Spellbound (5 page)

Sweet
Lord. She was in
his
chamber. She knew it instinctively. It smelled faintly of the man—musky, like shadowed forest. She quickly crossed to the window and unlatched the shutters, but a jump from that height would mean certain death on the sea-washed rocks below. She thought of her own home now with a great ache, even though it was merely a two-level cottage of mud-plastered branches and straw with a roof of thatch.

The
rooms had dirt floors, the only furnishings a long bench, a table, and a chest to hold clothes in the common room. In a small loft, she slept on a corn-chaff mattress beneath blankets woven from wool. Her father owned a few iron pots, a considerable luxury, and more often than not, a cow wondered through the common room. The interior of the cottage was lit by candles made of tallow. When their supply ran out, her father lit iron crusies, which gave off a smoky, smelly flame. Here, iron candelabras held flame high in the walls, shedding a glow about the room.

For
a time, she watched the sun fall below the horizon in a splash of colors—pink, blue, and rose—before all became dark. She felt uncomfortable surrounded by his things, the sheer masculinity of them. It would be a blessed mercy when someone came to take her to the tower, for surely she would feel more comfortable there. Why was she here? She crossed to the hearth, thinking of her village, her father, and Erskina.

Maighdlin’s
skirts were soaked from the high heather and patches of wet ground; her feet ached and were as filthy as her tunic. She crossed to the meager fire and curled and uncurled her fingers above the heat, trying to find a thread of warmth. But it was useless; she shivered yet. She returned to the stone window seat.

She
jumped when she heard the latch of the door being lifted, but it was merely a servant bringing a trencher of roast meat, a chunk of oat bread, and a mug of ale. The young, doe-eyed girl set the food down quietly and left. It took no time for Maighdlin to decide to eat it; she would need her strength to plan her escape.

She
thought of her captor, the sinewy strength of his body, the merciless way his lips had moved over hers. She ate quickly, slaking her hunger and then her thirst, and returned to the window. She looked out over the vast stretch of land. The moonlight was clear. There was not a cloud in the sky, nor even a drift of mist twisting about the hilltops. That a good sign; it usually meant she wouldn’t dream, wouldn’t have visions. The trees themselves were a journey in faith, their long, arched limbs reaching toward the sky though they were rooted in place.

The
great bulk of the ben stood out black and clear, and from somewhere across the mountains came the high skirl of a lone piper. Deer and wild boar sheltered in the forest and scrub of the broad mountains; sparkling streams cut across the craggy wilderness along the eastern border. She wouldn’t know how to cross them or how to find her way back to her village, but she would rather face the dark woods than Kade MacAlister.

From
below came the low whining of dogs, the sharp clank of tankards, the talk of men and the wailing of women, and Maighdlin felt for them, for their recent losses.

The
ale had made her sleepy. It had tasted good, tasted of heather, not like the ale brewed in her village. The strength of it now pulled at her eyelids, lulling her near to sleep. It was then she spied the shining, bejeweled handle of a dagger near hidden by cloth, a dagger small enough to fit beneath her sleeve.

She
curled up on the floor before the hearth, shivering, trying in vain to get warm, the dagger safely hidden on her person. She eyed the bed. Though it was tempting with its gold coverlet, she would not seek warmth where
he
slept. Finally, she shut her eyes.

10

Ian glanced at his friend, his dark head bent low over another tankard of ale. “Ye found her in the village, truly, on the word of a serving wench?” he asked Kade.

“
Aye, she has the mark of the MacKinnon.”

Ian
scratched his bearded chin. “Bu how can ye be sure? Do ye no’ think someone will come for her?”

Kade
grunted. “Aye—I have no doubt. And as to those men, they would be driven away by an army of sheep! Cowards, and few in number.”

Ian
sighed. He was a year younger and not in a position to offer advice. He was unsure of himself now that Kade was laird. He had not suffered the loss of a brother or a wife-to-be, so he couldn’t know Kade's pain.

“
What will ye do with the lass?” he asked.

“
I dunna know.”

“
Where is she? In the tower?”

“
In my chamber.”

Kade's
answer surprised Ian.

“
A guard is posted at the door.”

“
What of auld Brodie? Will ye send him yer demands, a ransom note?”

Kade
looked up from his ale, shadows of fatigue beneath his eyes. “Ransom? Nay. 'Tis no’ auld Brodie's coin I seek. Ye know that.”

Ian
felt a bit sorry for the girl, for if the tale were true, she’d never known her father and had grown up in a village far from the man and his sins. Ian had known Kade since they were both lads. They were friends, had fought side by side in many a battle. Each knew the ruthless strength and prowess of the other; each knew the hopes, dreams and hurts of the other. Yet Kade had come back from Ireland a changed man. And he’d come back to find his brother and his wife-to-be dead.

There
was a ruthless current in him now that Ian hadn't sensed before, a desire for vengeance that threatened to consume him. Ian worried it would destroy his friend. “Ye know that killing the girl willna bring Niall and Fenalla back,” he said quietly.

“
I dunna seek the girl’s blood. I seek the man's. His suffering, his submission, his very death.”

Ian
sipped his brandy. “Are ye so sure 'twill make ye feel better?”

“
I surely couldna feel worse.”

Ian
eyed him warily. There were things he suspected, things maybe Kade was blind to. But it wasn’t his duty to point them out. No when it was mere speculation. Kade had been away for three years. Much had changed in that time, even Niall. Ian had seen something akin to guilt in the elder MacAlister's eyes on too many occasions, and he didna want to think of the rumors now. His thoughts shamed him. He took another swig of whisky. It was growing late.

“
What will ye do with her?”

“
I dunna know.”

“
Have ye thought of marriage to the girl?” Ian said, half joking. “Look at the suffering that surrounds us, the sorrow, the heavy hearts. Would no’ a grand celebration provide a wee bit of cheer to the clan and the villagers, after so much loss and sadness? ‘Tis something auld Brodie would ne’er expect, the one thing he could surely no’ abide, if the bonnie lass is his daughter, well and true. Imagine, his revered daughter forced to wed ye now and to bear yer wee bairns….”

Though
Kade appeared as if he might kill Ian right then and there for the mere suggestion, there was something else in his eyes…a smidgen of awareness. An inkling of intent. For the first time in all the years of their friendship, Ian was unsure of the embittered man sitting next to him, unsure of the wisdom of his suggestion.

11

Maighdlin awoke, sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and quickly glanced about. Kade stood by his bed, watching her, saying nothing. He looked weary. He gave her his back.

He
wore only a long saffron shirt, which was sewn with green and red silk thread, something the poor could not afford. Maighdlin's eyes traveled over his powerful shoulders, the breadth of his back, the sleek, powerful muscles of his bare legs. He was devastatingly handsome but not like any other man she'd ever met. He seemed…barely human.

“
I've decided what I will do with ye, Christel MacKinnon.”

Maighdlin
held her breath. Would he torture and kill her? Lock her away forever? Offer her up as a tasty repast for wild boars? It was cruel of him to make her guess. But he was a MacAlister. They were not known for their mercy. They were swift and powerful, ruthless in battle, trained in deadly conflict. An eye for an eye. And yet she’d seen him show an unexpected kindness to a village child in the courtyard when they’d first entered the castle gates. Was he capable of other kindnesses?

She
waited, her hand tensing around the hilt of the hidden dagger. She’d never hurt another human being. She’d lived a peaceful, simple life until now. Except for the incident with Tomas, but that was not her fault. She wasn’t sure how much more she could tolerate from the Highland warrior. She knew she could not go through it again, what Tomas had done to her.

She
stood on shaky legs. Mayhap she could simply threaten him with the dagger.

“
We will marry in two days’ time.”

She
nearly choked. “Marry? In two days’ time? Are ye daft?”

“
There are many here who resent yer presence, Christel. Who would like nothing better than to put their hands around yer neck or bury a knife in yer chest. Marrying me will give ye a measure of protection from my own people for as long as I deem it necessary….”

But
what of protection from you?
she thought. He turned just as she revealed the dagger. “Let me go or I shall….”

“
Ye shall what, my dear?” He grabbed her, easily twisting her wrist until she yelped in pain and the dagger clattered uselessly to the floor. She struggled mightily in his arms.

“
Protection? Protection?” she cried. “So that ye and ye alone may torture me and beat me and ….”

“
That wasna wise, Christel MacKinnon. E’en now my soldiers prepare for the day they will descend like hell’s fury on yer father’s clan. I have already raised over four hundred men to fight. Men from other clans have already started to arrive. Their hearts beat like wild drums with the thought of revenge. They can already taste their enemies’ blood. They await only my word to send them into battle, and their patience won’t last for long. I could easily order them to bring their wrath upon the village that sheltered ye as well. Remember, ‘twas yer father Brodie who ended the peace. The feud is on again, well and truly. Ye are my
enemy
and ye shouldna forget it.”

She
was near hysterical, tears flowing freely down her cheeks now. “If…if I marry ye, will ye spare their lives?”

He
laughed wickedly. Sweet God, the fury in his flashing hazel eyes was enough to make her knees go weak. Yet she tilted her chin up and refused to look away.

“
I will marry ye Christel, and then I will destroy Brodie and his clan, for what they took from me. Of those two things, at least, ye can be sure. Dunna speak of bargains, for peace has been shattered. There is no bargaining
now
.”

Maighdlin’s
voice rose though she tried to control it. “I...I dunna care if you imprison me and beat and torture me as long as ye leave my family and the rest of the villagers in peace! Leave them their land. They have lived on it for generations. What ha’e they e’er done to deserve yer ire and contempt?”

He
gripped her shoulders firmly. “What ha’e they done indeed, Christel. Ye speak of yer village as if it were yer true home. Ye dunna speak of yer father, of yer true clan,” he said bitterly. “I can almost believe ye are no’ Christel when ye beg me to spare the lives of the villagers who raised ye. But this is no’ about them. There is far more at stake. My brother, and my wife-to-be, ne’er had a choice. They begged for mercy and were given
none
.”

Maighdlin
was silent. Niall had clearly been one of the victims of the slaughter. Dear God, Kade’s betrothed too. “But I told ye! I ha’e naught to do with Brodie MacKinnon! I dunna know the man! I am sorry for yer losses, truly I am…but…please, dunna do this. I’d rather be locked in the tower and beaten, or made to empty the chamber pots of a hundred men than marry ye!”

It
was as if he hadn’t heard her. He led her roughly to the door and opened it. A towering, bulky, red-haired guard stood there. “Dugald, take her to the tower as I canna trust the fiery wench no’ to stab me in the heart with my own dagger as I slumber.”

Dugald
nodded. “Aye, Kade.”

“
Christel, ye’ll be alone with yer murderous thoughts until the next time I see ye, and then ye’ll be made to marry me in the great hall, and there is naught ye can do about it. Rest up. Ye’ll need to save yer strength for our wedding night. In the meantime, ye can entertain yerself by watching my soldiers in the courtyard train to kill auld Brodie and as many of his clan as we can. And then mayhap, yer precious villagers.”

Maighdlin
was hauled from the room, sconces flickering and casting shadows.
Dear, Sweet God. She could battle him when she thought her time here would be brief. But she could not best a ruthless man seasoned in battle, in warfare, a man with a heart as cold as ice, a man who took what he wanted regardless of the consequences, if she were bound to him by marriage. The…marriage bed? He’d said she would pay….