Highland Revenge (Fated Hearts Book 1) (3 page)

Before long the men Eoin had sent to fetch the lass returned, leading her horse, but without her on it. “Where the hell is she?”

“I don’t know, Laird. She was well ahead of us, and when we finally sighted her mount, there was no sign of the lass.”

The guardsman to whom Eoin had addressed his questions shook his head in disgust.

“What?” Eoin demanded.

“That one doesn’t have the sense God gave a rock.”

“Why do ye say that? She has managed to escape me for the moment. That seems clever enough.”

“But at what price? She has lost her mount. I thought she was a better horsewoman than that. Now the fool lass is lost, alone and unguarded on an enemy’s land.”

“Laird, the reins were tied. She wasn’t unhorsed by accident. She clearly wanted the horse to lead us in another direction.”

Eoin arched an eyebrow at the MacNicol guardsman. “Possibly she is not as brainless as ye think. But ye needn’t fear for her safety. We will find her. Oh, on second thought, I suppose we’re the enemy ye’re worried about. Maybe yer fears aren’t unfounded after all.” Eoin set four of his men to guard the captives while he and his remaining men searched the surrounding area.

Eoin’s anger and frustration grew as the afternoon drew on and there was no sign of their prey. How could one small woman have evaded them so completely? The area was forested, but not densely so. There were no caves in the vicinity and they had searched every scrap of undergrowth. Surely a scared lass running through the forest would leave some evidence of her passing, but they found no sign of a trail. Even if she had picked her way carefully to avoid leaving any trace, she couldn’t have gotten very far.

When his commander, Marcas, returned from searching the area to the south, having found no sign of her, Eoin swore. “Where the hell can she be?”

“I’m damned if I know. We found nothing. Maybe she’s part faery and sprouted wings.”

“God’s blood, Marcas, quit jesting. She didn’t sprout wings. Ye know this land as well as I do. There’s no place for her to hide where we haven’t looked.”

“Except the treetops Laird, but as ye say, she didn’t sprout wings.”

“Ye don’t suppose…Marcas, could she have climbed a tree?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but it’s the only place we haven’t looked.”

That had to be it—it was the only explanation. “Damnation! Everyone spread out from here and search again. This time
look up
.”

Eoin stomped off in the direction her horse had run first. The afternoon was wearing on; if they didn’t find her before the sun set, they would have to wait until morning. By all that was holy, she was probably sitting in a tree laughing at them. When he found the wench, she would regret this. It would serve her right if she had to spend the night perched in a tree.

~ * ~

Fiona stayed well hidden high in her tree for several hours. She watched silently as men searched for her. As the day waned, her spirits rose. The searchers had moved on from her immediate area. She was both hungry and thirsty, but couldn’t risk climbing down just yet. Still, she believed it wouldn’t be long before she could make her escape. Then, in one moment, her hopes were dashed. She heard him before she saw him striding through the woods,
looking up
.

A tall, broad-chested warrior stopped below her tree and stared up at her. She couldn’t quite see his face through the foliage. She maneuvered to one side and tilted her head to try and see him better. If it was him, if it was Eoin MacKay, she would be all right. She would climb down and tell him who she was. She felt sure he wouldn’t harm her once he knew.

~ * ~

He hadn’t gone terribly far when he caught a glimpse of white halfway up a massive oak. She was well hidden. Her plaid was dark green; he wouldn’t have noticed her among the leaves if he hadn’t been specifically looking for her. He strode closer to the tree, stopping once so he could look up through the branches. There, perched in the crotch of two thick limbs was a woman so perfectly beautiful she might have been part faery. He was left momentarily speechless. Her skin was fair, with a faint pink blush to her cheek. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they were ringed with sooty lashes. Something told him that, regardless of their hue, they would sparkle. Her rosy lips were full and soft—lips that were made to be kissed. The late afternoon breeze ruffled the mass of black curls around her shoulders. Her léine was torn, but otherwise she appeared none the worse for wear.
She is not a faery, she is a MacNicol
, he reminded himself.

She looked down at him silently with her head cocked to one side, as if she was trying to solve some puzzle. She didn’t seem remotely frightened. That would have to change if he was to exact his revenge. “Have ye had a lovely day perched in yer tree, watching us search for ye?”

“I suspect my day was better than yers.”

Her impertinent answer irritated him. “Well ye’ve had yer bit of fun, but it’s over. Climb down.”

She ignored him. “Who are ye?”

“Yer captor, and I ordered ye to climb down. Do it now.”

“Nay, I asked ye a perfectly reasonable question, and ye aren’t my captor if ye can’t reach me. Until I know who ye are, I think I’d just as soon stay free, even if I am up a tree.”

“Free? Nay lass, ye’re as good as locked in my dungeon, and I promise ye will regret yer impertinence.”

He called to one of his men. “Donald, it fair breaks my heart, but the MacNicol lass doesn’t wish to join our company.”

“An arrow would bring her down quick enough.”

“Aye it would, but ye heard her guardsman. This is Fiona MacNicol, Bhaltair’s niece. I wouldn’t want to harm a hair on her wee head.”

Donald snorted. “Ye have no love for the MacNicols, and neither do I. Have ye forgotten? One of my older brothers rode with ye that night.”

“Ye’re right, Donald. I have no love for the MacNicols, but the ransom this one will fetch will hurt Bhaltair’s greedy, black heart nearly as much as a steel blade thrust into it. Mark my words, we’ll have our revenge. We are leaving. Climb up, drag her down and bind her. She managed to evade us once and I won’t have it happen again. We have already wasted too much time on her.” He didn’t spare her another glance but called over his shoulder, “By the way, lass, I am Laird Eoin MacKay, and ye’re most assuredly my prisoner.”

When he first spoke to her, she was stunned by the anger and bitterness in his voice. Hatred for her family,
for her
, practically rolled off him in waves. She would stay out of this warrior’s grasp as long as she possibly could. Could she climb higher to remain beyond their reach? She was lighter and could climb on smaller branches that would break under the weight of a warrior. Then as the angry man strode off, he said the words she had hoped to hear.
I am Laird Eoin MacKay
. She would tell him. It would be all right.

As the younger Mackay started to swing up onto the low-hanging branch, she stopped him. “There is no need to risk injuring either of us. I will come down.” She made her way back through the limbs, reached the lowest branch and swung down, dropping the last few feet to the ground. Donald grabbed her roughly by the elbow. She jerked back, trying to pull out of his grip, but he held firm, yanking her close.

“What are ye doing? Let me go.”

“Oh nay, my lady, the laird said to bind ye, and I intend to.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll go with ye. Once yer laird understands who I am, everything will be fine.”

Donald gave a cold laugh, pulling her wrists together and binding them tightly. “He knows exactly who ye are, and I doubt that
everything will be fine
where ye’re concerned.”

She didn’t argue; she felt sure that things could be sorted out. Donald grabbed her elbow again and dragged her to the clearing where the MacKay’s held her uncle’s men captive. She stumbled. Donald’s grip on her elbow didn’t keep her from falling to her knees. He yanked her up. “Laird, what do ye want me to do with this one?”

Eoin MacKay turned around and stared for a moment. He was bigger than she remembered and although somewhat harder looking, just as handsome. His brown hair curled at his neck. “Put her on her horse. Someone can lead the reins.”

“Laird MacKay, please unbind my wrists. Ye don’t know who I am.”

He glared at her, his dark brown eyes flashing with anger. “Oh, well then, do enlighten me.”

“I’m…” she hesitated. Her uncle’s men were all around. She couldn’t speak in front of them. There was no telling what her uncle would do to her if he ever found out what she had done. “Can we speak privately?” she asked very softly.

“Nay, I know who ye are. Ye’re Fiona MacNicol and I will reap a substantial ransom because ye trespassed on my lands. That’s all I need to know.”

“But, Laird MacKay—”

“I said nay. I’ve wasted enough time with ye. Men, mount up.”

Fiona’s heart fell. He wouldn’t listen to her. He would leave her bound and throw her in his dungeon.

Donald lifted her onto Morag’s back none too gently, mounted his own horse, then took Morag’s reins, leading her. Fiona could only grip the edge of the saddle with her bound hands. She worked at her bonds, trying to loosen them, but it only served to chafe her wrists until they were raw. She tried not to panic. She hated being confined.

After her parents died, any time she incurred her uncle’s wrath, he simply had to lock her in a small room as punishment. It took him a while to figure it out. No other punishment ever bothered her much. A whack on the hand or backside, while painful for a moment, was easily forgotten. Being forced to sit and do needlework with Aunt Sorcha for hours, rather than running free and finding trouble outdoors, was endlessly annoying, but still tolerable. The threat of a locked door, however, sent chills down her spine and filled her heart with dread. It was the only thing that eventually forced her to set aside the boyish ways of her youth and accept that she had to behave as a lady.

Having her hands bound was bad enough. She didn’t think she could stand being locked in a dungeon. There was no denying Eoin MacKay had every reason to hate the MacNicols. What her uncle had done to him years ago was unforgivable, and she wasn’t the only member of the clan who thought so. When the prisoner had escaped, Uncle Bhaltair went into a savage rage. They had never been allies of the MacKay’s, but Fiona could not understand the unbridled hatred her uncle held for them, specifically for Eoin and his father. He had never learned who had helped Eoin escape. Padraig, who’d stood guard that night, had been drugged and was found unconscious. Still Uncle Bhaltair had him beaten savagely. It was perhaps the single most horrifying moment of her life, and yet there was nothing she could do. Confessing the role she had played might have gotten Padraig, and perhaps others, killed.

All she had to do was get Eoin to listen. Maybe then he would show her some kindness and remove her bonds. Maybe he wouldn’t lock her in his dungeon. Even if she could find a way to tell him, out of earshot of her uncle’s men, would Eoin even believe her? She didn’t know, but she had to try. It was the only way to avoid being locked up.

His horse was slightly ahead of hers. She called out to him, “Laird MacKay, may I have some water?”

“Thirsty are ye? If ye hadn’t hidden in that tree for so long we, would be there by now and ye could have yer drink of water.”

“Have ye never been thirsty?” She asked quietly.

“Oh aye, I have. Did ye know yer dear uncle locked me in his dungeon with no water?”

“Aye. I’m sorry, that was dishonorable, and my father would have been ashamed.”

Eoin glanced over his shoulder at her, looking a bit taken aback by her answer.

“Mind yer tongue, Fiona MacNicol,” one of her uncle’s guardsmen warned.

Eoin regained his composure immediately. “Well, I can assure ye, my lady, thirst is a terrible thing.”

“Ye know that and yet ye’d let another go thirsty? Did no one ever aid ye and give ye water?”

His back stiffened and he didn’t answer. He slowed his horse until they were side by side, then thrust his costrel toward her. “Drink.”

She took it in her bound hands and fumbled, trying to remove the cork. He made no move to assist her. Eventually she uncorked it and took a long drink. When she finished, she worked the cork back in and handed it back to him. “Thank ye.”

“Keep it.”

“That’s kind of ye.” She added quietly, “I hope I won’t need to keep this one hidden as ye did.” She couldn’t risk saying more, but maybe he would understand her meaning.

What in the hell did she mean by that? How could she possibly know?
He glared at her, capturing her gaze. Her eyes were a remarkable shade of blue and they bored into him as if she were trying to tell him something. Was she worried that he would treat his prisoners as the MacNicols had? She had no right to question his honor. “I have more honor than yer uncle. Ye will neither starve nor go thirsty.” He kicked his horse into a trot and moved away from her.

The ride back to Naomh-dùn took several hours. When they arrived, Eoin’s younger brothers, Aiden and Tasgall, met them as they rode into the courtyard. Aiden slapped him on the back as he dismounted. “What have we here? That was quite a hunting trip, brother.”

“We chanced upon eight MacNicol guardsmen and Bhaltair’s niece, Fiona, taking a short-cut across our land.”

“What ransom will ye demand?” his youngest brother Tasgall asked.

“I haven’t decided. Let’s get them secured before we worry about that.” He turned to look at the prisoners. For the first time that day, Fiona’s remarkable blue eyes were filled with fear, and she remained on her mount. He handed his horse off to a stable boy, went to her and lifted her down. He said nothing, simply taking her by the elbow and guiding her into the great hall, followed closely by Aiden and Tasgall, the other prisoners and the remainder of his men.

“Marcas, see that the MacNicols are secured in the dungeon.”

“Aye, Laird.”

“What room do ye want prepared for Lady Fiona?” asked Aiden.

“The dungeon will serve for all of the MacNicols. See that she is put in a cell alone.”

Aiden glanced at Fiona. “Are ye serious?”

“Have I ever given ye an order that I didn’t mean?”

“But Eoin…”

At that moment their ginger-haired fireball of a sister fairly flew across the hall. “Eoin, what is happening, who are these people? I didn’t know we were expecting visitors. Why are their hands bound?”

Eoin shook his head. Anna was ten and seven and since their father had passed away months earlier, she had become both his responsibility and his primary headache.

“Anna, they aren’t visitors, they are MacNicols who were trespassing on our land. They are our prisoners until their laird pays their ransom,” Tasgall explained.

“Oh. But who is she?”

“She is my prisoner like the rest, and ye don’t need to know anything else. Marcas, ye have yer orders.” Marcas nodded and took Fiona by the elbow as the MacNicol soldiers were ushered across the hall to the stairs leading to the dungeons.

Anna grabbed her arm as she passed. “But she is just a lass. Ye don’t mean for her to go to the dungeons.” She pushed Marcas away and pulled Fiona behind her.

Eoin growled. “Anna, don’t interfere.”

“Ye
do
mean to send her to the dungeon.” She turned on him, hitting him in the chest with both fists. “How dare ye, Eoin!”

He grabbed her by the wrists and held her away from him. “Stop this instantly!” he bellowed at her. “She is a MacNicol, and this is none of yer concern.”

“Aye it is. I don’t care who she is. She is a lady and ye won’t put her in a cell in the dungeon.
Ye won’t
. Papa would never have allowed it.”

“Anna, I said this doesn’t concern ye. Leave the hall now.” When Anna didn’t move immediately, he took a step toward her. He only meant to give her a little shove toward the tower stairs, but Fiona, bound hands and all, was between them in an instant.

“Don’t hurt her.”

Eoin was outraged. “Are ye protecting my own sister from me? What kind of monster do ye think I am?”

“The kind that locks a lady in a dungeon,” Anna shouted over Fiona’s shoulder.

“By God, Anna, get out of here now!”

“Don’t hurt her.” Fiona repeated. “She is just trying to help me.”

“She is defying her Laird. Anna, get out.”

“Someone defied their laird to help ye once,” Fiona said, barely above a whisper.

The room fell silent. Even the MacNicol prisoners turned to see what was happening.

In a deadly calm voice Eoin asked, “How do ye know that?”

Fiona glanced around the room before answering. “I know what he did. If someone hadn’t defied Uncle Bhaltair, how else could ye have lived and escaped from Castle MacNicol?”

Did Fiona know about the lad? Eoin figured Finn had been about nine at the time. He’d be Anna’s age now. Eoin wanted to ask what became of him, but he feared by doing so, he would give away Finn’s secret and inadvertently bring him harm. “Ye know what who did, Fiona? What are ye talking about?”

Again she glanced nervously around. “I-I-I’m talking about my uncle. I know what he did to ye. It was not the way to treat a prisoner. It was cruel and shameful.”

“Like locking a lady in a dungeon,” Anna interjected.

“Anna, I was thrown in a pitch black cell, injured and ill. They gave me no food or even water for days, no way to stay warm. They intended to let me die without even asking for ransom. That’s cruel and shameful. I have no intention of denying my prisoners sustenance. But they
are prisoners
. Simply locking captives up does not constitute cruelty.”

Anna stepped past Fiona and put her arms around her brother. “I know it was horrible, Eoin. I remember the dreams ye used to have. But someone helped ye. She is just a lass, like me, and the dungeon scares me. Please don’t do this to her.”

Eoin’s anger evaporated. His little sister was too kind for her own good. He wrapped her in his embrace and kissed the top of her head. He knew she meant well.

“Eoin, for what it’s worth, I agree. Da would never have approved of this,” Aiden offered.

“Nay, he wouldn’t have,” said Tasgall. “If someone captured Anna, would ye want her held in a dungeon until we could arrange to pay her ransom?”

“That’s not the point and I didn’t ask for opinions. Marcas, ye have yer orders!”

Marcas once again took Fiona by the arm to lead her away.

“Eoin, ye can lock her in a tower room and place a guard on her constantly.”

“Aiden, I—” Eoin’s gaze landed on Fiona, who trembled violently as Marcas pulled her away.

Anna started to cry. “Please don’t, please, please. I’m begging ye. Can’t ye see how scared she is?”

His sister was distraught. Dear God, what was he doing? He was venting his anger at Bhaltair on a terrified lass. “Wheesht, lass. Stop crying. I won’t put her in the dungeon. It will be all right.” A very small, evil part of him, the part that had nursed his hatred of the MacNicols for eight years, had urged him to make her suffer the same fate as her men. But the bigger part of him, the better part, reminded him that Bhaltair wouldn’t be hurt by this. The small frightened lass being dragged away had never harmed him. She had only been a child when Bhaltair left him to die, and would have been powerless to help. “Marcas take her to a tower room and see that she is guarded at all times.”

“Aye, Laird.”

Relieved, Anna hugged him again. “Thank ye, Eoin.”

He added, “But I’m warning ye, Fiona MacNicol, if ye cause any problems or try to escape, ye will be locked in the dungeon. Do ye understand me?

Pale and shaking, Fiona nodded.