It was easier than she expected. The only difficulty was in attempting to get on abirlinnto the village. The guardsman at the dock had initially refused to allow her to go. She was at a loss as to what to do until she remembered her husband’s vow. Apparently, he’d kept his word to inform his men of her condition to their marriage, because when she reminded the guardsman that abirlinnwas to be at her disposal whenever she wished to go, he relented.
She allowed a handful of guardsmen to accompany her to the church, but then insisted that she would be fine from there. Once they’d left, she’d made her way back to the forest, retracing the steps she’d taken to the broch that first time. It was dark, and she’d not dared bring a torch, but fortunately the moon was nearly full and bright enough to penetrate the gossamer veil of mist that clouded the cool night air. She was too worried to be scared; her biggest fear was that she wouldn’t remember how to get there.
She walked slowly and purposefully, keeping her head down to watch her footing. The ground was uneven and she stumbled more than once. But she was nearly there. A few more minutes and she would be near the place where she’d watched from the woods.
She stopped, checking behind her again to make sure she wasn’t being followed. All she saw was the tall, menacing shadows of trees. But she couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched. It was perfectly quiet—too quiet.
All of a sudden she felt herself wrenched against a steel-clad chest, the unmistakable cold edge of a dirk pressed against her neck.
A voice growled in her ear. “Your name, lass.”
This time it wasn’t her husband. “Lady Christina,” she stammered. “Wife of the Chief of MacLeod.”
He swore, turned her around, and tossed back her hood.
She found herself staring into the angry gaze of Sir Alexander Seton. Taking advantage of his surprise, she curtsied and said, “Sir Alex, it’s been a long time.”
“My lady,” he bowed automatically, always the gallant knight no matter the circumstances. “What are you doing out here?”
“One of my husband’s men has betrayed him and I intercepted a message. An attack is planned for tonight and I had to warn him.”
His expression hardened. “You’re sure about this?”
She nodded.
Sir Alex gave her a long look. “You’d better be.”
On that ominous note, something long and metal—a farming tool, perhaps?—emerged from the shadows behind his head, coming down hard on his steel bascinet. With a pained grunt, he crumpled in a mail-clad heap at her feet.
She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, seeing a figure in a dark cloak emerge from the shadows. She opened her mouth to scream. Too late. Something hard hit the back of her head. She had the strangest thought that she heard a muffled “sorry,” before darkness swallowed her.
Christina woke to the non-too-gentle sounds of a slap and “damn fool Englishman.” At first she thought the voice was directed at her, but when she opened her eyes it was to see an enormous, fearsome-looking warrior leaning over Sir Alex, attempting to rouse him.
She’d seen him before. Dark, with a heavy brow and a face more rugged than handsome, he looked like a man who’d been in too many late-night tavern brawls. Then she remembered: He was the warrior who’d lifted the big boulder as if it had weighed next to nothing.
She must have made a sound because he left Sir Alex’s side and immediately came to hers. “Are you all right, lass?”
“I think so.” He helped her sit up. A moment of dizziness quickly cleared. Reaching around behind her head, she felt a small lump but thankfully no blood. She was conscious of his heavy gaze on her. “Sir Alex? Is he all right?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed. “You know the Englishman?”
She realized she hadn’t told him who she was. “I’m Lady Christina Fraser.”
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “MacLeod’s wife?”
She nodded. “And you are …?”
He hesitated, then said, “Raider.” Apparently, he didn’t want to tell her his name, begging the question why.
“You are from the borders?”
She saw the spark of surprise in his gaze—she’d guessed the source of the epithet correctly.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, changing the subject. “What happened?”
It all came back to her in a rush and she jumped to her feet in panic. How long had she been unconscious? “What time is it?” she asked frantically. Before he could answer, she grabbed him by the front of hiscotun. He didn’t budge an inch. Goodness gracious, he was even larger than her husband. What was wrong with these Highland warriors? Were they all built like mountains? “I’ll explain everything, but there is no time. You must take me to my husband.”
He didn’t look happy about it, but her tone must have impressed upon him the urgency of the situation. “Can you walk?”
