My Seductive Highlander (23 page)

“I canna believe ye would ask such a thing. I'm bound by m'word. Ye ken that well enough, aye?” Gray wouldn't face Lilia. He stood beside the hearth, jaw locked and nostrils flared, staring down at the floor.

The air in the usually comfortable chieftain's solar was stifling hot and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the late August day. Gray pounded his fist against the front of the wooden beam running the width of the fireplace. With an agitated rake of one hand through his black shoulder-length hair, he finally turned and glared dead straight at Lilia. Teeth bared in a frustrated scowl, he jabbed a finger first at Trulie then swung his arm to aim it at Granny. “I spoke Graham's sentence in front of m'kin. The scribe took it down in the hall ledger and affixed m'seal to it. There is no goin' back. I canna break an oath.”

“There's always a loophole.” Granny took Lilia's hand and squeezed it tight. “And besides—Graham's family now. I can't believe you're going to stand there and tell us that you're going to allow your
kin
to be tortured and murdered.” Granny's eyes narrowed and she stepped toward Gray, pulling Lilia with her.

Oh Lord. Poor Gray. Granny's going in for the kill. Well…so be it.
They needed less talk and more action. Time was slipping away. Lilia squeezed Granny's hand.
Get him, Granny.

“Mother Sinclair makes a valid argument,” Colum said from the far corner of the room. He was slowly wrapping the handle of a wooden child-sized sword with a strip of leather. He looped the last of the strand around the haft then pulled it tight with his teeth. He placed the sword on the small table beside him, aligning it with an identical weapon he'd already finished. Dull-bladed swords for his twin sons. “Mayhap now the lads will leave Chloe's treasures alone.” He rose from the bench and turned to Gray. “Graham is kin now since he's husband to our good sister here.”

“That doesna change the man's sentence. I named the terms and they didna hinge on whether he'd married Mistress Lilia or no'. He was not t'return here under any circumstances.” Gray sadly shook his head, his voice growing softer. “I canna help ye, Lady Lilia. I am verra sorry.” He stepped forward and took her hand, ignoring Granny completely. “All I can do is demand that his remains be returned to Clan MacKenna. We'll lay him to rest here.”

“And that's supposed to fucking console me?” Lilia yanked her hand away from Gray, ignoring Granny's sharp intake of breath. Granny hated the f-word but this time Granny was just going to have to get over it. Lilia was well past nice ladylike requesting level. She'd hit frustrated bitch overload and somebody was damn well going to do something. “If you don't help me, I'll just go by myself and then you can have them box up my remains along with Graham's. A twofer. Will that make you feel better about keeping your precious word?”

Gray hitched a step back as though she'd just slapped him. “Lady Lilia—”

“Don't take that placating tone with me.” Lilia stomped to the far end of the room and yanked a shield off the wall. “I'm taking this. I need a sword, a bow, and some arrows. Is there anything else in your dumbass edict that says you can't give your sister-in-law any weapons?”

“Lilia, don't.” Trulie hurried over and pulled at the shield, frowning when Lilia yanked it back. “Let me have it. We're going to figure something out. We'll get Graham back.”

“Not according to your husband, we won't.” Lilia tucked the shield under one arm and jerked her chin toward Colum. “You're over the weapons. Where are they kept? I'll just take what I need and then
Gray
”—she inflected his name with all the rage surging through her—“won't be breaking his holier-than-thou word.”

“Enough, Lilia.” Granny stormed across the room, jerked the shield out of Lilia's hands, and grabbed hold of her arm. Pulling her back to the ring of pillowed seats curled around the hearth, she stood Lilia in front of the small leather-covered chair that everyone knew as “Granny's seat.” “You be quiet now and let me handle this.”

Lilia opened her mouth to argue but shut it again when Granny held up a finger and peered over the top rim of her spectacles with that no-nonsense look all the girls had come to know and fear at an early age. Granny had had enough.
Good. So have I.
Lilia locked her stance and glared at Gray.

Trulie had joined Gray in front of the fireplace, one arm looped through her husband's and the other hand resting atop his forearm.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Lilia would've laughed. Gray was too naïve to realize that Trulie was holding him so he couldn't get away from Granny.

Colum's reddish-gold brows shot to his hairline. In one swoop, he scooped up the pair of play swords and strode to the door. Kenna had told her how Colum had tangled with Granny before—and lost. Wise man. He knew what was about to happen to Gray.

Pulling open the door, he paused and waved the swords at Lilia. “I'll be takin' these to m'lads and givin' Kenna a break from the wee beasties. With another bairn on the way, she tires easy. Whene'er the lot of ye decide what's t'be done, come and find me.”

“Thank you, Colum,” Lilia said. Twin two-year-olds and pregnant again. No wonder Kenna had dark circles under her eyes. A heartsick pang ached through Lilia's core. She had to save Graham. She needed the happiness her sisters had found and she needed it with a vengeance.

Granny paced slowly up and down the length of the woven rug stretched in front of the hearth. Head bowed. A thoughtful scowl in place. She walked with hands clasped against the small of her back. She reminded Lilia of all those movies she'd seen where trial lawyers went in for the kill during their summation.

“You swore that if Graham ever returned, you'd turn him over to the Buchanans. No matter what. Right?” Granny ceased her pacing. She turned and glared at Gray.

Gray shifted to one side, casting a quick frowning look at Trulie when she yanked on his arm and kept him in place. He turned back to Granny and stubbornly lifted his chin. “Ye ken verra well that I did. Ye were there.”

Granny's narrow-eyed gaze shifted back to the floor and she resumed her pacing. She reached the far end of the carpet, slowly turned, then stopped again. A victorious smile blossomed, brightening her expression like the rising of the sun. “But your edict said nothing of Angus. A true MacKenna—by blood. No ultimatum was made should he decide to return. True?”

A percolating silence filled the room as though everyone held their breath. Lilia's heart hammered, its excited pounding echoing in her ears. She watched Gray closely, praying he'd take Granny's tempting cue and run with it.

Gray's demeanor visibly relaxed. Without looking at his wife, he gave the hand Trulie still had clenched around his arm an affectionate pat. “ 'Tis true. And all ken that I canna tolerate an innocent kinsman t'be taken prisoner and tortured by a neighboring clan.” He grinned at Lilia. “Angus is without sin against the Buchanans. Horse thievery is more of a pastime in the Highlands—no' a crime.”

“So you're coming with me then? To rescue Graham?” Lilia scrubbed her palms, damp with nervous moisture, up and down her jean-covered thighs.
Finally. Some action.

Gray shook his head. “Nay, lass. Ye'll be stayin' here with yer family whilst I take a few chosen men to fetch Angus. And I promise ye, if Graham happens to leap onto one of our horses, we'll no' have the time t'stop and take him back to the Buchanans. 'Tis harvest season. I've much t'do and should be visitin' m'tenants—not returning prisoners to the Buchanans when they've no' been skilled enough t'keep them from escapin'.”

“I'm going with you. I'm good with a sword and even better with a bow.” Lilia hurried to the door, yanked it open, and stepped out into the hall. She had to find Colum. Tell him exactly what she needed. Hand still holding the heavy latch of the oak door, she ignored Gray's reddening face and nodded toward Trulie. “I don't have time to argue with him. You and Granny fill him in. It's time to lock and load.”

Then she pulled the door to and jogged down the hallway.
I'm coming for you, Graham. Coming as fast as I can.

“Here. Take it.”

Graham barely heard the hoarse whisper through the muddled fog of his half-conscious state. Something rough scratched the back of his shackled right hand. He forced his eyes open, blinking hard to beat back the bone-aching weariness.

Pinpricks of light floating in a blue-black darkness winked down at him from the cloudless sky. The light of the moon cast eerie shadows across the ground. Where the hell were they now? The land seemed familiar but he couldna tell for certain. Did he truly ken these hills or was it wishful thinkin' brought on by the pain?

Stifling a groan, he repositioned his throbbing legs. And how many days had his arse been dragged behind a horse? Graham shifted against the crumbling wall of stone, flinching against the nauseating burn the movement caused. A cold sweat covered his body, stinging his wounds even more. His back was a raw field of torn flesh courtesy of his captor's whips.

Angus nudged the grimy remnants of a dried oatcake against his hand again. “Eat it, man. They spared ye little food today. If we're to be rid of these bastards, ye must eat.”

Graham pushed the food aside. “Leave off.” He didna need Angus frettin' o'er him like some mother hen. The man had done quite enough by getting them captured. If anything happened to Lilia, he'd skin Angus alive and make him wish his father had ne'er met his mother.

“Eat it,” Angus whispered again. “For her.”

At least the bloody fool had stopped apologizing. Graham snatched the oatcake out of Angus's fingers and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed the tasteless chunk of baked oats as best he could, nearly choking when he forcibly swallowed.
Lore a'mighty.
He didna have enough spittle to wash the mess down. He'd do just as well eatin' the dried mud from the sides of the road.

“Here.” Angus held out a deflated waterskin. “There's no' much but yer welcome to it.” Grimacing as he scooted closer, Angus held his grimy left arm tucked to his chest. The Buchanans had broken it between the wrist and elbow. “I have news for ye. I heard that arse of a leader send some of his men away.”

“Send them away?” That was promising news indeed. They'd started this journey with six captors. Fewer Buchanans improved the odds for escaping. “Where did he send them? How many?”

Angus stole a surreptitious glance around the camp before answering. “On ahead to Buchanan Keep to tell their chief we'd arrive in less than a day's time.”

Less than a day's time. Graham drained the remnants from the water bag, holding the stale warm water in his mouth for a long while, savoring it for the wetness if not for the taste. Beatings paired with little food and water were wearing him down. Thank the gods he had his stubbornness and rage to fuel his strength. He'd be damned straight t'hell and back before he'd give in without a good fight. “If we be less than a day away, that means we're well across MacKenna borders.”

“Aye.” Angus dipped his chin in agreement. “And on our land and this close to the keep, we've a better chance of escapin' and makin' our way t'safety.”

“And how many did ye say remain?” Graham leaned forward, hissing out a strained breath as the wind brushed across his tormented back.

“No more than four. Maybe less. I havena seen the one called Scrunge since just before nightfall.” Angus leaned back against the wall next to Graham. “We'll ken our odds better come mornin' when they go to tie us back to the horses.”

Graham rolled his hands, grabbing up the length of chain between his shackled wrists. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he jerked the chain taut, searching for weakness. “If there's naught but three of them…”

“Aye,” Angus hurried to agree. “Ye can strangle one o' them with the chains whilst I take out the other two.” He held up his good arm, shaking his fist in the air.

Graham lowered both hands to his lap, taking care to rattle the chains as little as possible. Clinking metal stirred his captors to mete out more beatings. “Yer a fool, Angus. Ye've but one arm. How the hell d'ye mean ta take down two men?”

“There's no' a damn thing wrong with me sword arm. All I need is a weapon.” Angus pounded his fist atop his thigh. “I ken that ye think little of me and I dinna blame ye for that. What with all the grief I've caused ye. But ye canna say I'm no' good with a sword.”

Graham eased himself back, gingerly searching for the least painful spot to lean against the wall. Angus spoke the truth. The man was damn good with a blade. Graham pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “To the mornin' then and the promise a new day holds. At first opportunity, I'll draw the Buchanans away whilst ye get to a sword. Aye?”

“Aye,” Angus whispered. “To the mornin' and the spillin' of Buchanan blood. Here's hopin' the gods be with us.”

Aye. But may they watch o'er m'dearest love first and keep her safe above all else.
Graham opened his eyes, staring up into the night. Where was Lilia? Was she well? He'd told her to return to the future but doubted verra much that his stubborn wife had done as she'd been instructed. Graham swallowed hard. The gnawing ache in his chest, the burning worry in his heart, pained him worse than any of his wounds. He had to get free. He had to find Lilia and make certain she was safe.

“Angus,” he whispered with a nudge of his boot against Angus's leg.

“Aye?”

“Ye feel certain ye can wield a sword? Yer wounded and weak, man—no insult to yer talents intended.”

“None taken,” Angus replied with a weary sigh. “And aye, I can swing a sword long enough to slit a few throats. Damn and for certain I will make it so.”

“Aye, Angus.” Graham closed his eyes again. “Together we'll make it so.”