Rogue of the High Seas (20 page)

“I…” Robert began but stopped at the sound of hooves thundering toward them. Aidan rounded a bend in the road and galloped toward them.

“Trouble?” Alasdair asked, reaching over his shoulder for his claymore.

“I am nae sure,” Aidan answered as he reined in his horse and his brothers stopped. “I thought I saw something flash silver in the trees by the pass just ahead…and the woods are too quiet.”

His words were accompanied by the scraping sound of swords being pulled from his brothers' scabbards. Robert took the pistol strapped to his thigh and placed it front of him. Aidan gave it an admiring look.

“I have never fired one of those.”

“And let's hope we doona have to today,” Alasdair replied and turned to his brothers. “If we are attacked, fight only to free ourselves. Once we are through the pass, we'll be clear. Doona make a battle of it.” He looked at Robert. “The pass up ahead is the most dangerous part of the journey. 'Tis nae long, but 'tis narrow and the trees stand close. Have a care.”

He nodded as they proceeded cautiously to round the bend from where Aidan had just come. Robert was no woodsman, but even he realized the birds had stilled. He angled his gun, finger close to the trigger. He could see several large boulders up ahead on either side of the road, their jagged edges arching over the trail. The trees were only feet away from the path and Robert saw his brothers scouring the dark trunks for movement, but all was still. Too still.

Alasdair signaled a stop, indicating with his hand they were to ride two abreast through the rocky pass. They must have done this maneuver many times before because, as Robert watched, Braden, Gavin and Niall silently aligned themselves with Robert's younger brothers. Alasdair and Aidan led and Cory and Carr brought up the rear, along with Robert. Swords at the ready, the men kicked their horses to a gallop.

An arrow whizzed by Robert's head, followed by another. He heard a blood-curdling yell ahead of him, while behind him, Cory and Carr hacked at two men leaping from the woods. Looking up, Robert saw three more on top of the rocks. He aimed his pistol and fired, felling one man, and then his horse was thundering through the pass, the twins closely behind.

Robert saw the brothers waiting for them, safely out of bow range. Even as he rode toward them, he could see Alasdair was bleeding from a leg wound.

And then Robert felt a sharp ping to his shoulder and knew he had been hit.

Chapter Twenty-One

“We're being attacked!” Caitlin, one of Shane's thirteen-year-old twin sisters, yelped as she ran into the library where the adults were gathered.

“By MacDonalds!” Caylin, the other twin, shouted from behind her. “Come quick! Hurry!”

Ian gave both of them an exasperated look as he and Shane rose. Shauna closed the book she'd been reading, while Bridget, having been relieved of bedside duty by Abigail, shook her head at the twins. “Why would MacDonalds be attacking us?”

“We doona ken! Just come!”

Shane frowned as they all went out the front door to the bailey. Shauna followed his gaze and widened her eyes. The old drawbridge always remained down with the portcullis up, and right now, a large group of dark-haired men wearing the MacDonald plaid were indeed thundering toward the opening, yelling like berserkers.

“We told you! We told you!” both twins screamed.

“Hush!” Bridget said.

“What the devil…” Ian put his hand on the hilt of his dagger and started toward them, but Shauna raced past him.

“'Tis Robert! He's hurt!”

Bridget hurried after her. “There's another wounded as well.”

The horses slid to stops in a flurry of choking dust, but Shauna put a hand over her nose while a copper-haired young man helped Robert down. She put his good arm—the one not in the bloodied sling—around her shoulders and felt a momentary squeeze of his fingers. He tried to smile, but he was pale beneath his tan.

“Take him to the Great Hall. 'Tis closest,” Bridget said as two dark-haired MacDonalds lifted Alasdair off and formed a seat by linking their arms.

“Who's in charge here?” Ian asked.

One man pointed to Alasdair. “He is. I'm Aidan, second oldest.”

“What happened?”

“We were waylaid at the pass about two miles from here. Archers and swordsmen,” Aidan answered.

“Come in. We can discuss this later.”

Inside the Great Hall, Bridget had already taken charge. “Hot water, bandages, my needle kit and salves. Bring whisky too,” she ordered the maids who were staring wide-eyed at the MacDonalds. “And be quick about it.” She turned. “Lay your leader on the table. I will need to see the leg wound.” She glanced at Shauna. “Can ye take care of that one?”

“Aye.” Shauna helped Robert to a bench and started unknotting the sling. “Arrow shot?”

“Yes. Luckily I was wearing a jerkin under the plaid and it didn't go all the way through. Niall pulled it out, which is why there's so much blood.”

“It still needs to be cleaned,” Bridget called to him.

Robert nodded, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his good arm.

“Let me,” Shauna said, gently tugging the material where the blood had dried it to his skin. “No sense in ye getting it bleeding again.”

He managed a faint smile and dropped his hand. “I am all yours then.”

Shauna felt her stomach flutter. She knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded—although she hoped Ian hadn't heard—but it still sent little thrills through her. Of course, those tingles might have something to do with seeing Robert bare-chested with well-defined ridges rippling down his flat belly. She swallowed hard. It wasn't like she hadn't seen her brothers with their shirts off—they all looked like they were molded out of rock too—but truth be told, she'd wanted to see Robert in a state of undress. She glanced at Bridget who'd cut away part of Alasdair's pants to examine his thigh. Shauna turned quickly back. Perhaps it was good Robert hadn't received a leg wound.

The maids, led by Kyla, brought in the items Bridget had requested and set them on the table. Kyla gave Robert and Alasdair appreciative looks until Bridget cleared her throat. “Perhaps you could see to our other guests.”

Kyla glanced to the other end of the hall where the MacDoanalds were seated with Shane and Ian. Her face lit with a big smile and she started toward them. “Well, then. I'll just be seein' to those braw lads over there.”

Like a covey of startled quail, the other maids rushed after her.

Shauna shook her head and moved behind Robert to see where the arrow had entered. His chiseled shoulders and muscular back were equally impressive. Her tummy quivered again. She ran her fingers along the edge of the wound. His skin felt like smooth, oiled leather. She frowned.
Hot
oiled leather. “Ye are fevered.”

Robert looked over his shoulder at her. “It's infected? Already?”

“If it isnae already, it soon will be.” She reached for the jug of whisky and Robert put out his good hand.

He smiled. “Just what I needed.”

“Aye,” Shauna returned his smile as she handed him the jug and then took it back when he'd had his drink. “But I'm using it for something else. It might sting a wee bit.” Very carefully, she used two fingers to spread the jagged edges slightly open. Blood began to trickle. As slowly as she could, she poured whisky into the wound. She felt Robert flinch beneath her hand, but he made no sound. “I'm sorry to hurt ye, but 'tis the best way to clean it.”

“I know,” he said. “Go ahead and finish.”

Taking a clean cloth, she dabbed the skin, then repeated the process two more times. She threaded one of Bridget's needles and soaked the whole thing in whisky before she started stitching. Robert grimaced once but sat stoically quiet.

Shauna realized she hadn't heard any sound from Alasdair either and glanced over to see how Bridget was doing. Her sister had just bent her head to his thigh to bite off the thread. Alasdair looked awestruck. “Ye are an angel, lass.”

She thought she saw Bridget blush, but then her sister briskly started applying a salve. Shauna nearly snickered. Anyone who thought Bridget angelic would be in for a rude awakening. Turning back to Robert, Shauna wished she'd been better at embroidery. “Ye are going to have a scar.”

“It will not be the first.”

She knit her brows together. Robert had his shirt off. She'd noticed a small scar that looked like a knife strike on his right arm. Were there other scars? And…
where
were they? Shauna felt herself blush. She was getting as bad as Kyla.

Quickly, she picked up the small jar of salve Bridget had put down and covered the stitches. Robert lifted his arms obligingly as she picked up a long strip of cloth to wrap around his chest and over his shoulder. She tried not to think about how close she was to him—her breasts were practically pressed against his back. Forcing herself to focus, she moved around to face him and secured the bandage. “There. Ye should be good as new in a day or two.”

“You do good work.” Robert caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. He brushed his lips over her knuckles and then turned her hand over to kiss her palm, his green gaze never leaving hers.

She nearly melted at his warm lips savoring her palm. Lord! Had the tip of his tongue just licked her? Her knees jellied.

Robert grinned and released her hand. “Thank you, Miss MacLeod.”

Shauna didn't recall Ian's Great Hall ever looking more like a war council than it did the next afternoon. All ten of the MacDonalds and Robert—she wondered if he remembered the palm kiss yesterday?—sat at a long table, looking grim. Owen and his father, John, and a small retinue of their men were seated at a table across from them, their expressions equally tense. Ian had directed all weapons to be left by the door, but in Highlander terms, that usually meant the ones that were visible. Shauna was pretty sure everyone still carried a
sgian-dubh
in a boot. She just hoped no one was hair-triggered enough to pull one out. The fact Ian insisted that she, Abigail and Bridget remain on the dais out of harm's way made her think Ian suspected the same. At least they hadn't been banned from the hall.

“We are nae accusing ye of anything,” Ian said to John. He'd elected to sit midway between the two groups and Shane stood behind him. “But two of my guests were shot on your land yesterday.”

“Guests?” Owen narrowed his eyes. “They are MacDonalds.”

“Quiet, son,” John said and looked across the room. “Did any of ye see a MacLean tartan?”

“I saw no one,” Alasdair answered. “I was the first through the pass and the arrow struck my leg from behind.”

“Then why were we summoned here?” Owen demanded.

“Enough,” John said. “We need to get to the bottom of this.”

“Aye,” Ian replied. “Robert was also attacked from atop the rocks. He felled someone. I sent four men to the pass, but the body had been removed. The blood trail ended in churned-up earth where horses had waited.” He turned to Cory and Carr. “Ye said two men came out of the woods. What were they wearing?”

The twins looked at each other. “Nae anything unusual,” one of them said. “Dirty linen shirts, tan breeches. They were nae young nor old.”

“They retreated once Robert shot their comrade on the rocks,” the other one said.

Owen eyed his father, then looked at the twins. “And no one wore tartans?”

“Nae.”

Owen looked back to Ian. “Then we are free to go?”

Ian frowned. “Ye are always free to go. I doona want misunderstanding to linger or blood to be shed over this.”

“But be warned,” Aidan said. “If we find the MacLeans are behind this, we will return.”

“Agreed,” John said and turned back to Ian. “I wish nae to feud with ye either. The sooner my Owen weds your Shauna, the better for all of us.”

“I will speak with her this eve,” Ian replied.

Shauna was on her feet, not realizing she stood until she heard her chair tip over. She wished she'd had time to talk to Ian last night or even to Owen today, but enough was enough. She balled her fists, a red, hazy film clouding her sight as she stomped off the dais and onto the floor. “We might as well talk of it right now.”

Ian raised both brows and opened his mouth, but Shane put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Let the lass say her piece.”

Shauna began to pace. “'Tis wrong of ye men to think ye can decide who girl should marry! What gives ye the right to decide a woman's future? Do ye nae think we have brains to figure things out ourselves? I willna marry a mon I do nae want.”

She stopped. Stunned silence greeted her. Owen's father narrowed his eyes and Owen's face looked like a thundercloud. The rest of the MacLean men were scowling. On the other side, most of the MacDonalds were staring at her as though she were a foreign specimen they'd never seen. Alasdair gave her a slight nod and Robert wore an amused expression. Ian and Shane kept their faces neutral, but behind them, Shauna got approving looks from Bridget and Abigail.

Shauna suddenly realized she was standing in the middle of the room having just thrown a tantrum like a bairn. It may not have been the right thing to do, but it felt good. She met Ian's gaze, but his eyes were unfathomable. She got a little bit more of a sympathetic look from Shane. She would no doubt have to face Ian's wrath, but she would worry about that later.

Lifting her chin, she turned toward John MacLean. “I understand ye want an alliance, but I deserve to be happy. So does Owen. We do nae suit and I willnae marry him.”

Summoning the last of her courage—she felt her knees beginning to shake—she dropped a small curtsey and left the room with as much dignity as she could muster.

Lord Almighty, but he admired Shauna's spunk. Robert had been hard pressed not to applaud her speech in the Great Hall. And the sputtering indignation from Owen MacLean was worth his weight in gold bullion.

Ian and Shane walked out to the bailey to see the MacLeans off. The MacDonald men followed as a gesture of good will, although Robert suspected the real reason was to make sure the MacLeans
did
leave. He and Alasdair retired to the library to await a private conversation with the MacLeods.

Alasdair propped his leg on a hassock while Robert poured them each a whisky from the decanter Ian kept on the side table.

“I doona think I've heard a lass speak so forthright,” Alasdair said after he'd taken an appreciative sip. “And for sure I have nae seen a score of men speechless.”

Robert nodded. “Shauna MacLeod is a capable woman. Sensible too. In Edinburgh, she helps Shane's bookkeeper with the accounts at the dock office and she visits a charity regularly.”

“A competent woman is good to have around,” Alasdair answered. “Her sister Bridget is the same sort, but with a wee bit of fire to her. 'Tis a pity she is married.”

“Brodie seems a good man,” Robert replied. They'd met him yesterday when he'd come down the stairs—holding on to the railing with one hand and a sword in the other—to see what the matter was. Bridget had turned pale and tried to shoo him upstairs, but he'd insisted he was well enough to sit for a while. “Willing to fight even if he was weak as a child.”

“Aye, I admire the mon for that. Such a woman deserves to be cared for.” Alasdair gave him a speculative glance. “Since my maithar claimed ye as one of us, ye might think of taking a Scottish wife. Maybe the MacLeod lass. 'Tis obvious she will nae be marrying the MacLean.”

Shauna would be a good choice. Robert couldn't deny he lusted for her. Lord, when her breasts had brushed his back while bandaging him and he'd felt her nipples grow taut, he'd nearly leapt out of his skin. The warm vanilla scent of her as she brought her arms around his shoulders had enveloped his senses as fully as any siren's call. He'd only meant a proper graze of his lips to her knuckles yesterday, but some devilish imp had taken over, not stopping with kissing her soft palm, but stroking with his tongue as well. Just that one small taste had sparked his desire and made his blood ignite.

But he also liked Shauna for her strength. She'd demonstrated it just a few minutes ago. While he agreed with everything she'd said, he also knew women generally had their lives dictated by men. And he suspected her brother would be having words with her later. Maybe he could soften Ian a bit before then.