Awoken: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Sisters of Kilbride Book 2) Page 12

  Ross huffed a laugh at this, although Leanna could feel the coiled tension in his body; his back muscles were taut.

  Silence stretched out then, broken only by the whisper of the wind, the chatter of the burn behind them, and a lonely eagle’s screech high above. The bowmen surrounding them didn’t lower their weapons, and Craeg the Bastard’s face didn’t show a hint of friendliness.

  When he broke the brittle hush, his voice was hard. “It seems fitting … since ye know my name … that I should know yer identities as well.”

  Ross shifted in the saddle, and Leanna wondered if he would lie. Although she had no wish to tell this outlaw who she was, she knew to spin him a tale wouldn’t end well for either of them. There was a sharp intelligence to this man’s looks. He would sniff out a falsehood easily.

  “I am Ross Campbell, and my companion is Lady Leanna MacDonald of Sleat,” Ross said after a lengthy pause.

  The outlaw leader’s big body tensed. “Campbell … I know that name.” His gaze speared Ross. “Ye are MacKinnon’s right hand.”

  “I was.”

  Craeg’s jaw flexed, before his attention shifted from Leanna to Ross, his gaze narrowing. “Why are ye out here in the wilderness?”

  “We’re riding to Duncaith,” Ross replied, his tone flat, guarded.

  The outlaw’s dark brows rose. “There’s a good road from Dunan to Duncaith … is there a reason why we find ye in this forgotten valley?”

  Ross didn’t answer, and a stubborn silence drew out. Leanna sensed he had given up being cooperative; the conversation might take an ill turn if someone didn’t intervene.

  “We’re on the same side,” she gasped, the words spilling out of her. “Ross and I are running from MacKinnon. He wishes to wed me against my will. Campbell helped me escape Dunan … and we’re riding across country to avoid capture.”

  As she’d expected, her words caused a stir. A deep groove formed between the outlaw leader’s brows. The surrounding men shared glances while Ross muttered a curse under his breath. “Ye should have left the talking to me, milady.”

  Leanna stiffened. “This isn’t the time for stubbornness,” she replied under her breath. “We need help.”

  A few yards away, Craeg stared at her, surprise etched upon his handsome face. “I take it my brother will be hot on yer heels?” he asked finally.

  “Aye,” Ross growled. “And I suggest ye let us continue on our way so that we all might avoid him.”

  Craeg reached up a hand and rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “Duncaith won’t save ye from MacKinnon’s wrath,” he replied, his gaze meeting Ross’s. “Take it from one who’s spent years eluding him. The best place to hide from the clan-chief is in the forgotten corners of his own lands.”

  Ross stiffened. “Aye … how is it that ye have managed to evade capture for so long?”

  Craeg watched them for a heartbeat, before a smile stretched across his face. “I learned how to meld with the shadows, Campbell … and I can show ye too.” He glanced around at the bowmen, who stood like statues, their weapons still drawn. “Lower yer bows, lads … these two aren’t our captives, but our guests.”

  Slowly, cautiously, the men did as bid.

  “Ye should have let me speak on our behalf,” Ross murmured as he turned his horse and followed the outlaw band through the trees. “The less these people know about us the better.”

  “I was just trying to stop a fight,” Leanna muttered between clenched teeth.

  Panic fluttered up under her ribcage then as Craeg fell into step beside them. The Lord preserve her, he looked so much like his brother.

  She just hoped he was as different from Duncan MacKinnon as folk said—or they were riding into even more trouble.

  Craeg the Bastard glanced at the claidheamh-mor that hung at Ross’s side. “That’s a fine blade. Where did ye get it?”

  “My father’s smith fashioned it for me,” Ross replied, his tone guarded.

  The outlaw reached out, drawing the broad-sword up, so that the top half slid from the scabbard. He then peered at the blade he’d just revealed. “There’s writing inscribed here … what does it mean?”

  “Ne Obliviscaris. It’s the Campbell motto … Forget Not.”

  Craeg’s mouth quirked. “A good creed … and one I also live by.”

  Ross snorted. “Yer brother has a long memory too, and never forgets a slight.”

  To Leanna’s surprise, the outlaw grinned at that. “Aye … that’s why he’s provided me such sport over the years. I enjoy poking the adder with a stick.”

  Ross snorted in response. “Ye had better be wary of the serpent’s fangs then.”

  19

  Offering Hospitality

  THE OUTLAWS LED them away, south of the burn, and into a densely packed wall of pine trees.

  With each furlong deeper into the wilderness, Leanna grew tenser. She wasn’t sure they’d made the right decision by accepting the outlaws’ hospitality. Could they really trust Craeg the Bastard?

  Maybe I shouldn’t have been so open with him?

  She could feel the tension in Ross’s body as they traveled farther and farther into the heart of the forest. She didn’t need to see his face to know that he wasn’t comfortable.

  Eventually, the land grew too rough and stony, the undergrowth too thick, to continue on horseback. They dismounted, and Ross led his horse after them, following the outlaws in silence now.

  They walked for a long while, pushing through bracken and brambles, traveling through a press of trees so dense that they blocked out the sky. The land gradually grew rougher and steeper still, and Leanna realized that they were hard against the feet of the mountains now—a wild, lonely place where men rarely ventured.

  The perfect spot to hide.

  Emerging from between two prickly spruce, Leanna finally stepped out into a clearing—and there before her spread the outlaw camp.

  It was a shock, stepping out of the cool silence of the forest and into a bustling village. A wall of noise hit Leanna: the rise and fall of voices, the clang and hiss of iron being forged, the bleat of goats, and the squawk of fowl.

  One glance told her that these folk had lived here a while. Squat huts nestled amongst the trees like large brown toadstools, smoke rising from their sod roofs. This wasn’t just a male environment. Women and children moved about the clearing before the trees, while a mountain stream trickled by.

  As they approached, one of the women glanced up from where she was washing clothes in the stream, her gaze widening when she spied the other outlaws and their captives. The woman wasn’t dressed in a kirtle, but in braies and a leather vest—a sight that disconcerted Leanna. The outlaw woman’s pretty features tightened, and she rose to her feet, leaving the pile of sodden washing upon the stone where she’d been scrubbing it.

  “Who’s this?” she asked, moving toward them.

  “We have guests, Fenella,” Craeg greeted her. “Go and ready a hut for them.”

  The woman’s gaze narrowed, and her hands went to her hips. She was a comely woman who looked to be in her early thirties, with a wild mane of dark-gold hair. “What have ye gone and done, Craeg?”

  The outlaw leader snorted a laugh. “Nothing. These two are fleeing Duncan MacKinnon … so I thought we could offer them some hospitality.”

  The woman, Fenella, went still at this, her gaze sweeping from Craeg to Ross and Leanna. Her blue eyes turned hard, suspicious. “Why would ye bring them here?”

  “It’s the safest corner of these lands, Fen.”

  The woman’s expression darkened further. “It won’t be, if ye let strangers know where we’re hiding.”

  Craeg waved away her comment. “Worry not … these two have good reason to remain hidden.” He motioned to Leanna. “Meet my brother’s bride-to-be … Lady Leanna of Sleat. It appears she doesn’t want to wed him.”

  His introduction didn’t thaw Fenella’s eyes. If anything, her gaze grew colder. “And who’s this?” she asked, pointing
to Leanna’s companion.

  Craeg grinned. “Meet Ross Campbell … the Captain of The Dunan Guard and MacKinnon’s right-hand.”

  These words caused the outlaw woman to draw in a sharp breath. Likewise, around her folk turned to stare. Mutters and whispered comments followed.

  The fine hair on the back of Leanna’s neck prickled. Those gazes weren’t friendly.

  “Stop glaring, Fen.” A huge man with thick red hair stepped up next to the outlaw leader. A longbow and quiver hung from his back. “Campbell has left MacKinnon’s employment.” The fire-haired outlaw glanced at Ross then, a thoughtful expression upon his face. “He might be able to give us some helpful details regarding his former master.”

  Next to Leanna, Ross frowned. Such things hadn’t been discussed.

  “Even so, ye shouldn’t have brought them here, Gunn,” Fenella scolded. “Have the pair of ye lost yer wits?”

  “Listen to yer man,” Craeg spoke up. He was still smiling although Leanna glimpsed a flicker of irritation in his gaze. “Go on … get our guests’ lodgings ready for them.”

  Fenella clamped her mouth shut, yet her blue eyes still gleamed with annoyance. This time though, she didn’t argue. Instead, she turned on her heel and stalked off to do his bidding.

  Craeg turned to Leanna and Ross. “Apologies for the frosty welcome … folk here are wary of outsiders.”

  “For good reason,” the red-haired outlaw added. “Bringing the wrong person into our midst could spell our doom.”

  Craeg raised a dark eyebrow, a silent gesture that told the outlaw he was well aware of that. “Come … I’ll show ye where to tether yer horse,” he said to Ross. “And after that the pair of ye can join me for an ale in my hut.”

  Carr Broderick rode into Dunan just as the last rays of sun burnished the wooded hills surrounding the broch. His horse was lathered, and the priest he’d brought from Talasgair was pinch-faced with exhaustion, yet they’d made good time.

  Hooves clattering on the cobbles, the two horses entered the bailey and headed toward the stable complex against the western walls.

  Carr drew up his mount before the stables and swung down from the saddle, throwing the reins to a lad who’d emerged to greet him. Usually, he liked to see to his horse himself—and this courser definitely deserved a generous nosebag of oats—but the clan-chief would be waiting.

  Likewise, the priest dismounted. Father Crannog winced as he rubbed his posterior and glanced around him. He was a portly man with a gleaming bald pate and a sharp gaze. This eve, he looked tired and vaguely irritated.

  Carr had deliberately not told the priest the truth about what had happened to Father Athol. As far as Father Crannog knew, the man had choked on a fishbone and died. Carr didn’t like keeping the news from him, but he risked the priest refusing to come with him otherwise.

  The image of Father Athol crumpling to the ground in front of the altar, while MacKinnon stabbed the life out him, flashed before Carr then. A chill feathered down the back of his nape. Any man capable of murdering a priest in cold blood had to be watched.

  And yet, Carr couldn’t turn his back on MacKinnon. He’d pledged fealty to him at the age of sixteen, had knelt on one knee before him and promised that he’d serve the MacKinnon clan-chief for the rest of his life.

  Carr Broderick wasn’t a man who broke his promises.

  “Take me to the clan-chief then,” Father Crannog muttered. “We’d better not keep the man waiting a moment longer than he has to.”

  There was no mistaking the acerbity in his tone. He resented MacKinnon demanding his presence here.

  “This way,” Carr grunted. With a nod to the stable lad, he strode across the bailey, heading toward the steep stone steps that led up to the great doors.

  He had nearly reached them when a figure swathed in grey appeared in the doorway above.

  Lady Drew MacKinnon had come out to meet him.

  Carr’s step slowed at the sight of her. The lady now descended the steps, and so he waited at the bottom for her. An elegant figure, her brown hair piled up high upon her head, Lady Drew captured Carr’s eye as she always did—as she always had.

  Carr had been barely old enough to grow his first whiskers when he’d arrived at Dunan, and ever since that day, he’d been fascinated by MacKinnon’s sister. Not that it mattered to her. To Lady Drew, he was nothing more than her brother’s servant—a cur that rushed to do his bidding. As he had this time too.

  But today something was different about Lady Drew. When she neared him, Carr saw that she bore a raised red welt upon her left cheek.

  He went still. “Lady Drew … what has happened here?”

  “Much, I’m afraid,” she replied. MacKinnon’s sister glided down the stairs, stopping before she reached the bottom step so that their gazes were level. For a moment she merely held his eye.

  “Yer face … what—”

  Lady Drew waved his concerns away with an impatient hand. “My brother had enough of my viper’s tongue … but unfortunately that’s not the worst of it. Ye should know that Campbell has run off with Lady Leanna … Duncan is incensed.”

  Carr stared at her, struggling to take the words in. The knowledge that MacKinnon had dared raise a hand to his sister made ice-cold rage seep through his belly. Carr wasn’t a man quick to anger, yet right now he could have shoved the clan-chief’s teeth down his throat.

  But he couldn’t focus on that. Instead, a chill washed over his body at the lady’s news about Ross and Lady Leanna. He merely stared at her stupidly, wondering if he’d misheard.

  “What do ye mean?” he finally managed. “Surely, Ross couldn’t have—”

  “He did,” Lady Drew cut him off, irritated now. “And not only that, but he interrupted Duncan when he was about to force himself upon Lady Leanna.” Her glance flicked to where Father Crannog stood silently behind Carr. “Duncan grew overly impatient and sought to consummate the union before the wedding ceremony could take place.”

  Lady Drew’s voice was carefully impassive, yet her grey eyes carried a flinty look that Carr knew well—the lady was displeased and rightly so.

  Carr’s chest constricted. This entire situation was a colossal mess, one that he was ashamed to be part of.

  “What now then?” he asked, his voice flattening. Suddenly, he just felt weary and heart sore. He couldn’t believe that Ross had betrayed them like this. He’d just signed his own death writ. MacKinnon would never stop hunting him for stealing his bride away.

  “My brother awaits ye in his solar,” Lady Drew replied. “Ye had better go to him before his temper sours further.” Her attention flicked back to the priest. “Apologies for this, Father,” she said coolly, “but it looks as if ye will be a guest in Dunan for longer than ye planned. My brother has to catch his bride before the wedding can take place.”

  Carr entered the solar to find the clan-chief seated by the window. One glance at the man and Carr could see he was in pain. His face was ashen and strained, and he sat awkwardly. MacKinnon’s wolfhound curled at his feet, for once ignored by its master.

  Once again, Carr tried to make sense of what had happened. Lady Drew hadn’t given him anymore details about the incident. He would need to question her about it later.

  Warmth settled in the pit of Carr’s belly at the thought. Despite the circumstances, he welcomed any opportunity to converse with MacKinnon’s sister. He lived for those rare moments.

  “I have brought the priest,” Carr greeted him, “although I hear that we are too late … yer betrothed is gone?”

  “Aye,” MacKinnon growled. “But she’s not gone for good … she will be found again. I have men out hunting for them. They won’t get away.”

  The words were spoken with such venom—such naked hate—that whatever words Carr might have replied with died upon his lips.

  “Why did ye not ride after them yerself?” he asked finally.

  “I’m injured, ye lackwit,” MacKinnon snarled. “Although rest assured,
as soon as I am well enough, I shall search every last corner of Skye till I find them.”

  Carr observed MacKinnon keenly then, his gaze traveling over the man’s muscular form. Apart from the pallor and tension upon his face, MacKinnon didn’t appear injured. However, instinct told him it was wise not to question the clan-chief further. He was in an evil mood as it was.

  “When will ye be ready to travel?” Carr asked finally.

  “If the men don’t return with Campbell and Lady Leanna by tomorrow eve, we shall ride out in search of them.” The clan-chief paused there, his grey eyes narrowing into glittering slits as he glared at Carr. “Ye and Campbell are as thick as thieves … did ye know that he had sympathies for Lady Leanna?”

  Carr started, taken aback by the question. Yet he did take a moment to consider it. He knew Ross had been unsettled by the events of late at Dunan, and Carr sensed he’d started to question his loyalty. But at the same time, Carr knew his friend was ambitious. He couldn’t imagine what had driven Ross to behave as he did. And so, he answered honestly, “No, this is as much of a shock to me as it is to ye.”

  Craeg the Bastard’s hut was a humble dwelling. Low beams hung overhead, making it difficult for tall men like the outlaw leader or Ross to stand fully upright. Deerskins covered the floor, and a fur hanging divided the sleeping area at the back from the hearth. Craeg clearly often welcomed folk to his hearth, for half a dozen low stools sat around the fire, where a lump of peat glowed.

  Taking a seat upon one of the stools, Craeg reached for a clay bottle and pulled out the wooden stopper. He then poured out three wooden cups and passed two of them to his companions.

  Ross and Leanna had sat down opposite him.

  Fingers tightening around his cup, Ross took a tentative sip. The ale was good, refreshing after a long, exhausting journey. Yet it didn’t relax him.

  It was difficult to relax when Duncan MacKinnon’s double was sitting before him.

  Cool moss-green eyes—refreshingly very different from the clan-chief’s—rested upon him, assessing him. Ross knew the outlaw leader was taking his measure and attempting to judge whether or not he could really trust him.