Exiting the shop, Makenna heard the thunderous pounds Colin was generating against the town walls. She had been too late.
Immediately, she ran back to the solar to grab her bag when she heard footsteps ascending the staircase. The thudding echoes were followed by a low questioning hiss, “Makenna? Where are you? I know that you are here. I saw you enter. Now don’t make me chase after you, especially after all I have done just to have you be mine. Come out and show me how appreciative you are.”
Knowing there was no escape, Makenna hid the sword underneath the mattress and exited the solar. That had been five hours ago.
Leon stared at his bound captive. When Makenna had met him willingly on the staircase, he hoped she would be reasonable. He had been disappointed. Her greeting had been filled with acid, not the appreciation due to him.
He should have expected the reaction, he told himself. The woman had endured a Highlander for nearly five months. It was bound to addle her mind temporarily. And while he was not a patient man, Leon knew Makenna would see reason eventually. As soon as she realized the Highlander had left her as well as her clan, she would know Leon was the man for her.
Leon circled around Makenna, stopping when he got in front of her, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. He reached behind and removed her gag. “Have we calmed down a bit? I somewhat regretted having to restrain you like that, my dear, but then I couldn’t risk you calling for help. Now, as you might have surmised, you can yell all you want and no one will hear you. No one but my men. Your famed Highlander has left the Borders and you with them.” His rich-timbred voice was oozing with poisonous charm.
Makenna stared at the madman in silence. There was no point warning the crazed man that Colin would never leave without her.
“What do you want, Leon?” Makenna asked, wincing as she struggled against the ropes binding her wrists to the chair. Her flesh ripped again, and new blood dripped down her hands.
Leon motioned for one of his guards to release her. “That is simple. I want you and only you. I, of course, will take Lochlen as my main residence for your benefit.”
Makenna rotated her freed wrists. They burned. Placing her hands on her lap, she examined her captor, twisting her lips into a cynical smile. “Leon, you are ten times the fool I thought you were. You must know that you will soon die by my husband’s hands.” Makenna paused, lancing him with her vivid emerald eyes. “I just hope he lets me watch,” she said, full of sincerity.
Leon’s growl grew into a scream. He marched over, grabbed her hair, and pulled her against him. Eyes of golden rage stared obliviously into Makenna’s green pools of revulsion. He was too consumed with his own hate to recognize the full extent of hers.
“Your Highlander is soon going to be dead,” Leon hissed. “And the moment he exists no longer, you will be free to fulfill your true destiny and become my wife.”
“Never,” Makenna spat, waiting unflinchingly for him to retaliate.
Leon threw her violently away from him, causing her to fall out of the chair and onto the dirt floor. About to grab her again, he came to a sudden halt, his eyes coldly furious as an evil smile slinked across his lips. Maybe the redheaded viper just needed some persuasion, and he had just the perfect influencers locked across the yard in the great hall.
“Bring her,” he ordered his men and then exited into the courtyard.
Chapter Eighteen
Colin maneuvered down the castle allure, slithering below the walkway on the top of the curtain wall. He glanced back. Dunlop, Drake, and three of his ten commanders were following his lead.
Reentering the castle without alerting anyone to their presence had been fairly simple. Once Conor began the main attack, most of MacCuaig’s men had focused on the battle. Those who had not left the outer gate were easily silenced. Ignoring the sizeable number of soldiers guarding the inner gate, Colin headed toward Forfar Tower. Finding the murder hole cleverly nestled at its base, Colin went inside knowing very few were aware of the steep, narrow staircase leading straight to the tower’s battlements. On top of the tower, Colin encountered two more MacCuaig soldiers and disposed of them quietly.
Crouching low, Colin scooted down the allure until he reached a secret opening to the hidden passageway leading to the Chapel Tower and slipped in.
Hunching down, Colin led his men down the small corridor leading straight to the confessional chambers. For decades, the postern and passageway served as a discreet way for women to visit the Lochlen’s chamberlain. When Alexander’s grandfather dismissed the position and converted the tower to a chapel, the passageway had ceased being used. As far as Colin knew, most clansmen, including the priest, had not even known of its existence. Colin only found out about it after he arrived at Lochlen and spied an odd pattern to the floor of the curtain wall. Colin had asked Alexander about it and agreed to keep it a secret.
About thirty feet from the chamber entrance, Colin stopped cold. A bellow roared from across the courtyard. It was MacCuaig, and he was furious. The little hope Colin was clinging to died. Makenna had not eluded MacCuaig’s capture. Only one person could infuriate Leon that much on his perceived hour of victory—Makenna.
Moving quickly, Colin advanced to the small door and freed the latch frozen from years of nonuse. He looked through the peephole, motioning for his men to wait as he pried the heavy wood slats open and stepped through the doorway. He verified the sanctuary was empty and signaled for his men to follow.
Colin held up a clenched fist and immediately all movement ceased. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Besides the distant clanks of metal from Conor’s attack, Lochlen was eerily quiet. Had it been abandoned?
Colin moved to the chapel’s spiral staircase and descended, indicating for his men to follow but make no sound. Carefully, they emerged out of the tower and crept into the inner yard. Hiding behind a nearby cart of hay, Colin peeked around the tilted box to survey the courtyard. Standing outside Canmore Tower was Leon. Behind him was a fuming Makenna. Surrounding them both were at least a dozen men, maybe more.
One of MacCuaig’s men pushed Makenna forcefully, causing her to lose her step and tumble to the ground. Colin gripped his sword and fought his mounting rage.
He flexed his fingers in an effort to remain coldly detached and methodical as he trained his men to be. It proved to be impossible. Separating oneself from fear to save one’s own life was infinitely different from trying to do so when it was someone you loved who was in danger. The only thing restraining him was knowing that if he attacked now, Makenna would most likely be hurt, possibly be killed. He had no choice but to sit silently and wait for an opportunity to present itself.
Dunlop sat huddled beside Colin with his back against the cart and felt his laird tremble with rage. Twisting carefully, Dunlop peered underneath the cart and into the yard. The blood drained out of his face as he witnessed the source of Colin’s anger.
Dunlop nudged Drake and was about to gesture for him to look when Makenna’s voice rang out clear across the courtyard.
“What about my people?” Makenna demanded, moving to stand up. She brushed the dirt off her gown with the air of a regal queen. Her voice and demeanor were full of calm, but one had only to look into her flashing green eyes to realize the fury within her.
Leon spun around. “Your people? You mean my people. They will swear allegiance to me, wear my plaid, and pay me the homage I require. If they don’t, they die. I will not bandy about with your prideful clan as your dead Highlander did. I will not tolerate disobedience or disloyalty.”