Chapter 2

2

DUNNEDIN, SCOTLAND, 1371 A.D.

“’ W are the woods at night, Caitlin.”

“I think ’tis you I should fear at night, Craig MacKendimen, and no’ the woods.” Caitlin MacInnis shrugged off her cousin’s heavy hands and stepped away. The moon shown full and bright on this brisk, autumn eve. She was losing precious time standing here fending off Craig’s tentative advances. She had but one more night to collect the lifesaving herbs from their sheltered growing place.

“I could come with ye, protect ye from harm.” Craig’s bright blue eyes gleamed in the shaft of moonlight that covered him. “What do ye say, Caitlin?”

“I have an important task to complete for my mam and you and your big feet will trample the very plants I need. Nay, Craig, I dinna need your help this night.”

Confusion showed clear on his face. The heir to the laird and clan was not used to being thwarted, not in battle and not in his dealings with women. Caitlin looked over his features yet again and wondered why they did not inspire her to the same devotion... the same silliness that affected the other women in the clan MacKendimen. He stood tall next to her, she could stand a step above him when they were on the stairs leading to the great room in the keep and still not meet his gaze eye-to-eye. His face was ruggedly handsome, angled with a strong chin and brow. He wore his lion-mane hair loose and flowing, the very picture of clan manhood at its best. But none of this made her feel the “tingling” that others claimed when his gaze fell their way.

She sighed and pushed her hair back over her shoulders. They were cousins, mayhap that explained her lack of attraction to his charm? But nay, she was cousin to most in the village and he, too, and that didn’t stop the others from looking at him with cow eyes.

Mayhap ’twas the stranger she dreamed of....

Craig jumped back when the door of her cottage opened and her father stepped out in the moonlight. Caitlin laughed out loud when Craig showed the same reaction that all the boys and young men in the clan had to her da. Even years of working the fire and iron for the clan had not lessened his height or bearing. Pol, the blacksmith, still managed to intimidate anyone who thought themselves her suitor. And his timing was impeccable, as ever.

“I thought ye were doing yer ma’s errands, Caitlin. ’Tis not like ye to dawdle when she awaits yer return.”

“I am on my way there now, Da. Craig was just now leaving.” She nodded at him and he looked at her father. There had to be a way to discourage his attentions without humiliating him... again.

“Craig, tell Robert that I will speak to him on the morrow about our stores and weapons.” Pol stood his ground and Caitlin watched Craig’s confusion clear. He knew he had no choice but to leave without her now.

“Aye, Pol, I will take yer message to him now. Caitlin, have a care in the woods.” He turned and stalked away without looking back. She watched him disappear into the shadowed path of the village.

“He fancies himself in love with ye, lass.” Her father spoke little but saw much.

“Aye, Da, he does... this week. But his affections will move next week onto someone more accepting.” They’d been through this every year for the last three, ever since Craig’s betrothed had died of fever. Persistence was a trait he’d perfected .

“Robert asked me if there was a chance for the two of ye. Is there?” ’Twas difficult to read more into his question because he had that frustrating ability to keep his tone low and constant even when upset. Her da had been around her mam too long.

“The laird asked? I would think he and Anice would want Craig to look elsewhere for a new wife.”

“Ye didna answer my question, lass. Is there a chance for ye and Craig?”

Caitlin tried to think of a way out of this. Her parents had looked on with a disinterested air while Craig made his intentions quite clear to everyone in the clan. Obviously, she had missed their true feelings about this possible match.

“Would it make ye happy if I accepted Craig’s offer of marriage, Da?”

“Have I told ye about yer uncanny ability to steer the conversation away from things ye dinna want to discuss?” Her father laughed.

“What has Mam to say about this? What has she seen?” Caitlin’s mother was renowned for her an-da-shealladh , her gift of second sight.

Pol laughed again, louder this time. Caitlin did avoid things she didn’t want to talk about.

“Well, I really should go now, Da. I don’t want to waste the light of the moon.” She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders and bent over to pick up the basket she’d prepared.

“Yer mam hasna told me of any visions, lass. Ye are the only one she shares her wisdom with when it comes to her. But, yer hesitation tells me more than any sight could tell me. I will share this news wi’ Robert on the morrow.”

Caitlin sighed deeply with relief. Robert could direct Craig’s interest elsewhere. She was safe... for now.

“Caitlin, have a care in the woods.” She caught her father’s wink before he turned and went back inside.

“I will, Da. I dinna fear the woods at night.”

Mayhap she did fear the woods this night? Caitlin followed the small stream to its split and looked for the pathway off over the hill. She didn’t see it.

She stopped and looked back at her approach to this place and it did not look familiar at all to her. She knew that the moonlight made all appear as shafts of shadow and light but she should recognize something... something.

Her breath escaped in puffy clouds of steam in the autumn night’s chilly air. Caitlin tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears and adjusted the heavy woolen cape another time. The moon’s progress through the night sky was more than it should be—she’d been walking only a short time... hadn’t she?

An owl’s sudden shriek made her turn too quickly and she caught her foot on a gnarled root of a huge tree. Her cry of pain and alarm as she fell echoed down the paths and through the valleys.

Caitlin untangled her hands from the cloak and the basket and straightened her legs in front of her. Pulling her skirt down over her knees, she felt gingerly down her left shin and pressed on her ankle. The immediate pain and wave of nausea told her what she wanted to know—her ankle was most definitely injured, mayhap sprained and mayhap broken.

She groaned loudly in frustration and anger. This night was not turning out to be the familiar search for herbs she’d hoped for. First Craig and his attempts to woo her and now this. After a few moments of self-pity, Caitlin’s bottom let her know that she could not remain on the wet, cold ground for much longer. The dampness seeped through the layers of skirt and chemise underneath it.

Struggling to turn over and get to her knees, Caitlin noticed the quiet of the forest. She’d disturbed the peace of the night here with her squawking and groaning. Pushing herself up onto her uninjured foot, she gently tested the other on the ground.

Damn! She could put no more than a bit of her weight on it. How was she to walk back to her home? She leaned back against the tree whose traitorous root had done this and looked around. Mayhap Craig would disregard her pleas not to follow? Nay, he would face her father’s displeasure if he did and no man in the village did that without strong reasons—stronger than a stolen kiss.

Caitlin crouched down and searched the foliage at the tree’s base for something she could use to support her foot. No long branches or sticks were there.

There was one thing she could try before giving in to her fear and anger. It had never worked on her before but mayhap this time it would? Sliding down to sit, Caitlin took a deep breath in and blew it out forcefully. She repeated this again and twice more before she began to feel her control grow. When her breathing was deep and regular, she slid her hands down and laid them on the now-swollen ankle. Concentrating on her breathing, she waited for the heat to build in her hands.

It did not come.

Her healing gift was for others and not for herself, and never to be called upon lightly. She choked back a cry and pushed back to her feet. She would have to rely on her “normal” abilities to get herself home, or wait for morning and rescue by one of her clan.

Hours later, well, it seemed to her that hours had to have passed, she’d managed only to make it back to the stream. Her basket remained where she’d fallen and she’d dropped her cloak along the way, too. Sweat beaded and slid down her chest and back and legs even in the coolness of the night, making her shift and skirt stick to her wherever they touched. Her efforts were quickly sapping her strength.

’Twas then that she heard him.

A man’s raucous laughter shattered the stillness of the night. Then another voice joined in and another. Their voices carried on the air, making their location difficult to determine. She almost called out to them...

Then she heard a name... MacArthur. A chill tore through her body and mind. Good God, her clan’s enemies were on their land? Reports had come in over the last weeks about raids made by the Mac Arthurs and all included tales of beatings and worse for any MacKendimen caught in their grasp.

Without thought, she took one step, and then another. And ended up facedown in the dirt. A cry escaped her and floated through the glen. Oh, God, too late, too late. She had to hide, she had to hide.

Struggling anew, she got to her feet and cocked her head to one side, searching the woods for more sounds. None came. This was not good, not good at all. Tears made her vision watery and unclear. She rubbed briskly at her eyes with the back of her hand. She had to move off the path, and get out of sight before they found her.

Realizing that her best way might be to crawl, Caitlin dropped to her knees and dragged her bad foot along. She’d gone no more than a few yards when the voice came to her through the darkness at the side of the trail.

“Look, Angus, the wee lass must have heard about ye, she’s trying to get away.”

Sheer terror forced her to move faster... and her haste caused her to misjudge the men’s location. Rolling off the beaten track into the brush, she landed on a man’s booted foot. She looked up. The twisted grins of three men greeted her.

And each of them armed to the teeth with swords and daggers and ready to use them.

The one across the way called Angus stepped toward her and drew a dangerous, long dagger that reflected the moonlight into her eyes. As he took long strides toward her, she struggled to get up. The man closest to her trapped her by stepping on her long, loosened hair. She could not move.

The one called Angus lowered the knife as he approached, the blade appeared to grow larger and larger as he got closer. When the point of it reached her neck and lowered to the valley between her breasts, she could hardly breathe.

The sharp edge sliced through the ties of her bodice. The cut laces were the last thing she saw as she lost consciousness.