Every Heart Has Its Day (12 page)

If Heaven existed, she hoped her mother and friend took care of each other. Yet she felt no hurry to join them. She would rather exact revenge before she passed through the pearly gates.

If only her life had a purpose. Once, she believed she had been born to heal the sick, but her laird had gone to great lengths to assure she did not. He had her room searched several times over for her healing balms and potions and ordered her beaten when he found any.

Tears trickled down her face. She had never thanked Evonne for hiding her dorlach. But come the morn, she would retrieve it. Mayhap Laird Grant would allow her the joy of plying her skills.

Hunter no doubt would have.

She closed her eyes and tried to banish thoughts of the Mackintosh. Though no man had ever made her feel as valuable as he had, naught would be gained by dwelling on what would never be. Tears soaked her pillow before she accepted her lot and succumbed to exhaustion.

During the darkest hour of night, a warm hand upon her cheek and the light of a thousand candles awakened her.

“Ye have made me proud.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“Heed my words, daughter. All the battles ye have endured thus far pale to the war ahead.”

“I be too weak to cope with more.”

“Ye be stronger than ye ken, and ye will soon be aided by loving hands. Waste not yer strength fighting them or yer heart. Allow fate its reign, and ye will become like a caterpillar, cocooned in warmth until ye spread yer wings.”

Her mother’s specter faded before Kasey could demand an explanation.

A few hours later, Kasey lay on her pallet and studied flecks of dust dancing on sunbeams. Most would fall to the floor, and a servant would gather and throw them to a fiery death. But mayhap a breeze would come along and carry them outside where they could nurture the soil and produce a bountiful harvest.

Like the dust, outside forces controlled her every move.

She puckered her lips and blew toward the open window. Though she could not save them all, at least a handful had escaped. And if her mother’s counsel proved true, the winds of change waited to do the same for her.

She padded barefoot across the room and lifted the painting that hid the hole Evonne had sawed into the wall. Cobwebs connected her dorlach and boots to the plank lodged between the beams.

Though she did not expect anyone, she could not risk carelessness. After emptying the dorlach’s contents onto her pallet, she covered the flasks and pouches with her plaid and shoved her boots under the pallet.

Dust flew as she beat the bag. When she stopped sneezing, she wrapped the few garments her chores had not ruined around the remnants of her healing potions and stowed the bundle in her bag. Since her cloth slippers had so many holes that more toes peeked out than they covered, she slipped her feet into the soft leather boots.

This day a whole new world would open. Mayhap the Grant laird had no hand in his wives’ deaths. Though she would never love him, she might please him enough to escape their fate. She would leave the past behind and hope for the best.

Without invitation, several new servants barged into her chamber. Two carried a tub, four others and Agatha toted buckets of steaming water.

“Laird Cameron has ordered ye to bathe.”

“The laird no longer believes cleanliness to be a waste?”

“It be in this case.” Agatha huffed out the door.

Kasey shrugged, stripped off her garments, and slid into the soothing warmth. For the first time in days, the ache in her back eased. She wished she could linger forever, but she dared not keep her escort waiting.

She stepped from the tub, dried, and dressed in her yellow kirtle. She combed and braided her hair, then donned her arisaide and snatched up her dorlach.

From the window at the top of the stairs, she watched Randall and eleven of his men ride through the holding’s gate. She wondered how far they would get before they realized they had left her behind. She had better be mounted upon their return lest she wished a farewell beating.

She rounded the stable’s corner and stopped short. Dillon and five other lads sat astride horses that made the nag she had ridden to Inverness look like a prized mount. The boys did not appear as tall as the swords belted to their sides or the bows slung over their backs. None had more than baby fine hair along his jaw or above his lip.

After Dillon called, the stableboy led out the white mare.

“Be ye sure? I dinna want the stablemaster tanning yer hide.”

“His whip will rest after ye leave.”

Dillon smiled and reached for her dorlach. “I see ye leave few friends behind.” He secured her sack behind her saddle, then lifted her onto the mare.

“Ye be stronger than ye look.”

“Ye weigh less than dandelion fluff.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “I expected Randall to lead my escort. It be not like him to miss this final chance to make my life miserable.”

“I be sorry to disappoint ye, milady.”

“In truth, I be relieved.”

“Worry not, milady, afore he left on his hunt, Randall reminded us of the honor this duty carries.”

Kasey straightened. Honor? Sending the youngest boys on the sorriest mounts would shame the clan. “These lads be well-trained?”

“In truth, milady, they be the worst of the lot.”

Kasey’s heart thundered in her ears. She glanced around. With her laird nowhere in sight, she tucked her skirts behind her boots’ tabs. “I be ready.”

Dillon lifted his arm and dropped it. “Onward, lads.”

She took a deep breath. Since Dillon’s arrival, she knew of no trouble along the road. Naught but her roiling stomach justified her worries.

These lads could gain valuable experience serving as her escort. Besides, she doubted she could give Randall and his henchmen a polite fare-thee-well, especially with her daggers within reach. She urged her horse into a trot and enjoyed the seldom-explored daydream of killing her greatest enemy.

Chapter Twelve

They had ridden half the distance between the manors when a chill coursed down Kasey’s spine. The forest lay eerily still. No animals scurried. No birds took wing. Her gaze darted from left to right.

Dillon’s movements copied her own. He called ahead to reminded the others of their duty. Two of the lads cursed him. The others whooped.

“I wish I had a twin to guard yer other side, milady.”

A screech rent the air. An arrow piereced the lead rider with such force he flew off his horse.

Dillon whistled shrilly before the lad hit the ground. “To the trees!” He reached for the reins of Kasey’s horse.

The mare reared, spun, and lost her footing. Kasey leapt clear of the falling mount.

Four arrows protruded from the horse’s underside.

Shouts rang out. The smell of death smothered the air.

Leaves rustled behind her. She pulled a dagger, turned, and took aim. The blade embedded in a masked man’s chest.

She ran toward a fallen lad, grabbed his bow, and pulled the arrow from his back. She rose and shot. A second enemy dropped.

Hands grabbed her from behind. She shoved the bow into his ribs, bent, and removed her other dagger. She stomped on his foot. He bellowed and loosened his hold. She spun and jerked back his head. Blood spewed from his neck.

Dillon slaughtered several enemies. Swords sliced the air and struck down masked men. Others fell—arrows neither she nor Dillon dispatched lodged in their bodies.

Her feet left the ground. She screamed Dillon’s name.

He nocked an arrow and aimed in her direction.

“Shoot him!”

He lowered his weapon.

She twisted, grasped the blackheart’s hair, and placed her blade below his ear.

“Nay! He be not the enemy.”

Dillon’s command penetrated her embattled mind. She kept the blade in its deadly position, but applied no pressure.

“Look closely, milady. He wears no mask.”

“If he be not the enemy, then he will unhand me!”

A calm, deep voice feathered her cheek. “Nay, milady. I shall not release ye until yer safety be no longer threatened.”

Her captor’s hand covered hers, but he did not try to disarm her. He applied just enough outward pressure to keep her from cutting him. When he dipped his head, Dillon nodded and rode away.

Another male voice asked, “Be ye injured, milady?”

She shook her head.

“Ye be covered in blood. I pray it be not yer own.”

“Do ye?” Kasey could identify the formal plaids of each clan by their unique patterns and colors, but these strangers wore hunting plaids. The muted shades, which blended into foliage, lacked distinction.

She had to admit, they had arrived at a most fortuitous time. Without their intervention, she doubted she and Dillon would have lived. But saving her life did not give the strange man leave to keep her on his lap. Besides being improper, his arm pressed against her tender back.

“I shall sheathe my dagger if ye agree to lower me to the ground.”

“I should think yer elbows be cramped by now.” His chuckle rumbled through his chest.

She gritted her teeth. The morning’s events had sapped any desire for humor. She released his hair, bent down, and sheathed her dagger.

He tightened his hold. “Do ye find my lap uncomfortable, Lady Kasey?”

She bit her lip as fire seared through her. She leaned as far forward as he allowed, enough to ease the pain of her back pressing against his chest.

No longer centered on pain, she grasped his words. Dillon had not called her by name. She shook her head.

“I be glad to hear that.”

“What?” She did not understand. “I ken not—” His pine scent, the warmth of his body addled her thoughts.

Cocooned?
Her mother’s voice echoed.

Nay, suffocated. She needed to gain some distance in order to consider the situation.

“I have much to attend. Please release me.” She stood a better chance at achieving her freedom with respect and manners.

“Name yer desire, milady, and my men will see it done.”

Dillon rode to their side. “’Tis safe, mi—”

She raised a brow at Dillon. Why had he stopped short? She looked over her shoulder at her captor’s hairy jaw. Her gaze traveled down to his hands. Dark hair covered his knuckles, too. She wondered if a man or beast held her.

“Ye will release me now?” At his denial, she mumbled, “Another man whose word means naught.”

His body tensed. Mayhap the beatings she received for gazing into the eyes of her superiors had served a purpose. She had no doubt she would see fire in this man’s.

Though she could not call back her words, she vowed to hold her tongue in the future. With his rugged arms and tree trunk thighs, this man could inflict twice the damage Randall had.

He exhaled, then relaxed. His hands moved under her shoulders and lifted her. Fear pricked her spine. How far could this giant throw her?

He leaned to his side and gently lowered her to the ground. “For future reference, my word be not worthless, milady.” He reined his mount away.

A man gained her side and matched her steps. Her stomach knotted.

“May I be of assistance, milady?”

“Dillon.” She sighed in relief. She must calm herself. “The mare?”

He stepped in front of her. “The horse suffered grievous injuries, milady.”

“I ken. I canna allow her to linger.” Kasey blinked back her tears. She dreaded putting down her four-legged friend.

“She no longer suffers, milady.”

Kasey nodded. “My dorlach?” After Dillon handed her the bag, she trudged toward the man she had impaled.

She found crushed, bloodied honeysuckle, but no body. He could not have crawled away.

A stocky man with a red beard approached her side. “Milady? I be Robert. If ye seek yer dirk, Malcolm washes it at the river.”

“’Tis true I value the dagger, but I wish to see the man.”

“Have ye ever seen a face cloaked in death, milady?”

“I have.” Kasey quelled memories of her mother. “Where be he?”

“Have ye ever seen the face of a man dead by yer own hand, milady?” Robert persisted. At her denial, he said, “I have seen hardened warriors haunted for the rest of their life by the visages of men they killed. Be ye willing to risk such a fate?”

“Please, take me to him.”

Robert sighed, and then led her to where they had laid out the bodies. She knelt by her target’s side, took a deep breath, and pulled off the mask. The Cameron stablemaster’s lifeless eyes stared at her.

Kasey rose and spat on the body. “At least I have avenged the wrongs ye visited upon me.”

The men cheered. The beast that first caught her ran over. The men slapped his back and congratulated him on his fine choice. He asked, “How many dead?”

“Sixteen,” Kasey answered.

Everyone faced her. “I be not correct?” At Robert’s nod, she walked away. She did not see Dillon until she ran into him.

He reached out to steady her. “Aught vexes ye, milady?”

“See for yerself.” She pointed toward the dead.

He took one look at the unmasked face and roared.

Water gurgled ahead of her, and she could not fight its attraction. She wished her guess had been wrong, but it had been a simple matter. Of the six boys in her escort, only Dillon still lived. The hunting party consisted of eleven men led by Randall.

In battle, he commanded from the rear. When a Cameron victory seemed certain, he surged to the fore in time to deliver the final fatal blow. If a conflict went against the Camerons, he retreated unscathed.

She wondered if the five lads in her escort had any idea of their fate before they left the keep. Nay, they had been naught more than sacrificial lambs. She said a quick prayer for their souls and for their families.

But what had become of Randall? Would he return to the Cameron holding to explain the hunters’ failure to his laird? Nay, Randall did not have the courage to face the wrath such news would yield. More likely he hid amongst the shadows, biding time until he could safely see her dead.

She had no doubt they had intended to kill her.

Her emotions, like a blizzard’s snow, swirled through her overwrought mind to her churning stomach. She ran to a clump of bushes and vomited.

“I told her not to look.”

She shot Robert a stern look. Another man held out a cup of water. She did not trust her stomach enough to drink. After rinsing her mouth, she dunked a rag into the remaining liquid and scrubbed blood from her face and hands.

“Dillon, Have the surviving horses from the Cameron stables scattered?”

“Aye, milady.”

“Then I shall have to walk to the Grant holding.” She had nowhere else to go. She could not stay in the forest with Randall in its midst. She could not return to the Camerons.

Hoofbeats approached. Before she could jump from the horse’s path, the rider grabbed her waist. He positioned her astride, with her back against his rock-solid chest. He ordered Robert and Dillon to follow him back to camp where the others prepared for their return home.

“Ye think to kidnap me? I be the charge of Laird Douglas Cameron, and I assure ye he would pay naught for my return.” Kasey waited for his response. At his continued silence she persisted, “My betrothed has already paid handsomely for my hand. I be sure he will pay no more.”

“Betrothed?”

His bellow made her ears ring.

In a chillingly low voice he asked, “Whom may I ask has been given the honor?”

Kasey hooted. Considering her unjustly tattered reputation, along with the fate of those who dared get close, she would call it a curse. “Laird Grant and I shall be wed today at the nooning hour.”

She winced as he tightened his hold.

“Rest assured, milady. My men and I shall see ye to yer rightful destination.”

She nodded, relieved her captor had seen the wisdom of taking her to the Grants. “I can promise naught, but I shall try to convince the laird to reward ye for yer efforts.”

“Yer safe return will be reward enough.” Connor gritted his teeth. Had it not been for Dillon’s assurance, he would not have believed the woman in his arms was the curvaceous beauty who healed him. His fingers filled the gaps between her ribs. Breasts that once overflowed his hands now would barely fill them. Afraid he would snap her in two, he loosened his hold.

She wiggled closer to the stallion’s neck.

A too-large gap, the width of his hand, separated them. He had waited far too long to hold her and pulled her back until her hipbones jabbed his thighs.

“I be sure some Cameron mounts wander nearby.”

“Mayhap,” he breathed in her rose scent, “though yer escorts’ horses could hardly be called mounts.”

“I could catch one.”

“I be sure ye could. They dinna look able to run.”

“Would ye not be more comfortable if I rode my own mount?”

“Nay.”

She mumbled.

“Milady?”

She remained silent.

He took a deep breath. The Lady Kasey Cameron he remembered would be screaming. “I dinna hear ye.”

She shrugged.

He leaned around her shoulder. With two fingers he nudged her chin in his direction and waited for her to meet his gaze. He clenched his jaw when she did not lift her eyes from her lap. “If ye have aught to say, I wish ye to speak so I may hear.”

She chewed her bottom lip.

He let go of her chin and straightened.

“I should be riding my own mount.”

The weakness of her voice troubled him. “I refuse to risk yer safety, milady.”

“I can handle a mount as well as ye.”

“I believe ye can, but I be not sure if others lie in wait.”

“A lady disna ride astride.”

He cupped his fingers behind her knee, forcing it to bend, and scooted back in the saddle. His hand slipped down her reed-like calf to her ankle, and guided her foot behind the horse’s neck, then pulled her shoulder to his chest.

“Ye think it suitable I ride on yer lap?”

He chuckled. “Aye, I do.” Before she could say another word, he pushed her head under his chin. She blew at his beard and leaned out to tuck his whiskers behind her. He reached behind his saddle, untied his cloak, and wrapped it around them. “Rest.”

He tilted his head to gaze at her face. Darkness framed her closed eyes. Gauntness replaced apple cheeks.

What had she endured during their separation?

Ample rest, food, and care would restore her body, but the changes in her spirit disturbed him. The woman who arrogantly directed orders to the king and his laird and fought like a seasoned warrior during the siege had not the courage to demand answers.