Highland Conquest Page 20

  “What makes you think you’re going to heaven?” Callum asked.

  “Because an angel asked me to marry her.”

  Callum snorted. “Amber’s many wonderful things, but I doona think angel is one of them.”

  “Aye, she is. A warrior angel.”

  Gregor approached with Darach, who looked about as relaxed and content as Lachlan had ever seen him. Caitlin’s doing, no doubt. Both men were peering up and discussing something as they turned in a circle and assessed the other trees. Darach pointed upward, and Gregor nodded.

  “Do you think they’ve actually seen something? Or are they pretending to make us look like idiots?” Callum asked.

  “They’re not pretending. You already are an idiot.”

  “Says the laird who canna stay out of closets in his own keep.”

  Lachlan couldn’t help smiling—idiotically. He remembered how close he’d come to tasting Amber before Callum had interrupted them yesterday, and he scowled. “Your timing leaves much to be desired.”

  Callum grinned, but a serious light had entered his eyes. “Doona diminish her place in the clan by tupping her in a closet, Lachlan. She’ll be your wife soon. Do her the honor of waiting.”

  Lachlan wanted to minimize Callum’s words with a joke, but he had a sick feeling his foster brother was right. He nodded. Once.

  After clearing his throat, he yelled out to Gregor, “What’s going on? What do you see?”

  “A brilliant and deadly mind at work. Which will be Murray’s undoing. He’ll have to stay close to see his plan bear fruit. I’d say he was here watching until just a few minutes ago.”

  Lachlan whipped his head around. “Where?”

  “Near the river, most likely. We’ll search in that direction for another hiding place.”

  “We should go right now!”

  “Nay, Lachlan, doona move. He’s gone, and he’s too smart and prepared for us to catch him that way. The best we can do now is put pressure on him and wait for his next move.”

  “That’s not good enough. He’ll kill Amber this time.”

  Both Darach and Gregor looked over, their eyes piercing him with their intensity. They must have heard something in his voice.

  “Who. Is. Amber?” Gregor asked.

  Lachlan smiled, sure it was the same idiotic smile he’d given Callum earlier. “She’s the MacPherson healer and the most aggravating woman I’ve e’er met. I’m going to marry her.” Then he drew his arrow, said “duck,” to Callum, and shot into a tied knot he recognized high up in the trees. He and Callum fell to the forest floor and crawled away just as a branch swept over their heads and a hail of thorns rained down.

  Gregor approached and picked one up, grimacing as he smelled the tip. “Poison. ’Tis good to see you both alive.”

  Fifteen

  “How did this happen?” Darach asked Lachlan later that night as all the foster brothers and Gregor sat around the campfire roasting freshly caught rabbits and frying oatcakes on the griddle. An owl hooted in the distance, and stars shone brightly in the black sky. “You were the last one of us I thought would marry.”

  Lachlan pulled his spit toward him and tore a leg off his rabbit, cursing as the hot flesh burned his fingertips. “How can you even ask me that after you married Caitlin?”

  “Caitlin is an exception. I had to marry her.” Darach looked at him like he was addled.

  “Spoken like a man in love. Well, my Amber is exceptional too.”

  “Verily? Is she sweet and kind like Caitlin?”

  Callum laughed and bit into his apple. “I wouldnae call her sweet, exactly.”

  “She’s better than sweet, she’s conniving,” Lachlan said.

  “Conniving?” Gavin MacKinnon, laird of Clan MacKinnon, sat up from where he’d been lounging against a fallen tree. He was as tall and fair as his Norse ancestors, with white-blond hair he’d recently cut even shorter than Callum’s. It looked worse than Amber’s hatchet job on her hair, even scraping his scalp in places, a far cry from the long locks he’d worn most of his life. Gavin had always been the bonniest of them all, with a fun, joyous spirit, but life, death, and the disappearance of his son had drained that spark away.

  It hurt Lachlan to see the grim-faced man seated across from him.

  “Cristel was conniving too, Brother,” Gavin continued. “Are you sure you want that trait in a wife? If I’d known who Cristel was behind her bonnie hair and eyes, I would ne’er have married her.”

  “Aye, you would have,” Gregor said, flipping some oatcakes on the griddle, “or you wouldnae have had Ewan. Even if it was only for a short time.”

  Gavin leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. “You’re right. The last five years will all be worth it when I find him.”

  “Any new leads?” Callum asked. They all thought Ewan must have died when his mother did at last year’s summer festival, but for Gavin’s sake, they supported him in his search.

  “Nay. But something will turn up. If Ewan had died, we would have found his body. None had been burned by the time I arrived. Someone took him—maybe before the illness hit. Cristel wouldnae have noticed nor cared that he was missing.” Rage burned in his eyes, and his jaw had clenched tight.

  Laird Kerr MacAlister, the oldest and possibly deadliest of the brothers, his hair and eyes as dark as Gavin’s were fair, and even bigger than Gregor, squeezed Gavin’s shoulder. “If Ewan is out there, Brother, we’ll find him.”

  He leaned forward and grabbed an oatcake off the griddle with his fingers. After tossing it on a plate, he handed it to Gavin, then got one for himself. “Isobel is conniving too, Lachlan. She’s constantly coming up with ways to thwart and annoy me. The last thing she said before we left was that she planned to cut her hair as short as Gavin’s in solidarity with her brother. I told her I’d marry her anyway and make her wear a straw wig.”

  The men all laughed, even Gavin, who said, “Good luck. I wouldnae be surprised if she marries someone else by the time we get home, just to spite you.”

  Kerr’s eyes darkened. “Then I shall be committing murder.” He said it quietly, and Lachlan knew he meant it. No one would come between him and Isobel, not even Isobel’s mother, who had made a death-bed request of Gavin that Isobel be allowed to choose her own husband.

  “’Tis her choice, Brother,” Gavin said with a shrug. Kerr just grunted.

  “Amber’s hair is short too,” Lachlan said. “As short as mine. I like it. ’Tis easier to kiss her neck. And often it’s sticking out in places because she’s been pushing bloody hands through it—and she curses like a warrior too. Especially when she’s working and it’s a difficult procedure. You should have heard her curse my cock. She said it would fall off if I didn’t let her up from her sickbed.”

  “God’s blood! Doona introduce her to Isobel,” Kerr said, looking horrified.

  “She sounds…lovely,” Darach added.

  Lachlan grinned. “She is. Although when I first met her, I thought she was a lad. She’d just hacked off her hair, and her face was covered in mud. And she wore a plaid, of course.”

  “Good lord, what happened?” Gregor asked.

  Lachlan told them the story, relishing their responses, and he was so proud of Amber—her determination, compassion, and bravery—he thought he might burst.

  Silence reigned for a moment when he finished, then Callum said, “And he’s been obsessed with her e’er since, just like Murray and all the other men in her clan.”

  Lachlan felt heat steal up his neck. “Except she’s marrying me.” He tossed the bone from the rabbit into the fire and looked at Kerr. “And I didn’t do it by wooing her, Brother. You need a plan.”

  Callum snorted. “A lot of good your plan did. You caught her because of Niall.”

  “Well, either way, she’s mine now. Or she will be as soon as Father Lundie
gets here.” He looked at Darach, “When will that be?”

  “He’s coming with the wagons. A few days at least.” Darach leaned closer. “You’re flushed,” he said, amazement in his voice. “Are you in love with her, then?”

  The wee hairs on Lachlan’s body stood up as his breathing stuttered. All the men had stopped what they were doing and stared at him. He rubbed his palm across the back of his neck. “Nay, I’m not in love with her…whate’er that means. I’m happy because I’m marrying a woman who willna simper or scold, and whom I’ll still like and respect in forty years.”

  Callum lifted his brow. “Are we talking about the same woman? Amber lives to give orders. She’ll scold you to hell and back.”

  Lachlan smiled. Aye, she did like to give orders. He was looking forward to her giving some in their bedchamber. “We’ll sort that out. She can give orders to do with the healing, and I can give orders on everything else.”

  Callum put his head down and laughed.

  Gregor joined him. Then he sighed. “My Kellie liked to give orders too. Right up to the verra end. She said, ‘You doona waste your life grieving me, Gregor MacLeod. I’ll be waiting for you in heaven with our wee lasses when you die, and I expect to hear you’ve done everything you can to make the Highlands a safer place.’” His voice had thickened, and he had to clear it before he carried on. “I hope I’ve succeeded and they’ll be proud of me when I see them again.”

  Gregor’s words and the emotion in his voice hit Lachlan hard. It hit them all hard. Gavin too, even though he didn’t intend to e’er marry again. The rest knew their wives, or wives-to-be, could be so easily taken from them—as Kellie had been taken from Gregor.

  And Amber could be taken from him.

  He found himself rubbing his palm over his body again, but this time over his heart. “She is proud of you, Gregor. We all are. And grateful too. I can only hope to make Amber half as proud.”

  * * *

  “If I close my arms over you from behind, like this, what’s your next move?” Amber stood with Adaira in the middle of the girl’s bedchamber and tightened her in her embrace. They’d progressed with their training as soon as Amber was up and Adaira was well enough for physical fighting. “And doona hurt me this time; just show me slowly and tell me.”

  Amber resisted the urge to block her face or pull back her feet from Adaira’s striking heels. The girl had a remarkable talent for hand-to-hand combat, and she was fast.

  “I can smash your nose again with my head.”

  “Good, what else?”

  “I can drill my heel into the top of your foot.”

  “Aye, what else?”

  Adaira braced in Amber’s arms, thinking. Amber could feel that she wanted to struggle, but she resisted the impulse. Amber tightened her arms for good measure. “Your attacker is stronger than you, but he or she has weak spots. What’s another vulnerable spot they’ve placed in front of your body?”

  “Fingers!” Adaira yelled excitedly as she reached for Amber’s hands.

  “Gently,” Amber warned, trying not to pull away. “What can you do to them?”

  “I can pull them apart.”

  Adaira wrenched Amber’s fingers in opposite directions. Most likely she thought she was being gentle, but it still hurt, and Amber let her go.

  “And then once they’ve released you, what do you do?”

  “I grab my knife and stab you.” The lass snatched up a spoon from the bedside table and jabbed it at Amber, who easily knocked the utensil away, spun the girl around, and grabbed her from behind again.

  “Nay! You do not fight. You run.”

  “But I’m a good fighter!”

  “Not against big, strong men who’ve been practicing for years longer than you have. Not even against me. Now you’re trapped again. Tell me one more thing you can do.”

  Adaira stomped her foot. Not to get away this time, but in frustration. “I doona know.”

  “Aye, you do. Use your last weapon against me, Adaira.”

  “But I doona have any more weapons.”

  “You do. One more. How can you make me work harder?”

  Adaira stilled, then suddenly she dropped to the ground. “My weight, You said my weight was a weapon!”

  “Aye, good for you, lass!”

  Amber didn’t tell her that she barely weighed a thing, and dropping to the ground probably wouldn’t slow down a strong man. But if she trained her muscles and was ever attacked in the future when she was a grown woman, her dead weight would be much harder for an attacker to handle.

  After slowly letting go so Adaira didn’t bang herself on the floor, Amber moved to the bed and sat down, holding her sore arm close to her body. “Maybe next time we can get Lachlan to help us. Then you can see just how strong a man can be and why it’s important to run when you have the chance. If he catches you, he may hurt you and…”

  Adaira flopped beside her on the bed, also looking worn out. “And what?”

  Amber closed her mouth. She’d been about to say “rape you,” but the thought of Adaira being hurt in that way was too awful to consider. And the lass didn’t need to know yet that such atrocities existed.

  “’Tis naught, lass. ‘Hurt you’ covers everything, wouldnae you say?”

  “I suppose. Although you could say stab you, or gut you, or drag you behind your horse.”

  Amber flopped back beside her on the bed and crossed her forearm over her eyes, trying not to laugh. The girl was downright grisly. It would serve Lachlan right if she taught Adaira some of her bloodiest curses.

  A sharp knock at the door was all the warning they received before Niall pushed into the room. He looked harassed, and his eyes darted toward her a wee bit wildly.

  “Our laird has asked for you. He’s here with the others and Gregor MacLeod.” Niall said “Gregor MacLeod” like he had just mentioned one of the saints, and Amber had the urge to cross herself.

  “What does he want?” she asked.

  Angry color flushed up Niall’s neck, and he stomped toward her. “It doesn’t matter what he wants. He is our laird and about to be your husband.”

  Amber yawned and pulled the quilt from the bed over her body.

  Adaira giggled and jumped up. “I’ll go see. Gregor always brings me a treat, and Kerr lets me stand on his shoulders. I’m as tall as a giant!” she yelled as she ran from the room.

  Amber closed her eyes. She really was tired and sore, and she didn’t feel like pretending to be someone she wasn’t in order to impress Lachlan’s family.

  She wanted to be herself. Whoever that was right now.

  She sensed Niall standing over her and sighed. “Tell him I’m not feeling well, and I’ll come down when I’m ready.”

  Niall pulled the quilt away. “Nay, you’ll come now. Amber, this is important to him. He wants you to meet his family. He’s proud of you.”

  “Proud of me?”

  “Aye.”

  “But…”

  “But what?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly a prize, now am I?”

  Niall’s eyebrows rose. “How can you say that? Nineteen men, including Laird MacKay, stood in your cottage last week wanting to marry you.”

  She waved her hand. “Silly lads who only love me for my bonnie eyes and hair—which was not my doing, but God’s.”

  Niall sat down with a sigh, and Amber rolled toward him.

  “Och, lass. Doona you know anything? Our laird wants you for more than just your eyes and hair. He’s enamored with your bosom too.”

  She laughed, and Niall joined in. When their amusement faded, he took her hand in his. “Just be yourself, lass. They seem like fine men, and they love Lachlan like a brother and son. They’ll be happy as long as he’s happy.”

  “Is he happy, Niall?”

  “Aye, he is. Are
you?”

  She rolled onto her back again and pulled the quilt over her head. She wasn’t unhappy. She was more befuddled than anything else. None of it seemed real, and she still might end up running away at the last minute. “I doona know.”

  He patted her through the quilt. “You’re the bravest lass I know, Amber, but you’re also a wee bit daft and a lot stubborn. Trust me when I say Lachlan MacKay is the right choice for you. Go out there and meet his family and be yourself. Our laird wouldnae want you any other way.”

  Be herself.

  Amber pushed the cover back and sat up. Her hair was sticking out in different directions, and she ran her hands through it. When she couldn’t find her ribbon, the third one she’d lost from the packet Lachlan had given her, she tucked the strands behind her ears and stood up.

  After shaking out her skirts she smoothed and straightened her dress. “All right. I’ll go be myself. Really, how hard can it be?”

  * * *

  Amber stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down into the great hall. A nervous flutter like a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence in her belly. The men—all big, strong, braw-looking warriors, including Gregor, whose hair and beard were streaked with grey—sat in front of the hearth drinking ale.

  All except a huge, dark-haired man who must be Kerr. He walked back and forth in the hall, his hands wrapped around Adaira’s legs. She stood on his shoulders, swinging her arms wildly and pretending to be a giant.

  “Amber!” Adaira cried out when she saw her.

  The men all looked up in her direction, smiles on their faces. Gregor actually rubbed his hands together while Lachlan rose and pulled up another chair beside him. “Come join us,” he said.

  “Is it safe?” she asked as she walked down the stairs that rose against the wall. She kept away from the edge out of habit, as there wasn’t a railing. “I doona want to be eaten.”

  “Go get her,” Adaira told Kerr, then said, “I’m hungry!” in her best giant voice. Kerr stomped as directed toward Amber. “Human woman tastes good!”

  Amber couldn’t help it and lifted her gaze to Lachlan, who’d also wanted a taste of her a few days ago… His cocky grin told her he’d thought the same thing.