Chapter 2
Bracadale, Isle of Skye, 1604
Tugging at her hair,Sheona’s fingers moved furiously to hide her braid. Tucking it beneath her cloak, she left the cottage where the brush had grown over the old doorway in back. Her eyes burned from the smoke. Screams filled the air. Sheona pushed gnarled branches away with trembling hands until she found the stone wall, stopping to catch her breath and quell the fire in herchest.
They had attacked hard and fast this time, leaving no chance for the poor souls imprisoned in the fiery tombs they once called homes. Swords clanged and men shouted. No one appeared to notice her creeping along behind the wall. The old midwife she’d come to heal had died before her arrival. Sheona had been in the village and away from the protection of the castle only moments before the fightingbegan.
The MacDonalds had been warring with the MacLeods for years. But recently, the attacks on both sides had become more frequent andferocious.
Sheona scanned the area. A root cellar was several dozen yards away, its door open. She dashed toward it, stumbling only once. Climbing inside, she closed the door and bolted it, praying no one had seenher.
She listened for sounds outside the cellar, some sign of retreat. A noise somewhere behind her drew the hairs on the back of her neck to raptattention.
A single puff ofbreath.
Asecond.
Feet shuffled in the dirt, spreading a sick burn through herbelly.
She was notalone.
Powerful arms engulfed her, squeezing tight and forcing the air from her lungs. The body behind her washuge!
“Do not scream,” a male voice whispered in herear.
She couldn’t if she wanted to. Terror churned inside her, twisting until she was sure it would strangleher.
He turned and pressed her against the cold stone wall, securing her hands above her head. His free hand explored her back, her waist, and her hip. Somewhere between exploring her hip and the inside of her thigh she stoppedbreathing.
“What do we havehere?”
Her mind searched for an appropriate answer, but her tongue was firmly lodged in hermouth.
“Are you mute, lass? Well then, no one will hear you scream.” His breath was hot as he whispered the words, fanning herhair.
Now that his arms did not pin her, her head felt light as air rushed back into her body. She needed to say something, try to reason with him, plead even. Above all, she could not tell him who she really was, or else she would surely find his blade across herthroat.
“M—my name is Maggie. I’m the blacksmith’s daughter. Please, my father will give you everything we own if you do not harmme.”
He chuckled. “Maggie, is it? Well, Maggie, my name is Malcolm MacDonald, son of the chief and Lord of the Isles. As long as you do not have a dagger tucked under those skirts, you will come to no harm in mypresence.”
“And how long will I be in your presence?” She trembled, hating herself for herfear.
“As long as I choose it. Though ’tis dark in here, you have a bonnie figure and may serve a purpose on the long journeyhome.”
Her trembling turned into a full on shudder. She did indeed have a blade strapped to the inside of her thigh—the one he hadn’t felt. She would drive it through her own heart before she let this beast, or anyone else, force his pleasure onher.
MacDonald gripped her shoulders and turned her toward the door. “Openit.”
She fumbled with the latch until it gave and then pushed the door wide. The bright sunlight was temporarily blinding and she blinked several times before her eyes readjusted to the massacre. She sobbed as MacDonald pushed her out of the cellar and toward the invaders who had gathered on the far side of thevillage.
Sheona tried not to lose her stomach when she caught sight of charred bodies. The stench of burning flesh was more than she could bear. Though the feud between their clans had been waging for generations, the recent brutality was more than could justify the cause. She wondered if either side remembered what had started it in the first place. Surely no injury to person or property could be so great to warrant this kind of senselesscarnage.
The large hand on her shoulder steered her through the village to the fore of a large beast. The next thing she knew she was astride the charger with her captor sitting behind her. Though she shouldn’t have, Sheona couldn’t resist the compulsion to look around. There was very little left of the village she’d visited so often in her eighteen summers. She could see only a few townsfolk being rounded up and tied to a rope to be led away as prisoners of the MacDonald—the most evil spawn in the land. The man sitting behind her was his son and that meant, as a MacLeod and daughter of their fiercest enemy, she would be considered a handsomeprize.
She cursed herself for her stupidity. She knew better than to travel outside the castle walls alone, but had been so concerned for the midwife’s health, she tore off without a thought for her own safety. Now she was in the hands of the worst lotpossible.
When she turned back to the party of MacDonalds, she noticed many of them staring at her. Dread crept inside her heart. Was the man behind her serious when he’d said her bonnie figure would serve a purpose? Did he mean for her to service all of them? How on earth would she surviveit?
