Highland Captive Page 24

  What a wonderful, freeing experience that had been for her…but it was never the same when her family was there.

  Which of course made her realize, as she tapped her toes, listening to the music and longing to be a part of the revelry downstairs with Gavin and the others, that her family wasn’t actually here. She’d allowed them in only by believing what they’d said about her.

  So Deirdre’d crept back downstairs, sitting first on the top stair, then halfway down, then finally making it all the way into the great hall and sitting on the bench nearest to the stairwell.

  And she’d been enjoying herself until Gavin came bearing down on her. Now her stomach dipped and her heart beat madly in her chest. She would have darted back upstairs but she felt frozen in place, almost as if he held her there with his eyes, ordering her to stay still and not move a muscle.

  She wanted to melt into the stone wall and disappear, and she found herself slumping down as though to make herself invisible. He stopped in front of her, eyes intent on her face. Then he held his hand out to her, palm up. She looked at it like he held a swarming wasp nest and shook her head emphatically. No.

  He didn’t step back, he didn’t put his hand down; he just continued to stare at her and wait.

  “I canna dance,” she blurted out. “I willna dance, and you canna make me.” When he didn’t move, she said, “Oh, Gavin, please. Just go away.”

  “I’ll help you,” he said. “You can lean against me like you did on Thor, and I’ll lead you through the dance.”

  “I’ll step on you, or I’ll fall down.”

  “Your feet are tiny, and I’ll catch you. Trust me, Deirdre.”

  “Nay,” she wailed, but she put her fingers in his grasp anyway and allowed him to pull her up into his arms. She rested there for a moment, her body pressed to his, trying to absorb some of his strength.

  “What are you afraid of, love?” he asked.

  She stared at the hollow in his throat, her thoughts chaotic, her emotions running wild—like they’d been doing every day since he’d captured her. It was overwhelming. She didn’t want to have to face down one more thing.

  “Am I your captive?” she asked.

  “Nay, of course not.” He tilted her chin up, his brow furrowed with concern. “What made you ask that?”

  “Sometimes I think it would be easier if I were. Then I wouldnae have to think about all the things I could or couldnae do, all the choices. I’d just do as you wanted. It was easy with Ewan, locked away in my own little castle.” Her arms slipped around his waist. “This is hard,” she whispered.

  He raised his hand, brushed his fingers down the side of her face. “Dance with me, Deirdre. I willna let you fall. Ever.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Aye, love. So am I.”

  They weren’t talking about a Highland reel anymore. “I doona want to dance down here. I doona want people to see me.” She leaned the side of her face into his palm and closed her eyes. “Come upstairs with me?”

  He stilled, like a great hunting cat. Several moments passed, and he pressed her cheek to his chest. She could hear his heart pounding, feel the quick rise and fall of his lungs. She turned her head and kissed him through his linen léine.

  “Ewan…” he said, his breath gusting past his lips.

  “Has Annag to take care of him.” She kissed him again. “Capture me, Gavin.”

  She knew the moment he decided. His arm tightened around her, his hand pressed more firmly against the side of her head. Not hurting her, just…making a decision for the both of them.

  She sighed, became softer, more malleable. And everything about him hardened even further, which didn’t seem possible. She knew he would take her tonight. Because she was his.

  Gavin MacKinnon had captured her.

  He turned her toward the stairs, his arm stealing all the way around her shoulders. They’d just mounted the first step when a voice stopped them.

  “Gavin,” Kerr said, his voice firm.

  Gavin stiffened, and his arm tightened around her. He turned his face toward her and looked over his shoulder at his foster brother. She ne’er looked back. She didn’t want to see the condemnation in her cousin’s eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “You may want to rethink your plans for the evening. Laird MacIntyre, Lewis, and Deirdre’s brother, Boyd, are here earlier than expected. Boyd isn’t Laird MacColl yet, but he will be shortly. We expect them within the hour.”

  Deirdre gasped, and when Gavin turned all the way toward Kerr, she did so too. “Does that mean my father is dying?”

  Kerr’s face softened and Gavin pulled her in closer, as if to shield her from the news. “Aye, lass. For quite a while. You didn’t know?”

  “Nay. I haven’t seen him since I left his keep. He ne’er came to my wedding nor visited me once o’er the past seven years. My mother either.” Her mouth firmed. “Boyd came though. I was glad when he left.”

  “You doona have to see them,” Gavin said. “In fact, I donna want you to. Take Ewan and stay with him in the nursery. I’ll come and get you when it’s over.” He glanced at Kerr. “Isobel too. For all we know, Laird MacIntyre will decide he wants her for his next wife.”

  “Agreed. You tell Isobel though. She’ll defy me just to be obstinate.”

  The music stopped. Deirdre slipped out from beneath Gavin’s arm and hurried through the dispersing crowd to where she’d last seen her son with the other children. When she couldn’t spot him anywhere, she began to panic. Why had she left him alone?

  “What is it, lass? How can I help?” Gregor laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “I canna find Ewan.” She looked around frantically. “Ewan!” she called.

  “I’m here, Mama!” Ewan appeared, holding his friend Rhona’s hand.

  The older girl smiled sweetly. “I’ve been watching him, Lady Deirdre.”

  Deirdre rushed forward and lifted her son into her arms, then kissed the top of Rhona’s head. “Thank you, lass. And what about you? Is your da nearby?”

  “He’s chatting to my uncle Artair over by the hearth. He willna be long. Is it time for Ewan to go to bed?”

  “Aye, lass. The celebration is over.”

  In front of them, Isobel allowed Callum to help her up onto a bench and clapped her hands to get the crowd’s attention. “Thank you for coming, everyone! A lovely night cut short, unfortunately, but we have unexpected visitors, and the lairds need to see to business. The first of which is your safety. Please return to your homes. We doona expect any trouble, but ’tis best to be safe!”

  Callum helped her down, and then Isobel hurried toward her. “My brother has asked that you and I stay out of sight until the meeting is over. Apparently seeing the Beauty of the Highlands and the Siren of the Seas together will send the MacIntyres and MacColls into uncontrollable fits of desire.”

  Deirdre’s eyes widened. She clamped one hand over Rhona’s ear and pulled her head against her body, so the other ear was covered too. “Isobel! Doona speak so in front of the lass. She’s too young for such talk.”

  Guilt covered Isobel’s face. “Och, I’m sorry. You’re right.” She pulled Deirdre’s hand away from Rhona’s ears. “I’m sorry, lass. You didn’t really understand what I was saying, did you? I was spouting off nonsense to make Lady Deirdre laugh.”

  “’Twasn’t amusing?” the girl asked.

  “Nay, not amusing at all.” But Isobel’s lips twitched as she said it.

  Deirdre sighed. “Maybe a wee bit amusing, but that’s all.”

  She spotted the blacksmith, weaving through the crowd toward them. “There’s your da now. Have a good night, lass.”

  Ewan leaned over to hug her, then Rhona bobbed a curtsy to the ladies and ran to her da.

  Isobel grasped Deirdre’s arm and tugged her to
ward the stairs. “Come on. I sent Annag up already. I have a plan. We’ll tuck Ewan in, then find a place to listen. This is about you as well as Ewan, and you have every right to hear what’s going on.”

  * * *

  Any signs of the recent revelry had been cleared from the great hall, and the benches and tables were stacked in the far corner against the wall. A dais had been set up in front of the large hearth, and Gavin sat on the center of it in his father’s chair, the intricately carved arms, legs, and back telling the story of the MacKinnons all the way back to their Norse ancestors. Behind him in a row stood his foster brothers, with Gregor directly behind him in the middle.

  The MacKinnon banner had been pinned above the hearth. Also raised on the wall were the standards of the six clans—a show of unified strength.

  Gavin’s anger simmered just beneath the surface, ready to explode. He suspected the MacIntyres and MacColls had conspired against him to kidnap his son and had treated Deirdre in a way intended to diminish her, if not worse. The only one who might be forgiven on that account was Lewis, so long as Gavin could get over the fact that he wanted to beat the man senseless for touching Deirdre, husband or not. He clenched the chair’s arms just thinking about it.

  Gregor’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Clear your head, Gavin, and your heart. Ewan and Deirdre are here with us now, and they’re not going anywhere. We’ll kill our enemies when we know their plans. Not before.”

  “It’s bold of them to come here together,” Callum said. “I’m surprised they didn’t just send Boyd.”

  “Or even Boyd and Lewis, since Laird MacIntyre is not enamored with his son,” Lachlan added.

  Darach nodded. “’Tis arrogance on MacIntyre’s part. They think they have an edge over us.”

  “Or they know something important that we doona,” Callum added. He could practically hear his brother’s mind whirring.

  “A fighting force?” Kerr asked.

  “Perhaps. Undeclared allies, if naught else,” Gavin said.

  “Aye. Must be. They havenae a chance against us alone.” Lachlan scowled. “They struck against Gavin the first time when they stole Ewan, and now they’re planning a second attack.”

  Stole Ewan.

  Gavin fought the urge to race upstairs and check on his son one more time. He’d done so twice already, panicking the first time when Deirdre hadn’t been with their son. He’d found her in Isobel’s bedchamber.

  “What I doona understand is why they didn’t use Ewan against you. Or against us when they first had him.” Callum was an expert at puzzles. If anyone could figure it out, it was him. “Maybe they thought he had sickened and died. They weren’t expecting pestilence to hit the gathering.”

  “And then Lewis gave him to Deirdre without telling his father,” Darach said.

  “He intervened.” Gregor spoke with quiet authority.

  Gavin clenched his jaw and then released it. “If that’s what happened then…aye. The timing fits, and Kerr and Deirdre say he’s a good man. For that act alone, he may live.”

  They heard the portcullis being raised. It banged shut a few moments later, exactly as Gavin had ordered.

  “Remember to watch,” Gregor said. “I want eyes on each man at all times. Read their reactions, their postures, and their faces as much as what they say. I want to know the state of the relationships between the men and when each one of them is lying—both to us and to one another.”

  “Aye,” the others said in unison.

  It didn’t take long for the two MacIntyres and Boyd MacColl to arrive, and boots could be heard stomping up the steps toward the main door.

  “We’re getting closer, lads,” Gregor said quietly. “I doona think Laird MacIntyre is the chief conspirator against us, but I’ll wager he knows who it is.”

  “Canna we just take him now and make him tell us?” Kerr asked.

  “Nay, not until we know what he has planned. I wouldnae want to risk setting something in motion by killing him. Not until I know what it is.”

  The door opened.

  Clyde strode through followed by several other MacKinnons, the guarded men between them. The burly warrior walked directly to Gavin and stood on the floor to the right of his laird. Artair, the huge warrior and brother of the MacKinnon blacksmith, stood opposite him on Gavin’s left.

  Laird MacIntyre approached them first, a big, tough-looking man with sharp eyes and a cruel mouth. He had a large broadsword sheathed between his shoulder blades, and Gavin suspected he knew how to use it.

  “So all six of you are here,” the laird sneered. “Running like bairns to each others side for a simple domestic dispute.”

  Gavin leaned forward in his chair, the heat washing up his cheeks in anger. “The abduction of my son is not a domestic dispute. It’s a cause for war between our clans.”

  “I know naught of your son. I do know that you invaded my land, my keep, and abducted my daughter-in-law. That is an act of war.”

  “Good,” Gavin said grimly. “We’re in agreement, then.”

  The laird held his gaze for a long moment before he shrugged. “We’ll see what her family has to say.”

  From behind Laird MacIntyre, Boyd MacColl, Deirdre’s older brother, glowered at him. Gavin wanted to gut this man, more than any of the others, for the cruel things he’d said to Deirdre when she was growing up.

  The age difference between them was about the same as between him and Isobel. Gavin had cherished his sister, considered her a gift. Boyd should have done the same.

  He narrowed his eyes at the man, trying to see the resemblance to his sister. It was there—not in his coloring, for he was as fair as Isobel—but in the shape of his face and eyes, which were the same light gray-blue as Deirdre’s.

  But that was where the similarity ended. Boyd was pale and his face puffy, even though he was tall and slight of body—the sign of a man who drank too much. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, making him look shifty and somehow unwholesome. Nay, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t the dark circles that made him look shifty, but the way his gaze darted around the room, filled with avarice. But for what? The MacKinnons didn’t display their wealth and prosperity on the walls of the keep. His home was comfortable and well appointed, but the emphasis was on practicality and strength, not gold.

  And then it hit him, and rage boiled up from the pit of his stomach. Boyd was looking for Deirdre.

  “Where’s my sister?” the man demanded, as if on cue.

  Gregor’s hand pressed into Gavin’s shoulder, and he did his best to tamp down his anger. When Gavin spoke, his tone was frigid. “She willna be making an appearance.”

  “I demand to see her. You canna keep her here.”

  “She doesn’t want to see you, and she’s choosing to stay here to raise my son.”

  “She canna. She’s married! If she doesn’t return to the MacIntyres, she’s coming home with me.” Boyd sounded almost peeved, like a child being denied what he wanted.

  Gavin stared at him—hard—until the man lost his bravado and dropped his gaze, reduced to muttering under his breath.

  Then he turned his attention to Lewis MacIntyre. Lewis stood behind his father, an unassuming-looking man with light-brown hair and eyes. Apprehension and worry had filled his gaze and pinched his brow.

  When Gavin’s eyes landed on him, Lewis asked, “Deirdre, is she well?” His voice was low and tight, and Gavin nodded. A pit formed in his stomach. This man…Deirdre’s husband…he cared for her.

  Did she care for him too? Was there more to their relationship than Gavin realized? More than just kindness and games of chess?

  “Aye. Both she and my son are in good health and spirits.”

  Relief filled Lewis’s eyes, as well as resolve—but for what?

  The man turned his gaze to Kerr, standing opposite him on the dais. He nodded. “Well met,
Kerr MacAlister. ’Tis good to see you again, although I wish it were on better terms.”

  “Well met to you too, Lewis MacIntyre.” Kerr nodded back at him. “What can you tell us about Laird MacKinnon’s son, Ewan? Your wife tells us that you gave Ewan to her to raise. Right around the time the lad disappeared.”

  Lewis’s jaw tightened for an instant. “She speaks the truth. I swear to you that it was not an act of malice. I found the lad in the forest near the MacIntyre border. When I saw him, he was alone. I had no idea he was Laird MacKinnon’s son. I thought at the time I was saving an abandoned bairn. I gave him to Deirdre to raise because she is a loving and kind woman and had room in her heart for him.”

  “There you have it,” Laird MacIntyre said. “My son found and cared for the lad. You should be thankful.”

  Gavin’s anger surged. “If it was simple chance, then why did you name him Ewan when my son ne’er spoke? Am I to believe that was happenstance?”

  Lewis tensed and turned his gaze to Gavin. His pulse beat rapidly in the hollow of his throat. “Nay, Laird MacKinnon, ’twas not a coincidence. I searched the lad when I found him. The name Ewan was on a piece of parchment. I chose to use the name for him, but I was not certain it was his until the recent revelation that Ewan was your son.”

  “A parchment? Do you still have it, Lewis?” Kerr asked.

  Lewis turned back to his boyhood friend, relief lessening the tightness around his eyes. He was mistaken if he thought Kerr was any less dangerous than Gavin. Or prone to forgiveness because of their history.

  “I do… ’Tis tucked away somewhere safe. I’ll search for it when I return home. Perhaps you can retrieve it when all this is over. It would please me to repay your hospitality from our youth. You will find the quail is even more plentiful around my keep than it was around yours.”