Spellbound (4 page)

7

When Maighdlin awoke she was tied to the base of a tree, rough bark biting into her skin. Moray and the rest of the men looked duly chastised for having been so careless with their charge, for they no longer bantered among themselves, nor did they glance her way.

Her
futile attempt to escape came rushing back, followed by the memory of Kade’s lips on hers. Followed by humiliation at having fainted. Followed by sadness and desperation.

Maighdlin's
hands were behind her back so she could not bring them to her lips, still swollen from the warrior's punishing kiss. Kade wasn’t in the clearing, a small relief. A tall warrior named Steafan with a thick, red beard approached her and sat down, tearing a hunk of oat bread into small pieces. He didn’t look at her. “I’ve been given the odious task of feeding ye,” he snarled. “’Tis like feeding an animal. MacKinnons are filthy animals.”

“
How kind of ye. But dunna bother. I willna eat anything provided by
his
hand.”

“
Then ye will starve. I care no’.” He stalked off with the bread. Maighdlin's stomach growled sharply and she tried to ignore it. What matter was food when her heart ached with such sadness and fear?

The
hills were now shrouded with the shimmery blackness of night; the moon was a thread of white, scraping the edges of dark clouds. She turned her head from the sight and sound of the men bedding down for the night, talking quietly, a fire crackling. Was she to sleep like this then? She was thirsty and yet no cup was offered. She didn’t expect it to be after she had refused the meager meal.

She
wondered about the villagers. If any of the men had come after her, they’d never find her here. And if they did? She would not think on it. Hope slipped away like a tangled red ribbon on the wind. How would she convince the man who'd kidnapped her that she was not Christel MacKinnon? Perhaps there wouldn’t be time. She closed her eyes against the low howl of wind, tried to ignore the scorch of fear in her veins. The shadows shifted; she felt keenly their weight.

She
opened her eyes a moment later, and they fell on the muscled, hair-roughened limbs of her abductor, who towered above her, his hands splayed on his hips, his face in shadow. His voice reached from the darkness, like an arrow sprung tightly from its bow with might and fierceness.

“
Ye’ll no’ be running off again now, Christel?”

She
peered up at him, but was too angry to speak. He was so sure of himself, of his men, so sure that she was Christel. So arrogant! She stubbornly held her tongue.

“
Good,” he said. “For 'twould be no hardship to repeat the lesson in the wood.” His men laughed raucously, and Maighdlin felt her cheeks flame.

“
Gawd, imagine if it'd been yer blade a'tween her legs, and no’ just yer tongue on 'er lips!” one said. “If a mere touch of yer lips made her faint dead away!”

“
I could think of many uses for those lovely lips of hers,” another said, “despite the fact that she’s a MacKinnon. Mayhap we should all take a turn with her.”

“
Enough!” Kade's head snapped up, and he leveled his gaze on his men. “She belongs to me. I decide her fate and no other.” He smiled wickedly, and a weak shaft of milky moonlight fell on his face, on the corded muscles of his arms. “As well as her punishments.” The men laughed again, and Maighdlin averted her gaze. She would not let him see the fear in her eyes. He strode away, and she remained ever alert, ever afraid of the one called Kade, who, for the time being, held her life in his hands. Until the edge of dawn, when her eyes finally closed in sleep.

8

Maighdlin moaned in pain, feeling something warm on her face.
Sunlight.

Her
arms were still bound behind her. She tried to move, but her limbs burned; any tiny movement brought slicing needles of pain.

Her
braid had come loose during the night; her dark, reddish hair was tangled and fell about her shoulders. She could feel the dirt smudged across her cheeks.

She
felt surprised as she realized someone had draped a blanket over her after she’d fallen asleep. She met the curious stares of the men, and then remembered the state of her tunic—twisted and torn. The blanket and her tunic had inched ever lower, nearly revealing a rounded breast. Helpless to pull it up, she tried to angle her body away from them, shame heating her cheeks.

“
Have ye never seen a woman before?” Kade asked, irritation in his voice. He’d spent a nearly sleepless night watching her. After his men had fallen asleep, he’d gone to her with a blanket, for she looked so miserable and wretched. Never in his life had he treated a woman so harshly. But then he’d remembered who she was, remembered again the lifeless look of his own brother’s eyes, the leaping flame, his wife’s tangled and charred body twisted in Niall’s arms.

He’d
been told Niall had tried to save her, that she’d been found with her helpless hands twisted in the fabric of his plaid. Both had perished. Maybe not by the hand of Brodie MacKinnon, but certainly by his order.

He
untied her. “Get up,” he commanded.

Dear
God, but Maighdlin didn’t have the strength. She hadn’t eaten anything at all yesterday, and couldn’t remember when she’d last taken a drink. Her vision swam as she tried to obey his command, but her weak, stinging limbs wouldn’t comply. She began to sway and cough, for her mouth and throat were dry as straw in the full burn of autumn sun.

Kade
gripped her arms and lifted her to a standing position, but she had to lean against his broad chest for fear of falling. His brow creased. “Steafan, did ye no’ give her bread and ale last eve?”

“
I offered it, but she wouldna ha’e it. Said she wouldna eat anything provided by yer hand.”

Kade
swore and his eyes turned dark. Maighdlin flinched at the anger and incredulity she saw in them. He led her before a fire that was now just blackened embers and hissing curls of smoke and sat her down. “By God, ye will eat and drink by my hand. Ye willna starve and deprive me of my revenge.”

He
clamped his fingers around her jaw and forced her to drink. While she sputtered, he broke off a piece of bread and forced it to her lips. She clamped them shut and tried to turn her head away, but he wouldn’t let her. He gripped her chin again, and she was startled by the strength of his long, lean fingers. “You have two choices, Christel MacKinnon. Ye can let this food pass yer lips, or ye can taste of my lips again. They ha’e been known to provide sustenance to many a wench. Which will it be?”

Wordlessly,
she opened her mouth.

“
Aye, I thought so.” He fed her bite by bite, his eyes fastened on her lips, and Maighdlin thought he seemed amused. She fumed. Never had she been so humiliated. When she was finished eating, her dark eyes smoldered and sparked with anger. He stood, looking down at her.

“
Yer cruel and merciless, Kade MacAlister. No different than the man you claim to hate.” His mouth tightened into a thin line, and he hauled her up against him. His eyes burned into hers, but he said nothing.

He
released her abruptly and mounted his horse. She was lifted in front of him, groping for the horse’s mane to keep from falling off, curling her fingers into the horse’s thick hair, straining not to touch the man behind her. But she was weakened by lack of sleep and soon leaned against him anyway, his thighs like bands of iron against her own, his arms unyielding like the breadth of his chest at her back.

He
leaned close, his breath dangerously warm against her neck. “Dunna get used to being unbound, Christel. Indeed, from this day forward, yer fate and the fate of the entire MacKinnon clan, as well as that little village that hid ye so well for so many years, are bound to me. You would be wise to remember it.” He dug his heels into the horse, and they shot off, Maighdlin exhausted and emotionally drained.

Was
there no reasoning with this man, who was blinded by his own fury and thoughts of revenge? Sheltered as her existence had been, meager though her experience with men, she vowed this one would not break her spirit. She had fainted at his kiss, but it wouldn’t happen again! Maybe it was a good thing she had fainted, for he would think her weaker than she truly was.

No,
she was stronger than he gave her credit for, and she would find a way to prove to him that she was not Brodie MacKinnon’s daughter. Even if it meant escaping and confronting the old warrior laird himself.

9

There was an unmistakable aura of gloom about the massive MacAlister keep, the grasses spread along the lower valley scorched and blackened in wide patches, other slender stalks red with dawn, reminding Kade of the spilled blood of his people, which had flowed freely throughout the glen.

He
set his jaw, determined not to give in to the pain but to remain focused on his hatred. Brodie’s clan had lived as guests among them, accepting the generous hospitality they offered, then rose up one dawn and massacred villagers and some of their hosts as they slept.

A
few months before the slaughter, Niall had sent for Kade upon their father’s deathbed. Niall had never believed Kade to be a traitor, wanting to usurp his father as laird. Kade’s anger and pride had prevented him from returning immediately, and now he regretted it.

When
he’d finally come home, his father was dead and he found a celebration turned deadly, at which members of his clan had shared food, drink, and merriment with the MacKinnon clan and had then been slaughtered. It made no sense. The clans had been at peace for four years.

He’d
returned from Irish shores to fiery, bloody chaos, to his clansmen being summoned to a special place of emergency meeting by two men each carrying a pole with a cross of fire-blackened wood attached to the end, running through the clan territory shouting the MacAlister slogan ‘Fortiter’. His father and his brother were dead. Kade had unexpectedly become chief on the very day he’d returned, his clansmen awaiting his orders.

The
MacKinnon’s actions were unpardonable. Never to be forgiven. Never to make sense. Kade would have answers in time. And the men who had committed these foulest of deeds would pay.
Each and every one.
Kade would see to it personally.

It
was rumored Brodie and his kin were hiding out now, well aware of the MacAlister wrath and the fact that less than a year ago, they’d made alliances with powerful clans to the north and south. Surely the man had a death wish to start the feud again!

It
seemed that the very burns and falls, the glistening rocks and lochs, wept with sadness. Bitterness crept into Kade’s soul, and he tightened his arms about his dark-haired prisoner as a chill wind arose. He vowed he would never forget what had happened in those bitter hours before dawn, never forget the cries of the women and children he now heard in his dreams. He would forever see in his mind the bloodstained walls of the castle and the fiery meadow grasses hissing with smoke.

His
homecoming.
Kade had been the one to find his brother slain, and alongside him, his own wife-to-be, Fenalla. Kade was one of the men who brought water and attention to those who had survived the night. He immediately organized field parties to bury the dead, his heart as heavy as stone. He moved about as if in a nightmare, doing what needed to be done, stunned and numb.

Even
now the village priest, Killian, was busy carving slender crosses as a poignant reminder of the senseless slaughter. Despite his own pain and grief, Kade had helped to comfort his clan as best he could, had set up protection for his keep, and then set out immediately with his own band of specially chosen warriors to find Brodie and his men.

At
a small tavern where he and his men had stopped for the night, he’d stumbled on the serving wench and Brodie’s secret. And a different plan had formed. He hadn’t wasted any time finding the girl Christel and taking her from the village.

The
small party of Highland warriors galloped up the hill now and through the great gatehouse at the eastern end of the keep, thundering into a large, grassy courtyard. Grooms were busy sweeping out the stables and feeding the horses; the smith worked at his forge while servants emptied basins and chamber pots and brought in rushes and dried herbs for the freshly swept floors. One of the grooms, a young boy with sandy brown hair and freckles splashed across his ruddy cheeks and nose, eagerly ran up and took the reins from Kade’s hands.

Maighdlin
sat unusually still. The MacAlister keep was north of a wide river, the sea rippling below the base of the tower house, which rose from a narrow ridge. It was a rugged stone fortress, its battlemented walls buttressed by several powerful towers, square and cylindrical. The stone was the color of spilled blood in the pink glow of morning, and Maighdlin had not missed the meaning of the scorched, blackened grasses in the village crouched humbly at the keep’s gates. It had been a village much like her own, and she wondered if they too had been celebrating the Bealtunn when they were attacked. Now it was smoke and ash.

The
servants glanced her way in curiosity and then resumed their tasks. The low moan of the wind about the castle walls bespoke of a coming storm. She held her head high. “What will ye do with me?” she asked the Highland laird.

“
I havena decided yet.” His eyes traveled over the heavy weight of her auburn hair, which caught the morning sun in a rook of fire, then the slender, proud arch of her neck, the delicate curve of her cheek. She had the type of beauty known to cast a rune on a man, a dangerous type that could bleed a man senseless, cause clan to rise up against clan. Brodie had been wise to hide her.

“
Perhaps ye’ll spend yer remaining days in that tower.”

Maighdlin
raised her eyes to the castle’s southeast corner and the enormous tower, flat on the inner side and semicircular on the outer side. She shivered.

He
laughed. “Yea, ‘tis only nine paces in diameter. A fitting place to isolate you.” He paused. “Mayhap I’ll make ye my slave, and ye’ll serve me the rest of yer days.”

Maighdlin
was thoughtful for a moment, feeling the full weight of the man’s sorrows and hatreds. She thought of the way he had kissed her, controlled her, had lent her no mercy, and suppressed a shiver. “What if I could prove to ye that I am no’ Christel MacKinnon?”

“
‘Twould no’ matter what sort of proof ye conjured up, little witch. I need no proof other than that mark on yer shoulder.”

“
But I have done nothing to offend ye.”

“
Yer ve’y
existence
offends me, Christel MacKinnon.”

Maighdlin
straightened her spine. She felt wounded to the core by his words, but she wouldn’t show him her true feelings. “My name is
Maighdlin
.”

His
arm came ‘round her waist and bound her tightly to him. “Ye’d be wise to remember yer place here, Christel.”

As
Kade sprung from the horse, a woman emerged from the shadows. She was dressed in an embroidered, crimson tunic richly woven through with pearls. A belt of silk, shot through with silver thread, adorned her tiny waist; her glossy black hair was pulled neatly into a braid that poked from beneath her wimple and swayed provocatively down her back. Her hands sparkled with gold rings and ruby stones; from her wrists dangled whisper-thin bracelets of gold.

Her
eyes were large and blue, set off in her face by long, dark lashes that swept coyly down as she approached her laird. She wore some sort of rouge, perhaps sheep fat, and her skin had been vigorously rubbed pink and white.

She
hurried to them, knocking down a little girl who carried a ragged doll. The girl, who had blonde ringlets and deep brown eyes and was dressed in peasant rags, began to cry. Frowning and chastising the wayward child, she picked up her skirts and smiled lushly at Kade, trying to wrap her arms around him.

Kade
pushed her away and made his way to the child. Maighdlin was sure he would slap the poor child, but he extended his hand and helped her up. “Are ye hurt?” he asked the little girl. She shook her head shyly. “Nay.”

He
handed her the tattered doll, which had fallen in the dirt, and made his way back toward the elegantly dressed woman. “Be more careful in yer ways, Amaris.” Maighdlin was astounded to see her captor show a kindness.

“
My laird, ‘twas clumsy of me. I am just eager to see ye home. ‘Tis been too long since we last met.” She tried once more to embrace him, but he pushed her gently away and she lowered her arms slowly.

“
Are ye no’ happy to see me, my laird? It has been three long years ye’ve been away.”

Kade
pulled Maighdlin down from the horse, and hoisted her small form over his brawny shoulder. “I haven’t time for pleasantries, Amaris.”

“
Put me down!” Maighdlin squealed.

Amaris
scurried to keep up with Kade’s long-legged strides. “Where do ye go, and why do ye carry a servant over yer shoulder?”

Kade
stopped and turned to face Amaris, ignoring the limbs flailing about his mid-section and the small fists pounding, to no avail, on his broad back.

He
leveled his gaze on Amaris. “How is yer husband, my lady? Does he fare well?”

Amaris’
eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. “So, ye’ve heard about my recent marriage.”

“
Aye, I’ve heard. Tell me Amaris, which satisfies ye more, yer husband’s aging blade or his coin? I’ve heard tale he’s a wealthy man, wealthier than my brother Niall. Is that why ye took Niall to yer bed and then spurned him so quickly? Because Glendon was the richer?”

Maighdlin
buried her head in his back. “I canna breathe! Put me down, you toad-faced lout!”

Amaris
eyed Maighdlin with interest but ignored her. She saddled close to Kade and craned her head to look up at him. She trailed a finger along the hardened, hair-fringed muscles of his forearm and smiled sweetly. “Aye, the coin doesna hurt. But I remember ‘twas your blade that left me full and satisfied like no other, Kade. And ye’ve been away for a long, long time. Niall and I were young when we dallied. We were no’ in love. He reserved that for another….”

Kade
brushed her aside. “We were young and foolish then. Ye moved from man to man, aye from brother to brother, with nary a thought for his heart. Ye have a gilded tongue. And though I know well how it can please a man, the thought of it now makes me sick. Tell me, have you grieved at all for Niall? Have ye already tired of your aged husband’s withered blade?”

Kade
spun on his heel and left a seething Amaris in the courtyard. “Aye, and all this talk of
yer
manly prowess is going to make
me
sick if ye don’t put me down!”

He
finally stopped in a dim, tunneled passageway to the great hall and set Maighdlin on her feet but he did not release her. “You have a bold tongue, wench.”

The
weathered stones above her spoke in accents of danger and strength. Like the man who now held her in his steel-bound arms. Even the shadows seemed to tighten about them in a menacing dance, the stones sweating with old secrets.

“
Do ye no’ remember how I dealt with it before, Christel?”

She
felt the color drain from her face. Yet anger rose sharp as a blade between her ribs. “You imbecilic, moronic, half-witted wretch! Ye’ve run a fool’s errand for I am no’ Christel MacKinnon!”

He
crushed her to him, his jaw, rough with a days’ growth of dark whiskers, grazing her chin. His eyes traveled over her quivering, parted pink lips, the rounded curves of her firm breasts, her slim waist. “Ye would do well no’ to bait me, Christel. Ye would no’ like the consequences.”

“
What will ye do?” she fair cried. “Impress upon me another of yer distasteful kisses?” She was shouting now but didn’t seem to realize it. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

“
Distasteful, was it?” Kade’s memory traveled back to another’s lips, youthful and full, pink and lush as a morning sunrise, and willing yet. Lips he’d waited for. Dreamt of. Longed for. A sweet face that swam in his vision before, during, and after each battle. Lips now cold in the grave.

He
looked hard at his captive. Pain surged through him like the cold rush of the winter tide. “Aye, Christel. This I vow. Ye’ll rue the day ye were born. Yer punishments from now on will be more severe than trifling kisses.” He flung her over his shoulder once more. She drummed his back with her fists.

He
carried her through the main hall, ignoring the curious glances of those in the room, continuing through a maze of stone archways and up two flights of narrow stone stairs before depositing her unceremoniously in a chamber with a guard outside its door, and shutting her in alone.

Maighdlin
looked around and felt her stomach sink. The rumination of a fire flickered in the great hearth; wall hangings of painted wool and linen adorned the walls and served the purpose of checking drafts. There was a great bed with a heavy wooden frame overlaid with pillows and a silky gold coverlet. The linen curtains hanging about the bed were pulled back, and the room was littered with chests.

There
was a stool in one corner, and wooden pegs held a man’s rich robes and tunics on the wall. A simple cross of Rowan wood hung above the door.