Spellbound (3 page)

4

The dusky afternoon had long since turned to night when the riders stopped to make camp in a secluded glen, though nights in the late spring were not nearly as dark as they were in winter.

As
Maighdlin was lifted from the horse by one of the warriors, she wondered about the man leaning casually against the base of a thick oak tree. He was dressed like the others, but he smiled at her as if he knew her.

Maighdlin’s
legs were sore and she nearly buckled after the strain of the long ride, but she managed to remain upright. She was hungry and thirsty, and her vision swam. She could see a kirk beyond the trees, and a kirkyard with damp, weathered stones. And in the far distance, a keep.

“
What have ye done, little brother?”

Kade
ignored the man who was apparently his older brother, judging by the similarity in their faces, and tossed the reins to Moray. He didna give her a glance as he instructed Moray, over his shoulder, to bind her wrists and feet.

“
Aye, Kade. ‘Twould be wise to tie the little witch.” As Moray began to confine her with strips of leather, Maighdlin felt her spirits sink. Would they kill her? Leave her here to starve or be torn apart by wild boars?

She
mumbled a fervent prayer and then raised her head at the unmistakable sound of male laughter. Kade’s brother, still ignored by the other men, caught her eye.

“
Dunna fash yerself, princess. For all their gruffness, they willna harm ye. ‘Twould be dishonorable to do so now.”

If
not now, when?
Maighdlin raised her chin. “I am no’ afraid.” The man laughed again. “Why are ye laughing?” she quipped.

Moray
looked at her oddly. “Do ye hear me laughing, woman? Do I look like a happy man?” He continued to bind her wrists. “And ye should be afraid. Vera afraid.”

Maighdlin
looked back at the tree but the other man was gone now. She caught a movement from the corner of her eye, and saw his tall form stride into the kirkyard.

Wind
strummed the branches of the pines. Maighdlin’s stomach felt like a stone plunged to the bottom of a mist-shrouded loch. “Please, I must...I need to....” It was degrading, having to ask the Highland warrior for some privacy to take care of her basic needs.

Moray
frowned as the other men prepared to bed down for the night. “I don’t know why I was given the odious task of watching ye,” he said. “Ye canna wait?”

“
Nay, I canna.”

“
Och, but I tried to tell Kade this was a mistake. Women prisoners are always more trouble than they’re worth. A MacAlister should know that.”

Maighdlin’s
knees felt weak. She’d heard tales of the MacAlisters, of Kade MacAlister, and they were terrifying. Of his prowess as a warrior in the Highlands and in Ireland. Other men feared him as if he were the devil himself.

“
I dinna
ask
to be kidnapped from my village,” she said.

Moray’s
eyes narrowed. “Ye willna run off?”

“
Nay,” she said, asking forgiveness under her breath for the lie. “And where would I go?”

He
hesitated, his eyes sliding over her small form, lingering too long in places where they shouldna. “’Tis true many a man has lost his life in these woods. Ye’d likely end up the dinner of a wild boar, and a meager one at that.” Sighing, he unbound the leather strips. “Be quick about it. And dunna go far. I’ll be watching ye.”

On
wobbly legs, Maighdlin found a secluded spot and quickly relieved herself. When she was finished, she glanced around. It had been too easy to convince the one called Moray that she would not wander off. It was a common mistake men made—underestimating women.

The
stone kirk was not far now. A stream rushed and gurgled nearby; Maighdlin heard the thunder of a crashing waterfall in the distance.

If
she could slip through the kirkyard and be round the other side, she would be out of sight of the men. That part would be easy. What she would do after she made her escape, well, she didn’t know. She didn’t care about anything except escaping the man with eyes that flashed like amber fire and hair as dark as the blackest midnight hour.

Moray’s
back turned for a second as he warmed his hands by a fire. Quickly she made her way between the stones that swam in dusky puddles of moonlight. The air was cool; a sharp breeze whipped her hair and chills raced about her spine. A large stone caught her eye on the north side of the yard, and she hurried toward it. The stone bore carvings of claymores, swords, and daggers, and atop it sat a winged raven. There was an inscription, and Maighdlin bent down to read it:

No
force can death resist, no flight can save.

All
fall alike, the fearful and the brave.

Live
to the Lord, that thou may'st die so too.

To
live and die is all ye have to do.

Niall
Tomas MacAlister

Born
May 8, 1418

Died
April 17, 1445

No
Braver Man Has Lived

There
was another inscription next to the carving of a dagger:

Draw
me no’ in anger nor sheath me in dishonour.

Maighdlin
listened to the mournful cry of seabirds atop the stretch of mountain, moor, and bog. She knew that the clans who claimed these lands, those who lived among the rocky outcrops, had protected what was theirs with the blades of their swords, with their very blood and flesh. What had this man Brodie MacKinnon to do with Kade MacAlister’s suffering?

Almost
without thought, she kissed her fingertips then placed them on the cold stone that marked the final resting place of a MacAlister so recently departed. “May ye rest in peace, Niall,” she whispered to the warrior whose earthly trials were over. Hers, it seemed, had just begun.

5

In the small kirk, Kade made his way down the narrow aisle toward the altar. Part of the roof had fallen in and would need repair. He crossed himself and bowed in front of the altar, the smell of pine needles and honeysuckle mixing with the stale scent of incense.

As
a small boy, he had come often to this kirk with his brother, sporting in the pews when they were supposed to be quiet and prayerful, running between the stones of the kirkyard and laughing with the abandonment of children.

Now
Niall was gone. Buried in the kirkyard. A fact he could not come to terms with. His heart ached under the heavy burden, and he prayed for relief, forgiveness, for some sign that his brother’s spirit lived on.

Again
he blamed himself. If he had not been banished by their father, who was now also dead in his grave, if he’d been here and not away in Ireland fighting, if he had come home sooner and found a way to prove his innocence to his father… he would not have lost them both, the two people he'd loved most in the world. His brother and his wife-to-be. Perhaps he would’ve been able to stop the MacKinnon’s treachery.

Kade
leaned against the wooden altar, closed his eyes, and bowed his dark head. He was weary. He had the instrument of revenge in his hands, and yet he felt strangely empty. The triumph, the satisfaction he’d expected to feel, were absent. He felt only drained and miserable and achingly lonely.

“
Ah, perhaps I am a miserable wretch,” he whispered. “Niall...if only you were here. ‘Tis no’ right that I am now laird. I dunna deserve our people’s trust. I failed ye...somehow I
failed ye
.”

There
had been no time to give a public exhibition of his valor, as was customary before a man would be declared leader of his people, who, if satisfied, vowed to follow and obey him. He'd been gone three long years fighting and proving his valor on
foreign
soil.

And
yet now he’d been thrust into the position of laird, awarded the loyalty of the clan of over four hundred men, women, and children without question. Though his ill father had sent him away in fear, Niall, shortly before he died, had decreed that Kade would return to be their leader in battle, their arbiter in peace, their judge, their leader.

Their
father was very sick and could not manage the title any longer. Niall had never wanted to be laird, a revelation that had shocked Kade. He could almost hear his brother's voice as he laid his hand on his shoulder before a battle. “Yer a MacAlister, lad. Ne’er forget who ye are, who we are. This is MacAlister country. And it will always be MacAlister country.” Then he'd yell, instantly igniting the fierce flame of honor and loyalty in hundreds of men who willingly followed him afield, into the thick of swinging axe, clashing sword, and flashing dagger.

Niall
hadn’t wanted to be laird. He’d never wanted it.
He’d never taken it seriously, the thought that one day he might be laird of their clan. Kade shivered. Had Niall had a premonition about his death?

There
were some who resented Kade’s new position of leadership; he sensed the undercurrents of jealousy and anger. The lingering mistrust. No matter, he would soon flush them out. He would have their unquestioning loyalty or he would have them not at all.

Kade
thought of Christel’s father and his heart hardened. He numbed the wild currents of emotion that rent his breast. “Ye would know what to do with her, Niall. Though ye were a merry prankster, ye were always wise beyond yer years.” Kade scowled at the carvings of Saints that adorned the kirk, their wooden, disapproving frowns. “But ye were always kinder, more lenient and forgiving than I could e’er be. And less proud. Yet ye are dead and I live.”

A
stark shaft of moonlight fell across Kade’s face. He turned, looked out the rounded stone window just in time to see a small, womanly form darting from the kirkyard...in the opposite direction of his men. “Damn me!” he swore, getting up quickly. Then he remembered where he was and silently asked for forgiveness as he raced from the kirk into the darkened woods.

6

Maighdlin stopped for a moment to listen for the sound of pursuing footfalls, but all she heard was the babbling of a brook and her own ragged breathing. Once out of the kirkyard, she’d run blindly, as fast as she could, twigs snapping beneath her feet, poking her tender flesh and causing her to wince, branches scraping at her arms and drawing blood. The fabric of her green tunic, the finest she’d ever owned, was torn in several places now.

All
around her was soft darkness. But she feared the Highland warrior who sought to make her pay for the crimes of another far more than she feared the deep woods and wild animals. The woods had always given her a strange, quiet peace. She glanced around. It all looked the same. Which direction to go? Feeling frightened and panicked, she rested her forehead on the trunk of a large tree and closed her eyes. “This is no’ happening,” she whispered. “I’ll open my eyes and be back in my village. ‘Tis merely a bad dream.”

“
’Tis no dream, fair one. Follow me.”

Maighdlin
brought her head up. Standing not three feet away was the man who had disappeared into the misty kirkyard.
Kade’s brother Niall
. She felt the breath leave her body in a sickening rush, her heart hammering in her chest in thick, uneven strokes. He started to walk away. But why would his spirit wish to help her?

“
Wait!” she called. “Who are ye? Are ye Niall? Can ye help me get back to my village?” She followed him around the base of several thick trees, across a shallow stream peppered with rocks, struggling to keep up, afraid he would once again disappear into mist. He looked back once and Maighdlin got a better look at his face—lean, angular, possessing the same strength she saw in Kade’s features, but somehow a bit softer. His eyes were a darker brown, and a smile danced about his lips. “Aye, I am Niall,” he said, disappearing once more with a flash of ghostly plaid.

“
Please, dinna play games with me!” she called, but not too loudly. “I know ye can hear me. My life is at stake!”

She
finished crossing the small stream, her feet achingly cold and wet, and dashed after him, only to collide with something as heavy and hard as stone.

“
Ye are the one playing games, wench. And dangerous ones at that.” Maighdlin couldna speak.
Kade
imprisoned her small form in his arms. She twisted and writhed in vain.

“
Be still!” he commanded. “Who in the world were ye talkin’ to? Are ye daft?”

“
Let me go!” She renewed her struggle with strength.

“
By God, cease!” The pungent scents of damp earth, man, and horse assaulted her senses. Her pulse skidded, her heart thundered in her breast. His amber eyes locked with hers, and in them she saw a fire storm, a molten swirl of dark fury, heat, and rage. They continued to stare at one another in silence.

She
could feel the strength in him, the tense, raw energy in every muscle of his lean, hard body. She knew he could break her as easily as one of the twigs that had snapped beneath her feet earlier.

Finally,
he spoke. “It seems there’s a punishment I’ve overlooked.” He traced a finger along the rent, green tunic that molded to the youthful curve of her heaving breasts. His eyes fell over her flesh like a wave washing over soft sand. The knot of fear in her stomach tightened.

“
Nay, ‘tis no’ true,” Maighdlin said, terror rising in her voice. “I’m sure ye’ve thought of e’ery hateful thing ye could do to me!” She felt the full force of his eyes dwell long and hard upon her. His finger continued to dance along the curve of her cheek.

“
What then is the worst possible punishment ye could imagine, Christel?”

A
choked sound emerged from her throat. She hated the way she trembled, the way she was aware of his animal strength. The way he called her
Christel.
If she were to die, then she prayed it would be quick. Perhaps a dagger to the heart.... But it was not to be. She gathered her courage from the heat of his touch, which was like a raw, hot spark. It startled her into reacting, made her careless. “If I were a cruel and merciless warrior like ye, I could think of many inhumane things. Perhaps ye will tie me to a tree and leave me for some wild boar. Nay, ye would tie a stone about my waist and drop me into the deepest loch. Or throw me to wild dogs...after all, ‘tis what a
MacAlister
would do.” Dear God in heaven, why did she taunt him so?

His
mouth tightened into a thin line. He gripped her chin. “Ye dare to speak of
my
vile nature after what yer father did to my clan?”

“
I know no’ of what you speak! My village….”

“
Ye lie! I’ll no’ have it! And ye have a sharp tongue, Christel. ‘Tis time I tamed it.”

It
was no longer Kade’s face she saw mere inches from her own, but Tomas’ filthy visage. Black hair, short and ragged, crowded her face; his stinking, woolen clothing, dark beard, and rough and dirty fingernails were far too close. He’d forced her to the ground and put his finger to his lips while he ripped her simple tunic down the front. Tomas, the youngest son of one of the village men, had always been daft.

He’d
once been tied to a rood screen in church, with the hope he would be cured, and the sign of the cross shaved into his hair, but he remained a bearded, dirty man with wild eyes. And she’d felt sorry for him.

He’d
come upon Maighdlin alone in the glen. He’d stared openly at her naked breasts, exposed after her garment was torn, and a wild light flared in his eyes. “Dunna scream or I’ll kill ye,” Tomas barked through broken teeth. She’d screamed anyway, and watched in terror as his hands eagerly roamed her breasts, and he forced his fetid tongue into her mouth.

His
breath was sour. He nipped her breast with his broken teeth and she bit him hard. He pulled back in surprise, blood trickling down his chin.

He’d
imprisoned her hands above her head and held them there with one hand, while he lifted her tunic and chemise and pushed himself between her thighs. When he was done, she was numb and bloodied. He brought his hands to her throat, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe, her world spinning into a silvery, black void. Then he slumped over her, his heart no longer beating.

Elliot
heard her scream; he’d been hunting nearby. And it was Elliot’s arrow that had expertly pierced Tomas’ back while leaving her unscathed. She could still remember the awful feel of Tomas’ warm blood flooding her chest.

As
she once again felt lips covering hers, she could think no more. Kade’s kiss was meant to punish. It was raw and blinding and far beyond her experience. An unspeakable terror stole over her soul, and she did something she'd only ever done once before in her life; she fainted.