Fraser 01 - Highland Legacy (2 page)

“You’ll not be teaching anyone a lesson, if I have anything to say about the matter.”

Someone grabbed her assailant by the shoulders and dragged him to his feet. No longer pinned to the ground by his crushing weight, Cailin scrambled to her feet, and started running toward the forest. She heard the men shouting and the sound of their swords connecting, but didn’t pause to look back.

She raced along the path, ignoring the small branches as they swiped her cheeks, and ducked beneath the larger ones. Rocks and forest debris bit into the tender flesh of her bare feet, but she did not slow her pace. Cailin choked back a painful sob, summoned her last dregs of courage, and forged ahead. Deprived of oxygen, her lungs burned as if on fire. Her muscles cramped and her legs grew heavier with every step, but as long as there was a breath left in her body, as long as there was a chance of escape, she refused to give up.

The crunch of leaves beneath a thunderous footfall alerted her to the fact that the English soldiers who had tried to rape her were only a few paces behind, and closing in fast.

Don’t think. Run!

When she believed she could go no farther, the sight of the watchtower, and belfry of the village kirk brought a glimmer of hope. The familiar smell of cook fires burning lifted her spirits, the rhythmic din of the smithy’s hammer like music to her ears. If she could go a few more yards and climb a small embankment, she’d be safe. But her foot caught in a tangle of roots, and before she could steady herself, she lay sprawled in the dirt, the air forced from her lungs when her chest hit the ground.

The deafening roar of her pounding heart drowned out all other sounds. She clawed at a tree stump, tried to stand, but she’d run out of time. A large hand clamped down on her shoulder, holding her in place. Another hand covered her mouth and stifled her cry for help. She struck out wildly, trying to fight back, but her fists collided with a solid wall of unyielding muscle.

“Dinna fight me, lass, I mean you no harm. I’ll remove my hand, and let you up if you promise not to scream. Do you give me your word?” When she stopped struggling and nodded, his hand slid from her mouth, allowing her to draw in a gulp of air. In one swift move, he flipped her to her back and squatted beside her. “You scurry like a rabbit, and running you to ground was a most difficult task.”

Her eyes widened, searching those of the man hovering above her. At least six-foot-two, his honed-to-perfection body, a solid wall of muscle beneath a taut saffron shirt, was an obvious testament to years of training, discipline, and hard work. With a straight aristocratic nose, high prominent cheekbones, full lips, and a strong square chin—covered with a day’s worth of dark stubble—his features left her awestruck. Brown eyes, as dark as night, fierce, yet filled with mystery and passion, held her gaze. A thick mane, the color of a raven’s wing, hung loose about his shoulders.

She gave her head a shake. This stranger could be her savior—the man who’d intervened on the riverbank, and had helped to facilitate her escape—or he could be another bastard, waiting his turn to ravage her body. The attack had happened so fast, and she didn’t get a good look at the man who had come to her aid. The rich Scottish burr in his voice indicated he was not an Englishman like her attackers, but she didn’t plan to find out if he was with them.

The sun filtered through the trees and caught a glint of steel. Her attention drawn to the dirk hanging at his side, she swallowed hard past the lump in her throat, uncertain if she could slay a man in cold blood. Did she have the strength, and courage, to plunge the blade into his heart? She’d have one chance, and if she failed, he’d no doubt use the same weapon to slit her throat.

The choice was clear. If she didn’t try, she’d be at his mercy. Her fingers wrapped around the leather-bound hilt, and before he guessed her intent, she slid the dagger from its sheath. Bent on survival, she asked God’s forgiveness, and struck out with all the force she could muster.

He easily dodged the ill-placed blow, grasped her arm mid-air, and twisted her wrist sharply to the right. “Saint’s teeth, are you daft, or do you have a death wish? I mean you no harm.”

She winced in pain, but refused to cry out. No match for his strength, her fingers unfurled, and she dropped the dagger in the dirt. She struggled, but her attempt to wrench free of his grasp resulted in a tighter grip. “Let me go, you blackguard! My father will see you drawn and quartered if you harm me. If you so much as—”

“Calm yourself. Unless you wish to wait for another rutting English bastard who is looking to dip his rod into a Scottish honey pot, I intend to help you up and see you home safely.”

“How dare you speak to me in such a bawdy manner? You are obviously not a man of class or breeding. A gentleman would not speak to a lady of such things.”

“I only mean to impress upon you how close you came to losing your innocence, mayhap your life. You’re lucky I rode by when I did.” A cocky grin tugged at his lips. “Besides, I never claimed to be a gentleman. Now, if you’re finished acting like a woman possessed, let me help you up.” Before she could reply, he pulled her into a sitting position and released her arm. “You denied an English officer’s advances. The arrogant bastards have been known to hang a Scottish lass for a lot less.”

She rubbed her aching wrist and narrowed her eyes in anger. “I was doing fine on my own and dinna need your assistance.”

“I must admit, you did seem to have everything under control when I arrived.” He rocked back on his heels and chuckled. “You actually had the buggers shaking in their boots.”

She raised her chin, and glared up at him. “A few more minutes, and I would have taught the scoundrel a lesson and made my escape.”

“Believe what you will, but if I dinna hear you cry out, there is no telling what might have happened. Once they’d had their fill, I have no doubt they’d have slit your throat.” His smile faded, and a serious look crossed his face. “A dead woman tells no tales.”

Her eyes flashed in the direction of the river. “We may have escaped, but the English are not known to give up so easily. They could come along at any time.”

“The men who attacked you will not give chase.” He patted the sword at his side.

Blood stained the polished metal. Her mouth went dry, and an irrepressible tremor laced her voice when she spoke. “You killed them?” She did not condone violence, yet found some measure of comfort in the belief her assailants might be dead. She quickly crossed herself and silently begged the Almighty’s forgiveness.

“One of the fools refused to surrender his weapon and charged at me like a wild boar. We battled, and the blade found its mark. He lies on yonder bank.” He pointed in the direction of the river. “Once I’d dealt with one rogue, the other attacked me from behind. He proved easier to subdue, and I tied him to a tree. He lives, but I’m afraid he’ll have a nasty headache once he awakens.”

Her own head started to pound. She rubbed her temples. “When the English find out what has happened, you’ll be hanged.”

“The man dinna see my face, and even if he did, I fear not for myself. Once you’re safe at the keep with your family, I’ll take my leave. With any luck, I’ll be long gone before they find them, and no one will link me to the deed.”

Returning to the keep was the last thing she wanted to do. Her father would be furious and punish her when he found out she’d left without his permission. She could hear the horrible crack of the whip, and could feel the familiar sting of welts on her back. Determined to force down the bile that rose in her throat, she swallowed hard and stiffened her spine.
Physical wounds will heal
,
but marriage to Graham MacMurray would be far worse torture
.

After what she’d been through this day, it was blatantly clear a woman traveling alone was an easy target for rogues and scoundrels. Cailin drew her knees up to her chest, encircled them with her arms, and lowered her head. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth.
This cannot be happening.
Please let me wake and put an end to this nightmare.”
When she opened her eyes, he hovered over her, an expression of concern on his face.

“Are you all right, lass?” He stroked her cheek.

She shied from his touch. “I’m fine.” She nibbled on her lower lip, tasting blood. Judging by the pain in her right cheek and jaw, she’d have bruises where the soldier struck her about the face. She clutched at the tattered gown, torn at the shoulder during the scuffle. She drew the edges closed in an attempt to cover the exposed swell of her breast. As if suddenly encased in ice, her teeth began to chatter and her body trembled.

“You’re not a good liar. Despite what you claim, you’re pale and trembling.” He uncapped the wineskin at his side, brought it to her lips, and demanded she drink.

She sputtered, then shoved his hand away. The amber liquid spilled from her mouth and ran down her chin. “What foul poison do you give me?”

“
Uisge-beatha
.”

“Whisky? I have no taste for spirits.” She shook her head, pursing her lips when he tried to offer her more.

“What you like does not interest me. What’s good for you does.” Despite her protest, he held her steady and brought the wineskin to her lips again.

The whisky stung the cut on her lip, burning her throat, yet warming her belly.

“That’s a good lass, drink,” he crooned. After lowering the wineskin, he raised her chin. With a gentle sweep of his thumb, he wiped away the mix of blood and whisky from her lower lip. “Does the cut hurt?”

“Not overmuch.” His concern appeared genuine, but when she tried to look away, his grip held firm.

“Did the rogue harm you anywhere else?” Dark eyes narrowed as his scrutiny shifted to her cheek, where she no doubt sported bruises, then back to the shoulder of her torn gown.

“Nay.” She shook her head.

“Then we must be grateful for wee miracles. These are dangerous times. Why were you beyond the castle walls without an escort?”

“On a bonny day, I like to take walks along the River Tay. When the weather is warm, I swim in the loch. The spot is very private, and no one has ever bothered me before today.” She wasn’t about to tell him of her plans to run away.

His brow furrowed. “Do you make a habit of wandering about the woods unescorted? I cannot believe your father permits such a thing.”

“He does not know I go alone. My nur-” Not wanting to appear a child, she quickly corrected herself. “My maid usually accompanies me. However, Eilidh wasn’t feeling well today, and I dinna want to drag her away from the keep. I only planned to be gone for a short while,” she lied.

He listened without comment, but as she recounted the details of the attack, the glower on his face relayed his disapproval of her actions. Despite her effort to hold them back, tears slid down her cheek.

With a gentle brush of his hand, he wiped away the tears. This time, she didn’t pull away. His voice mellowed. “I’m glad I came along when I did. What’s your name?”

“Cailin Macmillan.”

His expression hardened, and a frown creased his brow. “
Cailean
?” he muttered her name aloud in Gaelic. “Your parents gave you a name that means bairn or lad?”

She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and looked him in the eye. “It is a serviceable name and not a common one to be sure.”

Most men preferred their women demure and complacent, but Connor found women with sass and tenacity more appealing. “There is nothing common about you, Lady Cailin.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Huge jade eyes, brimming with unshed tears, triggered an unwelcome tightness in his chest, and a sudden need to pull her into his arms, to offer comfort. Drawn by a force he found difficult to ignore, Connor fought the urge to dip his head, and taste her pouty lips.

He cursed beneath his breath. This was not the time or place to lose his head over a woman. He had no room in his life for anyone or anything but the cause. In an effort to regain his composure, he cleared his throat and redirected the conversation. “You were never close to your father?”

“Nay. He wishes I had died, and not my twin brother. He has never forgiven me for being born first.”

Stunned by her blunt words, he didn’t know how to respond. He’d idolized his own father, and couldn’t imagine a man not cherishing his child, be the wee one a daughter or a son.

“My father thinks me obstinate, willful, and headstrong.” A winsome smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Mayhap he is right to some extent.”

She had a smile that could melt a man’s heart, and make him jump through fire just to see it. A surge of lust and desire fired his blood—the last thing he expected or needed. He had no room in his life for a woman. A fierce warrior and champion of the Scottish bid for independence, he led his men into battle with his emotions held tightly in check. Prepared to die for the cause, he’d vowed never to fall in love, never to leave behind a wife and children to mourn him.

Not that he denied himself the pleasures of the flesh. He’d been known to bed many a lass, and none complained about his skill beneath the blankets. However, they knew love and commitment would never enter into the picture. In his opinion, love was a useless emotion, a myth. Love made men weak, and only led to heartbreak, anger, and sorrow. He had no use for love, and pledged never to allow himself to fall victim to Cupid’s arrow.

“I have not seen you in the village before today.” She hesitated. “I’m afraid, sir, you have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I dinna know your name.”

“Connor Fraser. My castle is in Beauly, a wee town near Inverness.”

“You are far from home. Your wife and children must miss you very much.”

“I’m not married. I have no desire to take a wife, and have no room in my life for a family.” He answered more abruptly than he’d planned, but given the way his groin stirred, he wanted to make things clear from the start—for both their sakes.

“What brought you to Dunkeld?”

“I had business in Perth on behalf of Robert the Bruce. I was riding home when I heard you call for help.”

“So, you’re a Highlander, and a patriot.”

“Aye, the Frasers have long fought for—” A noise in the bushes caught his attention, and his head snapped around in the direction of the commotion. He studied the area and seeing no one, held out his hand in her direction. “Let me help you to stand. We’ve wasted enough time on idle chatter and dare not tarry any longer. While the two men who attacked you pose no threat, there is an English garrison camped not far from here, and a patrol could come along at any moment. I’ll escort you home, where they can tend to your needs, and then take my leave. I was supposed to meet someone at the Dunkeld Inn this morning, and am already late.”

“Nay!” She shook her head and scooted back, widening the gap between them. She glanced down at her torn clothing. “I cannot go home like this. What will my father say?”

“With English soldiers milling about, the Macmillan must be daft to let you out of his sight unescorted. If you were my daughter and had left the keep alone, I’d take you over my knee and paddle your arse.”

A
nd a lovely arse you have.
He struggled to squelch his lascivious thoughts, but a man would have to be blind, or a eunuch, not to notice her luscious figure and captivating beauty.

Her posture stiffened and she glared up at him. “I am not a bairn, and dinna need someone to tell me when, and where, I can go. I celebrated my saint’s day a fortnight ago. I’ve seen eight and ten summers, and am more than auld enough to marry and to make my own decisions,” she replied proudly.

True, she’d already reached an age when most young women were married and heavy with child, but compared to his six and twenty summers, she was still a bairn, or so he tried to tell himself. Despite his effort to subdue his lustful thoughts, the defiant look in her eyes and proud jut of her chin made him smile.

Cailin spoke the truth. She was not a child. Even at the tender age of eighteen, she had the body of a goddess. Soft wine colored wool clung to her body like a second skin. Cut low at the bodice, her simple formfitting gown accentuated a slender figure, high round breasts, and womanly curves that would drive any man wild with desire. Like fine porcelain, her skin was flawless—aside, from the sprinkling of freckles dusting her high, elegant cheekbones to the bridge of her delicately upturned nose.

She wore her waist-length auburn hair—the color of an autumn sunset—tightly plaited and wrapped with thin strips of leather. Several stray strands bounced about her shoulders, while a few wavy locks framed her heart-shaped face. Freed, he was certain her tresses would flow like a river of silk down the center of her back.

He plucked a dry leaf from her hair, and then another. He longed to run his fingers through her glorious mane.
Does the soft nest of curls at the apex of her thighs match the splendor of that on her head?
He grew hard, the ache in his groin intensifying to the point of pain. The thought of tasting her luscious lips, sampling her ripe round breasts, and discovering the color of the hair that guarded her nether region spurred a frenzy of lust and desire unlike anything he had ever known.

He bit back a curse and tried to banish the vision of her soft supple body moving restlessly beneath him, his aching shaft buried to the hilt in the velvet warmth of her hot moist sheath, of her moaning with pleasure as he took her in long, slow strokes. He cursed again. If he did not stop this woolgathering, he would lose control and take her there, and now.
You’re a grown man and not a randy lad
.
Robert awaits your return. All of Scotland is counting on you
.

“To wander the woods unprotected is dangerous folly. You should be more careful.”

“I am a woman grown and dinna need your advice.”

“That remains to be seen.” Before she could refuse him again, he grasped her hand, stunned when a strong jolt of energy surged between them. Judging by her sharp intake of breath, and the look of surprise on her face, she felt it, too. He quickly collected himself and helped her to her feet. “Come, I will see you home before someone finds the soldiers.” The sooner he returned her to her father’s keep and put temptation behind him, the better.

“I cannot go home.”

Ignoring her protest, he brought his fingers to his lips and whistled. A massive black destrier burst through the trees and halted in the middle of the path. With his head raised and nostrils flared, the warhorse pawed at the ground. Connor whistled again, and the stallion obediently trotted over and nudged his arm.

“A friend of yours?” she asked drolly.

“I’ve owned Thor since he was a yearling.” He reached into the canvas sack on the back of his saddle, pulled out a length of plaid, and draped the woolen fabric about her head and shoulders. “Your hair is beautiful, and I’m sure the envy of every lass in the village. While it is a shame to cover it, we must do what we can to hide your identity. Keep your head down and hopefully no one will recognize you.” From a pouch on his belt, he tugged out her slippers, and handed them to her. “Best you put these on and make haste.”

“Where did you find them?”

“They were on the riverbank, and I thought you might have need of them.”

Cailin quickly slid her feet into the slippers. “Thank you.”

“Best we leave. A patrol could come along at any minute.” He didn’t give her time to argue. His hands slid around her waist and lifted her onto Thor’s back. Once she was seated, he mounted behind her.

Her head whipped around so she faced him. “It is scandalous for a maiden to ride this close to a man if he is not her husband.”

He didn’t reply—he couldn’t speak. Instead, he shifted in the saddle behind her and stifled a groan. Given the way his body reacted to the softness of her bottom pressed against his aching groin, the tantalizing fragrance of her hair—a subtle mix of heather, lavender soap, and sunshine—this was going to be a long ride. A sharp kick of his boot prompted Thor to lunge forward.