Highland Deception (Highland Pride) (19 page)

“She took off in that direction.” He pointed to the gatehouse. “Lorna went after her. She seemed pretty torn up. I hope Lorna can talk the lass down.”

Not bothering to saddle up, he dashed into the stall, jumped on his horse, and galloped off. Just as he got to the edge of the field, he saw Lorna speeding toward him. Alone. Had she not found Maggie? Maybe she had not been able to convince her to stop.

“Where is she?” Lachlan called as Lorna got close enough to hear him.

“At the other end of the pasture. There was a group of men I’d never seen before, but Maggie kenned them. She was scared and told me I wasnae safe, to come back. She hit me horse.”

His eyes trained on the small images too far away to make out. “She kenned them?”

“Aye, and she was shaking and said ’twas Conall.”

His heart stopped. The bastard was here, and he was going to get Maggie.

“Tell Alan. I need him and more men.” Lorna paled. “Now,” he ordered over his shoulder as he took off toward Maggie. “She’s in danger.”

As he got near enough to make out what was playing out before him, Conall looked up at him but continued to march back and forth in front of Maggie. They had her surrounded, and Lachlan was too far away to be of any use. She looked even smaller than normal, but she kept her shoulders squared back and posture defiant. He stopped at a safe distance away and reached to his side, only to discover he had again left his sword in his chamber. He cursed. Three men flanked Conall, all armed, and he could make out a few more in the woods. Until his men arrived, he would be sorely outnumbered, especially with only the dirk he kept on him.

The bastard turned and smirked at him. Then the arse hauled back and struck Maggie full on the face with his clenched fist. She stumbled and caught her balance, then crumpled to the ground.

A guttural battle cry wrenched from some deep chasm roared from Lachlan. He jumped down from his horse and started toward Conall, but the bastard snatched up Maggie’s limp body and snaked one arm around her waist while the other gripped under her delicate jaw. Her head lolled onto his shoulder.

“Halt. Come closer and I’ll snap her pretty little neck.”

The Erskine men all drew their swords and stepped in front of Conall. Despite the obstacles, his palm itched to grab the dirk at his side and lunge at the arse, but somehow he was able to restrain the urge to charge in.

“It seems you have taken some items that belong to me. I came to retrieve my letter, and look at what I have found. My missing bride.” The murderer looked down at the woman in his arms. “Margaret is mine.”

Inside, a primal part of him screamed and begged to attack, but outside, except for the tic that started in his jaw, Lachlan kept a calm facade.

“She is to be my wife, but I can see you have a desire for her, too. While I do want her”—the bastard turned her head to the side and licked from her mouth to her temple in an obscene gesture—“I have no emotional attachment to her. I am, however, willing to consider a trade.”

His fists clenched, and his body was so tight it thrummed with barely contained fury.

“I want my letter.” Conall let the words hang in the air.

“What letter?” Lachlan was usually good at bluffing, but the stakes were too high. Maggie was worth so much more to him than that damned letter. She stirred in Conall’s arms.

Lachlan didn’t want Conall to know how much she meant to him and tried to avoid looking at her—the bastard would use that knowledge to his advantage. It was bad enough he’d yelled when the brute had struck her.

“Don’t play with me. I know you have it.”

If Alan arrived with more Camerons, they would be able to get her back, so he stalled.

Conall must have taken his silence as a dismissal. “Ah, Margaret dear, the Lochiel must have decided he doesn’t want you after all.” He forced her head up to meet his gaze, but her body continued to sag.

Damn.
The bastard had reinjured her head. Lachlan wanted to bellow, but he forced himself to remain calm.

“He is not willing to trade a simple piece of paper for you. Guess that means you will be coming home with me, where you belong.” Conall started to pull Maggie toward his men.

Lachlan’s heart pounded so loudly he thought it would burst out of chest. “Stay. I will get the letter.”

Conall smirked, but he said, “No, tomorrow. If you want her, bring it tomorrow at noon, and if you come for her before then, my blade will find her heart. Tomorrow, or I will take her with me.” He forced Maggie’s face toward his, and she stiffened. She must have regained consciousness. “We can even stop on the way home to say our vows.”

The thought of the bastard touching Maggie infuriated him. “I can send for it now, and then ye can leave.” Why was Conall stalling? Why not take the letter and ride off today?

Alan and Brodie rode up and flanked him. Fortunately, they had their claymores but there were still too many men against them.

“Tomorrow at noon. Bring me the missive or Margaret goes with me.” Maggie struggled violently in his arms and tried to dig in her feet, but he tugged her along, laughing at her feeble efforts. “Settle down now, love. If he brings me the letter, you can have the laird.”

Conall pinned him with a glare. “If you or any Cameron man enters our camp, I will kill her. I have nothing to lose.”

A shiver spread through his veins—the bastard would do it.

“If ye harm one hair on her head, I swear I will gut ye, Conall,” Lachlan growled and his fist clenched at his side where his missing sword should have been. Emotion had overcome his attempt to conceal his feelings for Maggie.

Conall released Maggie’s neck and pulled a dirk from his side. He let go of her long enough to grab her by the hair. He cut one long ringlet off and dropped it, challenging him. “To remember what you’ll lose if I don’t get what I want.” He snorted, then turned and dragged Maggie into the woods.

Lachlan started to charge, but men stepped in front of the bastard and cut off his path.

Chapter Sixteen

“How did he get onto my land?” Lachlan roared as he turned over the table in the great hall. Cups and plates clattered to the floor. He cursed as despair ate at him. Curses that would probably earn him a place in hell, but he didn’t care—hell was a world without Maggie.

“There were men patrolling, but his group is small and the area so vast, somehow they slipped past our guards.”

He didn’t see who answered, didn’t care as he picked up a chair and threw it at the stone wall. The mangled wood fell to the ground. He stared at it as he fought to control the anger he had kept in until they’d gotten back to the keep.

He would tear Conall limb from limb. Or he would drive his sword through his belly. Hundreds of ways to kill the man flashed in his head.

Letting a few deep breaths pass in and out of his lungs, he clenched and unclenched his fists.
’Twill do her no good if ye can’t calm yerself.

Malcolm chimed in, “Ye ken he willnae let her stay here, even if we give him the letter. What would stop us from slitting his throat as soon as she is in our hands?”

Lachlan turned to the men gathered behind him and reined in the roiling emotions overwhelming him. His brother was right, he had to be a leader—they had to think fast. There was not much time to save Maggie.

If the bastard got away with her, he would wed her with all haste, and there would be nothing he could do. He could take on Conall, but the church was another matter. But if he killed him, the church could not stand in the way.

Maggie’s sapphire-blue eyes haunted him. Every time he closed his, he saw hers. He was supposed to keep her safe, but he’d failed. It was his fault Conall had come here because of the letter. The bastard had Maggie because he had not kept his guard up. He slammed his fist on the table.

“He can have the blasted letter. He will show his hand soon enough. The priority is getting Maggie to safety.” Lachlan closed his eyes and rubbed them, trying to focus, attempting to act as a general instead of the lovestruck fool he was.

“Do ye think he would harm her?” Malcolm asked.

“Aye, he would. He is sick—he wouldnae hesitate to kill her if he thought it would serve his purposes.” Lachlan sank into a chair. “He killed a priest for no reason.” He looked toward Alan. “He didnae mention Robbie. Could Conall have found him?”

“Nae. No one kens where he is.” Alan shook his head.

“Since the MacDonalds arrived earlier, send some extra Cameron men to help those guarding him. For some reason, Conall must ken he isnae here, because he didn’t demand the lad as well. As long as he is safe, losing the letter willnae matter.”

Lachlan fingered the snippet of Maggie’s hair. Shortly before they had stormed back to the castle, Brodie had retrieved it as Lachlan watched Conall pull her into the trees. Elspeth had found a blue ribbon the color of her eyes to tie around it, and he’d pinned it on his plaid, close to his heart.

The hours, meetings, and plans dragged on with uncertainty. Would the other invited lairds arrive today? Where was Maggie’s father? And how the hell had the Erskines slipped onto his land? But he was sure of one thing—Conall had become a dead man as soon as he’d struck Maggie.

Early in the morning hours, Lachlan made his way to his empty chamber. He needed to attempt a few hours of rest before facing Conall.

A piece of paper peeking from beneath the bed caught his attention, and he scooped it up. It was to Maggie. His heart dropped when he saw the signature at the bottom of the page—
Yer love, Conall
.

Bile rose in his throat, and his vision blurred. His hands shook, and the paper rattled. He ignored his pounding heart while he read.

Dearest Maggie, I am waiting for ye by the forest’s edge. I hope ye were able to get what we needed. The thought of ye in Lachlan’s arms one more motherent is driving me mad. Come to me so I can take ye home. Yer love, Conall.

Aileen had been a threat, but Maggie had been sent here to destroy him and his people. It was unforgivable—he had put his clan in danger by believing in a lying lass. He thought of the tapestry story he’d overheard her tell little Davina and Alik. Had she known he was there? Had everything been a lie? He was a fool for ever trusting her, for thinking there was more to her, and for believing she was the one for him.

Afraid his legs would give, he sank to the bed. He had trusted her, had given her something he’d sworn to never do again, and she’d taken his offering and ripped his heart to shreds. Black fog spread in his chest, and he found it hard to breathe. She hadn’t loved him after all—’twas all a lie to worm her way in and take everything.

He should send his men to attack the camp right away and be done with them all, but he couldn’t bring himself to give the order that might see her dead. He had reasonable cause because they were trespassing on his land, but it didn’t feel right. The bastard had hit her, but mayhap that had been for show and the arse wouldn’t harm her. He tried to push away the memories tearing at him, the ones that said she had cared for him and that they could have a life together, but they were lies—he never wanted to hear her name again. He told himself those things and attempted to let the fury run wild, but it wouldn’t come—the despair did. He would have known how to handle the rage, but this ache in his heart, the hole in his soul, would destroy him.

…

Maggie sat huddled in the corner of Conall’s tent. She made herself as small and inconsequential as she could. The last thing she wanted was to draw his attention.

He had questioned her earlier, and she’d used the head injury excuse to be vague; he was not as adept at perceiving her half-truths as Lachlan. Her head pounded, but it was clear. Thankfully, he was too distracted with plans for tomorrow to pay her any heed.

They hadn’t even bothered to bind her, thank the heavens. Meek, scared, and submissive was what they thought of her, and that was exactly what she wanted them to think, but she had no intention of going with them. In the last few hours, she’d decided she would make it to God by way of the nunnery or, if must be, the grave.

Scanning her surroundings, she took stock of anything useful, hoping she would find a way out. There were many claymores lying around, but she was fairly certain she couldn’t lift one. She did see a crossbow and a quiver of arrows, but they were across the tent and out of reach.

“If the wench doesn’t bring it first, they will. Did you see the way he looked at Margaret? He’s a besotted fool.” Conall spared her a glance.

“The whore was right, he does love ’er,” another man replied.

What whore?
Her heart raced as she turned all the words over.
Lachlan doesnae love me.

“She is a beguiling witch. I’d do almost anything to keep her, too.” She kept her face turned down to avoid Conall’s gaze, but she wouldn’t take her eyes off him. He was unpredictable.

“What do we do when we have it?” asked one of the men who had stood with Conall on the field today. Maggie knew him by his raspy, harsh voice; he was almost constantly coughing or clearing his throat, a rattling sound that grated on her nerves.

“We cannot give them Margaret. She is our only way out of here. We are on his land.” He studied her again. “If we turn her over, there is nothing to keep the barbarians from swooping down on us as soon as she’s in their hands.” Conall leaned back on his haunches and thrummed his fingers together.

“And the boy?” the man asked and coughed so loud and long she thought he might fall over.

What boy?

“The wench says he isn’t here, which is why I stalled long enough for her to finish the search. We have to get him, too.” Conall’s gaze cut back to his friend as he tapped his foot angrily on the dirt.

Maggie’s heart sank—they were after Robbie, whom she hadn’t seen since they’d arrived at Kentillie. Who would let Conall know where the lad was?

“Do ye think he went back to the church?”

“We shall stop to check on the way home. Probably, but I think we will have to leave a few men here to see if they can find him.”

“What do we do if the laird won’t let us leave with her?” the gruff voice asked.

“Then we kill him.”

Maggie’s heart stopped beating at Conall’s words and the smug grin plastered on his normally unreadable face. She cringed at the undisguised thrill in his voice, the same one he’d used when he taunted her during his visits to her home.

He wanted Lachlan to refuse. He wanted to kill Lachlan, and he was crazy enough to try it.

The words Lachlan had said that first day rang in her ears—he would never fight for a lass. Probably he wouldn’t turn over his precious letter for her, either. But at the same time, he was prideful and wouldn’t let Conall take her, even if he no longer wanted her. Men were like that with their toys.

But he had professed some feelings for her, and he was a proud man. She might not have his love, but she was indeed like her mother—her heart beat only for Lachlan. Once she had given her soul and love to him, she could not take it back. The only thing that mattered now was saving Lachlan.

When questioned, she’d told Conall about her original head injury and led him to believe she had been incapacitated for some time. Now all she had to do was make him believe she wanted to go with him.

The discussion with his men ended, and he stalked up to her. “I am not certain you are telling the whole truth, but we will get that straightened out when we get home.” He dug his boot into her rib, and she winced.

“I swear, Conall. I havenae lied to ye. I was confused…” She looked directly into his eyes, hoping to make him believe her.

His gaze raked up and down her body. “I will not touch you for now. I want to make sure his seed didn’t take hold in you. I will not have one of his babes as my heir.” She tried not to let the relief that washed over her show; he didn’t need to know he repulsed her.

“Stand,” he ordered. The relief disappeared. She was too slow for Conall, and he grabbed her hair to yank her up. Her head didn’t like the sudden movement compounded by the blow he’d dealt her earlier, and dizziness assailed her. She almost tipped over, but he caught her at the waist, which made her want to vomit. Thankfully, he let her go as soon as she’d recovered.

“Turn and put your hands behind your back. I have to bind you,” he ordered smugly.

“I promise I willnae go anywhere. I willnae leave this tent. I dinnae want to be out there.” She was trying to comfort him when what she really wanted was to be back in the keep with Lachlan.

“Just a precaution. Turn.” Her pleading had fallen on deaf ears. She winced and attempted to pull away as his fingers dug into the sensitive flesh under her arm. She thought she was going to cry, but she held it in.

It could be worse. Thank God he was not going to force himself on her. What if she was with child? Something she’d not considered before. As the bindings tightened painfully around her wrists, she realized she had not bled since before that first night in Lachlan’s bed. For the last few days, she’d felt nauseous and had barely been able to stomach the smell of roasted meats.

Could she have Lachlan’s child in her belly? Suddenly, she wanted to wrap her arms around her stomach and shield it from this madness, but she couldn’t. Her eyes watered with the need to protect the innocent wee babe growing inside her.

Oh, God, what would she do? Different scenarios played through her head. Conall would take her home, and when he realized she was with child he would beat her until she lost it. If she got out of this and made it to an abbey, would they let her keep the baby?

If she lived through this, she would have to tell him—she couldn’t give away a child she had made with Lachlan. How would he react? Already he had moved on to another woman, but would a bairn change that? She would not take him back out of his sympathy for her, which would only lead to more affairs, more heartbreak.

Conall broke into her thoughts. “Your father will be glad I found you.”

She yelped when he pulled and the ropes dug into her skin, hoping he would not tighten the bonds any farther. “Was he worried?” She wished she could take the question back. Even if he was, it was probably more annoyance his plans had fallen through than actual concern for her.

“He and your brothers have been searching all over for you.” He spun her back around, and a fresh wave of dizziness hit her, although not as bad as the first.

She steadied herself and asked, “How did you find me?”

“Glenn.” Conall mashed his lips, and she thought she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. The only emotion she’d ever seen on him that did not scare her.

“I thought Lachlan had killed him.” She wished he had. If only she’d checked to be certain Conall’s men couldn’t make it back. Or that she’d listened to her head instead of her heart—she would have gotten a map and planned her route to the abbey and would have been long gone before the snake had come for her.

“He did. Glenn had just long enough to get back home. All he could say was ‘Lachlan.’ I knew then he had my letter. I had no idea you would be here.”

“Will ye take me home to see my family, then? I would like them to be there for the wedding.” She attempted to sound happy about it, and he looked at her, puzzled; maybe she was getting better at this lying.

“No, I have your father’s blessing. We will be wed on the way back. I will not be letting you get away again. I’ve wanted you for too long.” He ran his hand down her side and stopped at her rear to cup it. It was a struggle to keep the revulsion that jolted through her off her face. She had to change the subject.