Chapter 2
I wake not to the gentle sounds of crickets and babbling water but to the loud angry shouts of men and the rustling of leaves.
What the hell’s going on? Am I dreaming?
No, not a dream as my aching body can attest. Taking stock of my surroundings, I see that rowan and aspen trees encompass me. No longer is there a lovely garden and fountain, but tall trees as far as I could see. Oh my God, was I drunk? Had I wandered off and passed out? I didn’t think I drank that much. Was I drugged and hauled off into the woods?
I touch the earth as if to ground me. The dirt is cool against my skin. Pushing myself up, I brush myself off with a shaky hand.
Once I steady myself, I take a deep breath and look around for my shoes.
Out of nowhere, someone runs into me.
“Please don’t let them take me. We must hide quickly before they find us.” A wild-eyed little boy with black curls grabs my hand, rather forcefully I might add, and pulls me deeper into the thicket. We crouch down low into the bushes.
“What’s going on?” I ask but he claps a cold, shaking hand over my mouth. With his eyes, he urges me to be quiet.
“I ken you’re there, ye little bastard. Come then, and let’s be off or else yer father willna see ye again. Is that what ye want?”
The little boy silently pleads with me to save him. I wonder who’s going to save me?
But I don’t have the luxury of acting upon my fear with this frightened child in my arms. I wrap my arms around him, more to comfort myself, if I’m being honest.
The angry shouts get closer and closer as we hold each other. Should I stay in the bush, or make a run for it? Where would we run? The rustling gets closer, and now I can hear the man’s labored breathing.
“MacGregor, ye little whelp, come along before I skin ye alive!”
The angry man is standing right over us. I hear him laugh as he reaches into the bush and pulls me out.
“What have we here?” The massive, bearded man holds me by my shoulders in a steel grip.
“Get your hands off me!” I scream more in anger than fear.
His eyes appraise me openly. Since I’m wearing only a silk Dior slip dress in the middle of the woods, I can imagine what he thinks of me. Without warning, his mouth crushes mine, as he unceremoniously shoves his tongue into my mouth. I kick him, but since I have no shoes on and he’s wearing boots to his knees, it hurt me more than him. Having never taken a self-defense class, I use the only other move that comes to mind, and I knee him between his legs. It may be crude but it’s effective.
He grunts and slaps me across the face. I end up on the ground in a heap. Stunned, I taste salty blood on my tongue. Now I’m truly scared and glad he didn’t find the little boy still hiding in the bush. Tears sting my eyes. I grab a branch on the ground next to me then stand. Armed with my flimsy weapon, I face my attacker.
“Stay back, or I’ll scream.” As soon as I’ve spoken, I realize my actions have had the opposite effect on him.
“Ah, she’s feisty,” he says, and the sound of metal scraping against leather drowns out even the sound of my heartbeat. I watch as he draws a long sword from his belt.
An honest to goodness sword.
“Holy shit,” I say aloud, and he cocks his head at my words.
As he takes a step toward me, I see his gaze dart over my shoulder, and he scowls.
“You’ve taken to fighting women now, Murray?”
I hear a chorus of laughter behind me.
“Och, Angus. Get your own whore. This one’s mine,” my attacker says as he raises his sword to battle.
I’m pushed out of the way by whomever is behind me and I end up in the leaves again. From my crouching position on the ground, all I can see are swords and men. Face still throbbing, I crawl over to the bush where the little boy is hiding.
As I reach the safety of the bush, someone grabs my ankle and pulls me back along the forest floor, and before I know it, I’m on my back under a sweaty, hairy soldier. I use my forearms to push him off me but he’s too big.
“Come and give me a kiss, sweetling.” He grinds his filthy mouth against mine.
I kick and push as much as I can, all to no avail.
Suddenly, the brute is yanked from my body, and I stare in horror at the sword sticking out of his chest. This is no reenactment or bad dream. I’m not drunk or drugged.
This is real.
How did this happen?
My poor Dior slip dress is now up to my thighs and filthy. I scramble to my feet and pick up my stick again, prepared to defend myself from the next attacker. I know it’s no match against a sword, but I need something. My short nails dig into my palm as I clutch my weapon. I hear movement behind me. Taking a deep breath, I turn and swing as hard as I can.
“Christ, woman. Yield!”
Two hands wrap around my wrists and pull me flush against a hard chest. I look up into the face of my captor. An angry pair of dark eyes stare down at me.
“Duncan, come out now,” my captor calls as he glares down at me, still holding my wrists.
My little friend crawls out of the bush.
“Angus!” he yells with an expression of unmitigated relief.
As if all of our problems are solved with this declaration. If this little boy thinks Angus is a friend, then I can go along with that. I should breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, my whole body shivers. I want him to kiss me, right now, in the middle of this madness.
You’ve officially lost it, Kate.
The angry Highlander looks from me to the branch I’m still clutching in my hand. Slowly he takes the branch out of my hand and tosses it on the ground. I can taste the salt on my lips before I realize I’m crying.
Releasing me, he looks at me like I’m an alien. I suppose I do look like one. Standing in the woods with branches in my hair and only wearing a slip dress, I must look like a raving lunatic. A well-dressed lunatic, but still . . .
I wrap my arms around myself to stop the shivering and because I feel quite underdressed with him staring at me like that. Returning his stare, I can’t help but notice that this man is at least a foot taller than I am and twice as wide in the shoulders. He’s got the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. It’s so unfair. Women would kill for those lashes. I know I’m staring, but he’s gorgeous. I’ve clearly lost my mind.
Still looking at me, he calls over his shoulder, “Here,” and more men arrive quickly with swords.
“Swords.”
I think I must have said that aloud, as he narrows his gaze. Having the full attention of the beautiful, angry man before me, I take a step back.
Angus points his sword at my heart and growls, “And who are you?”
That I don’t faint dead away is a miracle. Instead, little Duncan bravely steps to the warrior’s side and pulls his kilt to get his attention.
“Nay, Angus, lower your sword. She saved me.”
The warrior doesn’t flinch. More resolute, young Duncan squares his shoulders.
“Now, Angus. Lower your claymore. I order ye.” That command seems to get through to Angus, and he points his sword to the ground.
We are fully surrounded now, but Duncan doesn’t seem afraid. He clearly knows these men well and has some authority over them.
Just as Angus sheaths his massive sword over his shoulder, a loud, frantic voice cuts through the tension, “Duncan, son, where are ye?” And with that, the little boy runs into his father’s arms.
The logical part of my brain rejects the absurdity of this situation. Before I can contain it, a deranged giggle escapes me, and I quickly cover my mouth.
Shaking in earnest, I dig my toes into the earth below, searching for reality. Apparently, Angus doesn’t miss anything because he removes his tartan and wraps it around me, pinning it at my shoulder. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face. Instinctively, I lean into him. He doesn’t move away.
I barely notice the men step aside and allow the little boy and his father make their way to me. Angus remains between us, angling his body slightly.
“Ye saved me,” Duncan declares. “Yer so brave. I canna believe you fought the Murrays with a stick.”
The boy’s father takes my hands and squeezes. “You have my thanks, lady.” He looks expectantly at me, and I barely eke out, “Katherine Cameron.”
“I am Douglas MacGregor and this young man is my son, Duncan.” He ruffles the boy’s hair, smiling at him. “If I may ask, how did you find yourself in the woods in nothing but . . .” He tilts his head and nods at my present state.
I have no idea how to answer because the truth is too much for even me to grasp. Fortunately, I’m saved from having to fumble through a lie.
“Father, the Murrays must have absconded with her as well. Why else would she be in the woods in that?” He points to me.
Though I’m covered in the heavy plaid, I feel naked.
“Lady Katherine.” He smiles gently at me. “Let’s get you both back to the castle. You’ve had quite enough excitement for one day.”
“And you.” He pins the little boy with a glare. “Your mother will have a few words for ye.” With my name and story neatly in place, it appears we’re heading back to the MacGregor castle. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but at least I’m safe for now.
“Come,” Angus commands.
I notice that he’s still standing close, and he has a look on his face that I can’t quite place. Is it anger? He appears agitated. Maybe that’s his perpetual countenance.
I follow Angus through the trees. As I do, my brain is trying to catch up to my galloping heart. I should be reviewing my options. Perhaps I can try to run away or maybe try to find the castle?
Instead of running away from Angus, I trail behind him.
Not a bad view.
Gaining a little bravado, I move to walk alongside Angus. From this view, beside him, I have a chance to study him a little. I barely come to his shoulders so he must be over six feet six since I’m five eight. I notice that though his hair is brown, when light catches it, there’s some red and gold strands interspersed. Looking around at the men, they’re all massive, wearing kilts and leather armbands. Their hair is almost as long as mine, and they have narrow, thin braids down the sides of their faces. With boots laced to their calves and swords strapped across the length of their backs, I’m glad they’re on my side.
Ouch! I stop and grab my foot. Trying to maintain my balance while I rub my foot makes me wish I didn’t quit yoga. Ava said I was too stressed and needed to stay limber. I can only laugh to myself as her words come back to mock me. Since I’m not wearing any shoes, it’s proving impossible not to step on a jagged rock or twig. Running to my side, Duncan looks worried.
“What happened, Lady Katherine?”
“It’s okay, Duncan. I just stepped on something sharp.” Trying to balance as I take a look at my filthy, bleeding foot and wonder if this pain is real or if I’ll wake up snuggled under the soft down comforter in the castle.
“You’ve no shoes and now you’re bleeding. Angus, you should carry her.”
I immediately look up, horrified, ready to protest. “No, I’m fine. No need to . . . Ahh!” I’m unable to finish my sentence because without preamble or permission, I’m scooped up like a child by Angus.
Oh my. This is not unpleasant.
The men are all looking now that he’s made a spectacle of us. Duncan and Lord MacGregor are laughing and Angus, well, he’s looking straight ahead. I must weigh a ton because the vein on the side of his neck is pulsing and I can feel his heart his pounding.
“Angus, put me down. I’m fine.” He glances at me and continues walking. This would be terribly romantic if he wasn’t scowling at me. Angus, carrying me, makes his way through the woods with only Duncan’s cheerful chatting and my pounding pulse permeating the silence.
What am I going to do once I get to the castle? Dear God, the girls must be frantic. How am I going to get home?
Silent tears slip down my face as the adrenaline abates and the reality of the situation comes crashing down on me. I tremble with the realization that I’ll probably never see my friends again. I pull the plaid up to hide my face and rest against Angus. He doesn’t say anything. I’m sure he can’t wait to get as far away from me as possible. Men just love crying women.
By the time we reach the clearing and the horses, my tears have subsided. Angus puts me down and readies his horse. It’s a beautiful beast, like its owner, and it occurs to me that I’ve never been on a horse before. Ever. The horseback riding lessons that Maddy organized looked like fun, but I opted for a tour of the castle instead. Now I wish I had taken the damn lessons. Owning a lovely pair of Tory Burch riding boots does not count toward a riding lesson.
As I’m thinking about the tall brown boots that I’ll never wear again, Angus’s low, deep Scots accent pierces my melancholy, shattering it to bits.
“Ye’ll ride with me.”