Page 5

D uncan watched her go still with a twinge of regret. But the warmth caused by the sight of her wriggling bottom began to recede as he focused on the green and blue bit of plaid draped over that delectable portion of her. She was a MacDonell and his enemy. He couldn’t allow himself to forget it.

Though he stifled the urge to help her up as she struggled to stand, the sight of the blood smeared across her leg gave him pause.

“You’re bleeding.” With a nod, he sent Ewen for a dampened cloth. When he returned, Duncan held it out to her. “Here. Clean it so we can assess the wound.”

“There is no wound,” Aileana mumbled. “It’s only a scratch.”

Duncan studied her. She looked much different from the shrieking force of nature she’d been on the battlefield; now she stood still before him, tight-lipped and pale, though struggling to appear unshaken by his for midable presence or that of his men.

Still, she wasn’t as good at pretense as he was at reading people; his years in the Tower had honed that skill razor sharp.

She was favoring one ankle, and her eyes were dimmed from pain and fear.

He held out the cloth again. “Clean the scratch , then. Now.”

Clamping her mouth tight, she grabbed the rag and began to dab her thigh. He heard her hissed intake of breath as it brushed across the cut. Though his jaw tightened, he refused to assist. He’d probably get nothing but the sting of her nails down his cheek if he tried.

When she finished, she looked up, holding the soiled cloth between her finger and thumb. “What do you want me to do with this, then?” Her voice lilted with sarcasm, though the effect was ruined by the dirt on her face and the dead leaves hanging from her hair.

Duncan took the rag and tossed it back to Ewen. “We have unresolved matters between us, woman. Give me the amulet. I’ll wait no longer.”

“I will be addressed by my proper name. I am Aileana of the Donells.”

Irritation filled him at her retort, only to abate when her eyes welled with restrained grief.

“My father was chieftain of our clan before you slew him, and I am the keeper of the Ealach . No one will be touching it save me.” She swept a glance over him and added with a reckless tip of her chin, “Especially not the leader of the wild, murdering MacRaes.”

He might have admired her rash courage in other circumstances, but not now when she was withholding what was so clearly his.

Taking two steps forward, he grasped the front of her tunic and pulled her to him.

His voice was dangerously quiet. “Hear this, woman . I tire of your insults. The amulet is mine, and you’ll be giving it to me now—or I’ll be forced to find other means of getting it from you. ”

“Then you’d be spitting in the wind, because even if I wished, I could not give it to you.”

“Why?”

“Because I do not have it.”

“You lie.”

She cast a bitter smile at him. “I learned long ago not to lie, MacRae. And I make this vow…as long as I have breath, your murdering grasp will not be touching the Ealach again.”

Cold fury swept through Duncan, and he thrust her away from him.

She thought to mock him? It was a dangerous game she played, far more dangerous than she knew.

For thirteen years he’d endured taunts and insults from his English captors.

He’d felt the slashing degradation of their words even more often than the sting of their fists, and he’d never bear the brunt of it willingly again.

Utter silence fell over the glen as his clansmen shifted uneasily. Duncan willed his rage to ebb enough to speak. “If you do not give me the Ealach right now, Aileana MacDonell, you’re going to be a very sorry lassie.”

After a moment Aileana’s chin tilted up another fraction, but she shook her head nay.

Duncan stared at her in disbelief. She had to be bluffing.

And his bluff would be better.

He paused for only an instant before motioning for Ewen to approach. “Strip her for a search.”

Duncan watched Aileana’s gaze dart to Ewen and then back to him, as if measuring his intent. He allowed the cold, hard look he leveled at her to hold a flicker of in terest and was gratified to see the careful mask she’d made of her face begin to disintegrate.

But the fear that replaced it made his fists clench and his teeth grate.

Hell’s fire, he’d not wanted it this way, but she’d left him no choice.

Still, when she made a choking sound and squeezed her eyes shut, it sent a sickening stab into his chest. Cursing himself under his breath, Duncan struggled to remain firm as Ewen took hold of the length of plaid wrapped round her torso.

When her tunic was unlaced, her eyes snapped open.

She remained silent, her stare fixed upon his face.

He tried to focus on that part of her as well, struggling to calm the disturbing feelings that rose in him as the rest of her clothing fell away.

Except for the cut and some smudges of dirt, she was perfection.

He felt an involuntary surge of desire when his gaze fell on the pink tips of her breasts, tightened to succulent raspberries in the open air. His gaze slipped lower.

It was a mistake.

The dusting of cinnamon-hued curls at the joining of her thighs made him shift to accommodate the sudden, heated swelling of his manhood.

He snapped his stare back up to her face, trying to force his mind to a different tact…

a more rational plane of thought. The MacDonell wench had thwarted him again, he reminded himself; she was undaunted by his attempt to subdue her. And the Ealach still wasn’t his.

That knowledge killed the last remnants of lust. His blood cooled, and he crossed his arms over his chest as sanity returned.

Tipping his head mockingly, he said, “Well done, lass. Your display is worthy of the most sought after harlot in the land.” He curled his lips in a wicked smile.

“But like any bit of Eve’s flesh, you’re heir to deception.

Perhaps I’ll be instigating a more thorough search to—”

“Duncan!” Kinnon rode hell-bent into the glen, his horse sweating and panting. He pulled the stallion to a halt and swung to the ground, calling out, “Gavin MacDonell’s been taken at Connor’s Crossing. He’s wounded, but he’s alive and under guard at Dulhmeny.”

Gavin MacDonell. The name cut through Duncan’s heart with the swiftness of a sharpened blade.

Behind it rose the choking hatred so familiar to him now.

Having revenge on that deceptive whelp would be almost as fulfilling as it would have been to see Morgana’s head on a pike.

Gavin MacDonell had been his sister’s willing supporter in the attack that had taken Mairi’s life, and Duncan wouldn’t pass up the chance to see him pay for it.

Turning sharply, Duncan strode toward Kinnon. His cousin’s stallion pranced and pawed, but Duncan took hold of the reins and stilled him. He saw Kinnon notice Aileana’s condition, saw the look of pained embarrassment flick over his features.

“Have you no shame, man?” Kinnon muttered hoarsely, his blue eyes snapping with anger. “She’s standing there naked for all the world to see!”

“It was necessary.”

Duncan handed Kinnon the calmed horse’s reins and walked to Glendragon, tethered at the edge of the glen.

“But I’ve no time to discuss my lack of morals, cousin.

My meeting with Gavin MacDonell is long overdue.

” Duncan nodded for Ewen to return Aileana’s plaid and tunic before mounting Glendragon.

“Bring the woman back with you to the castle.”

He didn’t trust himself to look back as he wheeled Glendragon around and thundered from the glen, con centrating instead on the rhythmic beat of his stallion’s hooves.

This first battle for the amulet might be lost, but Gavin MacDonell was his.

For years he’d imagined the pleasure he’d get from running a claymore through the man’s heart; now that the moment of reckoning was here, the thought filled him with nothing but a grim sense of purpose.

He was counting on the act to ease some of the pain that ate away at his heart…

pain from his own brother Colin’s betrayal, pain from the memory of Mairi’s lifeless body—pain from his constant feelings of helplessness and rage.

Revenge would surely bring balm to the bitterness in his soul. When every last guilty MacDonell had been made to pay, he would find freedom from the tortuous memories. He had to.

It was the only means of salvation left open to him.

Aileana watched Duncan storm from the glen, and she shuddered.

Her limited knowledge of the man told her that Gavin’s confrontation with him was going to be much worse than what she’d just endured.

Still, she felt a wild flash of joy in knowing that her brother lived.

And he might remain unharmed, if she could just reason with the MacRae.

With a yank she tied the ends of her plaid, voicing no protest when Kinnon helped her astride a horse.

The sooner she got to Gavin, the better.

Soon the rounded turrets of Dulhmeny’s outer walls loomed over the hillside.

The keep rose square, straight and tall from the center, jutting proudly in the afternoon sky.

Without pause Kinnon motioned for his men to follow, and in single file they rode through the castle’s massive, curved gatehouse and into the yard beyond.

Aileana maintained her silence until they reached the great hall.

It looked as it always had, the crimson wall hangings impressive under vaulted ceilings, fresh rushes on the floor, clean and sweet smelling.

An ache settled in her heart. How could everything appear the same when their lives had changed forever?

Father would never again preside over the annual festivities here.

The familiar rhythms of her clan and her community were vanished forever beneath the MacRaes’ brutal carnage.