Page 17 of Keeping Kate

Chapter 6

Ashadow fell over her. Kate, pushing against the foul-smelling prisoner, glanced up to see a pair of muscled half-bare legs, knitted stockings, and a rumpled plaid. A huge hand whipped out, grabbing her assailant’s coat and lifting the man up to dump him several feet away with a heavy thud.

“Leave her be, Hobb MacDow,” the Highlander said in Gaelic.

“Hey!” MacDow sat up. “I thought ye was dead!”

“I am not, and you will keep away from the lady.”A ‘bhean-uasal,he said, as if she was a fine and noble lady to be respected.

Kate gaped at her rescuer. He was a giant, unkempt and unshaven, face blood-crusted, distorted, frightening. She had never been so glad to see such a fearful beast.

“Tapadh leat,”she said. He looked at, fist on hip, and nodded.

“Highland Donald, that’s a wee harlot, that one,” MacDow said. “I heard them talkin’ oot there. We can take turns on her. She willna mind, hey, not her sort.” He crawled toward Kate, reaching out to catch her ankle while she tried to scutter away.

“Get—off.” The Highlander leaned down, wrenched the man’s hand free, and then grabbed a handful of brown coat, hauling MacDow upward with one great fist. He flung him aside again like a sack of beans. MacDow hit the wall with a dull smack, rolled over, and sat against the wall, glaring in silence.

Kate stared upward. The black-haired Gael had taken a beating recently—one eye was bruised purple and swollen shut, and his brow, cheek, and lip were badly cut and seeping blood. But his expression was calm, his jaw square and strong. She saw great weariness there, along with a gentle aspect, and felt no threat. He gave her a crooked smile, then winced.

“Thank you,” she repeated.

He grunted and turned, walking over to the small man in brown, now bunched against the wall. “Stay there, you.”

“Just a bit o’ fun, lad.” He waved a hand. “I am Jacobite, like you. Friends, aye?”

“If you want to claim friendship with me, find your manners,” the Highlander said, continuing in Gaelic, even as the other chose English. Both seemed to fully understand one another. “Keep your hands to yourself if you value your crop of lice and the head they are living on.”

MacDow touched his filthy head gingerly. Kate watched the Highlander in utter gratitude and relief as he came back toward her. Sitting on the floor just an arm’s length away, he stretched out his long legs to make a barrier between Kate and the other man, and then leaned his shoulders to the wall and closed his eyes.

She surveyed the bruises and caked blood. “Are you badly hurt? Can I help?”

“I will do,” he murmured.

“I am grateful for your help.”

He nodded, eyes closed, and folded his arms. She saw bruises there, too.

“I am Kate. And you are Donald?”

He snorted. “Donald is a name that Lowlanders use to refer to all Highland men. It is not my name. I am called Ian Cameron.”

“Oh!” She gasped and scooted closer. “Ian Cameron! We—some are looking for you,” she whispered.

He opened his good eye to peruse her. “And who would be looking for me?”

“My kinsmen.” She kept to a whisper. “My brother is Duncrieff.”

He tilted a dark brow. “Robert MacCar—”

”Hush,” she whispered. “They do not know my full name or my kinsmen. Sir, my kinsmen know you were taken, but they did not know where you were being held.”

“I have been here a while. A month perhaps.” He rubbed his head. “But how is it Rob’s sister is here with me?”

“I was arrested for—helping my kinsmen.”

He huffed a half-laugh. “Are you the one, then? That Kate? Well done, you.”

She leaned close. “We thought you might be in Edinburgh Castle.”