Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(33)

Me. Merciful Mary, they mean me.

The door to her solar opened with a bang, and she held her breath. The helplessness of their situation, the futility in trying to hide, came rushing forward in full fury. How long would it take before they found—

“Let go of me!”

Her heart lurched. Brian. Dear God, they had Brian.

“What have we here?” a man said. “The Lamont’s whelp, I’d wager? What’s left of them anyhow.”

Caitrina stifled a cry, her nails digging into her palms. It can’t be true.

“The lass has to be around here close,” another man said.

The sound of Brian’s struggles as he tried to distract the men from finding her was more than she could take. She pushed through the smothering stacks of hanging gowns and burst through the ambry door. All she could see was the wide backs of two mail-clad warriors, one of whom had Brian by the neck.

“Let him go,” she yelled, jumping on his back and hitting him hard enough on the temple so that he cried out in pain and dropped Brian.

She would have wrapped her arm around his neck, but she found herself yanked from him and clasped in the steely embrace of a tall, heavyset man. In her haste to reach Brian she hadn’t noticed that there was a third man in the room.

His face was red, puffy, and sweaty below the rim of his helmet. “I found the lass,” he shouted in the direction of the doorway.

“Let go of me!” She tried to wrestle free.

His hand tightened around her arm until she thought it might break. He gave her a lecherous once-over and smiled. The look in his eyes chilled her to the bone. It was the look of a man intent on reaping the spoils of victory. “Not yet,” he said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement. “Brian, no!” But it was too late.

“Get your filthy hands off my sister!”

Brian had somehow managed to slide the claymore from under the bed and came rushing toward the man holding her. But the weapon was too heavy for him to maneuver, and he managed only a few steps before one of the other men caught up with him from behind. Time seemed to stand still. She saw the silvery flash of the blade as it descended toward her brother’s head. She lurched forward with a sudden burst of strength, but she wasn’t able to tear herself from the man’s arms.

Brian’s eyes, wide with shock, met hers as the force of the blow temporarily stunned him, before he crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. The cry that tore from her lungs was surely not her own. She went mad with rage, lashing out at the man holding her and managing to rake her nails across his face before he backhanded her across the cheek with such force that she stumbled to the floor. Her jaw exploded in pain.

“What’s going on here?”

The man she’d seen before, the one she’d assumed to be their leader, stood in the doorway.

“We found the Lamont lass,” one of his men said.

His eyes fastened on her. “So I see.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she rose to her feet, cradling her injured face, but her eyes reflected her hatred for this man who had brought death and destruction to her home. “What kind of man makes war on women and children? Only a Campbell would have so little honor.”

“Proud as well as beautiful? You have spirit, lass, but use it wisely. Tell us where he is and no one else needs to get hurt.”

She looked over at her brother’s still form, blood streaming down his face from the gash on his head. As if he knew her thoughts, the leader crossed the room and stepped between her and Brian, preventing her from going to him. “Who?” she croaked, her voice raw. “Who is it that you seek?”

“Alasdair MacGregor.”

She gasped. My God, this was all some horrible mistake. She shook her head. “You have come to the wrong place. Alasdair MacGregor is not at Ascog.”

The man’s expression turned hard and unforgiving. For a moment, he reminded her of Jamie, but this man had a cruel edge that Jamie did not possess. “It is you who are wrong. MacGregor was seen in the area with your father yesterday, and he’s likely been hiding here for weeks.”

That was impossible. Her father wouldn’t be so bold—or foolish—in defiance of the king. Harboring MacGregors could get you . . . killed. But then she remembered the bond between the clans. Her chest squeezed with pain. “You lie.”

His mouth tightened. “And you test my patience. Tell me where he is and I may be persuaded to let you go.” His eyes slid down the length of her. “Before or after I let my men have some fun with you. It’s your choice.”

She refused to show him her fear, though it wrapped around her like an icy noose. “I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

He gave her a long look and shrugged. “Then you are of no use to me.” He turned to one of the men. “Get rid of the lad.”

“Brian!” She tried to go to him but was restrained by the man who’d struck her earlier. Instead, she watched helplessly as Brian was dragged unconscious from the room.

The leader’s eyes were on the trunk at the foot of her bed where she’d carefully folded the plaid that Jamie had lent her the day he’d rescued her from the tree—which she’d neglected to return to him. He gave her a calculated stare and seemed about to say something, but then an odd look came over his face. “Find out what she knows,” he said instead to the man holding her, “but be quick about it. The place is already on fire. If MacGregor is in the castle, we’ll smoke him out.”