Mary Reed McCall (3 page)

Swallowing hard, Aileana rubbed her hand across her nose. She wouldn’t cry. She had to be strong to make her clan proud. She’d figure out what to do. She’d go and—

A tingle shivered up her spine, despite the protection
of her hiding place. She’d heard footsteps on the ground nearby, she was sure of it. A twig crackled to the left of the clearing, and Aileana’s gaze darted to the spot. Something flashed in the sunlight. Something metallic, long and sharp. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to inch farther back into the concealing trees. Her cursed hair would be like a beacon in the light. She might as well jump up and down and wave her arms.

Something dug into her thigh as she slid along the ground, and she tasted blood as she bit her lip to keep from yelping. Dragon’s breath, how could she have been so stupid?
Never underestimate your foe.
The words rang shrill and clear in her head, Gavin’s warning from their childhood games with claymores echoing too late to be heeded. She’d broken a fundamental rule, and now she would pay.

She felt blood, warm and wet on her leg from where the stick had gouged her, but she ignored the sting as she inched toward the copse. Hair rose on the back of her neck and her breath froze.

“There she is!”

The cry pierced the glen, and Aileana’s muscles bunched into a knot of energy an instant before she shot to her feet and ran.

She’d never make it. At any second she expected to feel the cutting rip of an arrow between her shoulder blades. But then, somehow, she was within the shelter of the trees…and flat on her face. Alancing pain shot from her ankle up her leg, and she rolled to her side with a gasp. The root that had caught her foot looked innocuous, but its gnarly strength had been enough to make her see stars.

Biting her lip, Aileana dragged herself through the damp leaves, groping her way to a hollowed-out trunk that was tipped on its side. If she could just wedge her
self inside it, she might remain undetected. Her blood pounded and her breath came ragged as she started to dig her way into the hiding place.

The fertile smell of rotted wood filled her nose. She didn’t hear anything but her own labored breathing, until a deep voice behind her echoed, “I’d hate to have my men shoot that pretty backside of yours, but if you don’t stop burrowing like a hunted fox, you can be sure you’ll be serving as their trophy for the day.”

D
uncan watched her go still with a twinge of regret. But the warmth caused by the sight of her wriggling bottom began to recede as he focused on the green and blue bit of plaid draped over that delectable portion of her. She was a MacDonell and his enemy. He couldn’t allow himself to forget it.

Though he stifled the urge to help her up as she struggled to stand, the sight of the blood smeared across her leg gave him pause.

“You’re bleeding.” With a nod, he sent Ewen for a dampened cloth. When he returned, Duncan held it out to her. “Here. Clean it so we can assess the wound.”

“There is no wound,” Aileana mumbled. “It’s only a scratch.”

Duncan studied her. She looked much different from the shrieking force of nature she’d been on the battlefield; now she stood still before him, tight-lipped and pale, though struggling to appear unshaken by his for
midable presence or that of his men. Still, she wasn’t as good at pretense as he was at reading people; his years in the Tower had honed that skill razor sharp. She was favoring one ankle, and her eyes were dimmed from pain and fear.

He held out the cloth again. “Clean the
scratch
, then. Now.”

Clamping her mouth tight, she grabbed the rag and began to dab her thigh. He heard her hissed intake of breath as it brushed across the cut. Though his jaw tightened, he refused to assist. He’d probably get nothing but the sting of her nails down his cheek if he tried.

When she finished, she looked up, holding the soiled cloth between her finger and thumb. “What do you want me to do with this, then?” Her voice lilted with sarcasm, though the effect was ruined by the dirt on her face and the dead leaves hanging from her hair.

Duncan took the rag and tossed it back to Ewen. “We have unresolved matters between us, woman. Give me the amulet. I’ll wait no longer.”

“I will be addressed by my proper name. I am Aileana of the Donells.”

Irritation filled him at her retort, only to abate when her eyes welled with restrained grief.

“My father was chieftain of our clan before you slew him, and I am the keeper of the
Ealach
. No one will be touching it save me.” She swept a glance over him and added with a reckless tip of her chin, “Especially not the leader of the wild, murdering MacRaes.”

He might have admired her rash courage in other circumstances, but not now when she was withholding what was so clearly his. Taking two steps forward, he grasped the front of her tunic and pulled her to him. His voice was dangerously quiet. “Hear this,
woman
. I tire
of your insults. The amulet is mine, and you’ll be giving it to me now—or I’ll be forced to find other means of getting it from you.”

“Then you’d be spitting in the wind, because even if I wished, I could not give it to you.”

“Why?”

“Because I do not have it.”

“You lie.”

She cast a bitter smile at him. “I learned long ago not to lie, MacRae. And I make this vow…as long as I have breath, your murdering grasp will not be touching the
Ealach
again.”

Cold fury swept through Duncan, and he thrust her away from him. She thought to mock him? It was a dangerous game she played, far more dangerous than she knew. For thirteen years he’d endured taunts and insults from his English captors. He’d felt the slashing degradation of their words even more often than the sting of their fists, and he’d never bear the brunt of it willingly again.

Utter silence fell over the glen as his clansmen shifted uneasily. Duncan willed his rage to ebb enough to speak. “If you do not give me the
Ealach
right now, Aileana MacDonell, you’re going to be a very sorry lassie.”

After a moment Aileana’s chin tilted up another fraction, but she shook her head nay.

Duncan stared at her in disbelief. She had to be bluffing.

And his bluff would be better.

He paused for only an instant before motioning for Ewen to approach. “Strip her for a search.”

Duncan watched Aileana’s gaze dart to Ewen and then back to him, as if measuring his intent. He allowed the cold, hard look he leveled at her to hold a flicker of in
terest and was gratified to see the careful mask she’d made of her face begin to disintegrate.

But the fear that replaced it made his fists clench and his teeth grate. Hell’s fire, he’d not wanted it this way, but she’d left him no choice. Still, when she made a choking sound and squeezed her eyes shut, it sent a sickening stab into his chest. Cursing himself under his breath, Duncan struggled to remain firm as Ewen took hold of the length of plaid wrapped round her torso. When her tunic was unlaced, her eyes snapped open.

She remained silent, her stare fixed upon his face. He tried to focus on that part of her as well, struggling to calm the disturbing feelings that rose in him as the rest of her clothing fell away. Except for the cut and some smudges of dirt, she was perfection. He felt an involuntary surge of desire when his gaze fell on the pink tips of her breasts, tightened to succulent raspberries in the open air. His gaze slipped lower.

It was a mistake.

The dusting of cinnamon-hued curls at the joining of her thighs made him shift to accommodate the sudden, heated swelling of his manhood. He snapped his stare back up to her face, trying to force his mind to a different tact…a more rational plane of thought. The MacDonell wench had thwarted him again, he reminded himself; she was undaunted by his attempt to subdue her. And the
Ealach
still wasn’t his.

That knowledge killed the last remnants of lust. His blood cooled, and he crossed his arms over his chest as sanity returned. Tipping his head mockingly, he said, “Well done, lass. Your display is worthy of the most sought after harlot in the land.” He curled his lips in a wicked smile. “But like any bit of Eve’s flesh, you’re heir
to deception. Perhaps I’ll be instigating a more
thorough
search to—”

“Duncan!” Kinnon rode hell-bent into the glen, his horse sweating and panting. He pulled the stallion to a halt and swung to the ground, calling out, “Gavin MacDonell’s been taken at Connor’s Crossing. He’s wounded, but he’s alive and under guard at Dulhmeny.”

Gavin MacDonell.
The name cut through Duncan’s heart with the swiftness of a sharpened blade. Behind it rose the choking hatred so familiar to him now. Having revenge on that deceptive whelp would be almost as fulfilling as it would have been to see Morgana’s head on a pike. Gavin MacDonell had been his sister’s willing supporter in the attack that had taken Mairi’s life, and Duncan wouldn’t pass up the chance to see him pay for it.

Turning sharply, Duncan strode toward Kinnon. His cousin’s stallion pranced and pawed, but Duncan took hold of the reins and stilled him. He saw Kinnon notice Aileana’s condition, saw the look of pained embarrassment flick over his features.

“Have you no shame, man?” Kinnon muttered hoarsely, his blue eyes snapping with anger. “She’s standing there naked for all the world to see!”

“It was necessary.”

Duncan handed Kinnon the calmed horse’s reins and walked to Glendragon, tethered at the edge of the glen. “But I’ve no time to discuss my lack of morals, cousin. My meeting with Gavin MacDonell is long overdue.” Duncan nodded for Ewen to return Aileana’s plaid and tunic before mounting Glendragon. “Bring the woman back with you to the castle.”

He didn’t trust himself to look back as he wheeled Glendragon around and thundered from the glen, con
centrating instead on the rhythmic beat of his stallion’s hooves. This first battle for the amulet might be lost, but Gavin MacDonell was his. For years he’d imagined the pleasure he’d get from running a claymore through the man’s heart; now that the moment of reckoning was here, the thought filled him with nothing but a grim sense of purpose. He was counting on the act to ease some of the pain that ate away at his heart…pain from his own brother Colin’s betrayal, pain from the memory of Mairi’s lifeless body—pain from his constant feelings of helplessness and rage.

Revenge would surely bring balm to the bitterness in his soul. When every last guilty MacDonell had been made to pay, he would find freedom from the tortuous memories. He had to.

It was the only means of salvation left open to him.

Aileana watched Duncan storm from the glen, and she shuddered. Her limited knowledge of the man told her that Gavin’s confrontation with him was going to be much worse than what she’d just endured. Still, she felt a wild flash of joy in knowing that her brother lived. And he might remain unharmed, if she could just reason with the MacRae. With a yank she tied the ends of her plaid, voicing no protest when Kinnon helped her astride a horse. The sooner she got to Gavin, the better.

Soon the rounded turrets of Dulhmeny’s outer walls loomed over the hillside. The keep rose square, straight and tall from the center, jutting proudly in the afternoon sky. Without pause Kinnon motioned for his men to follow, and in single file they rode through the castle’s massive, curved gatehouse and into the yard beyond.

Aileana maintained her silence until they reached the great hall. It looked as it always had, the crimson wall
hangings impressive under vaulted ceilings, fresh rushes on the floor, clean and sweet smelling. An ache settled in her heart. How could everything appear the same when their lives had changed forever? Father would never again preside over the annual festivities here. The familiar rhythms of her clan and her community were vanished forever beneath the MacRaes’ brutal carnage.

A movement at the end of the hall caught her gaze. Duncan sat in the banquet seat of honor, his muscular legs jutting from beneath his tunic, his leather-covered feet resting on the table with casual disregard. Her hands tightened to fists. The insolent wretch thought nothing of defiling everything he touched.

“You and your kind might favor the habits of beasts, Duncan MacRae, but my clan does not,” she snapped from across the hall. “Kindly remove yourself and your filthy boots from the head of our table.”

“It is all right, Aileana. I invited him to sit.”

Gasping, Aileana swiveled in the direction of the voice; a shock of relief thrilled to the ends of her toes. Robert! Both of her brothers lived. With a stifled cry she ran to him.

“You’re safe! But where’s Gavin? I worried that you might be on the field like Father…” Tears overwhelmed her, and she cupped his face in her hands. Robert smiled, his eyes tired, his cheeks still smeared with the dirt and blood of battle.

Taking her hands in his own, he gently pressed them to her sides and indicated that she should face the MacRae. She argued against it with her expression, but Robert’s calm won out, and she finally clenched her jaw and turned to the hated intruder.

Duncan remained in the same infuriating position as before, feet up and relaxed, seemingly oblivious to the
affront she’d offered him and his people; he even rocked a little in the chair. But when he saw that he had their attention, he eased his legs from the table and stood with slow, arrogant grace.

Though his gaze bored through her, he directed his comment to Kinnon. “When I told you to bring the woman to the castle, I should have mentioned that you’d be wanting to gag her. She has the annoying habit of harping like a shrew, with no wit for when to be silent.”

“You’ve no need to insult my sister, MacRae,” Robert grated.

“If she’d keep a civil tongue in her head there’d be no need to say anything to her at all,” Duncan retorted.

Aileana bit her lip until she was sure it bled, held back by the gentle pressure of her brother’s hand on her arm. A familiar, impotent fire filled her chest. She wanted to wipe the smirk from the MacRae’s face and to put him in his place—preferably in the vat of pig swill out in the yard where he belonged. But she quelled her emotions as she always had, masking them behind a blank expression.

“But insulting your sister isn’t why I’m here, as well you know,” Duncan said, nodding to two of his men near the door, and they exited, only to return shortly with another man between them. Aileana’s stomach dropped at the sight. Gavin looked more dead than alive, half-standing between the two MacRaes. Blood ran down his face to soak his plaid.

“I’ve a score to settle with your brother. I’ll be taking him now, and I’ll return to finish what remains between us when the deed is done.”

“Hold, MacRae, in the name of peace,” Robert said, taking a step forward as if to forestall him. “Take a share of what is in our coffers. Take that portion of land
which abuts your own holdings. But leave Gavin with us. He’ll do you no more harm, I promise you.”

“His is a blood debt and cannot be satisfied with such things.”

The cold in his voice tingled through Aileana like ice.

As the MacRae started to exit the hall, she lunged forward. “Hold, please! At least allow us to prepare ourselves for a moment before you take our brother out to be slaughtered.”

Duncan stopped, suspicion clear in his stormy gray eyes.

“It cannot hurt you to wait another few minutes, man,” Robert added, picking up on her lead to stall for more time. “You’ve waited thirteen years already.”

With a scowl, Duncan finally nodded his acquiescence.

Moving with Robert to a place out of everyone’s hearing, Aileana took his hands in her own, almost too overcome with grief to concentrate on anything else. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would he want to harm Gavin so? It’s a cowardly thing to fight a wounded man when the battle is finished!”

“There is much you do not know, Aileana…much we kept from you.” Robert’s expression darkened. “In truth the MacRae has cause for dispute against Gavin. Our brother joined Morgana those many years ago when she attacked his clan. You were but a wee lass, and I was away, getting schooled in Edinburgh when it happened. Can you recall any of it?”

Vague memories flickered in Aileana’s mind. They’d always troubled her enough so that she’d pushed them away when she happened to think of them before. Now she wished she’d been more vigilant.

“I—I recall bits of what happened.”

Robert cast a glance at Duncan. “We do not have much time. The MacRae wants our brother’s life as payment for the wrongs he committed.”