Highland Barbarian Part 2

Before Meredith could move, the man soared through the air, dangling from a rope, and caught her up with one arm.

Looking into her face, Brice Campbell felt for a moment as if all the air had been crushed from his lungs. Her hair, lush and dark, intertwined with ivy and wildflowers, fell to below her waist. The scent of wildflowers surrounded her like a spring meadow. Her skin was as flawless as fine porcelain. Her lips were pursed as if to issue a protest. Her eyes, as green as the Highland hills, were wide with fear. She blinked, and he watched them darken with sudden fury.

He stared at her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s, modestly covered by a gown of pristine white. The cloth was so soft, so fragile, it could have been spun by angels. His fingers tingled as he pulled her to him.

Meredith felt hands as strong as iron lift her as effortlessly as if she were a leaf. Cradled against his ma.s.sive chest she felt his muscles strain as he pulled both their weights against the rope.

Together they swung through the air and landed on the stone window ledge. As he set her on her feet she felt herself slipping. Her hands reached out for him, clutching blindly at his mantle. But before she could utter a cry he was holding her firmly against him.

"Touch one weapon and you shall watch the lady die by my hand," he called to the a.s.sembly.

Meredith felt the anger ripple through him, though he strove to control it. Through narrowed lids he studied the crowd below until, content that no one would offer further resistance, he turned. Still clutching her to him Brice grasped the rope and leaped through the open window.

He landed on the ground and in one swift movement scooped Meredith up into his arms and climbed onto the broad back of a horse.

His men backed from the cathedral, then scrambled onto their horses.

Before the people inside could even begin to get to their feet, the horses were galloping toward the hills. Once there, they disappeared into the rising mists, into the forests, into the feared Highlands.

Held in Brice Campbell's arms, Meredith felt her heartbeat keeping time to the pounding rhythm of the horses' hooves.

The man who held her captive was the strongest, most fearsome man she had ever seen. In the morning light his skin was ruddy. His hair held the hint of sun in the dark, burnished curls that kissed his wide, unwrinkled brow. The muscles of his arms were as thick and hard as twisted ropes. She stared, fascinated, as he urged his mount forward, holding her against his chest as effortlessly as a child holds a kitten. But it was his eyes that captured her gaze. Dark, piercing eyes that fastened on hers and held her gaze when she yearned to turn away.

"So, my lady. It seems you've been made a widow before you were even given the chance to savor the MacKenzie charm. A pity that you'll spend your wedding night in a hovel in the Highlands."

Meredith bit her lip and lowered her head so that this barbarian would not see her terror. She had just been stolen by a savage. A Highland savage. And if even half the stories she'd heard about the Campbells were true, she would never see her beloved Borderland or countrymen again.

Chapter Two

A faint rosy glow spread across the horizon. The hills were washed with pale light.

All through the day and night they had ridden, and when darkness cloaked the hills and forests, Meredith had sensed the change in the landscape. They had been climbing steadily from the beginning of their journey. The terrain was littered with rocky crags and steep pinnacles and frigid waters. The surefooted animals picked their way over the obstacles with the skill of those born in the Highlands.

Now, with the dawn light breaking through the mist, Meredith had her first glimpse of the Highlands. Though close to exhaustion she could not fail to be moved by the glens and fells, the rushing streams and waterfalls. The wild, primitive beauty of the land thrilled and terrified her. Like the man who held her, mile after mile, in his arms. Splendid. Frightening.

After his first murmured phrases, he had spoken not a word to her. At times he had called out to his men in the darkness. They had shouted their responses. Some of the men cursed. More than a few curses had come from his own lips when his mount stumbled, or when tree branches scratched and clawed. Meredith trembled in fear at the depth of pa.s.sion in the man. He was quick to anger, she realized. Would he be as quick to strike out at others? At her?

A few of their curses had him chuckling, low and deep in his throat.

That sound caused strange feelings to curl deep inside her. Feelings that were most unsettling. He was a rough, unlettered man, born and bred for cruelty and killing, she reminded herself. Not the kind of man to cause a ripple of feelings in her.

She heard the change in his tone when turrets could be seen rising above the mist.

"At last. We are home."

Home. She had a sudden desire to weep. Would she ever see her beloved home again? Or would she be condemned to die in this strange wilderness?

As they topped a rise Meredith stared at the sprawling structure of stone, standing between two towering peaks. Though not as heavily fortified as the Border castles, for they were constantly being attacked by the English, it was a solid fortress surrounded by wooded hills. What was more, it was luxurious, even opulent.

In her mind she had pictured these rough people living in hovels. Had her captor not said as much? But the roofs she saw among the trees were of solid, st.u.r.dy houses. A few even resembled the English manor houses.

The sound of voices could be heard in the forest. The voices of women and children coming to greet their men. The distant sound of hounds baying.

While she watched, the men saluted their leader and veered off the path toward their own homes. Women laughed and children shouted as they were lifted in brawny arms and hugged fiercely. Within minutes horses and riders had disappeared into the forest, leaving Meredith and Brice Campbell in a small enclosed courtyard that led to the castle's entrance.

Half a dozen hounds surrounded their horse, leaping and baying as their master called each name.

The door was thrown open. The first one through the doorway was a thin youth with fiery hair spilling about a wide forehead. A sprinkle of freckles danced across an impish, upturned nose. His arms and legs were as thin as a girl's, though the beginnings of muscles could be seen beneath the clinging sleeves of his saffron shirt. His sparkling blue eyes filled with joy at the sight of Brice.

Servants hurried out to catch the reins of the lord's horse as he dismounted.

The lad threw himself into Brice's arms.

"You've been away so long I was beginning to fret."

"Over me, Jamie lad?" Brice tousled his hair and wrapped him in a great bear hug.

"You know better. I'll always return to Kinloch House."

"Aye," the lad said with feeling.

"And I'll always be here waiting."

"Until you're old enough to ride with me," Brice muttered with a grin.

"Which will be soon from the looks of you." He held the lad a little away from him and studied him with a critical eye.

"You've grown at least an inch since I left."

The lad laughed, then glanced shyly toward the vision in white who sat astride Brice's horse.

Seeing the direction of his glance, Brice reached up. Meredith was hauled roughly from the saddle and handed over to a bewildered serving wench who stared mutely at her master's captive.

"Take the woman to my chambers. I will deal with her later."

Meredith shivered at his tone. Her mind whirled as she was whisked inside and herded up great stone steps. She had a brisk impression of tapestries and banners lining the walls of the staircase before she was ushered into a chamber on the second floor.

"There's fresh water, my lady," the timid servant said. "And I'll fetch warm clothes if my lord approves." She backed from the room and closed the door.

This was obviously a man's private domain. The furniture was ma.s.sive, like the man who lived here. A log burned in the fireplace and Meredith hurried to stand in front of it. She had been chilled clear through to the bone. The gauzy gown intended for her wedding had offered little protection from the cold. And though the warmth of her captor's body had offered some protection, she had been buffeted by the raw elements. Perhaps, she thought, she would prefer death by freezing to whatever torment Brice Campbell had in mind.

What did he have in mind for her?

Meredith turned, keeping her back to the fire while studying the sitting chamber. The walls were hung with tapestries and furs. The cold stone floors had been softened with fur throws, as were the chairs and settles.

She needed a weapon with which to defend herself. Sooner or later Brice Campbell would discover that he had killed the wrong man. She would be useless to him. And he would be forced to dispose of her.

When that time came she would have to be prepared to fight to the death.