The Witch and The Warrior (3 page)

MacDunn smiled. “Thank you, Robert, for your concern. I am deeply touched. Now raise the portcullis or Brodick will slit fair Isabella's throat.”

Robert hesitated.

“Papa, make them open the gate!” squealed Isabella.

Laird MacSween finally rose from his chair. “Surely you are not so heartless, Laird MacDunn, that you would kill a helpless young woman.”

MacDunn studied the anguished father a moment. Then he sighed. “You're right, MacSween,” he conceded. “I'm not.”

Robert smiled, realizing his adversary was now trapped.

“But Brodick is,” MacDunn assured him pleasantly. “Aren't you, Brodick?”

“Aye,” replied Brodick, giving Isabella a little squeeze.

Isabella whimpered.

“Raise the portcullis,” ordered Laird MacSween, “and let them go.”

Gwendolyn watched as Robert battled his frustration. Reluctantly, he lowered his sword.

“Now, that is the decision of a rational man,” commented MacDunn appreciatively. “I'm impressed. Your entire clan will fall back, Laird MacSween, permitting us to ride through the gate. If anyone attempts to harm us as we leave, or if any of your fine warriors come after us tonight, Brodick will cut your charming daughter's throat. If, however, you exercise patience and restraint, then fair Isabella will be released unharmed tomorrow morning. I am certain with their considerable abilities, Robert and his men will have no trouble finding her and returning her safely to you.”

“I will have your word, MacDunn,” said Laird MacSween, “that she will not be harmed.”

MacDunn regarded him seriously. “You have my word.”

Satisfied, and having no other choice, Laird MacSween signaled for the portcullis to rise.

“His word is nothing!” protested Robert, enraged. “He is a madman!”

“So they say,” agreed MacDunn cheerfully, adjusting his plaid as his warriors rode through the open gate.

“You know, you were absolutely right, Robert,” he reflected, tossing a final glance at the burning stake. “It really is a spectacular fire.”

He winked at him, then turned and thundered into the advancing darkness, leaving the MacSweens staring in bewilderment.

C
HAPTER
2

She was a prisoner again.

MacDunn and his warriors had ridden hard for several hours, not speaking once during the journey. Gwendolyn had found the pace exhausting, but her weariness was nothing compared to her exhilaration at finally being free. She had turned her face into the wind and felt it blow softly against her, washing away the stench of smoke and death and hatred, cleansing her senses of even the foulness of the castle dungeons, until she was aware only of the warm summer night and the freedom that loomed for miles around her. She had leaned close and tightened her hold on MacDunn, vowing to somehow repay this mad, magnificent laird who had risked everything so she could live.

That was before he hauled her off his horse, bound her aching wrists, and tied her to a tree, along with Isabella.

“You cannot treat me this way!” wailed Isabella loudly, struggling against her bonds. “I am the daughter of Laird MacSween! You cannot leave me here tied to this evil witch!”

“For God's sake, Brodick, can't you get her to be quiet?” grumbled MacDunn.

Brodick withdrew an oatcake from his saddle bag and sauntered over to his captive. “You must be tired, m'lady,” he remarked sympathetically. “And hungry, too, I'd wager.”

“How dare you speak to me, you savage brute!” Isabella flared. “I hate you!”

“Bella, you wound me,” replied Brodick, looking injured. “I never meant you any harm.”

“Liar,” she hissed. “One word from your mad laird, and you would have savagely hacked open my throat.”

“Never,” he protested, his tone soothing. “Your throat is far too lovely to mar. Here, I've brought you something to eat,” he added, offering her the oatcake.

“I'd sooner swallow the blackest, foulest of poisons than accept something from a scurrilous knave like you,” she assured him haughtily. “And when my father's men come, they will take great pleasure in slowly carving you open so you can watch your hot, bloody entrails fall out piece by dripping piece and steam upon the cold ground!”

“Such an inspiring image,” Brodick marveled. “Have you ever actually seen them do that?”

“Dozens of times!” she snapped. “After which they will flay you, cut you into tiny pieces, and then feed you to the wolves!”

“Now, that doesn't make any sense, sweet Bella,” he remarked, shaking his head. “Why would they go to the trouble of flaying me if they are just going to cut me up?”

“They will do it because
it will amuse me to watch
!” she screeched.

The noise was like an ax splitting Alex MacDunn's skull. “Brodick,” he began tautly, “I cannot endure much more of this.”

“Have some oatcake, m'lady,” Brodick suggested, trying to tempt her with the biscuit. “You'll feel much better if you eat something.”

“I already told you,” Isabella raged, “I'd sooner swallow—”

“Poison,” finished Brodick, shoving a large chunk of biscuit in her mouth, effectively gagging her.

“A pity we don't have some,” muttered Alex.

“There, now,” said Brodick, as Isabella struggled to chew the dry oatcake. “That should keep you occupied for a moment, at least. What about you, fair Gwendolyn?” he continued, moving to her side of the tree. “Would you care for some food?”

She glared at him.

“You should eat something,” he persisted, raising a morsel to her lips. “It isn't much, but it is better than the hollow ache of hunger.”

“Get away from me,” she warned softly, “or I will cast a spell that will cause your most valued extremity to shrivel up and fall off.”

Brodick's eyes widened with uncertainty. And then he hastily retreated to his place with MacDunn and the other warriors.

“By God, Brodick, I can't remember the last time you were rejected by a woman,” laughed Cameron, the bear warrior, slapping his friend heartily on the shoulder. “But to see you rebuffed by two women in the same night, 'tis almost more than a man could hope for.”

“Their bondage puts them in shrewish spirits,” protested Brodick defensively. He glanced at MacDunn. “Really, Alex, is it necessary to—”

“They are prisoners,” he interrupted firmly. “I'm not of a mind to be searching the woods for them tonight, should they decide to escape. They will remain as they are.”

Brodick did not argue. It was clear that MacDunn's word was final.

The laird may have been mad, but it was obvious to Gwendolyn that his warriors trusted and respected him. Although her rescue had been daring to the point of folly, he had been successful. And during their retreat through the dark mountains and woods, he had never once faltered in his route, using the stars as his guide as he led them across the black terrain. He paced the horses well, riding them far beyond what Gwendolyn would have imagined were the limits of their endurance.

When MacDunn finally ordered the men to make camp, the night had grown cool and damp, but he rejected the comfort of a fire and hot food, for fear Robert and his warriors might see it, or even smell the scent of it on the wind. Instead the warriors ate a mean dinner of hard biscuits, washed down with tepid ale. Gwendolyn was starving, but fury and what little remained of her tattered pride prohibited her from nibbling from the hand of her jailer like some trapped animal.

“Cameron, you and Ned take the first watch,” commanded Alex, removing his sword and lowering himself onto the ground. “Let's hope MacSween's fear for his daughter makes him heed my terms and not send his warriors out until morning.”

“He will not wait,” Gwendolyn assured him.

“No, he most certainly will not,” agreed Isabella hotly, finally managing to swallow the last of the oatcake. “And when his warriors get here, they will strip your flesh from your bones, shred it into tiny bits, and stuff it into your own bowels, before roasting you over a fire.”

“By God, you're a bloodthirsty woman!” roared Cameron, thoroughly amused. “How did such a milksop of a father sire a daughter with such a fiery tongue?”

“How dare you insult my father! He is laird of all the MacSweens—”

“Sweet Jesus, I shall count the seconds until we free that one,” groaned Alex. “Once the MacSweens find her tomorrow, I doubt Robert will come after us. He's not likely to risk any more men for the sake of a witch who was meant to die anyway.”

“Robert will come,” Gwendolyn countered. “And when he does, he will not be satisfied by Isabella's safe return.”

Alex regarded her curiously. “You think he will come after you?”

She said nothing.

“Why?” he persisted. “You were about to be burned. Why would he risk more of his men just to recapture you?”

“Robert is determined to see me destroyed,” she replied, offering part of the truth. “He will not rest until it is done.”

So MacDunn did not know about the stone, Gwendolyn realized, relieved. Whatever his motive for saving her, it was not because he sought its powers.

“She is a witch,” Isabella added fearfully. “You have heard all the terrible things she has done to our clan. And she viciously murdered her own father.”

“How?” asked Brodick.

“She cast a spell on him.” Isabella's expression was grave.

“What kind of spell?” asked MacDunn, studying Gwendolyn. He appeared more intrigued than concerned that she might do the same to one of them.

“A death spell,” Isabella clarified impatiently, as if the answer were obvious.

“That's it?” said Brodick. “No rotting flesh, or agonizing illness, or limbs dropping off for no apparent reason? Just ‘a death spell'?” He sounded disappointed.

“His death was hideously painful,” Isabella assured him, sensing that her story was not having the desired impact. “Robert said her father staggered around in agony, clutching his chest and begging his daughter to stop as she slowly drew his very soul from him.”

“And how did Robert know this?” inquired MacDunn, his gaze never leaving Gwendolyn.

“He was there,” Isabella explained. “And thank God he was, else we might never have been able to prove that she was responsible for the dark deed.”

Gwendolyn fought to control her rage and despair at this spurious account of her father's death. She returned MacDunn's scrutiny with deliberate calm, neither confirming nor denying the horrible allegation. She did not know why he had stolen her, but her bondage made it clear Laird MacDunn had not been motivated by pity or gallantry. It was better he fear her, or at the very least be wary of her abilities.

Suddenly Ned, the elfin warrior, dropped down from the tree above, whispered something into MacDunn's ear, then turned and pointed into the darkness. MacDunn quickly signaled Ned into the woods, while Cameron and Brodick withdrew their swords and disappeared into the shadows. MacDunn then hurried over to Gwendolyn and Isabella.

“It seems we have company,” he declared softly, slicing the ropes binding them to the tree. “It could be the gallant MacSweens coming to rescue you, Isabella…”

Isabella brightened.

“…or it could be drunken thieves who will rape you repeatedly before cutting your throats. As I'm not of a mind to permit either to happen,” he continued, binding their tied wrists together, “you will hide beyond these trees and keep quiet until I tell you it is safe to return. If either of you get any foolish notions about trying to escape, be warned—if the wolves don't find you, I will.” His tone suggested being mauled by wolves would be preferable.

Gwendolyn watched as he vanished into the darkness.

“We can't just stay here,” protested Isabella nervously. “We must try to—”

A strangled groan pierced the night.

“By God, MacDunn,” thundered Robert's furious voice, “show yourself and fight like a real warrior!”

“Robert!” squealed Isabella. “I'm over—”

“Squeak again and I'll turn you into a rat,” hissed Gwendolyn. “Do you understand?”

Isabella whimpered and nodded.

         

Alex swiftly withdrew his sword from the belly of a MacSween, then spun around to deflect the blow of another. His attacker's blade forced him to leap back. The weapon's point sliced into his shirt, and he was vaguely aware of a stinging sensation in his chest. He raised his sword and buried it deep into his opponent's gut.

“Damn you, MacDunn,” cursed the warrior, sinking to his knees, “you've got the devil on your side.” He grunted, then fell onto his face.

Warm blood was seeping into Alex's shirt, but he ignored the pain. The ringing and scraping of steel told him Cameron and Brodick were well occupied. He cautiously moved forward, searching the veil of trees for more MacSweens.

Suddenly a huge brute of a man leaped out from behind a tree, his ax poised to split Alex's skull open. Before the weapon began its descent, the warrior gasped, took a faltering step, then collapsed. An arrow protruded from his back. Alex looked up to find Ned's small form perched on a branch, another arrow already taut against the string of his bow. Alex followed his aim and saw Robert moving toward him through the darkness, unaware that he was about to die.