Return of the Highlander (5 page)

They descended another set of stairs that led to a narrow, torch-lit corridor below ground level.

“But then my chief would be displeased with me,” Darach replied, “and I cannot have that. I took an oath, lass. I owe him everything.”

“Yes, yes,” she said, “I understand. You’re a MacDonald and loyal to your chief.”

They arrived at her cell door, which had been left open. An armed clansman stood guard. Candles still burned inside, but Logan, the gentler one, was gone.

Darach nudged her through the doorway. “I’ll be back to collect you in one hour,” he said. “I suggest you try and get some rest because the moon is full. We’ll be traveling until midnight at least.”

“Will you give me back my own horse?” she asked, thinking of Rupert and feeling a rush of panic as Darach moved to close the door.

“Aye, you can have him.” He began to back out.

Feeling suddenly apprehensive and not wanting to be left alone, Larena took a quick step forward. “And you’re certain that Logan will come with us?”

Darach paused with his hand on the latch. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because…” she paused. “He was kind to me. And you have been…
less
than kind.”

Darach regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Logan has that way about him, especially when it comes to lassies in distress, but don’t expect him to be your nursemaid.”

“I won’t. I’m only glad it won’t be just the two of us.”

Darach inclined his head and grinned at her with devious amusement. “Ah…I see now. You’re afraid to be alone with me.”

Her sense of pride reared up violently. “I most certainly am not. Why would I be?”

“Because maybe you don’t trust yourself to resist the powers of my overwhelming masculine appeal.”

Larena let out a laugh. “Hah! Go ahead and imagine that, Darach, if it makes you feel pleased with yourself.”

“It does indeed.” He began to close the door. “Now sit tight lass. I’ll be back to fetch you in a wee bit.”

With that, he slammed the heavy oaken door and lowered the bar with a deafening clang that made her jump inside her skin.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the bar lifted again and the door opened a crack. He peered in at her with a teasing smirk.

“Don’t feel guilty, lass. It’s not a crime to find another man attractive when you’re betrothed to one you barely know.”

Before she had a chance to reply and put him in his proper place, the door slammed shut again, and she found herself lunging for the pillow to pitch it at the door.

Chapter Seven

By the time they left the castle and crossed the drawbridge to the meadow beyond, the full moon was on the rise. Crickets chirped noisily in the grasses while a gentle breeze whispered through the treetops in the forest, just ahead. The sound of Rupert’s hooves plodding over the ground was strangely comforting to Larena after her separation from him earlier that day. She was relieved to be out of the damp prison cell and on her way home, at last.

There were still many miles to cross, however, with these two MacDonald clansmen as escorts. She hoped they would prove to be good men and worthy of their laird’s trust. She also hoped Angus the Lion was worthy of
her
trust, for these were uncertain times. Pray God he had not given orders to destroy her father’s pardon—or worse, slit her throat—as soon as they crossed onto Campbell lands, for what did the Lion have to gain from the survival of her father, chief of an enemy clan? Wouldn’t he gain some personal satisfaction if the Campbell stronghold fell to the English?

Either way, she could not stop to question any of that now. She had to believe she was on her way home, and if she kept her wits about her, she would arrive in one piece, in time to save her father’s life.

* * *

It was midnight when they finally stopped to set up camp on the banks of Loch Loyne. Stubbornly, Larena had wanted to continue on, but the horses needed rest and water. Besides that, she was hardly in top condition herself, having been shot in the head that very morning by rebel Highlanders.

Well…perhaps “shot in the head” was an exaggeration. The musket ball had merely grazed her scalp, but it had been enough to cause a significant loss of blood. It was the fall shortly thereafter that had nearly killed her.

“Are you feeling all right, lassie?” Logan asked as he dismounted. “You’ve not looked well these past few miles.”

“You’ve been keeping an eye on me, have you?” she asked as she, too, attempted to dismount. She felt slightly dizzy, however, and had to pause.

“Let me help you.” Logan reached up to assist.

Laying her hands on his broad shoulders, she slid down from the saddle and came to rest lightly on her feet before him. He was not as tall or muscular as his older brother, and certainly not as darkly menacing. His hair was the color of honey and his eyes were blue, but there could be no doubt about it. He was equally handsome.

Logan’s hands still rested on her hips as he looked into her eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“I’m fine, truly.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t think so, lass.” He untied a rolled up woolen blanket from the back of his saddle and took hold of her hand, then led her away from the water to the dark edge of the forest.

“Plant yourself right here.” He spread the blanket out on the ground under a large sycamore.

“Thank you.” Larena sat down, stretched her legs out, leaned back on her arms, and closed her eyes. “That’s better.”

Logan dropped to one knee before her. “The surgeon at Kinloch said you might feel a bit woozy for a few days, on account of the swelling in your head.”

“I have a swelled head, do I?” she asked, opening her eyes and giving him a look.

Logan returned her smile. “You’d have every reason to suffer with that affliction, lass. You must receive many compliments, from men and women alike.”

She raised an eyebrow at him which only encouraged him to continue. “Surely you know how beautiful you are. You have fine cheekbones, hair like a summer sunrise…and the most friendly eyes. They make a man feel at ease.”

She regarded him uncertainly in the moonlight. “Are you flirting with me, Logan? I hardly think that’s wise. Aren’t you supposed to loath all Campbells?”

“It’s my brother who cannot let go of the past,” he replied.

Just then, Darach’s big black warhorse trotted onto the pebbly beach. They both turned their attention toward him as he rode straight to the water’s edge and waited for his horse to drink his fill before backing up and dismounting.

Logan spoke with a hint of apology in his tone. “I should help set up camp. Will you be all right here for now?”

“Of course. Thank you.”

“I’ll take care of Rupert and bring you something to eat,” Logan added. “Just lie back and rest.”

As he left her side, Larena was uncomfortably aware of Darach watching his brother take up his duties. Then Darach turned his dark, steely gaze to meet hers. He held her transfixed for a tension-filled moment before he looked away and began to unsaddle his horse.

* * *

A short while later, they were all seated around a small campfire eating bread, salt pork, and cheese. Darach was stretched out on his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire, leaning back on an elbow with his legs crossed at the ankles, while Logan sat beside Larena on a fallen tree.

“How long will it take us to reach Leathan Castle?” she asked, directing her question at Darach.

“Five days,” he replied as he tipped his leather flask up to take a swig of whatever was inside—that swift-kicking whisky, no doubt. “Six if the weather is poor and the rivers swell.”

“Don’t worry, lass,” Logan said, leaning close. “We’ll be there in plenty of time to deliver the King’s pardon. Your father will live. No matter what it takes, we’ll make sure of it. Would you like some more wine?”

“That would be very nice, thank you.” She held out her cup which he refilled from the bottle he’d brought along in one of his saddle bags.

For the next little while, Logan engaged her in conversation about her upbringing. He asked questions about her brothers and how she’d learned to shoot a bow and arrow with such deadly efficiency. He also enquired about her mother, who had died from a sudden fever when she was a girl. Logan was sympathetic and understanding when she described how the loss had affected her.

Throughout all of this, Darach offered nothing to the conversation. He sat across the fire, staring at Larena through the flames, listening to every word spoken, watching her interactions with his brother with what appeared to be extreme aversion.

When it was time to let the fire go out and get some rest, Logan stood up and offered his hand to help her rise from her seat. “If you find it chilly, lass, you can have my bedroll in addition to your own. I have my tartan to keep me warm.”

“That’s very generous of you, Logan, but I’m sure I’ll be warm enough.”

He escorted her to her bedroll and knelt beside her. “Do not worry about a thing, lass. We’ll stay close and keep watch.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “You’ve been very good to me, Logan.”

He rose to his feet and left their small camp.

Larena lay down and tried to go to sleep, but it wasn’t easy with Darach sitting broodily on the other side of the fire, watching her with what appeared to be suspicion and displeasure. He raised the whisky flask to his lips and sipped it, never taking his eyes off her while Logan whistled a tune at the water’s edge.

Tension seemed to grow thick as muck, causing Larena’s heart to pound. Feeling a sudden concern for her own welfare during the night—and that of her father’s—she glanced around at all the saddle packs and finally spotted her own. Trying not to arouse too much attention, she stood up and moved to fetch the pack that contained the King’s pardon. Carrying it back to her bedroll, she lay down and slid it under her head like a pillow.

Before she closed her eyes, she met Darach’s looming gaze and felt a shiver of apprehension in her bones. “Why are you staring at me like that?” she boldly asked. “I don’t like it.”

“There’s not much else to look at,” he coolly replied.

She let out a frustrated breath and labored to fall asleep to the eerily cheerful sound of Logan’s whistling.

* * *

She wasn’t sure what woke her. It couldn’t have been more than an hour after she’d drifted off, for what was left of the fire was still glowing red-hot on a bed of ash. She stared at the pulsing cinders in a groggy state of bewilderment.

Was she dreaming? No, sadly not. She remembered everything—the attack on the road, the gunfire, Rupert galloping off, and the violent, painful tumble down the hill to the creek bed below. She pressed two fingers to her temples, wishing all of it was naught but a bad dream. If only she could go back to the life she had known a fortnight ago, before any of this had begun.

It was impossible, of course. She had no choice but to accept the current situation, and travel through valleys and forests with two MacDonald clansmen who might or might not be worthy of her trust. She had yet to learn the answer to that.

Leaning up on one elbow, she rubbed her eyes and was surprised to see two empty bedrolls around the fire and no sign of either Darach or Logan.

Had her worst fears been realized? Had they abandoned her already and stolen her father’s pardon?

With a rush of panic, she checked the pack she’d been resting her head upon and found the document inside. She was relieved also to spot Rupert and the other two horses tethered to a nearby tree. But where were the Highlanders?

Rupert nickered softly in the night. Then she heard it—the sound of voices in the distance, speaking in hushed, heated tones. Larena tossed the coverlet aside and crawled around the fire to look further down the beach.

There, she recognized the shadowy figures of Darach and Logan, standing at the water’s edge under the ghostly glow of the moon. Logan was gesturing wildly with his hands, as if he were angry about something, though he kept his voice low.

She wished she could make out what they were saying to each other. Did it have something to do with their mission to deliver her to Leathan Castle? Perhaps Angus the Lion was a villain after all. Perhaps he had given them orders to dispose of her, or take steps along the way to prevent her father’s pardon from reaching him in time.

But Logan had been so kind to her. Perhaps he was trying to prevent that from happening.

Or perhaps this disagreement was something else entirely—something personal between the two brothers. She’d noticed the way Darach had watched her converse with Logan that evening. There had been a constant, burning hostility in his eyes that caused the hairs to rise up on the back of her neck.

Perhaps he simply didn’t approve of his brother showing her kindness, for she was a member of an enemy clan. The chief’s daughter no less.

As they continued to quarrel, she predicted one of them would soon storm off and return to the fire. Deciding it would be best if they knew nothing about her eavesdropping, she crawled back to her bedroll, lay down, and drew the cover up to her ear. Closing her eyes, she feigned sleep as she awaited their return.