Highland Seer (29 page)

A frontal assault was out of the question. The night breeze ruffled Donal’s hair and made the torch flames dance and flicker, throwing weird shadows along the keep’s walls. Could they climb them? Or could they use another way in?

Ellie had ordered her ghillie to leave a postern gate unlocked. Knowing he would be back? Or that Jamie would be back with reinforcements? Donal’s gaze skimmed the battlements yet again. As they approached it, they must be wary.

He signaled to Jamie and the other man, Mac, the next time he caught sight of them. They made their way carefully to him and knelt behind a cottage out of sight of the keep.

“It doesna look good,” Jamie said. “They’re locked up tight, watching for us.”

“Nay, it doesna. We dinna have enough men to attack the gates,” the other man said.

“Nor the walls. We havena the time,” Donal told them. “While we waste our efforts on a frontal assault, the MacDuff will kill MacKyrie women and children to force us to desist.”

“Perhaps even Ellie,” Jamie added grimly. “That’s a chance we daren’t take.”

Donal didn’t think it likely the MacDuff would kill his prize prisoner, but the thought clawed at his gut nonetheless. “Agreed. Jamie, ye’ll make yer way around the keep and look for the postern. Ye go that way, I’ll go the opposite. Corum said ’tis well hidden in the brush. Use the hoot of an owl to signal if ye find it. But beware. Though Ellie was clever to think to leave it unlocked, the MacDuff may have found out and lie in wait for us to use it.”

“What do ye want me to do?” Mac asked, cupping his hands and using his breath to warm them.

“Get back to the trees and ready the others.” Donal’s gesture swept from the treeline to the keep. “Once the gates start to open, they’ll need to ride hard to burst through and join the fray.”

“Ye plan to...”

“Open the gates, aye.” Donal nodded. “Jamie and I have been inside. We can do it without being seen from the battlements.”

“As soon as we take down the gate guards, we’ll hold off the rest of the MacDuffs until our men arrive to join the fight,” Jamie added, tilting his head toward the hilt of his claymore.

“Then I’m goin’ for the MacDuff.” Donal showed his teeth in a feral grimace. The MacDuff would regret ever setting foot in the MacKyrie keep. Ellie had best be unharmed or Donal would see he suffered for any hurt he’d done. Before Donal killed him. If the MacDuffs were foolish enough to want a war, he’d bring it to them. Or, once their fool of a laird was out of the way, they could sue for peace. Donal didn’t care. Either way, he would save the woman he loved. Woe betide the man who got in his way.

With a brief salute, the three split up. Donal worked his way carefully to the outer edge of the village nearest the wall, senses fully alert. The sentries could not see the ground directly below the battlements, but any atop the corner towers would have an unrestricted view down the line of the walls. Brush and small trees grew right up to the keep, providing some cover and breaking up the thin white blanket of snow. That unkempt defensive perimeter was another indication of the calamity that had befallen the MacKyries. One Donal intended to see corrected as soon as this battle ended. For now, he had to be grateful. Without it, he’d have had no chance to scout so near the walls.

Nonetheless, he moved slowly, careful to advance only when the breeze rustled the twigs and grasses around him so that his movements would seem part of the night, not cause for remark. The gold streaks in his hair were his greatest danger. If they caught the torchlight, they might attract the attention of the guards. He paused in a shadow under a sapling’s bare branches and pulled a length of his plaid over his head, irritated Jamie would not face this problem. As long as Jamie did not turn his face up to the sky, his dark hair would blend in with the shadows. Jamie had enough experience to know that.

Patience was not Donal’s best virtue. The need to get inside to see to Ellie’s well-being gnawed at him. But if they were to do that unseen, he must continue making his slow, careful way around the keep. He clenched his teeth and kept searching, by sight and touch, for any irregularity in the wall beside him that could be the hidden postern.

The hoot of a night owl echoed through the still air. Donal breathed a sigh of relief. Jamie had found it. But where? How far did Donal still have to go? Grimly, he kept on, resisting the temptation to hurry, until he made out the shape of a man in the darkness ahead of him. He raised a hand. Jamie beckoned him forward. No guards kept watch, or Jamie would have waved Donal back.

Donal approached, taking care not to step on a twig or rustle the dried grass Jamie held apart. He carefully nudged the door. The hinges were well-oiled. The door made no sound as it swung slowly open. He nodded. They were in!

Chapter 19

Once again, Ellie found herself sitting next to the laird’s seat, now occupied by her “husband,” Lachlan MacDuff. She’d pushed her meal around on her plate until it became an unrecognizable mess. She had no appetite. She could barely tolerate the smell of food. Her stomach tied itself in nervous knots and refused to accept anything, even water.

She needed a dram of the fifty-year-old her grandfather had laid down, locked in the laird’s cabinet, but she wasn’t sure she could keep even that in her belly and refused to waste it. She had no plans to mention it to Lachlan either. She suspected it might be the only thing to keep her sane in the coming days, weeks, and months. Unless help arrived.

The celebratory feast was a subdued affair. Not at all what Ellie thought Lachlan must have expected when he gave the kitchen a day to prepare it. Oh, Cook had done a fine job on the food, not that many had the stomach for it. A few were eating. Sawney had cleaned his plate and leaned back, relaxing, in stark contrast to the tension that seemed to grip everyone else. No one laughed or sang or even talked. They sat at their places, heads down, as if they were trying to escape the notice of their new laird.

All except Micheil. He had eaten, but now sat downing cup after cup of ale, staring insolently at the man by her side.

Stop it! Ellie thought, hoping to save him from himself through sheer willpower. If he didn’t cease displaying his disobedient attitude in such a blatant manner, she feared Lachlan would make an example of him. It appeared she’d already lost Donal and had not seen Bram since Lachlan rode into her keep and took him prisoner. She hoped he still lived. Perhaps she’d been wrong about Donal. Perhaps Bram was indeed supposed to be their savior. He was the only one within the keep who had the fighting prowess to take on any of Lachlan’s men. If he yet lived. And if he could get free and defeat Lachlan’s men. But to lose Micheil, too. Nay. It hurt her enough that he felt responsible for this travesty, worse that he’d been wounded in her defense. She’d steeled herself to tolerate much this coming night. She might as well plunge her dirk into her heart right now rather than live to see Micheil’s insolence get him killed right in front of her. Her oldest friend, sometimes a source of aggravation, often temperamental beyond prudence, who never failed to tell her the truth. She’d relied on his sarcastic, sometimes hilarious, comments her entire life. So why did he seem determined to provoke the MacDuff? Hadn’t Micheil tried to convince her they would be better off with Lachlan here?

Oh, if she could only get up from this table and leave! But she no longer possessed that prerogative. She must bow to Lachlan’s dictates, and he’d never give her leave to go so early in the evening. He was posing for his audience, preening in his assumed position. Subjecting her to his will in front of her people was only the start of it.

Tonight. No, she mustn’t think on it. Every time she did, bile rose in the back of her throat and her stomach started to twist in her belly. If she did not cooperate, he would force her. He would hurt her and take pleasure in her pain and degradation. He had said as much. Boasted of it. Would it please him if she did cooperate? Would he go easier on her or would it anger him even more if she denied him the battle he was so clearly anticipating every time he looked at her. Either way, she would lose.

“Doesna the feast please ye, my dear?” Lachlan’s tone dripped sweet, honeyed concern for her welfare. How the man could lie. What other lies had he told her?

“It’s fine. I’m just no’ hungry.”

“Ah, eager for our joining, are ye lass? That pleases me well.”

Ellie didn’t dare look at him to see if he meant that statement or was still playing the part of the doting husband to his audience.

Micheil sat close enough to have heard the exchange. The tense set of his shoulders told her he had. She locked her gaze with his and gave her head a slight shake. Stay out of this, Micheil, she pleaded in her thoughts. Dinna challenge him. Ye’ll lose.

Lachlan leaned in close and ran his finger down the side of her cheek. Ellie fought not to flinch. “Perhaps it’s time for ye to go and make yerself ready for me,” he whispered in her ear. His breath, hot and stinking of too much ale, brought up her bile again. She paled as her stomach lurched and cold sweat broke out on her skin.

She nearly leapt to her feet in her haste to get away before she embarrassed herself in front of the entire clan. “Aye, I’ll do that,” she murmured, swallowing and turning away.

Lachlan grabbed her arm. “No’ before ye give me a kiss, sweet wife.”

Nay!

As Lachlan pulled her close, Ellie’s stomach finally succeeded in its rebellion and she lost the little she’d eaten—on Lachlan’s shirt and kilt.

Her head swimming and tears blinding her, she turned and stumbled toward the stairs, shocked Lachlan didn’t try to stop her. Perhaps he would be put off enough by her upset to leave her alone. Nay, that would be too much to hope for. He’d clean up and be pounding on the door to her chambers before she had time to collect herself.

Micheil reached out to her as she passed by, but she ignored him. She could not bear his pity. She climbed the stairs to her chamber and locked the door behind her. She had no illusions about that keeping Lachlan out. But she needed a few moments of peace before her life descended from purgatory into hell.

****

Lachlan MacDuff stormed to his chamber and yanked the clothes from his body. How dare she make such a display in front of the entire clan. She would suffer for that. He would enjoy punishing her.

He removed his clan badge from the tartan cloth and tossed the soiled clothes into the hall. Let the maid deal with the result of her laird’s indiscretion.

He reached for a long tunic. He should march to her chamber wearing no more than this shirt. It would shock her and he’d strip out of it quickly enough, but it wouldn’t be seemly to wander the halls of the keep in such a state of undress. He kicked off his boots, pulled on some breeches, then stepped back into his boots. There. That would do.

He started to reach for the MacDuff clan badge, the better to intimidate his reluctant bride, but the hoot of an owl, sounding like it came from very near the keep’s outer wall, distracted him. He glanced out of the window. There was nothing to see, of course. The owl probably perched in a nearby tree, preparing to tear apart its kill.

He liked that image. The strong survived to prey on the weak. To rip them apart and feed on the remains. Just as he planned to rip away Ellie MacKyrie’s damnable dignity along with her clothes. She’d told him once she’d never enjoy coupling with him. He’d told her he didn’t care. He would enjoy it. He’d enjoy every second of mastering his bride. The more she fought him, the more he’d enjoy it.

He’d go without the MacDuff badge. She knew who he was. She thought she knew what he was capable of. She was about to find out she’d never even been close to guessing.

The trip from the tower that held his chamber to the main tower and the laird’s chambers took scant minutes at the pace he set. His anger fueled his stride. When he reached her door, he didn’t deign to try it. He had no doubt it would be locked. Instead, he pounded on it with all the force of his mounting ire. How dare she behave that way. Spewing on him. He never expected her to act the terrified virgin, contemplating her deflowering. Nay, he’d anticipated better of his new bride. Much better. And he’d have it. He pounded again. “Open this door, woman. I’ll no’ ask again.”

Silence.

“Do ye want me to break it down?”

There! He heard the lock turn. He shoved the door open, knocking Ellie back into the wall. “Ah, my sweet bride. It’s about time ye admitted me.”

She straightened and raised her chin but her eyes remained lowered, as they should. “I came as quickly as I could.”

“Still ill, my dear?” He advanced on her. It pleased him to see her determined to maintain her dignity. He’d take care of that soon enough. “I see ye havena undressed. Perhaps ye were waiting for me to arrive? To give yer new husband the pleasure of watching ye and letting his lust build with each new glimpse of yer milky skin?”

Ellie paled. Good. A chink in her armor.

“Take off yer dress, wife.”

“Nay.” She backed up a pace, hands up. “I’m no’ ready.”

He growled. “I thought we had a deal. Ye obey me in all things, and I leave our people alone.”

Was that a quiver he saw on her bottom lip? She bit it and backed up another pace.

“I...I will obey ye. Just no’ yet. I need more time...”

“Time?” Rage suddenly burned in his belly like acid. “Time? Ye’ve denied me these last four years. How much more time do ye think I’m of a mind to give ye?”

Suddenly, instead of bowing her head and accepting his dominion, Ellie’s gaze locked with his, her eyes narrowed. What did she think to accomplish against his strength?

“As much as I need, Lachlan. Or do ye truly force women who dinna want ye?”

Mirth bubbled up from his gut and he laughed. “I do when they’re wed to me. ’Tis my right. And sometimes even when they’re no’.”

“I’m no’ a weakling virgin, to be swayed by yer bluster. I’m a laird in my own right and this will happen only when I’m ready and agree to it.”

“Ye agreed to it, wench, in the kirk.”

“Under duress. Ye owe me the time to prepare myself.”