Twelve

Amber stared at the closed door, in shock that he’d left but also feeling like her heart had broken into a hundred pieces. The sock she held in her hand fell to the floor as she moved forward slowly. Were his men still here? Had he given up on her and their plan to catch Murray?

Maybe there had never been a plan. Maybe he’d enlisted Callum into getting her into a compromising position just so he could tup her, and now that it was proving difficult, he’d decided to end the ruse. But that would make both him and Callum dishonorable, and she would bet her life, had bet her life, on the opposite.

She heard a sound behind her, a soft thump, and relief washed through her. Lachlan must have walked around the cottage and come in the back door, maybe to talk to the guard out back. She thought she’d slid the bar across, but she must have forgotten.

When she turned and saw the man standing by the alcove that held her second bed—now leaning on its side against the wall, a black gap where the mattress had been—she froze in disbelief. She was almost unable to comprehend what she was seeing—a much thinner, haggard, and dirty-looking Machar Murray, his arrow notched and bow drawn, pointed at her.

He’s here, she thought before terror surged through her and she opened her mouth to scream.

“Not one word, witch, or I’ll shoot you through the heart and then shoot Lachlan MacKay when he runs through the door.”

Her teeth snapped together—so hard she thought she might have broken them. Panic engulfed her, more for Lachlan than for herself, and her breath came in short bursts through her nose. Desperate tears pricked her eyes and she prayed Lachlan had left for good.

“I’d hoped to snare the two of you together,” he said. “Catch him when he was tupping you. Maybe I’d tie up the both of you and then let him watch me swive you too.”

“That’s not called swiving. It’s called rape,” she whispered hoarsely.

He shrugged, not bothered by her words.

“He and the other one think they’re so smart, surrounding the cottage, waiting for me, but they ne’er counted on your wee bolt-hole, did they?”

She moaned, part fear, part regret, and clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from bursting into tears. She didn’t dare put Lachlan in any more danger than she already had.

How had Murray known about her escape route? No one but her knew it existed. Dug out by her grandfather when he’d built the cottage, the tunnel started behind the low, built-in cupboards that made up the base of the smaller bed and ran all the way to the goats’ shed. A lever allowed her to release the lock that kept the bed and mattress in place. Once she was in the tunnel, she could reposition the trap door and lock it behind her.

She’d agonized over telling Lachlan, but her father and grandmother had sworn her to secrecy, saying someday the tunnel would save her life. And it had. Twice. Both times when Machar Murray had come looking for her in the dead of night.

Now it stood open, the mattress shoved to the side, the cold air from below pouring into the cottage. How long had he been waiting in there? And what had he heard?

“How did you know?” she croaked.

“That you had a way out?”

“Aye.”

“You’d escaped me twice. The second time I searched for a hiding place. I didn’t see the lever at first, but the cupboards under the bed weren’t as deep as the mattress was wide. Did your grandfather build it?”

On her nod, he said, “I heard he was a smart man, as was your da. Too smart. I had to kill him sooner than I wanted, before I got rid of the old laird.”

Her breath caught, and a sob squeaked out. She knew Murray had killed her father, but to hear him freely admit it released all the hurt and grief she’d pushed down—and the rage. If she had the chance, she would kill him this time. Exactly as Adaira had said. She could incapacitate him long enough to stab a knife in his heart.

She might die in the process, but no way was this monster getting away.

Lucy hopped from the back of one chair to another, moving closer to Murray. He smiled and pointed the arrow at her bird. “Should I kill your crow before we leave?”

She shook her head. She didn’t want her pet to die, but she would sacrifice him, the goats too, to prevent Murray from getting away and hurting Lachlan or anyone else. He’d made a mistake coming after her when she was alone. He had no leverage over her other than her death, and she didn’t think he would kill her until after he raped her. Probably several times.

She would take him down when he tried to force her into the tunnel. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Aye, you are, or—”

The front door pushed open behind her. Amber knew it was Lachlan, not by anything she heard or saw, just because she knew. Jumping on instinct and screaming, she slammed the door closed on him before he could get in. Murray loosed his arrow.

Pain exploded in her shoulder as she was pinned to the door, and she shrieked in agony.

“Amber!” Lachlan yelled, his voice frantic. “MacKays! Attack! He’s in the cottage.”

Murray loosed two more arrows at him as he tried to push inside. One scraped her cheek, causing splinters to fly into her face, and the other landed just above her head.

The guards banged at the back door and shuttered windows of her cottage, trying to break in, but the wood was solid and the cottage well built. Murray nocked another arrow, eyes filled with hatred. He had just pointed it at her when Lucy cawed in outrage and flew at his face.

With a startled yell, Murray lifted his arms to protect his eyes, loosing the arrow into the ceiling. He swung at the bird, hitting it with a sickening thud, and her heart broke all over again as Lucy dropped to the floor, dead.

“Amber!” Lachlan cried again. He pushed past her into the room and rolled behind the wooden table. Flipping it on its side, he dragged it in front of her. Two more arrows hit the table just as Callum broke through the back door.

Murray cursed and ran to the escape route, Callum and several others in pursuit.

Crouching beside her, Lachlan yanked the arrows out of the wood around her face and picked out the splinters. She felt a wet trickle down her cheek and could see blood on his fingertips—she was lucky the wood hadn’t landed in her eye.

“Amber, sweetling, look at me,” Lachlan said, his voice shaking. His eyes were creased with fear for her, but his fingers stroked gently. Exhaustion washed over her, and she rested her cheek in his hand, closing her eyes.

“Look at me, Amber. Now.”

She dragged her gaze back to his. “You didn’t go…after him.”

“Nay. Amber what do I do? Are you hurt anywhere other than your shoulder?”

She shook her head, but even that movement made her head swim, and again she had to close her eyes.

He lifted her chin, his face close when she opened them. His lips found hers, a soft, pleading kiss. “You stay awake, love. Tell me what to do.”

It was hard to catch her breath, the world spinning. She managed to force the words past her lips, suddenly dry. “Get Mary from the village… Tell her…it’s a similar wound to Gillis.”

“Someone get Mary!” Lachlan yelled over his shoulder. “Two men!” Seconds later, she heard horses galloping away.

“You’re losing a lot of blood. Should I take out the arrow?” He ripped off pieces of his plaid and used it to staunch the bleeding.

She sucked back a gasp as he pressed on her wound and could barely think past the pain. “Nay. Wait until…Mary’s here.”

“Can I break off the arrow so we can move you?”

The last thing she wanted was for the shaft to be jolted; breathing was bad enough. Still, she nodded.

“Malcolm!” he called out, and the young MacKay warrior who’d refused her entry into the castle that first night appeared. “Press your fingers here,” Lachlan said. The warrior did so, and Lachlan withdrew his hand. “Doona let up,” he ordered, then looked behind the door.

“Hello, Malcolm,” she said to the warrior, remembering how they’d first met. “Come to claim…your kiss?” Her words were low and starting to slur.

“Maybe. If you doona faint on me. You did promise.”

“No kissing,” Lachlan said as he moved close again, grasped her rib cage on both sides, and pulled her forward along the arrow a few inches.

She screamed as the movement tore at her wound, causing what felt like fire to lick through her body. Lachlan added more bandages to the wound around the arrow. Malcolm held the shaft tight in one hand and laid the other against her back so she leaned into him.

She moaned, knowing what was coming. “Ten kisses…if you stop him.”

She screamed a second time when Lachlan slid his sword between her and the door and cut off the arrow pinning her in place with a sharp, hard slice. She sagged forward.

“You did well, sweetling,” Lachlan said, running his hand over her hair.

“I’d wager Malcolm…disagrees. His hearing will ne’er be…the same.”

“Aye, ’tis ringing like a bell,” Malcolm said. “But we all knew you had strong lungs on you.”

Lachlan smiled—more a twisting of his lips—and he pressed a bandage to the wound at the back. The arrow went through close to her collarbone, but she didn’t think it was broken.

“Do you have a stretcher we can use to move you?” he asked.

Her vision had blurred—whether from tears or pain she didn’t know—but she didn’t think she could stay conscious much longer. “Near the back door.”

“I’ll get it,” Malcolm said, and she was grateful to be transferred to the safe haven of Lachlan’s arms, her head resting on his broad shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent.

He pressed his lips to her hair. “You threw yourself against the door. Stopped me from coming in.”

“Of course… I didn’t want…you killed.”

“So you would kill yourself instead?”

“I’m still alive.” She was growing more and more sleepy and fought to stay with him. “Why didn’t you…go after…Murray? You finally had…your chance.”

“Because you needed me. I’ll always come for you, Amber.” He brushed her hair back from her face, then reached for a torn parcel on the floor.

He pulled out a beautiful, shiny blue ribbon. “For your hair,” he said as he looped it behind her neck and around her head to hold back her hair.

“You left to get…me…a present?”

“Aye. So we’d stop fighting.”

She smiled weakly, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it even as a tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “Maybe if you’d given me the ribbons first…we wouldnae…have fought.”

He smiled back, but she could still see the fear in his gaze. “Maybe.”

She laid her hand over his and closed her eyes. “Next time.”

* * *

Lachlan sat in the big chair beside Amber’s bed, holding her limp hand and staring at her wan, sleeping face. He’d pulled out the arrow a few hours earlier after Mary had arrived and still had an ache in his gut from how much he’d hurt her and how afraid he’d been when the blood had poured out. Especially as Mary had panicked and started to cry. Lachlan had been the one to calm her down before she could start the surgery, Amber talking her through it, which meant she’d refused a high dose of herbs for the pain.

He knew just how Gregor had felt when Kellie died.

Terrified. Helpless. Unable to breathe.

The thought startled him, and he raked his other hand through his hair. He couldn’t compare Amber to Kellie or him to Gregor. Kellie had been Gregor’s wife. She’d died birthing their bairns—triplet girls who had also died.

And Amber had lived. Would live.

He rubbed his hand across his chest, massaging over his heart with his palm. Still, for a while there he’d thought she wouldn’t survive, and the pain and panic had been unbearable. He’d never forget the sight of her pinned to the door, one arrow scraping her cheek, the other touching the crown of her head.

He shuddered, and she squeezed his fingers, still taking care of him even though she slept.

A hand fell on his shoulder. “Lachlan.”

He turned his head to see Callum standing behind him, looking dirty and bruised. His face filled with regret.

“You didn’t catch him,” Lachlan said.

“Nay. We came close several times, but he’d just disappear. We’ll track him in the morning. I suspect he has several bolt-holes where he goes to ground. When we find his hiding places, we may be able to predict where he’ll go next.”

“We need the dogs.”

“Aye. Gregor and the lads should be here in a week or so. I’ve seen Hati and Skoll track someone even after the rain.”

Lachlan nodded. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Amber’s hand, and she curled her fingers into his. “She’ll ne’er be safe until Murray is dead.”

“We’ll get him, Lachlan. We’ll cast a net so he canna escape, and work inward once everyone’s here. We’ll protect her. As we would Caitlin or Isobel. Or Maggie, if I e’er make her my wife.”

“We’ll protect her even if she’s not your wife.”

“Aye.”

He blew out a breath and leaned forward to touch the bandage on her cheek. “She saved me, Callum. He must have come in after I went to get the ribbons. I’d left them in my pack, and we’d been fighting. It was a peace offering.”

“He came up the tunnel?”

“Must have. ’Twas the only way in.”

“Why didn’t she tell us it was there?”

“I doona know. A family secret?”

“Do you think she was aware that Murray knew? Was their relationship different than we first thought?”

He jumped up, rounding on Callum. “Nay! She said he’d come after her before. She must have used the tunnel to escape.”

Callum put his hand back on Lachlan’s shoulder, and pressed gently. “You’re right. I’m just thinking through all the possibilities. If she’d disappeared under his nose, Murray would have searched until he found the tunnel.”

Lachlan shuddered again as he thought of Amber alone in her cottage and Murray coming after her. Not only tonight, but other times as well. He sank back into the chair and lifted her hand to his face. “He’d been ready to shoot me when I came in, and she threw herself against the door so I couldnae get through—into the path of the arrows. God’s blood, if you’d seen them, Callum. Three of them. Any one of them could have killed her if they’d been even one inch closer.”

Callum crouched beside him. “She’s a strong woman, Lachlan. You’re fortunate to have her.”

Lachlan laughed humorlessly. “I doona have her. The fight we had…it was searing. She saved me because that’s what she does—saves people.”

“Aye, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you.”

He shrugged, but he felt a cramping in his chest. “I doona think either of us knows what we want, or what to do with the other.”

“You could marry her,” Callum suggested. “That’s a good place to start.”

He shook his head. “She no more wants to marry than I do.”

“Things change, Lachlan.”

Callum moved to the side of the bed by Amber’s head and sat down, running a hand over her hair, now darkened with sweat and tangled from the way she’d thrashed her head in pain when Mary had stitched her up. A bandage covered her cheek where one of the slivers had cut deeper than the others.

“You should come back to the castle and get some sleep. I’ll stay with her,” Callum said.

“I canna leave.”

“Then use the other bed. Or this bed. None will think twice about it.”

“Maybe later. I’m…afraid to let her out of my sight, even to close my eyes.” He lifted her hand again, laced their fingers. “We have to catch him, Callum. I need her to be safe.”

“Aye. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

The door squeaked open behind him, and he recognized Niall’s shuffling steps.

“Laird MacKay, Laird MacLean,” the old man whispered in greeting.

Callum rose. “Sit here, Niall. She’d want you close.”

“Thank you.” He sat in Callum’s spot and brushed his knuckles down Amber’s temple. “She’s all right?”

“I hope so,” Lachlan said. “She talked Mary through the surgery and praised her for doing a good job.”

“That sounds like her.”

“Aye.”

The steward’s cheeks were moist with tears. Callum rested a hand on his back, and Niall wiped away the wetness with his sleeve. “She’s so still. Amber is rarely still.”

“Mary gave her a draught for the pain,” Lachlan said. “It made her sleepy.”

“But not too much. She wouldnae want to be out of it for long.”

“Nay.”

Niall sighed. “I heard ’twas Machar Murray?”

“Aye.”

“And you knew he was coming? Both of you? You’d planned it?”

Lachlan nodded once, guilt writhing through him like a viper.

“Did she know?”

“Aye,” Callum said. “She knew none were safe with Murray still alive. And we were sure he would come after her. You told us yourself he was obsessed.”

Niall’s shoulders slumped. “So you weren’t courting her, Laird MacKay.”

Lachlan’s jaw ground together, his mind refusing to disavow the notion.

His silence caught the steward’s attention. “Ah, I see in your eyes you doona know how to answer. Both you and Amber, unwilling to see what is right in front of you.”

“She wouldnae have me even if I asked,” he said.

“Then you see even less than I do, and I’m half-blind.” He frowned at Lachlan. “She needs to be married. To be happy and loved. She needs to be protected by a strong man. If not by you, then someone else. I doona think she’ll have anyone here, though, and I heard Laird MacLean is already betrothed. Maybe one of your other brothers?”

The same fury he’d felt earlier roared through him. Callum stepped quickly in front of him, facing Niall, so Lachlan couldn’t rise.

“Doona e’er suggest such a thing,” Callum said. “None of my foster brothers would look on Amber in that way, and ’tis not for you to decide what is best for her. ’Tis her choice only.” ’Twas a firm reprimand, but Niall only looked more determined.

“I’m an old man. I can scheme all I like if I think ’twill do some good for those I love.”

Lachlan made a sound of disbelief—short and hard through his teeth—and sat back in his chair, still simmering with anger at Niall’s suggestion. It brought back all the feelings he’d had during his fight with Amber when she’d raised the possibility of laying with one of his foster brothers—but without the benefit of marriage.

He didn’t know which was worse.

“She canna be left alone here anymore,” Niall continued. “’Tis not safe. You can claim her or not, but she still needs to be protected.”

Lachlan shook his head. The old man didn’t understand. No one did. “Niall, I canna claim Amber, even if I wanted to. She has to claim me.”