Spellbound (6 page)

12

Nine
paces? The width of the tower was more like
six
paces. Dugald had unlatched and pushed the heavy door open. Torchlight from the winding corridor fell into the room. Maighdlin looked at the straw mattress, the rough woolen blankets heaped across it. There was a small window slit high in the wall. No rush lights or candles. A small hearth.

Dugald
got a fire going for her. “You’ll be fed and given ale,” he said. “The blankets and linens ha’e been changed and are clean.”

“
Well, at least I willna starve or freeze to death in the dark,” Maighdlin said. “Why so kind?” she quipped.

“
A lass will be checking on ye ‘oft to make sure ye….”

“
Don’t set myself afire?” Maighdlin laughed but there was no mirth in it. “That ‘twould be a horrible death indeed. Ne’er fear Dugald, I willna set myself aflame. Though mayhap it would be preferable to marriage to the laird.”

He
looked taken aback. “I’d be careful with yer words lass, especially around the laird. His only brother Niall and his betrothed Fenalla both burnt to death in the recent massacre. Because of
yer
father.”

Maighdlin
gasped.
Burnt to death?

“
Also lass, I wouldna advise trying to escape. The door will be unlocked only to feed ye and bathe ye, to see to yer basic needs, and of course to prepare ye for the wedding ceremony. The wooden steps we climbed just now will be taken out when ye are locked in. If ye should somehow use a spell or some sort of magic to unlatch the door, and ye step out, it would be most unfortunate for ye. Ye’d drop right into a foul-smelling dungeon and probably break every bone in yer small body.”

“
How pleasant,” Maighdlin said. “But Dugald, my name is Maighdlin! I am no’ Christel MacKinnon as yer laird believes!”

Dugald
said nothing. He straightened after tending to the fire, strode from the room, and closed the heavy tower door. Maighdlin heard the latch being lowered. She wondered who else had been held captive in this tower.

Did
they think her some sort of witch? She simply possessed the Sight on occasion. She’d only ever seen and been able to communicate with a few spirits during her lifetime. She wasn’t a witch!
Sweet God, but to be accused of being a witch would surely mean being burnt in a tar barrel or at the stake. Perhaps she could use that fear to her advantage. But she’d have to be careful.

She
could scream for help but no one would hear her—the stone walls must be twenty feet thick. Besides, no one here would come to her aid.

Soon
she would be Kade’s wife. In every way.
She cursed the ways of brutish men! How would Kade find a kirkman at such short notice to perform the wedding ceremony? And what of those MacAlisters who had recently lost loved ones to the feud? How would they look on a wedding and festivities that followed so close on the heels of tragedy?

She
must find a way to escape. She must get to Brodie before Kade and his men did, so she could prove to Kade she was not Christel MacKinnon. But how?

If
she were forced to marry, would Kade take her to his bed? Maighdlin had only ever experienced being with a man once. At the hands of the lunatic Tomas. She wouldn’t think about it now. It felt too much like an impending execution. She would focus on how to escape. Perhaps if she befriended the lass who would be looking in on her over the next two days she would find the right moment to escape. She could borrow a horse from the stables and set out for Brodie’s keep. But how would she find the keep?

Another
thought occurred to her. She knew that in a laird’s absence, the wife, the mate, was mistress of the castle, defended it at need, rode to rousing hunts with the men. She knew how to hunt. She’d spent much time in the woods surrounding her small village. But defend a great keep? Where everyone was sure to loathe her? How could she do that, how could she live, where all resented her presence?

She
knelt in front of the fire and tried to keep warm, staring at the small flames. Once married to Kade she would be the custody of her husband. He would be permitted, even encouraged, to beat her for her own good. At the smallest offense. At an imagined offense. Simply if he felt like it. If he was like most lairds, he would have at least one lover, maybe more, and bring his illegitimate children into the keep for their education. Rarely had Maighdlin ever heard that a mistress of a keep loved her husband and was loved by him in return.

He
would make a mockery of marriage. It had often been said that for nobles, love had no place between husband and wife. But it was different in the villages. And Maighdlin wanted to experience love, for she had never been in love with a man. She wanted to meet a lover on the night of the Bealtunn on the rise overlooking the sea, and know a tender man’s touch, if such existed. If she didn’t act, she’d be married to a man she could never love. A hard man. And she would always be his enemy.

She
rose, inspected the mattress and the blankets. They were clean, as the guard indicated. No vermin or lice that she could see. She climbed onto the mattress, and huddled beneath the scratchy covers. Sleep didn’t come for a long, long time. She couldn’t stop seeing Kade’s harsh, handsome face before her, couldn’t stop hearing his voice and remembering his words, this threats, his promises that she would rue the day she was born.

She
felt something else astir in the castle, sensed the unhappiness of spirits killed by Brodie’s men in their treachery. Spirits who maybe didn’t understand they were dead. Troubled spirits they were; she had no doubt. Including the spirit in the kirkyard, where they’d camped. Niall, Kade’s brother. Why had he chosen her to help him?

He’d
said he’d help her, but he’d led her right into the arms of Kade when she’d tried to escape their encampment in the woods. She couldn’t even trust the spirits in this part of the world!

13

In the morning, the bolt being lifted from the door awakened Maighdlin. Kade barged in, followed by a serving lass and several stout men carrying a washtub and steaming buckets of water. Another man came in with a meal for Maighdlin and a tankard of ale, which he placed on the table before leaving.

“
What is this?” Maighdlin demanded.

“
Ye smell like a wild animal,” Kade said.

The
men who’d brought the washtub and buckets deposited them and left. The servant girl was small, with deep blue eyes and straight blonde hair. She held soap and rose petals in her hands.

“
What's yer name?” Maighdlin asked.

“
She’s deaf,” Kade said.

“
She still has a name.” The girl watched Maighdlin's lips move. “She may be deaf but she’s no’ dumb.”

“
Of course she’s no’ a dumb mute,” Kade said. “It’s just that she doesna talk to anyone. So dunna think ye’ll be making a friend ye can twist around yer little finger and convince her ye deserve yer freedom.”

“
My name is Lillias.”

Kade
looked surprised.

Maighdlin
started as she heard male laughter float from the corner of the room. Deep male laughter.
Niall’s spirit.
He stood with his arms crossed and wore the same plaid and boots she’d seen him wearing in the kirkyard. “My little brother, always so dramatic.” He smiled but there was something sad in his dark eyes. “Dunna fash yourself, Maighdlin,” he said. “Ask them for a mirror. Convince them ye are vain.”

“
What?” Maighdlin said to Niall.

“
My name is Lillias,” the girl repeated, clearly confused by Maighdlin’s gaze into the corner of the room.

Maighdlin
cleared her throat and looked at the girl. Maighdlin, of course, was the only one who could see Niall.
Niall, ye didna help me before,
she thought,
in the wood. Ye led me straight into yer brother’s arms! Why should I trust you?

Niall
rolled his eyes.
Lass, ye can break the mirror and use a sharp piece as a weapon during yer escape. I know the keep like the back of my hand, or what used to be the back of my hand.
He held up his hand and put his other hand through it and laughed.
You won’t have to use the jagged glass to hurt anyone lass, if ye follow my lead, but if ye need to threaten someone, it’ll do just fine. I’ll help ye get a horse and guide you to the kirkyard. My spirit is stronger there. I haven’t yet learned how to manifest myself for long periods of time away from the chapel.

Why
help me?
Maighdlin thought.

Because
I need yer help.

With
what?

I
have unfinished business with my brother.

He
knows he’s a spirit
, Maighdlin thought.

Of
course I know I’m a spirit. I’m no’ daft.

Dear
God. You and Fenalla were burnt in a fire when Brodie’s men attacked. Ye were trying to help the villagers defend the keep. I am so sorry. Kade thinks I’m Brodie’s long-lost daughter, but I am no’. Why would ye help me?

Niall’s
image began to fade.
Quickly! Convince them ye are vain and need a mirror. I dunna have much strength here. I am strongest near the kirkyard, where my earthly body is buried. I will appear to ye again once I am stronger and ye have the mirror.

I
dunna know that I can trust you,
she thought.
And mirrors are a luxury item. Why would they give one to a prisoner?

Ye’ll
have to trust me. Yer the only person who has been able to see me since…I passed. I brought ye here because I have things to show ye. I need yer help. I give ye my word that ye shall then have my help in return.
A cold draft brushed her face, and Niall was gone.

Maighdlin
took a deep breath. She’d been a giving, gentle person all of her life. She cared not for mirrors and fancy things, yet Niall was her only chance. She had to convince Kade and the girl Lillias that she was indeed vain and demanding. Both were staring at her oddly.

“
I willna bathe without a mirror,” Maighdlin said, putting her hands on her hips and pouting.

“
Without a…mirror?” Kade said.

“
I was taken from my village and forced to ride a great distance without any thought to my comfort or needs. Of course I smell like a wild animal! Borrowing a mirror is a simple request. There’s a certain way I like to wear my hair.” She thought of the woman Amaris, who'd she seen in the courtyard. “And perhaps one of yer mistresses could spare some sheep’s fat and rouge? Mayhap sprigs of white heather for good luck? I could use some of
that.
And perhaps these clothes I wear could be washed.”

As
if by magic, another servant bustled in, her arms full of clothing, and another servant followed, holding a candle.

“
Yer own clothes are so worn and tattered they will be burned,” Kade said. “I think ye are somewhat more slightly built than Fenalla was. Some of these may be a bit big on ye, but will do for now.”

An
older woman with gray hair and kind eyes placed the clothing on the bed: bed gowns, kirtles, chemises, a voluminous gown made of heavy worsted wool with thick tubular folds, another dress with a high neck and fitted bodice with a full skirt. The sleeves were buttoned from the cuff to the upper arm.
Fenalla’s clothing
, Maighdlin thought. “My own clothes are good and sturdy. I made them myself. They simply need to be washed and beaten by a stream. I can repair the…rips…in the cloth myself.”

Kade
threw his hands up. Maighdlin was about to protest again when two more women came in, carefully carrying the most beautiful gown Maighdlin had ever laid eyes on.

It
was cream-colored and silk, with sleeve puffs, a long pointed stomacher, and fine gathering at the waistline. “Normal circumstances demand a proper mourning period,” Maighdlin said.

“
These are no’ normal circumstances,” Kade said, his voice a low growl. “Ye’ll be fitted to the gown but it willna be left here; ye’d likely burn it in the hearth. And ye’ll be provided a proper bath, food, and ale. Is there anything else ye need?”

“
A bow, and a quiver of arrows, as well as a vat of boiling oil so that I may pour it on yer stubborn head.”

Lillias
had been watching Maighdlin speak and broke into laughter. She saw the look on Kade’s face and, chastised, turned back to her task of preparing the bath, scattering rose petals in the hot water of the tub. Maighdlin had to admit the smell was heavenly. She thought Kade almost smiled. But then his eyes fell on the gown. Rage and sadness flashed across his handsome face.

“
Lillias, dunna forget she’s my prisoner.” He frowned. “Leave us for a moment,” he said to the servants. They obeyed, and Maighdlin was alone with Kade. The truth was, she was scared half witless. What madness possessed her to tease and taunt the Highland chieftain?

“
Why did ye ask them to leave us?”

He
hauled her against him so his arms imprisoned her and her small feet were planted between his. His chest crushed the softness of her breasts. “Because I fear ye will no’ obey any orders to be bathed properly, I will see to the task myself.” A rough fingertip scaled her cheek, skimmed the parted fullness of her lip. “Would ye like that?”

She
shook her head defiantly, feeling suddenly alarmingly hot. He was closer to her than ever, and more frightening. His mouth looked raw and harsh, and there was molten heat in his dark, amber-gold eyes. “And then perhaps ye shall bathe me.”

“
Ne’er, Highlander!”

“
I thought ye might react so. For a kiss, I will leave ye to the care of Lillias. She is a gentle girl, and can help ye with yer preparations. I canna promise I’d be gentle with ye.”

“
I’ll no’ suffer another one of yer distasteful kisses!”

“
There’s that word again. ‘Distasteful’. Perhaps I was going about it all wrong.”

She
did not tell him that the last man who’d kissed her had died from an arrow to the heart. Maybe she should. “The last man who….”

“
Ne’er speak to me of other men who’ve had a taste of ye,” he growled. “Either I bathe ye, or ye give me a kiss and Lillias aids ye with yer bath.”

“
Curse ye, arrogant Highlander! Neither choice is acceptable! I dunna need anyone to help me bathe!” She chewed her bottom lip, and his hands slid behind her neck, tilting her face toward his. “I’ll give ye a kiss if ye make it….”

“
Less distasteful?”

She
stared at his lips, feeling heat pool low in her belly. Her breathing became erratic as her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

“
I think it’s a matter of experience. I think the men who kissed ye before didna know how to do it properly, lass.”

“
Is that so, Highlander?”

“
Yer body language tells me yer scared but I think ye like to be commanded. Subdued. A slave to passion. Ye want me to kiss ye.”

“
Yer wrong, Highlander.” Maighdlin had no experience with men except for the brutality of Tomas. She couldna make sense of his words or what she was feeling. And yet, she did want Kade to kiss her. She felt herself leaning into his warmth, staring at his lips, a hot ache between her legs, yearning for something solid, warm. It made no sense. He was her abductor. He confused her, promising threats then showing a kindness to a small child in the courtyard. And despite her situation, she was well aware of his losses, how he was hurting. She shouldn’t feel sorry for him!

“
Little one, I dunna oft give my enemies choices,” he rasped. “Give me yer answer.” When she stood there staring at his mouth, her own lips parted, her breathing seductive, he could take no more. His eyes lingered on the swell of her breasts beneath the material of her tunic, her pebbled nipples. His arm unyielding about her waist, the other still angling her head toward his, he pressed his sculpted body to hers.

His
lips descended and he took her mouth. Maighdlin stood like a frozen statue, unsure of anything but the hammering of her heart. The warmth and tenderness of his lips was a shock that banished all thought of Tomas and the meadow long ago. She trembled when his hand tangled more deeply in her hair, and his lips became softer in their explorations. She hadn’t expected warmth, or softness, and certainly not the tenderness of his lips.

Maighdlin
relaxed slightly. Was it madness to be so dispossessed by the kiss of an enemy? She’d never been kissed by a man such as Kade. And never like this. His muscular thigh wedged between her legs, pressing against her most womanly parts. She felt heat stab her there and became lost to all but the warm sensation of his mouth on hers, his tongue delving inside. Maighdlin boldly answered with her own, startling them both. Without realizing it, she moaned softly into his kiss, her fingers curling into his dark hair.
The man himself was so hard. Yet his lips, his hair, were so soft, his kiss so heady.
“I feel…hot. Dizzy,” she breathed.

Abruptly
he broke away and stepped back. “’Tis a spell ye weave on me,” he said. His eyes glittered with heat and suspicion.

“
Och, surely 'tis not. If I possessed the kind of womanly charms ye enjoy, the kind that hold a man spellbound, I'd no' waste them on a brutish Highland laird!”

He
stared at her, his look downright menacing. “Lillias!” he bellowed, his voice rigid now. The girl quietly re-entered the room. “See that the peasant is properly bathed.”

Lillias
nodded.

“
In two days’ time we will be wed, Christel.”

“
Ye think ye will own me Highlander, but yer wrong.”

“
I already
own
ye. After we are wed, I will possess ye. In every way.” He turned on his heel, leaving Maighdlin atremble, her fingertips skirting her swollen lips, an odd ache between her legs. Somewhere deep inside her was another ache—an insensible yearning to heal her captor’s pain and sadness. But such feelings were too dangerous for Maighdlin to consider. ‘Twould surely be madness to think she could heal such a hardened man, who had suffered so much in so a short time.

As
Lillias helped her with her bath, Maighdlin tried to pull her thoughts together. But the memory of the Highlander’s lips against her own, his tall body warm and hard, still spread a flush about her body. His touch had reached deep down inside her to places no one had ever been. What if he was right about her? What if she was…sensual…and submissive to his touch? What if she enjoyed those things? Could they be enjoyed by a woman? It was true she
wanted
him to kiss her again. The sooner she could escape him, the better!