Charming the Shrew (27 page)

C
ATRIONA LEANED LOW
over her horse’s neck but held the horse back, riding fast, but not so fast her brothers could not catch up with her. She purposely made as much noise as possible, praying that at least some of her brothers followed her. She had made the decision when Jamie pulled Ailig from his horse and Callum pulled Tayg from his to draw as many of the brothers away as possible. Gair’s lads were strong, but only half the girth of any of the MacLeods. Gair and Friar John were not young, and Tayg would never survive another confrontation with Broc and the sheep, and no matter how much her heart ached, she’d not let them kill Tayg. If she was to ensure his survival, she must push aside the hurt, the betrayal, at least for now, and focus on the trail ahead. She had turned upstream, knowing ’twas in the opposite direction from Culrain, in the hope that she would draw the brothers away from the road so Tayg and Ailig could race to the king.

In Linsmore ’twas said the king was in Culrain. Tayg had said this road led to his home…his home, not the clan he entertained, his clan, his family. His home. Nay, she could not think on that. She must draw the sheep away, let Tayg and Ailig warn the king, save her clan from Dogface’s treachery, and then she would contemplate her future—a future that was all the bleaker for her clan’s disgrace.

Perhaps she would return to Lina and Gair’s. She sat up and the horse slowed. Nay, she would never return to their pretty cottage. She had given her heart and her body to Tayg the Bard in that place, only the bard didn’t exist. She had been Tayg of Culrain’s hostage…a willing hostage, it would seem. Embarrassment flooded through her. He must think her the most silly of wenches, giving herself to a man she never knew. He must think her little more than a whore, though the only coin he had need of was pretty words and a twinkle in his eyes.

If only the bard had been real. That man she could gladly spend the rest of her life with, laughing and arguing, loving…and making bairns. Oh dear God, what if she was with child? She could not be. ’Twould be too harsh a judgment for her folly.

Tears blinded her for she found more than anything she wanted her bard’s bairn. The man may not have been real, but her feelings for him had been. A bairn at least would prove that her feelings had existed, even if they had not been truly returned. The man had even asked her to marry him. Hah. What would he have done if she had?

He would have mocked her, left her behind somewhere to fend for herself…but no. He would not. The honest answer pushed through from her bruised heart. He would not abandon her, would not mock her, would never leave her like that.

Her horse shied, nearly toppling her off his back had she not had her fingers firmly twined in his mane.

“I see ’tis the shrew at last,” a deep voice rumbled.

She settled her horse and hastily swiped the tears from her eyes. “Damn.”

Dogface MacDonell sat on his horse, blocking the forest trail, close enough to her horse that he reached out and grabbed one of the reins, yanking it free from her.

“You do have a way with words, wife.” He smirked at her.

“I am not your—”

“Where are your brothers? Your…escort?”

Her breath hitched as she realized the full breadth of her danger.

“You have left them behind? Even your erstwhile lover?” He urged his horse closer to her, grabbing her arm in his steely grip when she made to dismount. He pulled her so close she could feel his sour breath upon her face. “You will never see him again, do you understand? If ever I lay eyes upon him he will die. You will be my wife.”

Anger coursed through her, sharp and welcome, pushing aside her morose thoughts. “Nay,” she said, yanking her arm from his grasp. “I will be no man’s wife. If you think to force me you will find a knife in your heart, and I do not speak figuratively.”

“The lass speaks the truth, I fear.” Dogface and Catriona jerked their glances behind her. Broc sat his horse, a smirk on his face. “She is the devil’s own spawn, Duff. ’Tis doubtful she keeps her virtue, even. Are you sure you want her?”

Dogface looked her over carefully, his expression grim. “I have no choice, as well you know.”

Broc’s horse brought him to the other side of Catriona, and she did not know which man to keep her eyes on. Each was dangerous, but she suddenly felt the power in the situation shift subtly from Duff to Broc. Surprised, she found herself studying Broc.

He grinned at her. “You did not think he wanted you for your bonny form, did you, my sister? ’Tis only daft bards who would want such from a troublesome woman.”

She felt as if he twisted a knife in her gut, but she forced herself to think. “What does he gain…” It hit her, everything falling into place. Her tocher—his clan—the alliance between the clans. All would benefit the MacDonells, not the MacLeods. All would put the MacDonells at Broc’s feet, deep in his debt.

“He is not the instigator of this betrothal nor of the plot against the king, is he, Broc?” she said.

“You are not usually so easily led, sister.”

She glanced at Duff. “’Tis the tocher, aye, the bride’s portion? ’Tis said your clan is getting rather desperate. What did Broc promise you? Food? Livestock? Enough to get you and yours through a harsh winter?” She turned back to Broc. “And in return you get rid of me, but why the king? Why would Dogface go against King Robert? Why would you, Broc?”

“My name is Duff,” Dogface said, glaring at her. “’Tis for power and respect. The MacLeod of Lewes gives his respect and support to many clans in the west, but not to us, and not to your clan who are his kin. He looks down upon both as mere Highland barbarians of little use to him—and of little concern.”

“So you seek to gain his respect by bringing down the wrath of the Scottish king and his army upon our clans?” she asked. “Are you daft?” She looked back to her brother, sitting smugly upon his horse. “The MacLeod of Lewes was wrong to disregard the two of you. He should have killed you both when you were but wee pups.”

Broc backhanded her so hard she fell sideways from her horse, landing first against Duff, then falling hard to the ground as his horse danced away from her. Her face throbbed and she tasted blood. She lay for a moment in the snow, assessing if aught was broken and letting her vision clear. She had to escape these two, but she must also distract them long enough to allow Tayg and Ailig to reach the king. They must get to the king to warn him. Ailig must tell him that all of Clan Leod was not so treacherous as her brother, to beg his mercy upon their people before Broc’s idiocy brought his wrath down upon them all. Duff’s folk were doomed, for they had chosen him for their chief and would live or die by his actions, but Broc was not yet chief. There was hope, but only if Tayg and Ailig could convince the king. And she
must
give them the time to do so.

Dogface grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her to her feet. Stars danced before her eyes.

“I say we return to Linsmore. There is a priest there. We can seal the bargain at last.”

“Nay, the king first,” Broc said.

“The king will be at Culrain another three days. We can take care of this wee problem—” he gave her a shake that sent the stars shimmering again “—and still arrive at Culrain in plenty of time to take care of our business there, unless…”

Dogface pulled Catriona around the back of the horses until they stood facing Broc. “Unless you never intended to give her to me, to give her tocher to me.”

Broc smiled, a knowing, mocking smile that Catriona had never seen before. ’Twas as if the Broc she had always known fell away, revealing a truer self that had lain hidden all these years. No longer was he a bumbling idiot. The man before her now was clearly more clever than anyone had ever given him credit for being, and she must not forget that.

“You played into my little scheme quite well, Triona, and you, Duff, though your obsession with that bard nearly upset everything when you went haring off after him. I nearly had that taken care of too, if that woman had not stopped us in Duchally.”

“’Tis too bloody bad you did not finish me off then and there.”

Catriona gasped at the words and the voice that filled her with relief and alarm. She turned to find Tayg leaning lazily against a tree, his arms crossed as if he had nary a care in the world, though his eyes glittered dangerously and his face held none of the humor she so often found there. He was supposed to be for the king. She glanced around but neither saw nor heard anyone else. She turned her attention back to Tayg and tried to ask what had become of Ailig and the sheep with only a questioning furrow of her brow.

Tayg watched her, but he gave no answers. Concern washed briefly over his features, but it was quickly replaced with a hard, cold anger when he shifted his attention to her companions. Catriona sucked in her breath and took an involuntary step backward. She did not know the angry man before her. Her move, coupled with Dogface’s surprise at Tayg’s appearance, released her from his grip. She took one slow step backward, then whirled and ran into the thick forest.

T
AYG WAS SURPRISED
by Cat’s rapid disappearance into the darkness of the thick wood, but he grinned at her quick thinking. Before Broc’s cry of “Get her, you dolt!” faded, Tayg had pelted after her. He had to get her safely hidden away, and then he would figure out how to stop Broc and Duff, at least long enough to let Ailig get to the king. He only hoped the king would honor Gair’s plea to hear Ailig, for the MacLeods were not a clan known to honor the king with their fealty.

Though they were known for their clever daughter. She was running almost silently, but not quite. He veered to his left and found her tracks in the crusty snow. He did not want to cry out her name, lest Duff and Broc be close on his heels, so he ran on, despite a burning that was beginning in his chest. After another minute or two he glimpsed the movement of her cloak flapping in the wind. He veered right, leaving the deer trail she was following and cutting through the trees. He burst from between two oaks and collided with her, catching her in his arms and cushioning her fall to the ground with his body.

“Hello, love.” He grinned at her.

She just stared at him as if he were a stranger. Her eyes grew bright as if she fought tears, and she abruptly scrambled off of him.

“You should be on your way to speak to the king,” she said, her voice low as she brushed snow from her clothing.

“Ailig is away with Gair and the others, including your brothers—” He held up a hand before she could get a word out. “He will get the news to the king. I gave him the missives as evidence.”

“But the sheep—”

“They are well in hand. They did not seem to know about Duff’s plot.”

“’Tis Broc’s plot.”

Tayg stared at her, trying to make sense of what she had just said. “Broc’s?”

“Aye.” She glanced around, and Tayg heard the noise that had drawn her attention. “We must delay them long enough for Ailig to get to the king.”

“’Tis my own thought,” he said. “Let us find you a hidey-hole and I will take care of them.”

“Nay, this is my battle too, Tayg. You will not set me aside—”

“I would never set you aside, Cat,” he said, reaching out and running a thumb lightly over the bruise rising on her cheek. “Who did this?”

She shrugged. “It does not matter. We should let them glimpse us, then you go that way, I’ll go this. Perhaps they will split up. I suppose we’ll have to knock them out and tie them up.”

“Or we could just kill them.”

“Broc, despite his daft schemes, is my brother, and I’ll not see him killed.”

Tayg nodded. ’Twas no time for argument. Besides, the king’s justice was likely to be less fleet and less forgiving than Tayg’s swift dagger.

“There they are,” she whispered. “Leave me be!” she said, startling him with her loud words. “Farewell!” she said, more quietly again, and she turned and ran down the deer trail once more.

Tayg grinned after her. She was a cheeky lass with more courage than many a man he’d fought beside. He glanced back into the forest gloom and saw the two men on foot, swords drawn, sprinting toward him. He hesitated another moment, wanting them to get a good look at him, then dashed back into the woods.

Playing right into Cat’s plan, Broc went after Cat and Duff turned to follow Tayg.

C
ATRIONA GLANCED OVER
her shoulder and found the unmistakable bulk of her eldest brother following her. Good, ’twas exactly as she had hoped. She skidded to a halt in a small clearing, found a large tree at its edge, continued across the clearing on the deer trail, then circled the edge of it under cover of the trees. She hid behind the ancient tree, caught her breath for a moment, then quickly prepared her ammunition.

Just in time, she peered around the bole of the tree, cocked her arm, and let her snowball fly. It caught Broc squarely in the side of the head with a hollow thump.

“Triona!” he bellowed as he rubbed his temple. The rock she had packed her snowball around seemed to have done its job, dazing him just enough for her to scurry in the shadows to hide behind another tree. Broc turned toward her.

“That wee slap will be as nothing compared to the beating I shall give you if you do that again,” he said, shaking his head.

Catriona let another snow-encrusted rock fly, hitting his shoulder with a splash of snow and a grunt from Broc.

“Treeee-oooo-nnnaaa!” he yelled as he charged toward her.

She cradled her supply of snowballs in the fold of her cloak and ran deeper into the woods.

T
AYG HEARD THE
bellow, as did Duff, though since Tayg sat atop the other man there was little Duff could do to aid Broc. Tayg winced at the sound of the other man’s voice. The lass had done something to provoke him beyond a simple chase through the woods. Part of him wanted to go and cheer her on, but the other part, the newer part of him that she had awakened, wanted desperately to protect her from any more abuse at her brother’s hands.

“I’ve need to go,” he said to Duff as if they were having a simple conversation instead of the fight they were actually engaged in. Tayg grabbed Duff by the front of his cloak, cocked back his right hand, and landed a knuckle-splitting punch to the other man’s jaw. There was a crunching sound and then Duff’s eyes rolled up in his head. Tayg dropped his grip and stood. He had no rope to tie the man up with, but he could not leave him here to recover and attack again. Tayg grabbed the hem of Duff’s cloak and, using the man’s dagger, cut several strips of wool from it. ’Twas a pity to destroy the garment, but he had no choice. Quickly he rolled Duff onto his stomach and tied his hands behind him, then he tied his feet, and lastly he tied the final strip of cloth from the bindings about Duff’s hands to the bindings about his feet.

“That should hold you.”

Duff groaned, but his eyes did not open.

“Good,” Tayg said, looking about for his own dagger, which had been knocked out of his hand during the fight. Another bellow came from deeper in the woods, followed by a surprised scream. Tayg ceased his hunt for the dagger and raced in the direction of the voices. If Broc hurt Cat, Tayg would see him dead, no matter what her wishes were. Tayg would survive her tongue-lashing, but she would not survive the kind of revenge her brother would visit upon her for this. The stakes were too high in this game, and he had no doubt Broc would suffer no more interference from his troublesome sister.

C
ATRIONA ZIGGED AND
zagged through the trees so Broc could get no clear line of sight on her. She would stop just long enough to launch another missile at him, hitting him sometimes, but more often not. Broc had more experience dodging her missiles than Tayg did. She did hit him in the face once more, this time full in the mouth. Blood spouted and he bellowed and ran after her, true rage in his eyes. Cat sprinted away. She would be in peril if he caught her now, so he would not catch her. She had been dodging him for years.

She glanced back over her shoulder just in time to see Tayg come flying out of the woods to tackle Broc. Damn him! She had Broc just where she wanted him, but Tayg the Hero had to come racing to her rescue. She didn’t need rescuing. Didn’t need him. Let the two of them beat each other to a bloody pulp for all she cared. She rested her fists on her hips and sighed.

The two men were rolling over the snow-crusted undergrowth calling each other names. She quickly added the inventive epithets to her repertoire and was about to go in search of her horse when Tayg grunted and Broc let out an unmistakable shout of victory.

“Nay!” she yelled as she ran back to where the two battled. She grabbed a dead branch lying along the trail and raised it over her shoulder.

Broc straddled a dazed Tayg, his dagger poised to plunge into Tayg’s heart. Before she realized what she intended, she swung the branch just as Tayg flung Broc from him. The branch whistled through the air, missing Tayg by the smallest of margins.

“Tayg!”

Broc launched himself at Tayg. Tayg sidestepped and grabbed the branch from Cat’s grip. He swung, catching Broc in the side of the head. He flew sideways, landing in a crumpled heap next to Cat, his dagger still in his hand. She stepped on his wrist, not trusting him to be unconscious, then grabbed the dagger, ready to use it on him if she must.

Tayg tossed the branch aside and took the dagger from her. “Remind me never to make you angry, love,” he said, giving her the crooked grin of her bard. “Did he hurt you?”

“Nay, he only hurts daft bastards who don’t know when to leave well enough alone,” she said, unable to take her eyes from Tayg. He had a large lump forming on his forehead and his lip was bloody.

“I could not.”

“Aye, because you are a hero, a warrior.”

Tayg wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand. She noticed his knuckles were battered too. “Not because I am a warrior, though that is part of who I am, lass. Nay, I could not leave well enough alone because I could not let him hurt the woman I love. I will never let him hurt you again.”

He reached for her and she stepped back. Confusion flooded his eyes, and she had to look away. Her own heart was confused, and his touch would only cloud it further.

“We must get Broc and…” She looked about. “Where is Dogface? Did you kill him?”

“Nay,” he said, still watching her intently. “He is back along the trail, trussed and ready to be taken to the king.”

She nodded. “Then let us do the same with this one. We will need the horses to carry them.”

“I will bind him then we can return for the horses.” Tayg grabbed Broc’s cloak and began cutting strips from it.

“I shall go.”

“But you’ll get lost.”

She looked at him for a moment, then listened to the woods around her. Off to her right she could hear the roar of the river. “I crossed the water and turned right, upstream, so if I follow this deer trail, keeping the sound of the river on my left. I shall come to the horses.” She cocked an eyebrow at him, daring him to say she was wrong.

“You came this way a-purpose,” he said, surprise on his face. “You knew you turned away from Culrain.”

“Someone had to draw these fools away. But you were supposed to go to the king with Ailig. There is little hope the king will forebear to hear Ailig’s tale without his valiant warrior, Tayg of Culrain, there to speak for Ailig’s good intentions.”

She saw him flinch when she said “valiant warrior.” ’Twas good. ’Twas what he was, no matter what he said to her. The bard had never existed, and she would be a fool to trust him, no matter how much his crooked smile and the twinkle in his eye made her ache for his touch, for his humor, for his hard-won words of praise that had come to mean so much to her. Nay, she could not weaken in her resolve. She could not allow such weakness ever again, for even if she did find a way to trust him, his clan would never allow a future chief to burden himself with the daughter of such a treacherous clan. She would see Duff and Broc delivered to the king. After that…

“Cat—”

She turned her back on him and trudged down the trail to the horses.