“And succeeded in killing an innocent lad in the bargain.”
“I regret having killed Desmond MacKenzie,” Brice said with sudden honesty.
For a moment Meredith found herself astounded by his admission. Could it be that the barbarian was almost human?
“But the next time I will succeed,” he added in a tone of pure venom. “From this moment Gareth MacKenzie is a dead man.”
“And what of me?”
He took a step closer until they were almost touching. The hounds, taking a cue from their master, inched closer, sniffing the hem of her gown.
To her credit, Meredith did not back away, but stood facing him. He reached out a hand, intending to catch her roughly by the shoulder. The instant his fingers encountered her skin he felt the heat. Heat that raced and pulsed until he felt as if he were on fire.
“I haven’t yet decided just what I’ll do with you.” He stared down into her eyes and was astounded by the sexual pull.
“What is your name?” His voice was a mere whisper.
“Meredith.” She was surprised at how difficult it was to speak. At his touch her throat had gone dry. All the blood seemed to have rushed to her brain, leaving her feeling weak and light-headed.
“Meredith MacAlpin.”
“Meredith.” An unusual name for an unusual woman. He had to remove his hand or he would be burned. He clenched his fists by his side and took a step back. “Daughter of Alastair MacAlpin?”
At her nod he said simply, “He was a good man. And a fair one.”
His mind began working feverishly while he studied her. “Perhaps I’ll use you as the bait in a trap.”
He saw the way her lips pursed as she started to protest. The words died on her lips as he added, “If Gareth MacKenzie sees your land slipping away, I’ll wager that he’ll do anything necessary to get you back.”
“Are you suggesting that Desmond was ordered to marry me only to enlarge the MacKenzie holdings?”
He saw the sparks in those green eyes and nearly laughed aloud. So he had struck a nerve. Swallowing back the smile that threatened he murmured, “Was there any doubt?”
He watched the way her features darkened with fury. Aye, a nerve. God in heaven. What a temper. What a fascinating, fiery little creature.
“Oh, Gareth MacKenzie will come for me.” She faced him, hands on hips, eyes blazing. “But not to enrich his estate. He will come for me because he is a gentleman. A man of honor. And not a—barbarian.”
He did laugh then, a deep, joyous sound that sent little tremors along her spine.
“A barbarian, am I?” His smile faded. In its place was a look of pure venom. “Aye. That is what I must be if we are to believe that Gareth MacKenzie is a gentleman.”
He stooped and retrieved the dagger before crossing the room to remove all the weapons from the shelf above the bed.
“Angus,” he shouted. “Holden.”
Instantly his friends were at his side.
Brice handed them the weapons. “See that these are kept away from the lady.” He emphasized the word “lady.”
Angus nodded toward Meredith. “Angus Gordon, my lady.”
Meredith studied the man who stood beside his friend. Smaller by a head, sandy hair fell in a riot of curls over his freckled forehead. His blue eyes danced with the promise of laughter lurking just beneath their clear depths. In her state of anger Meredith refused to acknowledge him, except for a slight nod of her head.
“Holden Mackay,” Brice said by way of curt introduction. “Of the clan Mackay to the east.”
Meredith studied the burly man. At first glance he appeared to have no neck. His head seemed to rest upon his massive shoulders. His upper arms, like his chest and shoulders, were corded with muscles. As he lifted several weapons with the ease of a seasoned warrior, he turned and, for the first time, stared directly at her.
“My lady.” He inclined his head slightly. “Your stay at Kinloch House should prove to be most interesting.”
Meredith shivered at the suggestion in his words. But it was his eyes that frightened her. They were cold, lifeless. Like his soul? she wondered.
“I will join you below stairs,” Brice called to his friends.
When the two men left, Jamie continued to stand in the doorway staring with fascination at the beautiful woman who was Brice’s captive.
“Jamie. Be gone, lad.”
The boy blushed clear to his toes before rushing from the room.
When they were alone Meredith lifted her head a fraction and faced her captor.
Again he felt the pull and had to force himself to step back, away from the heat of her.
He deliberately turned his back on her and walked to the adjoining sitting chamber.
“I will have food sent to you. My servants will see to your comfort.” At the door he turned toward her with a look that struck terror in her heart. His eyes were dark, dangerous. “If you try to leave this room you will find yourself most uncomfortable.”
“Do you think I fear death at your hand?”
He gave her a chilling smile. “Perhaps it is not death I have in mind, Meredith MacAlpin. Perhaps it is something far worse for a lady such as you. At the hands of a—barbarian like myself.”
His words sent a shiver along her spine. She had been prepared to die. But the thought of being used by him like some tavern slut sent her into a state of hear hysteria.
He called to the hounds and they ran eagerly from the room.
When the door closed, Meredith began to pace the length of the room and back. She must find another weapon with which to defend herself.
With a feeling of desperation she searched every inch of the room. She was not a woman who accepted defeat gracefully. But defeated she would be without a weapon. As she turned dejectedly toward the bed, she spotted a rough cloak dropped carelessly in the corner of the room. Beneath it she found a dagger, small and sharp. With trembling fingers she concealed it beneath her gown.
This time her captor had not even bothered to disarm her—had merely ordered her to drop her weapon and she had. Now he would think her too puny, too insignificant, to dare to defy him. Hopefully he would not bother checking her for a weapon again.
She strode toward the fireplace and stood, deep in thought. The next time Brice Campbell came for her she knew what she must do.
Chapter Three
When the door to the sitting chamber opened, Meredith’s hand automatically moved to the dagger at her waist as she swung around to face her captor. In her eyes was the look of a warrior.
“I brought you food, my lady.”
Upon seeing the serving girl Meredith let out a long hiss of breath.
The girl was nearly as tall as a man, with blond hair neatly plaited and twisted about her head. As she set the tray on a table near the fireplace, Meredith noted that her hands were large and work worn.
“What is your name?’
“Cara.”
“Have you served Brice Campbell long, Cara?”
With ease the girl pulled a massive chair in front of the table and waited for Meredith to seat herself. “I was born here in Kinloch House while my lord Campbell and my father were in France. When my father died in France, my lord arranged for my mother and me to stay on here.”
“And you do not object to being forced into service?”
“My lady, it is a fine life for us. If my lord Campbell had turned us out, where would we have gone?”
“Have you no family?”
“My mother has two brothers, but both had already taken wives. We would have become a burden to them, and in time they would have resented us. Knowing that, my lord Campbell provided for us.”
Meredith noted the warmth in the girl’s tone whenever she mentioned Brice Campbell’s name. “How can one so cruel elicit such devotion?”
“Cruel?” Cara gave a sweet laugh. “My lord Campbell is a good and fair man. I have never known him to be cruel.” She lowered her voice. “But he is curs
ed with a quick temper. Mother has often said that Father told her he would ne’er be the one to cross swords with him in battle.”
Meredith recalled his curses in the darkness, low and savage, and felt herself shiver. Aye, the man had a temper.
“But he is quick to forgive and forget as well. A kinder, fairer man there is not in all of Scotland. His kindness even extends at times to his enemies.”
“I do not understand.”
Cara gave her a level look. “Jamie MacDonald’s father was a Lowlander.”
“I had thought the lad to be Campbell’s son.”
“Son?” Cara smiled at the thought. “Ian MacDonald and his wee son were all that was left of a clan that had been burned and looted in the dark of night. Blaming Brice Campbell, Ian MacDonald journeyed to the Highlands to seek his vengeance.”
“What happened to Ian?” Meredith asked softly.
“He was killed in battle. When Brice learned that there was no one left in the Lowlands to raise the lad, he took him in. And Jamie MacDonald is like a son to Brice.”
Cara swallowed suddenly, dismayed at the looseness of her tongue. “I pray I have not betrayed a confidence by telling you this, my lady. But let no man call Brice Campbell an unjust man.” She avoided Meredith’s eyes, fearing that she had overstepped her bounds. “I will leave you to your meal. When you have finished I will return with warm clothes.” She stared pointedly at Meredith’s gown. “Though there is nothing wrong with the clothes you wear. You look as lovely as a bride.”
The food, which only minutes ago had seemed so inviting, now tasted like ashes in Meredith’s mouth. She pushed the plate aside. “I was a bride. For a moment.”
Seeing the bleak look on Meredith’s face, Cara cried, “Oh, my lady. What happened?”
Meredith’s voice held a dreamy, far-away note. “He was hardly more than a lad. Doing what his family ordered. As was I.” Her tone hardened. “He was killed at the altar.” Meredith scraped back her chair and crossed the room to stand in front of the roaring fire. She was suddenly cold. So cold. The scene played once again in her mind and she gripped her hands together so tightly they were white from the effort. “Killed by an arrow from Brice Campbell’s longbow. The same Brice Campbell you claim is an honorable man.”
“I am sorry, my lady.”
Meredith was so deep in thought she didn’t even hear the door close as the serving girl took her leave.
~ ~ ~
In the great hall Brice paced back and forth before the fireplace while Angus and Holden emptied their tankards. Though Jamie MacDonald’s eyes were heavy, he resisted the urge to go to bed. The need to be close to Brice, to hear all that had transpired in the Lowlands, was more compelling than the need for sleep.
The hounds lay in a circle before the fireplace, their eyes firmly fixed on their master.
“How could I have made such a blunder?”
“The MacKenzie brothers are nearly identical. From so great a distance it was a natural mistake.” Angus added softly, “Do not fret, old friend. We will kill Gareth next time.’’
“Next time.” Brice whirled on his friend, his eyes blazing. “Do you think I can ask my men to risk their lives going down to the Borders again, just to honor my good name?”
“Why not?” Angus shrugged. “You know they would carry your standard anywhere.”
“They have wives and children to consider. I will not place them in danger for the sake of my reputation.”
“Then you and I will go.” Angus grinned. “You know I like nothing better than a good joust. Especially with the likes of Gareth MacKenzie.”
“And I will ride with you,” Jamie said, jumping to his feet. “I have no need to stay here.”
Brice’s temper cooled. “Aye. We’re three of a kind.” His frown turned into a smile. He could never resist Jamie’s enthusiasm.
“Then we’ll go back down and make good our promise?”
“You have a duty to stay here and grow to manhood,” Brice murmured gently to the boy. Circling the room, Brice clapped his hand on Angus’s shoulder. “I’ll ponder your offer and give you an answer on the morrow.”
“What of the girl?” Holden asked.
“Aye, the girl.” Brice tried not to think about the way he’d felt when they had touched. The mere thought of it brought a rush of heat. He shrugged. “I’ll think on that as well.” He crossed the room, then paused on the stairs.
The hounds circled his feet, eager to accompany him to his room.
“Pray she’s asleep,” Brice muttered. “I’m near exhausted. All I want is a chance to rest this tired body.”
“Aye.” Angus followed him up the stairs and turned toward his rooms on the far end of the hall. “It’s been too many hours since last we slept. I will see you on the morrow.”
“You are both fools,” Holden hissed. “Do you not know what to do with a warm, soft woman’s body on a night such as this?”
Brice turned on him with a look of fury. “Do not talk so about a Scotswoman. Especially in front of the lad.”
“I’ve heard such talk in the stables.”
“But not in this house.”
“Think of her as the spoils of war,” Holden said with a sly smile. “And enjoy this gift you’ve been given.”
“We’ll talk no more of it.” Brice’s tone was low and commanding. “Until I decide what to do with the woman, she is to be treated with civility.”
“Aye.” Holden laughed. “I will be most civil with Lady Meredith MacAlpin.”
Brice recognized the sarcasm in Holden’s tone but was too weary to argue further. With a lift of his hand he dismissed his friends and made his way to his chambers.
~ ~ ~
Meredith heard the door close and was instantly alert. She listened to the slight shuffling sound as Brice crossed the room. She heard the occasional scratch of dogs’ paws as they walked to the fireplace and settled down for the night.
The dogs. She had not planned for the dogs to be in the room.
Brice tossed another log on the fire and the flames danced and leaped as they licked at the dry bark. The room was suddenly bright from the glow of the fire.
At the foot of the bed Brice removed his tunic and shirt and she heard them whisper through the air as he tossed them on a nearby chair. The pallet sagged as he sat and tugged off his brogues.
When he pulled down the linens her heart began a wild hammering. Was the man actually going to sleep in the same bed with her? She had thought, nay, hoped, that he would be gentleman enough to sleep on the settle across the room.
The dagger in her hand was damp and slippery.
She was wearing only a sheer night shift, which Cara had brought earlier. Her gossamer gown and kid slippers had been taken away at Cara’s insistence. On the morrow they would be clean and ready for their mistress. But their mistress, Meredith thought with a smile, would be miles from here. She would borrow a cloak and boots from Brice Campbell’s wardrobe.
Patience, she counseled herself. Despite these unexpected changes in her plans, the dogs, the man in bed beside her, she must bide her time. She must wait, pretending to be asleep, until Brice Campbell relaxed his guard. If he had any warning, all would be lost.
From the warmth of his breath on her cheek she knew that he was facing her. She dared not chance a look at him. If his eyes were focused on her, he might detect the slight flickering of her lids. She would have to wait until the fire burned low and his breathing became even.
Her lids were heavy. Her body begged for the blessed release of sleep. But though the urge to sleep was nearly overpowering, she resisted. Her only chance to escape would be to plunge the dagger into Brice Campbell’s heart and disappear into the dense Highland forests.
He shifted slightly and his thigh came into contact with hers. She lay perfectly still, willing herself not to move.
How strange to be lying, not in her marriage bed, but in the bed of a brute who had taken her captive. How warm his flesh where it p
ressed hers. The thought left her shaken. She must not allow herself to think of him as a man. He was a cruel savage, who would rue the day he had tangled with a MacAlpin.
He sighed and moved a foot. Before she could recover her wits he brought his foot down, dragging the fur coverings from both of them.
From beneath veiled lashes she chanced a quick look around. The dagger was clearly visible if he would but open his eyes. She held herself rigid, afraid to breathe, afraid even to swallow. By the light of the fire the dagger’s blade glinted ominously. There was no place to hide it.
He moaned and dropped an arm about her waist. Her gaze flew to his face. His eyes were tightly closed. Gathering courage, she allowed her gaze to scan him.
God in heaven. The man was practically naked. She was so stunned she started to push away before she realized what she was doing. At the movement his fingers closed around her waist, dragging her closer.
The hand holding the dagger was slick with sweat. She clutched it between herself and him, praying that she would not drop it in her nervousness.
Sparks shot from the fireplace, sending a tiny explosion of light into the room. Reflexively he moved, bringing himself even closer to her. His face rested just beside hers, his lips brushing a tangle of hair at her temple.
The nearness of the man was driving her to distraction. All her carefully laid plans were unraveling. With his lips pressed to her temple she was unable to think, to even move. Saliva pooled in her mouth and she forced herself to swallow. The sound seemed overloud in the quiet of the room.
He murmured something in his sleep and tightened his grip on her, drawing her firmly against him. Never in her life had she been this close to a man. Even one with all his clothes on.
With each breath his hair-roughened chest brushed against her breasts, creating a tingling sensation deep inside her. She was achingly aware of his hips touching hers, of the thigh that rested against hers. The hand at her waist was warm, so warm that she felt as if her flesh were on fire. The heat spread, radiating a warmth that threatened to engulf her.
Despite the thundering of her heartbeat she forced herself to listen carefully to the sound of his breathing.
Soft. Even.
It was time. Before she forgot who she was and why she was here. Before she forgot that he was a monster who had killed Desmond MacKenzie and carried her off like a prize to be claimed. Before she allowed herself to be frightened by the presence of his dogs. It was time to buy her freedom even at the price of his life.