Chapter Eighteen
The horse bounced and jolted Skye as they rode swiftly through the dense forest and winding trails. Trees flew by in blurs, and she fought the urge to lash out at the brute behind her, opting instead to spend her energy on figuring out a means of escape, knowing she was no match for her abductors’ strength. Ross had pinned her to his chest, but not before she’d been able to drive her fist into his groin.
Luckily, he’d not struck her in retaliation, but had chosen to bind her hands so that she no longer had that option. He’d also stuffed a gag that smelled of sweaty horses into her mouth after she’d bitten a finger of the hand he’d closed over her cries for help.
Afraid the smoke had been coming from Brodie’s parents’ home, Skye had thrown on her boots and cloak, intending to help with the fire, but had barely left the cottage when Neil grabbed her. Icy dread filled her veins as she stared down Ross, the man she feared would give her over to Argyll and whatever awful fate the Covenanter leader had planned for her.
Swallowing, she said, “Please, I have to help with the fire.”
“Nae, lass.” Ross climbed onto his horse, and Neil tossed her on after him. “’Tis nothing but a distraction for yer guards. By the time they have it figured out, we’ll be long gone.”
Ross bolted like the devil himself was after them. And he would be, if Brodie caught up to the arse—he would unleash hell on her abductor. She tamped down her fear, knowing Brodie would come for her. Now, what could she do to slow them down?
But what if he couldn’t reach her in time? She’d not even been given the chance to say good-bye to Brodie. Her stomach lurched, and her eyes started to sting. She needed to tell him that if things had been different with all this clan politics and duty, she would have chosen him. Now, if she were able to make it back to her uncle, she would be going to another man’s bed, beholden to the MacPherson clan. But her heart would remain at the cottage with Brodie.
“How do ye ken Brodie?” Ross pulled the cloth from her mouth once he seemed to think they’d reached a safe distance from her old home.
Despite her trembling hands and racing heart, the arse would get nothing from her. She held her tongue.
“Skye,” Ross intruded again. “Why are ye with Brodie Cameron?”
She was no fool. There was no way she would betray Brodie to a man who held a grievance with him. Brodie had not said much about Ross, but it had been obvious they knew each other, and there was some sort of feud or at least a strained relationship between them.
“Answer me, lass,” he commanded as his grip on her tightened. She sensed frustration with her noncompliance, not anger, like he wasn’t accustomed to a lass refusing him anything.
“My wrists hurt,” she ground out. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but maybe if she could convince him to stop, it would give the Cameron men or Brodie a chance to catch up to them. Surely, her absence had been discovered by now.
Silence met her, and she could tell by the decreasing pace, he was contemplating stopping.
“Ye want answers from me? Ye will have to untie me.” Surprised at how calm she sounded, she glanced over her shoulder to meet his brooding gray gaze and let him know she was going to stand her ground. She pinned him with steely resolve, even though dread snaked its way through her body and clenched her heart. If he planned to give her to Argyll, now might be her only opportunity for escape.
“Neil, the horses need a break.” Ross called to his friend. “But we can’t be long.”
Coming to a stop, Ross climbed down and drew her from the steed’s back. Pulling a knife from his boot, he sliced through the twine, freeing her hands.
Shaking them about, she backed up, keeping her gaze on Ross but trying to watch Neil as well. “How do ye ken my uncle?”
Something akin to fury flashed in his eyes. A shiver ran down her spine, her hands clasping her skirts in hopes of hiding the tremors threatening to give away her fear. Tilting his head to the side, he studied her and instead of answering her question, said, “I admit I am intrigued by ye. I have kenned Brodie a long time, but never seen him so enamored with a lass. There must be something about ye, but he has never mentioned ye.” She held her breath as the MacLean circled around her.
“Mayhap that is because there is nothing between us.” It hurt to let the words fly from her mouth, because they betrayed her heart, and she knew that no matter where she ended up, despite the lie, she would always have to tell it. She would always have to deny the secret that she now knew would cripple her.
“Nae, lass. I have spent many nights with Brodie and a bottle of whisky, and no’ once did he ever mention ye and those fiery green eyes. That leads me to believe ye mean more to him than just a casual tup.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. She turned away, but it was too late—he’d seen the anger his words had inflicted. Silence fell over her again. There was no way to respond that would not give away her secret. At least, no way that might not endanger Brodie.
“Yer reluctance to speak of him leads me to believe the same of ye. Does he own yer heart, lass?”
She held her tongue and tried to steer the conversation back to what she hoped was a safe subject as she covertly studied their surroundings, looking for any means of escape.
His gaze caught hers, and he scowled, “We need to be going.”
No, she needed more time; she was certain if she got back on that horse her chance at rescue or escape would be gone.
Putting her hands on her hips and staring him down, she asked, “What do ye seek from the MacDonald laird?”
Ross stiffened, and she knew she’d bought a little more time. “He has my father on his island. I need him back, and I need yer uncle’s clan to leave my people be.” His deep tenor had changed from an easy tone to barely contained rage. Maybe she should be worried about what this man would do to her uncle instead of Brodie, but at the same time, relief set in that he was not going to hand her over to Argyll.
“Ye wish to trade me for yer father?” She recalled what the two of them had said as they had thrown her into that wagon.
“Aye, I do, lass.”
“What if he doesnae meet yer terms?” She goaded him, knowing the distraction was working.
“He willnae let one of his enemies hold his favorite niece.”
“Why did he take yer father? I’ve heard nothing of him.” Stepping over to a large rock, she sat and pulled a boot off, inspecting it as if it had a rock in it.
“They’re accusing him of murder,” Ross scoffed as he paced in front of her.
“Whose murder?”
“Some fisherman.”
She inhaled sharply, remembering the journey to Stirling and the incident she’d tried to block out. Murdina’s husband. “Did he do it?”
“Nae, lass, he had no reason to. My father is a good man, and despite the brutality of yer uncle’s clan, we wouldnae attack an innocent man. The MacLeans are better than that.” The conviction in his voice was reassuring, but did Ross think the MacDonald clan capable of such cruelty? They were all good, God-fearing men and women.
“Why does my uncle think he did it?” But the name written in sand by the body, his disappearance on their journey to Stirling—he must think the MacLean laird responsible for Niven’s horrific death. But that still wouldn’t explain him sanctioning attacks on innocent MacLean farmers if he held their laird at Cairntay.
“It doesnae matter. I’m going to get my father back and end the violence before the MacDonald causes a war.”
“Do ye no’ ken ye may be making things worse by taking me?”
“Nae. I think the MacDonald will agree ye are worth the price of my father and peace.”
“Ye will also have my cousins to worry about. Let me speak to my uncle. He will listen to me if I ask him to let the MacLean free.” She wasn’t certain he would, but if she could show Ross that she held sway over her uncle, maybe she could get away.
“Nae, lass. I cannae take that chance. Put yer boot on. We need to be going.” She obeyed because she would need it on when she made a run for the road. They had stayed to a trail by the river, and if the Camerons weren’t coming, the well-traveled path to the village might be her only hope of finding someone who could help.
“Ye are only two. Ye are no match for my uncle’s men.”
He huffed at her response as he started to gather the horses. “Neil will keep ye hidden away until I return with my father.”
Too bad Ross was almost likeable, because her uncle and cousins were going to kill him once she was safe.
…
Brodie’s heart hammered a frantic beat as he raced through the dense forest. He and the guards had been able to find the tracks of two horses and had taken off in pursuit. Once they were sure they had found the right path—following the river north, toward the Isle of Skye—Brodie sent the men for reinforcements. Who had taken her? Was it Ross and Neil? Argyll? He assumed it was Ross, because Argyll’s men would have left more destruction in their wake, if not killed Skye as soon as they’d found her.
Damn. The noise he’d heard the night before—it had curdled in his belly and kept sleep from returning, and now he knew why. Instinct had tried to warn him that, despite the extra guards Lachlan had put on the house, they were being watched, but he’d dismissed it.
He should have known better than to let his guard down where Skye was concerned, but his mission as the Royalist Raven had to come first, and she had paid the price for his choices. He had proven yet again that he was unworthy of her, and that being near him posed too many dangers. After all these years, he could still hear the MacDonald’s voice ringing in his ears. “He is no’ good enough for her.”
The pounding of his horse’s hooves was drowned by the soft earth and the roaring of the nearby water. The snow had melted, leaving the ground below a thick, soupy mess. Following the river, he was thankful Skye’s abductors had stuck to the back way. If the treacherous arses had gone to the main road, their tracks would have mingled with the myriad of others, and it would be harder to find them.
He and Ross had been friends of a sort, making meaningless bets on those drunken nights that had been his sole source of amusement during the first few months of Skye’s absence. He continued the friendship despite being the Raven, because the man had always seemed genuine to him.
Now, his companion on those nights, a man who had dark secrets of his own, had his arms wound around her waist. Ross had demons, but Brodie had never thought of the man as dangerous—it was out of character with the fun-loving rogue of a drinking buddy he had been. Whatever his reasons, they would never be good enough to wash away the man’s sin of placing a hand on his Skye.
He sharpened his gaze on the path ahead as he imagined Ross riding behind his woman, which sent pulses of rage through his heated blood.
He was going to kill Ross MacLean.
…
As laughter reached Brodie’s ears, and he realized his quarry had stopped, he slowed his mount, hoping the soft earth and dense trees would mask the thumps of his horse’s hoofbeats. Recognizing Neil’s voice, he pulled to a halt. So it was those two arses, after all.
“’Twas luck we left yer family when we did and ran across Brodie in the village.”
“Aye, I hated having to go home before tracking the lass down, but it seems to have worked to our advantage.”
“I wish I had been able to see his face.”
“Enough. I dinnae have a good feeling about this.” Ross’s reply was quiet and clipped.
Brodie had never heard the man utter anything other than his boisterous, drunken voice or the soft-spoken drawl the rogue used on the lasses. This was the serious, dark man beneath the surface.
After climbing down from his horse, Brodie crept forward, grabbing a large, club-size branch from on the forest floor. He would unsheathe his sword, but he had questions that needed to be answered, and killing the men wasn’t currently an option.
“Did she tell ye what she was doing with that Cameron?”
“Nae, she wouldnae. I think she has a soft spot for him.”
Brodie studied them through the trees as they gathered their horses, apparently preparing to mount and ride on. Ross’s gaze skimmed the trees and almost landed on him, but it kept going, likely watching for his arrival. The man knew he couldn’t be far behind, and was probably anxious to put more distance between them.
Skye was safe and sitting on a rock on the other side of the small clearing near the river, facing away from the water and toward the woods as she laced up her boot. Her hair had come loose from the braid she’d twisted it into this morning. She was disheveled and seemed exhausted as she peered into the woods. Not in his direction, so he wouldn’t be able to get her attention without alerting the men, but at least she was several paces away from her abductors.
Relief washed over him as he realized she did not appear to be injured. His fists clenched around the club. The bark bit into his palms, but the pain gave him clarity.
Neil came to stand in front of her, just a few feet from his location. “What were ye doing with Brodie Cameron, lass?”
She did not respond.
Neil’s face puffed and turned red at her casual dismissal. He stepped closer, “What were ye doing with him, wench?” Spittle flew out of his mouth, and still she did not answer.
Brodie inched forward. That man was not going to lay a hand on his woman.
“Leave her be.” Ross’s tone had a resigned quality to it.
“We need to ken if he will come after her.”
“He will. I saw the way he looked at her. We just have to be on guard and watch for him.”
“Then ’tis time we get on our way. This stop has taken too long.”
When Neil turned back toward Ross, Brodie lunged.