Samantha Holt (Highland Fae Chronicles) (2 page)

In and out.
She focused on breathing.
In and out.
Coarse fingers came to the neckline of her gown and tugged. When the Norseman kissed the curve of her breast, her breaths quickened. The brush of prickly beard and the sight of his fair head upon her chest began to chip away at the wall. Slowly her defences were crumbling—like that of the castle. The realisation that she could not survive this raider invading her body made her palms damp, her blood soar through her veins. The pounding of alarm through her urged her to flee or fight.

She managed to rein in her terror long enough for him to drop to his knees and hoist her skirts. Those blood-tinged fingers pinched the flesh of her thighs as they slithered their way to her juncture. Unable to bear it any longer—and silently praying this moment would be her salvation—she brought her knee up into his face with all the strength her panic-ridden limbs could muster.

A sharp shout came from the man—a word that sounded like a curse, and he dropped back and clutched his nose. Catriona flitted her gaze desperately around while blood seeped from between his fingers and his eyes hardened. She could not flee until the man was rendered senseless. He still stood between herself and escape. But she had nothing with which to defend herself.

She tried to press past him but strong hands wrapped around her waist and hauled her back against the wall. A fist to her face sent the world spinning and fiery pain flared through her cheek.

His leather armour squeaked while he positioned himself, forcing her thighs apart with a painful grip. Somehow Catriona muffled her scream while she fought and thrashed against the giant. Tears dripped freely down the sides of her face. Rape—maybe death—was all that awaited her now.

One hand pinned her wrists above her head, while the other concentrated on yanking up her heavy skirts. Still she whipped about. Whatever he took, he would not take easily. Defeat beat heavily in her breast but she refused to give up yet.

Her attacker pressed back briefly to free himself and something warm splattered across her chest. The grip on her wrists loosened and Catriona blinked as the Viking’s wrathful expression turned to one of confusion. He made a gargling sound as more liquid spilled onto her and the tip of a sword burst from his chest. Holding back the scream that tore from her throat proved impossible this time as the point hovered close to her own chest. The Viking fell away and clutched the wound as the blade withdrew. Scrabbling away, she looked on in horror as his head dropped and he collapsed to the floor. Any relief she may have felt was replaced with shaking terror when a larger Viking took his place. He sheathed his sword and eyed her.

“Who are ye?” he demanded.

His brogue confused her. A native of one of the western isles perhaps?

“I-I am Lady Katelyn.” The words tumbled out before she considered it. Why keep up the lie for this Viking? Yet, she could not let the truth out, not even to her enemy. Not when Gillean, Katelyn’s betrothed, might add to Bute’s troubles.

Catriona tried not to sob. All her fighting had been for nothing. She would never hold off
this
man. His blue gaze flicked over her and he lunged forward and snatched her into his hold.

“Come with me,” he ordered before throwing her over his shoulder.

The pain in her cheek muddled her thoughts but she still fought his grip. Catriona clawed at his back, fingernails cracking against his leather armour. His shoulder winded her as he hefted her into a firmer hold, strong arm clamped tightly around her. Desperation seared through her while her kicks weakened. The blow to her face must have done more damage than she thought. Vision blurred, her stomach lurched and blood pounded into her face. She was weakening. Who knew what would happen now? The Viking was already carrying her out of the rear of the castle. Everything passed in a haze. Shouts and the scrape of swords were distant now and she realised she was losing her senses. Where was he taking her?

Time slipped by in ebbs. It seemed that suddenly they were far from the keep, the lush green of the island grass shooting past her. Her kidnapper’s gait was fast and sure but at times it felt as if she were suspended in time, her thoughts growing more confused, limbs becoming weak. If she could only fight the brute of a man. Grey rocks appeared to come too close to her head as he descended the slowly rolling hills. Catriona suspected they were headed toward the coast.

To return to Norway?

Once, a long time ago, the Norsemen kidnapped Scots women and took them to their homeland, never to be seen again. Mayhap she was to be a prize of war.

Shingle crunched under his boots. They were by the sea. The man stopped and her heart tripped. Suddenly the arm around her loosened and she plummeted down. Rough wood met her rear and she scrabbled to right herself. Sitting in the damp bottom of a small boat, Catriona glanced fearfully around at the men surrounding her, all sat on benches and ready to row. Her throat grew dry and tight, and she considered screaming. For what though? No aid would come.

He climbed into the boat and Catriona blinked up at him. The huge fair warrior barely glanced at her as he stepped over the benches and shouted to the men in his unusually fluent Gaelic.

“We must away—with haste. Dusk will be upon us soon.”

When he faced her, Catriona was unable to prevent herself from scurrying back, nearly knocking into one of the other men’s bare leg. But instead of grabbing her or threatening her, he simply smiled. His strong features lit with the grin.

Gaze skipping from man to man as the grey light of dusk settled over them, she rose and peered over the edge of the boat. They were not yet away from the beach. Another man had jumped out to push the boat from the shoal. There was still a chance for escape.

Catriona stood abruptly, making the vessel rock and prepared to jump overboard.

***

Finn glanced behind him, noting the hazy flicker of light on the hills. Either a fire had been lit in an attempt to burn out the defenders or the Norse had taken the keep and were in full command now, lighting the torches and readying to claim the island as theirs.

They were not yet out of danger. He couldn’t even be sure they would be safe on the mainland. The Norse boats were surely quicker than their small vessel and more heavily manned. Once they realised the lady of the keep was gone, they might look for her.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. How exactly had he become embroiled in all this? Oh, aye, his wee sister of course.  A lady he could never deny. Under pressure from her brother by marriage to gather men and rescue his betrothed, she had asked for his aid. Ach, but Laird Gillean would never risk his own life for a lass, Finn thought bitterly. Originally the laird had planned to fetch Lady Katelyn off the isle himself but when it became apparent the Norse invasion was imminent, he was conveniently called away on business, leaving Lorna with few men to carry out such a duty. But how could a brother ignore the imploring missive of a sister?

He swivelled to glance over their precious bundle. The lass cowered and looked at him as if he were some strange creature. It was to be expected. No doubt her mind was somewhat addled after her experience. She clearly had no knowledge of warfare and no woman should have to go through near ravishment. Finn curled his fist at the memory of seeing that rancid excuse for a warrior mounting her. Ach, but at least he had the satisfaction of having drawn the man’s blood. Never again would he touch any of the fine Scottish lassies.

About to turn and take his seat, a movement caught his eye. He lunged forward as Katelyn stood and took a step over the side of the boat. They were still practically on the shore so she landed in the soft sand with ease, just out of Finn’s reach, water lapping at her thighs.

Calling her name, he leaned over the edge and cursed as the vessel rocked. The foolish lass was going to get them wet and not all the men were able to swim. Regardless of the depth, if there was a strong tide they’d be pulled out to sea.  She darted a fearful glance at him and gripped her skirts. He saw the desire to run but why?

He readied himself to leap over but a sharp wave caught the boat, tossing him into the hull. Grumbling, he came to his feet once more only to see Lady Katelyn had vanished. He looked to the other men in the boat but they were still readying their oars and getting set for their journey.

“Curse ye, ye fools. The lady has gone overboard!”

The men swivelled, shouts of dismay falling from their lips and Finn shook his head. Shrugging out of his furs, he leaped nimbly over the side. The water bit at his feet through his leather boots and sloshed wildly around his legs. The push and pull of the waves tugged at him as they lapped at the island. With her heavy skirts, it was no wonder she had gone under.

He swung his gaze around, grateful the night had not yet swallowed them. A flash of green a few feet in front of him caught his eye. Hair swirling about her, gown waving like seaweed in the wash, she floated on the surface—knocked senseless.

“Damnation!”

With several strong strides, he caught up with her. The tide drew her away but it was not strong enough to defeat him. The sea now up to his hips, he dragged Katelyn into his arms. By God, her gown weighed her down. Even for a man of his strength, he felt as though he were carrying a heavy sack of grain rather than a sylph of a woman.

Wading to the boat, he hefted her out of the water and passed her to Logan. The man shook his head. “Sorry, Finn. We were concentrating on not getting tossed about in the wash. ‘Tisnae easy holding such a small vessel steady.”

“Aye, have no fear. ‘Twas my fault. The lass has clearly had a shock and I should have been watching her more closely.”

Logan laid her in the bow while Finn clambered in. He knelt by the lass and glanced up at Logan.

“She must have taken a hit to the head.”

“Aye, likely against the boat. Must have hit hard to render her senseless.”

Finn nodded. “Let us get on our way. We can do no good for her here.”

“Aye,” Logan agreed and backed away to help row the boat from the shoreline.

Leaning over her, Finn studied the gash on her forehead with a grimace. Poor lass. She’d have a mighty fine headache when she awoke. The steady rise and fall of her breasts against the soaked green wool assured him no permanent damage had been done.

“Ye’ll have to get her out of those wet garments,” Logan called out behind him.

Finn clenched his teeth. “Aye, thank ye, Logan. I’m aware o’ that.”

He ran his gaze over her. Damn his luck. He’d undressed many a fine woman but none had ever been out cold and an unwilling partner. No doubt the lady would be deeply ashamed he’d done as much. But he could hardly leave her to die from exposure. If anything, his sister would have his head.

Fingers tentatively prying at the front of her bodice, he forced his gaze onto the wood just behind her head. But the wet fabric proved too hard to tug apart so he pressed his hands to her back and lifted her lifeless form. Icy skin and sumptuous curves flattened briefly to his chest as he fumbled with the ties at the back of her gown. By God, when had he ever blundered like a whelp when undressing a woman? But he had to admit, though he’d had little time to admire her and the swelling on her face did not reveal her features properly, the flash of creamy skin was tempting enough. In other circumstances—and had she been anyone other than a lady in distress—he’d have enjoyed such a sight.

He had her face pressed into his neck as he pulled her gown from her. Soft skin under his fingertips forced his breath to stilt. Only the grunts of men rowing reminded him he was meant to be helping the lass and not enjoying the moment.

Katelyn’s chemise and gown came away in one go and he peered behind him, narrowing his eyes at the men. “Keep yer eyes away,” he warned, “or I’ll be having yer heads.”

A rumble of chuckles rippled from them but they kept their gazes ahead while he pried the garments from her shoulders. He laid her down, fumbling for his fur to cover her. Unfortunately he failed to keep his gaze from straying briefly to her curves, so pale and lush in the dimming light. Finn thrust the furs over her as his body tightened. Working beneath the pelt, he hauled her gown down her stomach and hips. It should have made it easier—he didn’t have to resist temptation to stare at her—but it made him all the more aware of her shapely hips and delicate thighs. Gaze lifted to the heavens, he gritted his teeth, tugged the gown the rest of the way off and slung it aside.

He eyed her for a moment, breath held in his chest as he studied the dark hair as black as night splayed across the wood. Milky skin contrasted with the brown of the pelt. A more tempting sight he had never seen. And there was something familiar about her. Something that tugged at his gut. He’d never met Lady Katelyn and yet her fragrance and slightly husky voice, and mayhap even her body played in his mind, as though she were an old lover.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Finn tucked the fur around her. It had simply been too long since he’d had a satisfying tumble. From the time when his dream lass had begun to plague him, no other woman had been able to match her. Mayhap that was what struck him as familiar about this lass. Though the woman in his dreams always appeared hazy, he knew she had hair like a raven.

Ach, he needed to turn his thoughts away from tumbling lassies and concentrate on the task at hand—ensuring they made it safely to his sister’s keep. He sank heavily onto a seat and dragged off his boots, grunting with dissatisfaction as he tipped the water out of them. He drew off his trews, grateful to be rid of the clinging wet fabric and motioned for Logan to hand him his plaid and the rest of his garments. He changed while they started away from the coast. His heart still beat rapidly, aware the enemy might be upon them soon. Or was it from the memory of her skin beneath his fingers? They still tingled.