Chapter Twenty-One
“Morning, love.” The words were whispered into her ear. Delicious chills spread through her as she stretched awake.
“Umm, ’tis a nice morning.” She wrapped her arms around the warm body next to her. Brodie caught her hand, cupped it in his, and brought it to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on the top.
“Sorry to wake ye.”
She smiled lazily at him.
“Dinnae look at me like that. We willnae not make it out of here.”
“What if I dinnae want to go anywhere?” she asked as she ran her fingers up and down his back.
“We have to get to Kentillie.”
Awareness crashed over her.
She forced a smile and pretended it would be easy to leave. “Ye ken he will definitely be there today, then?”
“Aye, Lachlan sent word again late last night.”
Their time was over. Now she had to make herself believe she could go back to a life without him.
“How late is it?” She looked to the window, thankful she could peel her burning gaze from his. From the beams shining through the small slit in the curtains the sun had started its ascent into the sky.
“No’ too late, but we should eat and get there soon.” He gave her a quick peck on her temple and threw the covers back. Jumping up, he retrieved his clothes as if he weren’t dying inside like she was. Cold rushed over her, and she shivered.
Brodie had already made her breakfast by the time she’d dressed, and they sat together and reminisced. Just days earlier, she would have thought it heaven, but now she felt it was hell on earth, being unable to savor the moment, knowing they were about to be torn apart.
A knock sounded on the door.
“I’m on my way to the village,” came a muffled voice from the other side. Brodie must have recognized the sound because he unlatched the lock then pulled.
Ross. She couldn’t think of a logical reason for him to be there, because last time she’d seen him, he and Brodie were fighting.
“Did my parents treat ye right?”
“Aye, ’twas generous of them to let me stay overnight.” Ross smiled but avoided looking directly at her.
“I’ll send word once the MacDonald arrives.” Brodie moved forward to embrace the man as if they were friends. She tilted her head, trying to dislodge her confusion.
“I’ll be at the inn or the tavern until I hear from you.” The man who should not be there nodded at them. “’Tis good to see ye on yer feet again, lass.” Ross smiled at her sheepishly.
She nodded. Was she still dreaming?
Brodie said, “He helped save ye from the currents. We would probably both be dead right now if he hadn’t helped.” He turned to Ross. “I’ll talk to Lachlan about the MacLean and the trouble the MacDonalds are causing on yer land. Hopefully, he’ll be able to broker some kind of peace.”
MacLean. Skye rolled the name around in her mind. There was something about it. Something she’d seen recently and blocked out.
“’Twill come to war if the man willnae see reason.”
“I dinnae think ’twill get that far. Once the MacDonald finds ye helped save Skye, he’ll have to let yer father go.”
“From what ye tell me, he isnae reasonable. Will he forgive me when he finds I was the reason his niece disappeared from Stirling? And will that stop the MacDonald clan’s senseless killings of the MacLeans?”
“My uncle wouldnae attack innocent people. Yer father is the monster,” she chimed in, fists balled, angry that everyone kept accusing her uncle of being things he wasn’t.
“My father is innocent,” Ross countered.
“We’ll sort it all out at Kentillie. Where’s Neil?” Brodie changed the conversation.
“He went out for a drink last night and never came back. He’ll turn up, though. He always does.”
“You should go back to the inn. I’ll send for ye after I meet with the MacDonald.”
Ross nodded and turned to leave.
A short while later, Brodie ushered Skye through the door and walked with her, hand in hand, toward the stable. The sun climbed in the sky on a beautiful but cold day. Although her stomach churned at what she must do, she leaned into his warmth, savoring his scent for the last time. A lump formed in her throat.
Just before they reached the stable, she tightened her grip. “Please, dearest, one last kiss.” But even that would not sustain her.
A slow sad smile curved his lips, and his head started to dip towards hers, but his attention was pulled away. She followed his gaze to see a large group approaching from the direction of Kentillie. The riders were too far away to see, but she recognized the unmistakable flag of the MacDonald clan.
Grasping Brodie’s arm, she felt more despair than relief. “’Tis my uncle.”
He became stiff, as rigid as a tree, and took a step back from her. The cold engulfed her. His expression was stoic and closed off as if he were ready for a fight. And when she looked back to her uncle, fear snaked through her as she recognized her betrothed riding next to him.
A second banner came into view, the flag of her betrothed’s family, neighbors to the Camerons. Until now, she’d thought to spare Brodie the news that she’d be living so close, but there was no way to avoid it.
“I need to tell ye before I lose my nerve. That’s Collin MacPherson with my uncle. ’Tis the man I’m to wed.”
Hands gripped her from behind and yanked her back, away from Brodie, her uncle, and her betrothed.
…
Brodie’s heart stopped at Skye’s admission—his woman would be a married to another man.
Collin MacPherson.
It hit him.
Argyll. He knew the earl was scheming to wed his ally, a Campbell, to the youngest MacPherson: Collin. But with Collin married to Skye, the earl’s plan would fall to pieces. That was why he wanted her dead. Her uncle would only propose the match, risking Argyll’s wrath, if he was seeking to make a Royalist match.
Her uncle had never been a traitor.
Skye’s hand was wrenched from his, and pain erupted from his shoulder. He winced, arching his back. Reaching around, he touched the sensitive spot and pulled his hand away to see crimson dripping from his fingertips.
Scuffling reached his pounding ears and he jerked upright to see Skye struggling with a man who was pulling her toward the dense trees and away from him. Familiar, cold eyes watched him closely as Neil held a knife to Skye’s throat. The man he’d clubbed only yesterday glared, eyes bulging with hatred and a hint of madness, reminding him of a rabid dog eyeing a cornered squirrel.
Movement to his right caught his gaze, and he shifted his weight in time to see the surviving bandit who had attacked them days earlier swipe at him with a dirk. Brodie ducked to the side and took up a fighting stance.
“We just want the lass,” the bandit said as Neil pulled on Skye’s hair to tilt her face up.
“Ye cannae have her.” Brodie’s claymore was strung over his back; he would lose precious seconds unsheathing it.
The bandit would be no match for him. What concerned him was whether or not the arse had informed Neil that Argyll was offering a reward for Skye, alive or dead.
Brodie launched himself toward the bandit—it was the small one who had trembled like a thistle’s seeds blown by the wind, running after their last encounter. Before the man could blink, Brodie had one hand around his neck and another around his wrist, which held the jewel encrusted dirk that had belonged to the bandit’s leader. His opponent attempted to break the hold by swiping at Brodie’s legs, but only succeeded in losing his own balance.
He fell, and Brodie went down with him. Tangled together, they hit the ground with a thud, and the man’s head hit the earth, a whoosh of air escaping from the attacker’s lungs. He didn’t give the bandit time to recover.
Rising up on his knees, he released the man’s neck to strike his face. Bones crunched beneath the blow, and the man squirmed to get out of Brodie’s grasp, struggling in vain as Brodie’s fist returned again and again to the attacker’s face.
Skye screamed, and he turned to see her sprawled on the ground and crawling away from Neil as he drove the knife he’d held up to Skye through the chest of one of Lachlan’s guards.
His gaze shifted back to Skye to make sure she was unharmed. She appeared uninjured, but in the time he’d taken to inspect her, Neil had unsheathed a broadsword from his waist. Brodie didn’t have time to draw his claymore before the brute charged toward him.
Releasing the limp man, he rolled, but not in time. The blade grazed his arm, and pain exploded at the spot. His hand moved to cover the wound as he continued to roll then bounded to his feet.
Neil hadn’t been able to stop his forward momentum, and the traitor’s sword pierced the ground. Struggling to pull it from the soft earth, the arse’s attention was focused on his indisposed weapon and not him. Neil’s sword had landed just shy of the bandit, who came up on all fours and coughed up blood.
Brodie charged before Ross’s friend could turn the broadsword on him again. “What are ye doing, Neil?”
“Argyll wants her. The bounty on her head will see my family fed fer years,” the brute huffed out.
Catching Neil’s arm as the man swung back around, Brodie grabbed the hilt and jerked down, freeing the sword from the mountainous man’s grasp. It slipped from his own and fell to the ground.
Struggling for the dominant position, he faltered as Neil’s elbow connected with his side. Despite his pain, Brodie was faster and more agile, punching forward into the man’s gut. He was rewarded when the bastard folded at the spot of impact and buckled at the knees, falling to the ground.
He kicked at Neil and scored a shot to the man’s ribs. Rolling over, the arse writhed on the ground and cradled the spot where the boot had connected.
“Look out,” came a shout from Skye. The bandit charged with the dirk in his hand.
Brodie was too slow, and the knife pierced his side. Blinding pain seared through him. The man pulled the dirk back and plunged toward him again, but this time, Brodie caught the bandit’s hand and twisted until the knife fell from his opponent’s grasp.
Punching with his other hand, his fist collided with the man’s scrawny face, and the bandit crumbled to the ground. While stooping to pick up the dirk, Brodie heard the angry grunt of a threat headed his way.
Neil was on him again. Just as the traitor reached him, Brodie sank the blade of the dirk into soft flesh of his opponent, and Neil stilled. Twisting the blade, he pushed deeper. Blood bubbled from the man’s mouth before he went limp and slumped onto Brodie’s shoulder.
Pushing the body off, he kept his grip on the knife as the man crumpled lifeless to the ground. The bandit still writhed on the ground. Brodie held his hand pressed to his side and sighed with relief when he saw Alan standing over the man, an angry glare in his eyes.
Neither man would threaten Skye again.
Excruciating pain radiated from his wound and blood oozed from the sliced skin. Swaying, he dropped to his knees then fell back on his ass. He blinked a couple of times, then gentle hands pulled at his plaid to get at the injury.
“Sit back. Let me look at the damage.” Skye was leaning over him.
“Let the healers deal with him.” The MacDonald’s voice permeated the fog.
“Nae, he needs me.”
Aye, she was right, he needed her. Clarity took hold, and he knew he couldn’t go back to a life without her. He could no longer be the Raven. If he had to, he’d take her somewhere far away where they could be safe, but they would be together.
“This is nae place for a lass. I have to get ye out of here now,” the stern laird argued.
If he lived through this mess, he would find a way to prove to that arse he was worthy of her. He would dig himself out of the tangled world of deceit and danger that his life had become.
Skye was the only thing that mattered.
“Nae, Uncle, I love him. I’m staying with him until we can get him to Maggie.”
“Nae, Skye. Yer uncle is right. Let him protect ye,” he huffed out before darkness enveloped him.