Chapter Nine
Keir watched Grace’s full mouth, the soft, pink lips that had opened to scream in passion the evening before, tighten with her fury. She hated him now. It was better this way. The Devil of Dunakin couldn’t have attachments. Duty would always come first, and Grace was needed to help Lachlan live.
“Ye will ride before me on Cogadh,” he said, stepping closer to lift her up.
“Perhaps she should ride with me,” Brodie called. “I’m less likely to end up with a sgian dubh in my gut.”
Keir hadn’t taken away her weapon. He’d already stripped her of her pride and trust, and he wouldn’t leave her feeling even more defenseless.
“I will take my chances,” Keir said, reaching for her.
She slapped at his hands and turned toward the horse. “I can climb up on my own.” Her words were colder than the blizzard winds that had drawn them together. He stood there watching as she stepped on a hay bale and pulled herself up the side of Cogadh, straddling him to stare forward.
“I’ve never seen a woman able to climb your warhorse, Keir,” Brodie said with his lighter tone, but nothing was melting the ice Grace had encased herself within.
“I’ve been riding since I could walk,” Grace said. “There isn’t a horse I can’t befriend, mend, or climb upon.” Her gaze dipped to Keir. “So beware. Little Warrior knows who saved him from lameness.”
Keir had no doubt that his horse was faithful to him, but he nodded anyway and climbed up behind her. There was barely room for them both to sit in the saddle, and his thighs rested along the curve of her lovely round arse. But she held her back straight, leaning slightly forward so as not to touch him. It was going to be a long ride with a very bitter lass.
“How long will we journey?” she asked as they started out.
“It took us two days to ride down from Mallaig where there is a ferryman to take us across to Skye,” Brodie said. “Though with the snow, and a lady riding along, it may take three days.”
She snorted as if his comment was ludicrous.
“And Keir’s horse should not overstress his leg,” Brodie said.
“And where will we sleep?” Grace asked. She gazed at the cabin as they passed. Did she loathe the reminder of their intimacy?
“Brodie carries a tent folded on the back of his mount,” Keir said. “It’s not as sturdy as the cabin, but it will do.”
“It kept us dry on the way down,” Brodie said. “Until the blizzard hit with the fury of a banshee.” Brodie smiled across at Grace, giving her a roguish grin. “We will keep ye warm, lass.”
Grace said nothing, but when Brodie glanced his way, Keir made it obvious from the ice in his gaze that there would be no “we” when it came to warming Grace. Brodie’s grin soured, and he looked forward.
They rode for most of the morning, Grace sitting straight for hours before she slumped slightly forward as if her back ached. He halted them near a stream to eat some bannocks and cured beef that Brodie had brought from Kilchoan. When Grace stepped around a series of boulders to relieve herself, Keir and Brodie led the horses to the stream to drink.
Without preamble, Keir advanced on Brodie, stopping right before him. “Ye will not warm or touch Grace,” he said, his voice low, the threat evident. “I am responsible for her. Me, on my own. Is that clear?”
Brodie’s ready smile flattened, and though he had to look up at Keir, he didn’t back away. “Quite, though the reason behind it is not.”
“I don’t owe ye a reason. ’Tis none of your business,” Keir said and turned toward the stream.
Brodie snorted. “Everything about the Devil of Dunakin is my business, Keir.” He rubbed his horse’s side, adjusting the saddle. “Since the first day of your training as a tall, skinny lad, it’s been my duty, like it’s your duty to protect Dunakin.”
“That does not extend to Grace,” Keir said, his teeth set. He didn’t like to be at odds with the only person he considered a friend, but he didn’t need Brodie meddling.
Brodie frowned. “If she affects the great and mighty warlord who protects Dunakin and Clan Mackinnon, my guidance, and if needed, interference, certainly does extend to the Englishwoman.”
Keir frowned back at Brodie. “That does not include trying to get under her skirts,” Keir said. “She’s innocent and doesn’t need the likes of ye panting around her.”
“Innocent?” Brodie’s brows rose to his hairline. “Even after last night?”
“Because some bastard banged on the door,” Keir said through his locked teeth.
Brodie glanced toward the rocks where Grace had retreated. “And she didn’t know ye were taking her to Dunakin, with or without her permission.” He shook his head, raising a finger to scratch his ear. “I guess I don’t need to worry about her sweetening up to ye and turning your attention from your duty, do I?”
“She hates us both for taking her,” Keir said, dropping his fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Grace sneaking in a wide path around them. She’d risk the wild woods rather than continuing with him.
Brodie chuckled. “I’d say she hates ye quite a bit more than me.”
Keir turned, his gaze connecting with Grace’s, making her freeze, half hidden behind a tree. After a moment, she dropped her skirts with a huff as if realizing the futility in her escape attempt.
Keir watched her march back toward the horses. “I had no choice but to take her to Skye. ’Tis the duty of the Devil.”
Brodie’s grin faded with a slow, knowing nod. He placed his hand on Keir’s shoulder. “Aye, my friend. I know.”
…
Grace focused on the horse’s gait while her rage simmered under her skin. She continued to run through escape plans, but with wolves, snow, and damnably fast Highlanders about, all plans would end in disaster. The bitterness accompanying that realization helped her sit straight for hours, holding herself apart from Keir.
She loathed him, yet the way his parted thighs rubbed her, her backside pressed intimately against him, only reminded her of the passionate rhythm they’d set last evening. Damn her traitorously wanton thoughts. I hate him. He lied to me. God, carry him to Hell.
“He isn’t favoring his leg,” Keir said. Grace glared at his hand where it rested easily on his thigh, the reins in his strong fingers. “Your poultice took care of any taint, but we shouldn’t make him ride into the night. It’s been a long day.”
The rumble of his voice behind her made Grace squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. A long day, indeed. She’d tossed without sleep the night before and had been taken by force, riding all day with rigid anger. Anger at Keir, but also anger at herself for ignoring her earlier concern that he’d take her when she told him that Mairi was too difficult to reach.
“Cogadh was fortunate that a talented healer was near,” Keir said.
She snorted softly. “I suppose if I hadn’t been so bloody talented, I wouldn’t be riding to Skye right now.” But the poor horse had nothing to do with his master’s betrayal and lies. She leaned forward toward Little Warrior’s ears and stroked his neck. “I’m glad I was able to help you…Little Warrior,” she said, purposely adding the horse’s name so Keir wouldn’t think she extended the sentiment to him.
She should have left Keir bleeding in the snow and stolen his horse. The furious thought pinched inside Grace, making her feel worse. She’d never have left a person to die like that, even if he hadn’t risked his life to save her from the wolves.
“It all unfolds as it should,” Keir murmured.
She turned in her seat to stare into his face, ignoring his rugged jawline and the deep brown of his eyes. “So, I am taken away from an ailing man left alone in Kilchoan and a woman who needs help on Barra giving birth? God didn’t want me stolen. That was you, Keir Mackinnon.”
His gaze bored into her own stare. “It had nothing to do with what I want, Grace. It is the duty of the Devil of Dunakin to follow the chief’s orders and protect the clan.”
“Did your chief order you to kiss me?” she whispered, leaning in to prevent eavesdropping. “Touch me? Taste me?” She felt her face growing red but pushed on. “Was it your duty to seduce me into coming with you?” Damn, but he bloody well had. She’d been ready to offer to see his nephew this morning, but she’d never admit it now.
Keir grasped her hand, pulling it to lay flat on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat thud against her palm through his shirt. “On the souls of those I’ve lost, I swear to ye, Grace Ellington, nothing that happened between us last eve had anything to do with duty. No matter what comes of this, know this to be true.”
Grace’s pulse seemed to flip about as she watched him closely. “What did it have to do with, then?”
His voice was low, nearly a whisper. It rumbled with his Scots accent like his words last night when they were wrapped together. “Just a woman and a man, alone, without fear, without judgment or duty. Only heat and a willingness to give pleasure.”
Grace swallowed past the squeeze in her throat, reminded of the words she’d spoken. Keir’s gaze still held that heat now. Was he telling her the truth? Would he dare to swear on the soul of his mother with lies? It didn’t matter. He’d tricked her, and she would hate him forever now. Though he probably didn’t care. Grace broke the connection by turning to stare out over Little Warrior’s head. “What will become of me once I help your nephew?”
The horse took several steps before Keir answered. “I will take ye to Kisimul Castle or Aros, as ye wish.”
Grace caught Brodie’s glance, but he didn’t say anything. “Is this another lie, to get me to cooperate?” she asked.
The forest was quiet as the sun lowered, filtering down through the jutting trees. “When ye have seen and helped Lachlan, I will see ye to your destination, unless I am dead,” Keir said, signaling for them to stop in a small clearing at the base of a hill.
“Is that a possibility?” Grace asked, trying to keep her voice light, as if she didn’t much care if he lived or died.
Brodie laughed. “Not likely that anyone could best the Devil of Dunakin, but if he’s unable, I will take care of ye.”
“I don’t wish to be taken care of by any man,” Grace said, frowning over Brodie’s choice of words. Did Brodie Mackinnon like to cause trouble or was he just obtuse?
“Lo, lass,” Brodie said, rubbing a hand down his short beard. “It would be safer if a man took care of ye, especially up in the wilds of the Highlands.”
“Grace has my protection,” Keir said, and Grace could feel the power behind his words, almost as if they were an oath. They sent a little thrill through her body. Foolish body.
“I can protect myself,” she said, looking down at Keir as he dismounted.
He didn’t smile or say anything, but the look in his eyes was amused. “What?” she asked. Reaching up, he lifted her down. “What?” she repeated, her voice terse when she realized that she hadn’t demanded to climb down on her own. She could have at least kicked him in the chest.
“And what will ye do if another pack of wolves decides that ye smell like their next meal?” Keir asked, dragging the saddle off the horse’s back.
Grace tipped her chin higher and looked beyond to the white-blanketed meadow, surrounded by snow-clad evergreens. The limbs hung low as if bowing to them in greeting. Grace crossed her arms. “To foster courage, one must envision dangers and form a plan to know what to do if the danger occurs. I had no plan before. Now I do.”
“Which is?” Keir asked. Brodie led his horse toward them as if wanting to join in the ridiculous conversation. She ignored him.
“I will stand tall and growl back, to start with,” she said.
“That didn’t work well for me,” Keir said, making Brodie chuckle.
“I will climb a tree and throw my dirk at the leader.”
“First, the tree must be low enough to climb, but not so low that the wolf can climb after ye,” Brodie said and pulled the saddle from the back of his own horse.
“And ye need further practice with your sgian dubh,” Keir said.
Grace pursed her lips. “The wind snatched my dagger from its path during the storm. Otherwise I would have hit the wolf instead of you.”
“Ye hit Keir with a dagger?” Brodie asked, laughing out loud. “’Twas quite a difficult rescue, eh?”
Grace would have nodded but was certain both men thought the rescue was difficult for Keir, not her, even though she was the one who’d covered them with cut evergreens and blankets to keep them alive. “My earlier warning stands,” she said, looking pointedly at them. “When not buffeted by gale winds, I throw quite well,” she said. “Gavin has been training me to aim with mortal consequences.”
“Who is Gavin?” Keir asked, his voice stripped of mirth.
“A mighty Maclean warrior,” Grace said, exaggerating. Gavin was strong, but she had no idea if Tor, the Maclean chief, considered him mighty.
“Why is he teaching ye to throw a dagger?” Keir asked.
“He wants to protect me, too,” she said and rubbed a gloved hand across her lips to dispel the grimace. Good God, she was tired of this talk. “Just because a woman lacks courage doesn’t mean all the men around her must swear to protect her,” she said, throwing her words over her shoulder as she walked away.
“He has sworn to protect ye?” Keir asked, leaving his horse to follow her across the clearing.
“He thinks ye lack courage?” Brodie called, his voice full of surprise.
“Yes, and yes,” Grace said, turning. She frowned at the little leap her heart did to see Keir was close. I loathe him, she reminded herself, narrowing her eyes.
“Why?” Keir and Brodie asked at the same time.
She looked past Keir to Brodie. “Why what?”
“Why has he sworn to protect ye?” Keir asked first. “Which, by the way, he hasn’t come close to upholding his oath, letting ye journey alone to Barra and be nearly eaten by a pack of wolves.”
Brodie coughed in his hand and spit on the ground near his horse’s hoof. “And a lass who willingly rides with the Devil of Dunakin isn’t lacking courage. This Gavin sounds like a dolt.”
“Gavin is not a dolt,” she answered. “He’s quite nice. And I’m not willingly riding with Keir.” She scrunched her nose at him as if he smelled foul.
“Why has he sworn?” Keir asked again.
Grace stretched her sore back, reaching high. “He wants to wed me, so he can take care of me.”
Keir walked past her, and she realized he held a rolled tarp. He flicked it open, shaking it wide to drape over the thick, horizontal branch of a tree. Even though he didn’t look at her, his words carried. “Ye need more than nice, Grace. Ye have too much passion in ye for a weak dolt.”
Grace refused to look at him and watched Brodie clear a spot, arranging stones in a circle for a fire. “Whether ye are riding willingly or not, ye are one brave lass,” Brodie called, glancing over his shoulder with a nod. “The Devil of Dunakin is the meanest, most brutal warrior in all the Highlands. Even his own men tremble under his scrutiny.”
Grace walked away from Keir, gathering twigs that had dried in the sun. “Well, that’s foolish. A leader shouldn’t rule his men with fear and brutality.”
“It has worked for generations within the Mackinnon clan,” Brodie said, shrugging. “The Devil of Dunakin rules the warriors with ferocity and strict adherence to clan law and duty.” He leaned in, hitting the flint to catch a spark on a small piece of wool between his thumbs.
Grace glanced over at Keir where he pulled taut the corners of the tent. He’d thrown off his outer covering, and his massive biceps strained against the fabric of his shirt as he forced sticks into the frozen ground to act as tent stakes. Grim frowns, savage markings on his skin, and powerful muscles might frighten some who didn’t know Keir, but the man was far from cruel. Maybe if she reminded him of that, he’d realize abducting her was dishonorable. “Does saving wolf pups by not slaughtering their parents, fall under strict adherence to clan law?” she asked. “A brutal, cruel show of force?”
He straightened to his full height. “And the favor earned me more scars and three days of fever.”
And my respect, she admitted silently. That must be the reason she’d let him trick her so easily. Grace sniffed and watched a clump of snow fall from high up in a tree where a large bird had landed. “You pulled through, and those pups have a chance of surviving the winter. Intelligence and thoughtfulness, reasonable judgment to accompany strength and strategic prowess. That is what earns a leader the respect of his warriors. Not brutality and fear.”
“And how many warriors have ye led, Grace Ellington?” Keir asked, brushing his hands together.
She met his sharp gaze. “And how many warriors would die to keep you safe when they fear you, Keir Mackinnon?”
“One,” Brodie called over. “’Tis my duty.”
Grace snorted, bringing over the small gathering of twigs for the fire. “Foolish men. Always ready to kill rather than find a civil way to proceed.”
“Some men would rather fight than have a pointless conversation,” Keir said.
“Good Lord,” Grace said. “I think I’d rather not ride with you.”
“Well, ye aren’t allowed to ride with me,” Brodie said. “So, I guess ye’ll be running behind Cogadh.”
Grace looked between them. “Why am I not allowed to ride with you?” she asked.
Brodie scratched the side of his head and glanced toward Keir. “Uh…’tis a rule. All stolen lasses must ride with the Devil of Dunakin.” He shrugged. “It’s an old rule, ancient Mackinnon law.”
Grace squinted her eyes at Brodie in blatant suspicion, but he turned away. “There are more bannocks, dried fish, and a few apple fritters,” he said, leaving her to retrieve a sack from his horse.
Grace inspected the crude tent Keir had suspended. She’d need something to protect her from the frozen ground. She used her sgian dubh to saw through the limb of an evergreen across the clearing. Her muscles had strengthened since coming to the Highlands. Perhaps she could survive if she escaped into the woods.
“What are ye doing?” Brodie asked, walking over to stare at her growing pile of branches.
“Cutting branches to dry before the fire to sleep upon,” she said.
“Clever,” he said.
“It helped keep the snow from freezing Keir and me in the blizzard. I rolled him over and stuffed the branches under him when he was unconscious. Although those boughs were wet. If I dry these out by the fire, they should work even better.” She stopped to rest, hands on her hips.
Brodie’s mouth dropped open. “Ye knocked Keir out when ye hit him with your dagger?” He sounded completely astounded.
“Nay,” Keir called from the other side of the fire, where he checked his horse’s hock, rubbing the muscles in the animal’s leg.
“The wolves then? They rendered ye unconscious, and Cogadh trampled them to keep ye from being further eaten?” Brodie asked. He bent to gather the load of cut boughs, shaking them to shed the snow.
“I fell on him,” Grace said and picked up the last two boughs to follow Brodie to the fire.
“Her limb knocked me in the head,” Keir said. “After the wolves decided the taste of my leg wasn’t worth the wrath of my horse.”
“And ye cut branches in a frozen tempest and tucked them around to keep the blizzard from freezing ye two solid?” Brodie asked, his brows high.
“Yes, I did,” Grace said with a slight rise to her chin.
He shook his head. “Clever lass,” Brodie said. “Clever and brave.”
His words made Grace feel lighter. Someone thought she had courage. It didn’t matter that he was an annoying arse. He was also a warrior.
“I had to lie on top of Keir to keep us warm,” she said. “And when he woke, he thought I was an angel.” She bent at the waist to prop her boughs over a log at the edge of the fire.
She expected a humorous comment from Brodie and possible embarrassment from Keir, although she couldn’t imagine him blushing over anything. But there was only silence. Straightening, she spotted Keir spitting one of the rabbits they’d caught. Brodie stood frozen, staring at him with a hardened, dark surprise etched on his features.
“An angel?” Brodie said, the two words spat out as an accusation.
“I’d been struck on the head,” Keir said, his glance going to Brodie. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It means nothing.”
Grace’s gaze moved back and forth between them, Brodie stiff, his hands fisted and Keir ignoring him. She let out a small, dark laugh, meant to be threatening. “And I am definitely not an angel.”
Thawing slowly, Brodie turned on his heel, disappearing in the thickening shadows of the woods.