Highland Captive Read online

  “Nay, that’s not it. When he calls for you at night, I doona want you coming into the hall. ’Tis not safe. Stay in your room, open the door wide enough to let him in and no further, and then bar it behind you both. I willna always be there to protect you should something happen. I’ll be on patrol some nights or even away for months at a time. What if…”

  Her eyes widened. “What if what?”

  “Castle MacKinnon is large, Deirdre, and I want to think it’s safe. But I’ve seen too many instances in my brothers’ keeps where their wives were put in danger because of treacherous or deluded men…and women. Barring your door and staying inside your chamber at night is the best way to keep safe.”

  She wanted to say, but I’m not your wife. Just to be able to say the words your wife—and to look in his eyes as she said them. Instead, she said, “Well, what about Ewan when he comes to my chamber at night?”

  Her imagination began to run wild as she thought about who might be lurking in the shadows.

  “I’ve thought about that, and I’m going to put some guards in the upper stories. Which is why you should also stay in your room when you’re not…covered.”

  “Oh. You mean in my shift. I’m sorry, it willna happen again. I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”

  “Deirdre, I wasn’t offended. Not in the least, believe me.”

  There was something in his tone, a nuance she didn’t understand. He was saying something more than just the words.

  He turned forward and clenched his jaw. “I wouldnae want anyone else in the hallway—a guard, a guest, or someone more sinister—to see you and think ’twas their right to take advantage. If that e’er happened, there would be blood to pay.”

  A chill shivered up her spine at the same time as warmth bloomed in her chest. Is this what it felt like to have a man care for you? Protect you? Her husband certainly wasn’t that man. She’d hardly ever seen him draw a sword, let alone use one. And her father barely seemed to know his youngest daughter existed.

  As for her brother—well, he was another story entirely.

  She decided that she liked it—the feeling of someone caring enough about her to protect her, someone strong enough to take down her enemies.

  It proved that she had value. If not to her family, then at least to Gavin MacKinnon.

  “Does that shock you?” he asked. “That at my heart I’m a primitive man. Maybe even part beast?”

  “Ne’er a beast, Gavin MacKinnon. A man who dispenses justice.”

  “And how will you feel, Deirdre, when the justice I dispense is a sword in the belly of your father, or your brother. Maybe even your husband?”

  She didn’t answer right away, choosing her words carefully. “All I ask is that you doona kill anyone without proof or provocation. For their sake, but also for yours. I shall make it clear to my family that I willna leave Ewan’s side, and Ewan is staying here. If they come for me or for our son, I pray you’ll protect us both.”

  Twelve

  Deirdre tried to quell her panic as the villagers swarmed around their horses. Surely someone would bump the mare or step on her hoof or something, and she would take off like a startled rabbit across the town square—with Deirdre still on top.

  Gavin sat astride his mount, gathering the lead attached to Horsey, who was resisting being dragged closer. “Stay calm, Deirdre,” he said, sounding unconcerned, “and keep your feet in the stirrups. The mare willna run unless Thor does, and I am in control of Thor.”

  Gavin wasn’t even looking at her, but it was like he could see what was happening. She jammed her feet back in the bloody stirrups.

  “I canna see Ewan!” She strained to look around Thor.

  “I have him.” Gavin lifted a smiling Ewan into his arms. “Say hello to your mother, Son.”

  “Mama!” Ewan shouted excitedly to her over Gavin’s shoulder. “Did you see me? I rided Horsey all the way here.”

  “Aye, you rode well, Ewan. Such a brave, strong lad. And you only fell off twice.”

  “I didn’t fall. The first time I was knocked off by a huge warrior with a sword just like Da’s. But Horsey kicked him and knocked the blackheart down, so I could stick my sword in him.”

  He looked at her expectantly, his smile huge and eyes excited. Deirdre swallowed and forced herself to smile back. “And the second time? What happened then?”

  “There was a giant, and he lifted a tree and throwed it at me.”

  She liked this story much better. Her smile turned into a grin. “He threw it at you? What did you do next?”

  “He ran at me. And I was scared, but then Horsey got in front of him and tripped him. And then when he was down on the ground I sticked my sword in him.” Ewan lifted his hand and made stabbing motions and sounds with his imaginary sword.

  Her smile drooped. She caught Gavin’s gaze and could see he’d bit his lip to keep from laughing.

  “Stuck, Ewan,” he said. “You stuck your sword in him.”

  Ewan did the stabbing motion again. “I stuck my sword in him again and again.”

  Deirdre nodded, feeling a wee bit faint. It had been a trying ride from the castle, and learning her son had spent the entire time imagining himself and Horsey stabbing other living things—multiple times, no less—hadn’t made her feel any better.

  The mare lurched forward without warning as Thor began to move, and Deirdre let out a wee shriek.

  “Put your feet in the stirrups, Mama!” Ewan yelled.

  Bloody hell! How had they gotten out? She jabbed with her feet but kept missing, and when the mare nickered and tossed her head, Deirdre froze and began to tip sideways.

  “She’s falling!” Ewan yelled again.

  The horse stopped suddenly, and Gavin’s hand reached out to steady her, but she was done. She’d had about as much of this as she could take. She was getting down.

  Grasping his arm with both hands, Deirdre slid from the mare. But now that she was on the ground, pressed between the big bodies of the two huge horses, she wished she was on top again. Fear tightened her throat until she could barely breathe.

  “God almighty!” Gavin exclaimed. He shifted Thor away from her, but the mare sidestepped to get closer to the stallion again, almost knocking Deirdre over. The only thing that kept her upright was Gavin’s hand wrapped around her forearm. She looked up and saw him straining to keep her from falling while keeping himself and Ewan seated on Thor.

  What if Ewan falls down here?

  “Let me go!” she said, eyes wide with fright.

  “Nay. You’re not going anywhere, Deirdre.” He whistled, and a huge MacKinnon warrior that she recognized from before was suddenly beside her. He slapped the mare on the rump, and she skittered away. “Artair, lift her up,” Gavin said to him, “but stay down there in case she slides off again.”

  “Aye, Laird.”

  “Nay,” Deirdre said. “I doona want to come up. I’m happy down here now that I’m not being crushed to death.”

  Gavin sighed. He swung his leg over the saddle and easily jumped down beside her. Ewan whooped with delight when Gavin lifted him off the horse and sat Ewan on his shoulders.

  “Ruith! Ruith!” he commanded his new mount.

  Gavin ignored him and handed the reins to Artair. The other warrior took both horses and the pony and led them away.

  “Where are they going?” Ewan asked.

  “To have a drink. Something I think your mother could use right about now as well.” He held Ewan’s feet in one hand and grasped Deirdre’s hand in the other—and didn’t let go as the growing crowd surged around them.

  “Laird!” people called out. And, “Look, there’s Ewan!”

  Happy, excited faces smiled and pointed at her son, who looked excited but also confused—and more than a wee bit overwhelmed.

  Aye, she understood that feeling.
/>   Gavin shook hands and kissed cheeks and even kneeled in front of one ten-year-old lass who sobbed while she stared up at Ewan. Another huge man with a bushy beard stood behind her, his cheeks wet and his hands on her shoulders. From his muscular chest and arms and the leather apron he wore, Deirdre guessed he was the MacKinnon blacksmith.

  Gavin gently wiped the girl’s tears. “’Tis alright, Rhona. Ewan is back safe and sound. And look how big he’s gotten. He can talk now and ride a pony. The two of you will be up to mischief in no time.”

  Rhona reached her arms up to her friend, still crying, and Ewan leaned forward into her embrace. He patted her back. “’Tis alright,” he said, repeating Gavin’s words. “You’ll be better in no time. ’Tis alright. I’m right here.” He obviously didn’t understand what was going on or why the girl was crying, so he continued with the words Deirdre usually said to soothe him when he was hurt or upset.

  She felt her own tears well up—in empathy for the young lass who must have been an older playmate before Ewan was taken, but also pride in her son who’d responded so lovingly to the girl’s need for comfort.

  The lass stepped back after a few moments, and Gavin rose and walked toward a wagon at the side of the square. He lifted Ewan in first, helped Deirdre up, then climbed up beside them and faced the crowd. Many of them had raised their arms in the air and were cheering. Some were singing a song that sounded like one she’d heard growing up, but some of the words were different.

  A song of victory.

  She suddenly felt awkward standing on display beside their laird. It wasn’t like she was a MacKinnon. Nay, she was a MacIntyre, and a MacColl before that, two clans who might have been involved in Ewan’s kidnapping. And if they had been, if it was her father or her husband who had done such a thing, she would never speak to them again. Ewan could have been killed!

  Cutting all ties with her father wouldn’t be a hardship. She hadn’t spoken to him since the day he sent her away to marry Laird MacIntyre’s son—and hardly ever before that. He hadn’t even come to the wedding.

  Her husband, however, was another matter entirely. Lewis MacIntyre was a companion and a friend, but he certainly didn’t feel, or act, like a husband. He hadn’t known what to do with a fifteen-year-old bride and had thankfully been patient, thoughtful, and gentle with her. Unfortunately, Lewis had also been gone more than he was there, and their marriage had never had a chance to bloom into anything past friendship.

  She’d dreamed of passion and listened in on some of the other young lasses talking about it at her keep, but until she’d met Gavin—felt the heat of his gaze on her and the quickening of her blood—she’d never once experienced desire for another person.

  And now, here she was. By his side and raising his son. And still married to Lewis.

  Gavin lifted his arm and the crowd quieted. Ewan must have felt discomfited as well and he clung to her legs, his face buried in her skirts, his arms wrapped around her thighs. She idly ran her hand over his hair in soothing strokes, letting her own hair fall forward like a shield. A reflex for her, she realized. A way to hide, hoping no one would see her.

  Nay, she was here to stay. She was Ewan’s mother, and Gavin’s clan had to accept that. They had to accept her.

  Raising her chin, she let her hair fall back. Gavin glanced sideways and met her eyes. He smiled encouragingly before he turned back to his clan.

  “We have been blessed this past week to have a member of our family returned to us,” he said. “My son, Ewan Ailbeart Gregor MacKinnon—named after my father, our late laird, Ailbeart MacKinnon, and my foster father, the great Laird Gregor MacLeod—has finally come home. After two and a half years, my worries for his safety and his well-being have been put to rest.”

  The crowd cheered again, and Ewan buried his head deeper to cover his ears.

  “I canna tell you how happy I am to hold my young lad again, to play with him, and even watch him sleep—aye, I’ve been doing a lot of that.” The crowd laughed quietly with understanding. “And I’m even happier that he is a loving, carefree, and fearless lad.” They laughed louder at that as Ewan had yet to take his face out of Deirdre’s skirts. She rubbed her hand over his hair again, and he stuck his tongue out quickly at the crowd before hiding again. That had them hooting with laughter.

  “I owe my son’s happiness and well-being to this woman—Deirdre MacIntyre, youngest daughter of Laird MacColl.” Gavin rested his hand on her back between her shoulder blades. “She is Ewan’s mother.”

  The crowd quieted and then started buzzing as people began whispering to one another.

  Gavin raised his other hand. “Listen. Please. Two and a half years ago, Deirdre was given my son not knowing who he was. All she was told was that the boy’s mother had died, and she was to be his new mother. I doona know what would have happened to him if this had not occurred, where he would have ended up, or how he would have been treated otherwise. Ewan survived his kidnapping as a happy, well-loved lad because of her, and she has my eternal gratitude. I hope she has the clan’s gratitude too. I have offered her a home here, and she will continue to raise Ewan and be a good friend to me, to Isobel, and to all of you.”

  “And she’s my cousin!” Kerr shouted out from the back of the crowd.

  Deirdre scanned the throng of people and found the huge, dark-haired man leaning against the doorway to the baker’s establishment, a wide grin on his face and a bun in his hand. He raised his other hand in greeting when their eyes met, and she smiled. “Look, Ewan,” she said. “There’s Uncle Kerr.”

  Ewan looked out. When his gaze found Kerr’s, the man made a face at him, which Ewan copied. When Kerr danced a wee jig, Ewan did too—much to the crowd’s amusement—before he hid his face in Deirdre’s skirts again.

  “Is she married?” Someone—it sounded like a young man—shouted from the crowd. “A lovely lass,” someone else said, and Deirdre felt her cheeks flame. She held on tighter to Ewan, her life buoy now. Gavin kept his hand on her back, his thumb rubbing soothingly on her neck under her hair, but she also sensed tension in him.

  Gavin raised his other hand again, and the voices quieted. “Deirdre is married, to Lewis MacIntyre, son of Laird MacIntyre, but she’s chosen to stay with her son—the child of her heart. There is much we doona know about Ewan’s kidnapping that we’re hoping to uncover in the coming days and weeks. Much we need to understand before we act.”

  He crouched beside Ewan and held his hand out to him. Ewan went willingly, and Gavin straightened with his son in his arms. “What we do know is that Deirdre is Ewan’s mother now. She’s staying at Clan MacKinnon and will help raise him. When we know who kidnapped Ewan and why, we will be going to war with them with all the might of our allies behind us. Those who dared attack us—by attacking my son—will live to regret it.”

  * * *

  Deirdre’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Everyone had been so lovely to her, from the miller, his wife, and their three sons, to the tanner, his wife, and their three daughters. The blacksmith named Bruce, who was a widower, and Rhona, his only child. The weaver named Ailig, who’d been married thrice and had borne no children at all. All the farmers, tinkers, tanners, bakers, warriors, and weavers thanked her, squeezed her hand or her cheeks, or pulled her into an embrace.

  Everyone, that is, except O’Rourke, the master builder. She’d spotted him three times. Once when she was atop the wagon and he’d directed a most sour look at her, and then once when she’d been amongst the crowd.

  The third time, she’d chased him down as soon as she could, lifting her chin. She was determined to get those measurements and better understand the problems she’d seen with the cathedral. “Master O’Rourke! Good day, sir. Such a fine morning. Are you well?”

  She placed her hand lightly on his arm so he would turn to face her. He did. Slowly.

  “Aye, Lady MacIntyre. I’m well. Busy as always. The
cathedral is such a large project to be away from for long.”

  She smiled at him, pleased he’d brought up the subject. “It is a large project. I was wondering if we could find a time to talk about it. I noticed that—”

  He turned away from her sharply, and when he faced her again, his hand gripped another man’s arm. “Lady MacIntyre, have you met the clan’s teacher? Master Royce MacKinnon. I understand he’s recently returned from Edinburgh. He visited the great cathedral there and the one in Glasgow too.”

  Her eyebrows rose as excitement filled her. “Good day, Master Royce. Maybe someday you’ll teach my son, and you can tell him all about Saint Giles’ and Saint Mungo’s. I canna imagine how grand they must be in person. I’ve seen them in drawings, but I’ve ne’er—”

  In the few moments her attention had been centered on the teacher, the master builder slipped back into the crowd. All she saw was his shoulder disappearing behind two large men who looked like laborers.

  “Master O’Rourke!” she called after him.

  “A strange fellow, that one,” the teacher said. “This is the first time he’s expressed any interest in my time spent exploring the great cathedrals. I was hoping to sit down with him and have a good discussion about the mechanics of the construction.”

  “Aye, me too. And that is odd. I thought perhaps he didn’t want to speak to me because I was a woman, but it appears that is not the case.”

  “Nay, Lady Deirdre. ’Tis not the case at all.”

  She found O’Rourke again after much searching and called his name, but he hurried away in the opposite direction as if he hadn’t heard her.

  Obviously, he was avoiding her, which was both frustrating and worrying. Gavin had made her his liaison for the cathedral, and she wanted those proper measurements. Hard to get if O’Rourke refused to help! She scowled to herself.