Mairin gazed wearily at the looming keep as they rode through the final stone skirt and into the courtyard. Thoughts of escape deteriorated as she stared helplessly at the massive holding. It was impenetrable.
Men were everywhere, most of them training, some tending to repairs on portions of the inner wall, others taking a rest and drinking water from a pail close to the steps of the keep.
As if sensing her fatalistic thoughts, Crispen looked up, his green eyes bright with fear. Her arms were looped around his body, her hands tied together in front of him, and she squeezed him to try to reassure him. But ’twas God’s truth, she was shaking like the last leaf in autumn.
The soldier leading her horse pulled up, and she had to fight to stay in the saddle. Crispen steadied them by grabbing onto the horse’s mane.
Finn rode up beside them and yanked Mairin from the horse. Crispen came with her, screeching his surprise as he tumbled from her grasp to the ground.
Finn lowered her down, his fingers bruising her arm with his grip. She wrenched away and reached with her bound hands to help Crispen stand.
All around them, activity ceased as everyone stopped to take stock of the new arrival. A few of the keep’s women stared curiously at her from a distance, whispering behind their hands.
She knew she must look a fright, but she was more concerned with what would happen when Laird Cameron arrived to view his captive. God help her then.
And then she saw him. He appeared at the top of the steps leading into the keep, his gaze sharp as he sought her out. The rumors of his greed, of his ruthlessness and ambition, led her to expect the very image of the devil. To her surprise, he was an exceedingly handsome man.
His clothing was immaculate, as though it had never seen a day on the battlefield. She knew better. She’d mended too many soldiers who’d crossed paths with him. Soft leather trews and a dark green tunic with boots that looked too new. At his side, his sword gleamed in the sunlight, the blade honed to a deadly sharpness.
Her hands automatically went to her throat, and she swallowed rapidly against the knot forming.
“You found her?” Duncan Cameron called from the top of the steps.
“Aye, Laird.” Finn thrust her forward, shaking her like a rag doll. “This be Mairin Stuart.”
Duncan’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned as though he’d suffered disappointment in the past. Had he been looking for her for so long? She shivered and tried not to allow her fear to overwhelm her.
“Show me,” Duncan barked.
Crispen moved toward her just as Finn hauled her against him. She slammed into his chest with enough force to knock the breath from her. Another soldier appeared at his side, and to her utter humiliation, they tossed up the hem of her dress.
Duncan descended the steps, his face creased in concentration as he neared. Something feral sparked in his eyes, and they lighted in triumph.
His finger caressed the outline of the brand, and he broke into a broad grin. “The royal crest of Alexander,” he whispered. “All this time you were thought dead, Neamh Álainn lost forever. Now you are both mine.”
“Never,” she gritted out.
He looked startled for a moment and then he stepped back, scowling at Finn. “Cover her.”
Finn yanked down her clothing and released her arm. Crispen was back at her side immediately.
“Who is this?” Duncan thundered when he laid eyes on Crispen. “Is this her brat? Does she claim him? It cannot be!”
“Nay, Laird,” Finn was quick to say. “The child is not hers. We caught him trying to steal one of our horses. She champions him. Nothing else.”
“Get rid of him.”
Mairin wrapped both arms around Crispen and stared at Duncan with all the force of her hatred. “You touch him and you’ll regret the day you were born.”
Duncan blinked in surprise and then rage suffused his face, flushing it to near purple. “You dare, you dare to threaten me?”
“Go ahead, kill me,” she said calmly. “That would serve your purpose well.”
He lashed out and backhanded her across the cheek. She fell to the ground, her hand snapping up to cup her jaw.
“Leave her alone!” Crispen cried.
She lunged for him, pulling him down until he was cradled in her arms. “Shhh,” she cautioned. “Do nothing to anger him further.”
“I see you have regained your senses,” Duncan said. “See to it they don’t leave you again.”
She said nothing, just lay there on the ground, holding Crispen as she stared at Duncan’s unmarred boots. He must never work, she thought. Even his hand was soft against her cheek. How could a man who rose to power on the broken backs of others have such strength?
“Take her inside and give her to the women to bathe,” Duncan said in disgust.
“Stay near me,” she whispered to Crispen. She didn’t trust Finn not to hurt him.
Finn hauled her to her feet and half dragged, half carried her inside the keep. Though the outside gleamed, the inside was dirty and musty and smelled of days-old ale. Dogs barked excitedly, and she curled her nose as the odor of feces assaulted her nostrils.
“Upstairs with you,” Finn snarled, as he shoved her toward the stairs. “And don’t be trying anything. I’ll have guards posted outside your door. Make it quick. You don’t want to keep the laird waiting.”
The two women given the task of seeing to Mairin’s bath viewed her with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity as they briskly washed her hair.
“Do you be wanting the lad to bathe as well?” one asked.
“Nay!” Crispen exclaimed from his perch on the bed.
“Nay,” Mairin echoed softly. “Leave him be.”
After they rinsed the soap from Mairin’s hair, they helped her from the tub and soon had her dressed in a beautiful blue gown with elaborate embroidery around the neck and sleeves and again at the hem. She didn’t miss the significance of being dressed in Duncan’s colors. How easily he considered her his conquest.
When the two women offered to arrange her hair, Mairin shook her head. As soon as it was dry she’d braid it.
With a shrug, the women departed the room, leaving her to await her summons from Duncan.
She sat down on the bed next to Crispen, and he snuggled into the crook of her arm.
“I’m getting you dirty,” he whispered.
“I don’t care.”
“What are we going to do, Mairin?”
His voice shook with fear, and she kissed the top of his head.
“We’ll think of something, Crispen. We’ll think of something.”
The door flew open, and Mairin instinctively shoved Crispen behind her. Finn stood there in the doorway, his gaze triumphant.
“The laird wants you.”
She turned to Crispen and cupped his chin until he looked directly into her eyes. “Stay here,” she whispered. “Don’t come out of this room. Promise me.”
He nodded, his eyes wide with fright.
She rose and went to where Finn stood. When he reached for her arm, she yanked it away. “I’m capable of walking unaided.”
“Uppity bitch,” he bit out.
She preceded him down the stairs, her dread growing with each passing second. When she saw the priest standing next to the fire in the great hall, she knew that Duncan was taking no chances. He’d marry her, bed her, and seal her fate and that of Neamh Álainn.
As Finn shoved her forward, she prayed for strength and courage for what she must do.
“There’s my bride now,” Duncan said, as he turned from his conversation with the priest.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he studied her intently, almost as if he were warning her of the consequences if she refused.
God, help me.
The priest cleared his throat and focused his attention on Mairin. “Are you willing, lass?”
Silence fell as all awaited her response. Then slowly, she shook her head. The priest swung his gaze to Duncan, a look of accusation in his eyes.
“What is this, Laird? You told me you both wished this marriage.”
The look on Duncan’s face had the priest backtracking. The priest hastily crossed himself and positioned himself a safe distance from Duncan.
Then Duncan turned to her, and her blood ran cold. For such a handsome man, he was, in that moment, very ugly.
He stepped toward her, grasping her arm above the elbow, squeezing until she feared her bone would snap.
“I’ll ask this only once more,” he said in a deceptively soft voice. “Are you willing?”
She knew. She knew that when she uttered her denial, he would retaliate. He might even kill her if he saw his path to Neamh Álainn shattered. But she hadn’t stayed sequestered all these years only to yield at the first sign of adversity. Somehow, someway, she must find a way out of this mess.
She lifted her shoulders, infusing the steel of a broadsword into her spine. In a clear, distinct voice, she uttered her denial. “Nay.”
His roar of rage nearly shattered her ears. His fist sent her flying several feet, and she huddled into a ball, gasping for breath. He’d hit her so hard in the ribs that she couldn’t squeeze breath into her lungs.
She raised her shocked and unfocused gaze up to see him towering over her, his anger a tangible, terrible thing. In that moment, she knew she’d chosen right. Even if he killed her in his frenzy, what would her life be like as his wife? After she bore him the necessary heir to Neamh Álainn, he’d have no further use for her anyway, and he’d just rid himself of her then.
“Yield,” he demanded, his fist raised in warning.
Her voice didn’t come out as strong as before. It came out more of a breathy exhalation than anything, and her lips trembled. But she made herself heard.
In the great hall, the murmurs rose, and Duncan’s face swelled, his cheeks purpling until she thought he might well explode.
That shiny boot kicked out, connecting with her body. Her cry of pain was muted by the next blow. Over and over, he kicked, and then he yanked her up and drove his fist into her side.
“Laird, you’ll kill her!”
She was barely conscious. She had no idea who uttered the warning. She hung in his grasp, every breath causing her unbearable pain.
Duncan dropped her in disgust. “Lock her in her chambers. No one is to give her any food or water. Nor that brat of hers. We’ll see how soon it takes her to yield when he starts whining of hunger.”
Again, she was hauled upward with no regard to her injuries. Each step up the stairs was agony as she bounced against the hard stone. The door to her chamber opened, and Finn threw her inside.
She hit the floor, battling for consciousness with every breath.
“Mairin!”
Crispen huddled over her, his little hands gripping her painfully.
“Nay, don’t touch me,” she whispered hoarsely. If he touched her, she was sure she’d faint.
“You must get to the bed,” he said desperately. “I’ll help you. Please, Mairin.”
He was near tears, and it was only the thought of how he’d survive in Duncan’s hands if she died that prevented her from closing her eyes and praying for peace.
She roused herself enough to crawl toward the bed, each movement sending a scream down her spine. Crispen bore as much of her weight as he could, and together they managed to haul her over the edge of the bed.
She melted into the straw mattress, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. Breathing hurt. Crispen settled next to her, his warm, sweet body seeking comfort she couldn’t offer.
Instead, his arms went around her, and he hugged her to his little body. “Please don’t die, Mairin,” he begged softly. “I’m scared.”
“Lady. My lady, wake up. You must wake up.”
The urgent whisper roused Mairin from unconsciousness, and as soon as she turned, seeking the annoyance that disturbed her, agony flashed through her body until she gasped for breath.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said anxiously. “I know you’re badly injured, but you must hurry.”
“Hurry?”
Mairin’s voice was slurred, and her brain was a mass of cobwebs. Beside her, Crispen stirred and gave a start of fright when he saw the shadow standing over the bed.
“Aye, hurry,” the impatient voice came again.
“Who are you?” Mairin managed to ask.
“We haven’t time to talk, Lady. The laird is in a drunken sleep. He’ll think you too badly hurt to escape. We have to go now if you are to make it. He plans to kill the child if you don’t yield.”
At the word escape, some of the cobwebs vanished. She tried to sit up but nearly cried out when pain knifed through her side.
“Here, let me help you. You too, lad,” the woman said to Crispen. “Help me with your lady.”
Crispen scrambled over the bed and slid off the edge.
“Why are you doing this?” Mairin asked when they both helped her sit up.
“What he did was a disgrace,” the woman murmured. “To beat a lass as he did you. He’s mad. You’ve been his obsession. I fear for your life no matter whether you yield or not. He’ll kill the boy.”
Mairin squeezed her hand with the little strength she had. “Thank you.”
“We must hurry. There is a bolt-hole in the next chamber. You’ll have to leave alone. I can’t risk taking you. At the end, Fergus waits for you with a horse. He’ll put you and the lad on it. It’ll pain you, aye, but you’ll have to endure. ’Tis your only way out.”
Mairin nodded her acceptance. Escape in agony or die in comfort. Didn’t seem like such a difficult decision.
The serving woman cracked open the door of the chamber, turned back to Mairin, and put a finger to her lips. She motioned to the left to let Mairin know the guard was there.
Crispen slid his hand into hers, and again she squeezed to comfort him. Inch by breathless inch, they crept by the sleeping guard in the darkness of the hall. Mairin held her breath the entire way, afraid if she let out so much as a puff, the guard would wake and alert the keep.
Finally they reached the next chamber. Dust flew and curled around her nose as they stepped within, and she had to squeeze her nostrils to keep from sneezing.
“Over here,” the woman whispered in the darkness.
Mairin followed the sound of her voice until she felt the chill emanating from the stone wall.
“God be with you,” the serving woman said as she ushered Mairin and Crispen into the small tunnel.
Mairin stopped only long enough to squeeze her hand in a quick thank-you, and then she urged Crispen into the narrow passageway.
Each step sent a fresh wave of agony through Mairin. She feared her ribs were broken, but there was naught that could be done about it now.
They hurried through the darkness, Mairin all but dragging Crispen behind her.
“Who goes there?”
Mairin halted at the man’s voice but remembered that the woman had said Fergus awaited them.
“Fergus?” she called softly. “ ’Tis I, Mairin Stuart.”
“Come, Lady,” he urged.
She rushed to the end and stepped onto the cold, damp ground, wincing when her bare feet made contact with rough pebbles. She gazed at their surroundings and saw that the bolt-hole exited the back of the keep where there was only a skirt between the keep and the hillside that jutted skyward.
Wordlessly, Fergus melted into the darkness, and Mairin ran to catch up to him. They moved along the bottom of the hillside and headed for the dense population of trees at the perimeter of Duncan’s holding.
A horse was tied to one of the trees, and Fergus quickly freed him, gathering the reins as he turned to Mairin.
“I’ll lift you up first and then the lad.” He pointed into the distance. “That way is north. God be with you.”
Without another word, he lifted her, all but tossing her into the saddle. It was all she could do not to fall off. Tears crushed her eyes and she doubled over, fighting unconsciousness.
Help me please, God.
Fergus lifted Crispen, who settled in front of her. She was glad he wasn’t riding behind her because, God’s truth, she needed something to hang on to.
“Can you manage the reins?” she whispered to Crispen as she leaned into him.
“I’ll protect you,” Crispen said fiercely. “Hold on to me, Mairin. I’ll take us home, I swear it.”
She smiled at the determination in his voice. “I know you will.”
Fergus gave the horse a slap, and it started forward. Mairin bit her lip against the scream of pain that battled to erupt. She would never make it even a mile.
Alaric McCabe drew up his horse and held his fist up to halt his men. They’d ridden all morning, searching endless trails, tracking hoofprints to no avail. All were dead ends. He slid from the saddle and strode forward to view the disturbance in the soil. Kneeling, he touched the faint hoofprints and the flattened grass to the side. It looked as though someone took a fall from a horse. Recently.
He scanned the immediate area and saw a footprint in a patch of bare soil a few feet away, then lifted his gaze toward the area the person had headed. Slowly he rose, drew his sword, and motioned for his men to spread out and circle the area.
Carefully, he stepped through the trees, watching warily for any sign of ambush. He saw the horse first, grazing a short distance away, the reins hanging, the saddle askew. He frowned. Such disregard for the care of a horse was surely a sin.
A slight rustle to his right swung him around, and he found himself staring at a small woman, her back wedged against a huge tree. Her skirts jumped like she had a litter of kittens hidden underneath, and her wide blue eyes were full of fear—and fury.
Her long black hair hung in disarray to her waist, and it was then he noticed the colors of her tunic and the coat of arms embroidered at the hem.
Rage temporarily blinded him, and he advanced, his sword held in an arc over his head.
She flung an arm behind her, shoving something farther between her and the tree. Her skirts wriggled again, and it was then he realized she shielded a person. A child.
“Stay behind me,” she hissed.
“But Mair—”
Alaric froze. He knew that voice. His fingers shook, for the first time in his life his hand unsteady around the hilt. Hell would be a cold place indeed before he ever allowed a Cameron hand on his kin.
With a snarl of rage, he charged forward, grasped the woman by the shoulder, and hurled her aside. Crispen stood against the tree, his mouth open. Then he saw Alaric and all but leapt into his arms.
The sword fell to the ground—another sin of neglect—but in that moment Alaric didn’t care. Sweet relief staggered him.
“Crispen,” he said hoarsely, as he hugged the boy to him.
A shriek of rage assaulted his ears just as he was hit by a flying bundle of woman. So surprised was he, that he stumbled backward, his hold on Crispen loosening.
She wedged herself between him and Crispen and landed a knee to his groin. He doubled over, cursing as agony washed over him. He fell to one knee and grabbed his sword just as he whistled for his men. The woman was demented.
Through the haze of pain, he saw her grab a resisting Crispen and try to run. Several things happened at once. Two of his men stepped in front of her. She halted, causing Crispen to slam into her back. When she started in the opposite direction, Gannon raised his arm to stop her.
To Alaric’s astonishment, she swiveled, grabbed Crispen, and fell to the ground, her body huddled protectively over him.
Gannon and Cormac froze and looked to Alaric just as the rest of his men burst through the trees.
To further confuse the hell out of all of them, Crispen finally wiggled out from underneath her and threw himself on top of her, scowling ferociously the entire time at Gannon.
“Don’t you hit her!” he bellowed.
Every one of his men blinked in surprise at Crispen’s ferocity.
“Lad, I wasn’t going to hit the lass,” Gannon said. “I was trying to prevent her from fleeing. With you. God’s teeth, we’ve been searching for you for days. The laird is worried sick over you.”
Alaric strode over to Crispen and plucked him off the huddled woman. When he reached down to haul her upright, Crispen exploded again, shoving him back.
Alaric stared at his nephew with an open mouth.
“Don’t touch her,” Crispen said. “She’s badly hurt, Uncle Alaric.”
Crispen chewed his bottom lip, and it looked for the world like the lad was going to break down and cry. Whoever the woman was, it was obvious Crispen didn’t fear her.
“I won’t hurt her, lad,” Alaric said softly.
He knelt down and brushed aside the hair from her face and realized she was unconscious. There was a bruise on one cheek, but otherwise she didn’t look injured.
“Where is she hurt?” he asked Crispen.
Tears filled Crispen’s eyes, and he wiped hastily at them with the back of his grubby hand.
“Her stomach. And her back. It hurts her fierce if anyone touches her.”
Carefully, so as not to alarm the boy, Alaric pulled at her clothing. When her abdomen and back came into view, he sucked in his breath. Around him, his men alternately cursed and murmured their pity for the slight lass.
“God in heaven, what happened to her?” Alaric asked.
Her entire rib cage was purple, and ugly bruises marred her smooth back. He could swear one of them was in the shape of a man’s boot.
“He beat her,” Crispen choked out. “Take us home, Uncle Alaric. I want my papa.”
Not wanting the boy to lose his composure in front of the other men, Alaric nodded and patted him on the arm. There would be plenty of time to get the story from Crispen later. Ewan would want to hear it all.
He stared down at the unconscious woman and frowned. She had offered her body for Crispen’s, and yet she wore the colors of Duncan Cameron. Ewan would be beyond control if Cameron had any involvement in Crispen’s disappearance.
War. At long last, war would be declared.
He motioned for Cormac to tend to the lass, and he reached for Crispen, intending that the boy ride with him. There were several questions he wanted answered on the ride home.
Crispen shook his head adamantly. “Nay, you take her, Uncle Alaric. She has to ride with you. I promised her that Papa would keep her safe, but he’s not here so you have to do it. You have to.”
Alaric sighed. There was no reasoning with the boy, and right now he was so glad he was alive, he’d cede to his ridiculous demands. Later he’d bend the brat’s ear about not questioning authority.
“I want to ride with you, too,” Crispen said, his gaze nervously going to the woman.
He inched closer to her as if he couldn’t stand the idea of being separated from her.
Alaric looked skyward. Ewan hadn’t taken a firm enough hand with the boy. That was all there was to it.
And so Alaric found himself astride his horse with the woman draped across the saddle in front of him, her body shielded in the crook of one arm, while Crispen sat on his other leg, his head nestled against her bosom.
He glared at his men, daring even one of them to laugh. Hell, he had to relinquish his sword for the duty of carrying the two extra persons, never mind their weight didn’t equal that of a single warrior.
Ewan just better be damn grateful. He could decide what was to be done with the woman just as soon as Alaric dumped her into Ewan’s lap.