The Kindling Heart (39 page)

Ruan boldly strode into Duntulm, Cameron and Cuilen flanking either side. Fearghus was no fool, not with the host of boats on his shores. He didn’t even attempt to a fight. A group of MacDonald clansmen bowed in low respect, informing them that Fearghus wished to speak.

Ruan was impatient, taking the steps two at a time, until at last, the door to the laird’s chamber swung open, and he was inside.

The stench made him gag.

“Aye, come to finish off what ye started?” Fearghus rasped from the darkness.

As his vision adjusted to the light, Ruan saw the man’s pallid form on the bed, his breath ragged, eyes bright with fever.

The smell of death was in the air.

“Where is Bree?” Ruan demanded, striding forward. “Tell me where she is,
at once
!”

“Aye, I wanted to see the look on yer face, ere I depart this world.” Fearghus grinned, gloating. “Tormod’s had at her, this past hour! Ye’ll find yer woman ruined –”

Ruan bounded to the bed, grasped the man’s throat, and bodily lifted him from the bed. “Tell me where she is! Now!”

“Tormod is in the east tower,” Fearghus whispered with a smirk. “’Tis too late–”

Shoving him back on the bed, Ruan ran from the chamber, Cameron close at his heels. The castle inhabitants fled before them as they bounded up the steps, kicking in the doors of the chambers as they ascended. The fifth door revealed a man lying on the floor.

It was Tormod.

There was no sign of Bree.

Filled with rage and drawing his sword, Ruan descended upon his brother. He was tempted to behead Tormod upon the spot, but he needed to find out what had happened to Bree first. Restraining himself with difficulty, he only pressed the blade upon his brother’s neck as he half-lifted him from the floor.

Tormod was oddly still.

Noting the coldness of the man’s flesh, Ruan peered closer and spied the vast pool of blood that had formed on the floor.

Protruding from Tormod’s neck was the handle of the
sgian dubh
that he’d given Bree.

Cameron dropped to his knee and placed his long fingers on Tormod’s white lips. “He breathes still,” he said. “But, nae for long.”

No man could survive losing that much blood.

Tormod’s lashes fluttered weakly. “Ruan,” he mouthed feebly. “Cold…very cold.”

“Where is Bree?” Ruan shouted. “What have ye done with Bree?”

“Bree?” Tormod repeated, and then his eyes rolled back.

He was dead.

“Aye, she must have escaped,” Cameron stated, eyeing the chamber in disgust. “I shall have the men search.”

For the first time, Ruan allowed hope to blossom in his heart. “Aye,” he murmured, smiling. “She’s a MacBethad.”

It had been a cold night. She’d walked in circles to stay warm, hugging the shaggy horse for warmth at times. So great was her relief to be free, she’d scarcely noticed any inconvenience. As dawn colored the sky, she once again headed south, following the coastline as closely as she could and ignoring her hunger pangs.

She was afraid to stop. Yet, she was afraid to press on. She didn’t know where she was, but there was no sign of pursuit. She prayed fervently that she was leaving Fearghus’ land and avoiding Tormod’s. She reached the hilltop and saw the Old Man of Storr rising in the distance. Tears of relief sprang into her eyes.

Reenan.

Reenan would know what to do. Her cottage had been close to the shore, in the shadow of the mountain. She could find it. With renewed hope, she kicked the horse into a gallop, surging with hope and reveling in the warmth of the sun’s rays beating upon her skin.

The Old Man of Storr grew steadily closer as the power of the animal beneath her filled her with a sense of wonder. She marveled at the change in herself, that she could actually enjoy riding a horse. The beast seemed to sense the change, responding to her commands with respect instead of resentment.

Some time later, she pounded down the lane that became familiar and suddenly widened into Reenan’s croft. She pulled up short, astounded she’d actually found the place just as Reenan and her children burst out the door, mouths agape.

It was only then that she allowed herself to cry, but the tears that flowed were mostly ones of relief.

The children tied the horse to a tree as Reenan led her into the croft, plied her with porridge, and guided her to the bed. She pitched headlong onto the heather pallet and closed her eyes, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Ruan had spent the better part of the night distraught.

They all had searched the castle, but there was no sign of Bree.

He had returned to Fearghus’ chamber to question the man again. Upon hearing of Bree’s escape, Fearghus had let out a scream of pure frustration. The further knowledge that Tormod, Michael, and Gerland were now all dead and Ruan was the undisputed Laird of Dunvegan had caused the bedridden man to suffer some kind of seizure.

Ruan shoved Fearghus back upon the bed and held his dirk to the man’s throat, “Aye, I’d slit your throat now and have done, if it weren’t for the fact that I might need ye still.”

Fearghus gasped and his lips took on a purple hue.

“Ye’d best pray I find her soon,” Ruan said in a low voice as he dug the blade into the man’s flesh, “’Tis the only way ye’ll find a quick death.”

“I’ll stay and watch this black-hearted dog suffer whilst ye look again,” Domnall offered. Picking up a bottle of wine from a nearby table, he pulled the cork out with his teeth. “A sudden death is too grand a one for the likes of ye, Fearghus.”

“Aye.” Ruan and Cameron agreed in unison.

“See that he lives until we return,” Ruan ordered, moving toward the door.

As he left, he saw Domnall raising the bottle of wine in a toast.

“To yer health, Fearghus!” Domnall’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “And a slow journey to the Gates of Hell!”

Ruan strode out the door with Cameron at his side.

They searched every part of the castle, and Ruan was nearly giving up hope when he noticed the stable lad nervously following him.

“Ach, lad.” Ruan frowned, addressing the lad for the fourth time. “What is it?”

“I…think I saw her, yer lairdship,” the lad croaked, licking his lips nervously. “She was dressed as a lad, told me to saddle the laird’s own beast, or she’d cut off my nose.”

Ruan blinked, exchanging a dubious glance with Cameron.

“I swear it,” the lad insisted. “I’m telling ye true! She was a wee thing with brown curls and all. I knew she was nae a lad, but she… she was very commanding, right fearsome, insisted on the best horse and set off through the gate at sundown.”

“I see.” Ruan nodded in distraction, finding the story preposterous.

“Aye, she could barely stay seated,” the lad added, shaking his head. “’Tis a wonder she did nae fall.”

Ruan paused, scowling a bit, and gave the lad his renewed attention. “She could nae ride?”

“Nay, my lord, nae a whit!” Came the reply.

Elation surged through him.

Cuilen didn’t ride with them. Instead, he stayed to see Fearghus’ passing. As uncle to the infant Fearghus had begot with his niece, he was now the overlord, and there were many matters to be set straight.

Domnall, Cameron, and a handful of others followed Ruan with haste, riding to the moors in search of fresh tracks. They headed south, while several other parties fanned out in different directions.

Ruan scowled, wishing desperately for a good tracking hound, but he’d scarcely finished the thought when he spied fresh hoof prints in the mud, pointing due south, and all at once he knew in his heart the tracks belonged to her and where she was going.

“She’s headed to Reenan!” Ruan broke into a wide grin, his heart growing lighter with each passing minute.

Domnall and Cameron followed, but they didn’t share his optimism.

Several times, Domnall pulled rein, suggesting they return for hounds, but Ruan insisted and pressed on, and soon after, they spied Fearghus’ magnificent beast tied to a tree outside Reenan’s croft.

“Aye!” Domnall barked in outright relief. “She’s a MacBethad.”

“Nay, she’s a MacLeod!” Ruan turned on the man, a wide smile on his lips.

“Get in there to your wife, lad.” Cameron permitted his lips to twitch upwards in the semblance of a smile. “Ye can both fight anon as to which clan she favors.”

Bree was having the most wonderful dream.

She was cradled in Ruan’s arms; he was holding her close, whispering how much he loved her, repeating the words over and over. It was a dream she never wanted to end. She wanted to revel in his embrace and listen until the end of time.

She burrowed closer, but then something soft and wet touched her cheek and her eyes flew open.

Disoriented, she stared in confusion. She was still in Reenan’s croft, but Ruan was there, holding her close, his tears falling onto her face. She was too afraid to move, afraid the illusion would disappear, and then she heard her father’s grating voice.

“Aye, she is a MacBethad. I told ye from the start that she was a strong, Highland lass.”

With a gulp, Bree lurched forward to throw her arms around Ruan’s neck.

He fell back on the floor with a surprised laugh, half dragging her out of the bed, but she didn’t mind. Tumbling after him, she began to babble, asking first of Merry, and then telling him of Silas, and ending last with Tormod.

“I stabbed him.” She frowned, lifting her head from his chest for the first time. “I…do not know what happened to him. He was so still. Surely, I …I didn’t…” She could not bear to think she’d killed a man, even one as evil as Tormod. She confessed her fear in a whisper. “I think I might have killed him.”

“Nay, I did,” Both Ruan and Cameron answered in unison.

“Aye,” Cameron amended curtly. “We
both
finished him.”

Flooding with relief, Bree lifted her head to see Cameron, Domnall, Reenan, and her entire brood gathered close where she huddled in Ruan’s lap on the floor. Suddenly shy, she pushed away, but he’d have none of it.

“Nay, lass,” Ruan said, hooking a finger under her chin. “I’m never letting ye go again. I’ll have ye as my captive until the day I die.”

He bent to kiss her warmly on the lips. It made her tingle down to her very toes.

“Aye, lass, I told ye from the start that ye would love him.” Domnall chuckled. “’Twas plain to see that ye were meant for each other.

***

They left the next morning, sailing a boat up the coast to Duntulm. Bree had spent the night in Ruan’s arms, taking comfort in the soft rhythm of his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek. Neither of them had slept much, they had simply enjoyed each other’s presence.

“Aye, ‘tis good to see ye found love, Ruan,” Reenan had said, giving him a sisterly peck on the cheek.

Ruan had thrown back his head with a roar of pure laughter. After lifting Reenan up and twirling her in a circle, he set her down and enveloped her in a warm hug. “I’ll be expecting ye at Dunvegan, every year, to celebrate the birth of our newest bairn.”

Bree had blushed scarlet amidst all the laughter.

However, now on the boat, she found his words worrisome. As if sensing her mood, Ruan reached over and kissed the top of her head. “What is it,
mo ceisd
?”

“Dunvegan.” She frowned. “Surely… we aren’t going back, are we?”

His dark eyes widened a little in surprise. “We must! Dunvegan… is ours now, love. ‘Tis our…home.”

Home? The thought of Dunvegan as her home was absurd. The dark, gloomy castle filled with even darker memories was not the cottage of her dreams.

“’Twill nae be the same, lass,” Ruan assured. “As the Lady of Dunvegan now, ye can do with it as ye please.”

“I’ve always dreamt of a cottage by the sea,” Bree said and grimaced. “Not a castle.”

Ruan threw back his head and laughed.

With a sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder.

A month or so had passed. The morning held the hint of spring.

Bree stretched luxuriously.

She’d been having a decadently passionate dream of Ruan covering her skin in a multitude of kisses. She held still, not wanting the dream to end, but when it only grew stronger, she lifted her lashes to discover his dark, handsome face smiling down at her. She opened her lips to speak, but he promptly cut her off with a demanding kiss and swept her into a tide of emotions amidst his perpetual shouts of ecstasy.

The morning hour grew late before Ruan laughingly pushed her from the bed with his foot.

“I’ve had a wee surprise waiting for ye since last night, lass,” he said. “But ye kept on…distracting me.”

“The fault is all mine?” Bree questioned, sliding back under the covers.

After several moments, he groaned, nuzzling the hollow of her throat. “Aye, ye wee wild beastie.”