Samantha Holt (Highland Fae Chronicles) (3 page)

A shuffle and a tiny moan drew his attention. She clutched the pelt around her and fought to sit. “Pray, dinnae harm me. I will do whatever ye wish.”

Finn stood sharply, prepared for her to fall into a swoon once more. He propped his hands on his hips and furrowed his brow. Ach, but the lass was more confused than he’d realised. He’d been abrupt with her to be sure, but surely she understood he was here to help. Finn peered at his precious cargo and noted the woman’s shuddering. Curses, where were his manners? The actions of the Viking—and himself—had no doubt terrified the woman. Fiery bloodlust that had pushed him to run her attacker through now simmered to a gentle burn and remorse struck him.

“I’ve no intention of harming ye.” Tension made the statement come out sharper than he’d planned but he’d not expected to have to disguise himself and rescue her mid-siege. When he’d agreed to rescue the lady from the Isle of Bute, he’d intended to reach her before the Norse invaders arrived.

Unfortunately inclement weather and strong winds had brought the attackers across the sea sooner than they’d anticipated. Still, once they made it to his sister’s castle all would be well. As long as they survived the journey to the mainland and to Kilcree, he could consider this a successful rescue.

The spatter of the sea tickled his face and he glanced at the steadily disappearing shoreline. The journey to the mainland was a short one but these seas were unpredictable and they were losing light. If they were unlucky, they could be dashed upon the rocks as they came to shore or tossed from their boat.

Gingerly, he stepped forward. She yelped and tucked herself up into as tiny a shape as possible. Finn shook his head to himself. The poor lass. He crouched beside her. The swelling on her face disguised her features but her long dark hair spilled around her shoulders, like raven’s wings. A pang of something struck him sharp in the gut. Mayhap it was anger at her treatment, mayhap it was something else. He refused to dwell on it.

Shuffling closer, Finn inched his fingers under hers and brought her hand to his lips. He smirked. Too late to be playing the gentleman but he would try. Her tiny gasp as he brushed his lips over her cold, slender fingers did something to his chest. It felt as if someone danced a merry jig over his heart. He wanted to hear the sound again. But when he moved nearer still, her eyes widened and she released a long breath as her body fell limp. He barely caught her as she swooned sideways. With a muttered curse, he laid her back down and tucked her in once more.

Finn stared at the woman, retreated and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He hadn’t expected that reaction. Christ, her ordeal had taken its toll more than he realised. He glanced at Logan, who rowed just behind him, and Logan shrugged. This was unchartered territory for them.

Finn eased himself to his feet and brushed his hands down his plaid. Just went to show how much he knew about lasses.

“How goes it?” Logan asked.

Finn turned to the dark-haired man—and his sister’s most trusted aide. “She is fatigued mostly I think. We should allow her to rest now. We still have many miles to cross.”

“This was a fool’s errand, Finn. Yer lucky ye werenae spotted and killed.”

“Ach, I’ve been told time and again I could pass for a Norseman. ‘Twas time to put such looks to use.”

“Aye, but going in on yer own... Yer sister would have had my head had ye come to harm.” Logan pulled a strong stroke, as if expelling his anger over such a thought.

“Alas none of ye have the looks of anyone but a highlander. And all is well.” He slapped a hand to Logan’s shoulder.

“’Twas a near thing, Finn, and ye know it.”

“Dinnae dwell on what could have happened, Logan. We have done well here this night.” Finn let slip a smile. Since the death of Lorna’s husband, Logan had practically taken on the role of laird, not that his sister acknowledged it. Yet he still worried for everyone under his care. Particularly Lorna.

As did they all. His headstrong sister had determinedly continued to run the keep without a man at her side. Thankfully Lorna had the wit of any man and more backbone than most, and though her husband’s brother was not a man of much character, he would protect the keep in which she resided.

Finn eyed their progress with satisfaction. The seas remained calm and no unusual weather looked to be headed in their direction. Now their only worry was the lack of light. The moon shone weakly down on them but would not provide enough light for a safe landing if they made it to the wrong part of the shore.

Finn glanced at Katelyn and noted she shook in her slumber. From cold or fear? He hesitated before coming down beside her. Something about this woman made him uncertain of himself, something he had not felt for a long time. But he refused to see a lass suffer. Dropping fully to his knees, he shuffled closer and pressed a tentative finger to her forehead. She did not awaken and her skin froze his fingertips. He stifled the uncomfortable sensation deep in his chest and flexed a hand.

Gaze averted, he moved close to Katelyn and flattened his palm against the rise of one breast. Though her skin still chilled his hand, a rising heat rushed through him. Underneath the silky skin lay the steady beat of her heart and he allowed his shoulders to relax. She needed rest, nothing more. After such an experience he should not be surprised but she’d shown such courage and determination in trying to escape him and her attacker, he had not thought she’d fall back into a swoon.

Lining himself up with her, he scooted close until her fur wrapped legs were aligned with the crook of his thighs. When he peered up, he saw Logan raise an eyebrow but the man said nothing. Finn draped an arm over the pelt and settled against the uncomfortable wood of the boat.

A mumble dropped from her lips and he lifted his head to see her eyelids flutter. She made no attempt to wriggle from his hold so he dropped his head and held her tight. Katelyn must have been very cold not to fight him on this. She’d already shown such determination. He couldn’t fight the grin of admiration spreading across his face. What a lass.

“Forgive me, my lady, ye need body warmth.”

She responded with a small sigh, one that had his gut twisting and his body responding to her once more. Ach, but he was in a precarious position. Let her freeze to death or risk frightening her further with his inappropriate behaviour.

 “All will be well, lass,” he soothed. Her body relaxed further into him and his grin expanded. “We’ll have ye to safety soon, never fear. Finn mac Chaluim willnae let any harm come to ye, I swear it.”

The sound of gentle breaths somehow broke through the slosh of waves and creak of wood. He nodded with satisfaction. Aye, he must have assured her now. With luck, she’d be singing his praises to Lorna and the lassies always loved a hero.

Chapter Two

A strange squeak echoed through Catriona’s head. An ache pounded in her skull and each squeak made it worse. Why in God’s name was her bed making such a sound? She wriggled but found herself pinned, a substantial weight holding her down by her stomach. She grumbled and twisted again but to no avail. Then she became aware of a heavy puff across her neck. She stiffened.

Male breaths.

She wrenched open her eyes and the throb in her head increased. Dark damp wood surrounded her. A brown fur covered her body and... and a large arm encircled her waist. Breaths growing rapid, she fought the rising surge of panic and forced herself to consider her surroundings properly. The day had turned to night at some point and only slivers of moonlight seeped into the small boat. She could not view the men rowing without drawing attention to herself but she heard the odd low mutter between them and the splash of their oars.

Whoever had her restrained was a large man. Was it the Viking who had taken her? His thighs pressed up against the back of hers and his head rested near her neck—intimately. Her chin wobbled as the haze in her mind cleared. Her clothing was gone. Only the pelt separated her naked body from the warrior. Had he undressed her? Or…or done something else to her? A sound of anguish scrabbled up her throat and she fastened a hand over her mouth.

Catriona considered her body. Aside from the ache in her head and cheek from where the other man had hit her, she did not hurt anywhere else. It was unlikely he had ravished her. Something to be grateful for at least. But now what? She was naked, most likely in the middle of the ocean and trapped in the hold of a vicious warrior. She’d seen the way he’d run that Norse invader through. If he would do that to his own people, what would he do to her?

It was odd for even though she’d studied him momentarily, his eyes had reflected warmth, so very unlike that of the man who’d tried to rape her. No doubt that man would have killed her once he’d had his way. This man, however, had done nothing yet.

Yet.

Just because he had kind blue eyes and an oddly comforting way of holding her, did not mean he wasn’t as vicious as the rest of the Norsemen. Enough tales of their barbarity circulated the castle prior to their invasion. He probably didn’t want to ruin her so he could sell her off.

Catriona chewed her lip and concentrated on the waves splashing the hull. Visions of the man against her, his clammy hands pawing her thighs kept threatening to invade her mind. The last thing she needed was her thoughts to be further muddled. And the thought that confused her most? Why did this man’s hands upon her—albeit with the furs as a barrier—not send revulsion through her?

A shout brought her kidnapper to his feet and Catriona bunched the furs in one hand, tightening them around her. The boat rocked wildly as the waves swelled beneath them and surf spattered over the boat. Here the scent of salt and seaweed hung strong in the air. They were near the coast, but surely not Norway? She would have known had she been sleeping for that long.

Scooting into a sitting position, she arranged the pelt around her bare legs and peered over the edge of the vessel. Sure enough a beach loomed. Moonlight picked out the hills above them, dusting their tips with silver streams. Catriona scowled and gripped the wood with her free hand. It was the mainland. She knew this place. They must have taken the shortest crossing from Bute to Scotland. But why kidnap her only to bring her to the mainland?

Soon the waves had turned into a seething mass, breaking on the shoreline with a crash. She saw the foamy tips and braced herself as they came closer to the beach. Though the sea was not as rough as some days, bringing a small boat into land was difficult for it was easily tossed about.

She turned and gazed up at the fair man as he directed the men confidently. He stood, legs apart, assured and steady. It seemed as though he was the master of the seas, his confidence unshakable. Surely men bowed to his will. Mayhap he thought the ocean would too?

His deep voice, smooth yet exciting, just reached her ears and she pondered his Gaelic tongue. She had spoken with Norse-Gaels before and many had their own distinct way of speaking but she had never heard any so… so Scottish sounding as he. Catriona blinked as she took a proper study of him. Gone was his fur. Now it likely hung over her shoulders, brushing her bare skin. But what disconcerted her most was his manner of dress. He looked as Scottish as any highlander. Only his shoulder length fair hair made him stand out. And when she looked to the other men, she realised they too wore plaids. Mayhap they always had. Mayhap she had been too horror stricken and disorientated to notice. But for what purpose?

Was she to be part of some great deception? The attack on Bute was the first after months of discontent on the Norse peoples’ part. Bute once belonged to the Norse but the King of Scots wanted the Western Isles back and the King of Norway would have none of it. That did not surprise Catriona. For as long as she had understood men, she had known greediness. But the invasion took them by surprise. None expected the keep to fall.

Sand ground under the hull, making Catriona wince. They had made it through the surf and now the waves fell weakly about the boat. She released a breath, relieved to be on land once more. She did not intend to get soaked again. Once her feet touched the sand, she would consider her next move. Without her garments, she could hardly escape. However, being on the mainland made her chest expand with hope. If she could find a moment to run there would surely be shelter somewhere.

She hoped.

The man jumped deftly over the side and another three men followed. Together they worked to pull the boat fully ashore. Catriona tried to keep her gaze from tracking the tug of his shirt against his muscles but failed repeatedly. He should not, but for some reason the Norseman fascinated her. His features were partially hidden in the gloom of the night but his profile begged her to trace her gaze over it, to follow the sharp lines and dips.

She hunched down when he released his grip on the bow and took a step forward. Gone was her fascination. Now she recalled he had taken her against her will, and there was nothing to prevent him from doing what he wished with her. He offered a hand and she glanced around as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She
had
to get out of the boat.
Had
to cooperate for the moment. If she played the meek captive, mayhap they would let their guards down and she could escape. She frowned and slipped her hand into his. Once she got her gown back that was. Catriona squeezed the furs tight at her neck, aware of the breeze swirling about her nude legs.