Kate Wingo - Highland Mist 01 (31 page)

Taken aback,
Iain’s jaw slackened. “Her feet were bare?”

“Aye, they were.
And her head bare as well, her hair all tangled about her shoulders.”

Curse Galen de Ogilvy!
How dare the knave treat the lady of Castle Maoil in so disrespectful a manner.

“So are ye going after her
?” Laoghaire demanded to know. “Or should I have yer horse sent back to the stables?”

Although he wanted very much to wreak his fury
upon de Ogilvy, Iain hesitated.

His sister
, who had all the subtlety of a charging boar, clearly wanted him to give chase like some lovesick swain. But whether or not Yvette had shoes upon her feet, the fact still remained that she broke her handfast vow when she left Castle Maoil.

And it was
that
indisputable fact that kept Iain rooted in place.

“Leave me in peace!” he bellowed, the heated argument b
eginning to sour in his belly. “The both of ye!” he added when Diarmid made no move to depart.

Obediently t
he pair took their leave, his cousin shaking his head in disgust, while his sister cursed profanely under her breath.

“The devil take them,”
Iain muttered to himself as he yanked his chair upright and reseated himself.

Moodily he stared at the empty chair next to his
– Yvette’s chair – unwillingly recalling all of the sumptuous meals they’d shared together.

Tempted to pick up her chair and hurl it into the fire,
Iain instead turned his back on it.

“Ach, Kenneth, wha’ should
I do?” he drunkenly murmured. Slumping forward, Iain’s head fell against his bent arms. “I am in need of yer counsel, brother.”

Unexpectedly hearing something, Iain’s ears
pricked as he reared his head. Furtively he scanned the room.

“
Jesu
,” he whispered.

A moment later he lurched from the table and stormed from the hall.
While he wasn’t altogether certain if it’d been the wind or the whisky, he’d heard a voice, clearly, distinctly, utter three words . . .
‘Go to her.’

“
Bring me my horse!” he shouted. “I am going to bring the bloody wench back.”

“I would have you tell me, Sir Galen, why we have been encamped
for two days now in this same glen?” Yvette furiously demanded of the black-clad knight.

Engaged in conversation with two of his men-at-arms, Galen de Ogilvy turned
in Yvette’s direction, clearly annoyed by the imposition. With slow deliberation, his gaze traveled the length of her mud-splattered
léine
, taking in her bare feet before returning to her face.

Unflinching,
Yvette looked the knight directly in the eye. If Sir Galen did not approve of her attire, he had only himself to blame. He was the one, after all, who refused to let her gather her belongings before she left Castle Maoil. Suspecting the castle’s men-at-arms would not willingly let her leave the premises, Sir Galen had thought it best to surreptitiously depart through the postern door before anyone was the wiser.

That was
three days ago. And while they were now ensconced on mainland Scotland, Yvette feared Sir Galen had not put enough distance between themselves and Castle Maoil. Soon enough, Iain would learn that she’d left in the knight’s custody.

A proud man
, Iain would undoubtedly seek retribution. A confrontation that she did look forward to having.

In truth, she
didn’t want to ever again see Iain MacKinnon. He had betrayed her. And she would be wise not to set her gaze upon him lest her resolve crumble. Even now, in the face of his callous betrayal, she could not stop yearning for him.

“I have unfinished business to attend to in these parts,” Sir
Galen brusquely informed her. “We shall depart for Glencova once the matter has been resolved to my satisfaction.”

“What business could you possibly have in this part of Scotland?”
she retorted.
What business did any knight have other than the business of fighting?
“If we stay encamped much longer, the laird of Clan MacKinnon will surely happen upon us.”

“Yea, ’tis my most fervent
desire.”

Aghast
, Yvette stared at the ruthless knight, disbelieving what she’d just heard.

When she did finally speak, her voice was little
more than a strained whisper. “But you gave me your sworn word that you would not exact your revenge.”

“If you will recall, lady, I vowed not to return to Castle Maoil to exact my revenge
. And I have not done so, as you can plainly see.” Gesturing to the surrounding countryside, Sir Galen favored her with a scornful smile. “’Twas a simple enough pledge to give, knowing full well that the lovelorn laird would eventually come to me.”

Yvette put a hand to her
bosom, her heart painfully beating against her breastbone. “First you used the duplicitous fiery cross to lure Iain from Castle Maoil. And now you are using me to entice Iain from the isle.”

“Ah
! You do read me like a book,” Sir Galen mocked. “For your inconvenience, I do humbly apologize. But I knew of no other way to lure the laird away from the rock in the sea that he calls home. I needed him,
here
, on the mainland where his friends and allies are few and far between.”

Stunned by the knight’s cunning, Yvette asked the question uppermost in her mind
. “And what do you intend to do once you’ve drawn Iain into your trap?”

“I will engage hi
m in mortal combat, of course. Already I grow anxious for the fight.” As he spoke, Yvette could see a deep vein of hatred gleam in Sir Galen’s gray eyes. “Make no mistake, lady: for the grave insult he did bestow upon the de Ogilvy family, I intend to ram my sword into MacKinnon’s chest and cleave his heart in two.”

In the wake of the knight’s deadly avowal,
Yvette went as still as marble statuary. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. As if she’d suddenly fallen into a dazed stupor.

‘Think, Yvette, think!’
she frantically commanded her stymied faculties.

If she could not find some means to warn Iain of the
nefarious plot against him, he would end up skewered on the end of Sir Galen’s blade.

“You are monstrous cruel,” she hissed
.

“If I am a monster, ’tisn’t bec
ause I was born one. Nay, lady. ’Tis because of the highborn earls of England and Scotland that I am so monstrous,” Sir Galen rasped, his face suffused with a quiet rage. “You and yours put a sword in my hand, trained me to be a warrior, and bade me to kill on
their
behalf. So do not blame
me
if you do not like what I have become. Blame yourself and your highborn kinsmen.”

Refusing to take the blame for his evil plot, Yvette said,
“After you kill Iain, and I am no longer of use to you, will you kill me as well?”

Long moments passed as Sir Galen glared at her in
stone-faced silence.

“My uncle wishes to wed you,
” the knight finally said in a deadly calm voice. “And to that end he has entrusted me with your care and protection. But make no mistake . . . I care for you not, lady. Although, if need be, I shall defend you with my life.”

“Grudgingly, I am sure.”

“
Very
grudgingly,” Sir Galen clarified. “While it is immaterial to me whether the Bruce or Longshanks rules over this godforsaken country, I will defend the de Ogilvy name to the death. As the laird of Clan MacKinnon will soon discover.”

Yvette stood silent.
Her world having suddenly caught fire, she had no idea how to put out the flame. She only knew that she
had
to warn Iain of the danger that awaited him. But to do so she would need a horse.

Not
that I’ll be able to find Iain once I manage to procure a mount,
she thought dismally, surmising that it would be akin to finding the proverbial needle in the stacked hay.

Though
try, she must.

Her mind made up
, Yvette turned and walked away from her self-proclaimed ‘protector.’

“H
alt!” Galen gruffly called out. “I would have you tell me what are you about, Lady Yvette?”

S
he obediently came to a halt and turned around to face the surly knight. “I am going to yon loch to attend to my ablutions. I have been three days without a bath and can barely stand my own stench.”

“Which would make you cleaner than
most,” Sir Galen retorted, suspiciously eyeing her.

“Be that as i
t may, I am going to the loch. Pray thee keep your men at a safe distance until I have finished with my lavation.”

Her heart erratically pounding, Yvette lifted the hem of her
léine
and slowly walked in the direction of the sparkling blue loch just visible through a screen of leafy trees. To her relief, Galen made no further attempt to dissuade her. Since he considered her naught but a lowly woman, he undoubtedly thought her incapable of devising a scheme to rival his own.

Yvette
prayed that her plan not only rivaled, but superseded his nefarious plot.

Arriving at the loch, she glanced
furtively to-and-fro. After verifying that no one lurked in the near vicinity, she quickly removed her plaid
arisaidh
, draping the red and black length over a nearby yew bush. From a distance, the brightly colored plaid would fool Sir Galen into erroneously thinking that she’d disrobed altogether and was in the loch bathing.

God willing
, the deception will give me enough time to mount an escape
.

As she scurried along the shoreline of the loch, careful to keep the line of trees between her and the encampment,
Yvette silently cursed Sir Galen for forcing her to leave Castle Maoil in her bare feet, her progress slowed by the lack of shoes.

When she’d gone a sufficient distance,
she headed toward the wooded grove. Wending her way through the shadowed woodlet, she traversed a path that took her right back to the encampment; but on the far side where the mounts were hobbled.

A few moments later, she espied the horses,
each of them saddled in case the camp was suddenly attacked. And though there were two guards posted, both men were hunched over a small fire with their backs turned to her.

Praying for stealth,
Yvette tip-toed over to the nearest mount, a bay gelding. After releasing the horse from its hobble, she tread as lightly as possible as she led it into the wooded copse.

Once she and the gelding were clear of the wood,
Yvette hoisted herself into the saddle. She then headed due west. Toward the Isle of Skye.

Several hours later
, whether by divine intervention or mere happenstance, Yvette rode into Iain’s encampment.

“’Tis the lady of Castle Maoil!” the posted guard hollered
when he caught sight of her.

The announcement incited a round of raucous cheers
as a throng of men excitedly rushed forward.

Yvette
nervously scanned the boisterous crowd of plaid-swathed men, searching for a beloved face. With a heavy heart she knew this would be the last time she’d ever set her gaze upon Iain MacKinnon. Warn him, she would; but that is
all
she would do. Even though she yearned to return with him to the misty isle, she could not overlook the fact that Iain lied to her. Moreover, he betrayed her trust. She would not,
could not
, turn a blind eye to either offense.

“God’s teeth!”
Diarmid shouted as he ran toward her, a relieved smile on his face. “Ye had us fearfully worried!” As he spoke, Diarmid placed his hands around her waist and gently swung Yvette off the gelding.

No sooner did her feet touch ground than she
saw Iain storm toward them. The mere sight of him, brown plaid swinging about his bare legs, caused Yvette’s heart to beat erratically.

“Did the bastard hurt ye?”
Iain demanded to know.

“Sir Galen did not harm me,” she replied
stiffly.

Iain’s
gaze, warm as a lit torch, quickly moved over her, verifying for himself that she spoke the truth. A few moments later, as a relieved expression passed over his face, he extended an arm in her direction. Espying her velvet boots clutched in his hand, Yvette’s eyes opened wide with surprise.

“The ride back to Castle Maoil will be a wee bit more comfortable if ye have these on yer feet,” he said, going down on bent knee
in front of her.

Unable to speak,
Yvette watched in stunned silence as Iain tenderly lifted the hem of her filthy
léine
and reached for an equally filthy foot, lifting it onto his muscled thigh. As he slipped first one, then the other boot onto her foot, Yvette’s inhalations turned noticeably ragged, the simple act of pulling air into her lungs having become increasingly difficult.

Finished with the task, Iain smiled warmly as he stood upright.

“I do not intend to return with you to Castle Maoil,” Yvette informed him, finally finding the courage to speak.

“Then why in God’s name are ye
here?”

The husky rasp in Iain’s voice
tore at Yvette’s heart.

Tightly clenching her hands together,
she said, “I came to warn you.”

Although Iain made no reply, his blue eyes gleamed w
ith a contentious inner fire. One that indicated she would soon have a fight on her hands.

“I
would have a truce between us,” she continued in a placating tone, hoping to circumvent a clash of wills.

“
I didna know we were at war with one another.”

Ignoring Iain’s
retort, Yvette gestured to the encampment and said, “You must leave. Now! Sir Galen and his men are not too far distant.”

At hearing that, Iain’s right hand move
d to his sword hilt. In that charged instant, his entire body suddenly went taut.