Spellbound (8 page)

16

Rhona proved a strong, gentle ride. In a few hours’ time, at a reasonable pace, the kirkyard with its damp, weathered stones came into view atop a small climb. Maighdlin slid wearily from Rhona’s back, nearly crumpling when her feet touched the ground.

She
dug into her sack and gave the horse some apple, then led Rhona to a small stream, where the steed drank greedily. Maighdlin went about gathering twigs and sticks to make a fire to warm herself.

After
tethering Rhona to a tree and getting the fire started, she entered the small, dark kirk and sat on one of the hard pews toward the back. She was tired and famished. She tried to pray but couldn’t find the words. So she bowed her head instead.

Then
she ate the bread and with the wooden knife, cut and ate half of the cheese. When no answers came floating back to her in the cushioned darkness, she went back outside and prepared a bed of leaves and moss. In but a few hours, dawn would break the horizon. She would not sleep in the kirk, but by Rhona’s side.

“
Niall…” she breathed. “I dunna know how I can help ye. Why have ye brought me here?” There was no answer. Her eyes were closing, and she struggled to keep them open.

Sleep
lass. All will be revealed to ye.

As
she drifted off, the sliver of glass within reach should she need it, she couldn’t help but think of the scorn of the man Kade, who was bent solely on avenging the deaths of his brother and Fenalla and other members of the clan and village, a man who couldna afford weaknesses or mercies. A man who was her sworn enemy.

At
least she had no fear he would look for her here, at the small kirk. And she comforted herself with the thought that tomorrow she would begin the journey to Brodie’s keep. She didn’t know how she would find the great keep, but she would, and then she would confront the man and face the truth, whatever the truth should be. Resolve clamped down upon her. She slept deeply.

When
she awoke, the sun was bright and merciless. Her muscles ached and throbbed from sleeping on the ground and from hours in the saddle. She sat up, rubbed her eyes. Then she remembered her vivid dream.

She
raced to the stream and emptied her stomach. She dipped her hands in the cool waters and washed her face, then slaked her thirst. It was no mere dream she’d had. In it she’d learned and felt all that Niall had felt before his brother’s return to the Highlands…the agony of Niall’s heart, his physical pain, the slash of sword and burning flame. The secret that haunted him in life and beyond. The dead had the power to lay heavy burdens on the living, and she felt Niall’s burdens now.

By
now, someone would’ve gone to her room in the tower and found Neilina in her place. No doubt Kade had been informed immediately and even now a search party was probably setting out to find her. She thought of the villagers who were so dear to her, of Haddon, the man who had raised her. Was Haddon truly her father? Could there be any truth to the rumors about Brodie? Did the villagers think she was dead? Then a new thought struck her: had Kade sent word, perhaps told Haddon, Erskina, and the rest of the villagers, that she
was
dead so they would not seek her out and cause further complications?

Her
heart felt torn. Haddon’s grief would know no bounds. It would be the end of him, she was sure.

The
hairs on her neck prickled. She stood, and wandered the kirkyard until she found Niall’s gravestone. She placed her hand upon it. It was cool to the touch. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from tumbling ‘round in her head, and shivered as she thought of every tale of MacAlister savagery she’d ever heard told, of clansmen captured and tortured, men beaten, killed, their women raped. She wrapped her arms about herself.

As
a child, whenever she’d ventured about the village, she’d been warned not to stray far, lest she meet up with an enemy clansman, for they all seemed to be known for raiding others’ lands, taking whatever they wanted.

She
could not help but think of the time she had wandered afar, hadn’t paid attention, and then there was Tomas, pulling her skirts high above her waist, spreading her legs, hurting her as he jammed himself inside her, her thighs awash in her own blood, and then in his blood when Elliot’s arrow soared from nowhere, through the air, whistling in its deadly accuracy, and piercing his heart.

A
man had forced himself upon her. She never wanted it to happen again. She’d never told a soul what had happened, but Elliot and his younger brother Darach had kept her secret. Elliot had helped her to the stream, where he kept his back turned while she washed. He helped her home. She stayed a bed for a long time, feigning illness. Elliot was a good friend and visited her often. Her father was heartbroken that she seemed so sad and never wished to rise from her bed. He didn’t understand her gloom and she didn’t want to tell him about it.

Tomas’
arrow-thudded, fly ridden body was found some days later, his death a mystery.

She
had prayed and prayed but couldn’t wash the heinous memories away. Sometimes, in the deepest dark of night, she still felt his rough, dirty hands upon her flesh. The only person who truly knew how she’d suffered was Elliot, who’d killed the man who’d raped her. Elliot, who’d always been like a brother to her. He was a year older than she, and skilled at hunting and the games of their festivals. A kind soul, a brave soul.

The
madman Tomas…she would not forget his fetid breath, his horribly cruel hands, the way he’d forced her legs apart and speared her with pain. Laughing all the while. And then his warm blood washing over her, his still, mad eyes rolling toward the heavens.

To
the west somewhere was her village, and further still, the keep of the old man Brodie. To the east, the MacAlister keep and misery and suffering. Yet she had given Niall her word. And knowing what she now knew, she couldna fail Niall. The Sight had chosen her. She was the only one who could see him, the only one who could free him from being trapped between worlds. He needed Kade’s forgiveness to cross over. It would be no small feat to obtain forgiveness from such an emotionally hardened man, especially once he knew what she now knew. Yet she was the only one who could give Kade the truth.

How
would she make him believe her? She only knew in her heart that she must try.

She
doused the fire and hoisted herself upon Rhona’s back, and with a heavy heart, gently guided the steed toward the east, toward the sure-as-fate fury and ire of her handsome, churlish enemy.

17

Rhona started down the hill, the way twisty and wooded. Maighdlin often had to duck her head below overhanging branches and clutch the steed’s neck as she traversed narrow, high ledges of land.

The
hills to either side rose close around gleaming lochs that were as flat as blades; broad ranges were split by a tangle of glens. In the distance, Maighdlin could see the turquoise-blue sea shimmering in the relentless sunlight.

An
hour into the ride, she stopped to let the horse drink from a burn and nibble at grass, and she stretched her aching legs and ate more apple, sharing it with Rhona before the horse went back to grazing. Hoisting her fringed tunic to her knees, she stepped into the water and cooled her feet. She stood in a small clearing on a hillside covered with a mix of birch, alder, pine, and oak. The water was alive, and danced with supple light.

She
closed her eyes and became aware of an eerie quiet. She didn’t hear the humming of insects in the warm air. A slight mist drifted in the tops of tree branches. She heard a raven’s cry to her right, which was supposed to foretell something favorable. Yet the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

Skirts
in hand, she turned to see two filthy men watching her. They were dressed in ragged clothing.

“
Well, Athsdare, what do we ‘ave here? A serving wench about to take a bath, and a comely one at that! Dunna let us stop ye from undressing.” The man giggled, and Maighdlin’s hand curled around the sliver of glass hidden within her skirts.

“
Aye, Olghar, a ve’y pretty wench she is, and all alone in the forest, with no man to protect her.”

Maighdlin
kept her hand around the glass. The men were hairy of face and thigh; their damp plaids smelled of cattle dung, sweat, and whisky. “What do ye here?” she asked.

“
She’s a bold wench, Athsdare. Just look at all that shiny, dark red hair. ‘Tis like fire. And those wide, dark, inviting eyes. A bold tongue she has too, perhaps a tongue we should silence.”

Athsdare
put a grimy hand on the one called Olghar’s arm. His shadowy eyes bored into Maighdlin. “Dunna fash yerself,
princess
. I seek a cure for my brother’s lunacy. But I canna find the kirk rumored to provide it.” Athsdare looked to be the older of the two, his black, scruffy beard shot through with wild streaks of grey. The hair on his head was of a like color, and shaggy. “Do ye have any food ye could spare?” he asked.

“
I have some cheese. ‘Tis all I have, but yer welcome to it. It’s in my pouch.” She pointed at the horse.

They
looked at the steed. She could see they were thinking about how much they could get for it at market. There was a different, vile sort of hunger in their eyes.

They
charged her, their dirty feet splashing the water. Each grabbed an arm painfully, yanking her from the stream, and throwing her to the ground beside it. They had not seen her weapon.

Breathing
heavily, they towered above her. “What shall we do with her?” Olghar said, licking his lips. “She’s a thief of prized horseflesh, and should be punished.”

“
I could think of many ways to punish the comely thief,” Athsdare replied, rubbing a finger across his top lip.

Maighdlin
sat up, her skirts rucked round her knees. “I am not a thief. And ye would be wise no’ to harm me.”

“
Oh, and why would that be, lass?”

“
I’m a Seer.” She thrust her chin in the air. “I have the Sight.”

The
men looked at each other and frowned.

“
Yer a …
witch
?” Athsdare asked. They crossed themselves and took a step back, their large, bare feet caked black with dirt and grime.

“
Aye. A Seer. A witch.” She pulled out the sliver of glass.

“
It’ll take more than that to keep us away,” Athsdare said.

“
an da shealladh
,
the
Sight
,” Olghar whispered in fear. “But how do we know ‘tis true?”

Maighdlin’s
head began to ache. She heard Niall’s voice.
They are liars. Ask them about their mother. These are dangerous men. Lunatics. Their minds are twisted. They killed their own mother afore they took to the woods. She was bringing them a meal, across the fields. I canna stay long. I am too far from the kirk…. I am fading…quickly now, lass….

Maighdlin
took a deep breath. Stared into Athsdare’s watery, bloodshot eyes and then into Olghar’s. “I see blood on yer hands,” she said. Olghar gasped. He held his clumsy hands up before his round face and looked dumbly at them.

“
Ye could say that ‘bout any Highlander,” Athsdare said, his eyes narrowing.

Maighdlin’s
eye caught on something sparkling by her heel. A stone. She held it up and looked into it. “Aye, but I see yer own mother’s blood on yer hands. Yer own poor, hard-working mother, whom ye killed yesterday. Was it when she brought a meal to ye across the fields? And the meal was cold?”

They
continued to stare at her.

“
Put yer hands on me and ye’ll die within the hour,” she breathed. “This very ground will be stained red with yer blood, and ye shallna live to see the morrow.”

Athsdare’s
thin lips turned cruel. “So yer a thief and a good liar, wench.” His eyes dipped to her rounded breasts, her slim hips, her long legs, bare beneath her skirts.

Maighdlin
had to lie. Perhaps the fools would fear the name of a MacKinnon more than her claims of being a witch? “I am Christel MacKinnon, the daughter of auld Brodie MacKinnon,” she said, with as much conviction as she could muster. “I was born with the mark.” She pulled her tunic so it dipped below her shoulder and the birthmark was exposed.

Olghar
fair trembled. “She’s a witch! She is! She’s got the mark! And a MacKinnon!”

But
Athsdare wasna swayed. His eyes devoured the naked, creamy skin of her shoulder. “Witch or no’, I think we’ll ‘ave a taste of what’s between yer legs. Ye can cook our meals and satisfy our lusts at night. And then maybe we’ll ‘ave ye taken away and burnt to death in a tar barrel!”

They
were upon her and she screamed. “Nay!”

Athsdare
put his gnarled hands about her throat and she slashed at him. “Bitch!” he screamed, while she struggled mightily. Olghar knocked the glass from her hand and pinned her legs with his knees, then began to remove his damp, begrimed plaid.

Dear
God, no! She couldna suffer this way again! For a moment, she saw and felt the lunatic Tomas’ hands about her throat that day in the meadow….

Athsdare,
his cheek dripping blood from where she’d cut him, slapped her face hard. Maighdlin saw stars. He raised his hand, balled it into a meaty fist. Her legs were numb from Olghar pinning them down. She squirmed to no avail, closed her eyes, braced herself for the blow. But she never felt it.

Athdare’s
face registered a moment of shock before he crumpled to Maighdlin’s side, a knife sticking from his broad back.

Olghar
leapt off her, frantically scanning the brush and woods. Maighdlin scrambled to her feet, breathing hard and coughing. She retrieved the sliver of glass and held it in front of herself, pointing it at Olghar. He looked at it with his dull, liver-colored eyes. “Ye said our blood would spill … Ye said it would….” Olghar fell forward, sightless now, an arrow in his back.

Maighdlin
dropped the glass and turned. Two men atop powerful steeds emerged from the wooded brush. Kade’s long-lashed, hazel eyes flashed fury. Ian wore a worried frown. Without a word, Kade gently hoisted Maighdlin atop his steed so she sat in front of him. “Are ye alright?” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. He pushed her hair gently off her face. She nodded, staring at the bodies of the dead men. He followed her gaze.

“
Leave them to the animals,” he said. Ian nodded, pulling the knife from Athdare’s back and wiping the blade with a cloth. He gathered Rhona’s reins so he could guide the horse alongside his own. Kade’s strong arm came about Maighdlin’s waist and his muscled legs pressed closely against her own.

The
sky was laden with clouds. The horses thundered from the small clearing before she had a chance to tell Kade she’d been making her way
back
to the MacAlister keep with a message from Niall. That her intention had been to run from him, to find Brodie, but she was coming back on her own to tell him what Niall needed him to know. Kade probably wouldna have believed her anyway. He would assume she’d simply been lost on her way to escaping him.

He
did not remove his arm from about her waist. And though his lean, hard body was so close to hers that she could feel his warm breath on her neck, in her hair, and the tension in his muscles, he said naught the entire way back to the keep.