"SO I HEAR CONGRATULATIONS are in order." Alec Comyn walked up to the campfire where Bram, Iain and Ranald were talking.
"Aye, my cousin has seen fit to take himself a bride." Ranald slapped Bram on the back with a beefy hand, his face split with a grin. "I assumed he'd tup the wench; I had no idea he'd up and marry her."
"Watch your tongue," Bram cautioned, boxing his cousin's ear. "I'll no' have you talking like that about my wife."
"Come now," Alec said. "Seems to me like this calls for a wee dram. Or maybe two."
Bram grinned as Alec produced a bottle and poured a measure in each of the cups they held.
"To Bram," Iain offered, holding his cup aloft. "May your marriage bring you the same degree of happiness as mine."
For a moment the two men's gazes met and held—a world of meaning passing between them. Ranald and Alec might be aware of the story behind both Katherine's and Lily's strange appearances, but neither of them could truly understand the sheer magic of it. Nor the accompanying fear that at any moment it might be snatched away.
Alec waited until they'd all drained their cups and then filled them again, lifting his high. "To Lily."
"To Lily," the others echoed as Jeff emerged from the edge of the woods.
"Why are we toasting Lily?" he asked, pushing his hair back from his face.
"Bram has wedded and bedded her," Ranald said, the crooked smile still fixed on his face.
"I beg your pardon?" Jeff asked with a frown. "I thought the two of you weren't speaking."
Bram felt some of his elation vanish as he recognized the concern in the other man's face. Lily had said that they were just friends. That Jeff was in love with his wife. God's blood, the man had said as much himself. But suddenly Bram wasn't as certain. "We had a long talk. Among other things. And all is well between us. Better than that, in truth. Last night we pledged our lives to each other."
Jeff studied him carefully for another moment or so, and then his lips turned up into a smile. "Then I can understand the cause for celebration." He took the cup that Alec offered and lifted it toward Bram. "To you and your Lily. She loves you more than you know."
"Ach, I think I've an idea of it now. And more importantly, I realize just how much I love her."
"Then what are you doing lollygagging around here with us?" Ranald asked. "Go to your woman, man."
Bram shot a questioning glance at Iain.
His cousin smiled. "Go on with you, then. We've an hour or more until we're ready to go. Time enough for fighting. Take a moment and savor what it is you're fighting for."
Bram handed Ranald his cup and turned toward the woods just as Dougan Macniven burst into the clearing. "Frazier's escaped," he bellowed without pretense.
In an instant, anger replaced jubilation and Bram swung to face the man. "What do you mean he's escaped? I thought you had men guarding him."
"We did," the big man replied, a great gash gaping above his left eye. "But they took us by surprise."
"They?" Alec asked, as he and Iain moved to flank Bram on either side. "How many were there?"
"Three," Dougan said. "Two of them caused a distraction and I'm sorry to say we fell for it. While we fought them off, the other man snuck in behind and managed to free Frazier. By the time we realized the ploy it was too late; they had us by the bollocks. Killed Timothy and knocked me out cold."
"How long ago?"
"I dinna ken." The man blew out a long breath, swiping at the blood dripping into his eye. "Long enough to get away, I'm afraid."
"Bloody hell." Bram's eyes moved toward the woods and the river. Lily. He started forward, then froze as his worst nightmare materialized in the form of William. He was limping, and even from here, Bram could see the sorrow on the young man's face.
"She's gone," William gasped as he stopped in front of Bram, bent at the waist as he struggled to breathe. His plaid was stained with blood, and he held a hand to his side.
"Are you injured, lad?" Alec asked, coming forward to offer an arm.
"I'll live," William said. "All that matters now is Lily."
"Is she… is she…" Bram couldn't bring himself to say the words, and he felt Iain's hand on his shoulder.
"Nay," William was shaking his head. "She lives. But they've taken her."
"By God, I swear I'll cut my uncle's heart from his body if he hurts a hair on her head." He jerked free of Iain's grasp and turned toward the horses.
"Hold." Iain's voice held him in place, if only because he knew his cousin would never do anything that would endanger Lily. "We need to understand what's happened before we take action."
"It's clear enough to me," he barked, agony searing through him like a brand. "The bloody Comyns let Frazier get away and now, no thanks to William, he has my wife." From the haze of his rage he saw William flinch and, despite his despair, knew a moment of regret. "I'm sorry. I'm angry. I dinna mean to lash out at you, lad. I know you wouldn't have let them take her if there was anything else to be done."
William still looked miserable, but Bram knew there was nothing else he could say that would ease the lad's remorse. Still he had to try. Had to at least be honest.
"If this is anyone's fault, 'tis mine. I should never have left her."
"You couldn't have known that any of this would happen," Alec said, his expression as grim as Bram's no doubt was. "I would ne'er have expected them to have the bollocks to come right into our camp."
"We were vigilant, Alec, I swear it." Dougan looked to Bram. "And we fought with valor. 'Twas just too much of a surprise."
Bram nodded, unwilling to totally absolve the man, yet certain even so that none of it had been intentional. "It still remains that they have Lily and we have to go after them."
"Agreed," Iain said. "But we cannot go off without knowing the whole truth." He turned to William, who was being patched up by Geordie. "Tell us exactly what happened."
William swallowed as the healer tied off the bandage, then turned his attention to the assembled men. "I was standing at the edge of the trees. Lily was dressing and I dinna want to see… I mean, she needed her privacy."
"And then?" Ranald asked, his frustration clearly matching Bram's.
"She was putting on her boots—her back to me, and then someone grabbed me. I tried to fight back, but there were three more of them and I knew I dinna stand a chance."
"And Lily?" Bram asked, pacing in front of the fire.
"She's a brave one, yer wife. First she argued with the man."
"Frazier?" Alec interjected.
"Aye. He wanted the ring. But Lily said she'd given it to Bram." He cut his gaze to Bram's hand and the silver ring he wore. "Frazier was none too happy. But he said that Malcolm would have to do with her instead." William blanched. "I tried again to fight my way free. I was still in the bushes; Lily couldna see me. And before I could do anything to get away, the man who held me stabbed me. I managed to twist away, but in so doing, I fell and hit my head. The last thing I remember is Frazier saying he would make use of having Bram's bride."
"And how long ago was that?"
William glanced up at the sun. "Too long, I'm afraid. They'll have made good time. I heard horses. I'm sorry, Bram. I've failed you. And worse, I failed Lily."
"What's done is done," Iain said. "What matters now is that we take action to get her back."
"Unless I miss my guess, they'll be headed for Malcolm and Dunbrae," Ranald interjected.
"That's only about an hour's ride from here," Alec confirmed.
"Then what the hell are we waiting for?" Bram asked, already signaling for his horse. "The bastards have my wife. We haven't a moment to spare."
"You realize we'll be riding into a trap," Iain said. "Malcolm will be expecting you to try and rescue her."
"Aye, that I do." Bram clenched his fists. "I can't ask you to risk your lives for me and mine. Not like this. But you have to understand I canna sit back and let my uncle threaten my wife. Even if it means my death."
"We ride with you." Ranald's tone brooked no argument. Behind him, Bram could see the Mackintoshes already beginning to ready themselves for battle. "Iain just wants you to be aware of the facts."
"Even if your uncle knows for certain that you'll come," Alec added, "he canna be sure that Iain's men will follow you. And he definitely willna believe that mine will ride with you as well." At that, he too signaled his men to ready themselves.
Bram's heart threatened to leave his chest and despite his anguish and fear, he felt humbled. These men—his family and Lily's—were willing to risk everything on their behalf. Lily was right; despite all that they'd lost between them, they'd found not only new family but friends as well.
Bram took the reins of the horse Dougan brought him, swinging up into the saddle as the others mounted around him. He turned his mare to the northeast. Toward Dunbrae. To his wife—to Lily. And as he rode from the clearing, Bram prayed that he wasn't too late.
*****
Lily awoke to the pungent smell of sweat and urine. Combined with the wracking pain in her head, the odor had her stomach churning. Her eyes flickered open and she gingerly touched her head, her fingers coming away sticky with blood. For a moment, memory failed and then she remembered.
Frazier.
She jerked upright, her stomach revolting with the sharp motion, but fear was a stronger motivator and she scooted across what appeared to be a straw-covered floor until her back was firmly against the room's stone wall. A fire flickered in the grate on the opposite wall, pale sunlight streaming in through two narrow oblong windows. Lit torches sat in bronze sconces at equal distances around the room, the fire doing little to alleviate the chamber's gloom.
A large wooden door stood partially open. She shifted slightly so that she could better see the room beyond. A great room possibly. She could see tables. And what looked to be a large group of men. There were platters of meat and pitchers of ale. Conversation rang out, punctuated with bursts of laughter.
At least someone was having a good time.
Gritting her teeth against the pain in her head and using the stone wall for leverage, she managed to push to her feet, the room spinning with the effort. She stood for a moment breathing in and out until the whirling subsided. Inching along the wall, using it to maintain her balance, she made her way over to the door and cautiously peered outside.
She'd been right; it was a great hall. The floor was littered with reeds and rushes and other things she'd just as soon not identify. Torchlight barely illuminated the giant room. The small windows were all shuttered for warmth or protection—or both. A great fireplace dominated the room, half of a tree trunk burning inside the yawning cavity. And like the room she'd awakened in, this one smelled of dirty bodies. The sights and smells served as a rude reminder that she was far from the world of modern conveniences. Seemed people here couldn't even be bothered to find a bathroom.
Unless she missed her guess, this had to be Dunbrae. She shivered, forgetting about creature comforts. Frazier had said he'd take her to Malcolm. And it appeared he'd succeeded. Fortunately, they'd not bothered with a guard. But then again, maybe they hadn't needed to. The room she was standing in held only the one door. And the only escape from the great hall appeared to be a large door in the opposite wall, that and an adjacent staircase going up.
Still, she couldn't just stand here waiting to be discovered. If the only way out was across the great hall, then she'd just have to figure out a way to get there. She scanned the men in the room. They were sitting in clusters. Most of them armed. And all of them eating and drinking. Twenty, maybe thirty altogether. Not exactly great odds.
Moving amongst the men were several women. Like the men, they seemed to be in a jovial mood, refilling a glass here or a platter there. She watched as a man pulled a woman holding a platter down for a bawdy kiss and a pinch on the rear. The woman offered no resistance, but she soon pulled free and moved on to serve another, a smile on her lips.
Lily fought a wave of dizziness, pressing her hands against the cool stone wall until the vertigo passed. Her head was pounding, but she knew she hadn't the luxury of waiting until she felt more stable. Frazier would come for her sooner rather than later. She scanned the room for her captor, relieved to see no sign of him. Nor was there anyone sitting at the main dais. Surely if Malcolm Macgillivray were present he'd be holding court at the table befitting his position as laird.
Which meant that just maybe, if she was lucky, she could make her way around the edge of the room to the doorway. It was a long shot, but it beat the heck out of staying here and meekly awaiting her fate. Removing her plaid from her shoulders, she wrapped it around her waist, fashioning it into a long skirt, using the broach to secure it in place. Then she reached up and pulled the ribbon from her hair, shaking it free of its braid. With her dark curls hanging around her face and shoulders, her hair would effectively screen her face as long as she kept her head down.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she stepped into the great room, grabbing a pitcher from the nearest table. Hopefully they'd mistake her for a serving girl. At least long enough to get her through the door and out of the room.
She strode forward, head tipped toward the floor, heart hammering. She'd made it about halfway when suddenly a thick arm snaked around her waist. "Ach, and what have we here?" a deep voice asked, pulling her to an abrupt halt.
She risked a glance from beneath the veil of her hair. Whoever he was, he was huge. With a crooked scar that bisected his face, his hair was oily and he smelled so rank her stomach recoiled in rebellion again.
His lips parted in a feral smile, yellowed teeth bright against his dark beard. "Aren't ye a bonny lass? I've no' seen you afore. I'm thinking the laird has been hiding you away."
He had no idea.
She gave him what she hoped was a careless shrug, and lifted her pitcher as she tried to pull herself free. But the man was having none of it. "Ah, come on then, lassie, give us a kiss." He pulled her closer and she fought the urge to gag. It was hard to stay under the radar when one threw up all over a man.
"Please, sir, I've others to serve." She sounded ridiculous, but it was that or bean the bastard with her pitcher, which most likely would only raise his ire and draw unwanted attention. She be damned if she'd let him touch her any more than he already had.
"Dinna be coy with me," he growled. "Yer only purpose for being here is to please us. I heard it from the laird himself."
For a moment, she thought he knew who she was, and then with horror she realized he thought she was a whore.
His big hands tightened on her waist, jerking her to him. If she wanted to be free, she'd have to give the man a kiss. Holding her breath, she gave him a peck and then tried to pull away again, but he was having none of it, his beady eyes filling with undisguised lust. "I'll wager ye can do a wee bit better than that." His hand slid lower, his fingers kneading her bottom, pressing her against his erection.
She struggled, lifting the pitcher, thinking only of making him stop. But as if he'd read her mind, he reached up and plucked it away, tossing it onto the table. Then he pushed her against the wall beneath an alcove, shadows swallowing them from view.
She fought him openly now, but he was twice as big as she was and every bit as determined. His putrid breath assaulted her as he leaned closer, holding her captive with his body, his hands pushing up her makeshift skirt. His fingers reached the brooch holding it closed and he froze, looking down at the small salient cat.
"Mother o' God," the man growled. "Yer no' one of the laird's women. Yer the Comyn. The one that Frazier brought."
She thought for a moment that he was going to push her aside, and even though she didn't relish the idea of losing her freedom, captivity seemed better than what this man was offering. But she'd misinterpreted his reaction. Instead of pushing her away, he grabbed her more forcefully.
"I've a mind to show ye what we think of yer kind. But first I'll bury myself so deep, I'll tear you apart." He shoved her over onto a table, ripping at her plaid.
Bile filled her throat, fear turning to panic. He was going to rape her. Right here in front of all these people. And no one was going to do anything to stop him. Enraged, she struck out at him, kicking and biting and struggling for all she was worth. But he was a big man, and he straddled her, holding her firmly in place.
"Now then, I'll show you what a real man feels like."
Tears gathered and she closed her eyes.
"What in God's name do you think you're doing, Tormond? Get your hands off the wench. She's no' for you."
The man released her with a curse. "Mayhap when you've finished with her I'll have a go." With a last lascivious glance at her, he turned his back and walked away.
Lily sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes as her gaze collided with the man who'd rescued her. Not exactly a savior—more likely a trade of one devil for another. Although not as big as the man who'd attacked her, he was tall, and relatively clean. But it was his eyes that gave away his identity, their cool icy blue currently devoid of any emotion as he assessed her.
Despite her disheveled state, she stuck out her chin. "Malcolm Macgillivray, I assume." Behind him Frazier stood, eyes bulging, looking very much like the toad he truly was.
Malcolm dipped his head. "At your service, my lady. I understand felicitations are in order."
She frowned, certain that she'd heard his voice before, but unable to place where or how.
"Your marriage," he prompted, a flash of anger lighting his eyes. "My nephew is a lucky man."
"Right. Lucky," she responded, her own anger coming to the fore. "I find that rich coming from you. First you kill his father, then you take his home. And now his wife. What, may I ask, has my husband ever done to you to deserve all of this?"
His lips curled into a sneer. "He had the misfortune to be born to the wrong father."
"But the right mother?" She knew she should watch her mouth, but she couldn't seem to help herself. If possible, Frazier's eyes had gone even wider. She pulled her focus back to Malcolm. "The one who had the audacity to choose your brother over you?"
His hand flashed out, striking her before she had time to realize what he was about. She lurched backward, the edge of the table saving her from a fall. "You've the tongue of a shrew."
"And you've the manners of a swine," she retorted, wiping away the blood that trickled from her mouth.
His gaze slid slowly from her head to her toes, lingering on her hips and breasts. "Believe me when I say that it will be a pleasure to bring you to heel," Malcolm said, his sneer bordering on lechery now. "But first I need to deal with your husband. And what better bait than his lady love?"