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“To arms!” someone shouted.
Cursing his stupidity, Kieran surged to his feet and drew his sword in one swift movement. “Close ranks,” he roared as a wave of mounted men encircled them. He heard a soft whoosh as an arrow pierced his sleeve, pinning his sword arm to the tree behind him. “Rhys! To me!” He grabbed the arrow and tried to jerk it free. But it was firmly caught in the links of his mail.
“Drop your weapons,” called a high, clear voice.
Kieran slewed his head around, found the brush bristling with drawn arrows. “Ellis. Call for your men,” he shouted.
“B-but these are my men,” the poor man replied, looking dazed and confused.
“Then what are they about?”
“We’re about capturing you,” said that same youthful voice. The circle of dark-lad men parted and a shaggy pony walked forward, bearing a slender figure. In the shifting shadows cast by the overhanging branches, it was impossible to make out the rider’s features, except that he was young. Kieran had a swift impression of a pale face dominated by wide eyes and surrounded by a close-fitting mail coif in the instant before he realized that the youth had an arrow notched and aimed at his throat.
“I don’t know who you are,” Kieran growled. “But you will pay for this day’s work.” He vented his frustration by breaking the arrow shaft and wrenching his arm free.
“Hold,” the cheeky youth cried. “If you don’t value your own life, what of this lad?” He trained his arrow on Jamie. Kieran’s young squire made an inarticulate noise and looked to his master for succor.
There was no help for it. Kieran couldn’t endanger the lad. Cursing ripely, he dropped his sword.
“Geordie. Disarm them and bind them. We’ll take them back to Edin Tower. Wait till Grandda sees this,” the youth added softly.
So, Duncan had sought to trap him. Burning with impotent fury, Kieran locked his gaze on his adversary and let his hatred blaze forth. Across the few feet separating them, the youth’s eyes widened with fear. Good. Because when he got the chance, he’d—What the devil? Kieran was stunned to see the youth’s beardless chin rise to meet his silent challenge.
It was the last straw. Heedless of the consequences, Kieran leapt forward, dragged his would-be captor from the saddle and held him at eye level. “Betray me, will you! I’ll burn Edin Tower to the ground for this foul piece of business!”
“I knew it! I knew it!” the lad screamed.
“Bloody hell! If you were a man, I’d challenge you to—” Something crashed into the back of Kieran’s head, and the world went dark.
Chapter Two
“Ye what?” Duncan demanded, eyes bugging out.
“I captured Sir Kieran, and tomorrow we’ll send him on his way,” Laurel said for the third time in as many minutes.
Her grandfather’s bushy white brows slammed together. “I hired him to protect Edin.”
“And I’ve proven what a poor choice he was. If I could take him captive, how can you expect him to save—?”
“Ye came on him unawares. Ellis said so himself. ’Tis dishonest, catching a man with his hose down,” he grumbled.
“I didn’t.” She had been lurking in the woods, trying to decide how best to approach Sutherland and persuade him to leave, when he’d stepped into her lair...so to speak. Realizing what the men were about, she’d turned her back. But whilst waiting for Geordie to tell her they’d finished, a plan had formed. An inspired plan, if she did say so herself. No one had been hurt. She winced as she recalled the bloody bump on Kieran’s head. No one had been badly hurt, she amended. And there was Grandda’s prize mercenary trussed up in the granary.
Though likely there’d be hell to pay when he regained consciousness, she thought, recalling his angry outburst just before Geordie had hit him over the head. Neither her vision nor her aunt’s conjuring had done justice to the man’s size. Or his looks. Not handsome, exactly, for his features were too rugged for that—broad forehead, high, prominent cheekbones and an arrogant jaw outthrust as though daring the world to take a swipe at it. Aye, his face had the unrelenting angles of carved stone, and his dark violet eyes haunted her still.
Laurel drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Beneath Kieran’s fury she’d glimpsed something startling. A loneliness that touched her very soul, for she knew all about loneliness.
“’Tis a bad bit of work ye’ve been about this morn. ’Twill take more glibness than I’ve got just now to soothe his pride.”
“We don’t need him, Grandda. If I could catch Sir Kieran and his men preoccupied, then I shouldn’t have any trouble outwitting the reivers should they come again.”
“They will.” His head sagged into the pillow. “Then what’ll become of us?” He looked so frail that Laurel flew to his side.
“Grandda.” Mindful of his wounded chest, she grabbed his gnarled hand where it lay clenched in the blankets. “I—”
“Here, now, don’t fash yourself. I’m not dead yet. Still I’d rest a mite easier in my bed if I knew there was someone to protect ye and the lands I’ll be leaving to young Malcolm.”
’Twas exactly what she’d been worried about. Merciful heavens, she’d barely managed to thwart Aulay. She’d stand no chance against someone as large and strong as Sutherland if he tried to take Edin from within. “We don’t need help,” she cried. “With you to plan what must be done and Ellis and me to carry out your or—”
“Ah, lass.” He pulled his hand from her grasp and reached up to smooth the curls from her face. “Though our people have the heart to defend what’s theirs, they lack the skills. We’ve lived so peaceably here behind the mountains that I didn’t think any knew we existed or cared. But now those men have drawn our blood, they’ll not leave us be.”
“Then hire someone else.”
“Why? When Kieran Sutherland’s already here. What have ye against him?” His piercing blue gaze was sharp as ever.
“I...I told you I dreamed of him,” Laurel began, loath to leave herself open to ridicule but seeing no other way.
“What did ye see?” her aunt inquired, gliding to the other side of the bed, a steaming bowl in her hands, a frown crinkling her fine red brows. Below them, Nesta’s eyes were intent, searching. They were pale as frost and rimmed by a circle of black. Witchy eyes. ’Twas said no mortal dared meet those eyes and utter a lie, for Nesta’d see clear through it.
Laurel was desperate enough to risk it. “I—I saw him sacking Edin,” she stammered.
“Ah, did ye now?” Nesta looked away as she set the bowl on the small bedside table, but Laurel knew that she knew ’twas a lie. One of the drawbacks in being kin to a capable witch.
“Well, his expression was that of a hungry wolf about to pounce on a staked deer. He would, too. He’s hard and rude and...and cruel. He...he dragged me from my horse and shouted at me.”
“And ye did naught, I suppose,” her grandsire said.
Clearly Ellis had told him exactly what had happened. “Kieran is a threat to us. I—I felt it in my dream.” Her throat tightened. If God had gifted her with these visions, why, oh why couldn’t he have given her the skill to read them?
“’Twill be fine, lass.” Duncan patted her hand as he used to when she’d skinned a knee. “Kieran comes of good stock, and his honor is legendary. I heard he forbids his men to rape any women they capture. He was forced out of France for attacking a royal duke to prevent him from sacking a nunnery. Run along and fetch him from wherever ye’ve got him. I’ll soon sort this out.”
“Grandda!”
“Ye’ll eat first ” Nesta shoved a spoonful of broth in her sire’s mouth. “And Laurel, not every outsider’s like Aulay Kerr.”
Nay, Kieran was nothing like Aulay. Her late husband had been leanly built, soft-spoken and sneaky as a snake. She’d dreamed of Aulay, too. On the night before they’d wed. An odd, murky nightmare of a steep cliff, rushing water and a howling dog. It had taken days for that dream to become reality and then she hadn’t recognized the warning till it was nearly too late to save herself and those she loved. This time she’d not be so quick to dismiss her vision. Kieran Sutherland had to leave.
“Kieran? Kieran, can ye hear me?” Rhys called.
Kieran roused to darkness, a terrible throbbing in his head. Battling the pain, he raised his chin and croaked, “What the hell happened?”
“Ye went after our young captor. One of his men took exception and bashed ye over the head.”
“Feels like he split it in two. Where are we?”
“A hut of some kind. Windowless and, from the mildew smell, likely used to store grain,” Rhys added.
“Thank God. I thought mayhap I’d been struck blind.” He tried to sit up, discovered his hands were tied behind his back and his legs likewise bound at the ankles. “The others?”
Dirt scraped as Rhys shifted. “They were taken away to another part of the keep. How do ye feel?”
“Like a fool. To think I walked straight into Duncan MacLellan’s trap—sprung by some callow youth, no less.”
Rhys snorted. “I meant yer head, but if ye can work up that much heat and anger, ye must be all right.”
“Nay, nor will I be till I’ve avenged this day’s work, starting with Duncan and Ellis and finishing with the lad who—”
“I do not think Ellis was aware of what was planned. Did ye see how shocked he looked when the lad appeared and ordered us to lay down our weapons?”
“Nay.” By that time, a red, rage-induced mist had obscured all but the cheeky grin of the lad who’d not only dared to shoot him, but forced his surrender by threatening Jamie. “I shouldn’t have given in. Likely he wouldn’t have harmed so young a lad as Jamie.”
“’Tis not yer way to risk others’ lives,” Rhys said quietly. “Still, Ellis had yer armor removed and a blanket placed over ye. Hardly the actions of a man bent on murder. I wonder if a mistake of some sort was made.”
“The mistake was made by the MacLellans, and I’ll be setting it to rights with the point of my sword. No one betrays me. Not ever again.” Though eight years had passed since the night that had shattered his life, his heart had yet to heal Cursing, he turned his mind to escape. By the faint light coming in through the chinks around the door, he dimly made out Rhys on the floor nearby. Ignoring the pain in his head, he rolled toward his friend. “Turn round. See if you can undo the rope on my wrists.”
While Rhys plucked at the hemp, he described their captor’s home. Situated on a spit of land in the middle of a loch, Edin was comprised of two joined towers, four stories tall, with both an outer and an inner courtyard with barracks and an orchard. The few Border fortresses Kieran had visited consisted of a simple house and a peel tower, into which the laird and his people could flee in time of danger. Edin sounded more like the sort of estate that existed further north.
Like Carmichael Castle. Kieran’s home, his heritage, stolen by his uncle.
“I’d feel better about our chances of guarding Edin Tower did it have a stout curtain wall around it,” Rhys said.
“There isn’t a wall?” Kieran cried, forgetting he planned to punish the MacLellans for the ambush, not protect them. The commander in him recoiled from the news that though there was a low wall around the perimeter, the tower’s main line of defense was the loch. “A party of men stripped of their armor could swim the damn thing in the dead of night and take the castle.”
“Providing they made it into the valley. ’Tis our job to make certain they do not.”
Kieran grunted, torn between an inbred need to protect and the desire for revenge. “This whole business sits ill with me.”
“Why would Duncan send a man all the way to Berwick with orders to seek us out? Our horses and armor are valuable, but we’ve little coin.”
“Mayhap he’s in league with the Carmichaels.” Kieran spat the last as though it were poison and not the surname of the powerful family from which he was descended.
Rhys replied with a Welsh curse. “They’d not do such a thing. And ye dishonor the memory of yer parents by saying—”
“I have no memory of them, as you well know. For which I can thank my dear Uncle Ross.”
“Nay! Ye know in yer heart he did not kill yer father.”
“Do I?” Kieran felt the ropes give and seized the moment to abandon a topic he hated. He sat up, swayed on a wave of dizziness and pushed it aside as ruthlessly as he did his past. He made short work of the ropes at his ankles and had just swung round to Rhys when a noise at the door warned time had run out. “Quiet,” he whispered, surging to his feet. Instinctively he reached for his sword, finding his waist naked of the belt that held it and his dirk. No matter, he was angry enough to do murder with his bare hands.
Two steps and he was across the room, back flattened against the stone wall beside the door. A metallic clunk, the creak of rusty hinges and the portal swung open, letting in fresh air and a welcome flood of light. Nerves alert, Kieran watched a single, slender shadow cut through the beam and pause on the threshold, hesitant as a wary deer.
You have reason to fear, you bastard, Kieran thought. Swinging around the door, he grabbed his enemy, lifted him off the ground and shoved him against the wall. A gust of air whooshed from his captive as Kieran slammed into him with his superior weight. The body beneath his was slighter than expected. Good. ’Twas the lad who’d shamed him. Kieran pinned his opponent’s right arm to the wall with his left hand, his right hand went for the throat...
Soft. Soft as silk was the skin that encased that fragile neck. Unsettlingly soft.
Kieran frowned. His narrowed eyes met the wide ones staring up at him from a face gone white as new snow. They were blue, like the sky over Edin Valley, fringed with ridiculously long black lashes. Woman’s lashes. The things he’d been too angry to notice now intruded. The scent of heather wafting up from the body pressed so intimately to his. The pillowy curves of the chest mashed tight to his. Breasts.
His prisoner was a female.
Kieran’s heart stumbled, then jerked to life again. Damn! In his blind haste for revenge he’d assaulted some poor serving wench. Horrified, he took his hand from her throat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words rusty for he humbled himself to no man. Still the female said nothing. Concerned now, he eased his body away from hers. “Did I hurt you?”
She exhaled and slumped against him, her body molding to his like a candle left overlong in the hot sun. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her so she wouldn’t fall. For the second time in as many minutes, Kieran’s blood began to boil. ‘Twasn’t the heat of rage that surged through his veins this time; ’twas a forbidden fire. One he’d avoided for eight years. Desire.
It sank its claws in deep, heightening his senses. He felt raw, exposed, her skin burning his through the layers of clothes separating them. The musky scent of woman and heather taunted him. Nostrils flaring, he drew in her essence. Passion rose in a swift tide, threatening to engulf him. He wanted her with a fierceness that shocked him. Groaning, he tightened his hold on her, driven by the need to bury his aching body in hers.
“I can’t breathe.” Laurel wedged her hands between them and pushed. Surprisingly, his grip eased. “What happened?”
“You fainted.” His voice was deep, compelling.
Laurel looked up. ’Twas him. His face was close. So close, eyes blazing with hot, needful things that ignited an answering spark deep inside her. “Nay,” she whispered, afraid of him, more afraid of what he did to her. “Let me go.” She began to struggle.
Kieran blinked. Damn. He’d made a vow...before God. A sacred vow he’d just come within a hair’s breadth of dishonoring. Then her voice registered. “You!” he exclaimed. “You’re the one who tried to capture me.”
He let go of her and stepped back.
“Did capture you.” Angry, Laurel brought her knee up in an attempt to bring him down. In a move too swift for her to avoid, he turned aside, grabbed her leg and hoisted her up. Quick as that, she found herself held tight against his chest, her limbs clasped securely yet painlessly by arms as hard and unrelenting as steel. “Put me down.”
Dark and condemning, his eyes bored into hers from a face gone stark as carved granite. Nowhere was there a hint of the man who moments ago had looked at her with such longing, such need that she’d felt herself reaching out, wanting to touch, to comfort, to—
“Take me to Duncan MacLellan,” he snarled.
“Why? What will you do?”
“Teach him he cannot betray me.”
Laurel forgot her own fears. “He had naught to do with that. ’Twas my idea, my orders that sent my clansmen af ter—”
Kieran cursed. “What man would follow a female?”
“Lady Laurel?” Ellis called from the doorway. “What—?”
“Seize him,” Laurel ordered, snagging the initiative.
“Attempt it and she suffers the consequences.” Kieran’s expression was murderous, but his hold didn’t turn bruising, nor did he ask for a weapon to hold at her throat.
A hopeful sign. “He doesn’t mean it,” Laurel decided.
Ellis frowned. “I cannot take the chance.”
“Untie my man,” Kieran demanded in a voice that brooked no argument. But for an instant the fury blazing in his eyes muted to regret. A mercenary with a conscience? She saw it then, the gentleness he sought to hide. The contrast between dangerous and vulnerable shook her to the core. Almost causing her to forget her fear that he was a threat to her clan. Almost.
The trip across the courtyard to the tower passed in a blur of neat stone buildings and curious faces. It took only a few moments, yet ’twas the longest Kieran had taken since he’d ridden away from home years ago. Every step of the way he was taunted by the scent and feel of the female in his arms. He should put her down, would have if her little body hadn’t been frigid with tension. Release her and she’d likely fly at him again. Damn, but he’d only just managed to avoid that deadly knee of hers. If she attacked, she might be hurt. Kieran was many things...most of them uncivilized, but he’d never once stooped to harming females.
“I swear I acted alone,” she said again as they climbed the tower. “I’ll gladly take whatever punishment you decree, if you leave my grandfather alone. He’s old and was gravely wounded.”
Kieran tried to turn a deaf ear to her pleas. That she was small and fragile, yet had faced him down with more courage than most men, struck a chord in him. She reminded him of his fiery Aunt Elspeth, the only member of his family who hadn’t betrayed him. Only what he felt for Laurel wasn’t familial.
Ellis paused before an oaken door banded with iron, lifted the latch and stood aside.
