Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kenna woke to the smell of food, lifted her head, then opened her eyes. A maid disappeared out the door. A fresh fire began to crackle nearby, but her hand lay on the bed where Tearloch had been. She was alone again.
She closed her eyes and slid back to the far side of consciousness…
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Kenna was once again locked in her room at Carlisle Folly. She needn’t check the door. She knew it had been barred from the outside. She also knew she would never see her brother again if she didn’t climb out the window.
Heights terrified her. Anything higher than the back of a horse, that was.
She looked down into the yard behind the keep.
The twenty-foot drop seemed more like forty to her, but she had to go.
The ledge was easily a foot wide, more than enough for a girl of eight to walk along until she found an open window.
She stopped her greeting for fear her sobs may throw her off balance, then she rubbed her wet palms on her dress. She needed a good dry grip.
A chair beneath the window and she was out, imagining Sander standing behind her, goading her, telling her she would never be brave enough to take that first step.
She stared at her feet and took sidesteps while she clung to the wall behind her.
Sander’s window wasn’t far, but it seemed like she had walked a league before the opening appeared.
She stepped to the glazed window just in time to see the back of her brother as he disappeared out the door with a sack slung over his shoulder. Though she was quick to cry out this time, no sound left her mouth. Naturally, Sander couldn’t have heard it either.
The window wouldn’t budge, so she beat upon it with her fists. If she could break the glass…
She gave it one final try, adding all the might she could, but the force of it only pushed her off the ledge. The fall made her stomach turn. The soft turf beneath her felt like a stone when she hit, and the unyielding ground tried to push itself through the back of her head.
The blue sky above her turned black.
When she woke, her heart broke knowing she would be too late. She could feel her brother moving away, leaving her behind. If she could only get to the gate faster this time, she could stop him. Stop all of them.
She stood and ran, but the dizziness turned her around, pulled her in the wrong direction. The ground pulled on her, called to her, delayed her. For a minute or two, she could only crawl.
At the corner, she saw all the horses already moving into formation, facing the gate! The march began as always. The man nearest her brother leaned toward Sander and said, “Doona look back.”
With one final effort, calling on her body to stand as it knew how to do, she made it to her feet. Then she screamed with all her might. “Bastard! You cannot have him! Give him back!”
The tall man turned his mount to look at her while the rest continued.
“Give him back or I will see you dead. I vow it!”
She saw clearly the flash of regret in bright green eyes, then he frowned and urged his mount back to Sander’s side. Broad shoulders made broader still by the skin he wore like a mantel. Long dark hair. Those eyes. She needed to remember it all so she could find him again.
As always, Sander would ignore her plea. “Brother, take me with you!”
The boy looked only as far as the man at his side, then down at his saddle. When she begged again, he kicked his horse into a gallop and out the gate.
Her sobs only stopped when she lost consciousness again.
Suddenly, she was in a field of flowers, lying beneath the same man that had taken her brother from her. She recognized the eyes, the dark hair that hung now over one shoulder…as he bent to kiss her.
Tearloch found quiet refuge in the solar and spent the afternoon skimming through old missives, never truly reading the words.
His mind was filled with images of his bride to be.
Would she sleep all day? Should he think of a pleasant way to wake her?
Kincaid suggested he bring her flowers. He refused to listen to any of Leland’s ideas. And Duncan was nowhere to be found.
Frazier burst through the door without knocking. “Saints be praised, ye’re here.”
Tearloch jumped to his feet. “Out with it!”
He nodded. “Ye’re woman is fit to be tied. None dared open the door. She is…”
They hurried out the door. “She is what?”
“She is angry, sir.”
Angry? His heart stopped racing and his feet slowed. What sort of men were these who could not face a woman’s pique?
The hallway was full, though none of the guards dared stand too near the door. They stood back as he passed, careful to school their expressions. None of them seemed to see humor in the situation, which pleased him. He wouldn’t have them mocking her.
“Go on with ye,” he told them, before he reached for the door handle.
He jumped a little when something heavy struck the door from the other side. The men at his back shook their heads as if urging him not to open it.
He chuckled. “Easy, lads. I am in no danger.” To a man, they looked dubious, but he lifted the latch and pressed on the wood.
It did not budge.
He tried three more times before giving up and pounding firmly. “My lady? Open the door for your laird and master.”
Something hit the door again, and from the sound of it, it struck high up, as if she’d aimed for his head.
He turned to the men. “How long has this continued?”
“Since Nones, my laird.”
Frazier hadn’t found him quickly then.
“I daresay she may be wearing down—”
“Or run out of things to throw.”
“Nay. She comes to collect them and starts again,” said a young man with wide eyes.
He sighed. “Very well. Go now. All of ye. I shall take this watch.”
Half a dozen nervous men were only too happy to leave him alone with his hellcat. Though he tried, he could not fathom what might have caused her distress. But his eagerness to see her again, to be near her again, won out over caution, and he knocked gently on the door.
“The men are gone, Kenna. We are alone now. Open the door and allow me to be of service—”
Something very hard and very sharp struck the door opposite his head once again, only this time nothing fell to the floor.
She had a weapon! And the only weapon he knew he’d left inside, tucked in the bottom of his clothes chest, where he wouldn’t imagine she would find it—the small dagger his father, Leith Macpherson, The Kingmaker, used to wear in his very tall boots.
The only reason Tearloch himself didn’t carry it was because his boots were far too short for it, and he would never risk losing it in battle. It was too dear.
That she would throw that blade at his head lit a fire under his ribs. Instinct told him to break down the door and punish her, somehow. But he would never beat her, could never lay a hand on her in anger. But frighten her?
Most certainly.
He tried the latch again, just to get his ire up. Pounded his fist half a dozen times, then pulled his weapon from his belt. He struck the door with the heavy pommel that acted as a counterweight for his impressively long broadsword.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
“I’ll allow ye one last chance, woman! Ye have to the count of three to unbar this door, or stand well back!”
A crowd had gathered at the top of the main stairs, and he waved his sword to disburse them before turning back to the bedchamber door.
“One!” Met by only silence.
“Two!” If she were to comply, it would be now.
“Three!”
He took a step back, lowered his shoulder to where he knew the bar rested on the inside, and charged through.
The wood flew from its moorings, along with the braces and the bar they cradled. He stumbled on a boot and found another half dozen littered around the doorway. Two candlesticks, one of them bent nearly in half, and various bits of bowls and the like, were scattered on the floor.
He marched over to the largest piece of door now resting aslant against the small table and flipped it over.
Just as he expected, his father’s dagger was seated an inch deep in the center panel.
He wrenched it free and examined it for damage before searching the room for the hellcat.
His gaze swept the room, and when he didn’t readily see her, he noted the bits of shattered shutter and strode to the open window.
She wouldn’t have jumped.
He peeked out and down and noted two wary guards looking up at him. Satisfied, he quickly turned in case she ran for the open doorway. But she did not.
“Not much protection left for ye without a door, is there? Was that yer goal here? To anger me enough to batter it down?”
She did not rise to the bait. He would have to hunt her down, which he entirely expected to enjoy.
Movement near the back corner of the bed. A flash of green and an auburn braid, then a flash of something else, which bit his arm! He lunged back to the outer wall, rushed around the large table, then jumped onto the bed and off the other side where he caught her and pinned her to the wall.
“The hellcat has teeth,” he snarled, taking in the sight of her.
With her hair contained, she seemed much smaller.
Almost harmless. But there was strength behind her struggles that had less to do with muscle and more to do with rage.
He tried to force her to look at him, so he might understand, but she fought his every attempt to hold her steady.
“I see I am late to the battle,” Duncan drawled from the door. “Forgive me, Sir Tearloch. My lady.”
She stiffened at the sound of his voice. Why would that be?
She tried to see past Tearloch’s shoulder, but he had rendered her immobile. And when a tiny whimper escaped her, it dealt a blow to his heart.
She is afraid of Duncan Keith.
He caught her gaze and held it. “But why,” he whispered.
When her bottom lip trembled, ever so briefly, he released her arms but remained where he was, between her and the man she feared. He cupped her face and pushed his fingers into her hair, then looked into her eyes and repeated, “Why?”
She bit her lips together but soon answered with a whisper. “He vowed to kill me.”
“When?” Though outraged, he kept his voice low.
She took a deep breath, reached for his upper arm, and slid her hand against his wound. Her hand came back covered with his dark blood.
“Duncan!”
His second hurried up behind him. “I am here, son.”
Tearloch was so angry he fought to keep a tremor from his voice. “When did ye vow to murder her?”
“Murder her? Ye mean Lady Kenna?” Duncan tried to see around him, but he kept his body between them, and Duncan chuckled.
“When I took her blade away, and yers, and left ye to her mercy in the tent. I told her…” He took a quick breath.
“God’s teeth! I told her if she spilled one drop o’ yer blood, she would be dead before it splats on the ground. ”
Tearloch finally relaxed, rested his head against hers for one precious moment, then stepped to the side.
“Ye’ve broken yer vow, my friend. Ye’re too late.
It has already hit the floor. So would ye do me the courtesy of assuring this woman that ye’ll not murder her after all?
” He wiped his own hand across his wound and held it up, to help the man understand.
Duncan’s eyes flew wide, then they narrowed at Kenna. “Ye did this?”
She swallowed, then nodded.
“May I know why?”
It was she who looked up at Tearloch now, with venom in her eyes. “Because he killed my brother. He lied about his name. You all lied about his name.”