Amanda Scott (36 page)

Its light hurt her eyes, but she discerned that two were supporting a third bundled much as she had been, and started to get up. Before her stiff limbs would obey her, the cage door opened and the bundled one tumbled to the floor in front of her and lay still.

The cage door shut with a clang, and one of them locked it again.

“Who is this, and where is the supper you promised me?” she demanded.

“Whist now,” the man with the key muttered.

His companion stepped out and returned with a sack and jug in his hands. “Here be your supper, so dinna set up a screech,” he said, handing sack and jug through the bars. “’Tis bread and meat, and wine for two, if himself feels like eating or drinking at all. Tell him it’ll be his last meal. Mayhap he’ll enjoy it more.”

“But who is he?” she asked as they walked away.

The cellar door shut with a thud, and darkness fell again.

The figure on the floor moaned, shooting shivers up her spine.

Terrified that she already knew the answer to her question, she forgot her aches and felt her way to the figure on the floor. Her captors had not tied her, but the muscular figure she touched was definitely male and had bound him tightly in a rough woolen cloth. She fought to loosen the knots, wishing fiercely that she could see.

He was moaning more by the time she untied the first knot, but there were only two, and she soon parted the cloth over his head and gently felt his face. They had gagged him, too, the cloth tight at the corners of his mouth. They had likewise bound his wrists.

She attacked the knot at the back of his head, and at the cost of a few broken fingernails, the gag fell away at last. “Oh, please, say something,” she said as she tackled the knot at his wrists. At least he was breathing, albeit stertorously.

“Thirsty,” he muttered, the voice ragged, unrecognizable as his.

Blinking back tears, she dipped a portion of her hem into the nearest jug, smelling wine as she used it to dampen his lips. A moment later she felt them suck the damp material. “Water if you have any, lass,” he muttered. “I’m fair parched.”

“Oh, my love, I knew it was you,” she said, feeling cautiously about for the jug of water they had left with her earlier. Finding it, she held it carefully to his lips.

Before he drank, he murmured, “What did you call me?”

“Never mind. I feared you would not wake up. How badly are you hurt?”

He was drinking and did not answer until he had drunk his fill.

“I can’t see a thing,” he said then.

“They left no light,” she said. “Doubtless that is all it is, but if they’ve injured you severely, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Kiss me and make it better,” he murmured.

“Oh!” She reached to shake him, but he protested instantly.

“Easy, lass. They’ve already given me a devilish headache.”

“How?” she asked, leaving one hand gently on his shoulder.

“Bashed me with something, I expect.”

“But who would dare to strike you?”

“Faith, I don’t know. I never saw him. And I was careful, too, right up until I began paying more heed to my supposed informant than to what lay behind me. I realized my error, but by then it was too late. What happened to you?”

She told him, adding swiftly, “And don’t scold or say I should not have gone up there alone. We have always been safe from the north, because all of Morvern is loyal to his grace. Indeed, I cannot think what these men can want with us, since they did not kill you outright. Whoever they are and whatever their plan, they must know they will infuriate my father by what they have done.”

“The villain has to be Fingon Mackinnon,” he said, trying to sit up.

His groans made it clear that he suffered for the attempt, so she said firmly, “Stay quiet until your head clears. I wish Agnes Beton were here, for I have nothing with me to ease your pain.”

“I’ve a hard head,” he said, apparently rubbing it and sitting anyway, since he added, “But they’ve put the devil of a knot on the back. I was unconscious for some time but came to when they put me in a boat. Not knowing their intentions, I thought it wise to keep still until I knew it was safe to speak.”

“I, too, suspected Fingon,” she admitted. “He has likely ordered a blood feud to avenge Niall’s death, but abducting me makes no sense. It will anger my father.”

“Aye,” Lachlan agreed. “The risk of a feud is one reason I was able to persuade his grace to agree to our marriage, to show the Mackinnons that he favors Clan Gillean. I thought perhaps they’d abducted you to force my hand, to lure me to ambush, but if that was Fingon’s purpose, why not kill me as soon as he had me? He would merely have been finishing what Niall tried to do yesterday.”

“Aye, I know about that,” she said. “Ian told me.”

He grunted, gasped, and then said wryly, “Clearly I should
not
nod my head, especially since you cannot see me when I do. I do think you’ll have to kiss it, lass, although I own, the best thing for me right now would be just to lie back down and hold you in my arms. Or are you still too vexed with me to allow that?”

“I thought
you’d
be furious with
me
for pushing you into the water,” she said as she began feeling about to spread the furs on the floor.

“Nay,” he said gently, adding, “Oh, I was for a time, but I expect I deserved it. I am curious about one thing, though. What made you think I care only for wealth and power? I’d swear you knew better than that at Finlaggan.”

“I heard you say as much to Hector when you were coming out of the hall.”

“I never said any such a thing.”

“He said your plan to increase Clan Gillean’s wealth and power any way you could was marching smoothly.
And
he still thought that when I pushed you in.”

“He did think it, because I don’t confide everything even to Hector, but he knows now that he was wrong, and so should you.” Before she could reply, he added, “That’s the second time you’ve heard things by listening at doors, my lass.”

“It is my besetting sin,” she admitted, smoothing the furs.

“Well, it is a dangerous one, and you should stop. Someone should have smacked you soundly for it when you were young.”

“Niall did,” she said, grimacing at the memory. “He turned up my skirts and spanked my bare backside so hard that I couldn’t sit comfortably for a week.”

“The devil he did! If he weren’t dead already, I’d kill him for that.”

Smiling, she said, “You just said that someone should have.”

“Not him,” he growled.

She sighed. “What demon possessed you to abduct my father?”

“I’m sorry for that, but was necessary.”

“Necessary! How could it be when he is your liege lord?”

“I learned young to recognize necessity, and to act on it,” he said. “I was nine when my mother died. She spoke often of hoping—for pretty clothes, for my father to pay heed to her—but she never acted on those hopes. I wanted to prevent a blood feud. I wanted you. So, I did what was necessary, then, and when they captured me.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said impulsively. “I’d rather have seen you come through that door on your feet with Hector and his battle-axe beside you, and I am sorry they hurt you, but I’m not angry anymore.” She folded the wool blanket to act as a pillow, and added, “You can lie down now, sir, on these furs, and I do want you to hold me. If we get cold, we can pull my cloak over us.”

“I liked it better when you called me your love, sweetheart.”

Tears pricked again at the thought that their time together might be short, and she did not try to reply.

When he had made himself as comfortable as he could, she lay down beside him with her head on his shoulder and sighed, instantly beginning to relax.

“Where’s my kiss?” he demanded.

“You will have to collect that yourself,” she said. “If you are not strong enough, then you will just ha—” The word ended in a half scream, half laugh as he reared up on an elbow and bent over her to claim his kiss.

His claiming was thorough, and he clearly intended to refresh his memory of her body, too, as his hands roamed freely over it.

She did not protest, however, because she had not known she could enjoy even a few minutes of such contentment in such a horrid place, and because with him at her side, she felt safe despite the danger she knew they faced.

His lips against hers, he murmured, “Do you know where we are?”

“No, for I’ve seen only this cellar. They bundled me in as they did you.”

He kissed her again before he said, “Well, I think I know, for unless they’ve stupidly carried us to the Holy Isle, which his grace will search thoroughly and at once, I’ll wager they’ve chosen the same place I did, for the same reason.”

“When you abducted my father?”

“Aye,” he said, adding pensively, “Although I don’t know how they would have found such ease of entrance as we did.”

“Where did you take him?”

“Dunconnel, the northernmost of the Isles of the Sea.”

She thought for a moment. She knew Dunconnel, but she had visited the rock fortress there only twice in her life, the first time when she was small, and the second the previous year. She tried to recall if she had ever seen its cellar.

“I expect it could be Dunconnel,” she said. “It has but one entrance, so its cellar must be entered from an inside stairway. Why did you choose it?”

“Because ’tis well known that his grace leaves only two or three men-at-arms to look after the place. Because of something clever about the portcullis he installed, two can easily hold off an army or navy from within its walls.”

“Aye, that’s true, for he told me so himself,” she said.

His hands still explored her body, leaving paths of fire where they touched her. She wriggled against him. “Does your head still hurt?”

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, by the way it feels, it’s going to ache for days.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed.

He pulled her closer, kissing her neck and then her ear, setting nerves dancing in other parts of her body.

She stroked his hip, delighting in the rough texture of the leather breeks.

“You have a fine hand for untying knots,” he murmured, nibbling her earlobe. “How would you like to untie one or two more?”

“Which ones?”

“The ones nearest your hand, below.”

“Your breeks? Are you sure that . . . that it won’t make your head ache more?”

When he only chuckled, she kissed him hard while her hand sought the lacing of his breeks. She untied the rawhide string on the left side of the flap and was reaching for the other when footsteps sounded outside the cellar door. Snatching her hand back, she sat up and scooted away from him.

“Coward,” he murmured.

Then the door was open and torchlight spilled through the doorway.

A figure stood holding the torch high, blinding her with its light after the total darkness. She realized that it could not be one of the men-at-arms, because his long robe covered even his shoes. His hair reached his shoulders, but it was another moment before she could make out his features and be sure.

Lachlan recognized him at the same time. “So it
is
you,” he said.

“Aye, curse ye, and so ye should ha’ known,” the Green Abbot said gruffly. “When ye touch one Mackinnon, ye touch us all, and ye’ll pay with all in the end.”

“If you mean to kill me, why did you not do so at once?”

“’Tis more fitting this way,” Fingon said. “Ye’ll see the fruits o’ your labor—see that God Almighty doesna favor the sons o’ Gillean.”

“You have captured only one of us,” Lachlan pointed out.

“For now,” Fingon said, “but I’m a patient man wi’ plentiful resources.”

“Do you mean to kill me, too?” Mairi demanded, annoyed despite the danger at being ignored by both men.

Fingon looked at her, his narrowed, glinting gaze sending slivers of ice through her veins. He waited, saying nothing, as if wanting her to say more. She did not, and at last, he said, “Ye disappoint me, lass. Ye’re such a knowing one, yet ye dinna ken friend from enemy, and cast your favor t’ them who deserve nowt.”

She swallowed, uncertain of his meaning but fearing he must somehow know she had given her maidenhood to Lachlan. He had the power to excommunicate her for such a sin, and would doubtless go home to his concubine and his many progeny afterward without one pang of conscience to trouble him. He was a law unto himself.

“D’ye want t’ confess your sins?” he demanded sarcastically.

“She has none to confess, and neither have I,” Lachlan said.

“Aye, sure, ye both do,” Fingon said. “I ken fine that she’s given herself to ye, ye wicked man. God kens it, too, but in the end, her wretched sin willna matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s t’ wed wi’ a Mackinnon. Her father will ha’ to accept the man and grant him all the favors ye hoped t’ gain for yourself and that upstart lot ye call Clan Gillean, wi’ its made-up history and all.”

Mairi winced, fearing Lachlan would respond angrily to defend the honor of Gillean, and anger their captor more.

But she had misjudged him, because he said calmly, “I should think that if MacDonald disapproves of the man who weds his daughter, or his manner of marrying her, he would flatly refuse to grant him either favor or wealth.”

“He would soon rue his refusal,” Fingon said.

“You would kill her?”

“Nay, for we’re not barbarians like the sons o’ Gillean, who kill for the love o’ killing.” He turned to Mairi and said with a sneer, “I expect this wicked man told ye he couldna help killing me brother Niall.”

“He told me what happened,” she said, matching her tone to Lachlan’s.

“Aye, well, then he lied.”

“What will you do with me if you don’t mean to kill me?” she asked.

“I told ye, lass, ye’ll marry a Mackinnon, and he’ll keep ye close and teach ye no t’ grant your favors t’ any but himself.”

“But if I have already given my favors to Lachlan Lubanach, what if he’s gotten me with child?” she said daringly.

He shrugged. “If ye carry a bairn, the bairn will belong t’ your husband, no to any son o’ Gillean. And Lachlan the Wily can just go t’ his grave wondering did he leave ye wi’ a bairn who’ll grow up t’ be a good Mackinnon.”