Deception of a Highlander Page 7

  The mood of the party was solemn, as though the loss of Mariel’s tinkling laugh somehow dampened everyone’s spirit. Or perhaps he’d grown so used to her pleasant conversation that the silence now seemed hollow in comparison.

  Time was a bitter mistress, and he realized too late he should have spoken to her sooner. A spike of anticipation shot through him.

  That night when they set up camp, he would speak to her.

  • • •

  Mariel surveyed the bleak surroundings as they rode in silence. Snowfall had ceased, and the struggling rays of sunlight melted the pristine white blanket to a dingy gray. The horses’ hooves squished over sodden leaves and thick mud, making a rhythmic squish suck, squish suck.

  She glanced once more to where Jane rode ahead with Colin, and her stomach clenched against the twisting ball of fire beneath her breast. He seemed to sense the unease between the women and used light jests and quick humor as a barrier to keep the tension from snapping.

  Despite the passing of days, Mariel was still no closer to a permanent solution to Jane’s very real threat. The familiar swell of panic fluttered in her chest, and her palms were slick despite the cold. She had to figure something out and soon. For Jack.

  The weight of Kieran’s gaze settled on her again. Her cheeks warmed with heat. For a man who was uninterested, he certainly did stare a lot. Though he often watched her, he had yet to approach her. Not that she minded. While his rejection still stung, she already had enough to occupy her mind.

  The trees to her left rustled, and a flash of blue showed behind the red and gold leaves. A warning of unease slipped down her back like an icy blanket. She stiffened. They were being watched.

  Kieran eased his horse close to her, and his hand slid intimately over her thigh, accompanied by the weight of something pressed into her lap. Mariel jerked her head up at him and found him smiling affectionately at her. His eyes were serious as he glanced down to where his hand lay. She followed his gaze and caught the glint of a blade nestled in her skirts. As discreetly as possible, she fingered the folds of her dress to assess the weapon. The edge was razor sharp and significantly longer than the dagger hidden in the depths of her travel bag.

  “Down,” Kieran hissed unexpectedly. His large hand clasped the back of her head and shoved her forward against her horse’s velvety neck.

  The musty aroma of the animal’s sweat filled her nostrils and time held still. The whizz of an arrow sailed past the very spot where her head had been. A feral cry pierced the air and the once peaceful forest erupted into chaos. Terror hovered on the edges of her awareness as men leapt from the trees with swords and axes brandished. Kieran positioned his horse in front of hers and jerked his blade free of its scabbard. With one powerful stroke, he cut the first man down.

  Mariel swallowed the scream that threatened to tear from her throat and dug her fingernails into her palms. Losing her composure would mean certain death. She clutched the blade in her fist and assessed their situation.

  By her quick count, there were at least ten men. Each was smeared with grime and swathed in plaids like the barbarians from an English nightmare. Their savage cries filled the forest as they swung their large swords with both hands.

  The sounds of war raged around them, from the ringing metal of fended blows to the guttural curses uttered by Alec and Colin who valiantly fought back.

  Two men ran toward Kieran, their eyes wild with rage. They came at him from both sides and Kieran met them without hesitation. Each blow was deftly blocked with the resounding clang. A third man lunged at Kieran’s back.

  “Kieran, behind you,” Mariel cried.

  He turned in his saddle, parried the blow, and sunk his sword into the man’s chest.

  “Get out of here,” he said through his teeth and jerked his blade free.

  Before Mariel had a chance to obey, a vicelike grip wrapped around her ankle and tugged. She clawed at her saddle in an attempt to stay upon her stead. Then her eyes fell upon a riderless horse with a body lying face up next to it.

  The shock of loss slammed into her and robbed her of breath and thought. The hand around her leg yanked once more, and this time she had not the strength to hold on.

  Chapter Eleven

  The horrific cries of battle faded in a distant echo as Mariel stared in horror at the body of her fallen comrade. Jane’s eyes fixed sightless at the sky above with her head cradled unceremoniously in the thick mud. An arrow jutted from the center of her throat in a wound glistening with blood that had not yet had time to dry. Panic clawed at Mariel, spurring her to fight a battle she already thought lost. Her fingernails snagged the slick leather of the saddle, but the merciless grip around her ankle was too strong and rendered her desperate effort fruitless.

  Her fall was broken by a solid torso, and her face shoved against a rough leine that choked off her scream with the acrid tang of unwashed body.

  Something wrapped around her, securing her arms against her sides so she couldn’t move, couldn’t struggle. Her captor began to walk, and her feet swayed in time with his lumbering gait.

  She wanted to scream and thrash in his arms until she caught Kieran’s attention, but to give in to the panic would only see them both injured if not killed. Mariel squeezed her eyes tight and fought for control of her emotions. The way the Chinaman had instructed. Her training pushed to the forefront of her mind, and the frenzied terror waned. She needed to appraise the situation and form a plan before her captor stopped. Her chest compressed, exhaling the sour odor of the man, and she focused on her surroundings.

  Her feet dangled from where she’d been pressed against his fleshy body. He was at least as tall as Kieran. She recalled the grip on her foot that unhorsed her. He was also just as strong.

  Her stomach churned with disgust. Men pulled women from battle for one reason, and it had little to do with her safety. She squeezed her eyes tighter to force her concentration.

  The wheeze of labored breathing nearby suggested another presence. She had fought two men at once in her training, but never ones as large as her captors. Taking them on would be difficult, but not impossible.

  “I like that ye dinna struggle.” Her captor’s breath fogged hot and sour against her neck. His hand slid against the curve of her bottom. The unmistakable scent of whisky caught her attention. If the other man was as drunk as this one, she stood a better chance at emerging unscathed.

  “You don’t want to do this,” she warned in an acid tone.

  His erection pressed into her belly. “I think I do.”

  Revulsion burned the back of her throat and curdled in her stomach. Her hand clenched the handle of Kieran’s blade hidden within her skirts, and she took comfort in the knowledge that she could defend herself. The sound of Kieran and his men fighting could still be heard in the distance, but certainly they were too far away to hear her screams over the sounds of battle.

  Good thing she wouldn’t be screaming.

  Her captor slowed to a stop. If she did not act now, she would lose the element of surprise. Her knee jerked up into the man’s crotch. His arms loosened and he uttered a sharp curse. Mariel squirmed free of his hold, and a torrent of energy flowed through her. Acting on practice-honed instinct, she slammed her fist into the center of his neck and crouched low to dodge his awkward grasp. She whipped her leg at the backs of his knees, causing him to fall before he landed even a single blow upon her.

  The other man lunged at her with his sword drawn, but she managed to evade his stumbling attack. She threw herself on the fallen man before he could rise again and plunged Kieran’s dagger into his throat. Surprise lit his dull brown eyes and a sickening gush of warmth washed over her hands. A moment of shock pierced Mariel’s calm as the life drained from his body.

  Pain exploded in the back of her head and the forest blurred. She felt herself falling. Brilliant flecks of light clouded her vision and her stomach churned. She gritted her teeth against the pain and focused on gripping the dagger. Her heart t
ripped with fear. The dagger that was no longer there.

  She needed to get up. She needed to fight regardless. Mariel rolled onto her stomach and crouched into a low ball as a massive, two-handed sword sank into the soft ground where she had lain.

  “I’ll be damned if I let a bitch best me,” the barbarian slurred. He yanked his blade from the wet earth.

  He advanced toward her and swung his sword again and again with no real precision. Each wild arc easily missing her as she darted and leapt out of its path. She could not escape his sword forever, nor could she effectively attack without a weapon.

  It was time to attempt a different approach.

  Her skirts swirled around her ankles as she danced away from the swinging blade. “Please stop. I…I know it was stupid, but I had to do it.”

  The sword jabbed in her direction.

  “Please.” She hoped the flimsy excuse sounded reasonable in his drunken state. “It was you I wanted the whole time…I saw you during the attack and you just…” She kept her tone low and sultry and met his bleary gaze.

  The blade stopped. “Why did ye kill him?”

  “He told me he was going to keep me for himself.”

  Disbelief crossed the man’s ugly features.

  “But I didn’t want him. I wanted you.” She took a confident step toward him and thrust her lower lip out in a seductive little pout. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  He gave her a slobbering grin, and his gaze shifted to her breasts. “I’m sure ye could find a way to make it up to me.” The tip of the blade dipped toward the ground.

  “I’m sure I could.” Her eyes trailed down his body with slow purpose. No dagger clung to his belt and none appeared to be stuck inside his boot. Did the man not have a single dagger on him? She would have to search his person.

  Mariel choked back the urge to gag and took another step toward him. “I was trained at Hampton court.” His waist was thick and soft beneath her hands as she skimmed the worn leather of his belt in a discreet search for a hidden blade. She found none.

  “Trained?” His stare was still fixed on her breasts.

  “I’m no common street whore,” she said, keeping her voice low, husky. “I was trained for royalty. Have you ever been loved by a woman who has brought a king to his knees?”

  Slowly, she started to walk backward to where the body lay behind her, to where her dagger lay thrust in the neck of the man who had carried her.

  “I canna say that I have.” The remaining Highlander advanced toward her, his piggish eyes bright with desire.

  Her calf bumped something solid. The body. Mariel widened her eyes in mock surprise and allowed herself to fall over the corpse as if she had tripped. Her voluminous skirts concealed her hands as she jerked the dagger from the man’s throat. A heavy metallic odor filled the air and stuck in her nostrils.

  She hid the blade within the folds of her gown before a strong hand grasped her arm and lifted her off the body. Her ardent attacker wasted no time pressing his rubbery lips against hers, his tongue slimy where it parted her lips with aggressive determination.

  Mariel locked the hilt of the dagger in both hands and thrust it up into his body. The blade slid easily into his fleshy folds, stopping only when the sides of her fists pressed his soiled leine.

  He howled in surprise and shoved her back. She took an instinctive step away from him and surveyed the dagger jutting from his side. The stab had been sightless and ineffective. His ruddy face twisted into a primitive rage that stilled her heart with fear.

  “Ye’ll pay for that, whore.” Spittle glistened on his lips, and he lifted his claymore. The muted sunlight shone along the blade’s edge.

  A sense of danger prickled the hair on her arms, and he ran at her with a savage roar.

  Her surrender to fear caused a slight hesitation-one that might have very well been her demise. Skill was sacrificed in her haste to escape the blow, and her feet slid in the slick mud. Though she narrowly missed the direct path of the blade, she felt the force of it collide against her hip and fell beneath the weight of its impact. She could only hope the layers of her gown had been thick enough to protect her flesh.

  The man leaned so close that the stink of his sweat stuck in her throat and permeated her nostrils. If she lived through this, she doubted she would ever be free of his odor. His large, grimy hand curled into a brutal grasp around her neck.

  “I’m going to enjoy this.” His breath was sickly sweet with rotting teeth and alcohol where it fanned across her cheeks.

  His grip tightened against her throat, and he lifted her from the ground. The rasp of her own choked breathing echoed in her ears, and her feet kicked against air for a split second before he threw her into the mud. She gasped mouthfuls of clean air despite the burn of her raw throat. Her hands and feet slipped and sloshed across the soggy grass as she floundered in an attempt to get to her feet.

  He stood over her with a sadistic smile on his face and slid his claymore into its scabbard. His weight crashed down on top of her, pinning her. He pulled a dirk from somewhere she had overlooked and raised it over his head. Mariel struggled helplessly beneath him with one resounding thought racing through her mind: Forgive me, Jack. I have failed you.

  • • •

  Kieran raced across the sodden earth, heedless of its pull against his boots. His eyes scoured the dense trees for a flash of lavender velvet, and he strained to hear the sounds of the forest around him. She hadn’t screamed. What woman didn’t scream?

  The last he saw was the MacLeod bastard ripping her from her horse and dragging her out of sight. Kieran had tried to fight more quickly, desperate to be free of the troublesome lot so he could find where they’d taken Mariel before…

  He gritted his teeth. He refused to allow himself to finish the thought.

  Damn it, he should have protected her, kept her from being abducted. His gut clenched.

  He stopped and held his breath, listening to the natural sounds of the forest. The man was on foot, he could not have gotten far. Kieran took a cautious step forward when a rustle of leaves sounded to his right. He held the position and waited to see if the rustle sounded again. Nothing. And then…

  A man’s grunt.

  Kieran’s fist tightened on the hilt of his sword until the worn leather burned against his palm. By God, the whoreson would pay for what he did to her.

  Kieran crashed through the brush, sending twigs and branches snapping against his thighs. And then he saw them. His heart seized against his ribs.

  The MacLeod was sprawled on top of a crushed pile of velvet. Mariel flailed beneath him, her legs bare and smeared with mud. The bastard’s hand moved beneath her gown.

  Rage exploded into insanity. With a savage roar, Kieran charged forward and used his body as a battering ram to knock the dirty MacLeod from Mariel. The man stared up at him in surprise from the flat of his back and opened his mouth. Kieran didn’t wait to hear what the man intended to say. His blade swung with powerful vengeance and connected with the MacLeod’s neck, severing head from body.

  He turned with disgust from his fallen foe and sank to his knees at Mariel’s side. She had smoothed her skirts down and now looked up at him, her eyes wide with horror. Blood speckled her skin and soaked her dirt-smeared gown.

  He cradled her sweet face between his hands. The grit of filth across her flesh could not mask its silken warmth, nor could the stench of death outweigh the gentle scent of her rose perfume.

  He gathered her in his arms and got to his feet. She weighed almost nothing. How easy it must have been for the MacLeod bastard to carry her away. Rage simmered once more, but Mariel’s head nuzzled Kieran’s chest and called him back to the present.

  He reveled in the heat of her body against his and in the soft, feminine sigh she gave as she nestled closer against him. Holding her was a heaven he almost feared he’d lost. Relief crushed his chest. She was alive.

  And right now, he needed to get her away from the horror of d
eath to a place where he could safely ensure she had not been injured. He strode away from the dead man with Mariel curled in the protection of his arms, and then gently set her on the ground where she wouldn’t be able to see the carnage.

  Kieran stroked the strands of hair from her face and held her gaze. “Did he hurt ye?”

  A choked cry escaped her lips. “Kieran…oh, thank God…” Her voice was raspy, strained.

  A single tear slid down her cheek, leaving a trail of exposed porcelain skin beneath the mask of gore. “You’re safe,” she said.

  Were the situation not so serious, he might have laughed. She had been worried about him.

  He settled on the wet ground beside her. Mud caked her hair and soaked her once fine dress.

  She leaned against his chest, clinging to him. “I didn’t think I…” her words tapered off and she shook her head. After a deep breath, she continued. “They are both dead now.”

  Both? Alarm pricked Kieran’s senses and suddenly he was alert once more. He hadn’t remembered seeing a second one. Was the second man really dead?

  He gently pried Mariel off him and stood up to survey the area. Almost twenty feet away lay a fallen MacLeod with a gaping hole in his throat. Startled, Kieran looked down at Mariel’s wide gaze. “Did ye…?”

  “I c…couldn’t let him touch me.”

  Kieran’s stomach churned. In his absence, she’d had to complete the grisly task on her own in a feat that left her clearly shaken. He sank beside her and pulled her against his chest once more. “Ye did what ye had to do. If ye hadna killed him, ye would be dead right now, aye?”

  She nodded and kept her stare fixed on him.

  God, it felt so damn good to be holding her. For the briefest of moments he had feared he might never have the opportunity again. The level of desperation he’d felt surprised him. He cared for her.

  Mariel pursed her full lips, and Kieran’s blood surged as the effects of battle wore off and left white-hot desire in its stead.