Kate Wingo - Highland Mist 01 (10 page)

“You told me that Sibbald MacDougall was naught but an outlaw who would rape and murder me without qualm,” she hissed at Iain.

“Aye, so he would,” her captor retorted as he reached for the whisky flask. “The fact that ye’re an English noblewoman would no’ matter to Sibbald. He would care only that he could slake his lust on ye.”

Which is all you care about
, as well!
Yvette nearly blurted.

“Ye should count yerself blessed that Sibbald MacDougall didna get a hold of ye,” Hamish said as he again speared one of th
e slabs of meat with his dirk. “For he is no’ a man like the MacKinnon or the rest of us, mind ye. Sibbald is the devil’s spawn with cloven hooves instead of feet, beady red eyes, and a thick pelt of fur all over his body.”

“What’s more, I
’ve heard it said that he drinks blood instead of whisky,” one of the MacKinneys added, punctuating his ridiculous claim with a theatrical shudder worthy of a professional mummer.

Playing along
, Yvette turned to the red-bearded Hamish. “Given that I am a devout Christian woman, I have naught to fear from earthbound demons.”

“Brave
and
beautiful,” Hamish complimented with a roguish twinkle in his blue eyes. He then turned to his chieftain and said, “Ye’ve done well, Iain, in finding yerself so brawn and bonny a lass. Verra well, indeed.”

Ignoring the remark, Iain took another swig from the flask bei
ng passed between his kinsmen.

On the verge of informing Hamish that she was Iain MacKinnon’s prisoner
not
his lady love, Yvette instead turned to her captor and said, “I am curious to know if your clan stands with Robert the Bruce or against him?”

Without hesitating, Iain said,
“I owe allegiance to the Bruce. As do all true and loyal Scotsmen for he is now our sovereign king.”

“
And what of King Edward?” she prodded.

“
Longshanks is naught but a festering boil on the arse of Scotland,” Iain brusquely replied, several of his kinsmen raucously chiming in with similarly crude remarks. “But being a Sassenach, ye would know better than I.”

“I know no such thing
,” Yvette asserted. “I met the king but one time.” A meeting that occurred during the spring that she and her late husband attended Edward’s Whitsuntide court. And though she’d taken a strong dislike to the English monarch, she wouldn’t go so far as to label him a ‘festering boil.’

“
And what did ye think of Longshanks?”

Stunned that Iain would deign to ask her
opinion – most men cared little for a woman’s viewpoint, deeming it inconsequential – she was momentarily rendered speechless.

Several moments passed before she finally found the wherewithal to say,
“I found King Edward to be a cruel and brutal man. Moreover, he is driven by an insatiable need to conquer all in his path; whether that be a country, or a queen, or the horse he rides upon.”

“And the devil take him, he means to conquer
Scotland next!”

“
Yes, I believe that he does,” Yvette concurred, suspecting that she wasn’t telling Iain anything that he didn’t already know.

Abruptly
turning his back on her, Iain turned his attention toward Hamish. “How much longer ‘til the meat is cooked?”

“As ye can see
, it still has a bit to go,” the burly giant responded, spearing one of the smoldering slabs and holding it aloft for Iain’s inspection.

“Aye, so it does,”
Iain agreed as he rose to his feet. “That gives me plenty time.” Wrapping a firm hand around Yvette’s elbow, he then said in a stern tone of voice, “Come wi’ me, woman.”

Leery of his intentions
, Yvette balked. “I am perfectly comfortable where I am,” she told him, refusing to rise to her feet.

“When I
give an order, ye’re to obey. Without question,” Iain snarled, hauling her upright.

Yvette clenched her teeth against the pain that
immediately radiated down her left side as she was brusquely jostled about.

“Och, the lass is in fer it naow,” one of th
e MacKinney brothers opined. “My backside is already aching jes thinking about it.”

Angered that Iain’s kinsmen were clearly privy to
whatever fate now loomed on the near horizon, Yvette glared at the fiend who still held her arm in an imprisoning grasp. To her consternation, Iain appeared as forbidding as the lofty mountain peaks silhouetted against the night sky.

“I demand to know why I must accompany you.”

“Earlier today, ye tried to escape from me. What’s more, ye disobeyed me,” Iain informed her. “Because I canna let either transgression go unanswered, I must now mete out yer punishment.”

“
But I didn’t disobey you!” Yvette screeched, twitching like a fish caught in a net.

God’s teeth! Surely the woman knew this moment would arrive?

The previous night he’d warned her that he would punish her severely should she attempt to escape.

Tightening his grip on
Yvette’s arm, Iain pulled his captive away from the campfire. “Ye tried to escape from me. ’Tis one and the same,” he grated through clenched teeth as he strode toward the standing stones on the far edge of the meadow. “I ordered ye not
to escape. Yet ye willfully disobeyed me.”

“H-how do you intend t-to punish m-me?”
Yvette warbled.

Given that
her eyes were twin orbs of stark fear, Iain knew she imagined all manner of gruesome torture.

Seeing no sense in withholding the truth, he
said, “I am going to beat ye.”

At h
earing that, Yvette’s struggles became all the more frenzied.

“
Lest you have forgotten, I threw a rock at the boar!” she exclaimed in her defense.

“
Yet another transgression. Didna I tell you not to move?”

“But I feared t
he boar would run you through. I acted only to save you.”

“Yer intention was noble, I’ll grant ye
. But ’twas foolhardy nonetheless. Ye could have been killed,” Iain added, wishing that she hadn’t brought up the matter of the boar. “The next time I give an order, you
will
obey. Or suffer the consequences.”

“As though I were naught but a dumb animal under your
dominion,” Yvette murmured dejectedly. Having suddenly become pliant, her struggles had all but ceased.

“
Dinna put words into my mouth. Ye are under my dominion, true, but ye’re also under my protection,” Iain clarified, refusing to cede her any ground. “’Tis impossible to protect a woman who throws herself off the back of a galloping horse, only to run headlong into a boar.”

“The first was out of necessity and the second was
unintentional,” Yvette mumbled.

“And neither would have happened if ye had obeyed me,”
Iain countered, bringing the argument full circle.

As they approached the standing stones,
a ponderous yellow moon hung low in the eastern sky, casting a golden light onto the landscape. The luminous glow made the auld pagan temple appear more mysterious than usual.

When he reached the sandstone altar, Iain came to a halt. Glancing downward, he noticed that the light from the moon reflected off the mica flakes, causing the stone’s rough-hewn surface to softly glimmer.

“Remove yer cloak,” he said brusquely as he released his hold on Yvette’s arm.

Without uttering a word
, she obediently unfastened her fur-lined mantle. Then, shrugging her elegant shoulders, she let the costly garment fall to the ground.

Annoyed with her regal disdain,
Iain seated himself on the altar. Yanking Yvette across his lap, he wasted no time shoving her skirts to her waist, exposing the creamy, lush curves of her bottom.

No sooner did he set his avid gaze upon that lovely posterior than
Yvette renewed her struggles in earnest.

“Hold still,” he commanded, her writhing bod
y inciting his lust.

“I pray thee, do not strike me!”
Yvette pleaded, the rising moon bathing her face in a soft nimbus of light, imbuing her with an almost ethereal beauty. “I swear I will
never
again attempt to escape from you! Please, Iain! I am begging you to show leniency.”

About to raise his hand against her,
Iain instead stared at the woman sprawled across his thighs.

It
was the first time since her abduction that Yvette had pleaded for mercy. And it was also the first time she’d called him by name, Iain wondering if she was even aware that she’d done so.

Unable to tear his gaze from
Yvette’s face, he peered into her soulful brown eyes, instantly put in mind of a shy woodland nymph. And randy satyr that he was, he wanted to lay her down on the dewy grass at his feet and make love to her until they both fell into a stupor.

I do
no’ want to beat her. Surely, the wench knows that I will derive no pleasure from it.

Torn between what he knew he must do
– mete out her punishment – and what he longed to do – mate with her – Iain fought a fierce inner battle between reason and desire.

Unwillingly, he thought of the e
arlier incident with the boar, Yvette having been like David slinging a rock at Goliath. And though her actions had been foolhardy, they’d also been honorable.

‘Brave and beautiful.’
On that count, his kinsman had been correct. Or nearly correct, Hamish having forgotten to add disobedient to the list.

His resolve stiffened
, Iain raised his right hand. It
had
to be done. He’d told the Sassenach in no uncertain terms what would happen should she try to escape.

Forcing himself
not
to look into Yvette’s tear-streaked face, Iain instead fixed his sights upon the soft globes of her buttocks.
Twenty strokes
. ’Twas a fair punishment. Any man would concur.

In the
next instant, his hand vigorously cut through the air toward its intended target.

Only to come to a complete halt at the last possible moment.

Exhaling a heavy, pent-up breath, Iain lightly placed his hand upon Yvette’s arse, allowing himself the stolen pleasure of cupping a beautifully curved buttock.

“Escape me again and I
will
beat you. Unmercifully,” he added, lowering his voice for emphasis. “So if ye possess the wits God gave ye, you’ll take heed.”

That said
, Iain shoved Yvette off of his lap, the sight her buttocks, as white as a newly fallen February snow, more than he could withstand.

Her sentence commuted,
Yvette lurched to her feet, quick to shove her skirts over her hips. She then retrieved her cloak and, with a graceful flourish, she fastened it with the jewel-studded brooch.

Only
after
she’d transformed herself into the proper English lady did Yvette favor Iain with her gaze.

“
I am confounded, my lord, as to the reason for your sudden change of heart.”

Iain
shrugged. “’Tis a matter of honor. While I thought ye harebrained, ’twas a brave thing ye did, throwing the rock at the boar.”

“Regardless of what you may think, my only reason for throwing the stone was to save you
from certain death.”

“
Mmph,” Iain grunted, certain he could have killed the boar without her help. “Come. I need to fill my belly. And ye better hope to God that Hamish didna burn the meat,” he irritably added, so angry with himself for not administering the well-deserved punishment that he was fully prepared to blame the English beauty for every mishap under the heavens.

Dawn broke on a cheerless note as Iain
slowly opened first one eye, then the other.

Overhead, moody gray clouds shuffled, sheep
-like, across the sky, herded by a bracing wind that carried with it the tangy scent of pine. A wisp of mist hovered about the auld stone next to which he lay, caressing his face with cool, damp fingers. The nearby mountains were only just beginning to sluggishly awaken from winter’s long sleep, the warmth and vibrancy of springtide having yet to arrive.

Perhaps
it was the unrelenting grayness of the morn. Perhaps it was the dark melancholy that had been lodged in his heart for three long years. Whatever the reason, Iain suddenly suffered an aching burst of loneliness. As if a battle ax had cleaved his heart in two.

Reflexively,
he rolled closer to the woman who slept at his side, sliding his hand over her wool-clad body. Feeling Yvette’s belly involuntarily clench beneath his hand, he contentedly sighed, his maudlin thoughts abated.

He lik
ed having a woman in his arms. And he especially liked having
this
woman in his arms. It was the reason why he’d placed their sleeping pallet at a distance from his kinsmen, giving them a small measure of privacy.

And t
hough Yvette knew it not, her warm, softly-rounded body had chased away the long shadow of night, enabling Iain to sleep undisturbed. A rare occurrence, his sleep all too frequently haunted by the specters of death.

Kenneth.
Fiona. The stillborn bairn
.

There were times when Iain feared that
those three deaths would forever dangle over his head like a hangman’s noose.

Forcing
the dark thought from his mind, Iain hitched upward on his forearm as he quietly stared at his hostage. Like a small child, Yvette slept with her cheek pillowed against her hand. Smooth-skinned, the tapered elegance of that slack hand bespoke a life of ease. As did her frailness; a frailness at odds with the lady’s tenacious spirit.

No, not frail,
delicate
, Yvette Beauchamp far and away the most delicately-fashioned woman he’d ever set eyes upon.

A
s the gray light of early dawn fell upon her sleeping face, Iain was struck anew by Yvette’s exotic beauty: the graceful arch of her dark brows; the creamy luster of her fair skin; and the riot of sable hair that framed her face, curling about her shoulders and cloaking her bosom.

The temptation too great, he gently wrapped a fistful of her glossy hair in his hand and rubbed it against his cheek.

Soft as spun silk,
he silently marveled.

C
losing his eyes, Iain imagined that it was Yvette’s hand stroking his cheek, the pilfered caress causing his unruly manhood to twitch in response.

Jesu,
but I want her!

Wanted her moa
ning and writhing beneath him. Wanted her wantonly spreading her legs so he could fill his nostrils with her musty, fecund scent. Wanted her thrusting her womanly hips against him as she scored his back with those beautifully tapered nails.

As if she’d intuited his lurid imaginings
, Yvette suddenly tensed. Gazing at her face as she roused herself from slumber, Iain watched as her lashes fluttered. Then, a scant second later, she plaintively moaned . . . just before she tried to yank free from his one-armed embrace.

“Dinna pull away from me.
I mean only to hold you,” Iain crooned in her ear, lowering his voice so as not to unduly distress her.

Unsure as to whether the lady would obey him
–
when had she ever?
– he cinched his arm that much tighter around her waist, anchoring her to his chest.

Several seconds passed, Iain patiently allowing
Yvette to wage the battle on her own. When he felt her muscles finally relax, her body sagging against him, he smiled, knowing he’d won the skirmish. Because the Isle of Skye was a four day ride away, he took what pleasure he could from the moment. And though highly aroused, he intended to keep to his vow and wait until they reached Castle Maoil to bed her.

“The mist . . . ’tis like a gray cocoon,” he remarked,
having observed Yvette’s gaze track the gauzy skein floating above them.

“I feel like we’re
blanketed in a cloud,” she whispered. “Or a soft pile of newly-shorn—”

Iain shoved his hand against her
mouth, having just heard a twig snap in the pine grove located on the far side of the ancient circle.

“Keep quiet,” he whispered in Yvette’s ear,
waiting until she nodded her assent before he removed his hand.

More than likely the sound had been made by a deer come to break its fast.
Nevertheless, Iain reached for his battle ax on the off-chance a more deadly creature lurked.

Hit with a sudden,
uneasy prickle that coursed down his spine, he lifted his head and intently stared at the expanse of gray shrouded meadow enclosed by the ancient ring of stone. His nostrils slightly flaring, he caught a faint, putrid scent riding pillion on the whispering wind, instantly recognizing it as the stench of unwashed bodies.

Sibbald M
acDougall, the devil take him!

Certain the MacDougalls were on foot, having slithered through the wood on their bellies like the snakes they were, Iain knew that he and his kinsmen had
precious little time before Sibbald and his band launched their attack. Cowardly whoresons, the enemy clan had probably been hiding in the pine grove for hours, waiting until dawn’s first light.

Careful not to make a sound,
Iain quickly unbuckled his belt and pulled off his plaid. Despite the fact that Sibbald had twelve men to their six, he intended to use the element of surprise to his advantage.

After cautioning Yvette once more to silence, he unfastened the brooch at her neck, motioning her to raise her hips so
that he could tug the wool mantle out from under her. Not having time to answer her questioning stare, he bunched the plaid and mantle into two oblong humps. Although they wouldn’t pass muster at close inspection, from a distance the bulges would resemble two sleeping bodies.

The first part of the trap set, Iain rose to a crouched position
. He then slung both his belt and his sheathed claymore over his shoulder.

Taking Yvette by the hand,
Iain led her toward a large sarsen stone on the opposite side of the ancient temple, gauging it the safest place for her to wait. He refused to contemplate the dire fate that would befall her should Sibbald or any of his motley band catch hold of her.

By all that
is holy, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that doesna happen.

At seeing
the stark fear etched on her face, Iain placed his free hand on the ball of Yvette’s shoulder. “I canna stay with you,” he whispered as he lightly squeezed her trembling shoulder. “And I dinna have enough men to post a guard to watch over ye.”

Yvette frantically clutched the front of his tunic. “Why can’t you stay with me?”

“Because I must fight the MacDougall.”

“
Do you mean to say that they’re
here
?!”

“Aye
. On the other side of the standing stones,” he said, inclining his head in that direction. “For all that the wily bastard is an English sympathizer, I wasna lying when I said that Sibbald would rape and murder ye wi’out compunction.”

Yvette’s
brown eyes widened, her delicate beauty marred with a terror-stricken expression. “Please don’t let—”

“I willna let that ha
ppen,” he quickly assured her. “Can I trust ye to remain here at the sarsen stone?”

Although
she quivered like a wind-tossed leaf, Yvette wordlessly nodded her head.

“No matter what you see or hear, dinna move from this spot,” he ordered, hoping that thi
s one time she would obey him.

“G-God b-be with you,” she stammered.

“And with you,” he replied before turning to leave. While he didn’t completely trust Yvette, he had no choice but to leave her unattended.

Bent at the waist
, Iain ran through the mist toward the encampment where his kinsmen lay sleeping. Happening first upon his cousin, he knelt beside the younger man as he nudged him awake.

“The MacDougalls are afoot,” he whispered
.

Instantly
coming to full wakefulness, Diarmid reached for his sword. “Where are the bastards?”

“In the pine grove on the fa
r side of the standing stones,” Iain informed him. “Sibbald isn’t going to attack until the mist clears enough for him to at least see the end of his sword blade. Before that happens, I intend to lure him and his men into the center of the standing stones.”

“I’ll wake Hamish and the others,” Diarmid volunteered.

As his cousin surreptitiously wended his way through the mist to rouse their sleeping kinsmen, Iain hurriedly buckled his belt around his waist, sliding his battle ax under the leather strap. That done, he next secured the belt that sheathed his claymore across his chest. Too late, he wished that he’d taken the time to don the brigandine breast plate. The metal lined piece of armor had saved him more times than he cared to recall.

A few moments later, his five kinsmen having gathered around him, Iain said,
“We’ll first take up positions around the outer rim of the standing stones. Then we’ll lure Sibbald and the other MacDougalls into the center of the stone circle. That will enable us to take out as many of them as we can before attacking.”

Iain’s
three archers – Hamish, Malcolm and Robbie MacKinney – tersely nodded, each brother gripping a bow in his right hand.

“Are we going to wait for the mist to clear?” young Alex MacKinnon anxiously inquired
. Seventeen years of age, he was as yet untested by combat.

“Only enough to determine
friend from foe,” Iain told him. “If we wait for the mist to completely lift, we will lose what small advantage we have.”

Battle orders given,
Iain led his men to the stone circle where he posted one of his kinsmen at every third stone. Because there were eighteen stones in the circle, his kinsmen completely encompassed the periphery of the ancient temple.

To Iain’s dismay, a
lthough he tried to sight Yvette on the other side of the circle, he could not, the mist impenetrable. Hoping to alleviate her fears, he’d ordered Diarmid to take up a position at a stone near to where he’d left her. Had it not been for the fact the he needed to remain in close proximity to the MacDougalls, he would have taken that position himself.

Ready to lay the trap,
Iain waited until the mist began to lift, rising into the air like a plume of dissipating smoke.

Bending
at the waist, he grabbed a handful of loose pebbles. Then, taking aim, he hurled the nuggets at the standing stone opposite, the ensuing clatter breaching the funerary silence.

Just a
s he’d hoped, the MacDougall Clan, with the red-headed Sibbald in the lead, emerged from the pine grove on the edge of the meadow and stealthily made their way toward the standing stones.

No sooner did the unsuspecting Sibbald and his eleven men enter the stone circle than Iai
n gave a high pitched whistle.

In the next instant
, three arrows gracefully arced through the air.

All three arrows hit their target, three men collapsing to the ground with a strangled gurgle as they helpl
essly clawed at their throats. Iain mirthlessly smiled, the enemy reduced by one fourth.

Pulling his claymore out of its scabbard, he intended to reduce that number yet again.

“Audentes fortuna juvat!”
Iain loudly bellowed as he charged forward, the MacKinnon battle cry ricocheting from stone to stone.