CHAPTER 19
The faces of the men and women were lit by a brightly burning fire. Benches had been placed in a circle around the
blaze, and a barn housed the dining tables decorated with flower garlands. People were laughing and gathering to dance,
and the newlywed couple was being showered with the blessings of well-wishers.
Inside the barn, Payton leaned against a beam and stretched out his legs under the table. The serving tray in front of
him was clean but for a few leftover crumbs, and the foam of freshly drawn beer was spilled over the side of his mug. He
took a drink.
The wedding party in Kilerac had reacted quickly, generously sharing their feast with the surprise visitors and making
room for the two oxen and the horses in one of their stables. When the late arrivals—Payton and Sam—had reached the
village a little while later, the rest of their posse was already mingling with the wedding guests.
The young couple had been kind enough to leave their bridal chamber to the injured laird, and so Fingal was lying in one
of the small cottages on a bed covered with fresh white linens and decorated with flowers.
No sooner had Payton helped Samantha off his horse than she was called away to tend to Fingal.
Payton seriously contemplated following her to the cottage. But not just because he worried about his father. He pulled
the beer mug closer. That little Cameron lass now haunted his thoughts. And to make matters worse, Kyle was approaching
with a big grin on his face.
“Slàinte mhath, Brother. So you finally made it, huh?”
“As you can see,” Payton grumbled. He didn’t feel like explaining himself to his little brother.
“What took you so long? You didn’t get lost, did you? Perhaps under the skirts of a lady?”
“Kyle—shut your dirty trap,” was all the youngest received for a reply.
“Or maybe you weren’t well? I had the impression that perhaps you were in some pain,” Kyle continued unblinkingly.
“Good heavens, would somebody please protect me from you and your big mouth?” Payton said. “You had better be quiet,
or you will be sorry.”
“Who’s going to be sorry?” Sean asked as he found his way into the barn. He put down his half-full mug and sat with
the other two.
“Father is fine. He woke up briefly, asked for whiskey, and is now probably sleeping it off until the morning,” he
reported. “But your little prisoner almost went for my throat when I handed Father the whiskey bottle. He was allowed
water or hot soup at the most, she said, but then Fingal’s orders to ‘get that pigheaded wench out of his hair’ made
her see the error of her ways.”
“She’s pretty feisty, that Cameron woman,” Kyle agreed.
“She only means well,” Payton defended Samantha’s behavior. Immediately, he found himself the butt of their jokes
again.
“Watch your tongue, Sean. Payton was about to challenge me to a duel before you came—only because I asked about the
wee lass. We don’t want him having to fight the two of us, now do we.” Kyle laughed and pulled Payton’s beer mug
closer, which he then proceeded to gulp down in one thirsty swig.
Payton stood up, shaking his head. “You half-wits. That Cameron lass has a lovely bottom that was rubbing up against me
all day. That’s all there is to it. And now you had better stop mocking me. Stuff has been building up today, if you
know what I mean!”
Followed by Sean’s and Kyle’s roaring laughter, Payton escaped from the barn and stomped round the fire toward the
stables. Once there, he found himself a quiet spot and slumped onto a heap of straw.
His brothers’ taunts hit him hard because they came way too close to his true feelings for the pretty prisoner.
He ran his hands through his hair and cursed. “Bas mallaichte, she was a Cameron!” She was probably even in league
with the cattle thieves. So why couldn’t he get this girl out of his head? In his eyes, she was truly beautiful, even
though she was so much skinnier than most other women he knew. But then that dark bruise on her cheek was not exactly
attractive. Plus, there were all those scratches she had incurred during her ridiculous attempt to make her escape
through the woods. But why then was he seeing her with different eyes? Why had he given in to his desire and kissed her?
This could mean trouble for him if his brothers ever found out. While they found it entertaining to tease him about her,
they didn’t have an inkling of his true feelings.
“She’s a Cameron, goddammit!” he called into the dark, and a horse’s snort was the lonely reply. He touched his
still-painful chin to remind himself who had caused him the injury.
But her hair had smelled so nice, her lovely bottom had almost driven him out of his mind, and—whenever he thought
about their kiss—his body reacted in a way that betrayed his strictly rational side.
Kissing her had been the least sensible thing he had ever done. And that would be that. He would not go near the
beautiful prisoner again.
Deeply absorbed in thought, Payton only noticed the giggling, embracing lovers when their shadows entered the faint
glimmer of light in the doorway. He immediately jumped to his feet, noisily clearing his throat to avoid any
embarrassment.
The couple quickly separated, and Sean protectively stepped in front of the girl.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, startled at seeing his brother.
“I’m resting after a long day. What you two are doing here”—Payton nodded at the girl—“is fairly obvious. You will
excuse me.”
To give them their privacy, he exited the barn. There were lots of happy, laughing people outside. The fire seemed to
have attracted everyone, and dancers spun and swirled breathlessly to the sound of the music. After the day’s rain
clouds had finally dissipated, this clear and starry night was perfect for love. The newlywed couple had just been
talked into giving yet another toast, and everyone was emptying their beer mugs amid wild cheers. As always, Sean never
passed up an opportunity when it presented itself, and Payton hoped that the girl’s father did not notice she was
missing. Sean’s self-confidence had to be a big reason that the fair sex was always so kindly disposed toward him. One
day, or so Payton worried, Sean wouldn’t be able to get out of one of his affairs so easily. But that would not be
Payton’s problem.
When he discovered his brother Blair by the fire, he sat down beside him. Blair was much quieter than the rest of the
McLean brothers and not really interested in excesses. He never overindulged in drinking, nor did he laugh at other
people’s jokes all that often.
“Good party, isn’t it,” he greeted Payton, making room for him on the bench.
“Sean said Father woke up?” Payton immediately changed the subject. Blair was a man of few words and only made
conversation to be polite.
“Yes. And right away he got terribly upset about that wench. But she is looking after his well-being, don’t you think?
She does not want to harm him?”
Payton shook his head energetically. “No. Don’t worry. She would not harm him.”
“But Ross said she gave you that cut on your chin. Is that true?”
Sheepishly, Payton looked down at the ground. For how long had Ross stood observing them in the woods before making
himself known?
“It was my fault,” he replied, shrugging it off. Then he asked, “What, exactly, was her crime? Why did the Stuarts
take her prisoner?”
“I am not really sure, because I didn’t follow the whole story. But Cathal seemed really upset. He said that Duncan
and Dougal were idiots. They abducted this Cameron woman even though they knew that the peace between the two clans
stands on shaky ground. They suspect she knows who is stealing our cattle—or that she is maybe even wrapped up in it
herself.”
“Oh, but that’s nonsense. I’ve been spending a lot of time with her, and if there is one thing that she is not, it’s
a cattle thief. She cannot even get up on a horse without help.”
Blair nodded. “She certainly does not seem particularly dangerous. But when it comes down to it, that’s none of our
business. As Cathal requested, we’ll be taking her away from the borderlands, and I don’t care what his plans are for
her afterward.”
Payton stared into space. It was always the same story with Blair. He wondered what kind of a laird his brother would
become one day. It was always enough for Blair to bend to Cathal’s views. Of course, the Stuarts and the McLeans had
been allies for a number of years, and they had sworn peace to each other under oath. But Payton worried that one day
the fate of the McLeans would be decided by Cathal Stuart alone.
Payton was distracted when the door opened to the cottage where Fingal lodged. Three women stepped out and briefly
talked to one another before parting ways. Sam was not one of them.
“May I offer you a mug of beer?”
A young woman with shapely hips, wavy blond hair, and freckles all over her face slid onto the bench next to Payton and
handed him the mug. “You look all too serious. This is a celebration of happiness. Don’t you want to celebrate with
us?”
Payton’s eyes wandered over to the cottage. The door remained closed. He turned to the woman by his side brazenly
placing a hand on his knee.
“You are worried about your father, is that right? I am Kelsey, and I could take your mind off things for a while—if
you like. I have been watching you all night, and I think it is time to see you laugh.”
“Kelsey, listen, that’s really nice of you, but—”
“No buts! Drink up, and then we will dance! It took all of my courage to come over and speak to you. So you will not
get rid of me without at least one little dance.”
Her smile beamed brightly and, even though she was blushing, she firmly held Payton’s gaze.
“All right, Kelsey. One dance it is,” he agreed.
I had thanked the women for their help and was now leaning, exhausted, against the door inside the cottage. Alone at
last. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Mistress MacQuarrie had been very nice. She had basically taken care of
Fingal all by herself and eventually advised me to take off my wet clothes. Because I had nothing else with me, she
offered me one of her dresses, which had become too small for her on account of her growing belly.
Full of gratitude, I looked at the simple, dark green dress. It was of much better quality than the one I’d been
wearing. The fabric felt smoother and softer, and a braided brown belt gave the whole thing even a touch of elegance.
I poured the last bit of warm water into the washbowl. Because Fingal was fast asleep thanks to the half bottle of
whiskey he had polished off earlier, for the first time in days I had something resembling privacy.
I dipped a clean rag into the water and washed my face, my neck, and my arms. Then I unfastened the bow that hung
loosely around my waist and listened anxiously for any noise coming from outside. My stomach tightened at the thought of
someone entering with me in nothing but my underwear. But I couldn’t hear anything except the music and distant
laughter of the partygoers. If I wanted to take a chance, it had to be right now. I reached for my hem with a final
glance over at Fingal. He was still sound asleep. As quickly as I could, I slipped out of my housedress and reached for
the green one. My heartbeat slowed only once I finished adjusting everything. That threat gone, I felt more courageous.
I lifted my skirts and washed my legs.
It was great to finally feel clean again. It wasn’t exactly a nice hot shower, but I had learned to appreciate the
little things.
The dress fit me remarkably well. It was softer and even warmer than my other dress, but the neckline was too low for my
taste. Especially here, in the company of these uncivilized Scots, I would have preferred a less flashy garment. It didn
’t seem to be made for everyday chores but rather for special occasions.
I washed my old dress as best I could and wrung it out with all my strength. With any luck, it would be as good as new
in the morning.
My hair, on the other hand, was in terrible shape. It was completely matted and full of knots. I combed it with my
fingers as best I could and pleated it into a long, firm braid. Using a thread from the woven belt over my dress, I tied
up the end of the braid and was more than happy with the result. I could now pass for a Scottish woman of the eighteenth
century.
Thanks to kind Mistress MacQuarrie who had put in a good word for me, I—a prisoner—was now allowed to help myself to
the wedding banquet in the barn. If there was anything left of it.
My stomach was very vocal about wanting a good meal, so I opened the door and stepped out into the night. There weren’t
as many people in the center of the village as when we first arrived. The celebrations were drawing to a close.
I looked around, unsure of myself, but I didn’t spot anyone from the McLean gang. I walked over to the barn and was
glad to see food left on the tables. Ravenous, I broke off a chunk of bread and bit into a big smoked sausage. It was
delicious. Happy and content, I slumped onto the bench and enjoyed finally being able to eat a proper meal.
I had just gorged myself on a third sausage when I got the feeling that someone was watching me. I turned around and
smiled at seeing Ross leaning against the barn door.
“Hello, Ross. Have you eaten?”
He strolled over and sat down, holding two cups full of dark red wine. Was that adoration I saw in his eyes?
“I almost didn’t recognize you. Did you get all dressed up for me?”
“Why, of course! Just for you,” I teased.
He slid one of the cups to me.
“Slàinte mhath! To us, the unworthy in our group!” he called out while raising his wine.
“Why do you think you’re unworthy?” I asked.
“Bottoms up! You are supposed to toast with me, Samantha. Let’s celebrate.”
It dawned on me that Ross had probably raised a mug or three already. He was in a strange mood.
“Let’s drink! And then we’ll dance before the fiddlers play their last song,” he proposed, knocking over his cup and
spilling the rest of his wine on his shirt.
I tried to get up, but he reached for my hand.
“One thing I swear to you, Samantha. I will not allow this Payton McLean to lay his hands on you ever again. I saw
everything. I saw how he threw you down on the ground! That brute! But me, I am not like that!” he exclaimed. “I will
protect you!”
I looked at his shirt. His chest was bloodred.
Red from the wine, or red from blood?
I shrieked, then tripped backward over the bench. I landed in the straw and thrashed wildly on the floor. I didn’t see
the barn roof or Kyle’s worried face as he rushed toward us.
I saw something else entirely.
I could feel that the heart underneath my fingers had stopped beating. A single word flashed through my addled brain:
betrayal.
I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. A tear, burning hot like melting metal, burned its way down my cheek and
fell, unhindered, onto the blood-soaked earth.
Slowly, as if guided by an invisible hand, I pulled the dagger from his chest, unable to take my eyes off his face. Why,
Ross? Why? The blood on his lips was his silent response to my sorrowful cry.
My throat burned as I came to. I coughed and spluttered. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I pushed away the bottle
someone was holding out to me.
“Stop!” I wheezed, swallowing the rest of the whiskey that had been poured into my mouth.
I found it impossible to get rid of the images of my strange “dream,” even though I was no longer dreaming. Kyle’s
friendly face moved into my field of vision, and I immediately felt better. It seemed in his nature to cheer people up.
“Finally, Lady Cameron is back in the land of the living. You know, you should really stay away from wine if it knocks
you out after only a few sips,” he suggested with a mischievous grin. Then he helped me to my feet.
Ross was nowhere to be found, and I saw no one else in the barn, either. Shaking, I climbed onto the bench and tried to
collect my thoughts.
“Are you well?” Kyle asked with genuine concern.
“Yes, I must have just tripped,” I lied. But nothing was well. Everything was wrong! I couldn’t deny what I had seen.
And if the events of the last few months were anything to go by, then this had most certainly not been a dream. It was a
vision. And, contrary to the couple of times I’d seen those disturbing images before, I now knew what they meant.
I would kill Ross Galbraith.
But why? To keep from passing out again, I took a deep breath. I breathed in, and I breathed out. Why would I do such a
thing? I wasn’t a killer. I tried to banish all thoughts from my mind. All that mattered was the air flowing into my
lungs. That was what I focused on.
Kyle gently ran his hand up and down my back. As soon as I felt a little better, he helped me get off the bench.
“Come on, lass, let’s get you to bed. I’m sure you will feel better tomorrow.”
When we reached the door to the cottage where I would sleep by Fingal’s bedside, I turned to thank Kyle. What I really
wanted to do, though, was tell him how sorry I was that I wouldn’t be able to change his fate.
He took my hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Don’t worry about it, lassie. You’re all right,” he said, stopping me from thanking him and saying all those other
words that I would have found so hard to say anyway.
I nodded, and then glanced over my shoulder. Payton was dancing with some blond peasant girl right in the middle of the
village square. I couldn’t believe it. That bitch was throwing herself at him! I could see her shamelessly wrapping her
arms around his neck. And Payton seemed to be enjoying it! I quickly looked away and discovered Ross standing behind the
two of them under a tree, staring right at me. I shivered when our eyes met. Quickly, I pulled the door shut behind me.