Chapter Three

Rosalyn clung to her saddle, heart pounding at the rapid pace Keiran had set. The Scottish hillsides passed before her in a blur of green and gold. His haste made it evident he wanted to avoid the English soldiers. Did she want to avoid them as well? She wasn’t certain what she wanted anymore.

The morning had started with such a clear purpose. She was to be married by the end of the day, regardless of her opinion on the matter. Hugh had given her no choice. She was either to marry Lieutenant James Long after travelling to his regiment in Scotland, or she would be abandoned, ostracised by her family and society.

Without listening to her pleas about what had happened between herself and Lieutenant Long, Hugh had sent her to Scotland two days later, escorted by his finest men. And now those brave lads were all dead. Rosalyn’s chest tightened at the memory of their broken and bloody bodies. Her brother would lay their deaths at her feet, of that she was certain.

Yet she’d survived. Why? She remembered feeling the blade as it penetrated her body, and the bloody warmth that followed. She had fallen to the ground, and she remembered seeing Keiran racing towards her. As a chill had numbed her limbs, and her senses had faded, she thought she remembered being pulled into a warm embrace. Then warmth had flared and something as light as a feather had brushed against her lips. A kiss? Nay, it couldn’t be. The one she had shared with James had been rough and intense. Not a gentle caress as sweet as a summer’s breeze.

It must be only her imagination, as was the blade that had pierced her body. Her fear must have been so intense it conjured the vivid impression from thin air. And yet... releasing her hold on the saddle with one hand, her fingers probed the bloody hole in her dress. She frowned. If she had not been assaulted, then what had caused the damage to her gown and the blood surrounding the area? It made no sense.

Her gaze lifted to the man pulling her horse alongside his. His features were set in deep concentration as he scanned the area they raced through, searching for possible danger. Had Keiran somehow erased the damage to her body? Could such a thing be possible? Perhaps once they stopped their bone-jarring race across the landscape, she would demand that he tell her the truth. If a Scot was capable of such a thing.

There were so many questions she needed answered before she could determine her next course of action. Even though her captor had expected her to jump from her horse, she knew better. Where was she to go in a place that was as foreign to her as its barbaric people? A woman alone in the wilderness with no way to defend herself would not live very long. And if she were captured by anyone else, they might not be as tolerant as the man who had already apprehended her. The only choice she had was to cling to the saddle and trust he would lead her to safety as they passed through the rolling green valleys that skirted the sea.

One part of her rebelled at his seizing the reins of her horse. The other part understood it as part of an unspoken pact between them. He had trusted her with vital information, and she could use what he had shown her against him and his people. Yet she wouldn’t do that, would she? How had he known?

Since the death of their parents seven years ago, Rosalyn had lived by her brother’s whim and command. But only a few days ago in the park, she had ignored her better judgement and, as a result, her life was forever changed. Her defiance of society’s rules and Lieutenant Long’s ungentlemanly behaviour would haunt her for the rest of her life.

With a quick glance at Keiran, Rosalyn wondered if she could escape her present situation. Instead, she tightened her grip on the saddle. She knew what she could expect from her brother. He would blame her for today’s tragedy. And he was not a forgiving man. But the man beside her was still a mystery. She prayed to the heavens that Keiran was God’s gift rather than a curse.

Steeling herself, she turned her attention from the man beside her and to her horse instead. Petunia’s steady gait matched her own heartbeat. High overhead, a flock of gulls circled. She heard the flap of their wings, a whoosh of air, an occasional high-pitched crying call. She could smell the tangy sea air and could feel the late afternoon sun as its weak rays tried to warm all that it touched.

They rode for the next hour in silence, and as the sun started to set, they came to a rise in the hillside where Keiran brought the horses to a stop. In the distance and bathed in the light of the setting sun, Rosalyn could see a majestic fortress atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea. “Is that Dunvegan?” Rosalyn asked.

“Aye,” Keiran replied with a sense of awe that brought her gaze to his.

His eyes were dark brown, like the earth, solid and reliable. Yet she knew no such thing about him. “If you are worried about bringing an English soldier and an Englishwoman home, you can leave us here.”

A sudden glint of humour appeared in his eyes. “You might be surprised how happy some members of my family might be to see that I brought any female home.” A Scottish brogue was evident in his speech.

What had he meant by that? Trying to disguise her uneasiness, she dropped her gaze to the bloody ruin that was her gown. “They will no doubt have questions about what has happened.”

“You think?” He laughed briefly. “Prepare yourself. Though my sisters-in-law will be thrilled to greet you, the men of the castle might be more suspicious of your presence. During a recent attack by the English, four of our men were injured. One of them can no longer walk without the aid of a cane.”

Her chest tightened at the sudden realisation that she was the enemy here, not Keiran or his family. “Perhaps you should leave me here to make my own way. I do not wish to make trouble for the MacLeods.” She shifted her gaze to his and saw not anger but sympathy written there.

“The wilds of the isle can be dangerous. They are no place for a woman alone. My sister-in-law, Isolde, is proof of that.” He leaned over and brought his hand down to cover hers where it still rested on the saddle. Warmth flared across her fingers at the contact. “Do not fear. I will make certain you are safe here. No one will throw you in the dungeon or harm you in any way. I promise.”

She met his gaze. “I have no choice but to trust you.”

He withdrew his hand and shifted his gaze to the distance as though considering her words. “We have no choice but to trust each other. If you contact your family, it could bring much danger to the MacLeods.”

Instead of glancing at Keiran, at the big broad chest displayed before her eyes, Rosalyn looked beyond him to the rolling hills. They had managed to escape the English patrols for now, but when the men who had escaped the conflict found other soldiers, would they start looking for the man who had saved her, or would they come here to finish what they had started in the woods? Rosalyn closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and settle her emotions. Confusion mixed with gratitude in the aftermath of the attack on her life and of being caught up by unknown forces that were out of her control. “Thank you,” Rosalyn said after a time, realising that even in her confusion she could be kind.

“For what?”

“I am sorry I called you a barbarian. I want to thank you for saving my life.”

He inclined his head to acknowledge her words. “I apologise as well. You are not a shrew. That was my anger speaking.”

The moment was so unexpected that she drew in a ragged breath. In a matter of hours, they had gone from sniping at each other to a kind of kinship. But was it an accord that could last between two people who should be enemies?

They rode on in silence, and as they did, Rosalyn studied the castle built on an elevated rock that projected into the loch below. The cliffs surrounding the castle were steep and rugged, offering a wide view of the loch and the sea beyond. It was truly a breathtaking sight, but it did not pull her gaze as did the man beside her.

She could tell by his torso, broad shoulders, and well-muscled arms that he was a warrior. Her gaze moved back to his face, to the brown of his eyes—eyes that spoke of some deep pain as well as kindness and intelligence. His hair was dark and cropped short enough to keep it from curling, setting off his high cheekbones and strong nose. His was a compelling face, yet fiercely masculine. It was the kind of face a woman could not help staring at with interest and desire.

A fist tightened around her heart. Desire was the last thing she wanted in her life. Had her parents’ experiences not warned her of its dangers? They’d both died because of their desire: her mother, because she had desired a man whose family scorned her bloodline. The de Clares had claimed Rosalyn’s mother was tainted by her Scottish heritage, and after the birth of two children, they wanted no more. And although Rosalyn could never prove it, she was certain they had orchestrated the carriage accident, causing her mother’s untimely death. Her father, because of his desire for her mother, at her loss he had withered away, leaving her barely-of-age brother as her guardian.

A chill ran across Rosalyn’s nape. Was that what had happened in the forest near Struan? Had her father’s family come after her, trying to stop her from continuing the de Clare line with her husband?

Rosalyn’s gaze shifted to the man lying face down across Keiran’s horse. “Do you think the English soldier will survive?” she asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“He will live to tell us why he and the others attacked you,” Keiran assured her as they approached the castle’s gate. The torches had been lit and Rosalyn could see men gathered just beyond the gate on horseback. At the sight of them, a call went out to the gatekeeper and the iron portcullis rose.

As she and Keiran moved closer to those gathered, Rosalyn swallowed nervously as she clearly saw twenty Scottish men on horseback.

“Praise the heavens you have returned,” exclaimed one of the men near the front of those assembled. He dismounted quickly and came towards them. “We were about to come looking for you. We had feared the worst when you did not return as expected.”

Keiran slid from his horse. “The English attacked the Nicolson clan before I arrived.” He withdrew the missive from the folds of his tartan and handed it to the man.

Two other men who looked very similar to the first dismounted and came forward. “Thank goodness you are still alive. I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.” The other similar-looking man frowned as his gaze shifted between Keiran, the soldier upon Keiran’s horse, then to her and her bloodied gown. “Although it is obvious something happened.”

“I was returning to Dunvegan when I came upon a skirmish in the woods. This woman’s party was attacked by an English patrol. All her men were killed, and she was injured. Two of the English soldiers escaped, leaving their dead behind.”

“Was injured?” one of the men asked, frowning at the blood on her dress.

“I managed to stop the worst of the bleeding, but our healer should examine her to be certain.” Keiran reached up and lifted her down from her horse, keeping his hands at her waist. When he was certain she could stand on her own, Keiran stepped back and waved two of the men forward to help him with the English soldier. “This man can tell us why Rosalyn’s travelling party was attacked. Take him to Lottie first to assure he lives but tie him to the bed. We cannot have him escape and inform the English where this young woman ended up.”

One of the men came to stand before her. “Rosalyn?”

She nodded, shifting uncomfortably, uneasy with his scrutiny. She was the one who usually studied people. It was disconcerting for him to look at her and see... what? What did he see? Because he did not look at her with the same cool calculation most of the English aristocracy did.

“Welcome to Dunvegan. I am Alastair MacLeod, and these are my brothers Tormod and Orrick. Let’s get you inside to a bedchamber so that Lottie, our healer, can mend your wounds. I will have my wife, Gwendolyn, supply you with clothing.”

This was not what she’d expected from the Scottish people who had always been the villains in the stories told by her brother since she was young. Perhaps they were only being kind so that she would let down her guard. And for what? She had no information about the English in the area beyond what Alastair now knew after reading Keiran’s missive.

Why were they being so kind to her? She was positive the English would not be so hospitable if their situations were reversed. Even so, Rosalyn swallowed roughly as she allowed the man to lead her forward, towards a fair-haired woman waiting at the castle doorway.

“All will be well,” Keiran called as she moved towards the doorway.

She glanced back at him, almost believing him. Sweet heavens, she needed someone who she could trust in this world suddenly turned upside down. Separated from her home and life in England, she was now alone in a country, surrounded by people she feared. She needed someone she could trust, someone to talk to, someone who would understand how tired she was of never being able to pursue her own dreams and goals.

Rosalyn shook herself as a gust of cold wind blew through the courtyard. What was she thinking? After the turmoil she’d been through in the past few days, had she learned nothing? Her dreams did not matter, and she could trust no one. Not her brother. Not Keiran. Her features hardened.

Keiran frowned as he turned back to speak to Tormod and Orrick.

She returned her gaze to the beautiful woman in the doorway. At her welcoming smile something blossomed in Rosalyn’s chest, but with her next heartbeat, she forced the emotion aside. These people were the enemy.

She could not stay at Dunvegan, and she could not go back to her home in London without a husband. With few other options, she would have to find a way to escape the MacLeods and make her way back to where James’s regiment was located. Marriage was the only thing that would save her from ruin. Rosalyn straightened as Alastair stopped before his wife.

“Gwendolyn, meet Rosalyn. She will be staying with us for a while.”

“My goodness,” Gwendolyn said looking down at Rosalyn’s dress. “It appears you have had a very difficult day.” She reached for Rosalyn’s arm, taking it gently and encouraging her forward. “Come with me. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” Rosalyn replied with a sudden tightness in her chest as she stepped inside the castle. They moved together up one staircase, then another before heading down a long hallway. As they walked, Rosalyn reminded herself that she could accept the MacLeods’ kindness now, then wait for an opportunity to leave without anyone noticing.

Her future depended on it.