Highland Barbarian (Highlander Series) (16 page)

A cry of anguish was torn from Brice’s lips. Slumping on the edge of the bed he buried his face in Meredith’s night shift. It still bore her scent. Inhaling deeply he sat there for long minutes filling himself with her.

Then he stood and tossed the garment aside. There was no time to waste. She was somewhere deep in the Highland forests. There were many dangers out there. Not all of them wild animals.

He must find her before the wrong people did. Or she would be lost to him forever.

I
t had been raining steadily for hours. The raindrops filtered through the leaves of the trees, drenching horse and rider as they plodded through the forest.

Across a ridge of the mountain a mist rose up, eerie, ghostlike. Almost hidden below the mist Meredith recognized a lake they had crossed on her journey to Brice’s fortress. At least she was heading in the right direction, she consoled herself. But if the weather continued to work against her, the journey would take twice as long as she had anticipated.

On a high rocky crag she brought her mount to a halt and turned to study the trail she had just taken. There was no sign that anyone was following her. Still, she felt a tingling sensation at the back of her neck, as though someone was watching. Brice? Though the day was shrouded in darkness, she guessed that Brice would have awakened less than an hour ago. It would be impossible for him to have come this far in so short a time. Also, she had implored him in her note to stay where he was safe. She prayed that he would listen to the voice of reason and remain in the safety of his Highland home.

If Brice was watching, he would show himself. She felt a tremor of fear and looked over her shoulder. If she was truly being watched, it was not Brice, but a stranger. The thought brought a quick, jolting rush of fear in the pit of her stomach.

She drew the hood of the cloak over her head and tried to shake off the feeling of gloom. She was merely lonely, she consoled herself. She had never dreamed she would feel so lonely. All her life, growing up with loving parents, she and her sisters had known only love and security. And hard work. Growing up in a clan of warriors along the Border, she had been groomed in the art of battle. She knew what it was to take up a sword at a moment’s notice when the English soldiers attacked.

Her gentle mother had encouraged all her daughters in the art of nurturing their people. And when they engaged in battle, the entire MacAlpin clan was taken into the manor house for safekeeping until the battle was over. The families, along with their animals, stayed within the compound until it was safe to return to their outlying homes. Always they had stood together, a proud, strong family.

Now, with her parents gone and her sisters’ lives in grave peril, the burden of responsibility lay with her alone. Though she felt equal to the task, she sorely missed her parents’ quiet strength.

“If only Brice could share this burden with me.” To stave off loneliness she talked to her horse.

Why was she torturing herself with such thoughts? Venting her frustration, she nudged her mount with more energy than necessary, sensing its reluctance to plod onward through the mist. But her mind would not give her any rest.

“How did it come to pass that one Highland warrior could mean so much to me? When did I stop thinking only of myself and begin thinking of the two of us as one? When did I begin to put his well-being ahead of my own?”

The horse whinnied in response. Despite her discomfort she smiled.

“It had happened long before we came together in love,” she whispered.

During her earliest days of captivity she had discovered that the man who held her hostage was not the man she had thought him to be. The cruel barbarian was a myth, created by legend and the acts of those who would besmirch his good name.

Rain pelted her face and ran in little rivers from her eyelashes to her cheeks. She blinked as she thought of her own father, known throughout Scotland as a fair and honorable man. That thought brought a sense of pride to her. What if someone had blamed him for the acts of another, sullying his good name? Her hand tightened on the cold leather reins. She would search to the ends of the earth for those responsible, and she would give her life if necessary to clear her father’s name.

Though she detested war, she realized that Brice had that same right. Gareth MacKenzie must be made to recant his lies and restore Brice’s good name to him. Even if it took a war to force his hand. The thought caused her to tremble.

As horse and rider plunged deeper into the forest the tingling began anew. Someone—or something—was watching her. Although the trail was treacherous she dug in her heels and urged her horse into a trot. As the rain-shrouded branches closed in around her she pushed away all thoughts of fear. She was being foolish. How could anyone find her in this dense forest?

~ ~ ~

Like any true warrior, Brice often had to face down his fears. He had always known that he had as much chance to survive as his opponent.

This time it was different. It was not his life hanging in the balance, but Meredith’s. The thought left him terrified.

His first moments of panic had been replaced with rage. Wild, seething rage. He tore through the castle shouting orders at Angus and the others, sending all the inhabitants of Kinloch House and the surrounding forest into a frenzy of activity.

Within an hour the men had prepared their battle gear and were saddling their horses in the courtyard. Mistress Snow and the servants had prepared enough food to allow them to ride without stopping for several days. After that the men should be safely back in the Highlands. If not, they would be forced to hunt for their food.

“What is our plan?” Angus worked feverishly beside Brice, saddling his mount.

“I have none.”

“No plan?” Angus turned to study his friend. Always Brice Campbell had been the cool warrior, prepared for any event during battle. But this was a new Brice, a Brice Campbell paralyzed by love.

Brice’s first wild, frenzied feelings were now carefully banked. But beneath the icy calm Angus sensed a slow, simmering rage. A rage that still clouded his thinking. The man was spoiling for a fight. Woe to any enemy who crossed his path this day.

“We ride until we find Meredith.” Brice pulled himself into the saddle and glanced around at the dozen or so men who followed suit. They were skilled warriors who had ridden at his side in countless battles. He could count on them to come through for him. And this time, more than ever, he would depend on them. “We will ride on to the Borders and rescue Meredith MacAlpin’s sisters from MacKenzie’s clutches. And we will bring them all back to the Highlands, where they will remain safe.”

“That sounds simple enough,” Alston shouted, fighting to subdue a headstrong mount.

“Aye.”

As Brice led the way into the forest, his mind was awhirl. So simple that it must be flawed. But at the moment he could think of nothing except Meredith. Sweet, beautiful Meredith. Would that God keep his woman safe until she was back in his arms.

~ ~ ~

Hunched inside the warm woolen cloak, Meredith searched for a familiar landmark. Though she possessed a keen sense of direction, she had ridden this trail only once. And then much of it had been traversed in the dark.

For hours the feeling persisted that she was being followed. But though Meredith stopped often and scanned the surrounding woods, she saw no trace of another human. Had not her mother often accused her of having a vivid imagination? Though at the time it had seemed a blessing, she now realized it was a curse. She was conjuring up dangers where there were none.

From a nearby wood a bird called, its shrill tone piercing the silence. Her hand flew to the dirk at her waist and she peered about, prepared to do battle. When the bird lifted off from the tree and soared heavenward, Meredith wiped her damp hands on her breeches and felt a wild rush of relief.

Moments later she heard the rustle of leaves as a deer, frightened by her appearance, darted behind a boulder. For long minutes her heart pounded in her chest. She swallowed and, calling herself a timid fool, turned her mount toward a ridge of rock to the east.

The rain had finally stopped, although the ground remained moist and spongy. Meredith allowed her mount to pick its path along the trail, trusting the animal’s instincts more than her own. Several times the horse stumbled, but each time managed to regain its footing within seconds.

At last they reached the top of the ridge. Stiff from her long hours in the saddle, Meredith slid to the ground. Grasping the animal’s reins she led the stallion to the edge of the ravine and peered below. At the sight, she caught her breath.

The spires of trees gently lifted their limbs to the heavens as if in prayer. But hidden beneath their soft thick canopy, she knew, the mountainous trail below her was a maze of winding rivers and steep mountain crags.

There would be no rest if she were to reach flat land by nightfall. The trail below her was every bit as treacherous as the one she had already traveled.

For a moment she pressed her hands to her back to ease her cramped muscles. Then, tossing the reins over the horse’s head, she wearily prepared to pull herself back into the saddle.

A strong, muscled arm closed around her throat, pulling her off balance. As she was about to scream a hand closed over her mouth, cutting off her words.

A voice she recognized sent a ripple of terror through her veins. The voice, unmistakably Holden Mackay’s, trembled with the excitement of the hunt.

“So, my lady. How convenient of you to leave the safety of the Campbell’s bed and come to me. It seems we will have time after all to finish what we started at Kinloch House.”

How could she have forgotten this most mortal of all enemies? She cursed herself for her carelessness. The concern for her sisters had erased all reasonable thought.

She pried at his offending hands but could not budge them. With a laugh he tightened his grip on her throat until dark spots danced before her eyes.

In desperation she gripped the hilt of the sword at her waist. With the pressure at her throat it took all of her strength to pull the sword from the scabbard. But when the blade flashed dully her attacker took a step back, releasing her.

She sucked in several long scalding breaths before turning to face him. “Had I a sword at Kinloch House, Mackay, I would have killed you then.”

Though he was startled, he threw back his head and laughed. “Do you think yourself a match for me, my lady?” He laughed again. “Remember, woman, I am a Highland warrior. I was born by the sword.”

“Then prepare to die by it as well,” Meredith called, lifting the point of her sword to his heart.

He leaped aside, surprised by her boldness. He had expected her to weep and to plead for her life. He had not expected her to fight him.

He reached for his own sword and drew it out. As the blade danced through the air, she lunged, pressed and dodged, with all the skill of a trained swordsman.

Holden Mackay wiped a hand across his forehead to erase the sheen of sweat. His own skill was not with the thin sword designed for thrusting, but with the heavier broadsword. It was unheard of that a woman could best a man at any warlike skill. It was just that she had managed to catch him by surprise, he told himself.

With his sword pointed at her heart he lunged. She stepped aside and brought her sword up, catching him in the shoulder. A scarlet stain bubbled to the surface and spilled across his cloak.

He swore viciously and lunged again. This time he almost caught her, but at the last moment she ducked, bringing the point of her sword singing past his temple.

His eyes narrowed. She was good. Very good. And he was being made to look a fool.

Again he lifted his sword and again she dodged the tip of his blade and watched as the blow meant for her fell harmlessly against the branches of a low bush.

“The forest should fear you, Mackay,” she taunted him with a laugh. “With your wild parrying you may cut down a valuable tree.”

“It is you I will cut down to size. When I finish with you, wench, you will wish you had never been born.”

Meredith didn’t bother to respond. With agile steps she backed him against the trunk of a gnarled old tree and brought the tip of her sword to his throat.

“Those are the last words you will ever speak.”

“I think not.” A smile slowly spread across his features, giving him the sinister look of a deadly snake. He pressed a hand tightly to his wounded shoulder but blood quickly oozed through his fingers, dripping onto the damp earth and staining the rocks at his feet. “You will hand over your sword to my men who stand behind you or they will cut you up in little pieces and feed you to the wild animals that roam these mountains.”

“Do you think me foolish enough to turn away from you for even one moment? I know your little trick. You think to render me defenseless while I am distracted.”

His smile grew. “Take the lady’s sword.”

Meredith felt a hand at her shoulder and turned, prepared to do battle with another. Half a dozen men faced her, swords drawn. From the looks on their faces she knew that they would have no qualms about killing her where she stood.

From behind came Holden Mackay’s evil laughter. “Drop your sword or my men will run you through.”

He watched as her sword slipped from her fingers and dropped on the moist ground.

“Now, my lady, I believe we have a score to settle.” To his men he shouted, “Bind her and toss her over my saddle. The lady is mine.” He leaned close. His breath was hot on her cheek as he gave a hollow laugh and added for her ears alone, “To do with as I please.”

~ ~ ~

Brice and his men rode in single file along the path worn into the earth by Meredith’s mount. When it was raining it had been an easy job to trail her. Now that the rain had stopped, he prayed they would find her before the earth dried up and the trail was lost.

None of the men spoke, and though they were weary, not one of them complained of the long hours in the saddle. They knew how much their leader loved the woman they searched for. They would travel to hell and back for Brice Campbell.

As they topped a ridge Brice suddenly reined in his mount and slid to the ground.

“There were men and horses here.” Brice pointed to the churned up earth. “And there was a scuffle.”

He walked several paces before stooping. He touched a finger to the small footprint imbedded in the soil. “No man’s foot could leave so small a mark.”

Angus swallowed, reluctant to agree.