Page 6 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

Malle was astonished. She had always thought of the Dunbars as merciless criminals, but it seemed that they cared about their workers just as much as the MacEwans did.

Craig was reluctantly impressed by Malle; he had never seen a woman with so much fire and spirit, coupled with so much beauty. She should have looked like a little girl with her small stature and neat features, but the flame inside her was what defined her as a real and passionate woman. He had tried to lie to himself, but he found her deeply attractive, and he was extremely conscious of her nearness as they set off back to the Cut.

Despite her dislike of him, Malle was finding it hard not to look at Craig. He was a handsome, imposing man, and she could see why he had a reputation as a seducer of women. He had defended the indefensible the day before, but Malle had to admit to herself that she might have done the same with one of her own loyal workers. She wondered briefly what it would be like to be held in his powerful arms and have his lips caressing hers, his beard tickling her face.

However, his remark about women’s stupidity was utterly inexcusable, and completely washed any good opinion that she might have developed about him in the future. There were some things that simply could not be forgiven.

When they reached the burn Malcolm, Kenneth, Craig, and Malle dismounted and went to the water to look at the body.

“Is that the sword that killed him, do you think?” Malle asked, pointing to the shining shape on the stream bed.

“How could we possibly know that?” Craig asked, as if she were a simpleton. “We will have to fetch it out and see.” Without another word, he plunged into the water and retrieved the sword, then tossed it out onto the bank. He was soaked from head to the middle of his chest and his shirt was clinging to his body, clearly defining every plane and contour of the muscles of his torso. When he lifted Fergus’s body out of the water, she saw his arm muscles bulge as he strained to heft the dead weight onto the bank.

It was a clear spring morning, the water was freezing, and Craig shivered uncontrollably as he heaved himself out of the stream. One of the guards came and threw a cloak over him

He knelt down to close the staring eyes of the corpse, just as Malle did the same. Their hands touched and she jumped back as if she had been stung.

“Was this not what you wanted, MacEwan?” he asked softly, so that he could not be overheard. “If you are convinced that he was a criminal, then your land and everything on it are safe now. Or maybe you had him killed for revenge!”

She looked at him in absolute disbelief, and was unable to speak for a moment. “Are you quite mad?” she asked, her voice high with indignation. “Why should anyone value the life of livestock over that of men? You are the most...”—she struggled to find the word—“...the most despicable man I ever met!”

He looked down into her raging eyes and felt a shaft of desire shoot through him. Why was it that the angrier she became the more he wanted her?

“Clearly murder sits easily on your conscience, Dunbar,” she growled. “Well I am not at ease with it. The thought of roasting in hell for eternity is not one that appeals to me. For all I know, even you could have killed this man for some twisted reason of your own. Maybe as a punishment or even because you wanted to accuse me for doing so after our argument!”

4

Dunbar Estate

They glared at each other for what seemed like ages, and she saw his fists clench and his eyes darken with rage. “If you were a man I would strike you down for that!”

“Why do you not strike me anyway?” She was taunting him deliberately now, daring him to do his worst. “You don’t have a very high opinion of women anyway!”

He caught her wrists and held her while he scowled at her. She knew she had gone too far, but it was too late to back out now; she could not release herself from his grip so she stared back angrily into his eyes without flinching.

She had no idea what might have happened next if she had not seen a sudden softening of his expression, and he let her go just as both Lairds came to separate them.

I am not going to cry, she said to herself. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me weep.

Laird Dunbar came up to him and introduced himself. “I heard some of your conversation, Mistress MacEwan,” he informed her, “and I assure you that the Dunbar family had nothing to do with this, but I think I know who did. However, before we jump to conclusions, we must take this body back and examine it. This man is well known to me and my son, and if someone is murdering my workers I want to know who it is. You should too, Laird MacEwan, for they may visit you next. We will go to my castle, if it is acceptable to you.”

Kenneth answered that it was, and they began to ride through the unfamiliar grounds of the Dunbar estate. Malle looked around her keenly, fascinated at the landscape, which had always been so close to her, yet so far away that it might as well have been on the moon. It was much like their own, but it was much less open, with many more fir and pine trees growing there.

There were sheep dotted around, all Scottish Blackfaces with their distinctive dark legs and faces, and the grass was cropped short where they had passed over it. Lambs had begun to appear in the last month, each one gamboling around with their fellows or happily nursing from their mothers.

They were adorable, Malle thought, thinking of the time when she was a little girl of seven when she had been allowed to hand-rear one of her own until it was six months old. She had felt so important, and so loved as she thought that the little creature depended on her entirely. Looking back now, she knew that the farm hands had done much of the work, but she still felt warm inside when she thought of it.

Presently, she began to pass barley and rye fields, both shining patches of gold in the flat white hazy light, and the bright emerald green of oats. Malle gazed at it all contentedly. If it had not been for the events of the morning it would have been serenely lovely, but finding a dead man in the river was the stuff of nightmares, something that she would dream about for weeks to come, if not forever. She shuddered, but when she let the peace of the day soak into her soul she knew that the tranquility of life would go on after this; it was a bump in the road, that was all.

She sighed and closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the brisk breeze from the mountains wash over her. Ridge upon ridge they stood, blue-gray and forbidding, like a row of sharp teeth against the sky. Malle knew that when the storm clouds came down they would all but disappear and be nothing but a gray smudge, but even then they would be grimly beautiful.

She had only been to the Lowlands once, but had missed the bleak loveliness of the Highland moors, the black pine and fir trees and the gray rocks protruding from the grass as if the very bones of the earth were showing through. All those same trees grew there too, but they looked tidy.

Even that part of Scotland was pretty, though. She often wondered if foreign people felt the same passionate love for their home countries as she did for Scotland—the strange, fierce little kingdom that clung tenaciously to the edge of Europe. She could never leave it, because she could simply not imagine living anywhere else, so passionately did she love this fearsome little place.

It was at that moment that she felt someone watching her, and she turned her head sideways to look into Craig’s angry eyes. She frowned at him.

“Dunbar?” she asked haughtily.