Highland Dragon (23 page)

“’Tis a wealth o’ tellin’ ye blather about, wench.” Laird Kinnon exhaled between rotting teeth.

The smell of his repugnant breath cut through the icy air and made Catriona’s gut quiver. One filthy hand scratched his grimy beard, while the other did the same beneath his plaid. The Scot displayed the manners of a goat and his acrid stench ate through her nostrils like poison.

Catriona wouldn’t have sought aid from Laird Kinnon if Wanda MacLeod hadn’t ruined a decision weighing heavily in her favor. Calin’s new wife possessed the ability to rapt people at will. The witch held Calin and his kin under the influence of black magic and Catriona needed a stronger ally to eliminate the peasant. Then she would never have to return to England or her father again. Catriona envisioned herself at Calin’s side after the bitch burned for heresy. Then all would be as before.

The butcher’s son proved ever loyal to her and most informative. Not only did she know when and how Calin intended to attack, but also his intent to have her apprehended and sent to King James for crimes against kin and country. With little choice, she had fled to the foothills with Ian and his brother. But the abandoned cot-house filled with animal feces and infestation were not accommodations suitable to her tastes. A sennight later, Catriona convinced her lovers to escort her onto Kinnon soil.

The accommodations had not improved.

Now, Ian and his brother occupied a small chamber beneath the Kinnon keep where they had been stripped and chained to the stone floor. Catriona found herself at the mercy of Laird Kinnon and his mercenaries. Pitch torches flickered along the dank walls of the grotto and the rhythmic patter of rodents played a horrid tune in her ears. The leather straps binding her wrists behind her back made her fingers numb, and Catriona feared she’d made a grave mistake.

A chair, like none she’d ever seen, sat in the center of the antechamber. Sharp iron spikes protruded from every surface and the brown discoloration of aged blood painted the metal. Blades, axes, saws, metal hooks—all hung from brackets in the stone walls. When Laird Kinnon retrieved an iron claw from the selection of torture mechanisms, terror spiraled up her spine. She backed away from him and into the solid chest of a guard.

“I vow what I speak is the truth. The MacLeod plans to attack your fortress come the next full moon.” Looking into Laird Kinnon’s black eyes, Catriona repeated the information in an effort to divert his attentions from the device in his gloved hand.

“The MacLeod has tried to plunder my holdings afore and has always failed. I dinnae fear his militia. With the information ye’ve so eagerly provided, my warriors will crush him before he crosses Loch Ceardach.” Laird Kinnon stroked her cheek with the cold steel of the iron claw.

“The MacLeod is powered by a force stronger than your warriors can conquer. He uses the sorcery of a heretic. A witch. One of your clan. She has the mark of Satan upon her flesh and her powers are fierce. You’ll not reign the victor in your battle against him. Without the witch, you will fail.” For the first time since entering the antechamber, Catriona saw a spark of interest in Laird Kinnon’s eyes.

“A witch, ye say?”

“Yes. A master in her craft. She leaves the MacLeod stronghold every morn to practice her trade. Only I know her daily regimen.” With this lie, Catriona felt a warm bead of sweat trickle over her frigid skin.

“Weel, out with it, lass. Dinnae let those bonnie fine lips quit blatherin’ just when ye’ve somethin’ interesting to finally say.”

Catriona’s opportunity to escape had arrived. “I will divulge that information as soon as my escorts are released, and we are safe from your stronghold.”

Laird Kinnon’s nostrils flared. Plumes of gray swirled beneath his nose like brewing storm clouds. “Your escorts will be executed by nightfall. Ye are in nay position to barter with me, bitch. Ye will tell me what I wish to know. Now!”

Laird Kinnon used the cat-like claw to slice through the laces of her bodice. The sentry dug his fingers into her shoulders, pinning her in place. Laird Kinnon’s foul hand curved over her stomach and slid beneath the drawstring of her skirt. His palm pressed against her mound while his fingers screwed their way inside her.

She inhaled a quick scream at the abrupt contact.

The tilt of his wrist brought Catriona to her toes. “Speak or I’ll feed ye to my warriors.”

She knew the ways of men. Her father offered her favors freely to hordes of English nobility, but Laird Kinnon instilled a fear in her she’d never known. A fear so revolting she tasted the bile on the back of her tongue. “I will not be threatened by your primitive tactics. I am the daughter of the Crown Prince of Malaga. You will suffer the wrath of King Henry if you brutalize me.”

“Your king strikes nay fear in me.” Laird Kinnon ripped his hand from her skirt only to grope at her breasts. He then forced her to her knees by her throat. “Tell me what ye know of the witch.”

“Free me, and I will take you to her.”

Catriona blew a sigh of relief when Laird Kinnon sidestepped away from her and tossed the iron claw to the floor. She would lead him to Akira, then return to Calin. A moment of calm flushed beneath her cold skin.

“’Tis to your good fortune I have nay taste for English whores,” he said mildly then ordered his sentries. “Use whatever tactics ye need to find me the witch, then execute her escorts and chain lady English till her information holds true.”

“Nay! I’ll take you to her!” Catriona screamed, while the two warriors lifted her beneath the arms and then strapped her to a wooden table.

“Just five more, Isobel.” Akira applied pressure against her sister’s foot while bending her left leg back and forth. Isobel’s heavy breathing told Akira her sister’s physical endurance was near spent this morning.

“Please cease, Akira,” Isobel whispered behind closed lids.

Easing Isobel’s leg atop the feather tick, Akira stepped to Isobel’s side and wiped the sheen of sweat from her temple. “Your legs are getting stronger every day.” Akira smiled down at her lying atop the healer’s bed and wished she could take away her sister’s pain.

“Andrew, come and work Isobel’s toes until the healer returns for your lesson.” Akira directed her young guard to his daily regimen.

“I dinnae wish to be a healer like Isobel. I’m a warrior and protector.” Andrew’s face fell in a defiant frown, but he crossed the earthen floor of the healer’s cot-house to do as instructed.

“Your laird wants ye to learn a trade and will only allow ye on the training field after your lesson. Now count to one hundred aloud in French today while ye wiggle each of Isobel’s toes twenty times.”

“Aye, m’lady.”

Once Andrew focused on his duty, Akira moved to add a brick of peat to the fire and set water to warm in the iron pot for the herbs Jaime was collecting. The faintest blush of morn crept around the thin ox hide covering the window, and the drone of Andrew’s numbers sent her mind astray. A wisp of black smoke held her gaze, and the bitter smell of herbs set Akira’s stomach in motion.

She’d been ill every morn for ten consecutive days. A child grew in her belly, the MacLeod heir. More than anything, Akira wanted a brood of bairns to run circles around their father’s legs. She played the scene out in her head often, and more than once she’d made plans to tell Calin. But the preparations for the pending war seemed to preoccupy the majority of his thoughts.

Tonight, she vowed. Tonight she would tell him about the babe. And before he went to battle, she would tell him exactly how she felt about him. She could no longer deny it. She was in love with him.

“Akira, ye look pale.”

Akira heard her sister’s words, but could do little to respond with her heart in her throat and her stomach churning. “Andrew, keep counting. I’ll be back-a-ten.”

Akira burst through the small door of the cot-house and emptied her stomach onto the leaf-covered ground. Clutching her gut and holding tight to the birch tree, she heard Jaime step up behind her.

“Ye need anything, lass?” Jaime asked as he rubbed her back with the hand not holding two bundles of wilted herbs.

Shaking her head in response, she sucked in cool autumn air until her breathing regulated.

“Have ye told Calin ye are with child yet?”

Akira shook her head again, vowing to never trust Isobel with a secret again.

“Think ye the mon should know before he goes off to war?”

Akira wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then offered Jaime a pitiful smile. “I dinnae wish to add to his worries, but I intend to tell him.”

“When?”

“Tonight.” Akira’s smile matched Jaime’s.

“He will be verra pleased. As will Aunt Wanda.”

The nausea typically eased immediately, but another rumble rolled through her belly. What seemed odder, she heard pounding in her ears. Standing upright, she looked at Jaime. His pinched brows told her he heard the noise too, which was impossible. How could he hear the queasiness in her gut?

But the sound pulsing her innards was not her bodily protests. The thunder of hoofbeats vibrated the ground beneath her bare feet. Akira followed Jaime’s wide eyes over the valley and saw the riders. A cloud of dust billowed behind at least a dozen Kinnon warriors.

Within seconds, they were close enough for her to recognize one of The Beast’s sentries.

Jaime tossed the herbs into a heap on the ground then unsheathed his claymore. “Go inside. Dinnae be afraid, lass.”

“Are ye insane? Ye intend to fight them? There are too many. Ye are but one mon.”

“Go!” Jaime yelled and gave her an encouraging push.

Akira rushed to the useless cover of the cot-house.

“What is it?” Isobel asked as Akira helped her to a sitting position at the edge of the bed.

“Kinnon warriors.”

“Rebels?”

Akira shook her head and willed herself to be calm. The water she had set to warm now boiled and filled the room with damp steam. Andrew raced to the window, wooden sword drawn. Akira heard the nickers of horses prancing just outside the door.

“Move aside. We’ve come for the witch,” a man announced.

Witch.

The word that haunted her childhood echoed in her ears.

She moved closer to the door. Age-old panic surfaced behind her breast.

“There is nay witch here, and ye are trespassing on MacLeod soil,” Jaime defended.

“We come by order of Laird Kinnon and will not leave without the witch. Now move aside or die.”

The scrape of a sword being pulled from its scabbard lifted the hair on Akira’s neck.

Isobel sucked in an audible breath as her hands flew to her mouth. “Jaime.”

A thump on the thatch roof prefaced the crackle that soon followed.

Jaime burst through the door just as the tinge of smoke filtered through the rafters. He pulled Isobel to his chest with one arm and scanned the small room. When Akira saw the look of failure in his aqua-blue eyes, her heart hammered against her ribs. The situation at hand left no time for words. Smoke already filled the ceiling and orange flecks of burnt thatch and ash floated weightlessly around them.

“Andrew, swing your sword at anything that moves.”

Isobel held tight to Jaime’s neck as they ran toward the doorway.

“Stay at my back. I will fight them off while ye make a break for Calin’s stallion,” Jaime instructed Akira.

“With Isobel in your arms?” Akira asked and felt the helplessness of the situation wash over her.

“Hold tight to my belt. I’ll protect ye with God at my side.” Jaime jerked her up tight behind him and rushed over the threshold of the burning cot-house.

The warriors awaited them, building an impregnable wall of horseflesh. Their steeds blew clouds of fog from their nostrils, which only added to the chaos. Jaime set Isobel on the ground and then swung his sword wide as he attempted to back Akira in the direction of Calin’s stallion. Amid the confusion, the drone of the flame-engulfed cot-house, and the biting pitch of Isobel’s screams, Akira lost her grip on Jaime’s belt. Andrew’s small hands disappeared from her kirtle.

A hand wrenched her back by her hair. A stealthy forearm gripped her beneath the arms and then hoisted her up in the saddle in front of him. She swiveled to watch a warrior slap the flat side of his sword against Jaime’s temple.

A stream of blood spewed from his mouth just before he sank to the ground at Isobel’s feet.

In a panic, Akira screamed, “Send for Calin!”

The horse reared then all four hooves left the ground.

Calin sharpened his
sgian dubh
on a flat rock outside the chapel where Father Harrald administered the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Soul-cleansed warriors, preparing their bodies for war, had cycled through the kirk for two days. His garrison was prepared, and MacLeod warriors arrived in droves over the past sennight. The Donalds awaited the signal in the northwest, and Kendrick had sent instructions to the members of the rebellion. The vengeance that had consumed his life would soon come to pass, but, more so, he ached to be free of his secrets. Akira needed to know that Laird Kinnon sired her. If something went awry during the battle, he didn’t want her secret still tucked inside his soul.

The horn sounded from the tower, breaking his thoughts. A falcon circled overhead. Both signaled an approaching rider.

Sirius appeared through the entrance of the gatehouse, barreling at a full-blown gallop. Calin jumped to his feet and studied the scene. A crop of blond hair bobbed behind the stallion’s head. Andrew was bent over the mane of the warhorse clutching the reins and bellowing in high pitches. A sense of dread shot through his core, and the unknowing wreaked havoc on his mind.

“M’laird, they ran Jaime down with a sword and took m’lady!” Andrew cried out, tears filling the bottoms of his eyes.

Calin didn’t pause to ask questions. He yanked Andrew out of the saddle and mounted the prancing warhorse. Setting Sirius back into motion, Calin kicked its flanks and raced through the barbican. Whoever had taken her would weep for death when he finished with them. He didn’t care who they were or how big their number, he would kill them all. He drove Sirius hard over the valley, the reins digging grooves into his palms.

Terror thickened in his gullet to the degree he nearly choked with every pummel of hooves. Gray smoke mixed with the clouds above the healer’s cot-house and tinged the air with an acidic smell. When he crested the hill, all four hooves left the ground. Then through the haze emerged Jaime with Isobel draped over his arms. A stain of crimson touched his temple, but, thank the saints, he was alive.

Before Sirius came to a halt on the slope of the knoll, Jaime had faltered twice beneath Isobel’s weight. Calin dismounted and rushed to his cousin’s aid. “Let me help ye.”

Calin gently lifted Isobel from Jaime’s arms. “Are ye hurt, lass?”

Isobel shook her head, fear puckering her face. “Ye must go after her, m’laird. They called her a witch.”

“Who called her a witch? Where is Akira?” Calin could barely swallow.

Jaime nodded in the opposite direction. “Kinnon warriors took her. The Beast’s blackguards. I tried—”

“How many?” Calin interrupted, now terrified.

“A dozen. Mayhap more.”

Before Calin could form another question, a multitude of warriors were upon them. Both MacLeod kinsmen and Kinnon rebels were armed and ready for orders, Gordon led the assembly with Kendrick at his side.

Calin sat a trembling Isobel in the empty saddle of a steed beside Alec. “Take her and Jaime back to the keep. Send for Aunt Wanda. Jaime needs tending.”

“Nay. I’m going with ye,” Jaime protested and wrapped his hands around Isobel’s waist to bring her back out of the saddle. He pulled her tight, kissed her, and whispered in her ear.

“I love ye, too. Please be careful and return to me,” Isobel responded quietly, tears flowing over her cheeks.

Jaime placed her in the saddle in front of Alec then moved to clasp Calin’s forearm. His voice dropped low. “There is something else ye should know. I know it is a woman’s place to tell her husband, but if Akira were my wife I’d want to know.”

Calin turned to him, their eyes on the same level. “What is it?”

“Akira is with child.”

Calin clutched his chest. “Oh God.” The weight of Jaime’s hand on his arm felt like a stone wall. His knees wobbled. He was going to be a father. A vivid picture of Akira holding his child flashed behind his eyes.

Jaime gave him a brotherly pat that almost sent him to his knees and mounted. “Now, I’m going with ye.”

Calin nodded his agreement and turned to his brethren. “I’m going after her. Who is with me?”

The roaring agreement set him into motion. He mounted Sirius and focused on Gordon. “Prepare the clan. If we cannae reach her before they enter onto Kinnon soil, I will need the MacLeod warriors positioned outside Brycen Castle. The war has begun.”