Highlander Unchained (31 page)

Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

Rumors of Coll’s courtship of his sister worried him more than he wanted to admit. His sister wouldn’t betray him by marrying his enemy. But how well did he know her?

If Coll married Flora, Hector knew that the “end” of the curse would be a powerful symbol against him, silly superstition or not. But it was the alliance with Argyll that worried him. Under no circumstances could a marriage between them be allowed to happen.

Just one more reason to want Coll dead. He sat in a chair set before the fire and began to plan. His enemy’s daring foray had given him an idea.

Chapter 15

The party that traveled to the Faerie Pool was larger than Lachlan had intended and included himself, Flora, his sisters, and a handful of his guardsmen. They arrived before noontide and spent the better part of the day eating, drinking, and frolicking in the water. Perhaps it wasn’t the sort of frolicking he’d originally planned, but he admitted it had been an enjoyable day—particularly coming on the heels of his victory yesterday against Hector.

Though he was happy to have some of his men back, he could not forget the suffering he’d seen and those he’d left behind. Rain had destroyed the crops, and the fields were bare; the people were forced to give Duart what little they had left. And the stories of Duart’s abuse—especially the womenfolk—filled him with rage. But he needed men to retake his castle against Duart’s much larger force, men he didn’t have. Not yet, at least. But he would. Waiting for the king to decide in his favor was no longer an option; he needed Rory MacLeod—and his fighting force. And that would come with a marriage alliance.

His gaze fell to Flora, who stood knee deep in the water, laughing with Mary and Gilly—both of whom had followed Flora’s lead in borrowing clothing from his men. Gilly had just splashed Murdoch in the face, and the lad was doing his best to ignore her.

After the skirmish yesterday, Lachlan had thought it prudent to bring along half a dozen guardsmen—including Allan, though now he wished he hadn’t. Observing the heartbreak on his sister’s face when her gaze fell upon his captain was enough to convince him that he’d severely underestimated his sister’s sentiments. Allan’s refusal to meet Mary’s gaze—following his laird’s instructions—only made it worse. He could see the flicker of pain in his sister’s eyes each time Allan’s gaze swept over her.

Damn.

“What’s wrong?” Flora had emerged from the water to stand before him on the rocky shore. Deeply conscious of the wet shirt that clung to her body and his own naked chest, he forced his gaze not to drop below her shoulders.

“Nothing.” He leaned over and plucked his shirt from the rock, not wanting to talk about Mary. It was a subject they could not agree upon. Her mother had raised Flora with no sense of obligation or familial duty. To her it was a simple matter, but to him it was complicated by his responsibility to his clan. “It is getting late, we should be leaving.” He started to pull the shirt over his head, but Flora stopped him with a touch. He flinched, the press of her cool fingers a shocking brand against his skin.

“What happened?” she asked, tracing the outline of the mottled bruise on his ribs. “I noticed it earlier.”

He sucked in his breath as her fingers dipped to his waist. Just a simple touch was enough to fill him with heat. “Studying me closely, Flora?”

She blushed. “Of course not. It’s hard to miss, that’s all.” Her gaze locked on his. “You were in a fight.”

“It was nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like you took a heavy blow with a sword. Won’t you tell me what happened?”

He’d been dispensing with one of Duart’s men when another had surprised him from behind. The man had managed one blow, but it had been his last. He took her wrist to stop the dip of her hand; she was driving him mad. She gasped at the contact, and he made the mistake of looking down. The shirt was plastered to her skin, revealing the lush shape of her breasts to his hungry gaze. God, he ached to touch her. The memory of what had taken place on this very shore was too fresh. Too vivid. The hard evidence of his arousal grew between them. It was nearly impossible to stand beside this woman he’d bedded, inhaling her perfume, knowing how she felt in his arms, and not being able to claim her. A woman he wanted for so many reasons. She’d invaded his senses, his thoughts, his dreams.

“You’ll stop touching me, my sweet, unless you’d care to finish what you started with an audience.”

Her eyes dropped, widening as she took in his condition. She looked at him a second too long, the weight of her eyes more erotic than a harlot’s trick.

“Well?” he repeated.

She shook her head.

“Then take my sisters with you while you change.”

She started to walk away but turned back to him. “Lachlan, I…”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

She looked so flustered, he had to smile. “I know. Now hurry. It grows late.”

He watched her hurry to do his bidding and felt warmth spread over him that had nothing to do with the heat of the sun. It felt odd to have someone concerned about him. He could get used to it.

Mary and Gilly had finished changing out of their wet clothing and rejoined the men, but Flora lingered behind the welcome shelter of the rock, needing the time to collect her thoughts. Thoughts that had been in a jumble after her exchange with Lachlan a few minutes ago.

For a moment—standing so close to him, seeing the strength of his arousal, remembering the feel of him inside her, craving the intimacy of those moments—she’d nearly succumbed. She forgot everything except her need for him.

The magnitude of her response had hit her hard. She’d stared at him, wanting him…needing him. And if it hadn’t been for his reminder of where they were, she feared she might have reached out and touched him.

It was like fire between them, igniting with the barest spark. A touch. A look. A word.

What was holding her back? Was Lachlan right? Was she so scared of ending up like her mother that she would toss away a chance at happiness? She didn’t want to think so, yet his words had stung far more than she cared to admit. She told herself she was only being cautious, but what if he was right? Was she imagining deception where there was none?

She sighed and finished lacing the front of her gown. After pulling back her long damp hair, she secured it at her nape with a scrap of ribbon. Her swimming lessons were helping. Today, she’d managed to go completely under without panicking—though she never would have done it without Lachlan right beside her.

With her wet clothes secured in a bundle, she took a last look around to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything.

Noticing one of Gilly’s hose on the ground, she bent to pick it up and heard the crack of a twig behind her. Before she could react, someone grabbed her from behind. A dirty hand covered her mouth, muffling the scream that tore from her throat.

Fear gripped her; she knew right away it wasn’t Lachlan—and that this was no game. The man, though large and strong, was not nearly as tall and solid as Lachlan. Also, he smelled—not of myrtle and soap, but of sweat and horse.

He was suffocating her, his fetid fingers digging into the tender skin of her mouth and cheeks.

His mouth fell to her ear. “Make no sound or we’ll kill them all,” he whispered, and the stench of his breath filled her nose, making her stomach turn. “It’s you we want.”

Flora could hardly believe it—she was being abducted again. She would laugh if she weren’t so terrified—and if she could move her lips.

The man started to drag her into the trees. She wanted to twist and stomp on his foot the way she had with Lachlan, but she dared not risk it. Not with Mary and Gilly so close. She prayed they were far enough away.

“Flora, I…”

God, no!
It was Gilly. She’d come around the rock, no doubt to check on what was taking her so long. Frantically, Flora tried to warn her with her eyes, but it was too late.

She heard the man holding her let out a vile explicative just as Gilly screamed. “
Help!
Oh, my God, Lachlan,
help
! A man has Flora!”

Her captor gave up trying to drag her and lifted her off the ground, eliminating her ability to attempt her favored method of escape. Knowing Gilly’s screams had alerted the group and that it was too late to avoid danger to the others, she twisted and thrashed against him.

He only gripped her harder. His fingers tore into her cheeks as his hand tightened like a vise around her mouth and nose, cutting off her breath. The other arm was coiled around her ribs. She stopped struggling, pulling his hand instead as she fought for air.

They’d reached a clearing beyond the circle of trees, perhaps a hundred feet from the Faerie Pool, when he released her, pushing her toward another man. She bent over, gasping for breath, hearing the sounds of fighting coming from where they’d just left. Her heart dropped as she realized what must be happening.

The other man rushed toward them, leading a horse. “What happened?” he asked.

“A girl saw me taking her.”

“Who are you?” she gasped. “What do you want with me?”

“We’ve come to help you,” said the man with the horse. He was about forty years of age and had a pleasant weathered face. “My name is Aonghus. Your brother sent us to rescue you from your abductor.”

Her brother? “Which one?” she demanded.

The man looked confused for a minute before he said, “The Maclean of Duart.”

Hector. The sounds of the fighting were growing louder. A sharp scream tore through the air, and she spun around.
Oh, dear God, that was Gilly
. She started to make a move back toward the fighting, but the restraining grip of her initial captor held her. For the first time, she got a good look at him. Her first thought was of hair. It blanketed most of his face with his heavy dark brows, a beard, and thick sideburns. His eyes were dark as well and none too friendly.

“Get your hands off me.”

Her tone startled him, and he let her go.

“I apologize for Cormac, my lady,” the other man, Aonghus, interjected. “But we did not want to take a chance that you would alert them to our presence.”

“I think it’s too late for that.” Her eyes kept darting to the trees. She could hear the thrash of men coming toward them. Flora didn’t know what to do. She just didn’t want anyone to be hurt on her account. A few weeks ago, she would have leapt at the opportunity to escape, but now…now everything had changed. “You must call off your men. There has been a misunderstanding. I am no longer a prisoner.” She took a step toward the sounds when her captor moved to block her.

“You have been deceived. Coll is not what he seems—”

But he never finished because at that moment all hell broke loose.

Lachlan had sensed something was wrong. He’d motioned for his men to form a perimeter, getting into position only moments before the attack started from the west. The sound of Gilly’s scream sent ice shooting through his veins. And then he realized that someone had Flora—and that they’d just been outflanked. He’d recognized a few of the men and knew retaliation for yesterday’s foray had been swift, but he quickly realized it was more than that. This wasn’t just a raiding party, they were after Flora. Hector wanted his sister back. Or more likely, he didn’t want Lachlan to have her.

They must have been scouting for an attack and come upon them by chance. Thank God he’d had the foresight to bring extra men.

He fought like a man possessed—with only two thoughts, the safety of his sisters and reaching Flora in time.

They’d easily repelled the initial attack, and he immediately ordered Allan and a few of the other men to see his sisters home to safety. Then, having gathered the rest of his men, he went after Flora—his chest twisting as he realized he didn’t know whether she wanted to stay or go. The thought that given the chance she might leave him wormed its way into his heart.

But he wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

Flora had never been more happy to see anyone in her life.

Men poured from the trees, Lachlan in the lead, with at least four men hard on his tail. He looked around, his gaze locking on hers. She saw the relief and realized that he’d been worried—for her. She counted at least a dozen of her brother’s men and only three of Lachlan’s—Murdoch was the only one she knew by name. He must have sent Allan and the others back with Mary and Gilly. She prayed they were safe.

She’d seen Lachlan training with his men, but nothing could have prepared her for witnessing him in battle. He wielded his claymore with unbelievable strength and agility, swinging it in a high arc with one hand to force back an attacker, thrusting his dirk with the other. It was brutal and graceful at the same time, and undeniably powerful. This was the fierce edge to him that she’d always sensed lurking under the surface.

Highlanders are barbarians, nothing more than bloodthirsty killers.
Her mother’s words came back to her. If Flora didn’t know Lachlan, watching him right now, she might think the same. But she did know him. And the hand that held his claymore with deadly purpose could also caress with tenderness. The hard blue eyes that killed ruthlessly could also be soft and gentle. Yes, he was a formidable warrior, but he was so much more.