Awoken: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Sisters of Kilbride Book 2) Page 13

  But Ross was doing the same.

  He hadn’t wanted to come here, and yet this camp was probably the safest place upon the isle for them right now.

  Guests of a man who’d long learned how to hide in plain sight.

  Are we really guests?

  The outlaw leader seemed friendly enough, although Ross had difficulty trusting his ready smile. Especially, since until a day ago, Ross’s life would have been forfeit if he’d wandered into this camp.

  He’d seen the glares, the muttered comments, as they’d led their horse to the enclosure on the southern side of the village. Craeg might have welcomed them here, but others within the settlement didn’t.

  “I get the sense that there is more to yer tale than ye have spoken of so far,” Craeg said finally, breaking the heavy silence.

  Ross shared a look with Leanna then. Of course there was. The question was—how much did they share with this stranger?

  “The first thing I’m curious to know, is how ye ended up at Dunan at all, Lady Leanna. Surely, yer father wouldn’t want ye wed to MacKinnon?”

  Leanna inhaled slowly, her throat bobbing. “He didn’t … but then my father is dead now so he has little say on the matter.”

  Craeg’s gaze widened. Of course, he was isolated here. He didn’t know.

  “Niall MacDonald of Sleat died in a hunting accident a few days ago,” Ross said quietly. This wasn’t a pleasant tale, but since Craeg was likely to get the details out of them sooner or later, he decided the man might as well hear the story from him. “Ye are right … he denied MacKinnon when he asked for Lady Leanna’s hand years ago … and to make sure yer brother never got his hands on her, he put his daughter in Kilbride Abbey.”

  Craeg took a gulp of ale and gave an incredulous shake of his head. “This tale gets more intriguing by the moment … go on.”

  Ross did. He told the story plainly, baldly even—and he deliberately didn’t look Leanna’s way as he did so.

  The facts didn’t make him look good at all.

  The outlaw leader didn’t interrupt him, he merely listened, until the point when Ross described what had happened in the kirk—how MacKinnon had slain Father Athol.

  Craeg sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes shadowing. “During my years in Dunan, Father Athol was one of the few who showed me any kindness,” he said, a rasp to his voice.

  “MacKinnon cut him down without hesitation,” Ross replied, watching the outlaw leader’s face harden. “But that shouldn’t come as a surprise … ye know what he’s capable of.”

  A dangerous look flickered in Craeg the Bastard’s eyes. Ross realized then that despite his friendly manner, this man wasn’t one lightly crossed. Ross had heard of Craeg’s origins. He knew that the man had plenty of reasons to hate his half-brother.

  But now Ross had just given him another.

  20

  Awoken

  CRAEG WAS STANDING on the edge of the village, taking his turn at the watch, when he heard the heavy tread of men approaching behind him. Twisting around, he peered through the gloaming to spy two familiar figures: one hulking with wild red hair; the other older and dark-haired, dressed in dusty hunting leathers, and carrying a slight limp.

  Gunn and Brochan.

  “I hear we’ve got visitors?” the latter greeted Craeg.

  The outlaw leader inclined his head, noting the brusqueness of Brochan’s tone. He’d known the man for years—in fact, it was Brochan who’d taught him how to use his fists properly, swing a broad-sword, and wield a longbow—but sometimes he thought his friend forgot that Craeg was in charge here.

  “Aye … Gunn has told ye who they are?” he replied, his tone non-committal.

  Brochan halted, folding his arms across his chest. “He has … MacKinnon’s right-hand is now our guest.”

  Next to Brochan, Gunn rolled his eyes. “I’ve told him that Campbell is no longer MacKinnon’s man, but he won’t take my word.”

  “Well ye will just have to take mine,” Craeg said with a smile. “Did ye have any luck with yer hunt by the way?”

  Brochan shook his head. “The hinds eluded me today.” The older man’s weathered features tensed then. “This is a wasted opportunity, ye know?”

  “What is?”

  “Ye have never been in such a strong bargaining position with MacKinnon. Those two would be worth all our weights in silver.” Brochan’s eyes gleamed. “Think of all the good ye could do … all the folk who could buy food for their families with that coin.”

  Craeg’s smile faded. “Ye think I should ransom our visitors?”

  Brochan nodded, while beside him Gunn shifted uncomfortably, his bluff features tightening. “That’s a cracked idea.”

  Brochan cut Gunn a sharp look. “Is it? Ye have two people that MacKinnon wants to get his hands on. This time, ye can really hit him where it hurts.”

  “And if he discovers the location of this village as a result?” Craeg was scowling now. Gunn was right; Brochan’s idea was mad. He clearly hadn’t thought the details through.

  “If ye handled this right, he wouldn’t.”

  “Campbell and Lady Leanna are our guests,” Craeg reminded him, with a shake of his head that made his opinion clear. “We won’t be ransoming them, and I certainly wouldn’t risk any of yer lives to go and treat with him.”

  “I’d do it,” Brochan countered. His face wore a strained expression now, his fingers flexing at his sides. “I’d love to see MacKinnon’s face when he hears the news.”

  Craeg knew that the outlaw bore MacKinnon as much hate as he did. Many years earlier, Brochan had been a member of The Dunan Guard, but had been cast out after he’d dared contradict the young clan-chief. Duncan MacKinnon had beaten Brochan so badly for the slight that he still walked with a limp as a result.

  Brochan wanted to avenge himself upon MacKinnon, but his need for reckoning had clearly clouded his judgement.

  “No ye won’t … no one will,” Craeg hit back, his anger rising. “Put this wild idea of yers to bed, Brochan … there will be no blackmailing.”

  It was dark inside the hut, the only light streaming in through the smoke hole in the roof. A small lump of peat burned in the hearth, warming the damp air. Nonetheless, it was cool this evening.

  Leanna shifted uncomfortably, arranging herself upon the fur next to the hearth. The hut was empty except for the furs covering the dirt floor. The air smelled dusty and stale, as if this hut wasn’t used often. After sharing two cups of ale with the outlaw leader, Craeg had brought them here.

  His final words, as he’d gestured them inside, had made worry knot Leanna’s belly. “There are a few folk here who don’t welcome yer presence … for yer own safety, I suggest ye stay out of sight till dawn. I’ll get someone to bring ye supper.”

  Seeing Leanna’s frown, the outlaw leader had favored her with a reassuring smile. “Fret not, Lady Leanna … ye will be safe here. I just want folk to get used to yer presence, that’s all.”

  He’d meant his words to soothe her, but after his departure, she found it difficult to relax.

  Glancing across the space, Leanna’s attention settled upon Ross.

  He hadn’t spoken since they’d entered the hut, and in the murky light, she saw that his expression was grim, his gaze shuttered.

  “Ye are worried, aren’t ye?” she asked finally. “Ye don’t trust them either.”

  He shrugged, his gaze shifting to the flames dancing in the hearth.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have come here,” Leanna said, plucking at a stray thread on her cloak.

  Ross’s attention flicked up, and he frowned. “I can’t help think that we’re safer here than anywhere else right now.”

  “So why the furrowed brow?”

  “Because ye wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me.”

  Leanna huffed. “If ye hadn’t abducted me, MacKinnon would have just sent someone else to do it.”

  “Aye … but I’ve known for some time the kind of man he
is, and I ignored my gut. Ye aren’t out of danger yet. MacKinnon will never let this go.”

  Leanna swallowed a lump in her throat at these words. She wanted to dispute them, yet she knew that Ross was right. Duncan MacKinnon had a madness within him where she was concerned, and he wouldn’t take Ross’s betrayal lightly either. She imagined his rage, and shivered.

  “Are ye cold?” Ross asked.

  Leanna shook her head.

  “Here.” He shrugged off his traveling cloak and handed it to her.

  Leanna’s lips parted to tell him that her shiver had been due to dread, not the chill. She was already wearing Lady Drew’s cloak, and it wasn’t that cold in here. However, her fear of MacKinnon wasn’t something she felt like discussing right now, so she took the cloak without argument.

  And as she did, their fingers brushed.

  Ross’s face tensed, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. Their gazes locked for an instant, and then Leanna drew back, averting her gaze.

  Why was her heart suddenly beating so quickly?

  Wrapping the woolen cloak about her, Leanna attempted to settle her racing pulse. After a few moments, she glanced Ross’s way once more and saw that he was staring moodily down at the fire before him.

  “Ross,” she began softly. “Before the outlaws appeared, ye said something … that ye were glad ye hadn’t wed Lady Caitrin … or ye wouldn’t have met me.”

  He glanced up, and for the first time since entering the hut, his mouth curved into a wry smile. “Ye remember that, do ye?”

  “Aye.” Leanna’s already thudding heart started to beat wildly then, and she suddenly regretted speaking so frankly. She wasn’t sure why she’d even brought it up. Was it out of vanity? Did she need to hear sweet words from a man who’d willingly abducted her? She now felt more than a little foolish and out of her depth in this conversation.

  Ross glanced away, his mouth pursing. “Aye, Leanna … as ye have probably realized, I didn’t help ye flee out of purely unselfish motives.” He broke off there, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “I’d like to say that I’ve assisted ye because I couldn’t bear to see a woman in distress … but ye already know that I’m not a saint. The truth is that I couldn’t bear the thought of MacKinnon having ye, ruining ye. Somehow, ye have touched me, awoken something I thought never existed within me.”

  Leanna’s breathing stilled, heat flooding across her chest. Surely, she was hearing things? When she didn’t reply to his comment, Ross looked up and met her eye. He then gave a bitter laugh. “I know … ye didn’t think yer opinion of me could get any lower?”

  “Ye care for me?” The question was bald, direct—and necessary. It suddenly felt close and airless inside the hut, and under two cloaks, Leanna was starting to sweat.

  Ross’s throat bobbed. “Aye.”

  Their gazes continued to hold. Time drew out, and the tension between them grew so taut that Leanna suddenly realized she was trembling. What was wrong with her? She was aware then that although she was entering her twenty-first summer, she’d led a sheltered life, protected by her father and then by the high walls of Kilbride Abbey. She knew little about the world, or about men.

  Ross Campbell wasn’t like the men she’d grown up among. He’d already told her of his harsh upbringing, of his drive to better himself. In order to rise to Captain of The Dunan Guard, he’d developed a hard shell—one that she’d somehow managed to penetrate.

  But even so, she didn’t know how to handle a man like this, or what to say to him.

  All she knew was that as he silently moved toward her, she couldn’t take her gaze from him. An ache rose under her breastbone, a longing for something she didn’t even understand.

  And then he was on his knees before her, and his hands were cupping her face. She felt the roughness of the callouses upon his palms against her skin, yet his touch was gentle.

  A heartbeat later, he kissed her.

  Like his hands, the kiss was soft, as if she was fragile and might shatter. His lips brushed hers, once, twice—testing to see if she’d recoil from his touch.

  Heart now thundering, Leanna closed her eyes and leaned into him.

  With a swiftly indrawn breath, Ross’s mouth covered hers, and when his tongue gently parted her lips, she welcomed it. The heat of him, the taste of him, consumed her. He kissed her softly, yet deeply, with a tenderness she’d never have expected from the likes of Ross Campbell.

  Still cupping her face, he angled it back slightly, so that he could deepen the kiss further. A groan rose in Leanna’s throat as he did so and, shyly, she stroked his tongue with her own. She had no idea how to do this. One of her father’s men had kissed her once—a stolen moment in a stairwell at Duncaith. It had been quick and hard, and had crushed her lips against her teeth. But Ross’s embrace was nothing like that—it was melting, coaxing, and Leanna’s welling groan finally escaped her.

  Her body melted, and her lower belly suddenly felt incredibly alive, as if a fire had kindled there.

  Breathing hard, Ross drew back.

  His gaze was hooded, his eyes almost black in the dimness. Despite the gentleness of his touch, his expression was taut, almost feral. He looked dangerous, and a strange thrill shivered through Leanna in response.

  She should be scared of him—especially after her ordeal with MacKinnon the night before—and yet the moment he’d cupped her face with his hands, the opposite had occurred.

  She might have roused tender feelings in him that had caused him to throw away his future in order to help her, but his kiss had awoken something wild within her too.

  Recklessness surged through Leanna, and the aliveness in her lower belly deepened to an ache. Lord, how she wanted him to kiss her again.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” Ross’s voice, low and sensual, held a husky edge that made Leanna’s breathing quicken further. “Not after what ye have suffered of late.”

  “I am well, Ross,” she replied softly. “MacKinnon frightened me … but I stopped him before he managed to inflict any harm.” Her mouth curved into a hard smile. “Lucky for me, he was rotten with drink … it made him careless.”

  Ross managed a half-smile, although his gaze was still dark and fathomless. “It was a brave thing ye did.”

  Leanna’s smile widened. “Aye … I did Mother Shona proud.” Seeing the confusion that filtered across his face at these words, Leanna realized that, like most folk upon the Isle of Skye, he had no idea what the Sisters of Kilbride practiced behind the sheltering confines of their abbey. “The abbess teaches all the nuns how to defend themselves,” she explained. “Once we learn the basics, we get to choose a specialty … mine is archery.”

  Ross sat back on his heels, his mouth quirking. “Before ye left Kilbride, Carr and I watched ye and another nun returning from a hunt,” he admitted. “I remember the longbow and quiver of arrows ye carried upon yer back.”

  “Ye were there?” Leanna’s body tensed at this news, her smile slipping.

  “Aye,” Ross ran a hand through his hair, his gaze shadowing. “I’d seen yer father’s men arrive and knew it would be only a matter of time before ye departed with them.”

  Silence fell between them, and the tender, sensual mood shattered. Although he hadn’t intended them that way, Ross’s words were another sharp reminder of how this mess had all started—and the role he’d played in it.

  Leanna tensed. She remembered Ross’s arrogance when he’d captured her. It was hard to believe the man before her was the one who’d abducted her—yet he was.

  “I told ye I shouldn’t have kissed ye,” Ross said as he moved farther back from her. The regret in his voice cut into Leanna. “We may overlook the history between us for a few moments … but it can never be forgotten.”

  21

  The Weight of the World

  AS DUSK SETTLED over the camp, the outlaw woman named Fenella brought them some food. The wooden door to the hut creaked open, bringing with it the fading light outdoors, and she enter
ed.

  Fenella carried an oil lamp with her, which she set upon the ground before a tray of bannock and hard cheese. Moving away, the outlaw motioned to the clay bottle on the tray. “There is ale to slake yer thirst,” she said, her tone guarded.

  Leanna offered the woman a tentative smile. After the kiss she and Ross had shared, she’d been on edge. They’d spoken little since, yet seeing this woman reminded Leanna that she’d revealed herself to be strong-willed and independent of thought earlier in the day—the sort of woman Leanna usually got on with well. “Thank ye, Fenella.”

  The woman stiffened, her gaze meeting Leanna’s. However, she didn’t return the smile.

  Emboldened nevertheless, Leanna pressed on. “I appreciate the hospitality … worry not, we won’t stay long.”

  “I hope not, Lady MacDonald,” Fenella replied, her tone chill. “We don’t want yer kind here.”

  The words were a slap across the face. Leanna’s shock must have shown upon her face, for a grim expression settled upon Fenella’s. “I have no love for either MacKinnon or MacDonald,” she continued. “My Da served yer father … and when he was injured in a skirmish with cattle rustlers, Niall MacDonald cast him out of his guard. A lame warrior was no good to him … my family nearly starved as a result.”

  Heat rushed through Leanna. “I don’t believe it … my father would never treat one of his men so.”

  Fenella’s pretty face turned hard. “Whether or not ye believe it matters not to me … it happened.” She shifted toward the open door. “Enjoy yer supper.”

  The door shut with a dull thud, leaving Leanna and Ross alone once more. Only this time, the glow of the oil lantern illuminated the interior of the hut, revealing that there was in fact a screen in one corner, which would no doubt have a chamber pot behind it.