Spellbound (2 page)

Erskina
had no answer for her. The Sight was a mysterious gift that could be snatched away at any moment. Or it could last a lifetime. She’d tried to make Maighdlin laugh with tales told about Seers, ridiculous tales. Tales that cast them as witches with special powers, who could turn someone into an old goat or delay the birth of a child. One tale told of a child kept in the womb for twenty-two years, and when it was born, it had hair, teeth and a beard—a fully mature and armed warrior! But Maighdlin had only smiled weakly.

Erskina
hurried among the crofters now, looking for Maighdlin. She found the girl at one of the streams. Fortunate it was that she hadn’t found Maighdlin in her cottage; it would be easier to accomplish the horrible task set before her if no one saw them scurry into the woods.

Erskina
was struck afresh by the girl’s beauty. She wore a tunic the very color of spring, green as emeralds winking in the sun. She was busy twining wild flowers in her hair. Erskina wasn’t surprised the maiden did not partake in many of the merry festivities, and it saddened the old woman. Maighdlin looked up as Erskina approached.

“
Erskina, what troubles ye?”

The
old woman glanced about, but they were alone. She gripped the girl's arm. “We must go now. There is something I must show ye.”

“
Now? But....”

“
Now. Please, lass.”

The
two made their way quickly up the hillside, and disappeared into the forested glen, where the hidden warriors waited.

2

“Erskina, ye’ll wind yourself! What is so important that it canna wait?” Maighdlin could find no more words as Erskina pulled her into the small, wooded clearing by the burn. Her eyes took in the warriors, falling last on the commanding man atop the black destrier. His flashing amber eyes seemed to hold her powerless, the smile about his lips jagged and cruel.

“
Ye dunna have the look of a MacKinnon.” His voice was low, rushing past her in the silence like wind in bitterest winter. Chills pricked her spine. She turned to Erskina in confusion, her mouth gone dry.

“
I’m sorry, lass. I dinna have a choice! They insisted on seeing ye or…or the villagers….”

“
Say no more,” Maighdlin said. She met the man’s hazel eyes boldly and raised her chin.

“
What do ye here? Who are ye?”

He
did not answer but continued to stare at her, his lips drawn into a scowl. The man’s eyes slid over her face, her shoulders, and down the length of her body; there was no part of her that was spared his scrutiny. She felt her cheeks flame.

“
Moray, see if the rumor is true.”

The
warrior named Moray stepped close to her and held her so that she could not move her arms. “Nay!” she cried, struggling fiercely. Brusquely, the man rent her tunic at one shoulder, exposing creamy, flawless skin—and the mysterious strawberry colored mark she had been born with—to all eyes. The one who had spoken to her visibly tensed, his eyes narrowing on the splotch of color on her skin.

“
Yer father hid ye well all these years, Christel MacKinnon.”

The
full mass of dark clouds now signaled a storm; white scars of cascading water slashed at the peaks of the mountain pass in the distance. Maighdlin felt her heart constrict at his ominous words, as if the very earth warned her. “Ye’ve mistaken me for someone else!”

His
eyes flashed hard and seemed to burn with a fury as hot as the sun in full summer.

“
I dunna think so.” He vaulted from his horse and moved close to her. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. He gripped her forcefully, a hand held over her mouth to prevent her from screaming. Her struggles made no difference.

“
Ye said ye wouldna hurt the lass!” Erskina wailed. “Ye said ye merely wished to see her!”

“
Be quiet, woman,” the dark-haired one said as Maighdlin was lifted atop his horse. He leaped up and was behind her in an instant. “Dunna scream,” he whispered, his breath warm in her ear. “‘Twould no’ bode well for yer tiny village.” His arm encircled her waist so she could not move. “Auld woman, tell yer village men no’ to follow us lest they want to die by the MacAlister sword.”

Erskina
sank to her knees, her hands pulling at dirt. “Nay, nay!” she gasped.

They
were galloping in no time, the world a green blur, the horse Maighdlin sat on charging into the cold, shallow waters, hooves clattering over wet rocks, the man’s chest like a solid wall of stone against her back. He was clearly the leader of the group of Highland warriors.

The
ground rushed by beneath her as her bare feet and tunic were drenched, her skin chilled. All she could think of was the horrified look on Erskina’s face as she was brusquely taken away. Maighdlin knew the old woman had had no choice. These men were dressed as warriors.

She
thought of Haddon, who had lovingly raised her from birth after her mother had died; of the children of the village; of Elliot, who’d taught her how to expertly draw bow and arrow. Would she ever see them again? Her father’s mood had been befouled already by the recent loss of a sick cow. And now this. Maighdlin could not bear the thought of bringing him further anguish. He was older now, and his health was frail.

She
tried to talk to the warrior above the thundering of the horses’ hooves. “Where are ye taking me? I am no’ Christel MacKinnon!”

His
arm tightened about her. She was acutely aware of the powerful thighs controlling the horse, pressing much too intimately against her own. Maighdlin felt as if he would crush the very life from her. “Ye…are…hurting…me.”

His
hold slackened a bit, but not enough for comfort.

“
Och, by the Saints, release me, miserable wretch!”

“
Cease yer prattling, wench. Ye bear the mark of the MacKinnon on yer skin. Ye are
his
daughter. And because of that, ye’ll pay the price for his foul and brutal deeds.”

“
Nay, I am not! I dunna know this man of whom you speak!”

He
stopped the horse so abruptly that Maighdlin was sure she would hurtle off into the mulberry red heather and strike her head on a rock. Maybe that would be preferable to her current position.

He
signaled for the others to ride ahead and Maighdlin’s stomach lurched.

He
leaned close, his breath warm on her neck, his masculine voice a cutting whisper. “Dunna anger me. ‘Twould no’ be wise. Yer lies willna change yer fate.”

She
tried to twist her body to look at his face, but he prevented her movements. “I dunna know of what ye speak! I’ve lived in the village since I was born. I am a crofter’s daughter! There is naught special about me!”

He
laughed, an unholy, booming sound in the deep vastness of the marsh-studded glen. He tangled his fingers in her fiery hair, and pulled her head back so his whisker-roughened cheek grazed her own. “Yer wrong, wench. Why do ye think yer father went to such great lengths to hide ye, to protect ye all these years? And what better place than a remote village, where his enemies would ne’er think to search ye out? Och, but the man is truly a vile, soulless wretch. Ye live a life of lies.”

“
’Tis no’ true! It doesna make sense! A father who would abandon a child… such a father surely could no’ care for the child! My father’s name is Haddon. And he loves me dearly.”

Long,
lean fingers stroked the smooth skin of her cheek. Jagged fear shot through her veins.

“
Ye play the innocent well. Yet I wonder how innocent ye are. The clan ye are truly born from is practiced at deception. Cowards without honor. Yet some possess the Sight, as I’ve heard ye do. And always, they have used it for their own ill-gotten gain. Now they’ve come to slaughtering innocents in their sleep pretending to be at peace with neighboring clans.” His fingers stroked the skin along her collar bone. “Ah, but ye canna hide a rose among the weeds for long, can ye?”

The
sky above them loomed black and blue with the threat of rain. Thunder cracked, echoing throughout the valleys.

“
I dunna believe in magic spells, fairies, and dark dreams, Christel MacKinnon. So don’t expect me to release ye because of a sudden, chilling prophecy of my death. I dunna fear death. The difference a’tween us is that ye claim to see the future but I
make
it.”

His
fingers plunged inside her tunic. His large hand boldly cupped a full, rounded breast and Maighdlin gasped. His searching hand felt scalding beneath her drenched clothing. Yet icy talons of fear clawed at her soul. Only one man had ever been so bold. Maighdlin was sure in that moment that this man, this cruel warrior, was like no other she’d ever met. The cold certainty and fury in his eyes, the boldness of his hands, assured her of the fact.

“
Stop! Dunna touch me so! ‘Tis wicked!”

He
laughed again, his voice a thick growl. “I am a wicked man, my sweet. Just how wicked ye’ll soon find out.” His fingers circled her nipple and it kernelled in his palm.

“
'Tis no’ my intention to rape ye. Never have I taken a woman unwillingly. The thought of coupling with a MacKinnon disgusts me. But what shall I do with ye? In my possession is the only thing auld Brodie MacKinnon has ever cared about…the only thing that can bring him to his knees, make him suffer as I
have suffered.” He pulled his hand away.

Maighdlin
shivered. His voice was like the long, thin blade of a dagger, soft, yet razor sharp. It reminded her of the sound of ice cracking.

“
Do ye know, Christel, he took from me everything I ever cared about?”

“
I’m....sorry....”

“
Nay! Dunna speak such lies! You couldna know my pain. You couldna be sorry!” For a moment, he was silent, lost in his thoughts. “Now I dunna believe in anything.”

Maighdlin
was hurled roughly against his chest as the horse carried them further up the steep, heather-clad hills and wind-lashed mountains. She’d never ventured far from her home; she knew the hills surrounding the village were littered with chapels, duns, standing stones, and great keeps, but she’d never seen them.

The
village was soon gone from sight, and with it, everything Maighdlin had ever known…everything that had ever made sense to her. There would be no rescue. It was just as well, for Maighdlin abhorred bloodshed. The village men would be fools to follow these seasoned warriors, fools to engage them in battle when their numbers were so small. They were crofters, not fighters.

When
the time was right, Maighdlin would make her own escape. For now, she would maintain her silence and try not to anger her abductor, though it was clear he detested her very presence on this earth because of the man he thought was her father. All she knew about her birth was that there had been a full moon that night, and furious mists had marched the earth.

In
blind fury, her abductor pushed the steed on, riding relentlessly, until Maighdlin finally slouched against him in fitful, nightmarish sleep.

3

Mist clung to the earth in patches and the light, spring darkness now shrouded the hills, yet the horses continued to move at a frightening pace. The ground grew more tangled, the bracken thick.

As
the girl slept fitfully in his arms, Kade thought of his good fortune at finding her. She had the look of a water sprite, a vision of earthy loveliness he had not expected—like a banshee. The only thing missing was the bloodstained shirt of a man about to die, a shirt the banshee, according to legend, would be washing in the stream.

How
could one so lovely have sprung from the loins of a hated MacKinnon? Her sultry beauty had so fired his blood that he cursed himself for his weakness. Her looks didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but his revenge. Nothing would ever matter to him again. Old Brodie MacKinnon’s other daughters were all plain. And rumored to be either shrewish or so timid as to be thought daft. This lass, though he saw the fear in her warm, brown eyes, had not screamed or alerted the other villagers. She’d gone with him, even dared to call him a miserable wretch. And though she was small, her breast, the firm roundness of it, had fit his hand perfectly, the pebbled peak more tempting by far than many of the full-bodied lasses who’d made it known that they would not mind sharing his bed. He was disgusted with himself. She was Brodie’s daughter, and she would pay for his sins.

The
MacAlisters now had the powerful alliance of two northern clans, as well as a new alliance forged with a smaller, but fierce-fighting southern clan. Old Brodie had made enemies since Kade had been away in Ireland. And despite the senseless slaughter, the people they’d lost so recently, Kade could still raise over four-hundred men and march on Brodie’s lands quickly, destroying hut after hut, crop after crop, giving his vengeance its full head until there was nothing left and all was burnt to the ground. But that was too good for Brodie, and could cost Kade the loss of yet more of his men. No matter their victories, there was always a price to pay. Now he had a better way. He’d discovered Brodie’s little secret by happenstance.

Fortune
sat beside him one evening in the form of a serving wench banished from Brodie’s very tower house. Women had always opened themselves eagerly to Kade, in more ways than one, and soon her tongue was loose, her cheeks flushed as she frankly appraised his masculine warrior’s form.

“
E’s a lusty one, Brodie MacKinnon,” the serving wench gushed. “‘Twas no’ my fault one of 'is stable boys found me irresistible, that we was discovered by one of ‘is spies in the stables in the altogether. He had me bent o’er and me skirts up. I guess I shoulda used more sense.”

Kade
frowned, doubting the girl had any.

“
Auld Brodie once showed an interest in lifting me skirts too, if ye know what I mean, but I wouldna have ‘im. Too auld for my tastes, and a bit too shriveled.”

Her
deep, brown eyes traveled over Kade’s wide shoulders, his rugged, square jaw, his masculine, sensual lips. “I prefer men like yerself, brawny as the mountains are wide.” She smiled, trailed a finger along his shoulder. “Och, but Brodie ain’t the smartest of men, ye ken? E’d forgotten that I know’d his secret. I could make him suffer if I was of a mind to.”

Kade’s
whole body had tensed, but the girl did not noticed. “’Tis a bold boast ye make. And no’ vera believable.”

She
arched a dark brow. “I would tell ye for a kiss. Yea, I will tell ye for a kiss.”

His
arm snaked out so fast the girl gasped. He held her about the waist and whispered in her ear. “I think ye’ll tell me anyway, wench.”

She’d
stared into his chilling amber eyes, and he’d felt a tremble in her plump body.

“
He has a daughter,” she blurted.

“
The man has many daughters. ‘Tis no secret.”

“
This one is special.”

Kade
grew skeptical. “I’m no’ in the mood for tales.” He moved as if he would set her from him, and she fair whimpered. “‘Tis true! I served him oft in the great hall, when whisky had loosed his tongue. He had a daughter he loved so much that when she was born, he hid her away in a village far away to protect her. ‘Tis said she has the Sight
.
She was raised as a common peasant. I swear it! I heard him confess it one night to one of his clan, when most of the others had gone abed.”

Her
eyes grew distant, and in them was something akin to sadness. “People forget that servants ‘ave ears. We’re treated as dogs, thrown some scraps once in a while, but otherwise ignored.”

“
What village?” Kade said.

“
A kiss first?”

Kade
wrenched her arm behind her back, and she yelped in pain. The images of his dead wife-to-be and brother rose up so sharply his heart nearly burst. Three years he’d been away, awaiting the day he would return and make Fenalla his wife. He’d come home to find her dead. As well as his older brother Niall. He would not truly hurt the serving girl, but he was at the end of his patience. “Dunna toy with me. 'Twould no’ be wise.”

“
I...dunna know exactly, I swear to it! Her name is Christel. But she grew up with a different name. Maighdlin, I think. I heard she lives in a village near the MacDuff keep but I dunna know for sure.”

“
If ye lie....”

“
Nay, I dunna lie. But there is somethin’ else.”

Kade
waited. She licked her lips. “Christel is the child of his second wife, Lioslaith. You see, he dinna love his first wife, but he truly loved the red-haired Lioslaith. She died soon after the babe was born and he couldna live with his grief. ‘Tis said the squalling babe was so like her mother he could no’ bear to look at her. The babe had a special birthmark on her shoulder.” She traced a phantom outline on the table with her finger as Kade watched and memorized the shape. “She reminded Brodie of all he’d lost. They say his mind turned a bit then. He feared for the babe’s safety, feared all those he loved and touched would die. That God was punishing him for his sins. So he sent her away. A crofter and his wife found the babe in a basket on their doorstep. When she was grown, auld Brodie would know her by her birthmark. I swear ‘tis true.”

“
If what ye say is true, ye shallna go unrewarded.” Kade’s voice was a low growl.

“
So ye will give me that kiss then?”

“
Nay.”

She
pouted. He released her and set a pile of gleaming coins on the table. Smiling again, she leaped from his lap. “Oh, ‘tis true alright. I hate the MacKinnon as much as ye do, so I dunna mind spilling the auld man’s dirty secrets.”

“
Yer wrong,” Kade whispered, his eyes narrowing into slits. “No one hates the MacKinnon as much as I do.”

The
girl shivered, rubbing her stout arms, then snatched up the pile of coins and bustled away.