Sins of the Highlander Read online

  “I swear on all that’s holy, I never intended hurt to MacLaren’s wife.”

  Whenever Lord Drummond raised his hand to pledge to God, Normina cringed a little. A body never knew when the Almighty might smite a blasphemer, and she didn’t want to be near when it happened.

  “It was Christmastide, and spirits are always high then. I’ll admit too much mead had somewhat to do with it,” Drummond went on. “But it was meant as a harmless prank. Have ye never been part of a bride snatching?”

  “Other than this one, ye mean?” Stewart said, his tone low and graveled with anger.

  “’Twas nothing like this. I never unsheathed a blade. Never desecrated a kirk. ’Twas all in good fun,” Drummond said, striding with nervous energy from one end of the solar to the other. “We caught the lady outside the walls of Caisteal Dubh and thought only to make some sport of her husband. That’s all. I swear it.”

  Normina remembered Lady MacLaren. A kind young woman. Terrified, of course. Who wouldn’t be if they were being held against their will? But well spoken, all the same. And clean. She was no trouble to look after at all.

  Pity she was here for such a short time.

  “God’s feet! I was a friend to Rob MacLaren’s father all his life. And he knows it,” Lord Drummond said. “I’d broken bread in that castle hundreds of times before the old laird passed.”

  “And yet he bears ye ill will.”

  “We’d have returned her unharmed. She was in the tower for her own safety.” Lord Drummond’s black eyes snapped. “If I’d had any notion that fool of a woman would leap from the window, I’d never have locked her away in there. Believe me, Stewart, it was a tragic misunderstanding, the kind of thing they sing about in ballads.”

  Normina jerked her gaze away from her master lest he meet her eyes and know her secret thoughts. She had no misunderstanding about what happened to Lady MacLaren. Anybody with ears could’ve heard her piteous cries while Lord Drummond was with her in that locked chamber.

  There was only one reason a woman might leap from a tower window. Her spirit had already taken flight, and her body needed to catch up with it.

  “I’d not be surprised if some bard hasn’t already composed an outlandish version of the tale,” Drummond said.

  Normina kept her eyes carefully downcast. It wasn’t her place to question her laird or to judge her betters, no matter how awful his sins.

  It was God’s place to do that. It seemed the Almighty took His time when it came to the nobility, but He always got round to such things eventually.

  Normina hopped up to refill her laird’s drinking horn and hoped she’d be there to see it when God finally demanded a reckoning from Lachlan Drummond.

  From a safe distance, of course.

  ***

  Falin whickered and tossed his head as they plodded through the forest. Elspeth didn’t blame him for skittishness. She loved to ride in the woods by day near her home. But by night, in this wood, every stump grew a boggle’s face, and the trees’ naked branches stabbed the sky like bony witches’ fingers.

  Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to see several dark shapes keeping pace with them. Her breath hissed over her teeth.

  “Aye, we’ve attracted the notice of a wolf pack,” Rob said softly. “Pay them no mind.”

  Several pairs of feral eyes flashed at her from the deeper darkness.

  She jerked her gaze away and fastened it on Falin’s bobbing head. The stallion’s ears pricked forward. His nostrils quivered. Then he whinnied and picked up his pace without Rob’s direction.

  “No, my brave heart, we’ll not show them your heels,” Rob crooned to the stallion as he reined him back. “There’s a good lad. There’ll be no running.”

  If the horse panicked and bolted, Elspeth and Rob would likely be sheared off his back by a low-hanging branch. And a man or woman afoot before a wolf pack had very little hope.

  The wolves began calling to each other in short yips and howls.

  Rob unwrapped the plaid that snugged Elspeth against him. “Can ye reach my boot knife? ’Tis on the right side.”

  Elspeth leaned down to fetch it and saw a big gray fellow dart closer, matching their speed.

  He slipped through the trees like a wraith on silent paws, his long tongue lolling. His teeth flashed in the stippled moonlight. Even in this dimness, Elspeth could see the wolf’s ribs protruding from his shaggy coat.

  “They’re starving,” she said.

  “Aye, most all the cattle and sheep in the Highlands have been sold off to the Lowlands for the winter,” he said woodenly. “Like as not, this pack’s not seen a meal for some time.”

  She felt for the knife in Rob’s boot and drew it out, careful not to let the haft slip from her fingers.

  “I’ve got it,” she whispered.

  “Cut the rope that binds ye to me,” Rob said calmly, then his tone turned harsh with disgust. “Ach, I should have remembered there were wolves in these woods during these months.”

  “If ye hadn’t stolen a man’s bride, ye’d have no need to remember such a thing.”

  “Ye’ll be sure to let me know if always being right ever begins to pall, won’t ye?” he said as they continued to trudge along. “Tell me, lass, when ye were a little girl, were ye the sort to play outside, or did ye sit by the fire and spin all day?”

  Elspeth’s eyes widened as she sawed through the rope at her waist. Didn’t the man realize what was happening?

  “What on earth does that have to do with our current predicament?”

  “I was just wondering if ye’ve ever climbed a tree, because I think the skill might come in handy verra soon.”

  “Oh, aye.” Perhaps Rob wasn’t so mad after all. “I can climb a tree like a squirrel.”

  Elspeth heard the metallic rasp of metal as Rob unsheathed his claymore.

  “There’s an oak overhanging the path in ten paces,” he said. “If I give ye a boost, do ye think ye can swing up to that thick branch?”

  The wolves began a howling chorus around them. They’d located the only fresh meat in the forest, and it was time to sing about it.

  “Give me a boost, and I’ll fly up to it,” Elspeth said, drawing her legs up under her so she was hunkered on Falin’s back instead of sitting astride. He danced sideways as he felt the unusual movement of his riders.

  “Ho there, lad, easy now.” Rob kneed Falin forward.

  One of the wolves found some bravery and lunged at Falin’s haunches. The stallion kicked at it. Rob kept Elspeth from toppling off by balancing her hip with one hand.

  The predator rolled and slinked away, snarling but unhurt.

  “Do ye want the knife?” Elspeth asked.

  “No, keep it,” he said. “Just in case.”

  In case. Elspeth didn’t want to contemplate what that meant. As they drew near the oak tree, she slid the small blade down the busk of her bodice, between the boning.

  “Get ready.” Rob’s voice was steady and reassuring, but her heart still pounded like a smith’s hammer.

  She pushed the cloak off her shoulders, letting it drape over the stallion’s withers, so her arms would be free. Cold was the least of her worries.

  She’d have only one chance to leap to safety.

  They drew even with the oak.

  “Now!” Rob shouted.

  He hefted her backside, and she sprang up and grabbed at the branch with both hands. The rough bark dug into her palms, but she didn’t let go.

  The sudden movement made the pack dart in, snapping at Falin’s heels. He bucked and reared and danced backward on the path.

  Elspeth was suspended over nothing but air, with writhing, furry bodies below. She swung her feet up to hook a knee over the branch, but not before the biggest gr
ay wolf leaped up and grabbed a mouthful of her broad skirt. A lesser fabric might have ripped, but the thick velvet held fast.

  Elspeth clung to the underside of the branch, which bowed under the additional weight. The wolf shook its whole body, like a terrier with a rat, trying to bring her down.

  The bough creaked and popped, and she feared the limb might give way.

  “Hang on!” Rob shouted and slashed, not at the wolf, but at the layers of her velvet skirt and chemise from which it was suspended. The beast fell to the ground with a yowl.

  Elspeth scrambled and lifted herself to the upper side of the thick branch.

  Another wolf leaped up, coming within finger-widths of her bare foot. She tucked it up and scuttled along the branch till she reached the trunk and stood upright, looping an arm around its comforting solidness.

  One wolf continued to lunge and tried to scuffle up the trunk. Elspeth caught a whiff of his stinking breath as he snapped at her, but unless he sprouted wings, she was out of reach.

  “Whatever happens, dinna come down till I say,” Rob ordered as the pack turned its attention from her to the man on the prime piece of horseflesh.

  The wolves formed a ring of snarling muzzles around Rob and Falin. Their breath rose in a haze, like a smoke ring from a giant’s pipe. Elspeth counted fifteen big beasts with several smaller ones hanging back in the deeper shadows, yipping encouragement.

  Rob pivoted the snorting stallion in a tight circle, so he could keep an eye on the restive crowd. The wolves called to one another, coordinating their coming attack. The sound raked Elspeth’s spine like a claw. The unholy chorus rose and then stopped suddenly, as if the song was a thread snipped off with shears.

  “Come, ye sons of bitches!” Rob growled into the sudden silence. “If ye want us, ye must take us. I give ye worm-eaten bastards leave to try!”

  Elspeth had seen fearsome things in the hall of dreams. The Sight had sometimes taken her repeatedly to the aftermath of a great battle of some sort, and she woke from such bloody visions sickened to her soul. But she’d never seen anything as terrifying as the sudden attacking leap of the wolves on this man and his horse.

  They came in waves, snarling and snapping. One managed to land on the stallion’s back behind Rob, going for his unprotected neck. Falin screamed and reared, lashing out with his hooves, and the wolf slid off, raking the stallion’s flanks with his claws. Rob’s blade sang a song of blood and whipped around to shear off the beast’s head.

  Falin’s kicks sent a few wolves flying as Rob laid about with his claymore. Man and horse, they fought in concert. They fought for their lives.

  As the battle wore on, Falin stumbled on fallen wolf carcasses but managed to keep his feet. The ground was black with blood. Rob roared as he slashed his blade, sounding as wild and vicious as any four-legged predator.

  The numbers of the pack dwindled. As the eastern sky lightened to pearl gray, hope rose in Elspeth’s heart.

  Then the largest wolf charged and leaped. His flying lunge knocked Rob from Falin’s back. They rolled together, tooth and claw, man and blade, off the path and into the thick underbrush, disappearing in a growling, swearing mass.

  Chapter 6

  Lachlan Drummond and Alistair Stewart reined their horses to a halt at the top of the rise. The sun eased over the southeastern hills, but it promised no additional warmth. The day was breaking cold and bitter as a spinster’s bed.

  “This is the last place we spotted them,” Drummond said, scouring the valley from south to north. A light frost painted each leaf and blade of grass with a crust of white. “They weren’t that far ahead of us at that point. Then once we reached here, they were nowhere to be seen. We headed south, thinking he’d try to confuse us by the river.”

  Stewart frowned at him and glared in the direction Lachlan pointed.

  “We followed the watercourse for several miles, looking for a place he might have crossed over, but there was no sign of them. It was as if they’d vanished.” Drummond shook his head and made the sign against evil. “I’m not a man given to fancies, but if ye told me they were swallowed up into the hollow hills, I’d believe ye.”

  “Ye’d best hope not,” Stewart said, leaning on the pommel of his showy saddle. “If we canna find my daughter, our accord is off. All of it.”

  There was too much riding on his alliance with the Stewart clan for Lachlan to let it fall apart. “Now, see here—”

  “No. You see. I’ll no’ make an ally of a man who canna even defend his bride at the altar.”

  “Your men were there, as well as mine. Why didna one of ye stop the MacLaren?” Lachlan said. “For the same reason I didna. There were women and children about, and none of us were armed. There was nothing to be done but let the madman get away, and well ye know it.”

  The older man shook with suppressed rage. “I’m no’ talking about what happened at the kirk. Why didna ye post guards outside? Or ride patrols through your woods?” He turned an accusing eye on Lachlan. “Most importantly, why did ye no’ settle this matter with Mad Rob before he dragged my Elspeth into your quarrel?”

  “What would ye have had me do?” Lachlan urged his horse forward, hoping a change of scene would change the topic. He heard Stewart’s horse follow him down the slope.

  “What he wanted. All the man asked was satisfaction,” Stewart said. “Ye should have met him in single combat afore it came to this.”

  “Aye, that would have been grand. First, the lady dies in my keeping, and then I kill her husband.” Lachlan slanted an assessing gaze at the other man. Obviously, the Stewart had been listening to his wife whine all night and needed to purge her words from his head. A man would have followed the logic of the situation through to its unhappy conclusion. “Ye’re no’ thinking clearly, Stewart.”

  “I’m thinking ye’re afraid to face the MacLaren.”

  “A man with a clear conscience fears nothing.” Lachlan glared at his bride’s father. “If ye were any other man, I’d kill ye for the insult.”

  “Ach, well, dinna stand on ceremony. Whenever ye feel man enough to try it—”

  “Whist, man. Do ye hear yourself? What would your daughter say if she saw us at each other’s throats like a pair of rabid hounds?” Lachlan turned his horse’s head south once he reached the base of the hill. “It will no’ help Elspeth if we…”

  A spot of color caught his eye, near an outcropping of dark granite. It was far too late in the season for any blooms.

  “The bride wore a rosy-colored bodice, did she no’?” Lachlan asked. He’d noticed, because the swell of Elspeth’s breasts had pinked to almost the same hue when she caught him looking at them during the interrupted ceremony.

  “Aye,” her father said morosely. “With a deep wine skirt. Velvet, Morag said. It was one of Elspeth’s court dresses. The best she had. I mind when she first…”

  Even though Alistair Stewart droned on, Lachlan had stopped listening. He urged his horse up the incline, switching its flanks with a short crop to speed it along. When he reached the rocks, he dismounted and picked the patch of silk off the gorse bush. He rubbed it between his fingers. A tight, fine weave in a luxurious cloth.

  Definitely part of his bride’s dress.

  But it hadn’t been there when he and his men had thundered past. He’d stake his holding on it. The MacLaren must have holed up someplace and doubled back on them.

  He looked north, narrowing his eyes. Another little swatch of cloth waved on the heather.

  Clever girl. Perhaps she did deserve to be the mother of his children, after all.

  Of course, if she quickened too soon in their marriage, the brat might be MacLaren’s spawn. There was no doubt in Lachlan’s mind that Mad Rob had lain with her already.

  Why else would he have taken her?

  Much as it galled him to
take another man’s leavings, Lachlan needed the hefty dowry and other benefits the match brought him. But he’d not abide a cuckoo’s egg in his nest.

  Even if Elspeth didn’t become pregnant, women died of one ailment or another all the time. He might do well to speed her along with one.

  He’d avoid another accident if he could help it, though. Might remind folk of MacLaren’s wife.

  There was an old hag in the next glen who had slow-acting poisons that she assured him were undetectable, if ever he had need for one.

  But for now, he had to find the little Stewart bitch and marry her.

  “Alistair,” he called down to his bride’s father, “I found a sign. Your daughter’s heading north.” He waved the little piece of silk in the air. “And she’s alive!”

  After all this trouble, she’d better be.

  ***

  Elspeth screamed.

  The last thing she saw before Rob and the wolf disappeared into the brush was his long claymore flying into the air, end over end. It came to rest in the middle of the path, point stabbing the ground, blade quivering right in front of Falin’s nose.

  “Oh, God!” Elspeth covered her mouth with her hand. Without his sword, what chance did Rob have against the beast?

  Without the man on his back, Falin lost heart for the fight. The stallion reared and wheeled and took flight back down the game trail in the direction from which they’d come, with what was left of pack hot after him, howling like demons from the pit.

  Elspeth couldn’t see Rob and the big gray. The woods were too dense, and daylight came slowly to the forest. But she could hear them.

  And that was probably worse.

  It was awful. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether the wild, fierce sounds came from the wolf or from the man.

  Or to know which of them screamed.

  Then suddenly there was silence. Not a twig broke; not a bird sang. She held her breath. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  “Rob?” she said softly.

  No response.

  “Rob!”