Chapter Twenty

Hand still on Caitrin, Inan gave Kallum a searching look. “The lass appears not to have all her faculties. You sure you don’t want to take and drop her at the edge of Connery lands?”

Inan flinched when Caitrin hit him open-handed on his upper arm hard enough to echo across the inlet.

Kallum dismounted and ran a hand over his head, front to back, trying to rein in his exasperation. “No wonder the lass does not like you. Be still, Inan.”

Inan threw up his hands, palms facing out, in a facetious gesture of innocence. Kallum knew him not anywhere close to innocent; nor was he apologetic for his unkind words about Ailsa.

Kallum understood the lass’s frustrations. Time had passed, but she was no closer to going home than she had been on the first day of her arrival at MacNeill keep. He had sent one of his best soldiers to scout out what he could about the Connery contingent that had traveled with Ailsa to Stirling Castle and what tales abounded after her supposed disappearance. One name came up repeatedly in the reports he had received: Alastair Connery. The man was the Connery chief’s cousin and second-in-command.

By all accounts, Alastair had been in charge of organizing the Connery caravan three years ago. The Connery laird, who was young yet, was reported to take much guidance and advice from his second-in-command. Kallum had much yet to learn about the dynamics of the Connery leadership, but Ailsa was going nowhere until he sorted through all the anecdotes and rumors.

He walked toward the upset lass still standing on a boulder. From her perch, she stood eye to eye with him.

Under his breath, he whispered to her, “Don’t you dare.”

Those light eyes of hers narrowed on him, and he motioned with his head to the grip she had on his father’s dagger hidden within the folds of her dress. He did not think Inan understood what peril he risked by antagonizing the lass, but Kallum did. He’d prefer she not mortally wound the cretin despite the truth that he was acting like an arse.

Her mischievous grin implied she’d not decided to accept Kallum’s warning. “I’d be doing your clan and the entirety of the Highlands a favor, and you know it.”

A sigh rose from the depths of his soul, and he let it out with a heave of his chest. To have two people he cared about at odds with each other was a struggle for him. At least Caitrin had befriended the lass, which meant there was not a complete schism within the family.

Kallum wanted it all to go away.

“You would not. Put your hand down.” He put out his hand. “Better yet, return the dirk to me.”

“Nay, Kallum MacNeill. The dirk is now mine to yield and mete out justice.” She had reverted to her West African accent. “It calls for the blood of a MacNeill mongrel.” She cackled wickedly as she looked over at Inan.

Kallum’s jaw clenched. The hellion was going to remain difficult. “Mayhap he’d not be such an arse if you’d not antagonize him so.”

Her cackle slid into a normal laugh of disbelief. “Me antagonize him? What of what he does to antagonize me? Have you not given him that speech about what will happen if he crosses you?”

“Don’t mock me, Ailsa. I’ve had enough of this. Come down and give me my blade.”

She pulled the weapon from its sheath and held it at the ready. “Nay, I think I’ll keep it.”

Kallum noted she held the dirk with a proper underhand grip the way he’d shown her the other day. The lass was a quick student. She was also a menace, and this day, she needed to be taught she could not take her angst out on others without repercussions.

“Quit coddling the wench. Just take it from her.”

Ailsa looked over at Inan as he spoke, and Kallum took the opportunity to swoop in and snatch the dagger from her hand. She fought for it, but Kallum tossed the weapon onto the ground, out of reach, and twisted her off the rock so her back hit his chest. She lifted her legs and kicked until she caught him in the shin. Remembering their first encounter, he dropped her to her feet but protected his cods from any wayward fists.

She stomped on his foot, and he gave a grunt of discomfort.

Enough was enough. He picked her up, stomped her to the water’s edge, and tossed her into the stream. She went in with a yelp and a big splash. When she came up flailing, Inan stepped up beside him with Caitrin in tow.

“’Twould be to my advantage to be still, as I was told, and not raise this point. But, um, Kallum?”

Short on patience, Kallum scowled at his cousin.

Inan gave him a speculative look. “Do you know even if the lass can swim?”

Kallum whipped his head toward Ailsa. Nay, he knew not.

Ailsa continued to flounder in the water, and Kallum could not hold back his curse. “Fuck!”

Inan placed his hands over Caitrin’s ears and broke into uncontrollable laughter. Caitrin disengaged from her brother’s hold and made to run toward the water’s edge.

Inan grabbed her back. “Not now, pet.”

Her head swiveled to him. “But she needs help.”

“Kallum will help her.”

Having already dropped his weapons and tunic, Kallum hopped on one foot as he rushed to pull off one boot, then reversed the process to remove the other.

“But he’s upset with her,” Caitrin whined.

“Yeah, he’s something with her all right.” Still chuckling, he gathered Caitrin in a sideways embrace. “Your friend will be fine.”

Ailsa disappeared beneath the opaque current. Wearing nothing but his kilt, Kallum rushed to the bank and dove in. He swam under the sweeping riffles until he reached Ailsa. Grasping her around the waist, he kicked them up through the stream’s surface. She sputtered and shook her head to whisk away the lingering droplets that ran in rivulets down her face.

He searched her visage for signs she’d been harmed or suffered an extreme fright. “You all right?”

The look of betrayal she leveled at him through piercing, brownish-green eyes suggested he’d pay for this transgression for many days to come. With an evil grunt, she slapped the pool’s surface and splashed water in his eyes. When he shook it off, she did it again and again.

He grasped at her hand. “Stop that!”

She fought him and continued to shove water in his face with every chance she could.

“Ailsa, stop or I will drop you back in.”

Through her struggles and grunts, Kallum was not sure the angry wildcat even heard him. But he’d had enough of whatever had put her in a mood this day, so he let go.

She dipped under once and came up with a huge gasp for air. With a quickness, she latched onto him, grabbing at his shoulders with both hands and wrapping her legs around his waist. He could tell she was still irritated, but beneath the annoyance, he could feel her true fear. She trembled in his arms, and real tears mingled with the glistening water droplets that caressed her cheeks. ’Twas more than Kallum could stand. He swam them both to shore. Rising from the waves, he cradled her against his chest and went to have a seat on her boulder.

Dripping wet, he pushed back the loose tendrils of hair plastered to her face and held her cheeks with both hands. “How is it that a lass who can throw a dirk with accuracy, shoot and re-nock a bow faster than most archers, and speak Gaelic, English, and Yoruba does not know how to swim?”

Her voice was but a whisper. “There was not a tutor for that.” She tucked her face into his neck and clutched onto him with a tight grasp.

Without thought, he dropped a kiss to the top of her head and gently rubbed her back. “Mayhap I will have to help you remedy that gap in your learning.”

“Really?” Inan said behind him.

Without looking up, Kallum waved his cousin away. He had forgotten Inan and Caitrin stood in observance, but in the moment it mattered not. All that mattered to him was the lass in his arms. The rest of the world could fade into oblivion.

“Come, Cait,” Inan said in a disgusted voice. “Let’s return to the manor. Trust me, we need not be here for this.”

The sound of Inan pulling Caitrin away gave Kallum some comfort. He could not deal with the feuding between his cousin and Ailsa right now and deal with the challenge of keeping her safe from outside forces while simultaneously keeping her spirits high.

When the clop of Inan’s horse’s hooves was far enough away that Kallum knew his words could not travel to his cousins’ ears, he lifted Ailsa’s face with a cupped hand beneath her chin. “Tell me what’s bothering you, lass.”

Behind the struggle to keep more tears from falling, she looked at him with sad eyes. “I want to go home, Kallum.”

“This is your home now, lass.”

“Nay, ’tis not.” She curled her legs up into his lap and snuggled closer under his chin. “I have been on my own for a long time, but here at MacNeill keep is the first time in my life I have truly felt lonely. I may not be totally accepted at Clan Connery, but I am not the enemy I am here. I can face being an outsider amongst my own things, in my own cottage, with my own people. At the least, I will have a chance to earn my acceptance, to earn the protection of the laird and the consideration due a respected healer. Can you not understand that?”

He pulled her back against his chest and buried his nose in her damp hair, content to hold her and breathe her in. An ache filled his chest that she felt so alone and displaced. He understood her desire to go home, but he worried home was not all she expected.

He still had not come to grips with the way she’d been left behind in Stirling. Something was not right with that. His gut told him there was more to her story, and mayhap Alastair Connery held the key.

“Aye, lass, I understand you are homesick. But you should not have to earn protection from your own clan.” He once more gripped her face between his palms. “Who you are should have been enough for them. You deserve their regard and protection simply because you were born a Connery. Having to earn the love of your own kin when you’ve done nothing to violate clan law or the moral standards of your people is the highest betrayal of the Highlander way of life.

“That you became the strong, fierce lass you are despite their disgraceful treatment is a testament to the woman you are. Trust that you are enough not because of what you do but because of who you are in here.” With two fingers, he gently tapped her chest twice over her heart. “You are a treasure. A treasure I want to be safe and protected. I cannot protect you if you are not with me. Can you not understand that?”

“Is it my protection you seek?” She paused, searching his face for the answer she sought. “Or my favors?”

He pushed out a breath and closed his eyes. ’Twas a fair question.

Upon opening his eyes, he admitted, “I deserved that. And if I were to speak true, ’tis both I want. But I can live without your favors if you choose not to share them. I could not, all told, live with your harm. Were I to hand you over to your clansmen and you were hurt or sent back to captivity, I would be unable to live with myself.” He caressed one of her cheeks with a bent finger. “Can you not give me a little more time to know you will be okay?”

She lifted her own hand and caressed the right side of his beard with an open palm. “Aye, Kallum MacNeill, I will wait if I must, but know I will not wait forever.”

He acknowledged her stipulation with a nod, then dropped his lips to hers. She opened to him without resistance and touched her tongue to his. The sweetness of the offered kiss seeped into him, and he lingered over her mouth as if he sipped the sweetest of nectars. It was a slow, intimate, all-consuming kiss. When he finally pulled away, he dared not believe the look he saw in her eyes. A look many a man would kill to have a woman he wanted level on him. A look that said of all the men in the world, he was her one man.

His heart squeezed at the foolish thought. The lass wanted to kill him as oft as kiss him. Their passions ran high for each other. Neither could deny the strong attraction between them, but his destiny was here with the MacNeills, and Ailsa’s goal was to return to land Connery. When she did, he’d make sure she had no enemies amongst the jackals left alive to do her harm.

He lifted her from his lap and put his boots and tunic back on. Grabbing her hand and his father’s dagger off the ground, he escorted her back to his mother’s cottage with Ogun walking unguided behind them. She would need to gather herself and re-dress for the evening meal. She had been summoned to the laird’s table this eve. The laird had news to share that involved her. Kallum had been on edge since he learned of the required audience. It was why he and Inan had come looking for the lass. Well, that, and he had something for her.

At the door to the cottage, Kallum shared the summons with Ailsa, which was not well received. She abhorred gatherings amidst large numbers of MacNeills. He escorted her inside but stayed standing within the open doorway.

To take her mind off her nerves, he gathered the pouch he had stashed amongst his weapons. “This is for you.”

She took the pouch from his hand, and her gaze jerked up to his. She recognized the pouch immediately. “’Tis the dagger presented to you by the king.”

“Aye.”

She offered the pouch back to him without opening it. “I cannot take this.”

He pushed it back at her. “You can.”

“But this is very valuable.”

“It is not worth more than my life. And that, I owe to you.”

“I do not understand,” she said, finally accepting the pouch.

“If you had not warned me of the Donnelly’s approach, I would have died that day with his sword in my back.”

Her brows lowered, and she stared at the pouch reflectively. “You could not possibly have heard my warning over the noise of the crowd.”

“Ah, goddess, the look in your eyes told me everything I needed to know.”

She frowned with incomprehension. Her eyes were so expressive. She apparently did not realize how much of her thoughts they and her countenance oft revealed.

He placed his hands over hers and slid the bejeweled dagger from its pouch. “I did not have to hear your voice to hear your message. And for that, I owe you my life.” He folded her fingers closed around the blade’s handle. “Keep the dagger. Then mayhap you need not continue to steal mine.”

Her lips tilted up at his playful jab.

Good.

Happy to see some of the sadness leave her eyes, he winked at her, then closed the cottage door behind him as he left her to rest until this eve.

He needed to find the laird. He could no longer take the suspense. ’Twas time the laird revealed exactly what was about to transpire, and Kallum intended not to leave the sire’s presence until he had all the answers he sought.

…

Shortly after the evening meal had commenced, Kallum stormed toward the cottage he had loaned to Ailsa. The obstinate woman had been summoned to the manor for supper but had not bothered to heed the summons. Her audacity had reached a point he could no longer tolerate. His disposition had already been surly. The laird had not cooperated with Kallum’s attempt to get the pending news from him at an early audience. The chief had insisted on waiting to reveal the information with Ailsa present, since ’twould affect her future.

Now, the lass had gone and insulted the laird by being late to her audience or mayhap not intending to show at all.

He shoved open the door without knocking.

Ailsa whirled at the sound of his entry. Eyes wide with fright, she clutched at the tatters of her clothing. A smattering of relief entered her eyes upon recognizing him.

“Kallum, know you not how to knock?” She made a great show at bravado, but her voice held not its usual bite when chastising him.

The sight his eyes fell upon doused all the furious fire from his veins and replaced it with icy dread. She stood holding the remnants of the top of her dress together. The garment was rife with dirt and leaves as if she had rolled around on the ground. The impression of a man’s hands circled the column of her throat, and half her hair had come loose from the bundle atop her head she must have piled it in after her dousing in the stream.

“What happened?”

She spun away from him. “Naught.”

“’Tis not the truth. Tell me what happened.” He took a step forward.

She whirled back around at the sound of his footfall.

His teeth clenched at her obvious skittishness. He held his ground, but with effort, and intentionally softened his voice. Yet, he was no less adamant with his interrogation. “Who did this?”

“Kallum, let it go.” It was a common demand of hers where he was concerned, but today, it was accompanied by a near pleading look in her eyes, not her usual fire.

She hesitated a moment afore she turned away from him again. “Please leave so I may make myself presentable. The laird expects me at the keep. I am already late.” Despite her best effort, her voice broke on her last sentence.

She reached for a clean dress laid out on the bed. ’Twas one of Caitrin’s. Caitrin had loaned a few items from her wardrobe to Ailsa until Ailsa could have new ones of her own made. The lasses were close to the same size, though Ailsa’s figure tended toward more womanly curves.

With the caution he would use to approach a frightened mare, Kallum edged toward Ailsa. He kept his voice low despite his urge to rail and scream. Someone had assaulted her. He’d have a name, or he’d attack every man in the keep and village until he found the culprit, who would soon learn what it felt like to be handled so brutally.

When he reached her, he gently moved the loose hair from her neck. She flinched at his touch but did not pull away. He surveyed the large handprints visible on the bronze-brown of her skin, and the hand at his side fisted.

“Ailsa,” he snapped.

She jumped at his harsh tone.

He took a deep breath to stifle the hard edge to his voice. ’Twas not her he was mad at. He tried again with more control. “Tell me who did this to you.”

She pulled the top of what remained of her dress around her throat and tried to move away from him. With a gentle but firm grasp, he placed a hand against her far cheek to turn her face toward him. She winched at his touch. With a creased brow, he lifted his hand and gazed at the faint redness across her cheekbone. The mongrel had hit her.

Nay, the man would not get a beating. He would find his death this day.

“You will tell me who did this.”

She pulled away. “I will not. I have handled the matter. He did not succeed in his ultimate goal, which was to terrorize me until I shivered with fear in front of him. I have faced greater tyrants than him. I am fine. Now leave so I may dress properly.”

Her face held the familiar obstinance he had come to expect. She had made her decision and would not be swayed. Unfortunately for her, neither would he. He was tired of her need to face tyrants, as she herself ought to be.

He glanced down at her belt. Her new dagger rested snuggly in its sheath. If she had her dagger with her during the encounter, Kallum had no doubt she had fought back, and a fight from her would be no trifling matter. Afore she could anticipate the move, he grasped her right hand—the hand he’d seen her fist numerous times with the desire to punch him over some callous remark or thoughtless action. He turned the hand, delicate yet strong, so her knuckles were revealed to him. As he expected, they were bruised and beginning to swell.

He had guessed right. She had fought back, and the heathen who attacked her would have the markings to prove it.

He whirled and stormed out the door.

“Kallum!” Ailsa rushed to the doorway and called anxiously after him, “Where are you going?”

Hands clenched and burning with the need to pound someone into dust, Kallum did not look back or slow. “To teach someone some manners.”