At the Highlander's Mercy

Dougal stood back and examined her from head to toe then. Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the man shrugged.

‘You can’t deny your head is injured. Anything else broken or bleeding?’

Only her heart …

Pushing away that soft thought, she considered all the pain that flooded her body.

‘Bumps and bruises, I think,’ she said, glancing up at him. ‘You are Rob’s man, then?’ she asked.

‘Here now,’ Dougal said as he ignored her question and reached down to her, ‘take my hand and let’s get you to your feet.’ Luckily, his hand and arm were much stronger than hers, for if she’d had to rely on hers, she would have remained on the floor. With one fluid movement, he eased her to stand, but did not let go of his hold. ‘There you go.’

Lilidh clenched her own jaws now to keep from screaming at the pain that burned through her leg. Closing her fingers into fists, she fought the urge to cry out and to collapse. Weakness was not an option right now. Not when she was a prisoner, when threatened with harm and shame, and when even her presence here would bring the war she’d thought she could stop.

What a fool she was!

First for thinking she could fight off the seasoned warriors who’d captured her. And second, for thinking she could ever make things better between her father and Rob. Third and worst of all, for thinking that seeing him now after everything they’d shared and lost would be less painful than the last time.

Dougal pulled a large wooden chair over towards her and motioned for her to sit on its broad surface. Taking in a breath against the pain and fear of falling, Lilidh moved slowly across the chamber until she reached the chair and lowered herself into it. Closing her eyes, she waited for him to follow his laird’s orders to tie or chain her there. A few moments passed before she dared a peek and found him standing with a hand outstretched in front of her … holding out a cup of … something.

‘Drink this,’ he said, shoving it closer to her. Lilidh dared a sniff, but could smell nothing but the spices used to flavour the wine. She took the cup and brought it to her lips. ‘It will ease your pain while Beathas treats your head.’

The woman who’d opened the door for them had been standing by that door all this time and Lilidh never realised it. The pain in her head was dulling her reactions and her senses and kept her from coming up with a plan now that she knew who her attackers were. Once her head stopped throbbing and bleeding, she would be able to think clearly, but first she must ask a question.

‘What about my guards? My maid? Who sees to them?’ she asked, worrying, too, over those who saw to her care and who she’d last seen lying lifelessly by the side of the road. A shiver raced through her as she asked.

The Matheson man shrugged.

‘The laird ordered me to see to you. He will send someone to see to them.’

Understanding it was all she would get as assurances about her people, Lilidh drank down the contents of the cup. From the pungent smell and familiar taste, she suspected that it was a sleeping potion or something to dull the pain in her head. Right at this moment, she hoped it was exactly that. She held out the cup and the woman stepped forwards to take it. It did not take long for the room to change before her eyes.

She noticed that the flames in the hearth, a rather large hearth for a single chamber, swayed this way and that, and she moved her head in time with them. Voices whispered around her, but she could not discern a single clear word in all of the hushed noise. Lilidh lifted her head and turned towards the door and the whole room swirled around her now. Laughing, she enjoyed the warmth that spread into her blood.

Then the door opened, crashing back against the wall, and Rob stood there.

Memories filled her thoughts—of him as a young boy, playing with her brother, learning to work with weapons, growing older and stronger.

Their first kiss.

Lilidh trembled, remembering the gentle, playful touch of their mouths, innocent of anything more. Meeting his intense gaze now, she remembered their growing passion, their secret embraces and the way his scandalous touch would drive her to madness. Then she remembered the way his gaze had hardened when he gave her the truth that broke her heart.

His blue eyes did not sparkle now with the teasing merriment that had tempted her to leave good behaviour behind. Now, anger filled them and another shiver racked her body. With the wine making her feel strange and draining any fear she might have had of him, she stood on unstable legs to meet him and his outrageous claim straight on.

‘I will not be your mistress,’ she said loudly. The words echoed both inside her head and around it.

She watched as he ordered Dougal and the woman out of the room with a silent tilt of his head. When the door closed and the latch dropped, both making more noise than she’d ever noticed before, she knew it was time.

‘I will not make this easy for you, Rob.’

Whatever she expected of him, the quiet laugh was not it, nor the sad smile that curved his lips ever so slightly and made her want to kiss them. Covering her own mouth against the tingling in her lips, she waited. If only she had not drunk the wine, she might be able to talk him out of this.

‘No, Lilidh, you never do make things easy for me.’

He took one slow step towards her and then another. She tried to back away, but the chair behind her kept her in place. When he took her by the shoulders and led her to the bed, she should have screamed, but there was no fight left in her.

She was close to collapse, any fool with eyes could see that, both from the potion given by Beathas and her mistreatment at Symon’s and his cronies’ hands. Her body surrendered to his grasp and he guided her to the bed. Leaning over, Rob scooped her up and laid her there. Though he’d dreamt and hoped for such a thing, this was neither the time nor the manner in which he’d wanted those dreams and hopes to play out.

Lilidh sank into sleep almost as her head touched the pillow and that made it somewhat easier on him. Rob touched her cheek and she did not stir. He gathered her hair, the colour of midnight, and moved it from her face, smoothing it away and searching for any other injuries there.

‘She is a feisty one,’ Dougal said quietly from his place at the now-open door. Rob nodded and then stepped aside, motioning for both Dougal and Beathas to return to the chamber.

‘She has been called that and many other things,’ he admitted, though not speaking the ones he’d used the most to describe her. ‘See to her injuries, Beathas. All of them.’

His blood heated in anger at the thought of what Symon and his men might have done to Lilidh since they’d taken her from her guards. He should have word on those guards soon, but for now, all he could do was try to make her comfortable before all hell broke loose around them. Again.

The older woman nodded, gathered her supplies together and placed them on the bed. Then she met his gaze and stared at him. The message was clear to him—leave. So, he turned to do so, taking Dougal with him and deciding to set two guards at the door to keep everyone out. As they reached the door, though, he stumbled over a pile of chains, with a number of locks strewn among them. Long sections of heavy rope lay next to the chains.

‘Truly, Dougal? Of all the times to obey my orders, you chose this one?’ He’d spoken of chains and ropes merely as a public threat, never intending to need them.

‘One never knows when a good, stout length of rope or chains might come in handy dealing with a wench such as her,’ Dougal said, respect flowing with the words he spoke. Respect for the unconscious woman on his bed. The irony did not escape him in that moment.

‘Since the potion will keep her asleep for hours, I need to see to Symon and his cronies. No ropes or chains will be necessary here,’ he said. At Dougal’s raised brow, he continued, ‘For now.’

Chapter Four

‘You cannot succeed in this.’

Symon merely laughed at his words as Rob entered the small chamber and closed the door behind him. No matter Symon’s attempts to goad him in front of everyone, his reaction at this time would be handled in private. There would always be time to take action against him before the clan later.

‘You have as much or more to lose than I do, Symon,’ he warned, walking quietly to the window and looking out at the frenzy of activity that his cousin’s actions had caused.

‘You are a disgrace to the clan,’ Symon spat out in a fierce whisper. Turning to face his cousin, the frank hatred in the man’s eyes surprised him. ‘They should not have chosen you.’

‘But they did. And I am not the first bastard chosen as chieftain of a clan before, Symon. If you would look past your own insulted consequence to the good of the clan—’ He had not even finished the words before Symon shook his head.

‘I should be chief and laird. I have a claim stronger than yours,’ he argued.

‘Stronger than blood?’ he asked.

Illegitimate or not, his father had been chief and laird here and Symon’s claim through his mother to their common grandfather had not been strong enough to cast Rob aside in his favour. Hence the ongoing defiance and now this frank stupidity. His words struck something in Symon, for his cousin’s gaze narrowed and he glanced away.

‘If my father’s wife had delivered a son in a few months, neither of us would be questioning our positions here,’ he offered, waiting and watching for any indication of his cousin’s involvement in the recent accident that claimed Angus Matheson and his heavily pregnant new wife.

‘Aye, but she will not, will she?’ Symon asked, neither the expression in his eyes nor the way he held himself betraying anything more.

‘You will stand in the same position now as you would have in that—cousin and adviser to the next laird.’

The elders had already given their support to a betrothal of Rob and Symon’s sister so that the fighting between the two branches of the clan could be settled and to strengthen the connections between all of them. Though Rob had his own doubts and reservations about it, it did seem the perfect answer to the problems brought about by Symon’s claims. Symon’s blood, through his sister’s sons, would rule the clan and he would be a valued adviser to the next laird. Symon’s gaze darkened, but his tongue remained silent. Rob wondered if his cousin had realised how those arrangements would be muddied and troubled now with the presence of Lilidh MacLerie.