Authors: Allison Butler
‘Reivers!’
Duff’s warning shout split the cold-night air, swiftly followed by other calls of an attack from beyond the line of trees. The clang of steel meeting steel pierced the night.
‘Down, Kenzie!’ He hissed the command through clenched teeth even as his left hand pushed her forward so she lay flush against his mount. She obeyed without resistance.
The fingers of Lachlan’s right hand curled about the hilt of his sword, his weapon drawn a heartbeat before the drum of thundering hooves drowned out all other sound.
Two mounted men rushed Lachlan from the trees to his right, their larger mounts screaming their English origins. Their long blades flashing deadly intent in the moonlight. Raising his sword, Lachlan blocked the slicing curve of one man’s weapon, twisted his grip and drove his opponent back with a menacing thrust. The second man quickly filled the space, his sword high in a two-handed hold as the blade began its downward arc.
Lachlan gripped De Brus’s sides with his knees and thighs, bracing for the powerful blow. He pressed his splayed hand firmly down on Kenzie’s slender back. His need to protect her lent a fierceness to his strength and an extra thud to his heartbeat. He closed his senses to everything but the falling blade. Willed all his power into his hand and the arm supporting his deadly weapon, his only means of defence.
His attacker’s sword crashed down onto his. Metal screamed in protest. Lachlan’s blade barely wavered but his fury erupted. With a blood-curdling roar, he drove the other man’s blade to the side and down, then with a turn of his wrist, brought his blade back in the opposite direction.
His opponent shrank away, but not swiftly enough to avoid the tip of Lachlan’s sword. The sharp point shredded the man’s leather vest and scored the flesh of his stomach. A howl escaped the man’s lips before he turned his mount and bolted.
‘Laird, behind you.’
De Brus reacted the instant Lachlan nudged him with his knee. Swinging around to the right, Lachlan’s sword was already slicing the air before they’d completed the turn. His blade sank deep in his first attacker’s shoulder. A scream tore through the night. With a sharp wrench, Lachlan dislodged his weapon from bone, earning another agonised cry. The injured man slumped across his horse’s neck and fled.
Lachlan searched his surroundings, listening to the hoof beats fading as the last of the reivers galloped toward the English border. Blood pounded at his temples.
The woman molded to De Brus’s neck shifted. ‘Is it over?’ Her voice was steady.
She is unharmed.
Lachlan’s thumping pulse calmed. ‘Aye. It’s safe to sit up, now.’
No movement, then … ‘It would help if you removed your hand.’
Lachlan peered down at his hand still planted in the centre of her back. His fingers curled about the heat branding his palm. He pulled his hand away. His blood slowed. She straightened, but stopped short of her body leaning back into his.
Duff rode up, his gleaming sword still in hand. ‘Are you all right, laird?’
‘Aye, thanks to you.’
Duff turned away and scanned the area. Lachlan glanced at his closed, rigid profile. Even after a score of years living as an honorary Elliot and one of Lachlan’s most trusted friend’s, Duff had never grown comfortable with praise, no matter how deserved. The man lived to do his duty with honour. Failure wasn’t possible.
‘Any losses?’
‘None I’m aware of,’ Duff replied. ‘The guards are rounding up the cattle now.’ Distressed lowing echoed eerily in the night.
‘See to any injured and get the men to move the herd down to the winter enclosure.’
‘Aye.’ Duff galloped off to do Lachlan’s bidding.
Lachlan stared in the direction the English had fled. They’d been lucky, but the attack gave him more reason to marry Kenzie tonight. He needed to increase his clan’s security as swiftly as possible and a union with Kenzie meant he could count on Irvine’s aid and support, just as Clan Elliot would give the same in return.
Kenzie’s soft sigh snared his attention. He looked on as she lifted her steady hands to push her hair out of her face. Moonlight caressed the dark waves as lavender suffused the air.
Lachlan watched her calm movements as she tugged her cloak more securely about her shoulders. No frightened tears, no hysterical ranting. Even with the clanging and clashing of steel over her head, she hadn’t panicked. Unexpected admiration unfurled within him.
He sheathed his sword and nudged De Brus into motion. ‘You act as if you’ve been caught in the middle of a skirmish more than once.’
‘I’ve witnessed several skirmishes, but have never been involved in one. Nor have I been sprawled atop a horse during one.’
The hint of mirth in her tone sparked his humour. ‘A first for each of us, then.’
‘You’ve never been involved in a skirmish before?’ Disbelief coloured her tone.
‘I’ve fought my share of skirmishes but never with a woman so wantonly draped between my thighs.’ Lachlan ignored her gasp and smiled. His soon-to-be-wife was a mixture of worldly wisdom and naive innocence. An interesting combination, the latter an area he suddenly longed to tutor her out of.
His mount carried them down the grass-spattered slope and they rode into the pool of light created by the flaming torches, positioned every few feet atop the curtain wall. A guard on the battlements shouted a greeting as one side of the massive wooden gates opened wide.
The last of the tension riding his shoulders ebbed as they rode through. He was home.
Caelan greeted them inside the bailey. ‘A nasty night’s work, brother.’
‘Aye, Caelan. But the English scum left as they’d come, empty-handed. Some will have trouble finding a peaceful rest this night.’
‘Iona is ready and waiting to tend those of ours who are injured.’
‘Good. Duff’s checking for any wounded as we speak.’
Lachlan dismounted and tossed the reins to a young stable lad. Securing his hands at Kenzie’s waist, he turned and addressed his brother. ‘I have my suspicions, Caelan, but tell me why Castle Redheugh is lit like a beacon?’
He lifted the cause of his suspicions from the saddle to the ground, but didn’t release her. He wasn’t letting her escape a second time. She squared her shoulders but didn’t attempt to move away.
‘Aye, well. It seems
someone
went missing, Lachlan.’ Caelan cleared his throat. ‘Right after a fire broke out in the chamber we keep for
special
callers.’
Lachlan stilled and looked at Caelan. ‘Was anyone hurt?’ The lithe body within his hold stiffened. She’d experienced an English raid and barely flinched, but turned as rigid as a warrior’s pike when he asked his brother a few questions regarding her escape.
‘Thankfully, nae.’
Relief washed through him like a cool balm to a fiery wound. His palms absorbed Kenzie’s shudder of relief. She hadn’t caused the skirmish, but the fire …
‘And the chamber?’
‘The bedding’s in ashes. One stone wall is blackened and the timber floor scorched, but the chamber is sound enough.’
‘Good.’ It seemed his thief had the ability to inflame more than his ire. He turned to the young stablehand. ‘Give De Brus an extra long rub, lad. He’s earned it.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Placing one arm around the troublesome wench’s upper back and the other behind her knees, Lachlan scooped her up into his arms.
‘Put. Me. Down.’ She spoke as if he were hers to command.
Ignoring her order, Lachlan strode toward the keep’s entrance. ‘What of our other guests?’ he asked Caelan, who fell into step beside him.
The inflexible bundle against his chest jerked her head upward, butting the underside of his chin. ‘I am not your guest.’
Lachlan grunted, turning his face to the side in time to see Caelan glance away and up as if the night sky called to him.
‘You’re right. You are nae guest, only my future bride.’ Kenzie squirmed in his arms.
‘Lundy has our guests warming themselves in the kitchens,’ Caelan eventually said, though he kept his eyes averted. ‘Cal and Dair have gone to assess any damage.’
‘Once the men not on watch are inside the bailey, have the torches doused, bar the usual two above the gates, and meet me at the laird’s table.’
‘Aye.’ Caelan left them at the foot of the stairs.
The woman in his arms shivered.
Lachlan’s gaze skimmed Kenzie’s pale cheeks and blue lips. Pulling her closer to share his heat, she surprised him by relaxing against him. He climbed the steps and inclined his head at the guard, who opened the door to the Great Hall. Heat bathed his face. A hush fell over the crowded chamber as he carried his burden toward the blazing hearth behind the laird’s table. Kenzie’s warm breath bathed his upper chest and neck.
‘‘Tis good to have you home, laird.’
‘It’s good to be home, Murdoch.’ He gave his steward a tight smile. ‘I hear there was some mischief inside the keep during my absence.’
Murdoch glanced at the woman in Lachlan’s arms. ‘But all seems well, now.’
‘Aye,’ Lachlan replied. ‘It’s been an eventful night, but nothing a basin of warm water, some mead and a few moments before the fire won’t fix.’
Murdoch nodded and left.
Bypassing the high-backed laird’s chair and its mate, Lachlan sat on one of the bench seats facing the crackling fire. The hush behind him finally gave way to murmurs as he relaxed his hold on the woman now resting in his lap, her face buried in the folds of his mantle.
‘Hiding, Kenzie?’ he asked quietly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Though I welcome the feel of your fingers clutching my shirt and your hot breath ruffling the fur of my mantle …’ Her hands pushed against him. She sat upright across his thighs. ‘Ah, much better. I’d prefer to see your face.’
‘I wasn’t hiding,’ she said stubbornly. ‘And I wasn’t clutching your shirt.’ She scrambled off his lap onto the bench beside him.
‘Of course you weren’t.’
‘I was cold,’ she said holding her palms up toward the fire, staring into the flames.
‘And perhaps uncertain about facing my clansmen?’
The smooth skin of her throat rippled as she swallowed. ‘Perhaps a little.’
There was no perhaps about it. Why else would she have clung to him when he’d carried her into his hall?
‘Never fear. A few words from me and all will be well.’
With a slight turn of her head, her gaze slowly climbed to meet his. ‘The last thing I wanted was for anyone to be hurt.’ Despite the regal set of her chin, regret darkened the brown of her eyes.
Lachlan believed her. ‘Nae one was,’ he reminded her and himself. Voicing the truth aloud and viewing her remorse eased the anger coiling low in his belly.
Turning back to peer into the hearth, she inhaled deeply. Through the opening of her cloak, Lachlan watched the thin fabric of her gown stretch taut over rounded breasts. He stared at the rise and fall of her chest, his breathing matching hers.
Approaching footsteps brought him back to his senses. Murdoch and a servant reached his side, carrying all he’d requested. Lachlan stood and accepted the basin of hot water and cloths from the kitchen maid and set them down on the bench beside Kenzie. His steward then placed a tray bearing two cups of mead alongside.
While Kenzie made use of the water, Lachlan removed his mantle. He passed the thick fur to Murdoch and, leaning close, said, ‘On Duff’s return, call everyone in, save the necessary guards. Have the priest waiting by the kitchen door, but tell Lundy to keep our other guest out of the Hall, for now.’
‘Aye.’ Murdoch’s faded blue eyes brightened with understanding before he left to do his bidding.
Lachlan lifted one of the cups and, tilting his head back, downed the warm mead in one long swallow. As he drank, he noticed faint wisps of dark smoke wafting high among the roof’s rafters, no doubt remnants of Kenzie’s bid to escape. He studied the woman he was soon to wed and couldn’t help but admire her misplaced determination and resourcefulness. Add her attempt to steal his horse and it seemed she suffered from misguidance on a regular basis. He still didn’t know why she’d turned to thieving, but he would find out. Their marriage would never be dull.
These thoughts strengthened his will and assured him haste was the key to protect both Kenzie and his people.
Setting the empty vessel on the tray, he resumed his seat before retrieving the other cup. ‘Here, this will warm you further.’ He plucked the drying cloth from her hand and replaced it with the full cup.
She glanced at him and then into the contents of the cup. Her skin no longer had the hue of thin ice. A soft flush painted her cheeks. Taking a tentative sip, she appeared to savour the taste before licking the sweetness from her plump lips. Lachlan’s breath stalled.
Don’t play with it, drink it.
She cast a fleeting glance his way and pressed the back of her hand to her rose-hued mouth. The self-conscious gesture sent a surge of heat-filled lust to his groin. He clenched his hands and justified his body’s reaction by telling himself it had been some time since he’d bedded a woman, reminding himself that his body would react in the same way should any other woman make the same gesture. It was not Kenzie alone who could send his pulse leaping and his blood flowing more swiftly.
Lifting the cup, she drank, exposing the pale flesh of her neck as she tipped her head back. He fought the urge to wipe his damp palms down the length of his plaid.
With a throaty sigh that threatened to unman him, she handed him the empty cup. ‘Thank you.’
Lachlan placed the vessel on the tray and fought the urge to tuck a strand of her bedraggled dark hair behind one delicate ear. His sudden need to touch her somewhere, in some way, annoyed him.
He turned from her and scanned the Great Hall at the precise moment the entrance doors opened. Duff led the men inside, while Cal and Dair guided a wounded guard to the table set to one side of the room where Castle Redheugh’s healer sat waiting. Leaving the injured man in Iona’s care, the three men strode to Lachlan’s side.
‘How many wounded?’
‘Only one with a gash on his forearm,’ Duff said.
‘Good. Damage?’
‘Very little and already fixed,’ Cal said.