Page 27 of Awoken
She was young and strong, and had her wits about her. She wasn’t beaten yet.
Today had been a set-back, and yet at the same time a reprieve. By rights, she should have now been MacKinnon’s wife and cringing in their marital bed. But since Carr Broderick had ridden to the Frasers in search of a priest, she’d been given another couple of days’ breathing space at least.
Escape would be impossible without assistance. Leanna’s mouth compressed as she swiveled on her heel and completed another circuit of the chamber. MacKinnon had everyone in this broch leashed by duty and fear; she couldn’t rely on any of them for help.
It was likely then, that the only way she’d get free of MacKinnon was if she killed him.
Leanna halted in her tracks, a chill shivering through her.
How she wished that Sister Ella—now Lady Ella MacNichol of Scorrybreac—had ended MacKinnon’s life when she’d had the chance. Ella had been a guest at Dunan, when MacKinnon had forced his way into her bed-chamber and tried to rape her. He’d also left a message for Leanna—a warning that one way or another he would have her.
At the time, Leanna had believed his threat to be an empty one, yet she now realized that MacKinnon didn’t bluster. He’d meant every word.
Ella had managed to escape him, by drawing a knife and stabbing him with it. She’d then hit him over the head with a jug, knocking him unconscious before fleeing Dunan.
Leanna inhaled deeply, smoothing sweaty palms upon the skirts of her kirtle. Of course, if Ella had killed him, she’d have been hunted down as a criminal. Even wedding Gavin MacNichol wouldn’t have saved her from the noose.
No—it was just as well that Ella hadn’t killed him.
Leanna would do it instead.
A thrill of fear trembled through her.
How she wished she had a bow and arrow. She was an excellent shot with the weapon—although a longbow wouldn’t be that practical right now. Still, she’d learned other skills at Kilbride. The abbess had taught her how to wield a quarter-staff, wriggle out of a man’s grip, and handle a knife—albeit clumsily. She wasn’t as confident with any of those skills as she was with a longbow, but she wouldn’t give up.
Exhaling sharply, Leanna looked about the chamber. There was nothing here she could use as a weapon. The servant who’d just brought her supper had deliberately not left her a knife. Her hair was loose, so she had no pins she could stab him with either.
There will be something I can use,she thought, sitting down upon the bed. There would be another wedding ceremony, and after that a feast. If she was clever and quick, she’d have the opportunity to take something as a weapon.
And when she was alone with MacKinnon, she’d use it.
Leanna’s heart started to pound.
She’d been timid when that outlaw had attacked her in the clearing. She’d panicked, and as such had completely disregarded Mother Shona’s advice about letting your attacker get close enough before striking for a vulnerable spot.
But next time she’d be ready.
Ye shall hang for killing a clan-chief.
Aye.A humorless smile curved Leanna’s lips then.But at least I won’t have to suffer his touch.
13
Long Have I Awaited This Moment
DUNCAN MACKINNON REFILLED his goblet before frowning. The ewer was empty. He needed more wine. Luckily, he’d bid his manservant to bring up a few ewers that evening after supper, and so he heaved himself out of his chair, staggered over to the sideboard, and fetched another jug. Then, settling down before the fire, his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankle, Duncan resumed drinking.
The Lord knew how much wine he’d consumed since that disaster of a wedding ceremony, but, like his father before him, Duncan could handle his drink. Rage had boiled within him after he’d cut Father Athol down, a fury that sought an outlet.
Striking his mouthy sister across the face had helped, a little, but even though the wine had blunted the sharpest edges of his anger, the rage was still there, simmering like a cauldron of stew.
He hadn’t been this angry since his useless wife had died in childbirth.
Having Lady Leanna MacDonald wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. He’d fantasized about this moment a while now. He’d imagined wedding the object of his desire and ripping her wedding gown from her nubile young body afterward. In his fantasies, he hadn’t cared if she was willing or not—and the fact that she was so set against their union excited him—but he hadn’t expected to be thwarted like this.
That damn priest.
He’d never liked Father Athol. The man had been respected at Dunan, but he was always sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He’d had no business traveling to Kyleakin to bless the plague-ridden, and he’d certainly had no business refusing to perform the ceremony. The man’s haughtiness had been his undoing.
