Quinn: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 2) (19 page)

Catarina struggled to swallow against the gag stretching her lips wide. Rope bit into her wrists. She jerked her hands, but the harder she struggled, the tighter her bindings became. She fought back tears that lodged like a boulder in her throat, but the fever had sapped her strength. Still, despite how her body ached and fear set her heart to race, she refused to surrender her dignity to Rupert. Breathless, she scanned her surroundings. She was in his tent, the sides of which were staked to the ground. The open flap in the front was the only way in or out, not that she considered escaping. Even if she could get past Rupert, she could barely stand, not to mention having to run from dogs and knights on horseback.

The surrounding furnishings were sparse, just a pallet upon which she sat and a small table with one chair on the opposite side of the tent where Rupert sat, staring at her. She scowled, glaring back at him. He stood then and stalked toward her, only to retreat when he came within a few feet from where she sat. She grew still, realizing, in that moment, how changed he was. His once rugged face appeared gaunt. The bones of his narrowed shoulders jutted against the fabric of his tunic at harsh angles. His back curved, and red blotches covered his skin.

He returned to his seat at the table, still eying her while he grabbed a large jug and threw back three goblets worth. Her parched mouth betrayed her. She swallowed hard, coveting whatever was in his cup. He downed a forth, slamming the empty goblet on the table. Wiping his sleeve across his mouth, he stood, his eyes narrowing on her. She fought for calm while he walked deliberately at her. Her eyes traveled up his baggy hose and ill-fitting tunic to his red-rimmed eyes. She shuddered when he slowly squatted down in front of her. Stale beer scented his breath. She cringed, straining away as he reached out his iron hand.

“Wipe that disgust from your face,” he spat, his foul mouth a breath from her own. “This is all your doing, none but yours.” He grabbed her neck with his good hand and held her still while cool metal raked down her face and neck.

She glared at him, but then she froze. His wide eyes did not waver from hers, even when he accused her of his crime. She slowly shook her head in disbelief. He actually believed that she had somehow driven him to kill Henry, that the blame was, indeed, hers. Once more his iron hand grazed her cheek. She remained still. Then he reached out with his good hand and untied the gag. Her jaw ached. He stroked his iron thumb across her lips. She stiffened but did not jerk away. Her eyes narrowed on him. Rupert always favored his iron hand when he had violated her in the past as if it somehow it separated the man from the deed. The cold metal was to blame—he had not even touched her. Fury coursed through her. He really was nothing more than a coward. She straightened her back. It was time Rupert accepted responsibility for his actions.

“You killed Henry,” she said simply.

His eyes widened for a moment, but then he reached out and grabbed her chin with his good hand. “Remember the poker? It was you,” he sneered.

She kept her face impassive. “You killed Henry.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t,” he snapped.

Her heart raced. She looked away and took a deep breath. Finding her calm, she said it again. “You killed Henry.”

His face flustered with rage “I didn’t,” he growled.

“You killed Henry,” she said again. “Henry died by your hand alone.”

“Shut up,” he cried.

“You killed your brother. You killed Henry,” she said, more forcefully, tears stinging her eyes.

He shoved her back with his iron hand.

“You killed Henry!”

“It was an accident,” he snarled. With his good hand, he tore her tunic asunder, exposing her thin kirtle. His eyes settled with greed on her breasts.

“You killed Henry,” she cried.

He growled and ripped open her kirtle. His mouth covered hers, his tongue forcing her lips apart. She struggled against him, but her wrists were still bound. She bit his tongue. “You killed Henry. You kill Henry,” she screamed again and again.

His hands came around her throat. “Stop saying that!”

She couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded her skull.

“What are you doing?” a man’s voice cried out the instant before a hand clamped down on Rupert’s shoulder, yanking him off of her. An angry cry tore from Rupert’s lips.

She gasped for air. “Stephen,” she croaked when she saw him and reached out her arms. Tears of hope blurred her vision when he rushed to her side, but Rupert seized him from behind. “No,” she cried when Rupert’s arm came around Stephen’s neck, but then movement near the opening of the tent caught her eye. Her heart quickened when she saw Quinn race inside. Fury twisted his features as he dove at Rupert, driving his shoulder into Rupert’s side. All three men landed on the ground. Gasping for air, Stephen scurried over to Rupert and thrust the tip of his dirk beneath his brother’s chin. “Take her out of here,” Stephen said to Quinn. “I’ll deal with him.” 

Quinn crossed to Catarina’s side and seized her face between his hands, kissing her hard on the lips before he scooped her into his arms and raced outside.

“Are ye hurt?” Quinn said. His eyes scanned over her, searching for injury. Then he set her on her feet and ripped off his tunic and quickly pulled it over her head, covering her torn garments.

“I am still weak,” she said. “But he did not hurt me, not really.”

Quinn pulled her close. “I will never let ye from my sight again, not ever,” he vowed. Looking over Catarina’s head, he saw Stephen step from the tent. Quinn started toward him, but then Stephen looked at him with dazed eyes. Quinn froze. “What happened?” 

Stephen shook his head slowly. “He stabbed me,” he said in disbelief, pulling his hand away from his side. Blood seeped down his surcote.

“Stephen,” Catarina cried.

Quinn lunged forward, catching Stephen before he hit the ground. “Get him out of here,” Quinn said as he passed Stephen’s limp body over to one of the Ravensworth guards.

“He is going nowhere!”

Quinn looked back. Rupert stood just outside the tent.

“No one is going anywhere, least of all you, Quinn MacVie,” Rupert snarled. “Seize him,” he ordered.

Quinn planted his feet wide, ready to fight as he scanned the grounds. Not one of the six knights moved.

Rupert glared at his men. “I am Lord Ravensworth. You will obey me. Seize him!”

“You are lord of nothing,” Catarina cried. Quinn pulled her behind him.

“You are cowards, all of you,” Rupert raged. Then he stepped forward, his eyes darting around the camp. “Where is Jasper? Jasper!”

Jasper heard his master call. With his dogs trailing behind, he climbed down from the stone wall where he had been watching events unfold. A long stem of wheat stuck out between his lips while he slowly walked through the guards and into the open. Masking his emotions, he bowed his head to Rupert.

“I want you to finish him,” Rupert snarled, pointing to Quinn.

Quinn looked at the dog handler who bowed again to Rupert and began untying his dogs’ leashes. The largest of the hounds snarled and snapped her jaws, her jowls pulled back to reveal sharp teeth. Quinn’s eyes widened when he realized Rupert’s intent. He thrust Catarina away from him and into the arms of a nearby knight. Then he widened his stance and braced himself for the onslaught of vicious dogs.

“Finish him!” Rupert cried again.

Jasper squatted down beside Molly and scratched her behind the ear. “Ye heard him, Molly.” Jasper smiled and locked eyes with Rupert. “Finish it,” he hissed.

Rupert screamed and dropped to his knees, shielding his head as the pack of hungry dogs flew at him with bared, gnashing teeth.

Quinn MacVie never ran his horse ragged, and he’d berate any man who did. But if he had to choose between the well-being of a horse or that of a woman—he would pick the woman every time.

“Look, Quinn! I can see the village. We are almost there,” Catarina cried as she scanned the distant village of the Clan Sinclair. “Shall we race the rest of the way?”

Quinn smiled. Then he leaned down and stroked his mare’s mane. “What do ye think?” he said to his horse.

“Please,” Catarina said, her eyes dancing with excitement.

Laughing, Quinn nudged his horse into a gallop. “Alright, but not too fast. These horses have carried us a long way.”

To Catarina it felt like coming home as they thundered through the wooden gates and back into the hearts of the Sinclairs. There was not a dry eye among the women as they celebrated with hugs and laughter. Even Ruth’s stern countenance softened as she cupped Catarina’s face. “Och Katie, ye blessed lass. ‘Tis glad I am to see yer smiling face.”

“But she is our Katie no longer,” Mary said, giving Catarina a playful pinch at the waist.

Ruth arched her brow pointedly at Catarina, making Catarina’s cheeks warm. “I hope you will all forgive me,” she said.

Mary pulled Catarina close again. “There’s nothing to forgive, lass. Anyway, I should of known ye were a Catarina and not a Katie the first time I saw ye make bannock.”

Catarina’s face ached from smiling as she gazed upon the familiar faces. Aileen clutched a wriggling Finn in her arms. Apparently, he had woken up as a snake three days in a row, but Aileen refused to set him down. “His tunics will never wash clean. So I told him that I woke up a cage this very morning, and he’s trapped until he wakes up as something sensible that walks on two legs.”

Catarina burst out laughing, but then she realized someone was missing. “Where is Jennie?” she said, scanning the courtyard.

Straightaway, the merriment came to an end. Catarina frowned at all the somber faces. “What has happened?”

Mary shook her head sadly. “Someone from Clan MacKay came for her. But as it turns out, they might have beguiled the lot of us.”

“I do not understand?” Catarina said.

Ruth cleared her throat. “They were warriors from Clan MacLeod posing as MacKays.”

Catarina’s eyes widened. “That is dreadful.”

“Do not fash yerself,” Mary said, patting her hand. “Sloan has led a party of warriors to fetch her back. She’ll be home before ‘tis time to light the yule log, I’d wager.”

“Will ye stay on with us for a while?” Aileen asked just before she buckled over in pain. Finn scrambled from her arms, then slithered away through the dirt. “Ye wee beastie, that hurt,” she snapped. “Ye can wash yer own tunics from now on.”

Catarina clapped her hand over her mouth to contain her laughter while Mary cast her eyes heavenward. With a sigh, she shifted her gaze back to Catarina and repeated Aileen’s earlier question. “Will ye stay for a while?”

“I wish I could. I would love to be part of a clan,” Catarina said. “I truly would, but we are going to sail the skiff south and return it to its owner, Freya, who will hopefully know where my son has been hidden.”

Ruth pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And rightly so. Ye should be with yer son.”

“I need him,” Catarina said, her voice breaking. “My arms have been empty too long.”

Mary’s warm embrace enveloped her before her first tear could fall. “Where is he, lass?”

Catarina swiped her eyes and looked at Mary through a blur of tears. “Quinn and I do not know for certain, but he is convinced our search will not be long.”

“We must make certain that ye find him quickly,” Ruth said. “Come along, ladies.”

“Where are we going?” Catarina asked.

Ruth smiled at her. “To the stone circle, of course. We’ll dance a prayer to the Mother of All.”

“We can do that?” Catarina said.

Mary laughed, and they hooked arms. “Of course we can, lass.”

Catarina watched Ruth barrel ahead with her usual determination, but then she stopped and turned back, looking pointedly at Catarina. “I expect ye to not fuss this time,” she said. Then she reached up and unpinned her hair, releasing a mass of flaming red curls. 

Catarina smiled. “I wouldn’t dare,” she said, her head held high. Then she freed her long, ebony hair.

The Isle of Colonsay

Two months later

Quinn jumped from his new skiff into the barreling surf and dragged it ashore. Then he reached up to Catarina. “Pass me James.”

She shook her head, clutching her son close to her heart. A smile softened his face. “Ye’ve barely let me hold him since we set out from Freya’s. I’ve missed the wee lad too.”

They had been surprised when they docked Freya’s skiff and made their way to her cottage to find her outside, lying on a blanket beneath the bright sunshine with a baby asleep at her side. When she saw their approach, Freya had stood, gathering the babe in her arms. “Bishop Lamberton turned Rory right back around,” Freya said, smiling proudly. “The bishop told him there was no safer place for James then with me.” Freya walked to where Catarina had stood in a daze and placed James in her arms. “That is until his mother returned.”

A sweet ache panged Quinn’s heart every time he remembered Catarina’s face crumple as she sobbed, hugging her son close. 

Now, if he could only get her to put him down again. Quinn reached up and cupped her cheek. “He’s back in yer arms to stay, Catarina. Ye ken that, don’t ye?”

Her shoulders eased down as a long breath fled her lips. “I know it is over. I know Rupert is dead. I know Stephen will set everything right at Ravensworth. I know James is safe, but as I have said before there is a difference between knowing something and believing it.”

Quinn held out his hands for James. “Try,” he said.

She kissed James’s brow and placed him in Quinn’s arms.

Quinn smiled down at the amber-eyed baby. “Welcome home,” he whispered.
I hope
, he thought as he shifted his gaze to scan the shore. Beyond the sand and jutting rocks, stretched a meadow of sea grass, dotted with purple primrose. And beyond that several cottages rose up from the earth. Ribbons of smoke curled out from their rooftops like fingers beckoning him closer.

“Do you think our families will be here?” Catarina said, coming to stand beside him.

He smiled down at her. “If they are not, hold fast to hope. We’ll find them. I promise ye.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Then he stared back over the field of sea grass. He squinted, trying to make out the figure he saw exiting one of the cottages. Then a rush of excitement shot through him. He threw his head back and whooped to the sky.

“Who is it?” Catarina said. “Do you know that man?”

Holding James in one arm, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and spun her around. “Do I know him?” he said, laughing. “’Tis my wee brother, Ian!”

Quinn raised his arm over his head and waved it back and forth. “Ian,” he shouted.

He watched Ian freeze for an instant, but in no time at all he was running toward them.

“Quinn,” Ian called.

Catarina scooped James from Quinn’s arms and backed away several feet when she saw the size of the man racing their way. Wild, tangled red hair gleamed in the bright sun.

“That is your little brother?” she asked, nervously.

Quinn laughed. “He’s just recently turned twenty, but don’t fash yerself. Ian’s as big as a bear but as soft as a wee puppy—so long as ye don’t make him angry.”

Catarina swallowed hard. “I will strive to remember that.”

She cringed when the brothers collided in a fierce embrace. Ian grabbed Quinn around the middle and lifted him clear off the ground. “Too tight,” Quinn gritted. “Put me down, ye giant ox.”

Ian laughed and set Quinn on his feet. “I can’t believe yer finally here. Wait ‘til Jack sees ye.”

Catarina stepped forward then, her excitement winning out over her nerves. “If Jack is here, can I assume my sister and father are as well?”

Her heart filled when Ian shifted his gaze away from Quinn to look at her. His sky blue eyes held a warmth that instantly put her at ease. “Ye must be Catarina?”

She smiled and nodded.

Ian bent low to coo at James. “Bella is going to weep buckets when she finally meets this wee lad,” he said.

Catarina’s heart quickened. “Then they are here? Please, answer me.”

Ian scooped James from her arms and passed him to Quinn. Then he turned back to face Catarina with a mischievous smile on his face. She shrieked as his hands grabbed her waist and lifted her high in the air. “They’re here,” he exclaimed. He spun her around before his arm came beneath her legs. Cradling her close, he took off, sprinting over the field. Bright laughter thundered from Ian’s chest. She squealed as the world raced past her, and then suddenly, they were standing outside one of the cottages.

Ian’s blue eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Knock.”

She stared at the door, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“Go on,” he urged.

Her hand snaked out and tapped the door. She stood there, holding her breath while she listened to the shuffle of feet. Then the door swung wide. A man with black hair and black eyes filled the doorway. His eyes darted from Catarina to Ian, then back to Catarina again. And then one side of his lips upturned into an irresistible sideways smile. “Ye must be Catarina,” he said. “I’m Jack.”

Jack possessed an undeniable presence, exuding effortless strength. As the oldest of the MacVie brother’s, Catarina was not surprised by his confident bearing.

“’Tis a pleasure to meet ye,” Jack said, his lips still curved in that lazy sideways grin. “But I ken yer not here to see me.” He turned his head and called back through the door, “Bella, ye have a visitor.”

“A visitor? What nonsense,” came the reply from inside.

Catarina’s breath hitched when she heard Bella’s voice. She was done waiting. She barreled past the big man in the doorway.

“Bella,” she cried.

Her younger sister’s pale green eyes widened in surprise the instant before they flooded with tears. “Catarina!”

~ * ~

It was some time before the MacVie men could pull the Redesdale ladies apart, but Rose could not put dinner off forever. Sitting with her father on one side and Quinn on the other, Catarina’s eyes danced as she looked around the table at all the smiling faces.

“Mama, would have loved this,” Catarina said to her father.

David smiled. “Yes, she surely would have.”

“More than any of your fine fortresses or castles, I would wager,” Catarina said.

David patted her hand. “That I do not doubt.”

Catarina’s heart brimmed with love as she ate and talked and laughed with her new family. Rose was as lovely as Catarina had imagined, even when she scolded Jack’s wee lassies as they raced around the table. Ian had one of the girl’s hanging off his shoulders. Apparently, he was little Florie’s favorite climbing tree. The love between Jack and Bella filled the room to bursting.

She turned then and smiled up into Quinn’s eyes. “I have found my destiny,” she whispered.

He leaned close and pressed a slow kiss to her lips. “Have ye now?”

She nodded and threw her arms around his neck. “I am part of a clan, the Clan MacVie.”

“Catarina MacVie,” Quinn said, as if tasting the words for the first time. “I like the sound of that.”

His arm came around her waist, and he kissed her, bending her back low. The table erupted with cheers, but then an even louder cry filled the room.

“Ye’ve gone and done it now,” Rose said, tsking at her brothers. “Ye’ve woken the baby.”

Catarina jumped to her feet and hurried to the basket where James fussed. She scooped him into her arms and sat in a rocking chair near the open window. She breathed deep the sea air and rocked back and forth with her baby snug in her arms.

“What a fortunate boy you are,” she crooned in James’s ear. “You will grow up here on this beautiful island, surrounded by kind men and caring women, and you will know what it means to be loved. And when it is time, your Uncle Stephen will come for you, and you will take your place as the true Lord of Ravensworth. But no matter how grand you become, remember this one thing—you will always be my baby.”