Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8) (4 page)

Neacal didn't wish Anna to go. With everything in him, he yearned to linger in her bright presence a few minutes more. But how could he get her to stay?

"I'm sorry if I frightened you yesterday during practice," he blurted. "I saw you in the bailey watching."

She halted, glancing back at him with caution, her green eyes wide. "Oh. Um… nay, m'laird. You did not frighten me."

"I wish you'd call me Neacal. Every time someone says
m'laird
, I wait… expecting my father to answer."

She searched his eyes, then smiled. "Very well. I'm Anna."

He gave a nod, near rendered mute by her beautiful smile. "Anna," he said, relishing the excuse to say her name. The creamy, velvety-looking skin of her face lured him. How he wished he could stroke his fingers over her. Many months had passed since he'd last touched a woman. Och, how he had loved everything about women—their softness, their floral fragrances, the sweet taste of their kisses.

Anna's lips were full, lush and pink, just the type to entice any man. Neacal found, for the first time in eons, that he was fantasizing about kissing someone—Anna. He had gone crack-pated for a certainty.

"Do you miss your father?" she asked, startling him out of his outlandish fantasies. Her compassionate gaze made him want to speak the truth.

"Very much. He was a great man and admirable chief."

She nodded.

"Do you have any family?" he asked.

"A sister."

When she didn't elaborate, he said, "You met my sister, Maili, before she left with the MacKenzies and her new husband, Shamus."

"Aye, a lovely and sweet lady."

If Neacal were the man he used to be, he might say the same to her—that she was lovely and sweet—but he found those effortless compliments no longer rolled off his tongue with practiced ease. How he had taken everything for granted back then. He was a different person now.

She looked past him, the golden light of sunset illuminating her face and the vivid green of her eyes. "What a beautiful view," she whispered.

What a beautiful woman. He could not tear his gaze away from her long enough to see what she was talking about. Her skin was luminous ivory and her lips delicate pink. A lock of her blond hair trailed from her cowl. It looked silky and he craved rubbing it between his fingers.

"Do you not think so?" she asked.

He forced himself to send a quick glance over the loch toward the sunset. "Aye, indeed." He could not keep his gaze from venturing back to her.

She gave a shy smile. "Well, supper will begin soon and I must prepare for my performance."

He gave a brief bow. "I look forward to it."

She curtseyed. "I'll see you in the great hall."

He watched her until she disappeared from view, excitement racing through his veins. Damnation! What had just come over him? He turned as the sun dipped behind the orange clouds and dark islands in the distance. Hell, he didn't need a woman making his life even more muddled than it already was.

***

The next evening, after Anna finished singing three songs, the other musicians took over. She needed a reprieve from the crush in the great hall during the
cèilidh
. Neacal had also disappeared again, as he did half the time. Was he telling the truth about enjoying her singing? She wasn't so sure.

Still, anytime his eyes chanced to meet hers, her heartbeat sped along and she felt flushed.

Some wild and irrational part of her urged her to slip up to the ramparts again, for Neacal might be there, but…that would be madness. She'd best avoid him for many reasons. She must guard her secrets well if she wished to survive.

Aye, she would stay far from the ramparts and the tempting chief, she decided, savoring a small bowl of stew and a piece of bread in the kitchen. Most of the maids were in the great hall, carrying food or serving.

"Could I help you with anything?" she asked the cook after she'd finished eating.

Mistress Pottenger eyed her with a lifted graying auburn brow. "I thought you a singer rather than a kitchen maid."

"Aye, indeed, but I like to keep busy." Anything to keep her mind off the chief and how much she wanted to talk to him again.

Mistress Pottenger limped forward and handed her a small wooden bowl. "Aye, if you wouldn't mind taking these scraps out to wee
Cèilidh
. I would take them myself but my bad knee is paining me something fierce this eve."

"Of course. I would be glad to. Who is
Cèilidh
?"

"The black cat what catches all the mice. She has wee kittens hidden somewhere and I'm thinking she needs extra food."

"Oh, aye." Anna smiled. "I petted her earlier today in the garden, then I secretly followed her toward the back sheds. I did see a tiny black kitten."

"Indeed."

"Mayhap you should see Tavia about something to rub on your knee."

"Aye, I will. I've been on my feet too much today."

Anna headed out the door and across the bailey. The torches had been lit, but 'twas still light out. No one was about, although she was certain the guards on duty were in the gatehouse. Everyone else was inside the keep, dancing to the lively music. During supper, the great hall grew too warm and stuffy with all the people shoulder to shoulder. She much preferred some time alone in the fresh air. Besides, she liked being helpful to Mistress Pottenger. The woman had been kinder to her than most people. She also knew the woman likely had to keep working despite her knee pain in order to earn a living. She truly hoped the healer could help her.

Anna called the cat but didn't see her anywhere. She strode around behind the stables toward the back sheds where the hay and grain were stored. This was where she'd seen a tiny black kitten that had escaped the nest.

Upon entering the shed, she saw naught but straw upon the ground. She soon heard mews in the back corner and found the wee critters. The mama cat meowed a warning and came out to greet her. No doubt to keep her away from her babies.

"Here you go." Anna poured the meat scraps from the bowl onto the clean straw. The sleek black cat tore into the food as if famished. Anna crept closer to the squirming, wiggling pile of kittens, then knelt to better observe them. Four black ones and two gray. They all hissed at her. How adorable. She smiled and stroked their soft fur anyway, despite their hisses.

"Indeed, you have a large family to feed."

Mama cat mewled but didn't leave her food.

"I won't hurt them,
Cèilidh
," she whispered. Funny that Mistress Pottenger had named the cat after the song and dance the clan engaged in every night.

How Anna loved babies of any type, human or animal. If Blackburn hadn't shoved her down the stairs and caused her to have a miscarriage, she might be holding her own sweet bairn. The lass would've been two years old by now. Tears pricked her eyes, blurring her vision as she watched the squirming kittens beneath her hands. How soft they were.

"What are you doing out here, my little songbird?" asked a rough male voice behind her.

Anna jerked around. 'Twas the huge, burly guard who often stared at her, the one who'd spoken to her in the bailey a few days ago—Farquar.

"I was simply feeding the cat." She rose to her feet.

"Ah." Farquar watched her with focused interest, as a wolf watches a lamb.

Alarm prickled through her. "I was just leaving," she said, picking up the wooden bowl. "The other musicians are awaiting me. I'm to sing two more songs." 'Twas a lie but her instincts warned her to get away from him.
Now.

"Wouldn't you like to entertain me first?" He smirked.

Her heart rate increasing, she took a step back. "What do you mean?"

His grin grew nasty and his lewd gaze traveled down her body. "Although your voice is lovely, 'tis not the part of you I'm interested in at the moment."

Her heart vaulted into her throat.
Dear God, help me.

Spurred by her instincts, she threw the bowl at him and darted toward the shed's exit. He snatched her arm and jerked her around hard. Pain shot through her shoulder. "Ow!"

"Where are you going? We're about to have some fun, lassie."

Anna shoved at Farquar's massive, armor-covered chest. "Unhand me! Now!" Panic slashed through her. She tried to yank her arm free of the guard, but his tight grip proved vicelike.

"You're awfully demanding for a mere servant." He laughed and turned her to face away from him.

"I'm no servant!" She elbowed him in the stomach.

He grunted, gave her hair a painful yank and spoke against her ear. "I'll tell you what you are. You're my whore and you're going to service my needs anytime I want." He ground himself against her derriere.

Nausea welling inside her, she yelled, "Help!" Then she let out a piercing scream, hoping even those in the great hall would hear her. But with the loud music, she had little hope.

Dear God… help me…

The beast covered her mouth with his hand, picked her up and carried her into the dark back corner of the shed, behind a pile of hay. Oh, saints! What was she going to do? Terror rampaged through her like a runaway team of horses.

My knife!
Aye, if only she could reach the knife on her calf.

She sank her teeth into his hand, but his palms were so calloused, he barely seemed to notice. She kicked her heels against his legs, elbowed him.

He lay her face down and sat straddling her, pinioning her beneath him. He shoved her face into the rough and scratchy straw and removed his hand. She turned her face aside and screamed as loud as her voice would allow.

"Shut your mouth, bitch," he hissed.

He quickly tied some sort of cloth through her mouth and around her head. She continued to shout but the sounds were so muffled no one would hear them.

Moving to one side, Farquar yanked at her skirts.

If she didn't hurry, he would see her small dagger and take it from her. He might even kill her with her own blade.

She turned, kicking at his head. Her heel smashed against his jaw. He flung his full weight on top of her, near crushing her.

"You whore!" he growled low and placed his hand tight around her throat, cutting off her air.

Saints!
She gasped for breath but could get none. Panicked, she clawed at his fingers.

"Do that again and I'll choke you," he said. "If you want to live, you'll give me what I want and you'll tell no one."

Suffocating, she struggled against his overwhelming strength, trying to draw her knee up toward her chest so she might reach her weapon. It was her last hope.

"Do you understand?" He shook her.

Mindless and desperate for air, Anna nodded, tears blurring her vision. He released some of the pressure from her throat and she inhaled deeply.

Slowly, she eased her hand downward. First, she had to pull up her skirts past her calf without him noticing. Unlikely.

"I've wanted you since the first time I saw you, wee songbird," Farquar whispered against her ear. "You're as lovely as a wild rose."

Nausea welled up inside her. She tried to kick him off, but he was massive, his hard strength immovable.

Please, God, help me!

***

From the battlements, Neacal observed the moonlight reflecting off the rippling loch below. The wind blew through his hair and he drew the fresh salt air deep into his chest. Anna's songs this eve had again twisted through him. He could not grasp the profound effect it had on him. Disturbing and soothing at the same time. After she finished singing, he'd simply wanted to get away from the crowd and listen to the silence for a while, let the memory of the music wash over him again. Or talk to her, but she'd disappeared. He wanted to go searching for her but everyone would notice. The servants would talk.

Dunn whined, gave a soft bark then ran to the other end of the wall walk where it looked down over the bailey.

"What is it, lad?" Neacal followed him and heard the sound himself—a woman's scream. "What the devil?" Who was that? He looked down, but could see no one in the torch-lit gloaming. Despite the wind, he heard sounds of struggle, muffled female cries.

"Damnation!" Neacal raced down several flights of narrow stairs. Dunn's claws clicked behind him.

As Neacal passed through the kitchens, he had a quick glimpse of three startled female servants watching him. He rushed out the door, through the kitchen garden and across the bailey. He paused, trying to listen despite his elevated breathing and heartbeat thumping in his ears.

Dunn passed him, loping ahead, toward the area behind the stables. Neacal hurried after him, then caught his collar as they entered the shed.

"Stay," he hissed softly and drew his sword.

"Ow! You bitch!" a man growled behind a pile of hay. "Where the hell did you get a knife?"

Neacal hastened forward. The dim light of gloaming revealed two people struggling upon the ground. A knife went flying.

"For that, I'll show you no mercy!" One of the castle guards was choking a woman upon the ground.

Neacal leapt forward and kicked the man off her. Damnation, 'twas Anna Douglas, a gag tied in her mouth. He switched his gaze to the attacker. His largest guard, Farquar, stared up at him in shock from where he'd landed on his back.

"You bastard!" Neacal growled. "How dare you…" Rage consumed him in a hot wave. He kicked the guard in the face and sent him sprawling backward again.

Farquar scrambled to his feet and snatched his sword from its scabbard. He was a couple of inches taller than Neacal but that mattered not. How dare his own guard attack Anna and then challenge him?

"I see," Neacal said. "You wish to die this night."

Farquar grinned. "'Tis doubtful. You're not half the chief your brother was."

So, Farquar was one of the last few still loyal to his dead brother.

"Are you all right, lass?" Neacal asked Anna.

Nodding, she struggled to remove the gag from her mouth.

"I didn't get to have my fun yet, if that's what you're asking," Farquar sneered.

"Nor will you, ever again," Neacal said. The fury burning in his veins like molten steel urged him to run the man through. "Go, Anna! Run back inside!" Neacal needed to focus on killing this whoreson before he hurt another woman.

Anna scrambled away from them, but Neacal couldn't take time to see where she'd gone. Farquar charged him, sword aimed at his gut. Neacal blocked the blow, yanked his dirk from the scabbard and stabbed Farquar in the shoulder.

The man growled in pain, calling him several vile names.

"How dare you force yourself on a woman while working for me?"

"What's it to you? You're a raving lunatic who wouldn't know what to do with a woman if you had one under you."

Neacal gave a humorless smile and attacked, slashing and thrusting his blades. If the knave wanted to see a lunatic, Neacal would give him one. Farquar couldn't keep up with his quick and efficient slices. Neacal's sword stabbed into the man's chest. He tried to jab Neacal at the same time, but Neacal raised his dirk and cut the man's throat. He shoved the bleeding bastard away, sending him sprawling to the ground where he squirmed about. Neacal watched him carefully, lest he leap up and get in one last thrust before death claimed him. Moments later, the guard lay still, the straw soaking up his blood.

Neacal drew in a deep breath, incredibly relieved he'd stopped the rapist before he could do his evil deed. Especially to Anna. She was the closest thing to an angel he'd ever seen.

Neacal hadn't realized the blackguard was completely disloyal. How many others were? He would have to be much more cautious and watch each of his soldiers.

Sobs echoed behind him. He swung around to find Anna huddled on the ground in a dark corner, her knees drawn up.

"Saints, lass! I told you to go inside." He knelt beside her. "Did the knave hurt you? Did he… force you?"

"Nay," she whispered. "You showed up… just in time." Her tears glinting in the low light ripped at his heart.

"Thank God. Did he hurt you elsewhere?"

Still crying, she shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'll be all right. I thank you, m'laird."

"Call me Neacal. And you need not thank me. 'Tis my responsibility to protect those living under my roof, especially women." Though he knew not why, some raging, volcanic force within him made him feel he would fight every last one of his guards to protect her if he had to. "Why did you not run when I told you to? If he'd bested me, he could've killed you next."

"I knew he wouldn't best you," she whispered, meeting his gaze. "I've seen you practicing in the bailey several times. Besides, I didn't want to leave you alone with him."

Her words bewildered him. Why would she not want to leave him alone with an opponent? Did she think to protect him somehow? Before he had time to ask her to clarify, two more guards burst into the shed and slid to a halt in the straw when they saw him.

Neacal rose to his full height, ready to defend himself and Anna if these two sought revenge for their fellow guard. If one was disloyal, more could be. He trusted no one.

"M'laird?" Gegrim said. "We heard Dunn barking and then the sword fight."

Dunn had been barking? Neacal hadn't noticed. He motioned to the dead man. "Farquar tried to force himself upon Mistress Douglas, then he drew his sword and challenged me."

The two gaped, wide-eyed, their attention shifting from him to Farquar and back again. "Is he dead?"

"Of course. Did you ken he was disloyal?" Neacal observed them closely, wondering if they were.

They shook their heads. "Nay, chief."

"Get him out of here." Neacal helped Anna to her feet, then picked her up. He carried her out of the shed.

"I can walk," she whispered, stiffening in his arms.

"I know," he murmured. But she was still shaking from the fright and her legs might be weak. He didn't wish her to fall.

Saints, how light and soft she was. He'd almost forgotten how delectable a woman could feel in his arms. It had been such a long time. Something urged him to hold her closer, tight against his body, but he forced himself not to. The feminine scent of her hair made him yearn to bury his nose in the tousled blond waves and inhale her. But, nay, he could not do that either. He was but seeing her to safety and that was all. She'd already been traumatized by a man. Likely she did not want Neacal touching her either, but he had little choice at the moment.

Regardless of the situation, temptation teased at his instincts, for he had once been more roguish than most. Shoving the feeling aside, he quickly carried her around the stables and across the cobblestone bailey. He absorbed the instant she relaxed in his arms and held on around his neck… the most rewarding sensation he'd experienced in a long time. Trust emanated from her and he even glimpsed it in her eyes when she chanced to look up at him. Saints, but she was enticing… even more so because of her trust.

Halting outside the kitchen, he lowered her to her feet and made sure she was steady before releasing her. "You'll be all right, then?"

She stared up at him, her eyes still red and glistening with the remains of her tears. "Aye, and I thank you again, m'laird."

"Neacal," he reminded her.

"Neacal."

The sound of his name in her feminine voice sent a hot shiver through him. Pushing the sensation away, he nodded. "If anyone should bother you again, let me know."

"I will." She gave him a small smile.

He forced his gaze away from that beguiling sight. "And don't be wandering about the bailey alone at gloaming or at night until I make sure all my men are trustworthy." He opened the door and helped her inside. "Take her to Tavia," he told one of the kitchen maids.

"Aye, m'laird."

"I am well, truly," Anna protested.

"Allow Tavia to examine you for bruises and broken bones. I'll ask her later if she's checked you over thoroughly."

Anna blushed, appearing uncomfortable. "Very well. I'll find her myself. No need to bother the kitchen staff."

Neacal gave a brief nod, then closed the door. Tavia was a skilled healer and if Anna had any serious injuries that hadn't come to light yet, she would find them.

As he crossed the bailey, four guards carried Farquar's body from the shed. A few more men had gathered there including his sword-bearer.

"Tell all the men to come out into the bailey," he said to Matthew. "Not the elders, but everyone else."

"Aye, chief." Matthew frowned but hastened up the steps toward the front entry. He wanted every man here to clearly understand his stance against rape.

While Neacal waited, several of his men gave him a wider berth than usual and watched him warily. What the devil was going through their minds? Did they think he'd murdered Farquar? His anger returned by slow degrees. He didn't trust most of his men, and they obviously didn't trust him either. A potentially explosive situation.

Once all the men were assembled, gloaming was creeping toward night. In the torchlight, he climbed the steps and addressed the men, raising his voice. "Farquar is dead because he tried to force himself on a female guest. When I stopped him, he drew his sword to fight me. Any man within these walls who forces himself upon a female will suffer the same fate. Do I make myself clear?" Renewed rage slid through his veins.