Awoken: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Sisters of Kilbride Book 2) Page 8

  The clan-chief had just cut down a priest in cold blood.

  “MacKinnon will burn in hell for what he’s just done,” she hissed to her escort as he propelled her down the path toward the north gate.

  “Most likely,” Campbell replied, his voice flat.

  Leanna glanced his way to see that the warrior was staring straight ahead, his handsome face set in hard lines. He looked furious—but it was most likely with her.

  “How could ye let him kill Father Athol?” she demanded, her voice rising.

  “I didn’t expect MacKinnon to do that,” Campbell growled. “None of us did.”

  “At least the priest stood up to him!”

  “Aye.” Campbell glanced her way, his dark eyebrows knitted together in a deep scowl. “And the man bled out on his own altar for the trouble. Athol was a fool … he should have done as he was told.”

  “Just like ye?” Leanna snarled back, a hot tide of fury sweeping over her. “Just like everyone else in this broch?”

  “MacKinnon rules here,” Campbell countered. “His word is law.”

  “Ye are all scared of him.”

  Campbell’s grip on her arm tightened just a fraction, the only sign that her words affected him.

  “Ye are as bad as he is.” Leanna struggled against his grip. They’d entered the fort and were circuiting the edge of the bailey toward the broch’s entrance. “A man without a conscience … without a moral compass!”

  Campbell continued to hold his tongue. Ignoring her struggles, he hauled Leanna up the steps and into the broch. And although she continued to berate and insult him, all the way to her bed-chamber, he refused to engage with her.

  His face—the last thing she saw before he slammed the door shut—was grim, his dark-blue eyes narrowed.

  Leanna stared at the closed door, her breathing hitching. Once again, she was wasting her time. Campbell had seen MacKinnon’s behavior in the kirk, and yet he still stood by him. That was all the proof she needed that the man had no integrity at all.

  Alone in the bed-chamber, Leanna wrapped her arms around her chest, in an attempt to stave off the panic that now clasped long fingers about her throat and slowly squeezed.

  There was no escape from this cell. She’d heard Campbell bolt the door after he’d shut her in, and the single window was too high and narrow for her to see out of, let alone climb through.

  With trembling hands, she reached up and unfastened the brooch at her breast—MacKinnon’s gift. Drew had made her wear it for the ceremony. Bitterness flooded her mouth, and she flung the offending object across the chamber. It thudded against the wall, yet to her disappointment the brooch didn’t shatter.

  Just like the beast who was intent on wedding her, she couldn’t rid herself of it that easily.

  Tears welled then, blurring her vision and making her throat cramp. When they’d brought her to Dunan, she had thought this nightmare couldn’t get any worse—and yet with each moment, she felt as if she were passing through Dante’s nine circles of hell, with each level being worse than the last.

  “Ye do realize that no priest is going to want to replace Father Athol … not once they discover what happened to him.”

  “What do I care?” Duncan MacKinnon drained his wine goblet and set it down on the window-sill with a thud.

  “Dunan needs a priest, Duncan … if ye slay them, this broch will get a reputation as a Godless place.”

  MacKinnon turned from the window, his gaze settling upon his sister’s proud face. The woman had followed him, uninvited, into his solar, and now proceeded to lecture him.

  “What’s this?” he murmured. “I thought ye had no time for religion? Didn’t our mother sour ye of it, as she did me?”

  Drew’s mouth pursed. “I’m not interested in spending hours on my knees praying for forgiveness, if that’s what ye mean? However, Father Athol did much good here. The folk of Dunan loved him. They will be upset about this.”

  Duncan’s mouth twisted into a sneer. Scooping up his goblet, he strode to the sideboard and poured himself another.

  A few yards away, sitting before the glowing hearth, Bran whined. The wolfhound had picked up on its master’s dangerous mood and was giving him a wide berth. However, Drew wasn’t being so prudent.

  “I care not what the folk of Dunan think,” he said after he’d taken another gulp of wine. “They should take this as a lesson … of what happens to those who defy me.”

  Drew moved a few hesitant steps toward him. Closer up, he could see the strain on her face; usually his sister appeared ageless, but today he could see the fine lines around her mouth and eyes. “Leanna will never bend to yer will,” she said after a pause. “If ye wed her, it will mean misery for ye both … surely ye can see that?”

  Duncan drained his second wine and set the goblet down upon the sideboard. He then approached his sister, looming over her.

  “Ye have gotten mouthy of late, Drew … it begins to vex me.”

  Drew raised her chin, angling her head up so that she held his gaze. “I have always vexed ye,” she reminded him with an arch look. “But in the past, ye have sometimes heeded my counsel.”

  “Have I?” Duncan looked his sister up and down dismissively. “Ye think yerself cunning and adept at manipulating men … yet ye couldn’t get Gavin MacNichol to do yer bidding, could ye?”

  Drew’s mouth thinned, her eyes narrowing. MacKinnon knew he’d hit a raw nerve there, for his sister had been taken with the MacNichol clan-chief and shocked to learn he’d wed another. However, when Drew replied, her voice was controlled. “MacNichol was in love with someone else,” she pointed out coldly. “But that’ll never be yer problem, Duncan. Ye are incapable of love. Ye are incapable of caring for anyone beside that damn dog of yers.”

  Ross climbed the steps to the broch, barely acknowledging the guard who greeted him near the doors. His mood was dark and tension had settled upon his neck and shoulders. He’d gone looking for Carr, but his friend had already departed for Talasgair upon a swift courser.

  It would take him at least two days, before he returned with a priest to do MacKinnon’s bidding. And in the meantime, the only person Ross trusted was absent from the broch.

  Perhaps it was for the best—in Ross’s current state of mind, Carr wasn’t the ideal audience. He’d already been too frank with him of late.

  Inside the broch, he crossed the entrance hall, and was about to enter the Great Hall beyond, when a figure on the stairs caught his eye.

  Lady Drew MacKinnon halted, her slender frame tensing.

  Ross’s gaze immediately went to the angry red swelling upon her left cheekbone. However, the lady didn’t lift a hand to it. Her grey eyes glittered as she watched him. “Campbell,” she greeted him coolly. “Join me in my solar, please … I wish to speak to ye.”

  12

  He’s Gone Too Far

  ROSS FOLLOWED LADY Drew into the women’s solar.

  The chamber stood in stark contrast to the clan-chief’s. The latter was a purely masculine space, with a stag’s head mounted above the hearth, deerskins covering the cold flagstone floor, and tapestries of battles upon the wall. But the women’s solar—not a room he usually frequented—smelled of drying herbs. Soft embroidered cushions dotted the room, and sheepskin rugs covered the floor. A great loom, with a half-finished tapestry upon it, sat by the open window.

  Lady Drew, her back ramrod straight, walked to a low table, where she poured herself a goblet of wine. Ross noted that her hands were trembling slightly. He tensed, surprised; he’d never seen MacKinnon’s sister lack composure. The woman had the warmth and vulnerability of iron. And yet, this afternoon, there were serious cracks in the façade.

  Lady Drew was upset, and she wasn’t trying to hide it.

  “Wine?” she asked, her voice huskier than usual.

  “Aye,” he replied, grateful for the offer. The events at noon still unsettled him, perhaps wine would push the images of Father Athol bleeding to death before th
e altar to the back of his mind.

  Drew handed him a goblet before motioning to one of the high-backed chairs before the hearth. “Please … sit down.”

  Ross did as bid, although he couldn’t relax. It was highly unusual to be invited into the women’s solar with a woman alone—widow or not.

  He’d known Drew MacKinnon a long while. She was nearly a decade his elder, and had wed not long after his arrival at Dunan. Even as a younger woman, she’d been a force to be reckoned with though—blade tongued and sharp-witted. Her much older husband hadn’t known what to do with her. It wasn’t entirely a surprise that she’d remained a widow since his demise.

  Drew took the chair opposite. She sat stiff and tense, her fingers wrapped around her goblet, although she didn’t drink from it. Her gaze never left Ross, as if she was silently taking his measure. And when she finally spoke, Drew’s voice was softer than he’d ever known it. “He’s gone too far this time.”

  Silence drew out between them then. Ross wasn’t sure how to respond. His first instinct was that this was a trap. MacKinnon was testing his loyalty. Duncan and Drew had always been close, and in the past she’d been as unfailingly faithful to her brother as Ross had been.

  He had to be careful around her. She could still be talking to him on her brother’s behalf. Ross had seen the look in the clan-chief’s eye when he’d stared him down earlier. MacKinnon had been challenging him, and perhaps he wasn’t yet done.

  Her words were shocking, traitorous. No one in this broch spoke out openly against Duncan MacKinnon. No one.

  “How far do we follow him?” Drew asked when Ross didn’t speak. “We both hated it when he raged at Siusan for dying in childbirth, and I’m sure ye heard about how he attempted to rape that nun last year? Aye, we’re both willing to let him wed a woman against her will … but murdering a priest? When do any of us say that he’s crossed a line that can never be uncrossed?”

  Once again, Ross wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d spent the last fifteen years serving this family, and being asked to give such a frank opinion unsettled him. Instead, he raised a hand, touching his left cheek as he continued to hold Drew’s gaze. “He did that, I take it?”

  Drew’s mouth pursed. “He used to hit me when we were bairns, ye know … but once we grew up, he never lifted a hand to me … until today.” She drew in a deep breath then, her jaw firming. “Today will be the last time.”

  Ross held her gaze, impressed by her iron will, her strength. He knew that she meant her words, yet he wasn’t sure how she expected him to respond to her admission.

  He decided to make light of it. “What are ye saying?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “That ye will hold yer tongue around him in future … no matter how he provokes ye?”

  Drew’s nostrils flared, her eyes turning flint grey as she stared him down. “Duncan has reasons for being the way he is,” she replied, her tone clipped. “Our parents were … harsh … but I’m done making excuses for my brother.”

  Ross caught the bitter edge to her voice. “Why are ye telling me all this?” he asked, frowning.

  They continued to watch each other, and Ross’s wariness grew. He’d never trusted Drew MacKinnon, and she’d given him little reason till now.

  “I saw the way ye looked at Lady Leanna today in the kirk,” Drew said, her voice softening. “Ye sympathize with her.”

  Ross grew still. “Aye,” he admitted reluctantly, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll act on it.”

  Drew inclined her head, mouth quirking. “I’ve watched ye over the years, Ross … and must admit there have been times when I’ve thought ye as immoral as my brother. But of late I see ye have a sense of right and wrong after all.”

  A man without a conscience … without a moral compass.

  Ross’s mouth soured as Leanna’s accusing words rang in his head, mocking him.

  “Maybe I’m no better than him,” Ross replied, his tone cooling. “I’ve put up with things others would not.”

  “As has Broderick … as have I,” Drew murmured. “But that doesn’t make any of us black-hearted … yet. We are entangled in his web, but there’s still time to untangle ourselves.”

  Ross’s fingers clenched around the stem of the goblet he’d not yet touched. A cold, hard stone settled in the pit of his belly. This conversation was now steering itself into dangerous waters indeed. “What do ye want of me, Lady Drew?”

  Drew took a dainty sip of wine before swirling the goblet, her expression serious now. “Nothing stays the same,” she began, holding his gaze. “Ye might think yer position is secure at Dunan, but it’s only as safe as the mind of the man who rules these lands. How sane do ye think my brother is? How long before he starts a feud with the MacDonalds or the Frasers? How long before he raises taxes so high that folk rise up against him?”

  Ross didn’t answer, although he took her point.

  “Change is afoot,” Drew continued, her voice low and determined. “Soon … the balance of power in this broch is going to shift.” Her gaze narrowed then as it snared his once more. “I need to know that when it does, ye will be my ally … not his.”

  I need a plan. Unable to sit, or rest, Leanna paced the confines of her bed-chamber. I won’t give up.

  After Campbell had locked her inside the chamber, despair had visited Leanna for a spell. She’d thrown herself down upon her narrow bed and wept until she felt sick from it. But after the storm of tears had passed, a strange calm had settled upon her.

  She was young and strong, and had her wits about her. She wasn’t beaten yet.

  Today had been a set-back, and yet at the same time a reprieve. By rights, she should have now been MacKinnon’s wife and cringing in their marital bed. But since Carr Broderick had ridden to the Frasers in search of a priest, she’d been given another couple of days’ breathing space at least.

  Escape would be impossible without assistance. Leanna’s mouth compressed as she swiveled on her heel and completed another circuit of the chamber. MacKinnon had everyone in this broch leashed by duty and fear; she couldn’t rely on any of them for help.

  It was likely then, that the only way she’d get free of MacKinnon was if she killed him.

  Leanna halted in her tracks, a chill shivering through her.

  How she wished that Sister Ella—now Lady Ella MacNichol of Scorrybreac—had ended MacKinnon’s life when she’d had the chance. Ella had been a guest at Dunan, when MacKinnon had forced his way into her bed-chamber and tried to rape her. He’d also left a message for Leanna—a warning that one way or another he would have her.

  At the time, Leanna had believed his threat to be an empty one, yet she now realized that MacKinnon didn’t bluster. He’d meant every word.

  Ella had managed to escape him, by drawing a knife and stabbing him with it. She’d then hit him over the head with a jug, knocking him unconscious before fleeing Dunan.

  Leanna inhaled deeply, smoothing sweaty palms upon the skirts of her kirtle. Of course, if Ella had killed him, she’d have been hunted down as a criminal. Even wedding Gavin MacNichol wouldn’t have saved her from the noose.

  No—it was just as well that Ella hadn’t killed him.

  Leanna would do it instead.

  A thrill of fear trembled through her.

  How she wished she had a bow and arrow. She was an excellent shot with the weapon—although a longbow wouldn’t be that practical right now. Still, she’d learned other skills at Kilbride. The abbess had taught her how to wield a quarter-staff, wriggle out of a man’s grip, and handle a knife—albeit clumsily. She wasn’t as confident with any of those skills as she was with a longbow, but she wouldn’t give up.

  Exhaling sharply, Leanna looked about the chamber. There was nothing here she could use as a weapon. The servant who’d just brought her supper had deliberately not left her a knife. Her hair was loose, so she had no pins she could stab him with either.

  There will be something I can use, she thought, sitting down upon the bed. There wo
uld be another wedding ceremony, and after that a feast. If she was clever and quick, she’d have the opportunity to take something as a weapon.

  And when she was alone with MacKinnon, she’d use it.

  Leanna’s heart started to pound.

  She’d been timid when that outlaw had attacked her in the clearing. She’d panicked, and as such had completely disregarded Mother Shona’s advice about letting your attacker get close enough before striking for a vulnerable spot.

  But next time she’d be ready.

  Ye shall hang for killing a clan-chief.

  Aye. A humorless smile curved Leanna’s lips then. But at least I won’t have to suffer his touch.

  13

  Long Have I Awaited This Moment

  DUNCAN MACKINNON REFILLED his goblet before frowning. The ewer was empty. He needed more wine. Luckily, he’d bid his manservant to bring up a few ewers that evening after supper, and so he heaved himself out of his chair, staggered over to the sideboard, and fetched another jug. Then, settling down before the fire, his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankle, Duncan resumed drinking.

  The Lord knew how much wine he’d consumed since that disaster of a wedding ceremony, but, like his father before him, Duncan could handle his drink. Rage had boiled within him after he’d cut Father Athol down, a fury that sought an outlet.

  Striking his mouthy sister across the face had helped, a little, but even though the wine had blunted the sharpest edges of his anger, the rage was still there, simmering like a cauldron of stew.

  He hadn’t been this angry since his useless wife had died in childbirth.

  Having Lady Leanna MacDonald wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. He’d fantasized about this moment a while now. He’d imagined wedding the object of his desire and ripping her wedding gown from her nubile young body afterward. In his fantasies, he hadn’t cared if she was willing or not—and the fact that she was so set against their union excited him—but he hadn’t expected to be thwarted like this.