Highlands Forever (Books 1–3)

by Rand, Violetta

  “Thank ye,” she said, braving a step into the passageway.

  “I’m under strict orders to keep ye in the chamber. Please doona make any trouble.”

  “Trouble?” she arched her eyebrows, not understanding why this stranger would believe she’d cause any problems. “What has Alex told ye? Do ye have a name?”

  “Craig MacKay.”

  “Tis good to meet ye, Craig. And yer friend?”

  The other soldier frowned at Keely. “Cavas.”

  “Cavas?” she asked curiously. “Tis an Irish name, is it not?’

  “Aye,” the guard confirmed. “My mother is a MacKay, my sire, a MacMurra.”

  “Would ye deny a lass a bit of fresh air?”

  Cavas shook his head. “Ye’ve had plenty of air from what I’ve heard, Lady Keely. Tis better to keep to yer room until the laird says otherwise.” The young guard gestured for Keely to return to her bedchamber. “If ye require anything, doona hesitate to ask.”

  Cavas was bolder and less congenial than his cohort. Convincing him to turn a blind eye while she ran away would be near impossible. “I require use of the privy.” Perhaps she could kick out the back wall and escape. Or she’d feign illness and linger in the privy for hours until the guards gave up and went for help. Anything was better than passing time alone in the bedchamber that used to be occupied by Alex’s mother.

  Though Keely wasn’t superstitious by nature, even she could feel a presence in the room. Good or evil, she couldn’t say. But there was something or someone there, and she preferred not to find out.

  “The laird had the good sense to foresee such a request,” Craig said. “See, milady?”

  He picked something up off the floor and then offered it to Keely.

  She stared at the bronze chamber pot. “Alex is a considerate man,” she said severely, her hope of escape shrinking by the moment. “What about my bags?”

  “Aye,” Craig said. “I am to tell ye that a maid will attend to yer things as soon as possible.”

  “Very well.” She withdrew inside the bedchamber, and Cavas gave her a triumphant look as he closed the heavy wood door. Though it hadn’t been barred from the outside, Keely knew she was a prisoner, not a guest. At least in the dungeon the darkness shrouded her from the humiliation she experienced whenever a MacKay stared at her in judgement.

  As for the general discomfort of the room, her gaze zigzagged from the bed to the hearth, the padded chairs in front of it, to the dressing table in the corner, the narrow window on the far wall, to the high ceiling, where someone had lovingly painted colorful flowers and the sun. It felt strange, as if she was intruding on someone’s privacy. “I doona want to be here,” she whispered. “And if ye’re here, whoever it be, could ye kindly tell the Lord all I wish for is freedom.”

  Nothing stirred, and Keely took a deep breath, relieved and surprised by the ridiculous fear inside her. Spirits were for children to believe in, not grown women, and surely not the educated daughter of a laird. She claimed one of the chairs in front of the fire, tucking her legs underneath her gown, letting the heat melt away her disappointment.

  Perhaps God had put her here for a reason. To help Alex, to aid Clan MacKay. Their greatest enemy had provided food and shelter for her—asking little in return. Only that she provided companionship for her dearest friend, Helen Sutherland, and to sometimes pay special attention to Earl Sutherland’s illegitimate son, Struan.

  Struan remained ever respectful, but his eyes told a different story. The thought sent a chill spiraling down Keely’s spine. The man had a way with words, could soothe the wildest mare, even quiet a crying child. But when Keely had been alone with him, their conversation more personal, more honest, she’d sensed the restlessness inside him, seen the resentment on his face. Struan Sutherland did not like living between two worlds.

  His father, the earl, had seduced Struan’s much younger mother, a visiting, distant cousin. After she died on her birthing bed, the earl had taken pity on his helpless son, claiming him—gifting him with the Sutherland name. But that rare mercy had cost Struan. As a nameless bastard, little would have been expected of him. But as a true son of the earl, though he would never inherit a title, he was expected to serve his father as loyally as his other two, legitimate sons.

  It left Struan wanting more, and Keely had involuntarily become his confidant, often left for hours in the great hall listening to his secrets.

  Why she was so focused on Struan she couldn’t say. Only that she’d grown accustomed to his presence every day, and now that she was alone and surrounded by silence, it made her regret ever leaving Dunrobin Castle. For she truly missed Helen. And the earl had treated her as his own daughter.

  But in the aftermath of the destruction of the MacKay village, the memory of the burned-out cottages, the smell of ash, and the eerie absence of people and livestock, forced her to reconsider her purpose with the Sutherlands. Just why had the laird taken her in? Why had he forbidden her from communicating with her father and clan? Why had he refused to send word to John MacKay?

  The fact that she was questioning herself so critically, only lent value to Alex’s suspicion. He had every reason to suspect her of spying. And the only way out of this keep was convincing him she wasn’t acting on behalf of the earl.

  A knock on the door startled Keely. She sprang up from the comfortable chair. “Come in.”

  The door opened, and a pretty, blond-haired maid came inside with a tray. “Lady Keely.” She did a half curtsy, then rushed to the table, setting the tray down. “My name is Leah.”

  “Thank ye for the food, Leah.” Keely smiled.

  “Laird MacKay asked me to serve as yer maid.”

  “Did he?”

  “Aye. Though my mother isna too pleased by it, tis my decision to make.”

  How would the other women treat Leah for daring to serve an outcast? “If ye change yer mind, I’d understand. I doona wish for anyone to suffer because I’m here.”

  Leah clicked her tongue. “Tis the older women who gossip the most.”

  “Aye,” Keely acknowledged. “They’ve lived through unspeakable suffering. Today only serves as a bitter reminder of the past.”

  “Is it true, milady?”

  Keely snorted at the girl’s lack of manners, appreciating her unbridled curiosity. “What exactly are ye asking?”

  “I am sorry.” Leah bowed her head.

  “Doona apologize, Leah. Ask what ye will.”

  Their gazes met, and Leah nodded. “Ye loved Alex but married Laird John?”

  The girl reminded Keely so much of herself when she was but sixteen. “How old are ye, Leah?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “So very young,” Keely said.

  “But ye are not much older, milady.”

  “Perhaps not,” Keely said, “but I feel verra old today.”

  “Ye’re tired, milady. In need of food and rest.”

  “It will be verra hard to sleep after everything that happened…”

  “Ye mean Angus’s death? Doona fash over that man,” Leah said. “He had a violent nature, always quick to anger—cruel to his wife and son.”

  A new wave of sadness washed over Keely. “So I made a woman a widow and left her son fatherless?” Sinking onto a bench, Keely covered her face with both hands and took a shaky breath. “Is there no end to the bloodshed today?”

  Keely heard the maid pour something into a cup, then she padded over to where Keely sat. “Some wine?”

  Keely gazed up at her. “Thank ye.”

  “Tis not yer fault, milady. Mary MacKay would praise ye for freeing her of such a husband if she could. He cared nothing for his family, often leaving them hungry and cold. Because of ye, in a few months, I am sure she will marry again.”

  “How can ye be so sure?” Keely sipped her wine, savoring the full flavor, eager for the numbness it would bring.

  “Though Mary does nothing unseemly, tis no secret she an Neil MacKay, one of Laird John�
��s captains, are in love.”

  “Would Laird John have approved of the match?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then I shall quietly consider it a blessing for Mary and her son.”

  “Ye’re nothing like the women said,” Leah observed.

  “Nay?”

  “Ye’re kind, milady. Considerate. And beautiful.”

  “I’m afraid yer kinswomen would be disappointed to hear it.”

  The maid waved her hand in the direction of the door. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given them a reason to be unhappy with me. I care little for what they say.”

  For such a young lass, Leah had a good head on her shoulders. “Who is yer father?”

  “Adam MacKay.”

  Keely’s head snapped up. “The Adam MacKay? The famed outlaw?”

  “Aye, the very one.”

  “Then we have something in common, Leah. We’re both outsiders.”

  The lass smiled. “Aye. Now can I serve ye some bread and cheese?”

  “Have ye forgotten about the question ye asked earlier?”

  Leah shook her head.

  “Aye, it is true. I loved Alexander MacKay more than any woman had a right to.”

  “But ye married Laird John.”

  “I did. For reasons I canna share.”

  “I understand, milady, and willna question ye again.”

  Keely didn’t mind the presumptuous girl, in fact, she welcomed the company. Somehow, Leah had taken her mind off her present situation, making her feel welcome—even if that pleasure was fleeting, it eased Keely’s sadness.

  “Ye are welcome to serve as my maid, Leah. Tell Alex I am grateful for his kindness.” Though she knew it had nothing to do with goodwill, she wouldn’t give Alex the satisfaction of seeing her upset. No, she must demonstrate her resolve in a way Alex would understand. Without losing control of her emotions, which meant no tears—no tenderness of any kind. She’d made that mistake already. It wouldn’t happen again.

  The maid brought her a plate of food and refilled her cup with wine. Surprised by how hungry she actually was, Keely ate three pieces of bread with cheese, and finished a third cup of wine before she yawned.

  “If ye will allow me to help ye,” Leah offered. She walked behind Keely and started to unbind her hair, running her fingers through the long strands. “After ye rest, I’ll see to getting some hot water and a tub so ye can bathe before the evening meal.”

  “The bath is welcome, but I willna be taking food belowstairs.”

  “Laird Alex has ordered ye bathed and properly dressed, milady.”

  “Did he now?” Keely turned around, looking at the maid. “And what else has Laird Alex demanded?”

  “To immediately notify him if ye refuse, so he can carry ye to the great hall if necessary. He made it verra clear that ye enjoyed being toted around like a sack of grain.”

  Keely snorted, not at all humored by Alex’s pomposity. If he ever tried to carry her again, Keely would … well she’d … damn if she knew what she’d do. Pride and honor must be retained in front of his clan. Though she’d taken the MacKay name, underneath she was an Oliphant. And her people were stubborn and strong, too. No man would make demands of her, not in the way Alex suggested.

  “Tell Alex I will join him for supper when I am ready to do so.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I dinna ask for this,” Alex complained, pacing the length of his father’s solar. The council had gathered in private to discuss the clan’s future with him. “Why do ye think I’d want to be laird?”

  “What in God’s name ails ye? Tis the natural order of things. Ye are Laird John’s brother—yer sire’s last son.”

  Alex eyed the older man sitting at the head of the table, Mathe MacIver, a lifelong friend and distant kinsman from his mother’s side of the family. “And what great things did my brother accomplish that ye would find it necessary to choose me as the next laird?”

  Mathe rubbed his bearded chin, looking to his left and right to get answers from the other men.

  “He kept the peace,” one offered.

  “Peace?” Alex was tempted to laugh. “Shall I recite the missive my brother sent? Relay the desperation he expressed?”

  Mathe slammed his hand down on the aged wood, obviously offended by Alex’s questions. “Did ye ever consider yer brother would do anything to get ye back here because he had the foresight to understand he might not survive a battle against the Sutherlands? That pleading and begging wasn’t beyond him if it meant protecting the clan?”

  “I guess we shall never know, my friend. John is dead, And I have a ship waiting.”

  “Curse those heathens,” Mathe said. “Blast that damned vessel—may it crash and sink on the first wind—ye with it, if ye dare abandon us again.”

  Alex’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. “If ye weren’t a trusted kinsman…”

  “What?” Mathe shot up from his chair. “Tell me.”

  “I’d drive my blade through yer gullet.”

  “Ye speak against yerself, Laird Alex.”

  “How?” He locked gazes with his formidable cousin.

  “My words should mean nothing if ye doona have interest in this clan’s future success.”

  “If I dinna care, old man, I wouldna be here.”

  “Good.” Mathe reclaimed his seat. “Have the heathen ways so polluted yer Christian heart?”

  Alex relaxed his stance, removing his hand from his sword. “Depends on the man asking.”

  Mathe arched his brows. Everyone in the room knew him to be a devout follower of God. Nothing could tempt him away from his steadfast faith, like nothing could force Alex back into it.

  “What happened in the desert, Alex? Why do ye shun yer responsibilities so easily?” Jamie asked.

  Nothing bad had happened. He’d welcomed the change, perhaps too eagerly, shedding his tartan like a viper shed its skin. “Stop the asking.”

  “Is it the lass?” Mathe pressed.

  “Return her to Laird Oliphant. He’ll see her punished and wed to the type of man who will lock her up so ye never have to set eyes upon her again,” another council member offered.

  The idea of another man touching Keely, bedding her, and filling her belly with his unborn babe made Alex angry. Though he despised the lass for what she’d done, he couldna abide the thought of her being married off to a stranger. But that’s what would happen if he sent her home. No father would keep a daughter that brought shame to her family and clan. Keely had done so by seeking refuge with the Sutherlands.

  His only recourse was to find a MacKay to marry her. “The lass isna going home.”

  “What?” Mathe asked.

  “Ye heard me.”

  Jamie pretended to clear his ears of something. “But I dinna.”

  Alex met his cousin’s hard stare. “Aye, ye did.”

  “The MacKays need an heir,” Mathe said. “And though the lass is treacherous by nature, she is young and beautiful–perhaps worth keeping.”

  Alex’s jaw clenched instantly. Just because he refused to let her go dinna mean he wanted her for himself. “I doona need ye to play matchmaker for me.” He shook his head at Mathe. “In order to right the dishonor she brought on this clan, Keely must be married to a MacKay. A man up to the challenge of bedding the wench.” Alex turned his attention on young Jamie. “One with plenty of experience where women are concerned. One who can guarantee Keely won’t want to escape their bedchamber.”

  The council members chuckled, except for Jamie.

  “My brother, God keep him, was not the sort to cavort with women out of wedlock. His inexperience dinna help where Keely was concerned. She’s a spirited lass.” Spirited. Passionate. Beautiful. And a damned liar.

  “God bless, Laird John.” Mathe crossed himself, his sadness palpable.

  “Aye.” Jamie crossed himself, too.

  “Before I had a chance to suggest what man I thought should be the next laird, ye elected
me.”

  “Yer dissention doesna matter, Laird Alex. Ye canna undo what has already been decided. And we’ve all taken the knee—pledging our allegiance to ye.”

  Alex’s gaze slowly crept over the four men at the table. Each nodded in agreeance. Curse his misfortune. But, there was another solution, one that crossed his mind out of desperation. His family’s branch of the MacKays was one of several independent clans. If the council voted to dissolve their branch and joined forces with the main clan, the Sutherlands wouldn’t be so quick to attack again.

  Or, as laird, he alone could make that choice. But something so underhanded would count as the ultimate betrayal. As much as he dinna want to be laird, he would never deceive his kinsmen. “There is another choice.”

  Mathe studied him suspiciously, and Jamie just gaped at him.

  “What are ye suggesting?” Mathe queried.

  “Join forces with a larger branch of the MacKays.”

  The room grew silent, and Alex knew the answer—they wouldn’t do it.

  “Yer sire would be ashamed of ye!” Mathe chastised him. “Give up our lands, our independence? For what? To become the chattel of a stranger?”

  His brother had said something similar when they’d met on the beach. “I could negotiate the terms, assure that ye and the other captains retain yer positions and wealth.”

  “Cuimhnich air na daoine às an tàinig u.” Mathe shook his head in disgust.

  Alex remembered well enough who he came from and dinna need the captain to tell him so. “I am my sire’s son, make no mistake, Mathe. But I am a man without roots—and in good conscience, canna claim what rightfully belongs to another.”

  Mathe cast his gaze downward, his expression one of deep disappointment.

  Diplomacy wasn’t a gift Alex possessed. He always spoke bluntly, preferring truth over softening the blow of what he had to say. “If ye willna join forces with another clan, then elect Jamie as the new laird.”

  “Jamie, Graham, and Dag, will ye give me time alone with Alexander?” Mathe asked.

  The council members dinna need any encouragement to take their leave. One by one, they exited the solar, avoiding Alex. Once the door closed, Mathe turned to Alex.