The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(117)

From his expression, she could tell he didn’t like her challenging tone. “Edward by the grace of God, King of England and Scotland, Lord of Ireland, Prince of Wales, and Duke of Aquitaine. Your men resisted,” he lied boldly. Dismissing her, he addressed the soldier who held her arm. “Be quick about it.” The English leader looked around to his other men. “And anybody else who wishes to share in the spoils. There is nothing here. When you are done, burn it all.”

Christina fought back another wave of nausea, realizing what they intended. They would rape her and then kill her, leaving no witnesses to their crime. The wife of a Highland chief meant nothing to them. Fools! Tor would hunt them down when he learned what had happened here today.

The second ship had pulled along the other side of the birlinn. From their clothing and armor she could tell the occupants were Highlanders. She scanned the hard, brutal faces, looking for mercy but finding none. Suddenly, a man stepped forward. Her gaze sharpened. He looked familiar.

“I believe the lass can be of use to us, captain.”

The English leader turned to him with only slightly less contempt than he’d shown her. “And who are you?”

“Arthur Campbell.”

“Campbell? Isn’t your brother one of Bruce’s companions?”

Undoubtedly, that’s why she’d recognized him. She remembered Sir Colin Campbell from Finlaggan. Arthur, though a score of years younger, bore the look of his distinguished brother.

“Aye, and myself and two other brothers are loyal to the Lord of Badenoch.”

The Red Comyn.

Divided families were not uncommon. The English captain accepted his explanation, and Campbell continued, “The lass is only recently married to the MacLeod chief—a love match I hear.” She smothered the hysterical sharp laugh that rose to her throat. “He will be anxious to get her back. Perhaps the chit can help persuade him to the righteousness of our cause.” The captain didn’t look impressed. Like most Englishmen, he made the mistake of dismissing the “barbarian” Highlanders. “She is also the daughter of Andrew Fraser,” he added.

That perked up his ears. The captain’s gaze narrowed on her. “Is this true, gel?”

She nodded, deciding it prudent not to mention that threatening her father with her safety wasn’t much of a threat.

A slow smile spread across his cruel face. “Bring her along,” he ordered to the man still holding her. “Perhaps she can be useful after all. And if she can’t …” He shrugged.

She knew what that shrug meant.

Though undoubtedly his motivation hadn’t been to help her, she shot Arthur Campbell a look of gratitude, but he’d already disappeared into the crowd of guardsmen manning the second galley. But his timely intervention was only a temporary reprieve; her father would not lift a finger to help her. And Tor …

She did not doubt that he would come after her. He did not love her, but he would see it as his duty to protect her. But would he discover what had become of them in time?

Success should feel better than this. Once again the team’s skills had proved invaluable—from Lamont’s tracking, to MacSorley’s seafaring, to MacRuairi’s instincts that led them to head toward Dunstaffnage. Tor doubted he would have been able to do it without them. But throughout the entire journey—even when they’d caught up with Brother John and MacRuairi had “persuaded” him to divulge who he worked for—Tor couldn’t shake the heaviness that surrounded him like a black cloud.

Christina’s interference could have destroyed everything. But she was only trying to help. He couldn’t blame her. She’d been tricked and had only tried to do the right thing. It was his fault for telling her too much. He couldn’t let that happen again. He’d done what needed to be done. Or so he told himself countless times. But why couldn’t he stop seeing her crushed face?

He adjusted his cotun, trying to relieve the nagging discomfort in his chest.

He wanted to put the past behind them. When the men left, he hoped to do just that and return to some state of normalcy—if such a thing existed with Christina. Nothing had been normal since the first moment he’d set eyes on her.

Two nights after he’d left, Tor strode up the sea-gate stairs, his mission an unqualified success. He’d prevented the clerk from passing on the information and learned who was responsible for the recent attacks on Dunvegan. John MacDougall of Lorne had earned himself a powerful enemy, and Angus Og MacDonald had a new ally against his treacherous kinsman. Tor would no longer stand to the side in the feud between the two powerful Island clans.

As he approached the Hall, he was thinking about what he could say to his wife to ease the discord between them, but right away he sensed that something was wrong. It was too dark. Too quiet. A funereal pall had been cast over the place.

Rhuairi and Colyne rushed out to meet him. From their expressions he knew it was bad. “What is it?” he demanded.

They looked uneasily back and forth, but it was Colyne who spoke first. “It’s the lady, ri tuath.”

A chill ran down his spine. He forced himself to speak calmly, though every muscle inside him tensed on high alert. “Is she ill?”

Colyne shook his head. Rhuairi said, “Nay, chief, she’s gone.”

His head rang as if he’d just been clabbered on his helm with a sword. It took him a moment to realize what the seneschal had said. He grabbed Rhuairi by the clasp of his plaid brat. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”