Highland Heaven

  “Conceal it! But why?”

  “There are men who would take advantage of such a fact.”

  At some other time, with some other female, he might have felt a twinge of sympathy. But if this woman suspected he harbored even a moment’s tenderness, she would surely take advantage of the situation. She had already shown herself to be a sly, clever scrapper. Besides, at this moment he was still too agitated by the struggle to be touched by her plight. Agitated, and oddly aroused. It was not because of the female, he told himself. His reaction was merely the result of the hard, physical exertion.

  He stood and offered her a hand up. This time, as her small hand was engulfed in his, he braced himself, in case she decided to trick him again. However, she merely allowed herself to be helped to a standing position and began brushing the dirt and hay from her backside.

  For her part, Merritt was horrified by her reaction to this lout’s touch. She had long boasted to her sister that the man wasn’t born who could make her blood heat or her pulse race. So why was it that she had reacted thus to this stranger? She shrugged aside such foolish questions and concentrated instead on how to escape.

  “Never would I have knowingly caused pain to a woman,” Shaw said softly. “Now you will explain yourself at once.”

  At that moment the clouds that had obscured the moon drifted across the sky, leaving them both bathed in moonlight. Shaw beheld a vision that had his jaw going slack.

  Hair the color of fire tumbled free of the hood, spilling around a face that could have been carved from alabaster. The female’s eyes were as green as a Highland pool. Her lips were lush and firm, and pursed into a pout.

  At that precise moment she turned and tilted her head to look up at him. He heard a gasp. She grew visibly pale, and her eyes rounded in shock and horror.

  “Did you not hear what I said?” he demanded. “You will explain yourself.”

  But she merely shrank away from his touch and cried, ‘Sweet Virgin, I have been possessed by a ghost.”

  She turned and began to run.

  This time Shaw was quicker and, catching her roughly by the arm, spun her around and held her firmly when she tried to break free.

  “God in heaven, help me!” she shrieked. “I am in the clutches of evil.”

  Shaw wondered if any woman could be this convincing if she were merely playacting.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Please unhand me.”

  She appeared sincerely terrified. Still, he refused to be made a fool again. “Woman, you go nowhere until you explain what trick you are up to this time.”

  “Trick? I would never try to trick a spawn of the devil.”

  He only tightened his grasp and commanded, “What are you saying?”

  “When last I saw you—” she struggled to get the words out over the terror that constricted her throat “—you were lying in my sister’s chambers, waiting for death to claim you.”

  The full impact of her words had him reeling. “Sutton! God in heaven, Sutton.” Not overpowered and languishing in a dungeon, but something even more unthinkable—lying near death. Suddenly all his carefully laid plans were forgotten.

  Without regard to his strength he caught her by the upper arms, lifting her off her feet until her eyes were level with his. She cried out, but he seemed incapable of hearing her.

  Like a madman he snarled, “Woman, you will take me to your sister’s chambers at once. And if you try any tricks, I will kill you.”

  As she regained her footing, Merritt was too terrified to argue. Rubbing her bruised arms, she led the way.

  Shaw was too distraught to form more than a few fleeting impressions as they entered the fortress and made their way up the wide wooden stairs to the second story. But he was aware that the house seemed cold and empty. There were no candles to light their way, either in sconces along the walls or in chandeliers overhead. No servants appeared. No voices rang out as their footsteps echoed through the upper hallway.

  “Where is everyone?” he demanded.

  “They are all abed.”

  “And your sister’s room?”

  “This one.” She paused before a closed door, wondering what she would find on the other side. Surely the stranger had died, and his ghost had somehow refused to pass over to that other life.

  When she lifted a hand to knock, he impatiently pushed her aside and kicked in the door, then shoved her inside ahead of him.

  From her position beside the pallet, Sabina looked up in surprise at the giant who accompanied her sister. As soon as she glimpsed Shaw’s face, her expression mirrored that of Merritt’s, changing to shock, then horror.

  “You cannot be...” She looked from the face of the stranger on the pallet to that of the giant standing before her. A giant who was brandishing a knife.

  “He calls himself a Campbell,” Merritt muttered, watching for a chance to relieve him of his weapon.

  “Aye.” Sabina recalled the words Sutton had shouted when he’d attacked. “That is what this one called himself.”

  “Witch, what have you done to him?” Without waiting for her response, Shaw pushed her aside and commanded, “You will both lie on the floor against that wall.” When they hesitated, he moved menacingly closer. “Now.”

  The two women did as they were told and watched in silence as Shaw knelt beside his brother and touched a hand to his fevered brow.

  Sutton moaned and Shaw gave a shudder of relief when he realized that, though his brother’s heartbeat was weak and his breathing shallow, he still clung to life. He wrapped his arms around Sutton and pressed his face to his throat, listening to the thin, feeble pulse.

  He remained that way for long moments, taking comfort in the fact that his brother was alive. Frighteningly pale. Dangerously weak. But, praise heaven, alive.

  At last, after taking in several deep breaths, Shaw lifted his head. “What have you given him?”

  Sabina and Merritt glanced at each other, then at this stranger.

  “Speak, woman. What have you done to heal him?”

  “Yarrow, mixed with herbs, to stop the bleeding,” Sabina said haltingly. “I have need of more herbs, but I am afraid to leave him alone while I search for them.”

  “That is what servants are for.” Shaw gently rolled his brother to one side and stripped away the dressings. For long minutes he examined the wounds. They were the familiar deep puncture wounds made by arrows and, from the looks of them, festering. His anguish was evident in his eyes as he carefully replaced the dressings and drew the covers over Sutton’s naked body.

  “And for his pain?”

  Sabina shook her head sadly.

  “You have given him nothing to ease the pain?” He ran a hand through his hair distractedly, thinking about Mistress MacCallum’ s tender ministrations. There would have been balms, salves, ointments. A potion for sleep, another for fever, an opiate for pain. What sort of savages were these Lamonts?

  “You will send for a servant at once.”

  Again he saw the look that passed between the two women before the fiery-haired one spoke. “There is but one servant, and Astra is too old to hear unless I climb the stairs and rouse her myself.”

  “One servant...?” For the first time he took the trouble to study his surroundings. The room was a shabby relic of whatever former splendor it might have been. The floors were bare of rugs or even rushes. Except for a massive bed, which dominated one corner, the place was nearly bare of furniture. The bed hangings were tattered and threadbare. A glance at the fireplace assured him that it was not a log burning there but the legs of a settle, which had been broken up for firewood. His brother’s pallet was little more than a pile of rags.

  His eyes narrowed. “What about loyal soldiers?”

  “None,” Sabina said softly.

  He turned to study her as the truth dawned. No wonder his entry had been so easily executed. “This fortress is unprotected against attack?”

  “My sister and I protect it,” Merritt retor
ted as she started toward the door.

  He caught her roughly by the arm. “Nay, firebrand. I do not trust you.” He turned to Sabina. “You there. You will fetch the servant.”

  She scrambled to her feet and, limping slightly, started toward the door.

  “And remember this.” Shaw drew his knife and pressed it against the pale flesh of Merritt’s throat. “If you try to trick me, it will cost your sister her life.”

  Sabina’s eyes mirrored her terror. She quickly nodded and hurried away.

  Shaw fought to subdue the anger that simmered. For Sutton’s sake, he must keep a cool head. But the questions that whirled in his brain were enough to make any man crazed.

  “Who did this to my brother?”

  “You call him your brother,” Merritt replied, “but he wears your face.”

  “And I his. And at this moment, I feel his pain.” His grasp tightened and he pressed the cold blade of the knife to her throat. “Now, by heaven, you will answer. Which of you did this thing?”

  She shrugged. “It was his own doing.”

  “He shot arrows into his own back?” With a furious oath he tangled a fist in her hair, yanking her head back, intent upon slitting her lying throat.

  But before he could draw the dagger across her delicate flesh, she managed to whisper, “Nay. I only meant that the arrows were not intended for him. But because he interfered, he unwittingly became a target.”

  His movements stilled. “For whom were the arrows meant?”

  “For the... Highland Avengers.”

  He grew silent a moment, digesting this. His eyes suddenly narrowed in thought. “You are lying, woman.”

  “I speak the truth.”

  “Do you now? Then how did you happen upon the scene?”

  When she did not immediately respond, he caught her roughly by the shoulders and turned her until she was facing him.

  She could see the barely contained fury in his eyes; could feel the way his fingers dug into her flesh. His voice was low, commanding. “Answer me, woman.”

  Merritt had no doubt that he would kill her. But she had long ago forsworn fear of dying, rather than permit any word or deed that would besmirch her family’s honor. She swallowed and said in a breathy whisper, “Do what you will with me. I will tell you no more.”

  “Damn you, woman.” He lifted the dagger.

  At that moment, the door burst open, and her dark-haired sister entered, trailed by a blanket-draped hag whose gray hair stuck out at odd angles around a face that was as colorless as porridge.

  “Merritt!” cried Sabina.

  “Unhand that child,” cried the old woman, who, when she opened her mouth, revealed only two teeth.

  “I will release her only when she tells me the truth.” Shaw lifted the dagger menacingly.

  “What is it you wish to know?” Sabina demanded. She had already guessed by the determined look on her sister’s face that Merritt had decided to defy this stranger, even with the threat of death.

  “She has told me a twisted tale of strangers who attacked my brother because they thought he was one of the band of notorious Highland Avengers.”

  Sabina flicked a glance at her sister, then back to the stranger. “Aye. ‘Tis true.”

  “More falsehoods. My brother would never go to the aid of such cutthroats.”

  “He did not aid them. He merely became caught up in their skirmish. And when it was over, he lay mortally wounded. And my sister and I brought him here to Inverene House.”

  Sabina watched as the stranger considered her words, before he slowly lowered his knife.

  “In the event that this woman speaks the truth,” he said to Merritt, “I will spare your miserable life for now.” Seeing the spark of hope that leapt into her eyes, he hastily added, “But you will instruct your servant to do exactly as I say, or you will all die.”

  As he released her, Merritt rubbed the tender flesh of her upper arms, where he had left his prints, and watched him from beneath lowered lids. She would teach this lying, thieving Campbell a lesson. One he would not soon forget.

  Chapter Four

  Shaw turned to the old servant. “The first thing you will do is go out into the countryside and harvest whatever herbs your mistress requires.”

  “In the dark of night?” The old woman’s brows lifted.

  “Aye. And be quick about it.”

  “It would be better if I could go along,” Sabina protested.

  “To plot your escape? Nay, woman. You will remain here.”

  At the finality of his statement, Sabina reluctantly recited a litany of herbs, plants and roots, while mentally fretting that she could not accompany the old woman, who had grown a bit forgetful.

  “You must remember the willow bark, Astra, and bitterroot,” Sabina instructed.

  “And balsam,” Merritt added.

  The old woman merely nodded.

  “You will not forget?”

  “Ye will recall, my fine ladies,” Astra said rather testily, “that I have forgotten more than ye will ever know about healing—”

  Shaw interrupted. “Just remember, old woman, the lives of these two lie in your hands. They will remain here with me in these chambers until you return. If you should be tempted to go to a nearby village for help, or if you are not alone when you return, your mistresses will die by my hand before anyone can intervene. Is that understood?”

  “Aye.”

  From the sullen look she shot him before taking her leave, Shaw was convinced that the old woman had indeed been planning just such a surprise for him. But, despite her barbed tongue, she seemed loyal to her two mistresses. He sensed that she would do as she’d been commanded, for their sakes. When she was gone, he indicated the bed. “You may as well rest. You are not leaving until your servant returns.”

  Merritt drew herself up to her full height and answered for both of them. “Do you think we would dare to close our eyes while there is a villainous Campbell watching?”

  “The choice is yours,” he said wearily.

  “Nay, sir.” Merritt touched a hand to the pain at her shoulder. “If we were given a choice, you and that savage brother of yours would be exiled from Inverene House at once.”

  “Hush, Merritt.” Sabina placed a hand on her sister’s arm. She was not eager to enrage the barbarian who had charged into her chambers wielding a sword. Besides, she had always found that more could be accomplished by being compliant than by being combative.

  Her hand came away smeared with blood. “You’re bleeding, Merritt,” she cried. “Sit here by the fire and I will tend your wounds.”

  Shaw watched as the dark-haired woman efficiently washed away her sister’s blood in a basin of water and dressed her wounds, using strips of linen torn from the bed hangings.

  As the two women settled themselves in chairs in front of the fire, Shaw cast a longing glance at the bed. His wounds, though only minor irritations, were still bleeding. He was weary beyond belief. And he would have to keep watch throughout the night, until the servant returned. Even then, there would be no relief, for he would have to remain awake and alert and at his brother’s side until Sutton was well enough to withstand the journey over treacherous terrain back to Kinloch House.

  With a sigh Shaw drew a chair beside the pallet where his brother lay. Knife in hand, he sat stiffly at attention and began his vigil.

  Shaw’s head nodded, waking him with a start. For a moment he was completely disoriented, wondering why his body ached in so many places. Glancing down, he saw dried blood on his sleeve and tunic. His other sleeve was slashed and torn, revealing the chunk of flesh that still bled profusely.

  He caught sight of his brother, lying as still as death. At once, he became alert. Reaching down, he felt the thready pulse. He glanced around. The room was in darkness, except for the faint glow of embers on the hearth. He could make out the two figures of the women, heads slumped, asleep in their chairs.

  Some sound had disturbed him. Had it been the fe
eble shout of a child? Or the call of a night bird? Yet, as he strained, he could hear nothing more. Forcing himself to stand, he crossed the room and walked to the balcony. Below, the waters of the loch were dark and motionless. But as he watched, a sudden movement caught his eye, then disappeared. When he looked again, he could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  Thinking it must be Astra returning with the herbs, he started to turn away. But a sudden flare of light rent the darkness, and as he turned back to watch, the blaze of light seemed to engulf the stables.

  “God in heaven! Fire!” he shouted.

  At once, both women stirred, then came up out of their chairs, running toward the door of the chamber. Shaw was ahead of them, racing down the stairs and out into the cold night air. He stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Fueled by thatch and dry timber, the fire spread with the speed of lightning. The intense heat made it impossible to get close. But even from a distance, the empty stalls were visible. Before the fire had been started, the horses had apparently been stolen.

  Within minutes the roof of the stable caved in upon itself, and, fed by the flames, sent sparks shooting high into the midnight blackness. There was nothing anyone could do but stand and watch helplessly as the fire consumed the entire structure.

  Shaw felt his rage growing. He needed his mount almost as much as he needed his weapons. Without a horse, he was trapped in the Lamont fortress, far from his own people.

  He turned to where the two sisters stood clinging together, watching with similar looks of horror and disbelief. Their grief was palpable, as was their anger.

  “So,” he said, “I see firsthand the work of these Highland Avengers.”

  “This was not the work of the Avengers,” Merritt said.

  “And how would you know?”

  She looked away, compressing her lips together.

  “Can you think of any besides the Avengers who carry such enmity in their hearts,” Shaw asked, “that they would burn your stables and steal your horses?”

  Spearing a glance at her sister, Merritt replied, “The Highlands abound with men who suckled the milk of hatred from the moment of their birth.”