The Beast of Clan Kincaid (11 page)

Where did she sleep, he wondered?

Just then he perceived a movement in the darkness—a cloaked figure hurrying from the castle toward the space behind the stable. A woman by the lightness of her movement, and the pale moon of her face.

He did not need to see her face to know it was Elspeth.

*   *   *

Elspeth rushed headlong into the darkness as fast as her feet would carry her, praying that no one had seen her leave, and if they had, that they would not question the story she had given the guards at the gate, that she was going to visit her old nursemaid, Fiona, in the village—which in truth she did often enough that they only nodded and watched her go on her way.

The servant girl who had approached her at the stairs had told her he waited in the area of the stables, near the cistern, but Elspeth did not see him. Until, suddenly, she did when he pushed back his hood and his blond hair shimmered in the shadows.

“Magnus,” she hissed. “You should not be here—and I should not be meeting you. My father, if he knew, would never let me step foot unaccompanied from the castle again. Why did you come here tonight? Offering marriage! What were you thinking?”

He strode toward her. Just as always, it took her breath away just a little, seeing him like this. So tall and masculine. A full-grown man, when once he had been just a frail boy she'd taken under her wing out of sympathy because of his inability to speak, an affliction that invited scorn from his father and continued for years, until one day he suddenly spoke, surprising everyone.

But things had changed so much since then, for the both of them.

“If someone is going to marry you,” he said. “It might as well be me.”

She blinked at him. “What a romantic thing to say.”

“We both know romance plays no part in this,” answered Magnus.

Elspeth gathered her cloak tighter against the chill. “Your father sent you, didn't he? He wants my land. My
tocher
. Anything he can take from us.”

“Nay, Elspeth, it is I who want your
tocher
,” he said fiercely, gesturing with his hand. “Surely you understand, marriage is the only way I shall ever come to possess anything of my own. The Alwyn chieftaincy along with every
rood
, every
dabhach
of land, will go to Hugh, whether he is deserving or not.”

A year younger than Magnus, Hugh was the Alwyn's only legitimate son—his designated male heir, or
ceann-cath
, formally agreed upon by the Alwyn clan council long ago, at the time of his birth.

“Hugh is not deserving,” she answered softly.

Elspeth had always known, from the first time she encountered Hugh, that there was something wrong with him. As a boy he'd been relentlessly cruel to animals and other children, always without remorse. As an adult, she found him frightening. Not because he was fearsome as a warrior but because of his empty, black eyes and ever-present smirk. She had often wondered if he had a soul.

However, his father, the Alwyn, bestowed upon him every possible privilege and honor as if he were a prince—including, apparently, the recent betrothal to the earl of Buchan's ward.

Magnus, on the other hand, had proven himself not only a skilled warrior and leader among the Alwyn men, but an excellent strategian. The number of stingingly successful raids he'd inflicted on MacClaren holdings of late was proof enough of that. And yet, his father withheld all but the paltriest acknowledgments from him. It had always been so. The Alwyn had never officially recognized Magnus as his own.

“And yet you find me deserving, Elspeth—my dearest and most constant friend?” he demanded softly.

“Of course you are,” she answered, stepping closer.

“Then marry me,” he said urgently, catching her hands, pulling her near. “I know a priest who will marry us tonight.”

She exhaled, and closed her eyes. “If I married you, you know as well as I that my lands would become your father's—and then Hugh's.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she retorted softly, pulling away. “Eventually they would, in some way or another, as a way to dishonor my father. Your father would make sure of it.”

“I assure you”—he held up his hands, as if offering peaceful terms—“your lands would remain separate from the Alwyn holdings.”

“As if you'd be able to stop him.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, as cold crept through her leather slippers, up from the ground. She sighed. “You must find another way to make a life for yourself. One that doesn't involve me. I hope you do, Magnus, because I truly want the best for you.”

“I can't believe this,” he said incredulously, looking up into the night sky. “You would choose that toad Keppoch before me? Or that lecher FitzDuff.”

“No!” She shook her head, covering her ears because she did not want to hear those names, or even imagine those faces again. “I—I don't want to marry either of them. But neither does that mean I must marry you.”

He turned back to her again, his face appearing carved of stone. “I know you are loyal to your father. Your clan. But you're a grown woman now, with a mind of your own. You see now, what he intends for you. If it is not Keppoch or FitzDuff, it will no doubt be someone of their ilk, chosen for their lands or influence, with no care for you. Consider your choices—and give your loyalty to me.”

Elspeth stiffened, and poked her finger into his chest. “Perhaps that might have been possible before you stole forty head of cattle from our herd.” She poked him again. “Or before you burned down the south granary. Aye, Magnus? Do you need more reasons why I could never take you as a husband? I will not marry without my father's consent, and he will never approve of you because of these things you have done.”

He stared down at his chest where her finger remained lodged, his nostrils flared.

“Do I need to hear more reasons, you ask?” he answered sharply—then looking up, scowled. “No. I can remember them on my own, because I was there”—his voice rose and his eyes flared—“and I'd do it all again. I'd steal your cattle, and burn your granary, because those lands were intended for the Alwyns,
not
the MacClarens, and you know as well as anyone your father all but stole them from mine—”

“Even now, you take his side?” She rocked toward him, higher on her toes. “That makes you no better than Hugh.”

His eyes widened, and he shook a finger in her face. “Now ye've provoked me, lass.”

“Go home!” she shouted, and backed away from him. “Or jump in a
bogloch
for all I care.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not. Without. You.”

She blinked at him. Opened her mouth to offer a retort. But snapped her teeth closed instead. Because she was finished. Tired. Disappointed. With everyone in her life!
Except perhaps Niall
.

“Well, then,” she exclaimed, with an exasperated wave of her hands. “You can sleep here on these cold hard rocks and answer to my father's men in the morning, because you'll be waiting for me for a long time.” She turned and took several steps toward the castle, calling back over her shoulder. “I'm going to bed.”

She heard the hard stamp of Magnus's boots as he circled round to block her path.

“You're certain, then?” he demanded, walking backward, matching her pace, his face a featureless shadow in the night. Behind him, the castle walls shone, illuminated by the bonfires. “You won't marry me.”

“Are you hard of hearing?” she cried, coming to a stop.

“There is nothing I can say or do to change your mind?” He tilted his head. “Last chance.”

She answered, hands fisted on her hips. “Thank the lord above, because I'm done talking to you.”

“Well then…” His voice softened, and he took one step back, his expression different now … somehow anticipatory. “I'm sorry, Elspeth.”

Why the odd change in his manner? “Sorry about wh—”

Something dark closed over her. Rough cloth, imposed on her from behind her head by even rougher hands.

Shock rippled through her.

“Let me go!” She fought—but found her arms banded … her body turned … twisted … tightly wrapped in a heavy cloth.

She should have known he was not alone. That his companions were there in the shadows.

“Be still,” Magnus ordered.

She screamed, outraged, but heard only the muffled sound in her own ears. Her only hope was that a stableboy or the blacksmith might be close enough to hear.

“Quiet!” he growled, clamping a hand across her nose.

She screamed again.

The hand shifted over her mouth.

Och! Now she could scarcely breathe. Despite writhing and kicking as hard as she could, she felt herself seized by numerous arms.

“Careful now,” he instructed.

They lifted her from the ground.

Her heart pounded so fiercely that pain cleaved her chest.

“No, no, no!” she shouted into …
whoever's
palm, desperate to convince them, one and all, to abandon whatever Magnus intended. Because she feared she
knew
what he intended.
I know a priest who will marry us tonight.

Jostled … hoisted … heaved high, she was passed into the arms of another. Her fears confirmed, she felt the hard press of a saddle against her bottom and a man's body behind hers, holding her fast. She gasped for breath, turning her face, seeking enough air to scream.

“You know I would never harm you, Elspeth,” said Magnus, close to her ear. “But if you insist on fighting me like this and fall on your head and die, it is no one's fault but your own.”

 

Chapter 8

The animal tensed beneath them and bolted, Elspeth knew, toward the border.

She had snuck out of the castle, without leaving word of her true intentions with anyone. Would anyone even realize her absence until morning? That was too long. Once on Alwyn lands, secured inside their stronghold, there would be no saving her, not without a clan war.

It was up to her alone to escape. As the animal thudded over earth and stone, she held herself painfully alert, waiting for any pause or hesitation of motion in which she could spring free. But for what seemed like forever, they traveled on, she painfully clenched in Magnus's arms, gasping for breath as the jarring force of their travel over hill and vale threatened to loosen every tooth in her head.

“Take me home,” she demanded for the thousandth time. Hurt, furious, and miserable, she had pled, begged, and railed ceaselessly until her voice was hoarse, not knowing if he could hear her, but making every effort all the same. “Take me home
now.
”

At last the horse slowed.

She readied herself, knowing she must act quickly if given the chance. Whatever he intended would happen now. She had completely lost her bearings, but if she could escape him she could hide away in some furrow or crevice until first light and then stealthily find her way home. She wasn't afraid of Magnus. He wouldn't hurt her physically. Because of that, she felt no fear over attempting an escape.

Magnus dismounted. She felt his body gone behind her, and heard the hard stamp of his boots on the earth. He pulled her down. Tangled in cloth and darkness, she lost her footing and slumped against him, gasping.

“Are you all right, Elspeth?” he asked, holding her tight.

“No,” she bellowed.

He was arrogant enough to chuckle.

Men's voices spoke in low tones around her.

“Take the horses. Secure them in the trees where they won't be seen.”

“Take her that way, down the path, and you will see the light.”

“Whatever it is you have planned,” she cried, thrashing against his arms and the blanket, “it is a
terrible
plan, and it's not too late to stop.
Please
.”

He did not answer. Instead, he hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her, near crushing her ribs as he climbed, up up up, she feeling each rise in elevation, as his boots crunched against stone and moss.

She kicked. He smacked her bottom.

“
Magnus!
”

“Then stop it,” he commanded.

The others laughed heartily.

He placed her onto her feet and quickly freed her of the shroud. Cold air chilled her skin, and a strong wind caught her cloak. She wobbled, out of sorts and unsteady, trying to see through the darkness, and the wild tangle of her hair.

They stood atop a high
sìthean
, that much she'd already surmised—but before she could bolt, he seized her hand and pulled her into a copse of trees, where in the distance a lantern flickered and a bald-pated man stood, wearing a cassock. Tree limbs creaked ominously.

She dug in her heels. “You cannot force me.”

“Of course I can,” he answered with a dry laugh. “It happens all the time.”

“I can't believe you're laughing about this,” she wailed.

“I think at least one of us should be happy on the night we are wed.”

“I will
never
be happy,” she blurted. “Not if it happens like this. Which means you will never be happy either.”

He paused on the path, and turned toward her, grasping her by the upper arms.

“I know what troubles you,” he said, suddenly serious.

“Yes, Magnus,
you
,” she retorted.

He tilted his head, considering her thoughtfully. “You think because we have been friends for so long, like brother and sister, that being husband and wife will be strange. But you're wrong. You'll see. I will learn to love you, and you will learn to love me.”

Squeezing her arms, and pulling her a few inches closer, he looked at her a long moment … and swallowed hard, as if gathering courage—

“Don't do it,” she warned, eyes wide.