Chapter 11 #2
“Let me go,” Meg pleaded. “Why are you doing this?”
“Shut up, bitch,” Mackinnon said. “This is all your fault. If you had accepted my proposal, none of this would be necessary.”
So that was it. Alex watched the man so intently, he could see the hairs bend on his arm from Meg’s uneven breathing.
Not much ground separated them, but he dared not try anything with that blade so deathly close.
He kept his gaze leveled on the attacker.
He could not risk looking at Meg, seeing panic in her eyes. Panic that might paralyze him.
But what he saw in Thomas Mackinnon’s gaze offered little in the way of reassurance. There was a hint of wildness in his eyes that bespoke a man who’d risked everything and knew it. Meg was alive only to get to Alex. Once Alex was contained, they both would be killed.
“I don’t understand,” Meg said. “What could you hope to—” She stopped as understanding dawned. Alex could hear the horror in her voice. “You want to be chief.” Her eyes widened. “Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with my father’s illness—”
“I told you to shut up,” Mackinnon growled. He pressed the dirk, and another drop of blood slid from Meg’s neck. Alex could tell he was quickly losing whatever control he had on his restraint.
A cold rage settled over him, fueled by a bloodlust so powerful that he could taste it. “Let her go,” Alex said. It was not a request; his voice resonated with the promise of death.
Alex sensed Hook Nose moving toward him, and he beat him back with a fierce glare.
Thomas Mackinnon directed his venom toward his compatriot. “You fool. You said there were only three guardsmen. What is Alex MacLeod doing here?”
“He didn’t ride out with her,” Hook Nose faltered nervously. “You need not have interfered, I have everything under control.”
“You should be thanking me, you idiot,” Mackinnon said. “You would be dead right now if not for me.”
Hook Nose studied Alex. “You look familiar …” Recognition dawned. “The outlaw.” He turned to Mackinnon excitedly. “It’s him. The man I told you about. Now you must believe me. I told you he fought with the skill of five men.”
“I thought you said they were MacGregors?” Mackinnon snapped.
“They were,” Hook Nose assured him. “My men recognized a good number of them.”
Mackinnon looked at him sharply. “What is the brother of Rory Mor doing fighting with outlawed MacGregors?”
Damn. Alex heard Meg gasp. Doubtless he’d have some explaining to do later. He took a step closer. “Let her go and you can have me.”
“You are in no position to bargain,” Mackinnon said. “Drop your weapons.” He tightened his hold around Meg’s neck, causing the dirk to press deeper into that delicate flesh.
He’s a dead man.
“I’ll put down my weapons, but lower the blade.”
Mackinnon laughed. “And why should I do that?”
“A show of faith. How do I know you don’t intend to kill us both?”
Mackinnon smiled, lowering the blade from Meg’s neck. Alex breathed.
“Now your weapons,” Mackinnon said.
Alex’s dirk and claymore fell to his feet.
“Kick them away from you.”
He did as ordered.
“Stop standing there and gaping, you fool,” Mackinnon yelled to Hook Nose, who was hanging back, obviously hesitating to get within range of Alex. “Hurry up! Fetch the rope and tie him up.”
Alex had to do something soon before the other man had a chance to secure him.
But he’d need Meg’s help. He had no choice; he’d have to look at her.
Cautiously, he lowered his eyes to her pale face.
She wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Her eyes were wide and glassy but lucid.
Her lips trembled slightly. She was frightened but was holding her own.
That innate look of control and confidence was less obvious, but it was still there. Damn, he was proud of her.
He just prayed that she would understand.
His voice turned soothing. “Everything will be all right, Meg. Just do what they say. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“I want you to remember something, something that will help you. Can you do that?… Good. Think about the night of the masque when I kissed you.”
Her eyes opened a little wider. Thomas Mackinnon’s face flooded with rage.
“I want you to think about what you did to me—”
“Get the goddamn rope, Billy, and shut him up,” Mackinnon spat.
Hook Nose, or Billy, had gathered the rope and was approaching, but very cautiously, eyeing him as if he were a wild beast. Alex had only a few more moments. He stared at Meg, begging her to understand.
Something flashed in her eyes. “I re-mem-ber,” she stuttered.
“Whore. I’ll give you a real man’s kiss—” Mackinnon swung Meg around to face him and lowered his head.
“Now!” Alex yelled.
It was perfect timing. Meg jerked her knee hard into Mackinnon’s crotch and quickly dove out of harm’s way.
Thomas Mackinnon bent over, covering his groin, writhing in pain.
Alex turned crazed—as frenzied as a Berserker in battle. Bloodlust surged through his body. He pulled out the small dirk that he kept tucked in his boot and aimed it right for Billy’s heart. He died with a startled cry on his lips.
Alex spun around to see Mackinnon hobbling toward Meg, his sword raised. Alex was going to enjoy this.
Sensing Alex’s presence, Thomas Mackinnon turned, swinging his sword wildly at Alex. Alex swung his claymore in a high arc. Mackinnon met his blow, but he was no match. They both knew his end was a certainty. Alex could toy with him for a while, but Thomas Mackinnon wasn’t worth his time.
With one powerful blow, Alex knocked the sword from his hand. Mackinnon didn’t get the chance to pull the dirk from his belt. Alex had him pinned to a tree with the blade of his claymore.
“Please, I m-mean no harm to the lass—”
But the rest of his words were cut off as Alex slashed his dirk across Thomas Mackinnon’s throat.
Dead men couldn’t lie.
The attack happened so fast, Meg barely had time to think before it was all over.
It wasn’t until after, when Alex had scooped her up and cradled her in his arms, that shock gave way to an uncontrollable shaking—and the vivid recollection of the violence that had occurred in the midst of this deceptively tranquil setting.
The forest floor was strewn with the bloody carcasses of over a dozen men, three her own.
She mourned their senseless loss. Three more deaths to add to the recent losses would hit her clan hard.
Yet nothing could feel more right than being held by the man who’d saved her.
Again. From the start, Alex had taken control of the situation with the swift, decisive command that she’d admired from the first. His incredible battle skills and calm under pressure had acted as a balm to her rising panic. He would not be defeated.
She’d been scared, but not terrified. Not until Thomas Mackinnon had surprised her from behind.
At first she’d thought he was there to help them.
Only when he’d refused to let her go did she realize her mistake.
She still could not believe that he’d tried to kill her.
She felt sick with the implications of all that her father’s chieftain had done for ambition.
The terror that had eluded her during the attack rushed forth in full force once it was over.
And Alex was there to be her rock, a steadying force merely by the solid strength of his presence.
The callused hands that had taken life with such savage ferocity now stroked her hair as gently as if she were a newborn babe.
He’d moved her away from the scene of carnage to the grassy bank of a nearby burn.
After dampening the edge of his leine in the water, he carefully wiped the trickle of blood from her neck.
She was lucky; she’d suffered nothing more than a scratch.
“Shush, love. It’s all over now.” His voice was low and soothing as he whispered words to calm her racing heart.
Through the wall of panic, her heart caught at the sweet endearment. Love. A sharp pang of longing hit her like a kick in the chest. God, how she wished that it were so.
He smelled of sweat and blood, but somehow it reminded her that she was alive.
His voice and hands worked magic, easing her panic.
She allowed herself the luxury of being rocked in his arms, relishing the security offered by his powerful hold.
She burrowed deeper in his lap and tightened her grip around his waist.
He winced.
Her head snapped back to look at him accusingly. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to brush away her concern.
But the fact that he was injured forced her back to reality as effectively as a hard slap.
Meg was furious. “Why didn’t you say something?
” she said, moving out of his lap. “How could you allow me to carry on about a tiny scratch and not even mention that you were injured?” She knelt before him and began exploring his side with her fingers.
“It wasn’t just a tiny scratch, Meg. His dirk was at your neck.”
Meg ignored him. She didn’t want to think about what she had barely averted, not when he was so obviously in pain.
He tensed as her hands moved across his tightly muscled stomach and back.
He was not bleeding, and it didn’t feel as if anything were broken, but she couldn’t be sure.
Carefully, she traced his ribs and the cut indentations of his muscled stomach with her fingertips through the leine.
When her hand dipped low on his stomach, he made a sound and grabbed her wrist.
“I’m fine.” His voice sounded pained, but this time with restraint.
“Just a few bruised ribs, that is all.” Their eyes met, and she could see the desire burning hot in his gaze.
He wanted her, and the evidence was growing right before her eyes.
She flushed, not with embarrassment, but with the knowledge that her innocent touch had aroused him so powerfully.