Page 13 of Awoken
Ross couldn’t help smirking. “I think ye’ll find that we already have.”
“My father wanted to protect me from MacKinnon for a reason,” she countered, high spots of color appearing upon those creamy cheeks.
Ross snorted. “Aye, there’s never been much love between the MacKinnons and the MacDonalds.”
“This isn’t about feuding. Would ye want to wed yer daughter to Duncan MacKinnon?” she demanded, her voice growing husky. This close, Ross could see the tell-tale gleam in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. Sorrow vibrated off her, as did fear, and Ross’s smirk disappeared. Her defiance was a shield, and a brittle one at that. The lass was close to breaking.
Silence fell. Ross inhaled deeply in an effort to ease the unexpected tightening in his chest. Since taking Lady Leanna prisoner, he’d put up a barrier of his own. Yet at that moment, he realized he pitied her.
He hadn’t wanted to take on this distasteful task—and neither had Carr—but orders were orders.
MacKinnon wanted her. And Duncan MacKinnon never gave up once he set his will upon something. Ross knew the man he served was flawed—but who wasn’t? Ross deliberately didn’t examine his own soul too deeply, for he too had a darker side. Ambition had driven him for years now. All he’d ever wanted was to make something of himself, to rise from being a callow youth without purpose or pride. MacKinnon had given him something his own father never had—respect. And for that, Ross was prepared to turn a blind eye to some things.
This situation was becoming more of a challenge than he’d anticipated. But he couldn’t let his comely captive get to him.
Shoving aside the urge to empathize with Leanna, Ross deliberately hardened himself against her. “Yer father dishonored MacKinnon by refusing a betrothal between ye both,” he said finally, injecting a callous drawl into his voice. “MacKinnon believes that ye belong to him, Lady Leanna … and if ye are unhappy with his decision,heis the one ye need to discuss it with.”
The morning passed swiftly—far too swiftly. A chill wind blew in from the north, a reminder that although spring had come to the Isle of Skye, the last of winter’s chill still lingered.
Bleak, carven peaks rose above the party of three, their bulk dwarfing the travelers. The landscape of this isle often awed Leanna. However, this morning, it depressed her. This morning, the mountains reminded her how little control she now had over her fate.
It occurred to her then that this was merely a continuation of the powerlessness she’d felt until now. She hadn’t wanted to take the veil, but her father had given her no option. Her choice of husband wouldn’t have been up to her either, even if she hadn’t wed MacKinnon. And now that her father was gone—the only barrier between MacKinnon and his desires—another man had merely taken her by force.
And these two warriors, who followed MacKinnon so loyally, didn’t see anything wrong with that.
Once again, fury writhed up within Leanna. She welcomed its heat, which cut through the chill of sorrow and made her feel stronger.
She knew it was a man’s world—but her time at Kilbride had taught her a few things. Mother Shona was strong and independent. The abbess bowed to no man, and Leanna wanted to follow her lead.
At the same time though, she was no fool. MacKinnon’s reputation as a brute preceded him. He wouldn’t hesitate to raise a hand to her. She wouldn’t be able to rail at him the way she had with Campbell.
Her pulse accelerated then as resolve flowered within her. She couldn’t give up yet; she had to try and get her captors to see sense.
Her father had once told her that every man had his price.
Casting a glance in Ross Campbell’s direction, Leanna studied his proud profile. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said, breaking the silence between them. “If it’s silver ye want, my kin can give it to ye. Take me to Duncaith instead of Dunan, and I’ll see to it that my uncle pays ye and yer friend handsomely. Ye could leave Skye … become yer own masters.”
Campbell’s attention swiveled to her, his dark brows drawing together in surprise. Ahead of them, Broderick twisted in the saddle, his own expression incredulous. Clearly, neither of them had expected such an offer.
“This isn’t about silver,” Campbell replied after a pause.
Leanna’s fingers clenched around the reins. “Ye follow MacKinnon willingly?”
“Aye.”
“But he’s a beast!”
Broderick had already turned from them, his attention focused on the road ahead. However, Campbell watched her for a few moments more, his gaze shuttered. His lips parted, as if he was about to answer her, before he closed his mouth. A muscle feathered in his jaw. Then he looked away, making it clear the conversation was over.
Leanna glared at him, her throat closing up. No, she’d been mistaken. Neither of these men would help her.
They approached Dunan through a densely wooded vale. Dark spruce and pine carpeted the hills, and a meandering watercourse, the River An, cut its way west to east along the valley. They’d made even better time than Campbell had predicted; Leanna guessed that it was not yet noon.
Leanna’s gaze focused on the bulk of what had once been an ancient round-tower, turned into the MacKinnon broch over generations. The broch rose high, over-shadowing its encircling walls, and the village spread out around its base.
Her belly clenched at the sight.
Leanna had been here once before, when she’d been a child. Despite that the sun was shining, the broch appeared a gloomy, oppressive place as it loomed in the distance. Leanna’s gaze slid from the broch to the tightly packed rooftops beneath it. That would be ‘The Warren’, a network of fetid alleyways in the village. She and one of her sisters had sneaked out to catch a glimpse of the taverns and brothels there—and had both received a scolding from their mother upon their return to the keep. Dunan was far different to the wind-swept broch of Duncaith, which perched on the edge of a loch, and the clusters of shepherds’ huts that encircled it.
