The Witch and The Warrior (6 page)

Gwendolyn folded her arms across her chest and regarded them triumphantly, masking her profound relief. Clearly just the suggestion that they would feel better had had an effect on them, which was what she had hoped would happen. Luckily, the weather had complemented her little performance.

“Can you cast that spell on anyone?” asked Cameron, still excited.

“Not everyone,” she replied carefully. “And my spells don't always work.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Alex.

“The success of a spell depends on many things,” she replied evasively. Although it was essential MacDunn believe she had powers, she did not want him to think she could simply say a few words and fell an entire army. “My powers will not work on everyone.”

“I don't give a damn if they work on everyone,” he growled. “As long as they work on one person.” His expression was harsh. “Cameron, take the first watch. The rest of you get some sleep. We ride at first light.”

Brodick produced an extra plaid from his horse and carefully draped it over Isabella's unconscious form. Then he lay down just a few feet away from her, where he could watch over her during the night. Ned and MacDunn also stretched out upon the ground, arranging part of their plaids over their shoulders for warmth.

“Do you sleep standing up?” asked MacDunn irritably.

“No,” replied Gwendolyn.

“Then lie down. We still have a long journey ahead.”

She had assumed they were going to bind her to a tree. But with Cameron watching her, she would not get very far if she attempted to escape tonight. Obviously that was what MacDunn believed. Relieved that she would not be tied, she wearily lowered herself to the ground.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to find an opportunity for escape.

The little camp grew quiet, except for the occasional snap of the fire. Soon the rumble of snoring began to drift lazily through the air. Gwendolyn wondered how they had all managed to find sleep so quickly in such uncomfortable conditions. The fire had died and the ground was damp and cold, forcing her to curl into a tight ball and wrap her bare arms around herself. It didn't help. With every passing moment her flesh grew more chilled, until finally her entire body was shivering uncontrollably.

“Gwendolyn,” called MacDunn in a low voice, “come here.”

She sat up and peered at him through the darkness. “Why?”

“Because your chattering teeth are keeping me awake,” he grumbled. “You will lie next to me and share my plaid.”

She stared at him in horror. “I am fine, MacDunn,” she hastily assured him. “You needn't concern yourself about—”

“Come here.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I may be your prisoner, but I will
not
share your bed.”

She waited for him to argue. Instead he muttered something under his breath, adjusted his plaid more to his liking over his naked chest, and closed his eyes once again. Satisfied that she had won this small but critical battle, she vigorously rubbed her arms to warm them, then primly curled onto the ground.

Her teeth began to chatter so violently she had to bite down hard to try to control them.

“For God's sake—” swore MacDunn.

The next thing she knew, MacDunn was stretching out beside her and wrapping his plaid over both of them.

“Don't you dare touch me!” Gwendolyn hissed, rolling away.

MacDunn grabbed her waist and firmly drew her back, imprisoning her in the warm crook of his enormous, barely clad body.

“Be still!” he ordered impatiently.

“I will not be still, you foul, mad ravisher of women!” She kicked him as hard as she could in his shin.

“Jesus—” he swore, loosening his hold slightly.

Gwendolyn tried to scramble away from him, but he instantly tightened his grip. Realizing she was hopelessly trapped, she opened her mouth to scream.

His hand clamped down hard over her lips.

“Listen to me!” he commanded, somehow managing to keep his voice low. “I have no intention of bedding you, do you understand?”

Gwendolyn glared at him, her breasts rising and falling so rapidly they grazed his bandaged chest.

“I may be considered mad, but to my knowledge I have not yet earned a reputation as a ravager of unwilling women—do you understand?”

His blue eyes held hers. She tried to detect deceit in them, but could not. All she saw was anger, mingled with weariness.

“I have already risked far more than I have a right to, to save your life and take you home with me, Gwendolyn MacSween,” he continued. “I will
not
have it end by watching you fall deathly ill from the chill of the night.”

He waited a moment, allowing his comments to penetrate her fear. Then, cautiously, he lifted his palm from her lips. “I will keep you warm, nothing more. You have my word.”

She regarded him warily. “You swear you will not abuse me, MacDunn? On your honor?”

“I swear.”

Reluctantly, she eased herself onto her side. MacDunn adjusted part of his plaid over her, then once again fitted himself around her. His arm circled her waist, drawing her into the warm, hard cradle of his body. Gwendolyn lay there rigidly for a long while, scarcely breathing, waiting for him to break his word.

Instead, he began to snore.

Heat seemed to radiate from him, slowly permeating her chilled flesh. It warmed even the soft wool of his plaid, she realized, snuggling farther into it. A deliciously masculine scent wafted around her, the scent of horse and leather and woods. Little by little, the feel of MacDunn's powerful body against hers became more comforting than threatening, especially as his snores grew louder.

Until that moment, she had had virtually no knowledge of physical contact. Her mother had died when she was very young, and her father, though loving, had never been at ease with open demonstrations of affection. The unfamiliar sensation of MacDunn's heat and strength wrapped protectively around her was unlike anything she had ever imagined. She was his prisoner, and he had saved her life only because he intended to greedily abuse the powers he erroneously believed she possessed. And yet, she felt impossibly safe.

You belong to me now,
he had told her.
I protect what is mine.
She belonged to no one, she reflected drowsily, and no one could protect her from men like Robert, or from the ignorance and fear that was sure to fester in MacDunn's own clan the moment they saw her. She would escape him long before they reached his lands. Tomorrow she would break free from these warriors so she could retrieve the stone, return to her clan, and kill Robert. Above all else, Robert must die. She would make him pay for murdering her father and destroying her life.

But all this seemed distant and shadowy as she drifted into slumber, sheltered by this brave, mad warrior, feeling the steady beat of his heart pulsing against her back.

C
HAPTER
3

Her father sat before the fire, smiling with pleasure as she read to him.

John MacSween was proud that he had taught his daughter to read, though he had to keep her ability a well-guarded secret. None of the other MacSween women were permitted to learn this skill. This was not done out of some nefarious desire to purposely deprive or control them. The MacSweens simply saw no need for women to read, since it was only men who drafted and received important messages, treaties, and agreements. Why would a young girl waste precious hours deciphering scratches on a page when she could be doing something useful, like gutting fish, combing wool, or plucking feathers? But Gwendolyn's father had originally come from a clan farther south, and their ways had not been as traditional as those of the MacSweens. He had taught his wife to read and write, and then he had passed the same skills on to his daughter. Gwendolyn had learned them clandestinely, at night, within the safety of their small cottage. Her father did not want to give the MacSweens yet another reason to fear and ostracize his beloved child.

“When I am gone, you will still have your friends in books and stories, my sweet Gwen,” he told her.

Gwendolyn looked up from her book and frowned. “Wherever you go, Papa, I am going with you.”

A sad smile shadowed her father's gentle face. And then he began to fade.

Cold seeped through Gwendolyn. She curled up even more and struggled to keep her father in his chair. But his image had vanished. Shivering, she inched backward, searching for the comforting wall of heat that had enveloped her all night.

It was gone.

Feeling lost, she opened her eyes. Her father was dead, she realized numbly. There would be no more nights of reading to him before a fire or listening to the glorious tales he loved to tell her.

MacDunn and his warriors were already up and preparing for the day's journey. Brodick was cooking a simple meal of fresh oakcakes and fish over a small fire, while MacDunn, Ned, and Cameron were tending to their horses. Gwendolyn sat up and rubbed her bare arms. Isabella, she noticed, was still comfortably ensconced beneath Brodick's extra plaid, sound asleep.

“Good morning, m'lady,” Cameron called cheerfully. “ 'Tis a fine day, is it not? I must confess, my head feels remarkably well this morning, thanks to your spirit friends.”

“That is good,” she murmured.

“Will you have some oatcake and fish this morning? The fish was just caught by Ned, and is sure to be sweet.”

Gwendolyn shook her head. The pain of missing her father had destroyed her appetite. “I am not hungry.”

“You will eat,” MacDunn commanded, not looking at her as he adjusted the girth of his saddle.

“I am not hungry,” Gwendolyn insisted stubbornly.

“Your body requires nourishment,” he argued. “You ate nothing yesterday, and I'd wager that during your time in the dungeon, you ate little, if at all. You are thin and weak.” He critically eyed her up and down.

“I am not weak,” she protested. In truth, since the death of her father just four days ago, she had become a little thin.

“A better nourished woman would not have felt the cold so severely last night. You will be lucky if you are not burning with fever by midday, and dead by tomorrow morning.”

Gwendolyn stared at him blankly. What was this bizarre preoccupation with her health? “I have no intention of getting a fever—”

“Your life now belongs to me,” he interrupted. “And I have decided you will eat.”

She was about to point out that her life most certainly did not belong to him or anyone else when Brodick cautiously approached her with some food.

“Do try some, m'lady,” he invited. “Even if you are not hungry now, it will be several hours before we stop again to eat.”

The aroma of the freshly grilled fish stirred the emptiness in her stomach. “Perhaps I will have just a little,” she conceded. “But I am
not
doing it because you ordered me to, MacDunn.”

MacDunn shrugged his enormous shoulders. “As long as you eat, I don't give a damn.”

“I'm hungry,” announced Isabella sleepily, stretching her arms over her head.

“Good morning, Bella,” called Brodick. “Did you sleep well?”

“Certainly not,” she informed him coldly. “I'm bruised all over from lying on the hard ground, and this filthy, coarse plaid has scratched my skin to pieces. I couldn't sleep at all.”

“You appeared to be resting well enough last night after MacDunn showed you his wound,” observed Cameron teasingly.

“Oh!” Isabella exclaimed. “That was absolutely horrid. However could you expect me to fix such a thing?”

MacDunn shrugged. “After all those grisly threats of yours, I would have thought you would have enjoyed plunging a needle in me.”

“Don't think about it anymore,” soothed Brodick, bringing her a cloth filled with food.

Isabella wrinkled her nose. “This smells burned.”

“I am sorry,” he apologized. “It is all there is.”

On learning that, she greedily began to devour it. “You had best ride fast today,” she said between mouthfuls. “Robert is certain to come after you again. He will not rest until I am safely returned to my father.”

“At the moment, Robert is somewhat outnumbered,” said MacDunn. “Unless your father makes a decision to send out more men, I do not think we will enjoy the pleasure of Robert's company today.”

“Then tomorrow he will come,” Isabella predicted. “And when he does, he will tie your limbs to two fine horses and send them galloping in opposite directions, tearing you apart and dragging your ragged, bloody remains across the Highlands.”

Cameron laughed. “By God, I'm actually going to miss her threats.”

“I'm not,” Alex muttered, hoisting himself onto his horse. “It's time to go. Ned, you will take the witch behind you today. You're both light, so your mount should be able to keep a good speed.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, he assured himself, watching as Gwendolyn climbed up behind Ned. He thought she looked slightly surprised, but Ned gave no indication that he found this order peculiar. In truth, Alex could not bear another moment of feeling her soft, slim form pressing against him. He had lain awake the entire night, keeping her warm in the shelter of his body. He had thought the act would be nothing, that he would simply lie next to her and fall asleep. Instead he was acutely aware of every breath she drew, of every small turn and shift and sigh of her delicately feminine body, which was far too fine and fragile to withstand the harsh rigors of life in the Highlands. He had sensed her tension and so he had feigned sleep, knowing she did not trust him to keep his word not to ravish her. And long before light began to filter through the feathery spires of the pines above them, he had questioned his ability to honor his oath. Somehow, this pale wisp of a girl had managed to kindle a heat and need in him that he had never thought to experience again. His flesh had felt as if it were afire, and his loins had hardened until they ached.

And he was appalled.

“I'm not ready to leave yet,” announced Isabella, untroubled by the fact that everyone was mounted and ready to go. “I haven't finished my breakfast, and after that I will need a few moments to wash in the stream.” She began to nibble at a second oatcake.

Brodick urged his horse over to her. “Alas, sweet Bella, this is where I must bid you farewell.” He bent down, scooped up his plaid from her shoulders, and folded it behind his saddle.

She regarded him in disbelief. “You're leaving me?”

“I gave your father my word that I would release you in the morning,” Alex reminded her. “Although your father did not heed my conditions, I intend to keep my part of the bargain. You have ample food and water, and you should keep the fire burning. Robert has been released from his bonds, so when he wakens shortly in these woods he will find you. You can either ride home with him or wait until more of your father's men come to retrieve you.”

“But I must go with you,” she protested. “Since my father didn't honor your conditions, you must take me with you.”

Brodick glanced questioningly at Alex.

“She is of no use to us,” Alex said bluntly. “And I have done enough to incur the MacSweens' wrath without also permanently stealing their laird's daughter. She stays here.” He turned his horse and began to ride away.

“No!” exclaimed Isabella, rising to stand before Brodick. “You cannot just abandon me here. You cannot!”

“Forgive me, m'lady,” Brodick apologized. “It was not meant to be.”

“You cannot leave me!”

“Farewell, sweet Bella,” he crooned. “I'll not forget you.” He tilted his head in a bow, then turned his mount and rode away, followed by Cameron and Ned.

“This isn't over!” Isabella raged. “I'll make sure my father's warriors hunt you down and crush every bone in your body, you vile abductor of helpless women! Then they'll carve out your eyes and mince them into paste…”

“Poor lass, I think you've gone and broken her heart,” said Cameron as Isabella's gruesome ravings continued.

“…and grind your organs into mush…”

“If that's what she's like when her heart is broken, I'd not want to see her angry,” reflected Ned.

“…you scurvy, rotten, fulsome bastard!”

“She'll get over it,” Brodick assured them.

“Aye,” agreed Cameron, laughing. “They always do.”

         

The air was aromatic with the sun-washed scent of damp earth and the tangy fragrance of heather that burst in purple puffs around them. But Gwendolyn was far too absorbed in considering her situation as they galloped through the meadows and woods to derive pleasure from her surroundings. Every mile took her farther away from Robert and the stone, and so with every mile her resolve to escape grew.

She was certain MacDunn intended to use her to either strike an enemy or fatten his coffers, or perhaps both. Although she had been fortunate in proving her supernatural powers with her little “spell” last night, she had no hope of faking someone's death or making riches suddenly appear. The moment she failed to do so, MacDunn would realize he had been duped and his rage would be awesome. After he finished punishing her, he would give her back to Robert in order to prevent war. She would be imprisoned and burned, and Robert's treachery would go without retribution.

She could not allow that to happen.

“The horses need to rest,” MacDunn suddenly announced. “We will stay here by this stream awhile.”

Gwendolyn wearily let go of Ned. Although MacDunn had said no MacSweens would come after them today, he had led his warriors like a man possessed. It was clear he was most anxious to return home with his prize. Her arms were stiff and her backside aching as she slid off Ned's horse, only to collapse in a startled heap on the ground.