Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Her maid continued to retch, But Kenna couldn’t pull herself away from the window to offer any further comfort. The reality of the battle was just too disturbing, so different from the romantic tales Old Clark had recounted.
Also, she was lured by the familiar and pungent kiss of the sun-warmed pine of the embrasure. Golden pearls of sap were the only decoration to this unhallowed hall to which her aunt had sent her, and she reached out to test one with her finger. Firm but sticky in the warmth of the late spring sun.
The breeze had strengthened enough to take away the stench of blood, and she could not make herself exchange that clean cool air for the fresh reek of the bedchamber.
She was free. Praise God, if he still listened to one such as her. For the second time in two days, her prison doors had opened. And now she would do what she had always planned if she were ever free of Aunt Agatha’s clutches, and now Gowry’s.
Just that quickly, between a breath drawn and a breath released, Kenna knew what she would do with her freedom. She needed only to wait for the battle to end.
In a powerful movement, one man cut the head off another, and to her horror she was unable to shut her eyes to the sight of the head spinning free. In its wake, a spray of blood splatted in a dotted trail down the backside of a pale horse.
She was unaware of how long she stood staring and motionless, her senses filled only with red rain. Death was no glorious end. After the fighting was over, these men would not awaken, wash off their blood, and sew their parts back on to take up other duties.
She blinked and looked for her groom. At least one consolation, then. Gowry, at least, would stay put.
As would the man she would be hunting, once she found him.
An arrow pierced the wall near her, bringing her out of her musings.
Seeking the source, she locked gazes with that magnificent warrior who had spared the boy.
Dark-haired and fearless, he stood in the middle of the fray, a languorous breeze teasing at his uncovered mane.
Heavy chain mail secured his black clothing against a body that seemed. ..familiar.
But that was impossible. This was the first time Kenna had ever been away from Carlisle’s stronghold since being taken there when aged five. She saw very few visitors and in her twenty summers since, had seen fewer than a dozen men. Had this one been among them, she would remember.
Bodies, including that of Laird Gowry, lay motionless at the man’s feet as he lowered his bow, still facing her.
When she looked at him in question, he smiled, his teeth a welcomed brightness against his sun-browned face.
He tipped his head to one side and motioned her away from the window.
She immediately realized her foolishness and stepped back.
Then, peeking out from deeper in the room, she watched him turn once again to his bloody work.
Each time a fight would turn in the direction of the lad on the ground, the warrior would draw it away.
More than once, when matching blows with a frightened Gowry man, he would fell the other with a single blow of his fist. Looking again at the green of the turf and the scarcity of blood, Kenna wondered just how many of these Gowry’s were enjoying a long needed rest from their laird’s demands, and how many were actually dead.
Except for the man whose head now lay a horse length away, of course.
She understood why the dark one wore no helm.
He moved with the confidence of a god. If Kenna were a man, she would not want to face this one moving toward her in battle.
Every stride was sure, intentional. Every stroke of his great sword met its mark.
She never saw his bright eyes blink, but standing on the upper level of Gowry Hall as she was, made it a bit far to tell.
He never seemed surprised. Each attack from his enemy was predicted; even those from behind, and she wondered if it was a rule that men could only strike at a certain angle and in a certain order. This entire fight seemed well practiced. After all, the poor man looked bored.
Handsome and bored.
When she had first met his gaze, her heart had tripped and assumed a new rhythm.
She waited for it to slow to normal, but while she watched this warrior it would not.
She imagined being caught up against that chest and wondered if she would struggle.
A wicked thought, that, but she was far from pure.
No angel ever plotted her childhood away, imagining different ways in which to murder a man.
And now, here she stood, thinking dangerous thoughts about a strange man only moments after he’d killed her bridegroom.
Perhaps, like Aunt Agatha warned, he would take what he wanted as all men do, caring little for her preferences.
At the moment, however, Kenna had no idea what those preferences were.
Perhaps she would like to be held gently by those anything-but-gentle arms in an embrace like the one Fia and the stableman, Peter, often shared. Was that such a sin? Compared to the one Kenna was determined to commit, perhaps not.
Temptation held an entirely new meaning.
But Kenna would avoid that temptation. With the task she now had before her, she would not tie her lot to a man—or a god. Nor, she was sure, would any God tie his lot to her.
The battle looked to be settled, now that Gowry was dead, so she’d best make her escape. She would search the whole of Scotland if necessary for the creature responsible for her brother’s death, the man she would murder, the laird of the Clan MacPherson.