Highland Mist (3 page)

All three men looked toward her before Gregor answered, “I was there on a personal matter. I owe you my life, Conall.”

He had stated the last as if it pained him, and Glenna realized he was a man who didn’t like to be beholden to anyone. And though he smiled easily enough, it didn’t reach his eyes. He interested her, mostly because he had been at her home and she hadn’t even known. Just what else had the MacNeil hidden?

“You’re welcome in my clan anytime,” Conall said, and clasped Gregor on the back. “Any man who fights the MacNeils is an ally.”

Her mind raced at what she had heard from Gregor. What had he been doing at the castle? She had never seen him before, yet he acted as though he knew the MacNeil.

It wasn’t long before the rest of the MacInnes’ men surrounded them. They quickly saw to their injuries while studying her. Her chest began to ache and clench tightly as if a great weight rested there while the back of her neck began to throb painfully.

She looked up and spotted the looks of hatred and malice directed at her. Surely the soldiers couldn’t be the cause, but she knew in her heart they were. She had felt this pain in her own home, but it hadn’t been nearly this terrible.

Her limbs grew heavy to where she could barely lift them without great effort. Her breath locked within her lungs. The more she fought, the more excruciating it became.

Pain infused her body as she struggled to keep it from showing on her face. The looks ate away at her resistance until she had to lean against the horse or crumple under their weight. Fear nestled itself comfortably in her stomach and threatened to bring about the old demons.

“What are you going to do with her, laird?” one man asked.

She strained to tamp down the fear so she could hear his answer. Had she been a fool to take Iona’s words to heart? How could any captive trust their captor as easily and surely as she trusted hers?

“She’s my prisoner. I plan to trade her for my sister Iona.”

Glenna gasped and tried to stay on her feet as Conall’s words sunk in and the blackness threatened to take hold.

Iona? Saints help me.

Chapter Two

The first thing Glenna saw when she opened her eyes was an intense silver gaze boring into her. Conall’s strong jaw, a nose that had been broken at least once and black brows that arched ever so slightly, loomed above her.

“We thought we’d lost ye, lass,” Angus said as he came to kneel beside Conall.

Conall frowned. “You should have told me you needed to rest.”

“It wasn’t that,” she said.

“Then what?”

Her gaze traveled to the men who still stared with open hostility. “They hate me because I’m a MacNeil.” She couldn’t believe she had fainted, but the embarrassment over that quickly left as the pain began anew.

“That’s true enough,” Angus said. “Can’t say as I blame them, lass. It was a trap the MacNeil set.”

Years of hearing servants whisper words of MacNeil cruelty when they had thought she wasn’t listening came to mind. Just what had he done? Would her shame at being a MacNeil never end?

“Glenna?” Once again Conall forced her attention to him.

“I’m sorry for what the MacNeil has done. It’s unforgivable. I’ve heard whispers before but nothing solid until today. I had no idea…”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, you’re now my prisoner,” he said, and brought her to her feet. “Are you well enough to ride? We’ve wasted enough time.”

The pain abated as the men focused their attention on their mounts instead of her. Her relief was short-lived though once Conall set her in front of him, and the contact of his hard muscled chest against her back was as foreign as the soil she was on. But she felt safe. Safe for the first time in her life.

Iona
.

Tears misted her eyes so that the beautiful budding green landscape around her blurred. Iona, her one and only friend. Glenna would give up her life to know where Iona was, and if she was safe. She had begged MacNeil to tell her something, anything of Iona, but he had refused.

MacNeil had said Iona had come to MacNeil Castle to teach her, but Glenna had been unsure just what Iona had been sent to teach until talk of magic had begun. Then Glenna had known MacNeil was using Iona.

Unbidden, a memory of bruises on Iona’s arms came to mind. She had questioned Iona about them but had never gotten an answer. None of the questions about where Iona had come from were answered either.

Glenna had thought Iona had run away from her home, but seeing Conall, she had to wonder if that was the case. From what she had seen so far he was nothing like MacNeil.

MacNeil said Iona had left, but had she really? Or had she run from MacNeil Castle? Glenna wouldn’t blame her if she had. Many times she had wanted to escape MacNeil’s bonds, and many times she had been caught before she had even reached the gatehouse.

“You’re quiet. I would’ve thought you would question me until my ears ached at what I was going to do with you,” Conall’s deep voice reached her as they passed beneath a huge fir tree.

“I know what you’re going to do with me. Instead, I’m looking at what I’ve been denied.” It was true she feared what was before her, but Iona’s words comforted her. Not to mention, knowing she was with Iona’s brother helped ease some of those fears.

“Denied? What are you talking about, lass?” His voice rumbled in his chest at his question.

She gazed greedily at the many trees and flowers they passed. “MacNeil has kept me within his walls all my life.”

“And the touching?”

She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at her capturer, his wide, full mouth only inches from her. “The only person to touch me was MacNeil and even then only occasionally.”

“Why?” he questioned, his eyes narrowed.

“Why does the sun set in the west?” She shrugged. “I was never given an answer, though I asked many times.”

“How old are you?”

She snorted. “Old enough to have been married with children.”

“And why aren’t you?”

“He’s refused the few brave souls who have asked for my hand.”

“What reason did he give?”

“MacNeil never gives a reason.”

“No child should be raised like that,” he said, and drew her against his chest. It was probably a reflex on his part, but Glenna couldn’t help but like this close contact with him. He was pleasant to look upon and had treated her with more kindness than she had seen from her own clan.

The women ignored her, the soldiers mocked her, and the children ran screaming from her. She closed her eyes and willed those memories to fade. She couldn’t stop shaking, yet from the cold or from being near Conall she didn’t know. Touching and being touched was not something she was accustomed to, yet these men thought nothing of it. And here was a man who had saved her. Yet he didn’t know it.

“Are you cold, lass? You’re trembling.”

“A wee bit.”

Conall wrapped his plaid around her and settled her more comfortably against him. He didn’t know what to make of her, but he knew he would come close by the time he arrived home.

He breathed in the clean scent of her and wrinkled his nose as a tendril of her dark hair tickled his cheek. With a small adjustment of his head he was able to have a view of her face.

She had a high forehead, dark brows that accented her almond-shaped eyes. Her big, dark eyes hastily took in everything while her luscious mouth parted as she gazed at the sights. He looked at the trees and sky and didn’t see anything unusual, but he might have a different perspective if he had been locked within stone walls.

Her lips were full, ripe…kissable. Now what the hell could have made him think that?

She hadn’t lied about her childhood. His ability to know when someone was indeed untruthful came in handy in situations like this. He let his thoughts wander over her and what he had learned.

Much later he called a halt to their steady progress. “We need to rest the horses if we’re to return before nightfall.”

The men dismounted to water their horses. He slid from his horse then turned and reached to help Glenna dismount. “I won’t bite, lass,” he said, adding a smile when she hesitated.

She allowed him to assist her, though she was suddenly more cautious. He wasn’t surprised to find his hands spanned her tiny waist. Her head barely came to his chest, but he sensed a power in her that she had yet to find.

And God help everyone when she did find it
.

He watched her slight figure as she made her way to a rock and leaned against it. He grabbed his horse’s reins and led the animal to the small stream.

His gaze drifted over his men and the easy way they talked, laughed and touched.

Those simple pleasures he had taken for granted and wondered what life would be like without those small things. But his mind refused to dwell on that when he had bigger concerns.

Like the MacNeil.

The war Conall had wanted to prevent was no longer avoidable…it was inevitable. Especially now that he knew MacNeils were responsible for his sister’s vanishing.

Glenna had offered herself, and in doing so would not only bring MacNeil and allow Conall to exact his revenge, she would also provide him with a means for Iona’s safe return. Only then, after fulfilling his vows to his mother and father, would he be free to pursue the vow he made to himself—to see every MacNeil who had a hand in taking Iona die by his blade.

He ran his hand down his face and sighed deeply. His eyes opened to find Gregor beside him, a hint of worry in his dark eyes.

“I’d watch your men around Glenna. Their hatred is having an effect on her that I’ve never seen.”

Conall swiveled his head until he spotted her. She walked near him and studied the surroundings. Her slim hands reached out and stroked the trees, their leaves and anything else she could grasp, her touch reverent as if it would shatter at her contact.

Yet he saw by the tightness of her mouth, her pale complexion and the fine sheen of sweat that Gregor had stated the truth. She glanced up and gave him a weak smile.

He motioned her to the water. “Come drink.”

“Och, but it’s cold,” she said when her fingers dipped into the icy water.

“Aye. This stream is fed from the snow atop the mountains. It will get a wee bit warmer during the summer.”

She leaned down and brought the water to her lips. Her eyes closed. Water beaded and dripped from her mouth. It ran down her chin to her neck and disappeared to hidden places Conall itched to touch and see.

His body hardened instantly. His hand yearned to follow the path of the water and see if her skin was as soft as it looked. He cursed and blamed it on the fact he hadn’t been with a woman recently, and he would be sure to remedy that as soon as he could.

“Mount up,” he called when she had drunk her fill.

He settled her on his horse, her petite body molding to his as if they were one. His hand dropped to her trim waist and rested on her flared hips. By the way she sat with her back straight and body tense he knew she was in some discomfort, but all he could think of was looking over her shoulder at the swell of her breasts. He said a brief prayer that she didn’t feel the bulge of his desire pressing into her back and again wrapped his plaid about her before taking the reins.

They traveled hard and fast, and when most women would have complained, she said not a word.

He had just slowed his horse to a walk when she turned her head, and asked, “Do you hear that?”

He listened but heard nothing other than the sounds of the Highlands. “What is it you hear?”

“Music. Beautiful music,” she whispered, looking toward the sky.

“There’s no music, lass.”
And now I need to add your sanity to my growing list of worries
.

She didn’t say more about the music, and for that Conall was relieved. Could she be addled? Is that why none of the MacNeils would touch her? Nay. That couldn’t be the reason. There had to be something else, something she wasn’t telling him. They rode in silence, and it unnerved him to be so comfortable with her. She was the enemy after all, even though she was innocent.

After a while, he glanced at the sun and was surprised they had come so far. It amazed him even more that she wasn’t like most women he knew who would have been screaming like shrews to be taken from their homes by a complete stranger, regardless that she had practically asked him to take her.

But Glenna was nothing like the women he was used to. In some ways she reminded him of his mother who had been strong-willed and headstrong.

When they could go no farther without resting the horses, he halted and dismounted. He turned and held out his arms. She slid easily into his arms, but when his hands left her, she crumpled.

Conall caught her before she hit the ground. “I’ve got you,” he said, and carried her to a boulder. “Rest. I’ll bring you water.”

While he retrieved his waterskin, he noted the many hostile glances his men gave her. A dull ache in the back of his neck began to pound, signaling that there might be trouble. Trouble he didn’t want or need.