Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (21 page)

Cyril blanched. Motioning for the two men to follow him, he headed in the direction of Dunvegan with a mincing step.

Callum snorted. “The mon is a bloody peacock.”

“Who were the other two men with him, Callum?” Ali asked, uncomfortable with how they made her feel.

Callum frowned. “I doona’ ken, but I mean to find out once we get back to the keep. I didna’ like the looks of them.”

Ali shuddered. “Me neither.”

“And I didna’ like the smell of them,” Connor quipped.

They walked on in companionable silence. Weak sunlight filtered through the heavy shadows of the pines and the birds flitted happily overhead. Not far from the Chisholms’, Callum laid a heavy hand on Ali’s shoulder. When she looked back at him, he put a finger to his lips and jerked his chin toward Connor. Ali tapped Connor on the shoulder and nodded to Callum.

A loud crack rent the air and Connor dove for Ali, pulling her to the ground. She held up her injured foot, her bottom taking the brunt of her fall.

“Halt,” Callum called out, placing himself in front of her and Connor. She heard him curse before he said, “Jamie Cameron, ye get yerself out here now.”

Dragging his feet, the little boy emerged from behind a tree.

Ali released a relieved sigh, allowing Connor to help her to her feet.

“Sorry, my lady. I didna’ hurt ye, did I?” Connor asked, his ears pink.

“No, not at all.” She didn’t want him to feel worse than he obviously did and refrained from rubbing her bruised behind.

“Get yerself over here, lad. Ye’ll remain with us until I can take ye to yer mam,” Callum bellowed at Jamie.

The boy kicked a stone. “But I doona’ want to.”

“And I doona’ care. I’m thinkin’ ’tis time yer mother tanned yer wee arse, and mayhap I’ll be offerin’ to do it fer her.”

Jamie’s eyes widened.

“Callum, I’ll be awhile. Why don’t you take him to Janet?” she suggested quietly, feeling sorry for the little boy. “Connor and I will be fine. You sent Cyril back to Dunvegan, and I think he’s too afraid Rory will send him home to Moira to be much of a threat.”

The big man looked unconvinced. Ali lowered her voice. “It might help if you spent some time with Jamie, Callum. I’m sure Janet would appreciate it.”

“I doona’ ken, my lady. The laird will be none too happy if I leave ye on yer own.”

“I’m not on my own. I have Connor. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with Lord MacLeod.”

When Callum hesitated, she said, “The biggest threat to my safety is Cyril, and since you sent him back to Dunvegan it might be best if that’s where you were so you can keep an eye on him.”

Callum looked at Connor, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Go,” Ali said, giving him a light push in Jamie’s direction.

“Aye, I’ll go, but have a care.”

Ali smiled. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”

“Thank ye, my lady,” Jamie called out to her, waving happily as he hurried after Callum.

Upon their approach to the Chisholms’ thatched cottage, Ali pointed out a tree standing off from the stand of firs to Connor. “I won’t be too long. Why don’t you have a rest, and I’ll ask Maureen for a tankard of ale for you.”

“Thank ye, my lady.” Connor grinned.

Ali spent an enjoyable hour with Maureen Chisholm and the baby. In their short time together she came to the conclusion women were no different in the sixteenth century than they were in the twenty-first. The important things remained the same: love, family, and friendship. And Ali felt as though she and Maureen were going to be good friends. It left her hopeful that other members of the clan would soon warm to her.

When Maureen tried to stifle a yawn, Ali decided it was time to leave. With a promise to visit again soon, she headed out the door. She expected to find Connor napping under the tree, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Connor,” she called out, scanning the area. Leaning on the stick, she limped to where she’d last seen him.

“Connor, where—” A big hand clamped over her mouth.

“Doona’ make a sound or the lad dies.”

Gasping for air, Ali struggled to pull the dirt-encrusted hand from her mouth.

“Did ye no’ hear me?” He jerked her head back. “The lad gets it if ye doona’ do as I say.” Her captor ripped the walking stick from her hand and flung it against a tree. One half of it rolled on the pine-needled forest floor to where Connor lay bound and gagged.

The man with the misshapen head stood above him, dagger in hand. “Let’s stick him, Gordie. He’s of no use to us.”

Ali struggled, whimpering beneath her captor’s hand. Her stomach roiled at his stench and her fear for Connor. “No…no.” Her cries were muffled beneath his sweaty palm.

“Nay, I’m thinkin’ he’ll make this wee piece behave.”

The man guarding Connor licked his thick lips. “Give ’er to me. I’ll make ’er behave.”

“Nay, Mungo. Himself says the MacDonald will pay fer her return, and I’ll no’ risk his anger by returnin’ her to him sullied by the likes of ye.”

Ali swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. The man that held her pushed her forward and she stumbled. A sharp pain arched up her leg. Her knees buckled, and Gordie sent her sprawling to the ground. She crawled to Connor, touching his pale face. He was unconscious and the hair at the back of his head was matted with blood.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded, anger overcoming her fear.

“Ah, Gordie, just a wee taste is all I want.” Mungo groped at his crotch, leering at her.

“Shut yer mouth, Mungo, and ye, too.” He jerked Ali’s hands behind her. The rope he bound her with cut into her wrists. He planted his foot on the small of her back and shoved her, face first, into the ground, tying her ankles together. He stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth and hauled her to her feet. “Put him on yer horse and I’ll take her.”

“Nay, I’ll take her.” Mungo lurched toward Ali.

His tongue flicked out and he licked her cheek. Ali shuddered, turning her face. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed, but Gordie slapped his hands away.

“Cut it out, Mungo. Yer wastin’ time. Himself said to make fer Portree. ’Tis the direction the MacDonald was last seen headed fer. If we ride hard we can get us our coin before morn.” Gordie shoved him back.

“I doona’ ken why ye won’t let me have a bit of fun with ’er,” the man muttered, glaring at his friend.

“I’m savin’ yer neck, ye fool. Both the MacLeod and the MacDonald will have yer head if ye touch her.”

A sense of hopelessness smothered Ali. She couldn’t do anything to put Connor in danger. They’d kill him if she didn’t do as they said. Her only chance was to cooperate, and to stay as far away from Mungo as she could.

“Help me,” Mungo groaned as he tried to lift Connor.

“Doona’ move,” Gordie ordered as he strode toward his companion. Together they tossed Connor over the back of the shaggy brown horse.

Ali’s gaze darted through the shadows of the forest, but there was no one in sight. They wouldn’t be looking for her, not for a long time yet. Rory, Fergus, and Iain were too busy preparing for battle—battle with a man who would in all likelihood hold her as his prisoner. A pawn to be used against the MacLeods. What would Rory do if the MacDonald offered her in exchange for the rights to the land? Ali blinked back tears, certain she knew the answer.

Gordie dragged her along behind him. Her foot throbbed as she tried unsuccessfully to keep her weight off it. She bounced when he threw her onto the horse. The saddle dug into her stomach, and the breath she sucked in pulled the cloth deeper into her mouth. Panicked, Ali worked on it with her tongue, determined not to die. If she did, Connor didn’t stand a chance, and she couldn’t let that happen. It was because of her he’d gotten caught up in this mess.

With each jarring movement, her stomach was pummeled by the stiff saddle.
Rory,
she cried inwardly. She needed him and his powerful arms wrapped around her to give her strength. How could she live without him?

Keep sucking that cloth into your throat and you won’t have to worry about it.
That thought alone was enough to make her try again. She pushed, prodded, and then breathed out as hard as she could until a small edge of the cloth dangled from her mouth. Ali turned her head into the saddle and caught the rag on a jagged piece of leather. She wrenched her head in one direction and then the other. The cloth fell to the ground and she sucked in deep gulps of air.

Tilting her head back, she filled her lungs, ready to let loose a cry for help, until she remembered Connor. The scream died in her throat. She couldn’t risk his life in the hopes someone would hear her pitiful cries. The towers of Dunvegan had already faded in the distance.

Blood pooled in her head, and she felt like she faded in and out of consciousness. She was unaware of where they were, or the landscape that sped by. All she saw were the horse’s hooves as they pounded on, the ground blurring beneath them. Gravel and dust kicked up behind them. For the most part she kept her eyes closed, overwhelmed with dizziness when she didn’t.

“Mungo,” Gordie called to the man who followed behind them. “The horses need to be watered and rested. We’ll stop at that copse of trees over yonder. I ken there’s a loch nearby and we’ll be well hidden.”

Ali almost groaned with relief, but her relief was quickly replaced by dread when she realized her captors would see she was no longer gagged.

They reined in the horses and Gordie dragged her from the saddle. He tried to stand her upright, but she sank to her knees. Her muscles cramped. She had never felt such pain in so many places. Her ankles and wrists were chafed by the ropes. “Untie me. I won’t run away. I wouldn’t leave Connor,” she croaked.

Gordie swept his unkempt hair from his face and glared down at her. “When did ye get rid of the gag?”

“What does it matter? I didn’t scream, did I?”

“Nay, ye didna’.” He narrowed his gaze on her.

With what little strength she had, she jerked her head to her hands. “If you want coin from the MacDonald, I’d suggest you don’t bring me to him like this.” There was no way they could escape, not with Connor wounded. She’d come to realize her only hope lay with Rory’s enemy.

Gordie drew a wicked-looking blade from his boot and laughed at what must have been the look of terror on her face. “If I was goin’ to stick ye, I would’ve done it back there.” He sawed through the rope that bound her ankles and wrists. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. The fibers burned, cutting into her already abraded skin.

“Why have ye let her go?” Mungo slid from his horse, pulling Connor down after him, letting him drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Finally free, Ali rose unsteadily to her feet. Gordie grabbed her arm. “I didna’ say ye could go anywheres.”

“I have to check on Connor. He works for the MacDonald, too. He’s…he’s his nephew.”

Gordie dropped her arm, staring at Connor. “MacLean didna’ say anythin’ aboot that.”

Ali snorted. “Why would he? All he cared about was getting rid of me.” The knowledge Cyril was behind her abduction didn’t surprise her. She only wished she’d suspected just how far he would go to get rid of her. Had she known, she would’ve stayed in her room like Rory had wanted her to. Waited for him to come to her, to hold her, to make love to her. Fresh tears clouded her vision as she stumbled toward Connor. “Untie him,” she demanded. “His uncle will have your head if he’s harmed.”

“Why did ye no’ say somethin’ before?” Gordie asked, taking the knife to Connor’s ropes.

“It’s a little hard to speak when you have a rag stuffed down your throat.”

He didn’t say another word. Ali knelt at Connor’s side, checking for a pulse. She felt Mungo watching her and suppressed a shudder.

“She lies,” Mungo said. Coming up behind her, he tangled his fingers in her hair and jerked her head back. Her pained cry choked off when he pressed the tip of his dagger to her throat. “Why did she fight us afore?”

Ali swallowed carefully. “I…I thought you were going to kill us. I didn’t know where you were taking us.” Her heart hammered in her chest, the beat pounding in her head.

“Let her go. Do ye no’ want the coin?” Gordie yelled at the man.

Ali cried out when the dagger pierced her skin. A drop of blood glistened on the steel point.

Gordie grabbed his arm. “Ye crazy bastard, get away from her. Are ye mad? ’Twill all be for naught if ye kill her.”

Mungo turned on Gordie, pointing the blade at her. “Fer now she lives, but ye’ll no’ tell me what I should or shouldna’ do. If I want ’er. I’ll take ’er. She’s a spy. What could the old mon say if I did?”

“Think of the coin, mon.”

Mungo lowered the dagger. “Aye,” he grunted, but he didn’t take his eyes off Ali.

“Water the horses. ’Twill no’ be long before night falls.” The big man watched his friend reluctantly follow his orders, grumbling under his breath as he did. “See to the lad,” Gordie told her. Without a backward glance, he followed Mungo.

“Connor…Connor, please wake up,” she cried, patting his colorless cheek.

He moaned weakly, but at least he’d made a sound. She gently turned his head to examine him. A knot the size of an egg formed at the site of the wound. Although he’d bled quite a bit, it didn’t look as bad as she first thought. She expelled a shaky breath. Connor would be okay. If they could survive Mungo and his threats, they would be all right. At least until they had to face the MacDonald.

Ali heard a horse whinny and looked up to see Gordie approach. He led both horses back with him. He stopped and withdrew a piece of linen from the pack attached to his saddle. Wiping his hands, his gaze met Ali’s. “He’ll no’ threaten ye again.”

Her eyes widened. Streaks of crimson stained the cloth. Staggering to her feet, she limped through the low brush and emptied her stomach.

“’Tis time to be on our way,” Gordie said from behind her.

She nodded, and brought the hem of her gown to her mouth. A tremor rocked her body. Mungo was dead. Murdered. She reminded herself it could’ve just as easily been her or Connor. Gathering what little strength she had left, she followed Gordie.

“The lad will be riding with me. Doona’ get any ideas.”

Ali gave a nervous nod, clutching the reins when he helped her onto the saddle. He carefully placed Connor on the front of his mount, then swung up behind him. They rode in silence over hills covered in heather, past meandering streams. Her mind a whirlpool of emotions, Ali didn’t see the beauty that surrounded them.

She jerked her attention to Gordie when he called out to her, “The lad’s awake.” Ali tapped her heels against the horse’s flanks, urging her mount forward. She had to get to Connor before he gave them away. Coming alongside of them, she took Connor’s hand in hers. He turned to her, a dazed look in his eyes. “Lady Aileanna, what happened?”

She held his gaze, trying to convey everything she couldn’t say out loud. “It’s all right, Connor. Gordie’s taking us to your uncle, Lord MacDonald. It will be all right.” She squeezed his hand, her nails biting into his palm.

His eyes widened. “Aye…aye,” he mumbled.

She looked up at Gordie. “Is it much farther?”

“Nay, but we’ll no’ have much light left. We should set up camp fer the night.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, let’s keep going.” If they stopped, Ali didn’t think she’d be able to get back on the horse. There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t ache. And her fear of facing Lord MacDonald would only intensify, the more time she had to dwell on the meeting.

Hours later, Ali questioned her decision. They could barely see ten feet in front of them. But just as she was about to suggest they go no farther, she saw balls of light glowing in the distance. “Gordie, what’s that?” she called out to him.

“’Tis the MacDonald’s camp.”

Dread tied her stomach in knots. As they drew closer the campfires were clearly visible. Men dotted the landscape like ants at a picnic. Dread unraveled into a full-fledged panic attack, and she gulped in the damp night air.

“The MacLeods doona’ stand a chance,” Gordie muttered, shaking his head.

Ali squeezed her eyes shut as an image of Rory, wounded and bleeding, came to her, just like that first night. She wanted to find the MacDonald and get down on her hands and knees to beg him to end the battle before it began.

“Halt.” Two men strode through the shadows toward them, swords drawn. “State yer business.”

“I’m returnin’ the MacDonald’s nephew and his spy to him,” Gordie said in a tone that suggested he expected to be held in some esteem for what he’d done.

Ali knew better.

The men looked at one another and appeared ready to send them on their way. It was then Ali brought her horse alongside Gordie. The older man’s jaw dropped, and his companion gasped, falling to one knee. “Lady MacDonald.”

Gordie looked at her, eyes popping out of his head.

“Will you bring us to Lord MacDonald, please.” She added a soft lilt to her voice, surprised it came as naturally as it did. She couldn’t afford to be turned away. If she was, Gordie would probably kill them both for her lies. And Rory, Iain, and Fergus, men that she loved, didn’t stand a chance against an army this size.

Both men reached up to help her from her mount. Gordie was quick to dismount and ease Connor to the ground. Ali thanked the men, coming around to Connor’s side. “Do ye ken what yer aboot, Lady Aileanna?” he whispered.

“Aye.” Her eyes met his, and he grinned.

They passed small clusters of men gathered around the campfires. Their conversations ended the moment they saw Ali. They looked at her as though they’d seen a ghost. She was, at least to them—the ghost of Brianna MacDonald.

As they approached a large tent, one of the men rushed forward. “My laird…Laird MacDonald.” He tapped on the canvas.

“What are ye disturbin’ me fer now?” The flap flipped open and a gray-haired man unfolded his large frame. Piercing blue eyes set in a handsome, aristocratic face stared back at her. The man let out an anguished cry and fell to his knees, clutching his chest. “Brianna.”