Page 2 of Deception

Linnae once again turned her attention out the window and Lady Alison rested her head on Linnae’s shoulder. Their carriage curved along a steep incline and Linnae peered out the window into a deep ravine. Patches of bluebells, primroses and hyacinths colored the landscape.

Linnae’s stomach churned. Her own anxiety had grown along with Lady Alison’s.

After the wedding, Jacob MacKinnon would take Lady Alison away from Eilean Donan Castle to his home on Skye. Linnae hadn’t been on Skye since she ran away from Glenwood Abbey two and a half years ago. In truth, she hadn’t planned on ever returning. Dunakin Castle, seat of the MacKinnon clan, commanded the strait of Kyle Akin between Skye and the mainland. From the tower, she would be able to see the loch and hills as far as the eye could reach. That would be as far into Skye as she dared venture for—

A deafening cry drowned out her thoughts, causing Linnae to jolt in her seat. The carriage listed to the right and the other three women slammed against Linnae’s side of the coach. One woman crashed into her. Linnae’s head struck the side of the carriage and dull pain throbbed. The vehicle righted and the women scrambled back into their seats.

“Holy God, what happened?” Lady Alison demanded as she leaned toward the window.

Linnae reached for her. “Nae! My lady,” she cried, but her warning came too late. The carriage began to tip.

The other women screamed and slid against the wall again. The carriage crashed onto its side—then began to tumble. Linnae’s head slammed the cushion, then she was thrown against Lady Alison. Her ladyship flailed. They struck the front of the carriage as it came to a grinding halt. And silence.

Her head pounded. Linnae raised her hand to her head and drew a breath at the pain. Her heart thrummed in her ears. What had happened?

Angry male shouts mingled with the clash of steel. She tried to concentrate on the noise, but it seemed to come from a distance. Linnae grasped the door handle and dragged herself to a sitting position. Her head spun. She squinted in an effort to discern her surroundings. The interior of the carriage swam into blurry focus. Two of the women—one Lady Alison—lay motionless beside her. Linnae groped for a pulse at Lady Alison’s neck. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes when she detected no heartbeat.

“Ye cannae be dead, my lady,” she said through tears. “Wake up.” But the young woman remained motionless.

Linnae brushed Lady Alison’s hair from her face and searched for any signs of life in the eyes that stared up at her. This wasn’t possible. Her mistress couldn’t be dead. Tears streamed down her face, but she forced herself to examine the other two women. Dina lay with her neck at an odd angle. Linnae wasn’t surprised when she felt no pulse in Dina’s neck, but her stomach churned and she forced back tears as she felt for a pulse on the young Rebecca’s neck. She, too, was dead. Linnae rose and realized she stood on the roof of the carriage. She edged past her mistress to the door and shoved it open, nearly falling out. She caught herself and straightened. She gasped at sight of the carriage walls crushed inward like paper.

Shouts yanked her from the shock. She stumbled around the side of the carriage, then stopped. The horses lay in a tangle of leather and harness. Shouts yanked her attention up where a dozen men fought atop the hill. Her eyes tracked the skid marks the carriage had carved from the top of the hill to the steep ravine. Sweet heaven, how had she survived?

Two men dismounted their horses and began scanning the ravine. She ducked behind the carriage, then stilled for three heartbeats until her head cleared. Carefully, she peered around the edge. Her heart beat wildly. The men had started down the hill.

Her mind muddled. What was she to do? She thought of her female companions—and Lady Alison’s bag, which carried her mother’s ruby necklace and the gold band she was to give Laird MacKinnon when they married. Linnae forced back tears and sent up a quick prayer for the women’s souls, then quickly retrieved Lady Alison’s satchel. She pressed a kiss to Alison’s forehead, then climbed out of the carriage. With trembling fingers, she felt for the knife sheathed and strapped to her belt and nearly burst into tears when she found it hadn’t fallen out during the accident. With a prayer that she wouldn’t have to use it, she stumbled toward the trees.

Keeping out of sight of the road, she stayed inside the tree line and continued away from the clang of steel-upon-steel. Sounds of the fighting waned, and the thunderous pounding of horses’ hooves racing along the high road above drew nearer.

The trees began to thin and she reached a stone arch bridge that crossed a creek. She started across then froze at the sound of riders approaching. Cloak gripped tightly about her, she scurried down the incline and under the arch. Her heartbeat matched the thunder of hooves as they galloped past. Loose dirt fell like rain into the rapid waters below. With trembling hands, she clung to the cloak until quiet reigned.

Fear cramped her stomach, but she picked her way back up the incline and ran across the bridge. Night would soon be upon her and sleeping in the woods without food or protection wasn’t a fate she wished to consider.

“This way!” a man shouted.

Linnae whirled. Three men trekked through the brush toward her. How had they found her? She caught sight of her small footprints in the moist ground.

Oh, sweet Heavens!

Linnae whirled and barreled into a broad expanse of plaid. She leapt back and jerked her gaze up to the face of a tall man with stormy blue eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. She froze. Bootfalls sounded behind her. Linnae clutched the satchel close to her breast. Three other giant brutes came into view.

The first man eyed her like a wolf about to attack. Linnae broke eye contact as the others circled her.

She yanked the knife from the sheath strapped to her belt. “Take another step closer and I will kill ye.” The trembling inside her stomach began to work its way through her body and she prayed her hand wouldn’t betray her terror.

“Ye need no’ fear us, lass,” the first said.

The concern in his voice surprised her. She stared.

“I am Laird Jacob MacKinnon. My men and I were expecting you this morning. When ye did no’ arrive, we began searching for you. I am only sorry we arrived too late.”

Laird MacKinnon? Lady Alison’s betrothed. Memory flashed of the women’s description of him, tall, muscular and handsome. Lady Alison would never see him for herself.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she dropped the hand gripping the knife to her side. “The carriage went off the cliff. The others—” She broke off.

“We saw the others, my lady,” he said in a soft voice. “I am sorry.”

A lump formed in her throat.

“We must go,” he said.

She slid the knife into its sheathe, then remembered the men. “I saw men fighting on the hill.”

His mouth thinned. “Aye. We chased the curs. They attacked your party.”

“Attacked us? Why?”

“I dinnae know, but we will find out soon enough. Come, we will escort ye home. Our horses are just over the hill.” He winged an am arm toward her.

Linnae slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. He covered her fingers with his large warm hand and squeezed. She clutched close the satchel and was grateful for the warmth of his hand on hers as they tramped through the woods. Linnae hurried to keep up with his long strides until they reached the top of the hill. Half a dozen other men waited with their horses.

“Let me take your satchel, lass.”

Before she could respond, he took the satchel and hung it from the pommel, then grasped her waist and hoisted her onto the horse’s rump. He mounted in front of her and clicked his tongue. The horse lurched into motion. Linnae threw her arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his back, and hugged him tight in order to keep from slipping off. The scent of musk and burnt wood filled her nostrils. His stomach muscles flexed beneath her fingers.

This man would have soothed Lady Alison’s fears. Memory of Alison’s motionless body brought tears. Silently, Linnae gave into her sorrow and cried into Laird MacKinnon’s plaid.