Highlanders
She inhaled, praying for strength and courage. Then she nodded and followed him inside, downstairs, and across the castle. Mary appeared and fell into step beside her as they went outside.
It was snowing more heavily now. A light dusting covered the courtyard. Ahead was the entry tower, the drawbridge below closed. All of her archers and soldiers were on the ramparts on each side of the castle gates.
Juliana went up the exterior stairs with Fergus and Mary and pushed inside the tower. She went to the window and gripped its ledge.
Perhaps a hundred mounted warriors, fur-clad Highlanders and mail-clad knights, formed a line between the western hills and the castle, like a barricade, facing her.
Juliana felt sick. She could not see behind the front lines, but she knew hundreds of archers and foot soldiers armed with swords and spears were there. Three blue MacDonald banners sporting sinister red dragons waved above the army.
“What are we going to do?” Mary whispered.
Juliana could not speak. She watched one rider on a gray warhorse separate himself from the army, slowly coming forward. She felt so much tension, it was choking her.
“It is Alasdair Og,” Mary said tersely.
He halted his mount at some distance from the entry tower. He was too far away for his features to be visible, but he clearly stared at the tower—Juliana knew he stared at her.
“If ye can lure him closer, our archers can murder him,” Fergus said thickly.
“No. Do not shoot at him,” Juliana said, so vehemently, Mary and Fergus looked askance at her. “We are not murdering him in cold blood.”
“Then he will murder us,” Fergus said flatly.
Mary stared at her, and Juliana knew her thoughts—he had certainly murdered Bishop Alan in cold blood. But, oddly, she did not believe that Alasdair Og would murder her or her sister. But he was bent upon revenge. She knew that. And suddenly there was no choice. She knew what she must do to protect her sister and her nephews.
As if he could fathom her silent thoughts, he suddenly rode closer. She could make out his long dark hair, tangled about his shoulders as he stared up at her. Their gazes met.
It was time, she thought. Juliana asked Fergus for his dagger. In surprise, he handed it to her. She instantly reached down beneath her blue surcote and sliced off a strip from her linen cote. Mary gasped as Juliana handed the dagger back, realizing now what she intended.
Juliana turned and walked out onto the ramparts, Mary and Fergus behind her, their expressions grim. As she started towards the crenellations, a group of archers surrounded her. “Stand back,” she ordered.
“Lady Juliana, ye cannot put yer life in jeopardy,” Fergus protested.
“He will not hurt me.” She pressed against the edge of the wall, knowing she believed this.
Looking down at him, she raised her hand and dropped the linen flag of surrender over the wall. They both watched it float toward him, very much like the falling snow.
* * *
JULIANA STOOD BEFORE the hearth in the great hall, her hands firmly clasped before her, stiff with tension. It was unbearable.
She knew that Alasdair would walk into her hall at any moment, claiming it as his own.
She glanced at the stairwell. Mary had gone to check on her children, who were dressed as common Scottish children. Elasaid was going to claim that they were hers.
Children were used as hostages all the time.
She heard heavy booted steps, followed by deep, masculine tones. Her heart lurched. Someone laughed. The same voice said, “Mayhap this bodes well, eh, Alasdair? Mayhap our next fight will be as easy and as bloodless. Mayhap all our enemies will turn tail when we next approach!”
Juliana trembled. She was frightened, but she was also furious. She was being accused of cowardice.
Alasdair stepped through her door and his gaze founds hers. “I dinna think Lady Juliana has ever turned tail, Neil.”
Juliana simply stared.
He strode towards her, a towering Highlander. His blue-and-red plaid was thrown back, the skirts of his leine swirling about his bare thighs, his swords bumping there with his every stride. His blue gaze was piercing as he halted before her. “Was the choice to surrender yers?”
It was hard to speak. “Yes.”
He softened. “So quickly, ye become wise.”
She felt like striking him. “What do you want with me? Why did you come back?”
His smile vanished. “Yer brother attacked my castle, Lady Juliana, no doubt with yer blessing.”
“He attacked, not I.” She felt her temper rising, was aware that she should fight it, but did not even try. “It would not be as easy to attack my brother. That would take courage. I am an easier opponent. Attacking a woman is a laughing matter.”
He darkened and seemed incapable of speech. Behind him, his men seemed astonished and uncomfortable. “‘tis no laughing matter, I assure ye. Lady—do ye accuse me of cowardice?”
She began to shake. “I was just accused of cowardice.”
His mouth curled, but without mirth. “I dinna think ye cowardly, I think ye far too brave and bold fer yer own good.”
“Do you flatter me now?” she cried. “Or do you insult me? It is cowardly to attack a woman!” And the moment she had cried out, she wished she had not done so.
He stared in disbelief. A shocked silence fell. And Mary came into the hall, her face ashen.
She looked back and forth between them, several times. Then she hurried over to Juliana. “My sister is distressed,” she said tersely. “She doesn’t mean to insult you.”
“She means it,” he said flatly. “I attacked ye, Lady Juliana, because ye have a great value to me.”
What did he mean? She glanced at her sister, certain her consternation was shared. Mary looked as distraught as she felt.
Alasdair turned to Neil, the tall, blond Highlander at his side. “Search the keep. Account fer everyone. Make sure no weapons are hidden.” He faced the women. “Ye will feed my men. We will depart tomorrow on the first tide.” His expression cool, he walked past them both, taking a seat at the table. The castle maids rushed to serve him.
Juliana cringed as his men rushed upstairs, others going down into the cellars. She and Mary exchanged more worried glances and Mary seized her wrist. Fear was reflected in her eyes.
Juliana knew she was frightened because the children would soon be discovered. But she had one more pressing matter. She hurried over to the table, taking a deep breath for courage.
Alasdair turned to face her, one leg on each side of the bench. His expression became wary.
“What do you intend?” Juliana asked, trying to keep her tone calm. It was impossible. “Will you leave a garrison here, when you leave on the first tide? And what will you do with me and my sister?”
“I beg yer pardon—we leave on the first tide. We go to my home on Islay.” His stare was unwavering.
Juliana hugged herself. “Are you taking me captive?”
“Ay, I am taking ye—and yer sister—hostage.”
“Why?” she cried. “Why seek revenge upon me? You attacked us!”
“Yer brother attacked Ardtonrish Castle.”
“I am not my brother!”
He suddenly stood up, towering over her. “Ye should not have gone to the cathedral last week.”
She could not comprehend him. Instead of questioning what he said, she asked, “Do you wish to escalate this war between Clan Donald and Dougall? For that is all you will accomplish!”
“You think to advise me? Yer brother should have thought twice about sending a sheep to spy upon me.” Then, “It hardly matters. We were already at war. We have been at war for a hundred years, even longer. I am taking ye hostage, Lady Juliana, and no begging, no tears, will change my mind.”
“It matters!” Tears filled her eyes. “If you must take a hostage, take me—but please, leave my sister here. She is with child.”
“So ye have told me. I canna leave Lady Comyn here. She is the Earl of Buchan’s daughter by marriage—in the end, she may be a bigger boon than ye.”
With real dismay, Juliana glanced at Mary as she approached them. Before either one could speak, he held up his hand. “Enough. Make sure yer ready to journey at sunrise. And make sure the children are ready.”
Mary paled.
Juliana said, “The children?”
“Lady Comyn has three sons.”
Mary seemed ready to collapse. Juliana seized her arm to keep her standing. “They are not here, Alasdair. They remain at Castle Bain, her husband’s home.”
He folded his muscular arms across his chest. “I heard that there were children here, Lady Juliana.”
How had he heard that? Then she remembered that he had spent the night at Achanduin Castle—most of the island knew that her sister was in residence with her boys.
Neil came downstairs with Elasaid, the dark-haired maid pale with fright.
“Who is that?” Alasdair demanded.
“That is my maid,” Mary whispered.
“She was in a chamber above,” Neil said. “With three children, claiming they are hers.”
“I have three boys,” Elasaid whispered, trembling.
Neil said, “And the blond one saw me and cried, ‘a Comyn.’” He actually chuckled.
Alasdair turned his piercing stare on Mary.
Mary stepped forward before Juliana could stop her. She was breathing hard. “We cannot deceive you, then. The boys are my sons, but I beg you, do not take them hostage.”
Before he could answer, Juliana rushed between them. “You want me—not my sister, not the boys. Please,” she said. She gripped his arm. “Take me, but leave Mary and the boys. Surely, somewhere inside you, there is kindness and compassion.”
His eyes widened. He looked down at her hand. Juliana released him.
His eyes dark, he said, “Ye, yer sister and yer nephews will be well cared for—on Islay. I may kill the enemy in battle, but I do not harm women or children, Lady Juliana.” And with that, he turned his back on her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dunyveg Castle, Islay, Scotland—the next day
“IF THERE IS anything that you need, you must only ask,” Lady MacDonald said. “I know these are difficult times.”
Juliana had walked to the single window in the tower chamber she would share with her sister and the children. Dunyveg sat upon a cliff that protruded into the ocean, and the seas below were black with the coming night, but frothing with whitecaps, the skies above heavy and turning purple. There would be no stars that night, and no moon. The night would soon be black.
Torches had been lit, both within and outside the castle. There seemed to be lights below them, on the beach.
They had just arrived at Islay an hour ago, at dusk, having left Lismore just after sunrise. She was frozen from the wind, the mist and the snow, and she remained disbelieving. As she stared at the Atlantic Ocean, she thought, this is a godforsaken place, one well deserved by a godforsaken man—one who takes a pregnant woman and her small children hostage.
How could she attain her sister’s freedom?
The sooner he demanded a ransom, the better.
The three boys had all climbed onto one bed, and Mary now sat down with them, still wrapped in her fur. “Thank you,” she said softly to Lady MacDonald.
Juliana turned to look at Alasdair’s mother. She was gray-haired, blue-eyed, of medium height and build, still pretty and very soft-spoken. She seemed kind—she even seemed concerned. How had she given birth to such a cold, ruthless man?
And what had he truly meant that she should not have been at the cathedral when he attacked it?
Did he regret her involvement in his war?
Juliana shook herself free of such fanciful thoughts. Alasdair Og had no regrets, no doubts, just ruthless ambition.
She took a breath. “What we need is to be freed, so we can return home,” Juliana said, a bit sharply.
Lady MacDonald’s smile faltered. “I hope you are soon freed, Lady Juliana. “
Juliana stared, realizing that she was kind, and that she meant it. Would she be an ally, then? “I do not understand why your son captured us. If only he would release my sister and her children—I would gladly stay as his hostage.” As she spoke, she heard a movement in the corridor, and she tensed as Alasdair leaned against the open door. He slowly smiled at her.
Lady MacDonald said softly, “I gave up trying to understand the ways of men—and their need for war—long ago, Lady Juliana. But my son will make certain you are well cared for while here.” She turned to Alasdair. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yer always right.” He came forward, kissed Lady MacDonald’s cheek as she left them, and turned to stare at Juliana. “If ye think to move my mother to plot against me, ye might think again.”
Juliana hugged herself, her heart racing. She was acutely aware of being in this man’s complete control—she was his hostage, imprisoned in his stronghold, surrounded by the enemy. “Your mother seems kind.”
“Unlike me?” He was amused, and somehow very different now that he was at his home. His eyes had changed, for they were no longer cold and hard. Then she realized his very posture had changed. It was as if he was no longer braced for war.
“She is very kind, but she will not cross me,” Alasdair said. “So ye will gladly remain here, as my hostage?”
“Yes, if Mary and her children are freed.”
He laughed. “Ye might come to enjoy my hospitality, Lady Juliana—be forewarned.” He gave her a sidelong look and turned to Mary, his smile fading. “How do ye fare, Lady Comyn?”
Mary started. “It has been a very long day, but other than being very tired, I feel fine.”
He moved closer to the bed and both Roger and Donald gazed up at him wide-eyed. They had been staring at him with open fascination all day while upon his ship.
“Ye boys must be hungry,” Alasdair said, shocking Juliana.
Roger nodded, his eyes as huge as saucers, and Donald said, “Did ye really hang the bishop?”
“Donald!” Mary said, seizing him and pulling him close.
“I did. Treachery is not a good idea—neither is spying,” Alasdair said matter-of-factly.
Juliana marched over to stand between him and the bed, where Mary and the boys sat. She gave him a dark look.
Alasdair ignored her, smiling at Mary. “Shall I have my mother send ye some supper? I ken the day has been long and difficult.”
“That is kind of you,” Mary said. “I think we will all retire early.” Roger was yawning as she spoke. Thomas was already cuddled up next to her and deeply asleep.
Alasdair slowly faced Juliana, his expression wry. “Ye will stay with yer sister?”
“If the choice is stay with Mary, or sup with you, there is no choice,” Juliana said. “And it is a little late for kindness.”
He shook his head, amused, and left.
“Juliana!” Mary struggled to get up. Juliana rushed to help her, as Thomas murmured in his sleep. “Do not fight him now! Do not provoke him! We are at his mercy. I am happy if he can be kind, even for a moment.”
Juliana knew Mary was right. She wished she had held her temper. Berating him would not bend him to release her sister!
“We are hostages,” Mary said, taking her hand. “If you accept that, maybe we can endure this ordeal with as little difficulty as possible.”
“You are asking me to change my nature,” Juliana said. But even as she spoke she knew her sister was right. Even though she rarely acted upon the knowledge, she knew one always got more flies with honey than with vinegar. “I will be back.” Before Mary could protest, Juliana ran into the corridor.
Alasdair was at the far end, by the landing, and he vanished into a chamber there without seeing her.
Juliana faltered. Surely he did not have his chamber in the tower where she and Mary slept? Surely he was not directly down the corridor from them? And why did that bother her? Perhaps he merely wished to make certain that she and her sister did not escape—even when there was really no chance of ever doing so. Islay was an island, one could not merely walk off!
She recovered her composure, walking over to his door, which was wide open. She paused on the threshold.
Alasdair had his back to her, and he was removing his sword belt. His navy blue-and-red brat was already tossed across the bed. He was clad only in the linen leine he wore, and his leather boots. She could not help but notice how broad his shoulders were, how muscular his arms, how narrow his hips. The tunic left so little to the imagination.
“So ye follow me to my chamber?”
She tensed. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”
He slowly turned. “Yer a noisy woman.” He was smiling. And his gaze was drifting down her lilac surcote, past the gold girdle she wore, and then back up again.
She did not smile back. “I don’t like it when you look at me in such a manner.”
His dark brows rose. “In what manner... Juliana?” He started slowly towards her.
Her tension increased. He knew what she meant! “I am here to...” She stopped.
“Yer here why?” He was laughing at her, but without a sound. She saw the amusement now in his eyes. And he had halted so close to her that she could see golden flecks in his blue eyes.
She stepped slightly back. “I’m here to apologize.” The moment she had spoken, she wished she had not. He had attacked her, not once but twice, he had taken her and her sister and nephews hostage!
“I can imagine how hard it is, for ye to say yer sorry. I accept.” He chuckled.
She felt like striking him, as nothing was amusing now, but knew better. “I am also here to beg you another time to spare my sister and her children from this ordeal! You have me—you do not need them.”
“My hospitality is only an ordeal if ye make it one, and Lady Comyn seems disinclined to do so. But ye, lady, love to fight.” There was no mistaking his look now—it was one of male admiration.
Juliana took another quick step backwards. As she did, his hand shot out, and he seized her wrist, preventing her from moving any farther away from him. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Why does my admiration distress ye so?” His tone had become so soft, and so seductive.
“I do not want your admiration!” Her heart was slamming. “What are you doing?” she managed to say. “Release me!”
“What do ye think?” he said, no longer smiling. His gaze was on her mouth. “Yer beautiful.... I’m a man.” He pulled her close. She was in disbelief—or was she? For she had known from that first day in the cathedral that he wanted her. A woman always knew when a man was smitten. And yet she had come to his room, all the same.
He was compelling. She had to admit that now. He was powerful, proud, arrogant and ruthless... a prince of the isles....
But that did not matter. They were enemies.
And yet, when Juliana found herself in his embrace, and she pressed her hands on his hard chest, trying to think coherently was impossible. He held her body against his, and he was all hard, huge muscle, straining against her softness.
But she had come to plead for her sister’s freedom another time...or had she? She couldn’t think with his scent enveloping her as it was.
“I think ye came here for more than an apology,” he whispered roughly. He wasn’t amused now. His eyes were dark with heat.
She did not bother to deny it. “Damn you,” she gasped. “If I kiss you, will you release Mary and the boys?”
“Lady, I want more than a kiss.”
Her hands curled into fists on his chest. She could barely breathe. Desire was unfurling within her at a shocking rate. “You will not get more than a kiss!”
He suddenly caught her face with one hand. “Ye challenge me and I gladly accept,” he said roughly, and he kissed her.
Juliana froze as his mouth covered hers—hard and fierce, forcing her lips apart, his tongue thrusting inside. Shock evaporated. Something huge—terrible and wonderful—fisted deep within her.
She relaxed against him, her fists opening, sliding over his chest.
He grunted in satisfaction, his hands moving down her back and over her buttocks. He pushed her against the wall.
Crushed there, Juliana felt nothing but the onslaught of his mouth, the pressure of his body, and a stunning desire. She moved her hands into his tangled mane of hair and kissed him wildly back.
Their tongues entwined, their lips locked, and he pushed one huge thigh between hers. Then he broke the kiss.
Juliana looked into his blazing blue eyes, overcome by urgency and shocked by it. No man had ever kindled such disturbing desire in her before. She was clinging to him, hard.
“Ye kiss the way ye fight. Do ye love the same way?” he asked thickly.
She began to realize what they were doing—what she was doing. He was Alasdair Og and she was Juliana MacDougall. She braced against his chest as her mind raced. What if she could persuade him to release her sister and her nephews? Wouldn’t his lovemaking be worth it?
“Ahh—dinna think now.” He kissed her deeply again.
Their mouths mated and fused, wildly. The desire built to another crescendo. She was breathless and faint, and as he tugged on her braid, freeing her hair, persuading him became a distant memory, because her blood was on fire as never before.
He suddenly caught her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. As he laid her down there, he paused before coming down on top of her. “Juliana? I’m about to go mad, so if ye wish to leave, ye had better run from me now.”
He was breathing hard, poised on all fours above her. As he spoke, he settled one knee between her thighs.
Of course she should leap up from the bed and run away. But Juliana reached up and clasped his jaw fiercely. She wanted to kiss him again.
His eyes blazed. He moved on top of her, lifting her skirts to her waist. Juliana cried out as she felt his manhood against her sex, stunned by the powerful sensation.
As his mouth covered hers, she threw her arms around him. She arched against him, the movement an invitation as old as time. He growled roughly, his mouth on her neck, her collarbone, her breast.
All thought had vanished. There was only his hard, heated body and her raging need. Juliana reached down and ran her hand over the back of his hard thigh, beneath his leine, and then up over his hard buttock. He began moving his mouth over her rib cage, her belly. He went lower and Juliana went still, paralyzed.
She felt his tongue. Desire exploded.
She wept in pleasure and, when he rose back over her and moved hard within her, she wept in ecstasy.
* * *
JULIANA WAS AFRAID to move. She listened to Alasdair as he left the bed and moved about the dark chamber, carefully tugging her cote and surcote down. She heard him stoking the fire. Then she heard a whoosh, and the chamber blazed with light.
She instantly saw him standing by the hearth, his back to it, as he stared at her.
She felt her cheeks flame. Her heart slammed. Slowly, she sat up. Her sanity had returned.He was Alasdair Og and she was Juliana MacDougall. Worse, she was his hostage. What had she done?
“Did I hurt ye?” he asked quietly.
“No, you did not hurt me.”
What had just happened? How had it happened? When she had never done more than kiss a man before? And she did not want to speak with him now. She stood up. With her fingers, she raked through her long hair, hoping he would not see that she trembled, and then hurriedly braided it.
He walked away, opened a chest, returned. He handed her a ribbon.
She tied the braid, not looking at him. The ribbon was blue, of course it was, him being a MacDonald.
Damn it, she thought. Why had she just experienced such uncontrollable desire? Why now, with her worst enemy, of all possible men?
And he was staring. She wanted him to stop. She wet her lips. “Will you free Mary and her sons?” At least some good might come of this horrible mistake.
But he did not reply. He simply stared at her.