Awoken: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Sisters of Kilbride Book 2) Page 9

  That damn priest.

  He’d never liked Father Athol. The man had been respected at Dunan, but he was always sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He’d had no business traveling to Kyleakin to bless the plague-ridden, and he’d certainly had no business refusing to perform the ceremony. The man’s haughtiness had been his undoing.

  He’d deserved a blade in his belly.

  Even so, Duncan was now without a priest, and he needed one if he was to wed Lady Leanna.

  Damn the wedding ceremony, damn all of these rules.

  Fury kindled once more, racing through Duncan’s veins. He’d planned to bed Leanna tonight, and now he was being forced to wait. His groin ached, and his body was restless.

  Duncan clenched his jaw. I need to plow a woman.

  He wasn’t used to being thwarted, and if he hadn’t been determined to wed Leanna, he’d have had her by now.

  Maybe I should go to The Goat and Goose, he thought dully, taking another gulp of wine. It was his favorite brothel. The whores there were always accommodating, although these days there weren’t any that really took his fancy. There hadn’t been for many years, not since the delectable Coira.

  Duncan’s eyes closed as he lost himself in memories. Coira—tall, dark-haired, and sultry. How he’d reveled in her long-limbed body and full breasts. How he’d enjoyed reducing her to a trembling wreck upon the bed, those startling violet eyes huge with fear. Her disappearance from the brothel a decade earlier had soured the place for him. Duncan had looked for her, but the woman appeared to have simply disappeared. He often wondered what had become of her.

  Shoving aside memories that still rankled, Duncan decided against visiting The Goat and Goose tonight. Despite that Coira’s ghost tantalized him, the only woman he burned for these days was Lady Leanna.

  He remembered spying her for the first time at the clan gathering between the MacKinnons and the MacDonalds of Sleat, over two years earlier. It had been a bright summer’s day, and she’d been wearing a robin’s egg blue kirtle, her long pale hair tumbling down her back.

  Entranced, Duncan had watched Leanna dance with the other maids, her laughter drifting over the glen—a sound he infinitely preferred to the wail of the highland pipe.

  He’d decided then and there that he’d one day have her as his wife—no woman but Lady Leanna would do. And despite all the trouble the woman had caused him of late, he still felt the same way.

  Leanna was lying upon her bed, staring up at the rafters, when she heard the thud and rattle of her door being unbolted.

  In an instant, she sprang into a sitting position, heart pounding. It was late, almost at the witching hour. Who would dare enter her bed-chamber at this time of night?

  To her surprise, a wiry man with a permanently downcast gaze entered. Leanna went still as she recognized him. She’d seen him attend on MacKinnon a few times since her arrival at Dunan. His name was Hume—and he was the clan-chief’s manservant. “What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded, fear turning her hostile.

  “I’m sorry to bother ye at this hour, milady,” the man murmured with a low bow, gaze still averted. “But ye must get dressed and come with me.”

  Leanna’s breathing caught in her throat. “Why? Where are we going?”

  “Please don’t ask any questions of me, milady,” the servant replied. His voice quavered nervously. “Just dress quickly in yer nun’s habit and come with me. I will wait outside while ye ready yerself.”

  As quickly as he’d appeared, the manservant vanished, the door shutting with a gentle thud behind him.

  Leanna got to her feet, her pulse racing.

  Why did he want her to dress in her nun’s habit? Was this an escape? Had she been wrong about not having any allies here? That was the only explanation she could find to this bizarre request.

  Hope fluttered up within her. She’d prayed fervently before retiring for the night—maybe the Lord was indeed answering her prayers. It looked like this nightmare was about to end.

  Leanna moved over to the chair, where her black habit and under clothes still draped. With a trembling hand, she reached for them.

  “Where are we going?” Leanna’s whispered question echoed loudly in the silent corridor. She had dressed as bid, and was now following Hume along the hallway.

  “Hush, milady … it’s best we do not speak,” he replied, his tone gruff now.

  Of course, Leanna chided herself. We must be quiet. If they were making an escape, she should hold her tongue. However, now that she was dressed and following the manservant, a strange misgiving had settled over her.

  Something about this felt wrong.

  Hume hadn’t met her eye once. And his furtive, guilty manner put her on edge. She tried to tell herself that he was merely nervous, for he was going against his master in order to aid her escape, yet that assurance couldn’t smother her instincts.

  Why would he help me?

  Halfway along the hallway, they stopped before a large oaken door. Leanna frowned. She didn’t know this door—it didn’t lead to the clan-chief’s solar at least. Perhaps this was the chamber of the person who was helping her.

  Hope speared through Leanna once more. Was this Lady Drew’s bed-chamber?

  The servant pushed open the door and motioned for her to enter before him. “Go on, milady … ye are expected.”

  Leanna moved forward, her gaze sweeping the interior of the space as she did so. It was indeed a bed-chamber, although one far bigger than her own. However, the moment she stepped inside, Leanna realized that it didn’t belong to a woman.

  This was a purely masculine space, sparsely decorated save one deerskin upon the floor. A huge bed dominated the room, covered in dark furs and blankets.

  Leanna’s throat closed, her blood suddenly roaring in her ears. This isn’t Drew MacKinnon’s room … but her brother’s.

  Leanna turned to leave, but at that moment the door slammed shut behind her. Grappling with the handle, she found it locked.

  Heart galloping now, she turned, back pressed against the door, and watched as a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the chamber.

  Stripped to the waist and barefoot, clad in nothing but a pair of braies, Duncan MacKinnon moved unsteadily toward her, a wolfish smile stretching his face.

  “Good eve, mo chridhe,” he murmured. “Long have I awaited this moment.”

  14

  Obsession

  ROSS KNEW HE should probably retire for the night. However, as he sat in the Great Hall of Dunan, staring down at the tankard of ale he’d barely touched, he realized he wasn’t sleepy at all. His conversation with Lady Drew earlier had merely stoked the fires of unease within him, turning his mood strangely inward. He wasn’t a man given to lengthy brooding, yet the events of late had started to make him question everything.

  A rot had set in at Dunan, long before Lady Leanna had arrived here. It had begun years ago, Ross realized, from the moment Duncan MacKinnon had taken over from his father. Old Jock MacKinnon had been a brutish man, yet he’d known how to rule these lands, and unlike his son, he hadn’t carried the torments of hell inside him.

  After she’d asked him to shift allegiance to her, Lady Drew had told him a few things about her brother’s past. Her story had put Ross on edge, for it bore an eerie similarity to his own unhappy upbringing—although he was grateful not to have had a mother like theirs.

  Neave Campbell was a meek woman who was incapable of dominating others, but apparently MacKinnon’s mother used to beat and shame Duncan as a bairn—his only crime being that he was born a lad. She’d been angry that she’d wed a harsh, unloving man, who made no secret of the whores he kept—and she’d taken that fury out upon her young son.

  MacKinnon carried a hatred within him, a need to prove himself to the world that drove each decision.

  Ross traced a knot of wood upon the table before him with a fingertip. He’d reached great heights here at Dunan, yet he had the
sinking feeling it was all about to come to an end.

  Lady Drew was right. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stomach serving MacKinnon. How much longer could he stand by without lifting a finger to help those the man hurt?

  Ross’s thoughts shifted to Lady Leanna then. She’d accused him of being a rogue, a man without morals or decency. At the time, he’d brushed her insults aside, but somehow they’d wormed their way under his shield and cut deep all the same.

  With a jolt, he realized that Leanna’s good opinion of him mattered.

  Like the man he served, Ross’s childhood had shaped him. His brutal father and bullying brothers had made him tough, determined, and ruthless. But if he continued on this path, would he end up like MacKinnon?

  Ross muttered a curse and ran a hand over his face. What a mess this all was.

  “Campbell … what are ye doing up?”

  Ross glanced up to see a wiry figure standing a few feet away. Hume, MacKinnon’s manservant, twitched like a nervous hare, his dark eyes flitting around the hall nervously. A few of MacKinnon’s warriors slept in here, their gentle snores lifting up to the rafters.

  “I could ask ye the same question,” Campbell replied, his gaze narrowing.

  “MacKinnon called for me,” the manservant muttered, his thin hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, “and so I did his bidding … I always do his bidding.”

  Something in the man’s voice made Campbell tense.

  Wordlessly, he rose to his feet, took Hume by the arm, and led him from the hall. In the entrance room beyond, he turned to him. The light of the burning cressets around them illuminated the lines of strain upon the older man’s thin face. Hume’s mouth trembled. Something was definitely amiss with him.

  “What is the matter?” Ross demanded. “Ye look as if ye have seen a wraith.”

  “I’ve done a terrible thing,” Hume replied, his voice turning querulous now. “The Lord will send me straight to hell.”

  Ross stilled, his breathing slowing. “What, Hume? Speak plainly.”

  The manservant’s gaze fused with his. “MacKinnon bid me to fetch Lady Leanna … and so I did. She is now alone with him in his bed-chamber.”

  “Let me leave.” Leanna backed up against the door, her breathing coming in short gasps as she struggled to contain the panic that welled within her. “We shouldn’t be alone like this.”

  Duncan MacKinnon drew closer, his smile widening further. “This will be our secret then … none but us and my manservant can know. Hume is loyal though … he will not tell a soul.”

  Leanna fumbled for the door handle, but once again it didn’t budge.

  “There’s no point in doing that, my sweeting,” MacKinnon said, the crooning note to his voice deepening. “Hume bolted it from the outside … he will only open it again when I call for him. Ye are trapped inside here with me.”

  Leanna’s breath started coming in panicked gasps at this news, and she darted sideways as he closed in on her.

  Just like the day before when he’d stabbed Father Athol, MacKinnon struck fast, grabbing her by the arms and slamming her up against the wall. He then pressed himself up against Leanna, grinding his hips hard against hers.

  The rigid length of his arousal stabbed against Leanna’s belly, and a wave of dizzying nausea swept over her.

  For a moment the ragged sound of her breathing and the thrashing of her heartbeat almost deafened her.

  Merciful Lord, this can’t be happening.

  And yet it was. MacKinnon had her trapped against him, and he intended to rape her. He’d tired of waiting for a priest to bind them; he’d merely take what he wanted tonight.

  MacKinnon leaned forward then, his hot mouth searing her cheek. She smelt the reek of wine on his breath and realized then why he’d appeared so unsteady upon his feet.

  The man was rotten drunk.

  “I’ve dreamed of this moment,” he rasped, his rough hands groping her through her habit. “I have dreamed of taking ye like this.”

  Leanna struggled against him, yet he held her fast, his hips grinding into her even harder. One hand went to her breasts, kneading them like bread dough, while the other grabbed her backside, squeezing hard. Revulsion shivered through Leanna, although MacKinnon clearly thought her reaction was caused by lust, for he gave a soft chuckle.

  “Aye … that’s right, mo chridhe … I knew ye would like it rough. Ye nuns appear cold and sexless, but underneath that habit, ye are all sluts.”

  Leanna’s skin crawled now. She froze in his grip, her heart beating so hard it felt as if it would burst from her chest.

  “I like a woman in a habit,” he murmured, pushing down her wimple so that he could ravage her neck. “My favorite whore used to dress up as a nun for my pleasure … I used to enjoy ripping her habit off her, as I will ye.”

  Through the fog of terror Leanna remembered the hot way his gaze had raked over her when she’d stood before him in her nun’s clothing. She also recalled how he’d attempted to rape Ella during her visit to Dunan the year before. Did a nun’s attire arouse him?

  He started to whisper things then—ugly, frightening things that made Leanna draw in short, rasping breaths—descriptions of all the acts he was going to perform on her, and the things he would make her do. They were things that would hurt her, things she hadn’t even realized that men and women did together.

  Leanna drew in a deep breath, preparing to let out a blood-curdling yell for help, but at the last moment, she hesitated.

  She had no allies in this broch. Who would come to her aid?

  Leanna couldn’t rely on anyone else but herself. At the abbey, she’d been taught what to do if a man ever tried to force himself upon her. Trying to fight him off was ill-advised as men were stronger and would always win in a struggle. She had to go for his most vulnerable areas: eyes, throat, belly, or groin.

  However, if she was to manage to hurt him, she needed to get MacKinnon to lower his guard first.

  Leanna shivered again—not hard to do, for bile surged up her throat now, making it difficult not to gag. He’d hitched her skirts up, and his hands were roughly exploring underneath, his thigh forcing her legs apart.

  “Ye like this, don’t ye?” MacKinnon growled. He leaned back and gazed down. His eyes were now glittering slits of desire. “I’m going to plow ye here … up against the wall.”

  This was Leanna’s moment. In order to meet her eye, he’d shifted back from her, just a little, and when he released her with one hand—reaching down to unlace his straining braies—she made her move.

  Gathering every bit of her strength—all her loathing and fear—she brought her knee up and slammed it into his cods. And as she did so, Leanna brought up her arms, linking them around his neck, to give herself purchase.

  MacKinnon’s face froze, his eyes rolling back in his head. With a wheeze of pain, the clan-chief let go of her and reeled away, but Leanna held on tight. Drawing her knee back, she drove it upwards again, into his groin a second time.

  She had to make sure she hurt him, ensure he stayed down long enough for her to somehow escape this chamber.

  MacKinnon’s roar echoed through the room, and when Leanna did release him, falling back against the wall, he crumpled forward onto his knees, clutching at his injured cods. His face had gone milk-white, and he began to retch. However, his grey eyes blazed with fury.

  Heart racing wildly now, Leanna edged along the wall, toward where a ceremonial shield hung upon the damp, pitted stone. Maybe she could slam him over the head with it.

  MacKinnon spat out a vile curse and lunged for her. But the movement cost him, and he collapsed upon the floor, bent over his damaged bollocks. “Bitch,” he howled. “I’ll beat ye bloody for that!”

  Leanna edged farther toward the shield, and had almost reached it when the door to the clan-chief’s bed-chamber crashed open.

  Ross Campbell appeared in the doorway, a drawn dirk in his hand.

  15

  Alli
es

  ROSS WASN’T SURE what he’d expected to see when he burst into MacKinnon’s bed-chamber. He’d tried not to imagine how far things had already gone after Hume told him what had transpired. After sending the manservant on his way, he’d leapt for the stairs, taking them two steps at a time till he reached the second-floor landing.

  He hoped Lady Leanna had managed to fend the man off, or that MacKinnon wasn’t too eager, and had decided to take his time.

  However, he certainly hadn’t expected to be greeted with this sight.

  Duncan MacKinnon lay on his side, curled over as he clutched at his cods. In between gagging and groans of agony, the clan-chief snarled abuse at the small woman pressed against the wall a few feet away.

  Lady Leanna, dressed in her nun’s habit, was edging toward the great shield that hung upon the wall above the hearth. Ross realized her intent, but also knew that she’d never be able to lift the shield. It had been made for someone twice her size.

  “Lady Leanna, stay where ye are,” he barked.

  Two strides took him into the chamber, and up to where his master sprawled. “Campbell!” MacKinnon wheezed, his eyes glittering with pain. “Get her.”

  Ignoring him, Ross circled behind the clan-chief and slammed a booted foot between his shoulder blades, pushing him flat onto the ground.

  MacKinnon cried out, as the movement aggravated the injury to his groin.

  Ross frowned. Although it was late and most folk within the broch slumbered in their beds, MacKinnon was likely to attract attention if he kept making this much noise. Fortunately, Hume wasn’t going to come to his master’s aid tonight; after lightening his conscience, the man-servant had stared at Ross with the eyes of a condemned man. They both knew what such a betrayal of the clan-chief’s trust meant. Ross had told him to go, to get as far away from Dunan as he could—and, without another word, Hume fled into the night.