Devil of Kilmartin (27 page)

Otherwise, she would turn right around and beg his forgiveness, plead with him to marry her then and there so they would be together always. But she couldn’t. For she knew if she did, he and his people would pay for her weakness. Dougal would make sure of it.

As the sun rose nearly overhead, Elena could barely keep her eyes open. She had not slept at all that night, wishing to spend every moment with Symon awake, aware. She stopped at the burn that ran down the heart of the glen and drank her fill, then pulled one oatcake from her small store of food and ate it. She looked about for a place to hide, to rest, just for a bit, but she was in the wide glen, and there was little beyond the trees and bracken. She walked on, looking for someplace to rest.

At last she came to a pile of stones forming a large hill. It was in an opening in the forest, oddly free of trees and bushes. Even the early spring wildflowers seemed reluctant to bloom within that circle of sunshine.

Elena skirted the edge of the stone pile, and when she reached the far side, she saw an entrance, a small tunnel built into the hill. When she bent down to look within, she could see sunshine streaming in to the center of it, illuminating what appeared to be an open chamber in the middle of the pile. Curious, Elena climbed the rocky mount and peered down into a small sun-filled, circular space. She would not be seen in there, she realized, unless someone troubled themself to climb to the top and peer in. Perhaps she could rest awhile here. She climbed down and then shimmied through the tunnel on her hands and knees. Once in the roofless chamber, she wrapped herself snugly in the
blanket she had taken for her cloak and pushed her back to the wall on the shadowy side of the space.

“ ’T
his is a
fitting place you choose to sleep.”

The harsh voice jarred Elena from a deep slumber. The shadows that had barely touched the floor of the space when she lay down now stretched to the middle of the circular space.

“There’s not many a wench would choose to rest in the burial place of the ancients.”

Elena gasped and sat up, looking about her wildly. It wasn’t the words that disturbed her, but the speaker. At last her eyes adjusted, and she saw Dougal sitting on the rim of the chamber, where the roof once joined the walls.

“Ye do not have any words of greeting for your husband?”

Elena rose to her feet, her eyes firmly on Dougal. “I have no words of greeting for you, Dougal of Dunmore.” She wasn’t sure what he would do to her, now that he had found her, but she didn’t care. The moment she had heard his voice, she knew her life was over. He might not kill her body, but her spirit would die swiftly.

He signaled her to crawl out of the cairn. For a moment she hesitated. What if he had others with him? They would grab her as she left the tunnel. And if there weren’t others? Then Dougal would grab her. The alternative would be to stay put. She looked about and realized that if she forced Dougal to join her, she would be lost for sure. There would be no way to escape him except through the tunnel, and he would be able to keep her from that easily enough.

She cast him an uneasy glance, then stooped to exit her
temporary home. When she rose to her feet at the other end, he was standing there, a nasty leer on his face.

“So you’ve had enough of the Devil’s staff, have you?”

Elena bit back any retort she might have thrown in the man’s face, knowing it was better to hold her tongue, wait for an opportunity, than to give in to his baiting.

“You’ve caused great hardship to your clan, Elena,” he said, reaching for a lock of her hair.

He let it slide through his dirty fingers, and Elena struggled not to let him know how much he revolted her. Once she had understood that other lasses might find Dougal attractive. But she could not see it any longer. Her contempt for him colored his appearance more strongly than any other consideration.

She looked at him carefully now, trying to understand how someone’s attitude could so affect their appearance. He wasn’t as tall as Symon, and Dougal was more whiplike in his build. But his hair was the same dark brown, though Symon’s held a glossy sheen and was silky to the touch, where Dougal’s appeared more coarse. And his eyes—

“Do you like what you see?” He used the lock of hair he had been fingering as a leash, pulling her close against him.

“You do not see what is plain before your eyes, do you?” He smashed his mouth against hers, and every instinct in her screamed in protest. She flailed against him, but he had her arms pinned to her side, his own wrapped vise-like around her. Desperate, she bit the tongue that probed her mouth.

“Arg! Bitch!” He backhanded her. She stumbled to the ground, her hand screaming in pain where she landed on a
loose stone. “How can you go to his bed and not come to mine!” he screamed. Carefully she rose to her feet, the stone clutched in her uninjured hand.

“Do not touch me again, Dougal.”

“I’ll do what I wish.” He lunged at her. She stepped aside, crashing the rock down on him, barely missing his head and instead hitting his shoulder.

Swiftly she moved away from him, keeping the cairn at her back. If she tried to escape into the forest now, he would have no trouble catching her. Nay, she had to stay and face him, here and now, somehow knock him out, then she could once more disappear. ’Twas her only hope of escaping him. At least now he knew she had left the safety of the MacLachlans. At least now they would be free of his harrying.

Dougal worked his shoulder, a deadly glare in his eyes, eyes that were the same as Symon’s. The color was different, but the shape, the way the eyebrows slashed over them, they were the same. How could she have missed that before? The cool green of Symon’s eyes, so full of love, had distracted her from the obvious resemblance to Dougal’s hate-filled mud-brown glare.

Dougal began to move around her, obviously intent on moving her away from the cairn, into a less defensible position. But she would not give in to his bullying anymore. He had ruined her life, and done his best to hurt the MacLachlans.

“Why?” The question popped out before she knew she wanted to ask it.

“Why will I do as I wish?” He sneered at her.

“Why do you wish me harm? Why do you persecute the MacLachlans, when ’tis my gift you want?”

“If ’tis harm you think I wish you, then perhaps the Devil is far more stupid than I thought. I would have thought he’d taught you about a man’s needs by now.”

Elena felt her cheeks heat, but did not take her eyes from her foe. “Can you not answer a simple question? Perhaps you do not know why you are so evil?”

He advanced on her, murder in his eyes. Elena raised the stone, prepared to hurl it at his nose and run. He stopped and seemed to compose himself a little. “I am not evil, Elena. I am chief of Clan Lamont, and you will be my wife. You will secure my position by both your wedding me and through your power.”

“So you cannot answer my question?”

“Aye, he can answer it.”

Elena gasped and turned toward the voice she would know anywhere. Symon stood like an avenging angel at the edge of the clearing, his dark hair loose about his shoulders, his strong legs firmly planted on the ground and his eyes, full of vengeance, fixed on Dougal. Never had he looked more sure of himself, more like the powerful man he was. Elena’s heart filled with love, and she took a step toward him.

Symon shouted. Elena whipped her attention back to the forgotten Dougal, but it was too late. He grabbed her, pulling her backward, pinning her to him, his dagger at her throat.

“Ah, now the tables have turned, Devil. ’Tis my dirk at her throat instead of yours at mine.”

“I should have slit it years ago instead of letting you be banished, Donal.” Symon stepped into the clearing, the bright midday sunlight glinting off his drawn claymore. “Release her.”

She felt Dougal—Donal?—shake his head and his arm tightened about her. “Nay. Cannot you see you’ve lost at last, brother?”

“Brother?” Elena asked, confused and afraid.

“Aye,” Dougal said, his hot breath singeing her ear, “did he not tell ye? Surely that whelp Ranald ran back to you with the news, Symon. But you did not think anyone else needed to know, did you? Ah, and I had heard you thought yerself in love with my lass,
my
betrothed. You’ve had everything else that belongs to me.”

“I have naught that belongs to you,” Symon said, moving around, forcing Dougal to turn with Elena in order to keep facing him. “You chose your path, Donal. You could have stayed at Kilmartin, even been champion, but ’twas not enough for you.”

“Aye, ’twas never enough. ’Twas less than my due. But you, you have taken it all, always have. And now I will take what is mine, Elena, Lamont Castle, and even Kilmartin Castle, for I have earned them all.”

Elena felt Dougal tremble, felt his breath come in agitated gasps, knew he barely held himself in control. Knew by the easy way Symon moved about them that he understood Dougal as well as she did, knew he would not back down, and only waited for him to snap, to attack, then Symon would be able to act, to save her once more. But he could not do it alone, for she also knew he would not risk her life.

But she could. It would be worth her life if it meant Dougal would no longer threaten those that she loved.

“You have earned nothing, Dougal, or Donal?” she said. “Which is it? You cannot even claim one name. You will never claim Castle Lamont. My cousin, Ian, will be chief.
’Twas always intended to be. I will not marry you and you will never be chief. I have already married Symon.” The lie came surprisingly easy since, in her heart, it was no lie.

She saw a glint in Symon’s eye, then felt the prick of Dougal’s dagger at her neck. She closed her eyes then, hoping it would be quick. She was confident he wouldn’t live long enough to see her body hit the ground.

When he did not act, she pushed him further. “I carry his bairn.” ’Twas more hope than lie, but it served the purpose.

Dougal flung her to the ground and lunged at Symon, a guttural cry like that of an animal wrenched from him. The two men grappled, their blades quickly discarded in favor of fists. They rolled, too evenly matched to be sure which would prevail.

Elena rose and realized she still clutched the stone. Carefully she moved closer to the fray, prepared to crash her primitive weapon down on Dougal’s head as soon as she could be sure it was the right brother. Brothers? It explained so much, and not nearly enough.

She watched as the two wrestled, landing thudding punches. Suddenly they were moving toward her. She couldn’t scramble out of the way quick enough and found herself knocked to the ground, her skirts pinned under the fighting men. In danger herself, she quickly decided which was which and brought her weapon down on the closest head.

For a moment she wasn’t sure if she had actually hit anything, then the man on top slumped and the one on the bottom shoved him off.

chapter 17

“D
aft lassie,” Symon said, rising to his feet and pulling her into his embrace. “He nearly killed you.”

“But he didn’t. And now your clan is safe from him.”

He was so stupid not to have told her the truth when Ranald first came to him. Symon glanced at Dougal, whose chest rose and fell, though all else would have indicated he lived no longer. “Nay, Elena-mine, as long as he lives, Kilmartin and Clan Lachlan will be in danger, as will you and your kin.” He stroked her hair, holding her close to his heart, as he tried to figure out how to explain the complicated person who lay on the ground beside them.

“I will go far away,” Elena whispered against his chest. “He will not bother you. He will come for me.”

Symon sighed. “Aye, he will come after you. Donal is
not the type to forget someone who can further his grasp for power.” He found her lips and tried to reassure her with his kiss. A crashing sounded in the wood. Symon pushed her quickly behind him. His claymore lay across the clearing, so he pulled his dagger and prepared to fight whoever would threaten them further.

Murdoch rode from between the trees and surveyed the clearing. “Och, lad, put that blade away. ’Tis only me and the lads, come to save you from yon thug.” He grinned. “I never would have thought to see Donal again.”

Symon sheathed his dagger, then reached behind him, wanting Elena safe in his arms. “How did you find out ’twas Donal?”

“And when am I going to learn why Dougal called you brother,” Elena asked, “and why do you call him Donal?”

“I think I can answer both questions.” Ranald moved into the sunlight.

Symon felt Elena tense and remembered the conversation—the accusations—the last time the two faced each other. “Not now, lass,” he murmured to her.

Defiance flashed in her eyes, but she held her tongue.

Ranald moved closer, until he stood just on the other side of Donal’s body. “Donal is, claims to be, our half brother.”

Elena looked at Symon, who nodded.

“But how did he become Dougal of Dunmore?”

Symon took over the story. “I told you he came to us in his eighth year. By the time he had reached his eleventh winter, he began to persecute our mum, blaming her for our da not treating him as he deserved.”