The Highlander's Runaway Bride (2 page)

Chapter Two

Three weeks later
—Caisteal Bharraich—Castle Varrich—village of Tongue, Scotland

H
e should have gone by ship. He should have taken men with him. He should have done many things differently than he had. Rob knew that and more now as he neared the MacKay's keep outside the small village of Tongue.

Following the winding path up and around the hill on which the castle sat, Rob heard the guards call out as he cleared the last copse of trees and approached. He called out his name and the gates opened. One man motioned for him to follow and he did, aware of those watching his every move. Once he'd ridden close to the entrance to the keep itself, he threw a leg over his horse and dismounted. A gap-toothed boy ran up and Rob tossed the reins of both horses to him. He whistled to the boy before the young one got more than a couple of paces away and tossed him a coin.

‘Mackintosh?' a man called out from the open doorway. ‘The MacKay awaits you.'

Rob nodded and climbed the steps, leaning down to avoid hitting his head as he entered the keep. It was smaller than the one at Drumlui, but well kept and brightened by windows high up on the walls in the main hall. Glass from the looks of them. With the winds that blew in from the sea to the north and across the Kyle of Tongue, it was clear to him why those windows were small and thick.

Walking towards the large table at the other end of the rectangular chamber, Rob took note of a woman rushing there, as well. Not young enough to be his intended, she arrived there just as he did. He paused and bowed to the large, bearded man before him.

‘My lord,' he said, as he lifted his head. ‘I bring greetings from the Mackintosh to you and your family.'

He'd brought several gifts that yet remained on the packhorse that he would present formally later. And, something more personal to give the young woman when,
if
, he accepted the marriage contract. Rob glanced around the chamber and, though he saw several servants and others in the hall, no woman young enough to be the MacKay's heiress was present. Reaching inside his tunic, he took out a packet from Brodie and handed it to the MacKay.

‘Ye were expected nigh to a week ago,' the MacKay said, nodding to a servant. ‘We heard of storms to the west. Did ye get caught in them?'

‘Aye,' Rob said. He accepted a cup of ale from the servant and followed the laird's lead over to a table. ‘What roads I found quickly became muck and mire.'

‘Not surprising at this time of year,' the older man explained. ‘And this year the storms seem stronger coming from the north.'

The talk about the weather continued on and Rob knew it was forced. The rains came and went. The winds howled or caressed. The sun shone or hid. And none of that was of enough consequence for a man like this chieftain and a man like himself to dwell upon. It was, however, a perfect way to avoid the subject they should be discussing.

And why would the MacKay be avoiding that?

‘I have been amiss, Mackintosh,' he now said. ‘I do not believe ye have met Lady MacKay, Morag Munro.' Rob stood once more as the woman approached them now.

‘My lady,' he said with a bow of his head. ‘A pleasure to meet you.'

‘Was your journey pleasant?' she asked, sitting on a chair across from her husband.

The journey again. Would the weather be next?

‘Longer than I expected, my lady.' He kept his tone polite and tried not to let his suspicion enter it.

‘These storms have been unusual.'

Rob nodded, smiled and drank from his cup, unable to speak in that moment. Something was amiss here.

Granted, he spent the first week of his journey being angry and cursing his fate. Well, cursing his best friend's high-handed method of seeing to his life and future. And cursing his own inability to simply refuse. Mayhap the storms had been the Almighty's way of slowing him down so that his eventual acceptance of this arrangement would happen before his arrival in Tongue?

And he had accepted the inevitable of this situation.

Until now.

He had not lived this long without a healthy amount of suspicion in his blood, without knowing when to look for more or without knowing to respect the feeling in his gut when it told him of danger. Or betrayal. He'd survived and protected Brodie's life by understanding the signs.

Something was wrong here.

Rob searched for any sign of treachery and found none. The usual tasks and chores he would expect in a keep this size went on around him. Other than several guards posted at the doorway and one closer to the laird, he saw no increase in defence around the hall. Yet...

‘Your belongings have been taken to your chamber, sir,' the lady said now. ‘If you have need of anything before our evening meal, simply ask one of the servants.'

Rob stood as the lady did, understanding he'd been dismissed from their company, even if the laird remained in his chair watching them silently.

‘Lady,' he said, with a bow. ‘I appreciate your hospitality and look forward to speaking more at the evening meal.'

With another bow to the MacKay, he followed the servant off as he was clearly meant to do. Rob paused as they turned the corner down a corridor and glanced back at the laird and his lady. He found them watching him.

Oh, aye, something was amiss here. Now all he had to do was discover what it was. Suddenly, his reluctance over this match seemed the sensible approach after all.

* * *

The next hours passed slowly as he waited for darkness to fall and dinner to commence. He unpacked his clothing and found the two gifts he'd brought for the MacKay daughter: a book of prayers—from Arabella's own collection—and a silken scarf—suggested by his sister. Lady Eva MacKay was well educated, according to Arabella, so the book should be appreciated. But, as Margaret had pointed out, a lass was still a lass and a lass liked something pretty, too. Hence the pale blue scarf.

A servant knocked on his door and invited him below, so Rob followed, observing the others who preceded and followed him as much as he could. Other than a few furtive glances, ones not unusual when seeing a stranger in their midst, he noticed nothing else. His presence would have been known by now and his position as the emissary of the Mackintosh would assure polite if not deferential treatment.

The hall filled with kith and kin and Rob was led to the front table and a seat waiting next to the MacKay. Strangely, there was no other open place, and his intended was not yet present.

‘Lady Eva?' he asked after bowing and taking his place.

‘I must beg your pardon, sir—' Lady MacKay began.

With a curt wave of her husband's hand, her words and nearly her breath were cut off.

‘When you did not arrive as expected, my daughter asked permission to visit her cousin until you did. I have sent word, and she should arrive back here by midday on the morrow,' the laird explained.

It was not the news or even the fact that the woman they all meant for him to marry was not present for his arrival. It was not even the nervousness of Lady MacKay or the furtive glances she threw in her husband's direction. Many noble husbands and wives led barely civil lives together and others lived in open warfare.

No, it was the way everyone present there who could hear this conversation paused and seemed to hold their breath that gave Rob concern. As though this delay and absence was not a simple and usual thing, but was instead something big and important. Which made his hackles rise. He cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence, and nodded.

‘I look forward to having the pleasure of meeting her on the morrow, then.'

It was as if everyone let out their breath at once and returned to the conversations that they'd paused moments ago. Servants carried platters of roasted meats and fowl to the table, holding them so the laird and lady could select the choicest bits first. They brought the food to him next, as the honoured guest, and then to the rest at the high table.

The meal progressed and no one else mentioned the missing daughter at all. They discussed the MacKays. They discussed the Mackintoshes and the Chattan Confederation. They discussed the storms another time. All in all, it was the usual conversations and the usual fare for a diplomatic meal. Rob knew he would learn nothing here from them.

And yet, something flowed under it all. Mayhap he was right in his resistance to being forced into this marriage that would bring the Mackintoshes into an alliance with this clan? An opportunity to discover more came when one of the MacKay warriors approached and greeted him. They shared a mutual cousin, but Rob had forgotten that Iain lived here now.

‘Will ye join us for a wee game, Rob? When ye are finished with yer meal?' Iain asked after greeting the laird and lady. ‘Just a few friends, ye ken.' Iain, Rob now remembered, liked to throw dice.

‘With your permission?' Rob turned to his host and awaited his word. There was a slight hesitation before a quick nod of consent. ‘Aye, Iain. I will seek you out when we finish.'

* * *

The table was cleared a short time later, and the lady was granted leave to retire. Once she'd left, the laird spoke to a few of his men, giving orders for the morn and then stood to leave. ‘Break your fast with us in the morn, Mackintosh. We can ride out to the coast, if the weather clears.'

‘Aye, my lord. Until morn, then,' he said with a bow.

Rob let out a breath he had not realised he'd been holding and turned to see where Iain and his friends were gathered. Now, now he could find out what was going on here. A few hours later and some coin lighter, Rob had discovered some interesting bits about the goings-on in the Clan MacKay.

* * *

Rob woke early the next morning and saw to his horses in the stables. Built under the keep, they had their own entrance that faced north and the Kyle of Tongue. A few men nodded in greeting as he made his way back and into the hall where the morning meal would be served.

He held his words all through the meal, never giving any sign that he knew what was actually happening here. A short time later, the laird called for their horses, and he followed Ramsey from the keep, through the main gate and along the water's edge south. A few of the laird's men rode with them, and the first part of the ride was pleasant enough.

The MacKay was clearly quite proud of his new keep and the growing village that it protected a short distance to the east. He led them around in a circle that kept the keep in sight at all times. High on its hill, it was visible from the surrounding lands and made an impressive sight.

When they returned to the keep, climbing the hill and reaching a point that gave them a fantastic view of the surrounding kyle and lands, Rob pulled the reins and halted his horse. Ramsey waved his men on and stared at him. Rob could almost feel the man's growing discomfort as each second passed them by.

‘So, my lord...' Rob began, watching the laird's face closely as he spoke. ‘In which direction do you think your daughter headed when she ran way?'

Chapter Three

Five days later
—near Durness

I
t had seemed a sound plan at first—run away from her home to give herself time to find her bairn. Run away and avoid this impending marriage. The Mackintosh's man would have his choice in accepting this arranged marriage or forgoing it, and Eva had planned that the latter should be his choice.

Surely, a man, no man, wanted to marry a reluctant or resistant woman? And if her disappearance shamed or humiliated him, would he not simply ride back to wherever he came from and seek out a willing woman to wife? Eva sighed again.

Shifting on the cold stone floor beneath her, she tried to ease her way back to sitting up. Her ankle and knee protested, sending shards of pain through her body with any movement.

So much for a good idea.

A shiver raced through her whole body then, reminding her of the fever that would not go away. She still bled as well, her body not healed yet from the birth eight weeks before.

Dying would be one answer to her problems. But she would not leave this life until she found out her bairn's fate. Not yet, she thought, as she shifted her weight to her uninjured hip and tried to pull herself up. Her leg slid on the slippery floor of the cave and she fell hard, forcing the breath from her body in a loud whoosh. Her head hit the wall and, as Eva watched, everything around her grew dark.

* * *

When next she opened her eyes, Eva could see a shape moving in the shadows. A fire burned somewhere close, and a huge creature skulked along the path inside the cave where she'd tried to hide. Oh, Dear God in Heaven! Had she unknowingly fallen into the cave of some dangerous animal? Mayhap if she lay quiet and unmoving, it would not hear her? But shivers racked her body and her teeth chattered so loudly she could hear them.

The dark, fur-covered creature rose up to its full height and turned to where she lay hidden among the rocks. It began to growl and...curse? Her fevered mind could not make sense of how an animal could speak in a human voice, but this one did. As it moved along the path and closer to her, she closed her eyes and prayed.

For forgiveness. For her daughter. For her soul.

All was for naught as the huge figure stood only a few paces away from her and stared at her with eyes filled with the glow of hell itself. Could it be a bear? Nay, they had not been seen in centuries here. Some other mythic creature sent to punish her for her disobedience and other sins? Eva reached up and swept her hair away from her face, squinting into the shadows to see what would be her executioner.

At its first step closer, she shook her head and tried to push herself along the slippery floor. With its second, Eva opened her mouth to scream. It would be the only thing she could do against something of this size and strength. She drew in a breath and brought her daughter to mind in that moment of her own death.

‘Haud yer wheest!'
the creature growled, stopping the coming scream with a hand over her mouth. ‘Every noise echoes in this blasted place!'

A hand? Not a paw or claws? A hand, strong and warm across her mouth and cheeks. Eva blinked as the shape released her mouth and reached for its head.

‘Are you Eva MacKay?' a man's voice asked. He pushed back the cloak that covered him, and he leaned forward. ‘Are you?'

‘Aye.' Her voice barely came out of her scratchy, dry throat.

She'd been found. All her attempts to evade her father's men were for naught. She would be dragged back now and forced to marry and leave these lands forever.

Eva fell back, giving up the fight. She was so cold and in so much pain that she could not struggle against her fate any longer. The fever that had plagued her since giving birth continued to rise and fall, sapping her strength.

‘Give me your hand,' the man said. ‘Give it here.'

Glancing at him once again, she could not get a clear view of his face. There was a torch or fire somewhere close, and it threw shadows across the cave and him. One moment, his face looked like that of an angel and the next like a demon. She swallowed against the dryness of her throat and stared at him.

Then, he held out his hand and motioned to her again. Knowing she would never be able to stand on her leg, she shook her head in refusal.

‘Are you naysaying me?' He crossed his arms over his massive chest and gave her a dark glare. ‘I said, give me your hand.'

‘I cannot stand,' she whispered in fear of both the pain to come and this man. ‘My foot, my knee, are...' She pointed to her injured right leg.

The grumbled cursing began anew as he knelt next to her and pushed her cloak aside. His indrawn breath at the trews she wore frightened her, but he ignored everything but her right leg. Lifting it with a gentleness she never expected, he slid his hand over her, pressing lightly around her knee and then on the boot that covered her foot and ankle. She could not help the gasps that escaped with each touch, but she cried out when he squeezed her ankle.

‘Your pardon, my lady,' he said quietly. Easing her leg back down to the floor, he stood up. ‘I do not think it broken, only bruised badly. But that boot needs to come off so your foot can be seen to.' The man walked a short distance away, back towards the opening of the cave and turned around as though searching for something. ‘How did this happen?' he asked.

‘I fell...in,' she whispered, glancing up at the opening above and behind her.

His words, filled with all sorts of expletives and unimagined insults, shocked her. And yet, they did not match the ease in his manners when he approached once more and crouched next to her.

‘'Tis a wonder you did not kill yourself. Or was that your plan?'

‘Nay!'

Surprised at his boldness, she realised she had no idea of this man's identity, even though he had clearly been searching for her. Had her father hired mercenaries to keep her disappearance a secret from the clan and from the man coming to marry her? She stared at him, unable to answer his unthinkable query and unwilling to tell him anything.

‘Who are you?' she asked. Eva pushed back with her arms, trying to sit up to face him. ‘How did you find me?'

‘I come from your father,' he said with a shrug. ‘But neither of those things are important. A storm is blowing in from the north and this cave will flood very soon. We must get out of here now, for I have no desire to die in a place like this.' His emphasis on
I
made it clear what he thought her intentions were.

Spring brought powerful storms as the winter struggled to keep hold of the lands and seas this far north. The man who suggested this place to her had said it was far enough from the sea's edge to be safe. But now, listening to the sound of approaching waves, she knew the villager had been wrong. If her mouth and throat could grow any drier, they did just then as a wave of choking fear filled her.

‘Come,' he said once more, reaching for her. ‘Put your hands on my shoulders and let me get you to your feet first.'

This time, she did as he said, reaching up and grabbing hold of his shoulders. He slid his large hands around her at her waist and lifted her, bearing most of her weight as she placed her foot on the floor. When he began to let her stand, her leg gave out and she stumbled. A moment later, she found herself cradled against his chest.

His wide, muscular chest. He barely exerted himself in lifting her. She could feel the strength in his arms as he walked towards the entrance to the cave. As they neared the torch he'd stuck into a crack in the rock wall near the opening, she dared a glance up at his face.

And wished she had not.

The light from the torch caught the auburn in his hair and made it flicker. His brow gathered in a frown that made him look fierce and frightening. His chin and cheeks, not disguised by the beard he wore, seemed carved from the same hard rock of the inside of the cave. She began shivering again and could not control the way her body shook.

‘Are you ill?' he asked, carrying her towards the steep path that led to the top of the cliff. ‘Christ! You are burning up!' he growled against her head. The anger in his voice made her tremble.

The fever must be back.

Glancing around, she saw the path she'd not seen when trying to reach the cave. Eva had approached the openings in the ceiling of the cave when she'd slipped and fallen in. The only reason she had not died was that she slid most of the way down, hitting her foot and leg on a large rock as she came to stop on the floor. They reached it, and he stopped.

‘I cannot carry you up this way and I cannot help you walk up. The path is not wide enough for two of us and I will need my hands on the steeper places.'

Her mind was so dulled by pain and fear that Eva could not come up with a solution. Then he began to lower her feet towards the ground.

‘Put your uninjured foot down,' he directed. When she did, he gripped her waist until she steadied. His next action surprised her. He leaned her against the thick bushes there and removed a long length of tartan from around him. Then crouching before her, he said, ‘Come now, lady. Climb on.'

If she had thought herself confused before, this confirmed it. Her head ached as she tried to determine what he wanted her to do. Her hesitation was noticed, for he turned and motioned to her with his hand, pointing to his back.

‘Carrying you on my back will be safer,' he explained, moving back until he almost touched her legs. ‘Hold once more on to my shoulders. Lean against me and give me your injured leg first.'

It took her several attempts and so much pain before she could position herself on his back. His touch was gentle as he guided and supported her leg around his waist and held it steady as she lifted her other one. Eva clutched his shoulders until he gave new orders.

‘Slide your arms around me, lady,' he urged as he stood up. ‘It will be a more secure hold for you.' She did as he said and she did feel more stable.

He tossed the length of wool around her, pulling it below her and wrapping it snugly around her, tying her to him much as a babe could be worn by a mother. He made several adjustments, uttering vile words when things did not do his bidding. Then, apparently satisfied with her position and the binding holding her there on his back, he took the first step up the path.

Between her exhaustion and pain and the warmth of his very strong body beneath her, Eva found herself drifting off to sleep as he climbed almost effortlessly up the steep trail. She woke to his voice, deep and masculine, calling out curses at the sky as the clouds opened above them. Spring rains were cold and this was just that. Only her head was above the woollen covering to feel it but he was more exposed and was getting soaked.

‘Hold on, lady,' he said over his shoulder. ‘We are almost at the top.'

He stumbled then and nearly pitched them to the ground, but he somehow regained his balance before they fell. Eva waited for the ear-blistering epithets that she expected would follow his misstep and was surprised when she could hear only his breathing. She began to drift in and out of awareness with each step as the pain flooded her body.

They reached the top and he grunted and stopped. Eva could feel his lungs taking in deep breaths and expelling them hard. As though her body had waited for them to be on level ground and not scrambling up a steep cliff side, the moment he turned his head to look at her and spoke her name, the blackness claimed her.

* * *

Rob felt the moment she lost consciousness. He'd heard every gasp and moan as he'd carried her up the cliff. She probably did not even realise she made such sounds, but he heard each of them. And yet, not once did she utter a word of complaint. Strange, that.

Since she was secure wrapped against him as she was, he untangled the reins of the horse he'd borrowed and led the animal along the main road that led back towards the village of Durness. He'd found a small unused cottage there for his use during this search and he would take her there.

As the winds howled around him now, he wondered no longer why everyone here spoke often about the weather and the storms. The blacksmith had warned him about a coming storm when he asked about borrowing a horse. The innkeeper had, as well. And the miller, when he'd arranged for the cottage on his land. And, as if the mere thought of it made it happen, the rain became a wind-driven tempest, knocking him back and off balance.

Fighting against it, he made his way to the small dwelling and, after tying the horse behind it, Rob took the lady within. Crouching down to sit on the pallet, he untied the woollen fabric and eased her back onto it. He'd not realised how hot she was until he moved her off his back. Touching her cheek with the back of his hand, Rob felt the heat of a fever there and realised the danger of it.

His sister was the healer and she would know immediately what to do. He searched his memory of the times he'd watched her care for kith and kin, whether in the village or when they'd sought refuge in the mountains. Margaret was very succinct in her directions, and he smiled as he heard them in his mind now.

‘Warm the chill. Cool the heat.'

‘Watered ale throughout. Broth when hungry.'

Even a simpleton, or a man, could follow those directions, she'd told him once. He'd laughed then but not now, as the dangers of a fever were too real. Glancing around the cottage at the supplies he'd brought, he knew he did not have enough to last more than this night. Rob had not planned to stay here, only to use it as a place to sleep. After lighting a fire in the small hearth, he knew that now supplies were the most pressing need.

The lady yet slept, so he decided it would be best to go now and fetch the needed items from the village or from the miller. Her garments, the scandalous trews she wore, as well as her cloak and tunic, were soaked through, so Rob knew he must remove them and the short boots she wore, too. He drew his
sgian dubh
to slice the seam of the boot open so he could take it off without injuring her ankle more than it was.