The Warrior of Clan Kincaid Read online

  Elspeth looked up at him, love plain in her eyes, seeming small and protected within the protection of his muscular arm. Niall was a famed warrior, and fearsome both in negotiation and in battle. And yet she had seen her sister fell him with just a glance. Silence him with a single word. A kiss.

  How she envied them, in the most loving way. Would she ever find a love so deeply passionate? She craved a feeling of romantic … mad love in her heart, but thus far she had found no one to inspire wishes of forever.

  Shifting his gaze to Derryth, Niall said, “So go ye now. Prepare for your sister and our babe to join you, in perhaps a fortnight’s time. Mayhap even a sennight, if the child is hearty as I expect he or she will be.”

  He grinned, but even here, in the dim light, Derryth perceived the dark shadows beneath his eyes, as if he had not slept since hearing of the soldiers’ presence on his lands. He loved them all so much—his wife and his clan, and yes even her silly self, whom he called “little sister.” Aye, she loved him like a brother too.

  She forced herself to look past the hurt of being sent away, to the intent of his words. Niall had given her a task—to prepare for Elspeth and the bairn, and she must embrace that new purpose with enthusiasm. Whatever the future brought, she must make herself a useful part in it. As soon as she arrived at the MacClaren stronghold, she would set about educating herself on more important matters, and becoming a woman to be admired for more than a fetching braid or a pretty gown. She’d surprise them all, in the best possible way, the next time they met. Next time, they would not think of sending her away.

  But what if their worst fears were realized, and she never saw them again? It was no overreaction. She had only to look at the past to know that danger was everywhere in the Highlands, and that death could strike at any moment. Trepidation filled her mind, consuming her thoughts, and causing her chest to constrict with each quickening breath.

  “Oh, Elspeth,” Derryth choked, as her emotions overtook her.

  How she despised Buchan—a man she’d never even seen with her own eyes—for the wrongs he had done, and for the fear he inspired. For tearing their families apart.

  She leaned down, wrapping one arm around her sister’s shoulders, inhaling the familiar, comforting sweetness of her skin and hair. Niall embraced them both in his strong arms. Enveloping them in his warmth, he kissed Derryth’s temple and then his wife’s.

  “I love you both,” she whispered.

  Just then, a figure approached—one who became more familiar with each trundling step. The older woman smiled up at her.

  “Hello, child.” Bundled heavily in garments similar to hers, the woman appeared prepared for travel, carrying a large embroidered pouch and a covered basket. “Are ye ready? Ah, don’t ye fret, my bairns. We’ll all do just fine, and I’ve brought a big basket of bread, cheese, and ham, and oh, yes, honey cakes to satisfy our bellies along the way.”

  Niall moved quickly to relieve her of the burdens she carried.

  Was Fiona to accompany her then? She gave a sigh of relief, and her tension lessened to some degree. Fiona always made everything seem better.

  Elspeth smiled warmly at their former servant, who had always been a treasured friend, and her words confirmed what Derryth had already surmised. “Fiona has offered to journey with you. She wants to see Mairi and Kat, and she’ll help with the bairn when I join you.”

  “The bairn!” exclaimed Fiona. “’Twill be a braw lad, I’ve already told ye, and I cannae wait tae meet him, after the Lord—guiding Ina’s capable hands—sees him safely into this world, without me hovering about as a distraction.”

  Elspeth and Niall’s faces broke simultaneously into smiles. Fiona had once been Elspeth and Derryth’s nursemaid. Though the old woman now lived in a small cottage at the edge of the village, she remained a constant and comforting part of their lives, acting also as midwife to many in the village. With her vision failing and the pain of age in her hands, she had trained Elspeth’s maid, Ina, to take her place.

  One of the younger warriors, Nathan, came forward to help Fiona into the wagon.

  Glancing at the sky, Niall grew serious. “It is time. We can delay no more if you are to arrive at Falranroch tomorrow before nightfall. I’ve given instructions to the men. If you encounter anyone and there are questions, ye are merely common folk—MacClellans, traveling through on your way to work the spring fields with your Drummond kin.” The two clans he named were not sworn allies, but friendly enough to claim them if questioned. Accompanying them would be nine warriors in all. “Ye’ll take the Cairnmore road.”

  Deargh appeared then from the castle, his heavily tattooed skull and face making him just a shadow in the night—a terrifying one to anyone who did not know him. An older warrior with silver shimmering in his beard, he was Niall’s fearsome second-in-command. He had also saved Niall’s life that night many years ago when the Laird and Lady Kincaid had been killed, hastening him safely away and raising him to be the warrior he’d become. He wore a dark plaid, thick leather boots, and a fur draped from his shoulders. A sword glinted at his waist.

  He grinned as he passed, his manner mischievous as always. “’Tis a perfect night for a ramble across these Highlands.”

  “Aye, ’tis.” Derryth nodded, heartened by his good humor.

  She knew she was very special indeed to her brother-in-law if he sent Deargh to protect her, and knowing he would escort her eased her fears a thousandfold.

  As for the Cairnmore road—it was not the most direct path to Falranroch, but she knew without asking why that route had been chosen. It led in the opposite direction of Carmag’s farm and the more commonly traveled Barradale road. If there were indeed soldiers, there’d be less likelihood of crossing paths on that road. There were also few settlements along the way, as the terrain was stony and rough and devoid of good farmland.

  Niall added, “The men will return here, after delivering you so that we will know you and Fiona are safe and well.”

  And because they would be needed in the defense of Inverhaven, though the words went unspoken. A moment later Fiona was settled into the wagon, wrapped in layers of blankets and fur.

  Elspeth reached for Derryth’s hand and pressed a kiss to her wool-covered knuckles. “Farewell, sister. Until we see each other again. Very soon, I vow.”

  “You’ll be a mother then!” Derryth exclaimed.

  “Indeed!” Elspeth laughed.

  Derryth saw tears rise again in her sister’s eyes. Her own eyes blurred.

  “Dinnae cry,” she exclaimed. “Because then I’ll cry. Aye, farewell. Until then.”

  Praying that she would see them again very soon, and that all this fear was for naught, Derryth pulled the reins of the mule and followed the wagon, which trundled toward the castle gates. The warriors all proceeded silently on foot.

  Moments later came the heavy rattle of the gates closing behind them, gates that were normally left open so the villagers could move to and fro. High above, on the walls, Derryth perceived the outline of more sentries than usual, their faces turned out toward the night, watching.

  She breathed deeply, doing her best to calm her anxiety over leaving, and her fear of the darkness that rose up all around them. Instead, she focused her thoughts on the future, and her duties at Falranroch, where she would throw herself into preparing for Elspeth’s arrival. Aye, and she would be a better sister and friend to Katrin and Mairi, and become an example of strength to them, as Elspeth had been to her.

  For the moment, it had stopped raining, but here in the open the cold wind gusted into her face. She wiped her cheeks, determined to shed no more tears, and brought her woven cowl high, to cover her nose. The village of Inverhaven lay quiet and sleeping, with smoke rising from countless chimneys. For a time, Niall had maintained a large army of cateran mercenaries for the defense of Inverhaven and the clan’s surrounding lands. While many of those men and their families remained, having become a part of the clan, when spring had come, just as
many had asked Niall’s leave to go off again into the world, to pursue the same adventure that had brought them here.

  The mule plodded forward, and Derryth relaxed as best she could. The dagger she wore at her waist dug into her ribs with the animal’s jerky gait. She adjusted the blade on its leather strap so the hilt wouldn’t poke her so annoyingly.

  Rain fell, off and on, but bundled up as she was, she wasn’t cold. Not really. The travel was tedious, a never-ending up-and-down over hill, berm, and stone. After a time, she could no longer look over her shoulder and see the castle tower looming in the dark. Eventually the road wasn’t a road at all, but merely a worn path she could not discern.

  For three hours … perhaps four … there was only the monotonous turning of the wagon wheels, soft noises from the animals, and the occasional cough or mutter from one of the men to break the silence. Eventually, her eyes became heavy … and she dozed …

  She started awake to find the sky above had lightened to indigo blue, in vivid contrast to the inky shadows that now surrounded them—the trees of a forest.

  And yet there had been a sound.

  Indeed … she had heard a sound.

  Had she not?

  Chapter 2

  Whatever the sound had been, the men had heard it too.

  The wagon and the warriors came to a stop. Ahead, Deargh stood straight and motionless on the path, his body rigid, his hand raised for silence.

  Instantly awake, Derryth straightened in the saddle, her gaze searching the shadows. Nathan moved silently over the earth, taking her mule’s bridle in hand.

  A snap sounded in the dark. A furtive rustling.

  “Nathan,” she whispered.

  “Quiet,” he hissed back, with a sharpness that only increased her fear. Underneath his cloak, his shoulder moved, and she knew he grasped the hilt of his sword.

  The garments that had sheltered her from the cold and the rain now felt heavy and constricting. Taking Nathan’s lead, she took possession of her dagger, slowly sliding it free of its leather sheath to hold at the ready under her cloak, all the while praying no one was out there, and that the sounds were made by a foraging animal.

  She jumped when a voice spoke from the darkness.

  “Well … who are ye then?” a man demanded.

  “Travelers, passing through,” Deargh answered evenly. “We wish nae trooble. Only tae be on our way.”

  “Why ur ye traveling at night, in the mirk an’ the rain?” the voice asked slyly.

  “We dinna want to draw the notice of the Kincaids,” Deargh replied. “I hear they’ve got hundreds of murderous caterans protecting their lands and their castle.” He paused. “Be ye one o’ them?”

  The voice chuckled. “Nay, peasant. We are not Kincaids.”

  The tone taunted. Threatened. Nathan stood taller, slowly shifted his stance outward, toward the darkness, as if prepared to engage and defend. The hair on the back of Derryth’s neck stood on end. Something was about to happen.

  Suddenly, the shadows along the edges of her vision moved … converged on them, revealing that not just one man stood there, but a score. Not soldiers, but Highlanders, by their plaids and bare feet, and the furs they wore. She knew as well as anyone, not all Highlanders were heroes.

  All around her, they chuckled and breathed and growled, making a show of fearsomeness. In the dim light, their expressions were cold and cruel.

  “Wot should we do w’ them?” asked another voice.

  A long silence passed. Everyone stood still, listening … waiting.

  “Kill them,” pronounced the man who’d spoken first, his words filling her with fear. “But not her.” An arm extended from the darkness, pointing at her. “Aye, we’ve got use for her.”

  Her terror magnified at knowing they’d fixed their attention on her.

  With a low growl, Nathan threw back his cloak, and lifted his sword. Ahead, Deargh did the same, as did the other Kincaids.

  “Ye’ll stand back,” Deargh commanded. “Do y’ hear?”

  The men moved forward, creating a shield with their bodies. Derryth watched them, riveted … terrified.

  Yet, in the next moment, a hand seized Derryth’s thigh—gripping her there, tearing her attention away. Startled, she turned to confront whomever had come from behind, striking out at them with her dagger, but her arm tangled in her heavy garments, making the weapon useless.

  Her pulse raced, as another figure appeared. Then another. Growling, muttering shadows. Hands pulled hard on her cloak, nearly dismounting her off the back of the mule.

  “Deargh!” she cried, clutching the reins, clenching her thighs to remain seated. In doing so, she dropped the dagger.

  Voices shouted. Swords clashed.

  Afraid … she twisted in the saddle and wrenched the reins while jabbing her heels, trying to spur the animal away. The mule started, and turned, but did not run.

  From the darkness, Deargh bellowed. “Don’t touch her.”

  Two … three men pressed close, their feet stamping in mud, the acrid smell of them rising up to fill her nostrils.

  “Get away!” she cried.

  Fear consumed her. Fear for herself. Fear for Fiona and the men. Would they all die here, like this?

  Her assailants pushed close, all around. Again, she jabbed her heels into the mule’s side and at last the animal sprang forward, but shadows darted toward her. More hands reached … grabbing the bridle. Seizing her. Pulling her off.

  “No!” She screamed and kicked, her boots striking flesh and mud.

  She broke free. Twisting, she scrambled across the sodden earth, only to be captured by the ankles—

  And dragged facedown through the cold mud, her cloak and skirts catching on stones, baring her legs to her thighs.

  “No!” she cried again. Desperately, she clawed at the earth and grass, fighting with every bit of energy she possessed. A hard yank deprived her of the fur. Another, her cloak.

  “She’s spirited.” One man chuckled deep in his throat.

  “All the better,” declared another.

  Men still shouted. Fiona screamed. More feet thumped on the earth … distant, but growing closer. More attackers?

  “Stop!” a man’s voice thundered. “Do not move.”

  But nothing stopped.

  Flipped onto her back … stones dug into her bottom, her shoulder blades. She saw the sky above, then numerous filthy faces with wide eyes, leering mouths, and crooked teeth. She struck at them … clawed at flesh, until her arms were seized, and she regretted that she had not used the dagger on herself in that moment when she could have saved herself from this. Again she screamed, and a muddied hand crushed her mouth, filling it with grit.

  “Get off,” the same man ordered, in a voice of command.

  Several of the men disappeared, but others remained, as if they’d not heard, or ignored the order. Hands grabbed her bare calf—but when her other leg slid free, she screamed and smashed her heel against the nearest attacker’s jaw. His head snapped back. Then, wild-eyed, he glared down at her and cursed, before grabbing her ankle and holding her immobile—and utterly defenseless. She screamed.

  “Now, I say,” the man’s voice bellowed.

  Boots crunched over the sodden earth, moving toward her, fast. There came a solid thud. A man groaned—as if struck.

  “Damn you,” the man giving orders growled. Thud. Smack. The sound of fists against flesh. The sudden rip of a tunic. “Damn you all. Filthy, undisciplined mongrels, every last one of you.”

  The man on top of her flew backward through the air, legs flailing as if hurled by a catapult.

  In her terror, she saw only a blur of movement. The dim gleam of golden hair. Flashing ice-blue eyes. High, harsh cheekbones. The church priests had always described God’s angels as beautiful, fearsome creatures. Her mind hazy with fear, she prayed that an angel had been sent to save her.

  The others gone … he appeared, standing above her. The angel.

  Her heart
beat staggered, caught … stunned, in her chest.

  Oh, but he wasn’t an angel. The thing that knelt beside her was a tautly constructed, oversized war machine. A frightening vision of fury and brawn. Shirtless, he wore only linen trews and unlaced boots, as if he’d been awakened from sleep. His muscled shoulder flexed as he reached for her.

  Everything inside her recoiled at the thought of his touch. She cried out, and crawled backward—away from him—but her elbows and heels slid in the mud, and her spent muscles failed her. Any escape demanded more strength than she now possessed. She could only breathe heavily, and gape at him.

  He had saved her from the others. But was he her savior, or just another animal hiding behind the mask of a man?

  The blue, early morning light revealed his face, so severe and frightening it appeared to be hewn of stone. Cold eyes glanced at her dispassionately. His hair, though long and falling to his shoulders, was shaved close at the sides of his head, giving emphasis to the high slash of his cheekbones.

  He reached for her again.

  “No,” she uttered, flinching. Her voice emitted only as a dry rasp.

  He either did not hear, or did not care what she wanted.

  The mud sucked at her garments as he lifted her, to hold her like a child. She pushed against his chest … his shoulders, and found them as unyielding as a castle wall, indisputable proof she was at his mercy. Any remaining hope inside her disappeared. She could not help but believe this moment was a prelude to the rest of her life … or her death—however it would come.

  Her hair and her garments weighted with mud, Derryth looked everywhere, desperate to know her surroundings and how her companions fared. Over her captor’s shoulder, she glimpsed Nathan standing, circled by soldiers, his shoulders hunched. Blood streamed from his nose, dark against his pale skin in the wane light, but he raised his head, and his burning gaze met hers as she was carried past. Another soldier brought Fiona by the arm, wide eyed and bright cheeked with distress, to stand nearer to the young warrior. Deargh and the others were herded together, no longer in possession of their weapons, their expressions seething and mutinous, all of them bruised and bloodied.