Chapter 1 #2
from the room, then commanded softly, “Mind your tongues around
Lindsey. She should not be forced to listen to your crude
remarks.”
“She is usually the one who makes them,” Neal
protested. He remembered the first time he had heard his sister
swear. She would have put a soldier to shame.
Douglas chose to overlook his son’s comment.
Despite his daughter’s quick temper, she was the light of his life.
Though she went about her chores without complaint, Douglas sensed
her loneliness at times. Despite the fact that theirs was a lively,
raucous family, he knew that his daughter had been denied the
company of other women. Her isolation had given her a simple
innocence that, to him, was refreshing. But to those beyond these
secluded hills she would no doubt appear too artless.
He emptied his goblet and glanced at the sons
seated to his right and left. Their talk soon turned, as always, to
the state of their country and their beloved young queen.
* * *
Lindsey gathered the last of the eggs into
her apron and headed for the house. Usually such mundane chores
were given over to a servant, but she had a need to escape the
confines of the four walls, despite the weather. A bitter rain was
nothing compared with the storm that raged within between her
brothers and her father.
Theirs was a prickly, combative family, and
though she loved them dearly, there were times when she would have
gratefully strangled her overbearing menfolk. At such times she
fled to the solitude of the forest. Today, because of the weather,
she would content herself with a brief foray into the rain-soaked
acreage that ringed their fortress.
All the talk between her father and brothers,
if shouts and resounding oaths could be called talk, centered
around the rumors of turmoil at Holyrood, the queen’s official
residence in Edinburgh. Turmoil, she thought. The queen should live
with Douglas Gordon and his four sons. If they weren’t brooding
over Donald and his wenches, they were arguing over Murray’s
long-standing feud with the Robertsons, or Robbie’s rambling,
poetic missives to an unnamed maiden, or the never-ending tensions
that simmered between Scotland and England.
One day soon, Lindsey knew, the warlike
Highlanders could be called upon to defend their country against
the aggressions of England. The thought of it did not frighten
her.
All her life she had watched her father and
brothers go off to do battle. She had seen her poor mother’s heart
broken by the thought of losing her adored husband and sons to the
sword. Lindsey’s lips tightened. Instead it was her dear mother who
had died young. Far too young. And left a family washed in
grief.
Lindsey could still recall those early years,
when she and Neal were left behind while her father and older
brothers went off to do battle. She had cried out at the injustice
of it. There was still a lingering trace of guilt that, because of
her mother’s untimely death, she had been granted her wish. From
that day on her father had seen to it that all his children,
including his daughter, accompanied him everywhere. Those forays
into battle had convinced Lindsey that she would never be content
to stay at home while her men went off on their adventures.
Perhaps Lindsey was distracted by her
thoughts. Or perhaps she had taken on too many chores this day. For
whatever reason, she let down her guard for a moment. In the softly
falling rain she heard the crackle of a branch just moments before
an arm came round her waist and a big hand closed over her mouth.
The hem of her apron slipped from nerveless fingers. Eggs tumbled
to the ground, their contents mingling with the rain to run in
sticky yellow rivers at her feet. Her scream was abruptly choked
off.
Her heart hammered in her temples as a rough
voice warned, “Not a word, lass, or I shall have to break your
pretty neck.” She felt the heat of her attacker’s breath as he
said, “Do as I say and you will not be harmed. Do you
understand?”
She swallowed the terror that clogged her
throat and nodded.
“I wish only to speak to your master. I mean
him no harm. You will lead me through his keep by way of the
scullery.”
Lindsey’s mind raced. The lout thought she
was a servant. If he were to learn the truth, she would be in far
greater danger. She must keep up the charade until she thought of a
way to warn her family of this invader.
Feigning weakness, she slumped against him.
With a muttered oath Jamie lowered her to the wet grass. He had not
meant to harm this female, but ofttimes he did not know his own
strength. As he knelt beside her his breath caught in his throat.
God in heaven. Close up, she was far lovelier than he had expected.
Thick tangles of russet hair fell to her waist. Damp little
tendrils kissed her cheeks in a most becoming fashion. Her oval
face was accentuated by high cheekbones and a tiny, upturned nose,
and her lips were full and ripe. As her lids fluttered he found
himself staring into eyes that rivaled the queen’s emeralds.
He cursed this damnably hysterical female for
her beauty and her weakness. He was unprepared for either. He had
expected to bully the servant into leading him to her master. Now
his gallantry would not permit it. He would have to carry her. A
not altogether unpleasant task.
Sweeping her into his arms, he lifted her as
easily as if she were a bairn. With quick strides he began to pick
his way through the wet grass toward the scullery.
As the giant carried her, Lindsey plotted her
next move. Those few moments had bought her time to study this
stranger. From the weapons he carried, he was no ordinary traveler.
The hilt of the sword at his waist glinted with gold and precious
jewels, proving him to be a man of some wealth and measure. Unless,
she thought with a tremor of new fear, he had stolen the sword from
an unfortunate nobleman. She pushed aside that thought and
concentrated on the matter at hand. The sword’s blade was honed to
a razor edge. A fighter’s sword, not a gentleman’s weapon. She had
counted three dirks, one at his waistband and one at each boot.
She could not allow this villain to catch her
father and brothers unaware. Somehow she must warn them of his
presence.
As he cradled her to his chest, Jamie glanced
down at the sweep of thick lashes that shielded her eyes from his
view. He seized the moment to study her flawless complexion and
felt the sudden, unwelcome stirring in his loins. Had he
encountered this female at some other place and time, he would have
savored her wild, primitive beauty. But at this moment he wanted
nothing more than to present his offer to the Gordon clan and be on
his way to Edinburgh to be with his queen. Still, he could not
ignore the fragrance of evergreen and wildflowers that drifted
gently from her hair and clothes, enveloping him in the sweetest
perfume. She was a most fetching distraction.
At the door to the scullery Jamie paused.
Hearing no sound from within, he kicked open the door and strode
inside.
The woman in his arms moaned. Alarmed, he set
her down on a rug by the hearth and knelt beside her.
“Are you hurt, lass? Is something wrong?”
“Water,” she rasped, keeping her eyes firmly
closed. Please, sir, I have need of water quickly.”
Her voice was soft, almost husky. It was
unlike any female voice he had ever heard, whispering over his
senses in a way that disturbed him greatly. Still, he reminded
himself, he had not come here to be charmed by a voice. There was
desperate work to be done.
As he knelt over her she watched from beneath
half-closed lids and tried again. “Please. Water.”
“Aye.” Reluctantly Jamie crossed the room and
filled a dipper from a bucket. From the corner of his eye he saw
the flash of color and turned in time to see the girl racing toward
the doorway leading to the refectory.
“By the gods!” In swift strides he caught up
with her.
She gave out a loud scream as a big hand
closed over her shoulder, stopping her in mid-stride. She heard her
garment tear as he twisted her roughly in his arms.
“I meant you no harm, lass.”
“You think me daft?” Her eyes flashed as she
struggled to break free. “Once you have killed the others, you will
see there are no witnesses to your crime.”
“I mean no harm to those who dwell here. I
come in peace to ask a favor of the Gordon.”
“Oh, aye. And that is why you sneak around
the scullery like a thief.”
“My mission is one of peace. But I must gain
their attention before I can gain their ear.”
His words were soft. Soft and clever. She
would not be fooled by the look of sincerity in those eyes.
“Liar!”
In their struggles his hand encountered the
softness of her breast. Though small and slender, her figure was
undeniably womanly. He glanced down and saw the flush upon her
cheeks. A moment later he gave out a yelp of pain when her teeth
sank into his hand. When he jerked his hand away, his blood stained
the front of her gown.
“Damn you, wench. Will you not listen to
reason? I swear to you...” The rest of his words died in his throat
when he glanced down and saw that the lass was holding his dirk in
her hand.
She leaped forward, the knife aimed at his
heart. In one quick motion he caught her hand and wrenched the
knife free. It clattered to the floor at their feet.
With a vicious oath he dragged her roughly
into his arms, twisting her hands behind her in a painful
grasp.
“Now you will listen and heed my words,” he
snarled through clenched teeth. “Jamie MacDonald is a man of his
word. I come here in peace.”
“Jamie MacDonald? The Heartless
MacDonald?”
He saw the fear leap into her eyes at the
mention of his name. So she had heard of him. All the better. At
least now she would offer no more resistance.
“Aye. Heartless am I in battle.” He lowered
his head until his lips were inches from hers. His eyes narrowed
fractionally. “Do not cross swords with me again, lass, or you will
feel the sting of my anger.”
As he lifted his head he heard the sound of
swords being unsheathed. Before he could turn he felt the sharp
point of a blade against his back, slicing through his flesh. Pain
ripped through him.
A voice low with fury said, “Release the
woman.”
Had this been war, Jamie would have pulled a
dirk from his boot and held the blade to the female’s throat until
he either made good his escape or disarmed his enemy. It would be
far easier to cross swords with a hundred unreasonable Highlanders
than to try to reason with them. But reason he must, if he was to
keep his promise to Brice Campbell. Jamie lifted his hands to show
that he did not intend to draw his sword. As he turned, the lass
fled his arms and hurried to stand with the five men who faced
him.
They stood in a semicircle, swords lifted
menacingly. All bore a striking resemblance to the old man who
stood in their midst.
“I demand the right to fight this lout by
myself,” the tallest one said.
“Nay, Donald.” A stocky, bearded lad put out
his hand to delay his brother’s progress. “As eldest son I claim
the right.”
“You may both fight me if you wish, after I
tell you my reason for coming here.” Jamie reached a hand to his
waist and instantly another sword tip pierced his hand, unleashing
a river of blood. Ignoring the pain, he unstrapped his scabbard and
let it drop to the floor, as further proof that he did not wish to
do battle.
“I do not trust him,” the youngest said.
“Nor do I.” The old man strode closer,
peering at the stranger. “Who are you? State your name and the
nature of your business before we relieve you of your life.”
Jamie stood silently, eyeing the old man.
This had been a mistake. These warriors were itching for a fight.
They would never give him the time to relate all that he had
planned to tell them.
“He is Jamie MacDonald,” the lass said
softly.
“The Heartless MacDonald?” The old man paused
and turned toward his daughter, seeing for the first time that her
gown was torn and bloody. His eyes narrowed. “God in heaven. He has
harmed you, lass. I will cut out his heart.”
With a cry of fury he whirled and aimed his
sword at Jamie’s heart. “May you burn in hell for inflicting pain
upon my daughter.”
Daughter? Jamie glanced from the old man to
the fiery lass. His eyes widened. Aye. How could he have missed it?
The resemblance was there in the wide brow, in the finely chiseled
lips. But who would have thought a bloody Highlander could produce
such a work of perfection?
There would be no reasoning with the Gordons
now. Jamie stood very still, prepared to meet his fate at the hands
of this righteous old Highland warrior. He had made errors in
judgment before, but never one that had so surely sealed his
fate.
As the blade sang through the air, the lass’s
voice, low and commanding, broke the silence.
“Hold, Father.” She saw the blood spurt from
the stranger’s shoulder as her father’s blade missed its intended
mark by mere inches. “The MacDonald gave his word that his was a
mission of peace.” In quick strides she was beside her father,
gripping his arm to stay another thrust. She turned to face the man
whose touch had only moments ago filled her with terror. “I pray
you let him speak.”
Through his pain Jamie breathed a sigh of
relief.
A dangerous smile touched Lindsey’s lips as
she added, “And if we do not like what we hear, the Heartless
MacDonald will have at least bought enough time to prepare his
wicked soul to meet his Maker.”