The Highlander's Bride Trouble (11 page)

The sun was setting quickly, and Saer rode through the gate without a backward glance.

***

“It is lumpy,” Abigail complained as she poked a finger into the pallet Nareen laid
out for her.

Nareen didn’t spare Abigail even a smile.

“Ye should nae be sulking,” Abigail admonished. “It is me right to remind ye of yer
place.”

Nareen finished transforming the bed of the wagon into a sleeping pallet for Abigail.
With the trunks removed, there was ample space to lay out a padded cushion. It was
stuffed with carded wool and would make a fine place to spend the night, since there
were no inns nearby.

Of course, only Abigail would enjoy such luxury. The rest of her escort would be making
do with the ground, but that didn’t stop Abigail from pushing her fingers into the
pad and wrinkling her nose with distaste.

Nareen turned to look at her. “I am the daughter of a laird and yer companion.”

Abigail’s eyes widened. “Ye cannae say what ye are to me!”

“I can and will,” Nareen answered firmly.

Abigail’s face contorted with anger. “I’ll put ye out right here.”

“Do as ye like,” Nareen replied. “The mare is mine, and I’ll make me way very well.
I do nae need others to see to me needs, but ye will have no one to dress ye come
morning if I am gone.”

It was a bold statement. She’d have to cross four different clan lands before making
it back to Grant territory. It would be a dangerous endeavor.

“Yet it was me father who paid for the feed for the mare. I’ll nae allow ye to take
her with ye.”

“And ye, who left with only six retainers,” Nareen reminded her. “Are ye truly so
foolish as to waste their attention on watching me and me mare?”

“That is outrageous!”

Nareen stared straight at her. “As much so as ye threatening to have yer father give
me to Saer MacLeod.”

Abigail snapped her mouth shut and looked at the ground like a naughty child. “It
was nae very kind of me, I know, and I will nae do such a thing again.”

“Ye do nae understand the concept of kindness, and I shall no longer serve ye, for
ye do nae value me dedication.”

“Oh…but I do, Nareen,” Abigail argued. “Did I nae rescue ye from yer cousin’s home?”

“Aye,” Nareen said. “But ye committed the same sin Ruth did when ye threatened to
give me to Saer MacLeod. I have always made it clear to ye that I shall not be owned.
Ye will find a new companion at court.”

“It will nae be difficult,” Abigail snapped.

“I am glad we are in agreement.” Nareen jumped down from the cart, leaving Abigail
behind.

“Nareen—”

“Hush!” Nareen scolded her as she realized something was wrong. The horses were dancing
and fighting to break free. Their ears had perked up, and they began to jerk their
heads against the bridles holding them to some nearby trees. The Ross retainers stopped
talking by the fire they’d built to cook supper, and turned to face the darkness beyond
them.

“But…” Abigail whined.

“There is trouble here.” Nareen grabbed the dagger she had secured to her belt.

Abigail’s eyes widened as the firelight flashed off the blade of the dagger. With
a muffled squeal, she scooted back into the wagon like a frightened child.

The attack came swiftly. There was a cry the night wind carried before the camp was
overrun.

Abigail screamed and didn’t stop.

Nareen cursed the woman while trying to defend herself. She raised the dagger and
turned to face the man who tried to lock his arms around her from behind. She slashed
across his forearm, drawing a vicious growl from him.

“So ye have claws…do ye?”

“I’ve no wish to kill ye,” she warned, backing away as the screams of the Ross retainers
filled the night.

He lowered himself and opened his arms wide. “Ye’re nae going to be the end of me,
lass…”

Her stomach tightened, and sweat began to coat her palm. But she tightened her grip
and moved away from the wagon to give herself more room. The warrior launched himself
at her, but she twisted and moved out of his path. He stumbled past her, turning at
the last second when he realized she was in motion, and clamping a hard hand onto
the wrist in which she held her dagger.

He snickered. “Well now, that was nae—”

Nareen shoved her fist up, into the soft spot beneath his jaw. He snarled and jerked
backward out of reflex. She stumbled away, regaining her footing as more men came
toward her.

“What have we here? Colm?”

The man she’d struck jumped to his feet and spit before wiping his mouth across his
forearm. “She’s mine,” he barked.

His comrades chuckled. “It does nae look that way from here,” one taunted.

Colm began closing the distance between them. Nareen turned to face him, allowing
the firelight to illuminate her arisaid.

“Hold, Colm, she’s a Grant.”

“I do nae give a shit. She cut me, and I’m going to take that little toy away from
her.”

With her attention on Colm, Nareen missed the men coming up behind her. The night
was full of them, at least thirty or more. One grabbed the dagger and pulled her back
against his body with an arm around her chest. He ripped the weapon from her grip
with a soft snort.

“She’s lost her toy, so calm yerself, Colm.”

Nareen twisted, ducking her head beneath the arm that held her as Kael had taught
her. She broke free and heard Colm chuckle.

“Ye see?” Colm muttered as he pointed at her. “This one is trouble.”

Someone yanked Abigail out of the cart. She was whimpering, the firelight shining
off trails of tears wetting her face.

“I’ll gladly trade ye this one for that one,” the man hauling Abigail said to his
comrades. “At least that one does nae scream like a babe.”

“How dare ye!” Abigail exploded. “I am the daughter of the Earl of Ross! She is naught
but the castoff of the Grants.”

Colm stopped inspecting the cut on his forearm and peered at Abigail. “Are ye now?
Well, lads, it seems we’ve found the means to justice tonight. Laird MacKay will be
right displeased to know we found a prize and he was nae along.”

Nareen’s stomach was knotted. There was no way to fight them all off. Still, she turned
one way and then another as she searched for an escape. Someone clamped their arms
around her, lifting her right off her feet to the amusement of the MacKays. One of
the men watching grabbed one of her ankles and began tying a rope around it. She snarled
and kicked out at him. Her foot connected with his head, making a dull thud. He rolled
back, head over heels, before righting himself.

“Bitch!” he cursed her.

But the man holding her only laughed. “I’m thinking the laird is going to enjoy this
one more than the other.”

He began squeezing her until she couldn’t fill her lungs.

“Vengeance is cold, but this little spitfire is plenty warm.”

Unable to breathe, Nareen’s vision began to blur. Her muscles lost their strength,
and she sagged. Helplessness rushed over her, filling her with terror as she struggled
to maintain consciousness. All her fight gained her was one last look at the satisfied
smirks on the faces of her captors.

And the knowledge that she was completely at their mercy.

Nareen woke with her head hanging over her mare. Her belly hurt from the saddle pressing
into it, but she was tied tight, unable to do anything more than endure.

The MacKay had left the campsite behind and were now stopped in the shadow of a ridge
where the moonlight didn’t penetrate. Water rushed by, helping to mask the sound of
the men and horses. A fire was burning near the ridge, to keep the light from being
seen by the Ross.

They were experienced raiders, and the realization sent a chill through her.

“So ye’re done sleeping, eh?”

Colm appeared beside her and pulled her off the back of the mare. Nareen snorted in
disgust, but she had little choice with her hands bound.

“Cut me loose, so I do nae have to suffer yer hands upon me.”

Colm shook his head. “Ye are far too handy with a dagger, lass, and me wife would
likely nae appreciate me having to handle ye any more than I already have, for ye
are a fine-looking woman.”

He locked a firm hand around her upper arm and began to guide her toward the center
of the group. Abigail let out a wail from somewhere in front of them. Nareen turned
to see her mistress collapsed in a heap. The MacKay retainers dealing with her left
her where she’d fallen. But a whistle from Colm, and they reached down to haul Abigail
up.

“Me father will gut ye all for this!” Her nose was red, and tears had made dirty smears
down her cheeks.

“Thank Christ ye are nae such a weakling,” Colm muttered to Nareen. “I know the Earl
of Ross to be a man without honor, but I’m still shocked to see the whelp he’s allowed
his daughter to become.”

Colm pushed her forward until she faced a man whose bonnet had three feathers standing
up on its side. The pommel of his sword was visible over his left shoulder like the
rest of his men, but it had a gleam the others lacked.

“Laird MacKay?” she asked boldly—maybe too boldly, given she was bound and surrounded,
but Nareen lifted her chin and faced off with him.

He frowned, his gaze settling on her as his eyes narrowed. Somehow, she got the feeling
he was not pleased with his men, but that was likely wishful thinking on her part.
Whatever his feelings, he controlled his expression.

“Ye’re a handsome woman.”

Nareen held her chin steady. She resisted the urge to test her bonds again. She could
feel the rope biting into her wrists, and knew they were firm. So she would stand
steady.

“I am Bastian MacKay.”

“Ye are a man who preys on women, and naught else about ye interests me,” Nareen informed
him. She was being brazen, and for certain there were plenty who would call her foolish,
for Bastian was a large man in his prime. His hair was golden brown, and his eyes
the color of a summer sky. He looked like a Viking, but the kilt strapped to his lean
waist proclaimed him a Highlander.

He grinned at her. “Ye are nothing like yer mistress.”

Abigail was still whimpering in a heap where the MacKay retainers had left her.

“I am a Grant.”

His lips parted in a grin. “Ye are Nareen Grant, Laird Grant’s only daughter, which
accounts for the boldness in ye.” His expression settled into a stony one. “I know
who me men have brought me, but if I did nae, yer mistress there was happy to tell
me.”

Of course. Abigail lacked sense as well as self-discipline.

“Excellent,” Nareen replied calmly, as though her hands were not bound. “That will
make it much easier for me. I wish to make it plain to ye that it is in yer best interests
to send a message to me brother, stating yer ransom demands.”

His lips curved again, this time reminding her too much of Saer.

“I believe I might enjoy explaining me demands to ye instead.”

Nareen scoffed at him. “Forgive me, I mistook ye for a Highlander. Nae a common thief
who has no concept of honor.”

“He understands honor, Nareen.”

The MacKay parted, many of the retainers jumping around and pulling their swords before
they realized Saer MacLeod was at the top of the ridge. He jumped down, landing perfectly
before making his path toward her with a purposeful stride.

She closed her eyes and opened them again, but he was still there. A crazy twist of
relief went through her, until she realized there just might be a bloodbath. Saer’s
retainers were following him with determined expressions, and she felt the tension
tightening as they came down the ridge.

She couldn’t live with blood on her skirts. It was her fault for leaving without a
proper escort. She knew better. A laird’s daughter owed her people the respect of
not placing them in the position of needing to fight for her.

But Saer pointed at Bastian, making it clear who he wanted to see.

The MacKay laird grunted and waved Saer forward. The MacKay retainers parted, but
their expressions were grim.

“I am Saer MacLeod.”

“And ye’re off yer land,” Bastian remarked.

“So are ye.” Saer stepped up, squaring off with him. He set his retainers back with
a firm motion of his hand. “This one belongs to me.”

Nareen opened her mouth, but shut it when Bastian looked her way. The MacKay laird
burst into laughter.

“Seems she does nae agree with ye.”

Saer sent her a narrow-eyed look before returning his attention to Bastian. “Yer feud
with the MacKays does nae need the Grants becoming involved.” Saer spoke clear and
loud enough for the men watching to hear.

Bastian tilted his head to one side. “Now I think that is a matter of what side they
become involved on. If I were to wed this fiery lass, the Grants would have to support
me.”

“They would nae,” Nareen said. “And I am nae wedding ye.”

Bastian winked at her. “Ye’ll get accustomed to me, lass, as all lasses do. And ye
would nae be wanting to see yer babe bastard-born.” His expression tightened. “Ye’ll
wed if I take ye home with me.”

“She belongs to me.” Saer’s voice was menacing. Nareen shivered.

“It looks like she was running away from ye, MacLeod,” Bastian taunted.

“At least I know how to run her down, and do nae need to tie her up.”

The MacLeod retainers chuckled.

“Well now, Colm there is a married man.” Bastian pulled a dagger from his belt and
slit the leather knotted around Nareen’s wrists. “He couldn’t be holding on to her,
now could he?”

Nareen rubbed her wrists, trying to restore feeling to her hands.

“Laird MacLeod, ye must take me back to me father,” Abigail wailed.

Bastian’s lips twitched. “I’d be happy to give ye that one.”

“Why don’t ye wed her and end yer feud?” Saer suggested.

The MacKay retainers groaned. Abigail’s eyes widened, a hurt expression emerging on
her face.

“Because I was hoping to have a wife who was more mature than the babes she’ll give
me,” Bastian explained. “There is no comparing the two lasses, and ye are here because
ye know it.”

The teasing mood vanished. Bastian faced off with Saer, the two men equally powerful.
They had the same number of retainers, and Nareen felt her mouth go dry as she recognized
how dire her circumstances were. Either Saer would fight for her or leave her to her
fate.

“Then we have business,” Saer decided. He reached up and lifted his sword belt over
his head and handed it to Baruch. He tossed his bonnet aside too, and flexed his fingers.

Bastian watched him from beneath hooded eyes. The MacKay laird turned and raked her
from head to toe with his gaze.

“Aye, we’ve got business. She’s a prize worth fighting to keep,” Bastian declared
as he looked straight into her eyes.

“Ye will nae fight over me!” Her blood chilled, and not just from the thought of them
fighting. Bastian was every bit as powerful as Saer. Dread nauseated her.

Bastian stepped in front of her, so Saer had to go through him to get her. “I’m nae
giving her up.”

“And I’m nae leaving without her,” Saer confirmed menacingly.

Someone reached out and pulled her back by the belt securing her arisaid. The men
also moved until they circled the two combatants. Fear knotted her insides. She clamped
her mouth shut and curled her fingers into the fabric of her skirt to control herself.

She couldn’t distract Saer.

The thought entered her mind and refused to leave. It was a protective idea, one she
couldn’t ignore. There was no denying that she cared what happened to him.

They circled each other in slow, crouched paces. Saer watched for an opening, weighing
his opponent’s strengths as Bastian studied Saer with the same critical look.

When they clashed, Nareen flinched.

There was the harsh sound of flesh hitting flesh, and the raw groans of men colliding.
Bastian went low in an attempt to lift Saer off his feet, but Saer was ready for him,
cutting to the side as he drove his fist into Bastian’s jaw.

The MacKay laird stumbled back but shook his head and chuckled. “Me sister hits harder.”

“Is that who taught ye to fight then?” Saer asked.

The men clustered around them were laying out wagers. Saer launched himself at Bastian,
grabbing him by the hair and slipping behind him to lock his arm around his neck.
Bastian dropped to the ground, tossing Saer over his shoulder. They rolled, and their
spectators made way. Bastian tried to use his legs to trap Saer as the two wrestled
like a pair of bears.

It was brutal and savage. More blows landed, and blood began to trickle down both
their faces. Bastian had a split lip, while Saer’s nose had taken a hard hit. They
were breathing harshly, their chests laboring to draw in enough breath to support
their battle. The retainers cheered on their laird, but Bastian and Saer had their
attention only on each other.

It was a horrifying display, one that drove home how helpless Nareen was. Tears strung
the corners of her eyes as she watched. The hard sound of flesh hitting flesh was
sickening.

The MacLeod let out a cheer as Saer succeeded in getting a solid lock around Bastian’s
neck. They were both grappling on the ground, but the MacKay laird was struggling
to breathe. Saer leaned over the man, digging his feet into the dirt to add his body
weight to the hold. Bastian clawed at him but lost his strength at last, going limp.

Saer released him before he passed out, jumping back to a low crouch in case the man
wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Bastian rolled over and snarled as he adopted the same
position. But he was still blinking his eyes as his head cleared.

“Damn it all,” he cursed while easing his stance and standing up. He was furious but
nodding. “’Tis done.”

Bastian extended his hand. Saer straightened up and took a long moment studying his
opponent’s hand.

“I’m a man of honor, MacLeod. The woman is yers,” Bastian clarified. “Although I’m
thinking about returning her dagger to her without telling ye.”

Saer took his hand, clasping his wrist. “Another reason why she’s worth fighting for.
She is nae helpless.”

“She’ll give ye fierce sons.” Bastian wiped the blood off his chin with his shirtsleeve.
“And putting them in her belly is a chore I envy ye.”

Her cheeks turned scarlet as the men around them cheered.

Bastian looked back at her and jerked his head toward Saer. Someone gave her a push
from behind, gaining another chuckle from the men watching.

She didn’t make eye contact with Saer. She couldn’t.

Her emotions were just a breath away from spilling over. She wanted to weep, and she
wanted to rail against being given to him. But she didn’t want to stay with Bastian,
and it was all churning inside her like a storm making ready to burst.

So she walked to her mare and mounted. Snickers followed her as the MacLeod all mounted.

“Nareen… Ye cannae leave me!” Abigail wailed.

Saer wiped the sweat from his face but didn’t move. He remained squared off with Bastian.

“Do nae worry, Saer MacLeod. I do nae plan to settle me differences with Laird Ross
through a woman.”

“Then what do ye plan to do with her?” Saer asked.

“I’ll use her to draw him out of his fortress,” Bastian replied. “The man hides there,
refusing to face me. He killed me father during a game of dice.”

“The earl is addicted to wine. He nearly buckled for being deprived of it for a single
day. Hardly a worthy opponent. It will bring ye no satisfaction to fight him.”

“If it was yer father’s blood on his hands, would that excuse be enough to make ye
forget the matter without so much as a meeting?”

The tension built around them again, the MacKay retainers glaring at Saer to see what
sort of man he was. Saer finally shook his head.

“It would not.”

Bastian nodded with approval.

“But I still cannae leave her in uncertain circumstances. Her father’s sins are nae
hers.” Saer made his point clear.

“I’m here because I heard he’d gone out. Nae to raid.” Bastian growled in frustration.
“A few hours more sunlight, and I might have caught him. But I have his daughter now,
and if he wants her back, he’ll have to face me.”

Bastian lifted his chin, making it clear he wouldn’t be changing his position.

“Ye cannae leave me with this savage, Laird MacLeod!”

Saer looked at Abigail, and she gasped before covering her mouth with her hands. “Do
nae hold the fact that I called ye savage against me, I was just—”

“Being a brat,” Saer confirmed.

Bastian nodded. “She is that.”

Saer looked back at him. “Her father is in no condition to face ye. Look what he has
let his daughter become.”

Bastian looked at Abigail, but he shook his head. “She’ll nae be harmed.” He locked
gazes with Saer. “Even if she whines otherwise. I give ye me word on that. But her
father will face me if he wants her back.”

Saer lifted an eyebrow. “And if he leaves her with ye?”

Bastian grunted. “Do nae rub me face in yer victory. I was just thinking I like ye,
man. How can ye wish such a fate upon me?”

Saer nodded before turning toward his men.