Scotland Early 1200s
"Be not afraid."The words slid past her ear, cold as
a loch
in the midst of a wintry freeze. Hearing it, Meredith Munro
felt a chill that reached the very depths of her soul . . .
a chill she'd known but once before.Her prayer beads
slipped to the floor. Be not afraid, the voice intoned.
Alas, but she was afraid! Indeed, she was terrified, for
within her tiny cell stood three men—she'd caught a glimpse
of two hulking figures from the corner of her eye . . .And
the one whose hand clamped tight about her mouth.Men did
not belong here at Connyridge Priory. Father Marcus was the
only man who came here, and 'twas in order to say Mass and
hear the transgressions of the nuns and novices who resided
within these ancient stone walls.Her mind reeled. Dear
Lord, she was on her feet—snatched from her knees as she
prayed at her bedside! The one who held her . . . His hand
was immense. It covered her nose and mouth so that she
could scarcely breathe; all she could hear was the pounding
of her own blood in her ears.Fear pumped through her with
every beat of her heart, a fear nourished by the dire
certainty that these men meant her harm. A dozen questions
tumbled through her mind. Where was Mother Gwynn? Sister
Amelia? How was it possible they had invaded these hallowed
walls? There were three of them . . . three! Had no one
heard a sound? An awful thought reared high in her mind.
Mayhap the others had heard nothing, for they were already
dead!Nay. Nay! She could not think thusly, for she could
not bear it!As if to remind her, the arm about her waist
tightened ever so slightly.Warm breath rushed past her
ear. "A word of warning," came the grating male whisper
anew. "Do not scream, for 'twill do no good, I promise you.
Do you understand?"His tone was almost pleasant, yet
Meredith sensed that such was not his intent. Scream, she
thought faintly. Shock and terror held her motionless. Why,
the very notion was laughable! The muscles of her throat
were so constricted nary a sound could have passed had she
tried!"Nod if you understand."Somehow she managed to raise
and lower her chin."Excellent," he murmured. "Now, Meredith
Munro, let's have a look at you."The world whirled all
about her. He knew her. He knew her by name! How could that
be?Slowly, the man who held her lifted his hand. Meredith
felt herself turned bodily so that she faced him.As if to
oblige him, the light of a full moon trickled through the
narrow window set high in the outer wall. Meredith felt the
full force of his gaze dwell long and hard upon her. Though
she still wore her coarse gray robe, she flushed, for she
had neither wimple nor veil to cover the length of her
hair. No man had seen her thus since the day she'd said
good-bye to her father those many months ago.No longer did
he touch her, though they stood nearly toe to toe. She knew
instinctively that this man was their leader. Gathering her
courage, Meredith inched her gaze a long way upward to his
face. In the frenzied brew of her mind, he embodied all
manner of evil. His features were indistinct and blurred in
the darkness, yet never had she seen such intense,
glittering eyes, like chips of stone. Her insides turned to
ice. Was this the face of death?Her gaze dropped to the
sword at his side. On the other side hung a dirk which
looked just as deadly. A shudder coursed through her, for
she was suddenly quite certain . . .If there would be blood
spilled this night, 'twould be hers.One of the other men
lit the stub of candle at the wooden table. "She is the
one?" he asked.Those eyes never left her. Indeed, they
seemed to pierce through her very skin. "She is," was all
he said."Aye," the man said. "She's the look of a
Munro."Her mouth had gone dry, yet she forced herself to
speak. "What do you here? I do not know you, yet you know
me."He neither agreed, nor disagreed."You mean to kill me,
don't you?"He did not deny it. Nay, no denial sprang forth
from him. Instead he asked, "Are you deserving of
death?"Nay, she longed to cry. Instead her fingertips crept
to the small silver crucifix which hung about her throat—it
had been a gift from her father the day he'd brought her
here. She fingered the finely etched surface, as if to draw
both comfort and strength from it. Once again she heard his
parting words to her, "Remember, daughter, God will always
be with you . . . as will I."She gave a tiny shake of her
head. "That is not for me to judge."His smile did not reach
his eyes. "Mayhap 'tis for me to judge."Meredith gasped.
Did the man have no respect for the Lord? Oh, silly
question, that! a voice within her chided. His very
presence here dictated the answer."'Tis for no man to
judge, only God himself." She sought hard to keep the
quaver from her voice."Yet such is hardly the case, is it
not? How many of God's creatures die from sickness?" He did
not ponder, nor seek an answer from her. "Children and the
aged, mayhap. But men . . . Ah, well, men kill other
men . . . and sometimes women, too."A chill went down her
spine, for this time there was no mistaking the threat
implicit in his tone. Meredith could not help it—she felt
herself go pale."The others." Her voice quavered. "Mother
Gwynn. Sister Amelia. Are they—""They are alive and well,
and snug in their beds."Her breath came in and held. Slowly
she let it out, trying desperately not to panic. Why had he
come for her? Surely not to fetch her for her father! Oh,
but she must escape this lunatic, for only a lunatic would
dare to intrude into this holy place as he had done! Escape
was foremost in her mind. In her heart . . .She bolted.Oh,
but she should have known! Quick as she was, he was
quicker. She managed not three steps and he was upon her.
Strong arms encircled her, thwarting her cold. She felt
herself dragged backward, her entire length brought upright
against his body—'twas if she'd hit a wall of stone.Her
reaction was more instinct than conscious thought. She
twisted and writhed, trying wildly to escape the shackle of
his arms."Be still!" he hissed.Nay. She could not. She
would not. She renewed her struggle with vigor, only to
hear a vivid curse resound in her ear."By God, cease!"The
forearm about her waist tightened, threatening to crush her
ribs and cutting off her breath. She could feel the
strength in him, feel it in every muscle of his body. As
she gasped for air, only then did the realization come to
her that he might break her as easily as he snapped a twig
from a tree.Her body lost all resistance. Her head dropped.
A choked sound emerged from her throat, a keening sound of
despair. She hated the way she trembled . . . and hated the
awareness that surely he must feel it too. If she was to
die—saints forgive her for being such a coward!—she prayed
that death would come swiftly, a dagger sheathed in the
heart just so.It was not to be.Without further ado, she
felt her feet leave the cold stone floor. She was stunned
to find herself deposited on the bench before the
table."Now then, you will do as I say."But one thought ran
through her mind, like the rush of the wind through the
trees. Once before she'd been dragged from her bed in the
midst of the night. Would the outcome be the same? Pray
God, no. For if it was, she could not bear it . . . not
again.Little by little she raised her head. "If you mean
to . . . to . . . " Faith, but she could not find it within
her to even say the words!Not that there was any need. "To
defile you?"She felt her skin heat with the flood of
embarrassment. "Aye," she whispered.His laugh was
mirthless . . . and merciless. "I think not, Meredith
Munro. Were I in need of a woman, of a certainty 'twould
not be you. Indeed, I must force myself to suffer your
presence."Such assurance hardly brought her ease. She heard
the snap of his fingertips. One of the others moved,
producing parchment, quill and ink. This was set down
before her."You will write a note to Mother Gwynn, stating
that alas! you cannot give your life over to God, nor can
you remain on this earthly world, for you are deeply
ashamed that you are so weak in devotion and
spirit."Meredith gaped. God above, he would have her
forfeit her own life!"Nay, I cannot do it! Why, to take my
own life would be mortal sin."The dark stranger had only to
place his hand on his dirk.She shook her head. "I cannot
write," she began desperately."You lie. You keep accounts
for the prioress."How did he know that? Who was he, that he
knew all about her? Her attempt at a glare was pitiful—as
she was pitiful!
Never had Meredith despised herself as she did this very
moment! She lowered her gaze that he would not glimpse her
despair, then reached for the quill. Her eyes misted with
tears, she watched as the words took shape.
Mother Gwynn, and my dearest sisters in Christ,
Though it pains me deeply, I have no choice in this matter.
I fear I can no longer remain in the service of the Lord. I
am deeply ashamed that I am so weak in devotion and in
spirit, and so I must end it all. Forgive me, sisters, for
what I must do, and pray for me, that my soul does not
dwell in eternal damnation.
Trying desperately to still the trembling within her, she
signed her name. A crushing feeling deep in her breast, she
looked up.He was watching her, his gaze like the point of a
lance. He picked up the letter and quickly scanned
it. "'Pray for me'," he quoted. "Let us hope that someone
does." He lowered the letter, leaving it on the table in
the center of the chamber."Up," he ordered.It crossed
Meredith's mind to defy him . . . but only for an instant.
In truth she was so relieved to still be alive, that for
one mind-spinning instant she feared her legs would not
hold her."Your hands, pray."Mutely she obliged. At a nod
from him, one of his men dutifully stepped forward. Her
hands were bound together before her with a length of rope.
When the task was done, the man stepped back and opened the
door.Those burning eyes snared hers. "You will come," was
all he said.Meredith instinctively recoiled, but it was no
use. His fingers curled around her elbow. She endured his
touch as best she could. She had no choice but to follow,
battling both a helpless frustration and a numbing fear.
Who was this man? What did he want with her? Why hadn't he
slain her? Indeed, why should he want her dead? Why should
he want her alive? Or did he truly mean for her to slay
herself?They had passed Mother Gwynn's quarters. Meredith's
gaze skipped forward, then quickly bounced away. She bit
her lip, her pulse quickening its tempo. They were nearing
the door to the dormitory, where the nuns slept. If she
were to call her name and raise the alarm, one of the
sisters might awaken. Indeed, mayhap someone was already
awake, for surely it was nearing time to gather for Prime
in the chapel. Then the intruders would be discovered—He
jerked her against him. The notion disappeared mid-thought.
The breath was jarred from her lungs. Her heart surely
stopped, for suddenly they were wedded together, breast to
breast, thigh to thigh. Meredith froze, even as it vaulted
through her mind that his chest was like an immense wall of
iron. babyPanic raced through her, for he bent his head so
that his lips brushed hers. Had he not held her in his
grasp, she would surely have leaped from her very skin.
Sweet Christ, surely he did not mean to. . ."Do not," he
warned in a voice meant for her ears alone, "for they would
only be hurt should they seek to aid you. 'Tis a fight they
cannot win . . . nor can you. I am set on this course,
lady, and no one will stop me . . . no one." The arm around
her back tightened ever so slightly before he stepped back—
oh, aye, a warning indeed! she decided bitterly. Despairing
her weakness—despising it—Meredith clenched her bound hands
into fists. To deepen her humiliation even further, those
hard lips pulled into a tight smile, causing her own to
press together.Her eyes found his through the
shadows. "There are ways to fight other than with swords."
Where her words—or the courage!—came from, she would ever
wonder.There was a short, harsh laugh. "Aye, but there are
indeed."With that cryptic remark, he reclaimed her arm and
led her into the passageway, down the narrow stairs. His
men trailed behind them.He seemed to know precisely where
he was going, leading her through the nave of the chapel.
They skirted the chancel and hurried through the cloister,
turned left near the refectory. All too soon they emerged
into the moon-drenched freedom of the night. His bold
stride never faltered. Onward they continued, past the
wooden outbuildings, weaving through the gardens and into
the orchard. Before long they were outside the high stone
wall that enclosed the priory, and only then did they
halt.They stood before the ringed granite cross of St.
Michael, a cross which had been here for centuries. The
smell of the sea was pungent and sharp, but Meredith
scarcely noticed, for the ache of remembrance battered her.
She fought a sudden, scalding rush of tears. Her lungs
burned with a pain so intense it nearly brought her to her
knees. It was here, on this very spot outside Connyridge
Priory, that she had said her goodbyes to her father. She
had beseeched him not to return, not until she asked—unless
she asked; for Meredith feared that if he did, she might be
tempted to leave with him, to return to Castle Munro and
the home of her youth. Her heart wrenched, for she could
almost see him again, the blue eyes so like her own
shimmering with tears he made no effort to hide. He had
wept openly . . .So had she.It seemed so very, very long
ago . . . it seemed like yesterday. She vividly remembered
how she had hated herself—hated that she had disappointed
him. As his only daughter, his only child, she knew it was
his heartfelt wish that she would someday marry and give
him grandchildren.Meredith knew that she would never
marry . . . never.She had not told Papa of that horrible
night. She never would. In truth, she'd never told a soul
on this earth! Though it tore her apart to leave Castle
Munro, she could not stay! Nay, she could not live her life
afraid of every man she saw, wondering if it was he who had
touched her, who had shamed her so. Nor could she tell Papa
the truth of what had happened that horrible night . . .
indeed, even she did not know the truth of it.It was why
she had left the father she loved so dearly . . . why she
would never return to her home.When Meredith had asked that
he bring her to Connyridge to join the sisters here, he
hadn't refused. She was achingly aware that he fully
expected her to remain cloistered her forever.She had come
to Connyridge solely to seek refuge. And it was here that
the terror that night had wrought had finally begun to
ease. She had found sanctuary within these walls; she had
begun to regain a measure of the peace she had feared was
forever lost to her. Though it had taken time, she had come
to feel safe here at the priory, no matter that the cold
seeped through her sandals and into her very bones. Not so
long ago, she had made the decision to give her life over
to God. As a nun in the service of the Lord, she would be
shielded from the lustful appetites of men . . .Yet her
struggle had continued, oh, in other ways! For she had been
so very confused—in truth, she still was. Though the choice
was hers . . . she was no longer certain . . . Would she be
doing the right thing in taking her vows? Was this her
chosen vocation? She should have known it in her heart, yet
she did not! These past weeks she had prayed daily for
guidance in that one particular endeavor—that she had made
the right choice.She was to take her vows within the
month . . . but would she even be alive then?To some, such
a life might have been a prison, for life at the nunnery
was comprised solely of prayer, work, study, sleep and
meals. Idleness was believed to be an enemy of the soul.
With her mind thus occupied, she need not think of . . .
other things.But the sanctuary she sought was no more. All
because of him . . .A man who had yet to reveal his
name.Meredith could not help it. She stared at him warily.
In the gloom of the night he appeared dark and featureless.
She shivered, wondering what he might look like in the full
light of day. She sensed he was young, not so aged as her
father and Uncle Robert. Oh, but surely such a wicked man
would be ugly as the devil's own sin! No doubt his teeth
were gaping and yellowed and rotting, his skin mottled and
pock-marked and dark as a heathen's. She shuddered,
thinking that mayhap 'twas better this way. In daylight he
might have frightened her to her grave!She stood awkwardly
as he spoke in hushed tones to his men; she could not hear
what was said. The men nodded and strode away. Her mouth
dry, she watched as he walked to a small cart that she
hadn't noticed until now.Her apprehension spiraled as he
turned back to her, then beckoned to her. A heavy tightness
in the pit of her belly, Meredith moved forward. Unable to
help herself, she peered inside the cart. A woman lay
within, long reddish-blond hair dirty and snarled, strewn
across the wooden boards. Her head was turned at an odd
angle; dull, unblinking eyes stared back at her.The woman
was dead.A scream curdled in her throat. She felt herself
sway, but mercifully remained on her feet of her own
power.Lean fingers curled around her arm. "Remove your
robe," came his voice . . . a voice she had already begun
to dread.Meredith looked on as he removed the rope around
her wrists, wondering if she'd lost her wits. Was this
naught but a dream, a horrible trick of her mind? Her eyes
squeezed shut, telling herself she was back in her cell,
huddled in her bed. Swallowing, she allowed her lids to
drift upward.Male, booted feet came into view. Alas, he was
there, a presence as unwelcome as ever . . .And just as
forbidding.His jaw thrust out. "I'll not tell you again."A
foggy haze seemed to dance all around her. Nay, she
thought, she couldn't have heard him aright. Her mouth
opened. She felt her jaw move, yet no sound came out."Fine,
then. It matters little to me." Peremptory hands dropped
upon her shoulders, seeking the neck of her robe. A jolt
went through her as warm fingertips brushed her bare
skin.Meredith wrenched away as if she'd been
scorched. "Nay!" she gasped."Do it. . . else I shall."She
could well believe he meant precisely what he said. She
need not see his features to know that he meant it. She
could hear it in his tone, see it in the set of his
shoulders. Aye, there was an unswaying purpose about him
that could neither be denied nor ignored.His threat
resounded all through her. Her fingers were clumsy with
fright . . . and with wrenching shame, knowing that she
would be naked before him . . . Awkwardly she did as he
demanded, berating herself all the while. Ah, but she was a
fool to comply so readily! Why couldn't she be stronger?
she raged inwardly. Would she ever be meek and spineless?
She was a weakling, in mind and heart and in body, for she
was powerless to fight him. Nay, she could not overcome his
strength . . . nor his will, she thought, brutally
chastising herself.Her eyes downcast, she stepped from the
coarse dark fabric now puddled on the ground at her feet.
Burning with shame, she tried to shield her body with her
hands—not just from the cool night air, but from the prying
of those steel-edged eyes.Yet he spared her nary a glance
as he bent and scooped her robe from the damp ground.
Instead he strode to the cart, where he proceeded to strip
the gown from the dead woman. To her surprise, he tossed it
at her."Put this on!"This time Meredith did not delay. With
shaking hands she donned the dirty, ill-fitting gown, glad
of the chance to cover herself once more.By the time she
finished, his men had reappeared, leading three horses.
Meredith's heart leaped. Did they plan to take her with
them? Her mind had scarcely formed the thought than the two
men stepped toward the nude woman who still lay on the
ground. Stunned, she watched as they dressed the woman in
the robe she'd discarded . . . her robe! When it was done,
they glanced enquiringly at their leader."Do it," came the
low-voiced command.One man grabbed the woman by her left
arm, the other by her right. Together they dragged her some
twenty yards to the east. What happened then shocked
Meredith to the marrow of her bones.She was cast down the
cliffs to the jutting rocks below. Of course there was no
scream—yet Meredith could hear it in the soundless chambers
of her mind. There was only a dull thud. . .Meredith
cringed. The rocks below would tear into her flesh like the
gnashing teeth of a sea monster, leaving her body bloodied
and broken . . . that poor creature! Perhaps 'twas a
blessing that she was already dead . . . yet why would they
kill her? Why kill her only to throw her over the
cliffs . . .A paralyzing dread seized hold of her. Would
she be next? No one could survive a fall from the cliffs.
They were deadly; their height alone was enough to kill.
Indeed, though Meredith had no fear of heights, she had
always avoided the cliffs.Her heart twisted as she thought
of the woman. She'd been pretty. That much had been clear.
Young and pretty and far too young to die . . .Even as she
sent a quick prayer heavenward for the woman's soul, she
blanched. Only then did Meredith begin to realize the
significance of what she had just witnessed. The blond
hair . . . dressing the dead woman in her robes . . .Her
eyes slid to him. He stood motionless, his gaze upon her,
as if awaiting her reaction."Saints above," she said
faintly. "I . . . They will think that . . . " She could
not go on. Swallowing, she tried again. "You mean for the
sisters to think that . . . " "That the woman is you." His
smile was rimmed with satisfaction, a satisfaction she
could not even pretend to understand. "Her body will hit
the rocks," he stated matter-of-factly. "'Twill be
mutilated. Bloodied and broken."God's mercy, he was right.
Shortly after she'd come to Connyridge, the body of one of
the villagers had washed up on the rocks—he'd been a
fisherman. His flesh was torn to shreds, his face bloated
and white so that he was unrecognizable. It had sickened
her so that she'd nearly lost the contents of the stomach.
Oh, aye, her note was damning indeed. The nuns would see
the reddish hair of the woman and think that she had thrown
herself from the cliff.Meredith's heart wrenched. At least
the poor woman had already been dead . . . Suddenly her
breath caught. "You killed her, didn't you? You killed
her!"The tension spun out endlessly. He said nothing . . .
a stifling silence that said far more than mere
words.Meredith shook her head. For one awful moment she
feared she would be sick there and then. "Why?" Her throat
ached so that it hurt to speak. "Why would you do such a
thing?"Again that debilitating silence. "And I am next, am
I not?" Drawing upon a daring she hadn't known she
possessed, she straightened her shoulders and struck her
breast with one knotted fist. "Kill me then, if you will!
Kill me now!""Kill you?" His laugh was harsh and brittle as
he gestured to the cliff. "Come now. Do you truly think I'd
have gone to such trouble if I meant to kill you? Now then.
Will you come or must I bind your hands again?"Meredith
lowered her head, battling within herself as never before.
A woman lay dead because of her, and all she could think
was how she might save her own soul! She was not only weak
but selfish as well, and she could only hope that God would
forgive her! Yet something within her protested—something
refused to let this vile man win so easily.Meredith knew
she'd been dismissed as he glanced away. He made a sign to
his men, who led the horses forward. He did not even deign
to glance at her as he motioned her forward."Come," was all
he said.Meredith took a deep fortifying breath. "Nay," she
said clearly.Now she'd done it, it seemed. She felt the
touch of those ice-fire eyes return even before she forced
herself to meet his regard."Y-you are a madman, and I'll go
nowhere with you."Beside her there was a curse. There was a
stunning blow to the middle of her back that sent her
toppling forward. It was he who caught her and saved her
from falling headlong before his feet."Nay, Finn, leave her
be!"Meredith was half-afraid to breathe. She could feel his
hands around her wrists like clamps of iron, imprisoning
her as surely as a trap. Oh, aye, she could feel the
strength in him and knew that were it his will, her life
would be forfeit.Slowly she raised her head from the
awesome breadth of his chest."I'll go nowhere with
you.""Ah, but you will, Meredith Munro. You will.""I will
not," she stated again. She raised her chin, all at once
not so sure of herself. In her heart she was appalled at
her audacity. Mayhap she was the one who was mad!"Who are
you? Why are you doing this? What do you want with me?"He
released her. Meredith resisted the impulse to turn and
flee. Instead she held her ground, her bare toes digging
into the dew-draped earth."Who are you?" she said
again. "You pretend to know me, yet I vow I've not laid
eyes on you before this night!""Nay, lass, you have
not.""Then who are you?" Determination swept away her fear
and uncertainty. If she was to die, she would at least know
why—and she would at least know the identity of the man who
would slay her!"Who are you?"His eyes scraped over her,
like a sword of molten steel."I am Cameron" —he stated but
one thing . . . and alas, 'twas all that was needed— "of
the clan MacKay."