Highland Deception (Highland Pride) (20 page)

“What is this letter ye need?” Truly, she was curious, Lachlan had not told her what was in it, and she hadn’t asked. The diversion worked, because he let go of her and backed up.

“Nothing you need to be concerned with. It’s men’s business.” Now, that made her angry.
Men’s business.
If it was men’s business, why the hell was she wrapped up in the middle of it? She wanted to scream.

“It becomes my business if you are willing to trade me for it.” With effort, she squashed down her anger and attempted to sound hurt.

“I will not trade you. I just need him to think I will. He wants you.” His gaze drifted down to rake her appreciatively. “But everyone does. You’re the bonniest lass in Scotland. And that is why you will be mine.”

“Why wait until tomorrow? Lachlan would have gone for it today.”

“Because the Cameron whore and I made a deal. She’s already delivered you. She has until tomorrow morning to get me the letter and find out where the boy is.” Maggie was having a hard time making sense of what he was saying. Again her head had started throbbing.

“With any luck, I’ll be long gone with you and the letter before Lachlan knows what happened.”

He snaked his arms around her and pulled her body flush with his. His erection poked her, and she prayed,
Please, God, dinnae let him touch me
. He dipped his head and bit down hard on her neck. Pain assaulted her as she gasped and tried to pull away, but he had her pinned.

He laughed. It had not been like when Lachlan had playfully nipped at her. This hurt, and he might have drawn blood.

“I cannot wait to have you in my bed.” Hot, rancid breath assaulted her as he whispered in her ear. Grabbing her hair, he yanked her head back, forcing her eyes to his. The desire she saw there scared her. It was not what she’d seen in Lachlan’s eyes as they’d made love—this was dark and looked more like a need for control than any longing for her.

He sneered at the fear she’d not been able to hide then pushed her down roughly. She landed on her knees—the jolt had been rough. Dizziness assailed her, and she was light-headed again.

“As soon as I know you’re not with child, I’ll have you. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.” He strode to the other side of the tent and continued to plan tomorrow’s events.

Maggie attempted to listen. It was important she learn what was going on, but their words were distant and mumbled. Although she struggled to hear, she had trouble staying focused. Every part of her head vibrated with pain, and her eyes became unfocused. She tried to fight it, but she was no match for the deep, dreamless sleep that took her.

…

After the last lass had betrayed Lachlan, he had come back stronger, and he could do it again; this would be no different. But the hole that had been ripped in his heart this time ached, and he found it a struggle to take each breath. Crushing pain made him want to hunker down in the corner and lick his wounds. But he was laird—he didn’t have that choice.

As he stood and straightened his plaid, his fingers brushed across the strands of hair Conall had cut from Maggie’s head. He’d forgotten it was there, and he dipped his head to inhale the still present smell of lavender. A devastating grief washed over him as he realized he would never again feel her in his arms or know the pleasure he experienced just from watching her smile. She might as well have stabbed him in the chest and twisted the dirk over and over, because that’s what it felt like.

His finger ran down the length of the lock.
To the devil with her.
The anger was back, and he ripped the small bundle loose as a knock sounded at the door. He tossed it onto the bedside table and said, “Enter.”

Alan strode in. “The Macleans have arrived.”

He was glad Alan had been the one to find him, because he couldn’t let anyone else see him like this, so he squared his shoulders. Maybe if he looked like a leader, he would again feel like one.

“She was working with Conall all along. And I fell for it.” As he voiced it, his heart lurched. He wished he had the stomach for whisky and could drown the pain, but the thought made his insides turn. There was no drink strong enough to see him through this.

“What do ye mean?” His friend continued forward as he sank to the bed.

“Maggie. She was in league with Conall. They are lovers.” He choked on the words, and he started to quake as hurt and anger battled in his chest.

“Nae. She’s terrified of the man. Did ye no’ see him strike her?”

“I ken, it doesnae make sense.” He picked up the letter and passed it to Alan; something about it kept setting an alarm off in his head.

As Alan took it he asked, “What’s that smell?” Then he pulled the paper up and read it. “Nae, I dinnae believe it.” He sat on the bed and handed it back to Lachlan.

Lachlan’s gaze returned to the letters on the page, and his breath caught. “It says Maggie. The bastard called her Margaret.” He analyzed the words more closely. “Conall speaks as if he’s been around the English too long, but this writing sounds like one of us. The script is different, too. We need to compare it to Conall’s letter. I dinnae think ’tis the same.”

Could Maggie be innocent? Who would plant something like that? Who would want to drive them apart?

A cloying, sweet smell caught his attention—’twas the same scent that had assaulted him as he’d walked in to find Arabella in his room.

Relief washed over him. Maggie had not deceived him. Why had he not believed in her? And he had decided to let Conall have her. Guilt and desperation warred in his heart. “’Twas Arabella.”

“What does she have to do with it?”

“Everything. The note, ’tis from Arabella.”

He’d let his own prejudices blind him to the truth. Maggie was innocent and always had been. Never again would he allow his past to taint his belief in someone who had already proven herself in so many ways.

He jumped up and rushed out of the room and downstairs toward the study to compare the handwriting. ’Twould be the final proof that Maggie hadn’t betrayed him. Before he could open the door, it swung in. Arabella stood in the frame holding Conall’s letter in her hands.

“Ye treacherous, deceitful wench. What are ye doing with that?”

She had the nerve to try to hide it behind her back and attempted to skirt around him, but he blocked her exit, reached behind her, and pulled her arm with Conall’s letter back to the front. His eyes drifted to Alan. “Take it.”

“Somebody had to get that whore out of here. She is going to destroy everything.” Instead of remorse in Arabella’s voice, there was anger.

Taking a deep breath to calm the storm that was building inside, his eyes caught movement down the hall.
Finlay.
“Get Malcolm and the rest of the council,” he yelled to him, then looked to Alan. “Stay, because I just may be tempted to strangle her.”

He guided Arabella back into his study, let go of her, and pointed to a chair. “Sit.” Walking to the opposite end of the room to put a little distance between them, he started to pace while Alan took a seat near the door, presumably to block the exit.

The room remained silent until his most trusted men were all assembled. Arabella’s gaze shifted erratically around the space as she squirmed under the scrutiny. He turned to her. “Talk.”

Standing, she attempted to walk out the door, but Dougal shut it and blocked her path, and she strode toward Lachlan. “She is going to destroy ye. I was just doing it to protect us.”

Lachlan held his palm out to stop her advance. “Did ye help the Earl of Lundin’s son onto our land?” He was crushed that one of his own people had betrayed the clan.

“Aye.” No remorse entered her eyes. “I met him at the tavern on the way to Fort William the night ye said ye were going to send me away. When I told him about that whore and how besotted ye were with her, he offered to take her.”

“Och, Arabella, did ye even ken who he was?” When he slammed his hand down on his desk, she jumped.

“Aye, I kenned she had betrayed him, and she would have done the same to ye.” Her hand rose to his chest, but he scowled.

“Dinnae touch me.”

Her face screwed up with frustration. “All he wanted was some letter and a lad I told him I kenned nothing about.”

Thank God he’d kept Robbie’s location from everyone but Alan. “Have ye gone mad? Ye are the one who has just betrayed the clan. Take her away. She is no longer a Cameron, and I dinnae want to see her again. The other lairds can decide her fate.”

Maggie was innocent.

His Maggie was in that monster’s hands, and he was going to do everything he could to get her back. Even if it meant handing over that damned letter.

Chapter Seventeen

Rain lightly pelted Lachlan’s face as his horse tromped through the battered grass. Waiting for Conall and his men to join them, he made his way to the middle of the field.

The Erskine men had been camped in a small clearing just on the other side of the trees. They had lit an abundance of fires during the night in a vain attempt to inflate the number of men they actually had with them.

Arabella had guided Conall and his men around the guards to a secluded area of his land, where they had lain in wait for Maggie and the wench’s return with the letter and news of Robbie. Since she’d slept with half of them, it hadn’t been hard for the traitorous woman to know the location of the scouts so the small band of Erskines could slip past. Likely the bastard didn’t have his father’s backing or the approval of Argyll, else he would have had more men with him.

The entire night, Lachlan kept the group surrounded. Had they been able to surmise where Maggie was being held, they could have easily infiltrated the camp to find her, but Conall had kept her hidden, the reason they hadn’t risked an attack.

Sheets of rain had started to fall in the wee hours of the morning and extinguished the fires, but now it wasn’t much more than a trickle. This would be in their favor, as most of Conall’s men had little in the way of cover and must be cold and wet. Their spirits would be low, and their location would impede their view of the horde of Royalist clans arriving at Kentillie.

Conall had roughly thirty-five men with him. Nothing compared to the army Lachlan had at hand, with more trickling in all morning for the planned meeting.

Lachlan’s heart swelled with pride at the clans coming together in a show of solidarity for Scotland. The timing couldn’t have been better. They would witness the traitor’s actions, as well as see the missive before he turned it over to Conall. If their presence helped to save Maggie, he would forever be in their debt.

Instead of just a couple of Camerons at his side, he was flanked by at least fifty, with more men spread out in the woods to cut off the intruder’s escape. They would not get anywhere with Maggie.

Conall’s small force of men looked bedraggled and downtrodden, like mangy stray dogs caked with filth and mud as they came into the clearing. They formed a tight formation and marched forward. Giving his reins to Alan, Lachlan dismounted and strode several paces in front of his men, glaring at them while he waited for Conall.

It didn’t take long for the bastard to slink forward. “Where is my missive, Lachlan?” Contempt rolled off his tongue as he ground out the words.

“Where is my woman?” Lachlan countered.

As his jaw ticked, Conall glared, the hatred in his eyes palpable.

Good.
An angry enemy didn’t keep a clear mind in battle. And this was a battle he intended to win. “I have yer letter. We agreed to a trade. Where is Maggie?” Lachlan fought to remain calm. He’d not seen Maggie yet, and he ached to know that this monster had not harmed her.

At first, Conall looked confused, then angered. The man obviously did not like Lachlan’s familiarity with her.
Good.
The arse was cocky and overconfident, and the rapier at his side was no match for the claymore Lachlan was about to unsheathe.

Conall nodded to a wiry man almost hidden in the shadows at the edge of the woods. He disappeared, and Lachlan held his breath.

Like a ray of sunshine peeking from behind the clouds, Maggie appeared, holding her head high like a princess. The man followed in her wake as if he were a servant. Her fingers twisted in the folds of her skirts, the only outward sign she was affected by the events playing out before her.

“Your woman? You stole her from me. She is to be my wife.” His eyes bulged as his face reddened.

Maggie continued forward and looked as if she was going to walk straight across the expanse and into his waiting arms, but the man grabbed her arm and guided her to Conall’s side. Lachlan could see a blue and swollen bruise on her face, likely where Conall had struck her, but other than that she appeared unharmed. The mark on her soft, delicate cheek enraged him, and he clenched his fists to keep from charging.

Conall yanked her close. Her body tensed, but there was resilience in his little lass as well. Quickly, she tamped down her fear and replaced it with defiance. She jerked away from the arse’s hold and stood proud with her chin in the air. But Conall pulled her back—he was using her as a shield, the cowardly bastard.

“She doesnae want ye. Ye ken that,” Lachlan taunted.

“It does not matter what she wants. I have a contract with her father,” Conall said smugly.

“How do ye think he is going to feel about that when he finds ye are a traitor to yer religion and yer family? And ye are a coward who would use his defenseless daughter as a shield?”

“Traitor? The Covenanters are trying to bring Scotland together under the true religion.”

“Do ye think the other clans will agree? They will see ye imprisoned for what you’re doing.” Lachlan stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and back straight, ready to strike if the snake caused Maggie one more motherent of pain.

Conall glared and said nothing as he kept Maggie pinned to his side.

“I dinnae think yer father will appreciate ye planning his murder,” Lachlan added.

“It will be my word against yours, and who will believe you? You’re a disreputable thief who took my betrothed hostage,” he sneered.

“Do ye want to say that where the other Highland chiefs can hear ye?” Lachlan motioned to several men behind him.

Conall’s face pinched into a snarl. “What treachery is this?”

Lachlan nodded at Alan, who gave the word, and several flags were unfurled behind him. Flags of the Maclean, MacDonald, Stewart, and Menzies clans dotted the field in a show of solidarity.

“They have all seen yer incriminating missive. Ye willnae be going home again. Whether ye go to yer death today or with these men is up to ye.”

The thunder of horses’ hooves sounded as a group of riders approached from the direction of the keep. Heads turned and a path cleared to make way for the newcomers. Lachlan did not recognize the flag they flew, but he did recognize three of the men riding in the front.

Dougal, Finlay, and Gillies had returned with what must have been a significant army of Murray men. He said a quick prayer for the good timing. Maggie’s father would have the truth about his daughter’s betrothed.

Conall’s eyes widened. His nostrils flared as his gaze darted from Lachlan to Maggie’s father and back again. He coiled his arm the rest of the way around Maggie and pulled her in front, so her back was flush with his chest. Then he drew a dirk from his side and held it up to her throat. Her movements stilled as the point of the blade poked at her tender neck.

Christ, not again.
He had a flashback to the last time a man had held a knife to her.

“What in God’s name are ye doing, Conall?” the Murray asked as he reined in next to Lachlan.

Lachlan recognized Maggie’s high cheekbones and regal bearing on the graying head, but that was the only similarity. Her dark hair and pale skin must have come from her mother.

Lowering the knife from Maggie’s soft flesh, Conall pointed the tip of the blade at Lachlan. “They have left me no choice, Gavin. She is supposed to be mine. He stole her.”

Maybe she knew enough not to rile the beast, because her eyes pleaded with her father, but she didn’t call out to him. If they didn’t tread carefully here, Conall was likely to hurt her. The Duke of Kirk glanced over to Lachlan and gave him an almost imperceptible nod as if he, too, understood the danger to his daughter.

It stung that she didn’t look in his direction, but it was possible she still believed he’d bedded Arabella; he’d see to it that she knew the truth once he had her safe.

“Then your fight is with him. Not a wee lass,” the Murray called.

Three men jumped down from their horses and hurried up beside Lachlan. All had swords drawn, and he knew immediately they were her brothers. The older two had her raven’s hair, but it was straight, and the younger brother could have been Maggie’s twin, with black curls and deep blue eyes.

“Put down the dirk, Conall,” Lachlan ordered.

“Destroy the letter. Destroy it, or I will slit her throat.” He’d seen that unstable look of desperation in men’s eyes on the battlefield—it’s what led men to make mistakes. He had to get Maggie out of his arms.

“Ye can have the letter, but ye cannae have Maggie.” He held out the parchment, stepped forward, and placed it on the ground, then backed a few paces. Hopefully, in the process of moving toward it, Conall would ease his grip on her.

“Hamish,” ordered Conall. “Take her. If he tries anything, kill her.”

The man who had walked Maggie out of the woods sidled up and took her arm, but his movements lacked conviction—he didn’t have the look of a man who could kill an innocent lass, especially in front of her father. Conall’s mistake had been to let go of Maggie. She was safe now. Alan, Malcolm, and Brodie would keep their eyes on her as he fought Conall. No harm would come to her. Lachlan’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

Conall strode forward, bent, and snatched up the letter. He inspected it and hunched backward, not taking his eyes off Lachlan. “Stay back. We will release her when we are out of sight.”

The youngest of Maggie’s brothers almost rushed him, but another held on to him.

Lachlan flexed his fingers, ready to grab hold on the hilt and slide out his own weapon. “Ye ken I cannae let ye do that. Let her go now or be prepared to draw yer sword.

“Halt,” Lachlan yelled at Hamish, who had started to move Maggie toward the crazy bastard. The man obeyed, and he turned his focus on Conall. “Ye will never touch her again,” he warned with dead calm. “Draw yer weapon or surrender now.”

…

Maggie watched with horror as Conall drew his rapier and faced Lachlan. She’d heard tales of his prowess with a sword—they had not been exaggerated. Although she had seen Lachlan wield his claymore in two battles, she was terrified for him.

As Lachlan was much larger, he would have the more powerful blows, but Conall would have more agility.

Lachlan unsheathed his claymore with a slow, deliberate ease, which reminded her of a perfected synchronized dance. It was beautiful and deadly.

She spared a glance for her family. They had appeared from nowhere, and she was surprised at how grateful she was to see them. Her brothers looked as if they wanted to pounce on Conall, and her father stared at him with murder in his eyes. Thank the saints, he would believe her now about her betrothed’s cruelty.

Conall swung first. He rolled the thin rapier right to left, but Lachlan deftly evaded the move. He swung again in the opposite direction with no results then attacked several more times, and with each thrust, Lachlan sidestepped the blade.

Watching Lachlan evade the moves was like listening to poetry, smooth and comfortable. He had a grace to him she’d never expected; his large size didn’t hamper his ability to move effortlessly from one place to another. It was as if he’d been born for this. He’d not made a move toward Conall, who was already panting and struggling to keep his pace.

Stepping forward, Lachlan took a swing of his own. A killing blow. Although Conall was able to block it with his sword, it knocked him off balance. He stumbled but recovered almost as quickly.

“I’m going to bed her every night after you’re dead.” Conall lashed out with a verbal assault, likely an attempt to divert Lachlan’s attention and weaken him, and she prayed the devil’s tongue would not affect him.

With ease, Lachlan pivoted to avoid the blow, but she flinched with each new attack.

Conall huffed out, “I’ll have her screaming my name.” Her breath caught on the threat, but his panting proved he was becoming weak.

Lachlan did not take the bait and stayed deadly calm.

“She’ll carry my bairns, not yours.” Conall swiped and missed again. When Lachlan came down with another blow, Conall blocked it, but Lachlan followed through. The clash of blades forced Conall’s arms into an awkward position. He growled in pain then aimed for Lachlan’s midsection, only missing by a hair when Lachlan jumped back.

…

Taunts during battle normally did not rile Lachlan, but damn if Conall wasn’t getting to him. It was Maggie.

While the two circled each other catching their breaths, he remembered telling Alan he would never fight for a woman. He had been wrong. If he had to, he would fight every day for the rest of his life to keep her.

“Ye’ll never touch her again, Conall.” He couldn’t stop himself after the man’s insults; he was getting too emotional. A deep breath calmed him.

He lunged, his claymore coming down just to Conall’s left, but the arse dodged the blow and came around to catch Lachlan in the back. Before the rapier could connect, he leaped out of range.

This time he waited.
Be patient.
Lachlan closed his ears to any other taunts from Conall’s treacherous lips and focused as the bastard continued to charge at him without success.

Once the man became winded, Lachlan struck hard and fast. His blade swooped down and skimmed his arm. Blood spurted from Conall’s shoulder, and his arm went limp while he screamed in pain. “Enough. You win.” And he feebly tossed his sword. “I give. You can have her.”

Surprised, Lachlan lowered his claymore to his side but kept it at the ready. He’d expected Conall to fight to the death. Still, the man had surrendered, and despite the urge to raise his sword and take off Conall’s head, he held still.