched as he settled back against his own
tree. “Keep it up and I will use you in place of my shield tomorrow.”

Calum grinned. “Or maybe I will use you. I like the sound of
a quiet, pretty wife warming my bed.”

Rathe kicked him in the foot again. “She is too good for
you, MacBain. I may have to reconsider.”

* * * * *

As much as Leah fought it, the comfort of a bed and warmth
of blankets lulled her toward sleep. Her unease made it fitful, however, and
several times she awoke with a start at some bump or footstep in the hallway.

She slid her thumb over the smooth handle of the knife she’d
secreted under her pillow. The look in Andrew’s eyes had been unmistakable—he
meant to have sex with her. Or rape her. She wasn’t convinced he’d shelved the option,
considering he’d sent someone after her already to do the same thing.

It most likely had nothing at all to do with her. She was
being used to hurt Rathe, to draw him out. Perhaps to drive him mad enough to
make some fatal mistake so the Sinclair holdings would revert back to Andrew
since Rathe had no sons.

She rubbed her lower abdomen. The swelling was beginning.
She might indeed be carrying Rathe’s son, which made it all the more important
Andrew not know she was pregnant. The man was pure evil and she did not want to
entertain any notion of what he might do if he found out.

Low murmurs seeped in from the hallway, pulling her back
into a state of alertness. A click of the door. A shuffle. She pressed her eyes
closed, her hand gripping the knife under her pillow.

A rustle of clothing. A shift of the blanket. The mattress
sinking.

Oh God.

A hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her onto her back from
where she lay on her side. Lips brushed her neck. Fear slithered through her
skin, winding in her belly and wrapping around her heart. Her hand shook under
the pillow as rough hands dragged her chemise up her thighs and a dark figure
loomed over her.

She froze in panic, her chest aching. He eased himself down
onto her, wedging a knee between her legs. His lips grazing across her cheek.

Hate rushed through her, seizing her muscles with mounting
energy. How dare he do this to her? To Rathe? How dare he force her into
hurting him?

And then the rage unleashed. Her arm flew up and she plunged
the blade downward into his back. He roared and in an instant his hands were
around her neck, pushing her into the mattress, squeezing.

She gasped for breath, clawing at his hands and writhing
beneath him. Dizziness set in. She was running out of time. She flailed at him
and somehow her knee made contact with his groin. His hands fell away as he
sucked in a breath and she slid out from under him onto the floor.

“Ungrateful, spiteful bitch,” he growled, reaching back to
withdraw the knife from his shoulder. “Come here!”

He fell onto the floor after her, grabbing her foot. She
kicked at him, dragging herself toward the door. Her hand hit something cold,
thin, and hard.

The iron fireplace poker.

He flipped her onto her back, her chemise riding up to her
hips. She twisted and grabbed the poker, swinging it at him. It landed with a
dull thud against his skull. His head flew to the side and then he crumpled.

The door swung open and the silhouette of a man appeared,
backlit by the wall torches in the corridor. She gasped and scrambled backward
as the figure rushed to her.

Jacob looked her over and then stooped beside Andrew. He
gave her a sharp look. “Grab your shoes, lass. You need to run. Now, while you
have the chance.”

A surge of energy shot through her and she scurried around
Andrew’s lifeless body. Jacob threw a blanket around her shoulders as she
slipped on her shoes and then dragged her to the door. He looked up and down
the hall before pulling her into it.

“Follow me,” he whispered, taking her hand.

He led her down corridors and stairways until he came to one
final door. Cold air hit her in the face as he opened it. He guided her across
the courtyard and behind several buildings, following around the curtain wall.
They came to a stop just behind a building next to the gate.

Men shouted to one another, passing back and forth through
the gate. Wagons creaked as they rolled in, pulled by horses and weighed down
by grain sacks.

“When I tell you to go, you run through the gate. Follow the
wall along to the right and then left along the loch. Stay out of sight, stick
to the edge of the woods, and do not stop. The Sinclairs are not far. Just
through the valley on Dunlop land. I will try to guide our men away from you,
but it is up to you to get to safety.”

Her mind raced, overwhelmed and frightened. The sky was
almost pitch-black. Could she find her way without getting lost or caught? And,
honestly, could she trust Jacob? He did work for Andrew after all.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Why are you helping me?”

He gave her a sideways glance and returned to his vigil. “It
is time for this to end. My four older brothers have all died in battle against
the Sinclairs. Two of them only two months ago during the attack meant to draw
you away and make you vulnerable to assault.” He looked back at her once again,
remorse dulling his eyes. “I am sorry, my lady. We all knew it was wrong. But
when a man is your laird…” He shook his head and sighed. “It was not one of
us—a MacTavish would not have agreed to do that.”

“Your laird is a MacTavish.”

His head dipped into a clipped nod. “Make me a promise, my
lady. Your husband will finish him this time. My poor mother has naught but me
left. And I have daughters soon to come of age. I do not want him around them.
He…”

He shook his head again but did not finish his thought.

A shout broke from the keep and Jacob held up his hand to
her. Men dropped everything and ran across the courtyard. He motioned for her
to stay where she was and then he disappeared into the darkness along the
curtain wall.

She held her breath, her knuckles aching from the tension of
her grip on the blanket around her shoulders. A wagon groaned to a stop in the
middle of the gateway and the men abandoned it, running after their fellow
warriors toward the keep. Other men shouted at them, motioning them back so
they could close the gate.

Jacob dashed out of some building and waved the men toward
the keep. He shouted at the men near the gate mechanism to help him move the
horse and wagon. His gaze met hers.

It was time.

She waited for the men to turn their backs and then slipped
into the shadows of the gate. The wagon shifted and jumped, beginning to move
forward. She peeked around the corner, scrutinizing the darkness for any
movement, and slipped around to the exterior of the curtain wall.

With careful steps, she glided along the structure in
perfect silence. The shout for the gate closure echoed through the darkness and
she held her breath until it creaked closed. But instead of relief, fear
escalated in her throat, gripping her heart. Jacob had spoken about the Dunlop
border as though she had any clue of what it meant or where it was. And what if
she couldn’t find Rathe? The Dunlops had attacked the Sinclairs just before
Andrew arrived. Wouldn’t she just be walking into enemy territory?

It didn’t matter. She must continue moving. For Rathe. For
the baby and little Màiri and Daniel. There was no other choice. Besides,
hadn’t Rathe warned her once if she ran away again he would find her? He’d
caught her with such exacting ease despite her hours-long head start. As long
as he was victorious against Andrew, he would find her.

She just had to survive until then.