The Beast of Clan Kincaid (13 page)

“I must go,” she said, backing away. “Before someone finds me here.”

He growled inwardly, watching her go—knowing it was too soon to do anything but. She turned, pulling the hood of her cloak over her hair, and climbed the path on steps created of earth, flat stones, and grass.

Niall bent and snatched up Fitheach's reins, prepared to return to the saddle and the solitude of his camp across the river.

Yet something made him turn back and watch her.

One moment he saw her shadow moving along the path—the next he did not. He stared hard into the darkness, but no. She was not there, on the path, as she should be.

Had she simply disappeared into shadows, or had she stopped along the way? Having seen her abducted once already this night, he could not simply ride away.

He dropped the reins and climbed the steps, his curiosity quickly transforming into concern. He peered into each curve and cranny—

Until he found her in the deeper shadows of an alcove.

Seeing him, she let out a small sound of surprise, and lifted a hand to her eyes, he knew, to strike away tears.

Something in his heart staggered.

“What is wrong?” he demanded. “Are you hurt?”

Could it be that she had been injured during the skirmish? He had seen no blood, or bruising and she had not spoken as if pained. What if in the blind state of attraction he felt for her, he had missed something?

“No,” she answered, in a voice choked with emotion. “I just need a moment. I just…” She opened her hands. “I just realized I'm not ready to go back inside there.”

She peered at him in the darkness, her eyes shining. “It's just that … for the first time, my home doesn't feel like home. Life has not always been perfect or happy, but I've always felt safe here. Protected.”

How strange to hear her speak words that mirrored his own boyhood feelings for this place, his home. Also her home.

“Now, I do not,” she whispered. “I do not know what life holds for me.” She turned away from him, toward the stones. “I do not want to marry either one of those men, or anyone like them. And I don't trust my father not to force me to do so.”

He stood in place, saying nothing.

She lowered her head, pressing her forehead against the stone. “You think my fears are foolish. I don't blame you. Not with all you have faced in your life, and accomplished.”

He came to stand behind her … placing his hand at the center of her back. “No, not foolish.”

He held his breath, not knowing if his touch would be welcome—waiting for her to shrug him off or twist away, out of his reach. He was not adept at offering comfort. He knew how to be brutal, to inflict pain and to kill. And yes, he knew how to seduce and make love, but not with a woman like this.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, turning to face him, her back to the stone wall, “I feel like running away and doing as you did, getting on a ship and sailing off to take my chances with the world.”

Her solemn tone and demeanor did not indicate that she spoke impulsively. Instinct told him Elspeth was neither a foolish nor rash girl. But considering the walls closing in on her, he knew she must feel trapped.

“The world is a dangerous place,” he warned. “It would destroy a woman like you. For that reason, your father would follow and find you, and bring you back. If he didn't, then I would.”

He was startled when in the darkness her hands rested against his chest. His pulse went rampant and every inch of his body took notice of hers, so close to his.

“You would come for me?” she whispered.

He could resist no more.

With his hand, he cradled her chin and stared deeply into her eyes. “Just as I came for you tonight.”

He bent, his mouth closing on her still open one.

She tensed—and gasped into his mouth, but did not pull away.

Soft lips. Sweet breath.

Desire. Want. Need.

His arm slid around her waist, and he seized her close.

*   *   *

Elspeth knew it was wrong, that he was forbidden to her. That she should refuse his kiss and push him away—

But any commands from her conscious mind grew silent as his head tilted, and his mouth moved on hers, sweetly demanding more. His hand, gentle and certain, cupped the underside of her jaw, making her feel fragile and treasured and precious.

His body closed warm and hard against hers, surrounding her. Enveloping her. She vaguely felt the cool stones of the wall behind her back. With each turn of his head, each ardent press of his mouth, each careful touch of his hand, she melted … surrendered a little more until her consciousness faded and she knew only a wild, delirious hunger.

The shadows around them blurred. Mouths widened. Tongues tasted. His hands, under her cloak, clenched her hips. Slid up her rib cage. Crushed into her hair. The only sounds in the darkness were their garments, rustling … sliding … as they grappled with each other. Embracing. Touching. A growl from deep in his throat. Her sighs. Nothing had ever felt like this. She had never felt more alive or light of being.

He was gone, suddenly, pushing away—leaving her dizzied and alone. She reached for the wall, steadying herself for fear she would fall.

“Hell,” Niall uttered, deep in his throat, his eyes flaring with annoyance. “Come.”

No
. Why? she wanted to complain.

“Elspeth!” a voice bellowed.

Her father
.

 

Chapter 9

Elspeth experienced a moment of terror before Niall reached and yanked her by the arm, out from the alcove, and up several steps—

The MacClaren met them there, followed by what appeared to be the entire population of the castle—including FitzDuff and Keppoch. Servants carried torches. Warriors carried swords. At the forefront of them all was a rusty-haired stableboy … holding her shoes.

Her heart seized in her chest, barely beating, dreading what would come next.

She glanced at Niall, but he looked straight forward, his jaw rigid, his lips unsmiling.

Lips she'd just been kissing
.

“Go to your father,” he commanded, under his breath.

She did so without question, rushing up the steps. The MacClaren's gaze moved over her, a thunderous storm, taking in, she knew, her torn sleeve, disarrayed hair and missing shoes. She prayed nothing more, for her lips still burned with Niall's kisses, and she feared passion still glazed her eyes. He seized her by the arms, and shook her.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, before fiercely embracing her.

Bridget looked at Niall accusingly. “I think that's obvious.”

Elspeth gasped. “No. He did not—I was taken. Abducted. He saved me.”

The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them, because in that moment all she cared about was protecting him.

“How did that happen?” Bridget demanded, eyes bright with suspicion. “Someone came into the tower, and took you? And yet your shoes were found beside the stables?”

“The lass is blameless,” proclaimed a voice from the darkness behind Niall.

Deargh appeared there, breathing hard as he climbed the stairs. Though Niall stared at the man very hard, his expression gave nothing away.

Deargh went on. “She was tricked into meeting the villain. He took advantage of her good nature and kindness, luring her out of the castle with a false missive from her old nursemaid. Niall and I heard it all, and were able to react quickly enough to make pursuit.”

He seemed to know what had occurred. Elspeth could only imagine that he and Niall had seen her leave the castle, and overheard what she told the guards about going to see Fiona. And then on their way to the river to encamp for the night … they'd observed her abduction? But for whatever reason, only Niall had followed, while Deargh waited behind. In the shadows.

At realizing that, Elspeth's cheeks filled with heat.

Had he seen them kissing?

Whatever the truth, it was clear he sought to place himself at the center of her rescue, so as to keep Niall out of her father's dungeon.

“It was a fierce fight, and we gravely outnumbered,” Deargh boasted, clapping a hand onto Niall's shoulder. “Were we not, my friend?”

“Indeed,” answered Niall. “There was also a priest.”

“A forced marriage!” bellowed the laird, his expression enraged.

“But unsuccessful!” Elspeth blurted.

Deargh grinned boisterously. “Thank the good Lord above that we intervened in time. The maid's virtue is preserved.”

“Who took you, lass?” Conall demanded. “Tell us who did this.”

Everyone looked at her expectantly—but she feared telling the truth would bring about a violent confrontation, and that someone she loved would die, whether that be Magnus or her father or any other of her MacClaren clansmen.

“It was dark,” said Niall. “I was not able to see their faces. Mistress MacClaren, were you able to tell who they were?”

“No,” Elspeth whispered, hating the lie but fearing the consequence of the truth more.

“Nor I,” added Deargh.

“It had to be Magnus,” Bridget said. “Who else would it have been? He made his intentions clear tonight, only to be humiliated with a rejection. The Alwyn border is the closest. He must have thought he could take her there.”

“I will kill him,” the MacClaren seethed. “This offence will not go unanswered.”

“No, Father, please,” Elspeth begged. “Everything is well. I am safe and unharmed. If it was Magnus who abducted me, I am certain he would not have gone through with anything, after realizing I was so opposed—”

“You try to protect him—but he has dared too much this time,” the laird thundered. “No doubt the Alwyn's bastard acted on the order of his father, for the sole purpose of humiliating me, of taking what is mine.”

“More reason to see her swiftly wed,” murmured Bridget. “Elspeth, come. Off to bed with you, where you belong.”

Elspeth looked at Niall, but received no reciprocal farewell glance.

She allowed herself to be led away, but heard her father's voice behind her.

“Thank you, and I apologize that you have had to exert your energies, twice in as many days, toward the preservation of my daughter's safety. I swear to you, watching after my children is not at all the purpose for which we hired you.”

Niall chuckled in response. “I am relieved that you do not expect me to continue on in the position of nursemaid. I much prefer a sword in hand to the company of a willful child.”

Elspeth's heart constricted painfully in her chest, and her cheeks stung at the burst of amused male laughter that followed.

Elspeth heard nothing more. Wounded … and
infuriated
by his words, she hurried to the tower and, once in her room, barred the door against Bridget's continuing barrage of questions. In the dark, she discarded her ruined gown into the corner, and pulled on a night rail.

She did not know what would happen tomorrow. A clan war? Or a betrothal. One thing was certain. It had been a mistake to kiss Niall.

Nursemaid.
Willful child! That he would say such things, after kissing her like that.

Perhaps for him, their kiss had only been a kiss. A momentary dalliance and nothing more, to be forgotten, as easily as it had occurred. So too must it be for her.

Crawling into bed, she pressed her fingertips to her lips—and willed herself to forget.

*   *   *

Deargh lifted a finger, and his shaggy brows gathered. “So then, I overhear the lass say that she is going to visit a … Fiona in the village, a former nursemaid I surmise, by the guard's reply, and yet when I follow a few moments later to go to the stable, I see she does not go toward the village, but the same direction as me.” He pointed the finger at his head. “This makes me curious.”

They sat beside the small hearth in Niall's quarters, a small one-roomed cottage located in a row of similar structures just inside the wall of the castle. The laird had insisted on them taking residence, as reward for saving his daughter a second time.

“You mean suspicious,” Niall murmured, easing back in his chair.

“Aye, that. I got close enough to hear their voices and realize what was happening. But I saw you set off after them, and knew you would take the matter in hand.” He shrugged. “You know I do not see so well in the dark anymore. So I waited.”

“I am glad you did.”

“As am I,” he chuckled wickedly. “Because if the laird saw what I saw tonight, he'd have ordered you flogged, no matter how good you are with a sword.”

Niall's thoughts returned to Elspeth, and her soft mouth against his. God, he had never experienced anything so sweet. So wildly pleasing. His body went to flames, just remembering.

“So…” Deargh leaned close. “It was good?”

“Aye, that it was,” he answered, with a slow smile.

“Then I trust you have the matter in hand. As for the rest, I will send word tomorrow, by Alec, for the men to travel here. Three to four weeks? You are certain.”

“I am.”

Alec was one of five men, loyal to Niall, who presently camped in the forest, unseen, prepared to respond if needed, or in this case, to act as messenger to the larger company of men who awaited his summons. Men who had long fought beside him, and much like him, had lived too long without a home and who sought a permanent place. At his behest the five warriors had also spent time today searching the distant, dark hills for the surviving Kincaids. But without success.

Niall stood, and rubbed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “We must not be overly confident, but I would say things are going very well.”

“Very well, indeed.” Grinning, Deargh stood and moved to the door. “That said, I am going to go enjoy my bed—which, don't think I did not notice is smaller than yours. And you have two chairs, where I have only a stool.” He pointed at Niall. “I hold grudges, you know.”