Page 29 of Kidnapped by her Highland Enemy

L ucas entered his father’s meeting room and found him shifting through a pile of parchment, looking grim. He paused, “What is the matter, Faither?”

“Fishermen at the north seaside have lost their boats and traps because of thieves, and to make it worse, a storm claimed their houses as well,” Cinead said, then looked at him. “What do ye need?”

“I am going to wed Maisie in two days,” Lucas said. “I daenae want to let it linger any longer.”

His father pinned him with a knowing look, then his lips slanted. “She is carrying yer bairn, isnae she?”

“Perhaps,” Lucas replied. “We arenae sure yet.”

“I would have preferred it the other way around but—” Cinead shrugged. “— it happens.”

A knock came on the door and when Cinead permitted the person to enter, Laird McKenna came in. The other laird was dressed in traveling clothes and he bowed, “Pardon me for interrupting. I hope I wasnae disrupting anything too important?”

“Nay,” Lucas said. “I was only telling Faither that despite the threat lingering around us, Maisie and I will wed in two days.”

McKenna nodded, “Me best wishes, Barclay. I’ve come to tell ye, I must depart. I have taken too much time from me home, and I am sure me wife is questioning me absence.”

Lucas and Cinead shared a look, before Lucas inclined his head. “Safe travels, McKenna.”

“Thank ye.” He bowed again before leaving the room.

“Poor man,” Lucas shook his head, “That wife of his is a banshee if I’ve ever met one. I daenae doubt these past few days with us were the best he has gotten away from the old crone.”

“Aye,” Cinead replied. “Still, how are ye going to get the wedding done? Are ye going to the kirk or is the priest coming here?”

“I think it’s best that the priest comes here,” Lucas replied while rubbing his jaw. "It will give us less things to worry about.”

“Should I send for Faither Donald, or will ye?” Cinead asked.

“If ye could do it, that might be best,” Lucas said, “Ye’ve summoned him without explanations before so nay one will wonder about it too much. After we’re wed, I want to find this bastard who is giving us so much grief an’ send him off to meet the devil.”

Chuckling, Cinead waved Lucas off. “I’ll take care of it. Go find Oliver and get to planning.”

With a curt nod, Lucas left the room and headed to find his man-of-arms, but halfway to the cottage Oliver lived in with his wife, he decided to wait another day. The man needed time alone with his wife and newborn bairn, so he headed back to Maisie.

He found her curled up on their bed, and he quietly removed his boots and joined her on the bed, behind her. Wrapping an arm around her, he held her fast to his chest.

Maisie was awake and he kissed the back of her neck. “Daenae ye worry, we’ll wed, and this man, whoever he is, will pay for all this pain ye are feeling.”

“But what if we daenae find him,” her voice was muffled. “What if he eludes us for months, even years?”

Gently, Lucas turned her on her back and smoothed her hair from her face. Making sure his voice was steady and sure, Lucas said, “I will find him, believe me.”

She still looked worried, but Maisie nodded. “I trust ye.”

Their kiss began gently, soft nips, bare brushes of lips and almost-silent sighs until Lucas held her head fast and the kiss took on a life of its own.

The kiss became heated and demanding. Lucas flicked his tongue against her lips, then traced them with the tip before he thrust his tongue into her mouth.

His hands grasped her bottom to pull her atop of him but Lucas did not want to couple with her, he only wanted this—this closeness, this intimacy…her love. They kissed slowly, and lovingly until she grew drowsy and he set her back on her side, and pulled away with a whisper.

“In two days, this time, ye will be me wife,” he said in her ear. “Rest assured of that, mo ghràdh .”

The day of his wedding had come and Lucas found himself in the middle of the loch, bathing. It was barely after dawn and the rising sun was not strong enough to cut through the thick mist lingering above the water. He had come to bathe before the ceremony that would start in roughly two hours.

He wanted to hurry back to the castle, don his great kilt and hurry to the chamber where Maisie would be waiting for him, clad in his clan’s robes as well.

He could not wait to say his vows and sweep Maisie back to their chamber to continue the celebration while the rested feasted in the great hall.

Ducking his head again, he stood and began wading to the banks, where his clothes rested on a rock.

A rustle in the bushes to the side had his head snapping to it, but a bird took flight from it.

Standing still, he strained to hear any sounds not from nature.

He listened for the sound of hooves, the sound of breathing, whispered voices, or signaling whistles, but there was nothing.

Not even the birds chirped, or small critters ran about; aside from the flow of the river, it was deathly silent.

Resting easy, he went to the rocks, only to hear—and feel—a massive stomp of boots in the water and the rush of water flushing on the back of his shins.

Spinning in place, Lucas barely managed to dodge a punch then launched himself at the bed and tackled the man.

They crashed into the stream, and he straddled the man.

His fists flew one after the other as he pummeled the assailant, snapping his head left and right.

An arm snapped round Lucas neck, yanking him off the first attacker and dragging him into the middle of the stream.

Enraged, Lucas twisted out of this one’s hold and spun around, punching this one in gut, and when he bent, Lucas thrust his fist up into the underside of the man’s chin. He saw nothing but red and his fist flew, one landed squarely on his nose— the bone cracked— while the other blackened his eye.

After he sent this one flying, two large ham hocks for fists flew at his face and Lucas counted a third opponent. It was not his first time being outnumbered and it would not be his last.

With an elbow to this one’s gut, Lucas freed himself and flung himself at his pile of clothes where he had hidden a dirk, but as he grabbed the handle, he was kicked away and landed hard on a rocky bed, his head hitting the rock’s floor with a nasty crack.

Even while pain surged through his mind, he launched to his feet and started fighting.

He landed on one of the men and punched hard.

It was only a matter of a minute or two before the man breathed his last; Lucas had beaten him to death with his bare hands.

But he was not ready to finish yet, he jumped from the man and spun around, grabbed the dirk and punched the blade right through the second one’s gut.

He reeled up ready to dispatch the third when a rock, the side of his head slammed into his temple—and everything went black. His hand lost grip of the dirk and his body slumped to the water, unconscious.

Time was ticking away and Lucas had not returned from his bath yet. Dressed in her marriage robes, Maisie paced her chamber, anxiously pacing the room. Where was he?

A knock came at the door and Maisie answered it, hoping it was Lucas—only to see her father there. Warily, she stepped back and allowed him in. Her father, dressed in his ceremonial great kilt bearing her clans tartan, closed the door behind him.

Maisie had never seen her father this pensive in her life and for a moment she wondered if he had come to stop her from marrying Lucas.

“Faither…” she started warily. “What’s wrong?”

He rubbed his face then sighed long and loudly, “I’ve come to apologize, Maisie.”

Stunned, she stood still for a moment before finding a seat just in case her legs would go weak. “For what?”

“For dismissing yer ideas an’ solutions to so many problems I’ve have over the years,” he said remorsefully. “Granted, I still thought this connection ye have with Barclay was nothing more than infatuation, but the more Cinead and I talk, its clear we’re fighting over nothin’ but pride.”

Unbelieving, Maisie looked at her father. “But—”

He held up a hand. “Let me finish. I saw ye handled yerself at Sterling Castle and I realized ye are nay foolish nor weak. Ye’ve learned much and I do believe ye will be a good wife and lady of a clan.

The prudence ye have will profit Lucas and well, all of us in the long run and I am sorry, Maisie. T’was nay fair for ye.”

For a moment, she wondered if she were dreaming—never would she have expected these words from her father, though, in truth, she had hoped so. Standing, Maisie went to hug him and said, “Thank ye, faither. It means much to me.”

He held her tight. “If only yer maither could see ye now.”

She smiled. “She would be proud.”

“Aye,” Angus said while pulling away. “She would. I must go and join Cinead. I’ll see ye soon, lass.”

With a last hug, Angus left the chamber and Maisie sat again, still reeling with her father’s apology. Was this, the issue with their clans and the resolution she and Lucas had made to sort it out, what it would have taken for him to see her as the woman she was?

I suppose so.

Not too long after that, a soft rap on her door had her tugging it open. A young woman stood there, her dark hair in plaits like most of the servant girls. “Lady Maisie, Laird Barclay sent me to come get ye.”

Relief flooded her heart—he was back then. “Please, lead the way.”

Heading down a corridor, the girl took Maisie down a staircase she had never stepped on before but decided that it had to be a secret measure Lucas had put in place to stop others from spying on them. They came out to a lower level and into an anteroom that led outside.

She frowned, “He is outside?”

“Aye, me lady,” the girl nodded and pushed in the door. “Go straight to the end and round the post there, that is where he is.”

Oddly, Maisie grew suspicious and while she followed the directions, the moment she rounded the post, she crouched and tugged out one of the daggers from her left cloth boot—and none too sooner.

Someone grabbed at her and she came up slashing. The blade drew blood from the man’s cheek and he stumbled back with a hiss. She made to attack, but he grabbed her hand and slammed her into a wall, blood dripping from his cheek, his dark eyes glowing with rage.

“Ye wee bitch,” he snarled, fixing a tight hold on her wrist and forcing the blade out of her hand. It tumbled to the ground as Maisie tried to lift her knee to slam it into his stomach, but he was pressed flush on her body.

His lips twisted into an evil smirk and he leaned in, eyes glittering. His breath reeked of stale liquor when he spat, “I wish he gave me time to have me fun with ye, but I have me orders.”

Maisie’s blood chilled when she understood, had me fun, and she tried her best not to shiver and show her fear. She lifted her lip, “Lucas will find ye and kill ye for this.”

A nasty smirk split the man’s face in half, “I doubt that, now—” he lifted his hand and fixed it around her throat, squeezing the air out of her lungs until she slipped into blackness, no matter how she clawed at his hands. “—ye are coming with me.”

The night before

Clan McKenna

The piercing howl of a ravenous wolf rent the air while an icy wind of an early winter buffeted Hector Forrest, the Laird of the small McKenna clan. Standing at a window in his keep, he trained his gaze north to where the Barclay Castle stood, had stood for over two centuries.

The forest between them was dark and menacing, and while Hector could not see it, he knew that the clan was celebrating another victory over the Gunns. Pivoting on his heel, Hector looked south to where the Gunn clan sat, nursing their wounds… and he smiled.

By midday the next day, his plan would be working. Barclay and his wife-to-be would have been abducted and carried off to a third location where they would unfortunately die.

This will put these clans at war at last and when they kill each other, I will take up what is left.

“About time ye were wrenched down a peg or two,” he muttered nastily. “The lot of ye, thinking ye are so high and mighty.”

“Muttering to yerself again?” his wife Gavina scowled as she came into the room, her way lit by the candle in her hand. “It’s past midnight, Hector, ye should be in bed.”

“Nay,” he replied. “I came here because I couldnae sleep. Ye ken travels robs sleep from me.”

She spat, “After five days cavorting with Gunn an’ Barclay ye’ve probably made a fool of yerself. What were ye doing there, begging for bread?”

“And have to sup their cold kindness?” Hector’s face twisted. “I’d rather starve.”

“Ye willnae be taking me or yer children with ye,” Gavina snapped shrewishly. “Ye are a Laird. Why are ye such a coward and so weak? Surely ye can do something!”

He slammed the cup “Would a weak laird manage to goad both clans to the point where they are at war with the other? Would a weak laird manage to get enough knowledge that me men will get that damned Barclay and his wife-to-be, that uppity Dunn wench, and take them to a place where they will die? Will a weak laird be able to take hold of the scattered clans when Dunn and the old Barclay do decide to kill each other? Hm?”

Davina stilled and she came forward, dark eyes glittering. “Have ye done that husband o’ mine? Truly?”

“When was the last time we had decorations on these walls, or good leather to make our boots? How long had it been since we have eaten fresh beef that hasn’t been salted and brined so fiercely it was as if we were eating rawhide?

“Never again shall we groan when the frost has taken the fields again or our ships have been wrecked out at sea. Never again shall it be a lean winter fo’ us while Gunn and Barclay have more than enough to throw away because, wife, they will be dead!”