Promise of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  Except when I’m with Ross, the thought bloomed unbidden in her mind. Then everything feels right.

  She glanced at the door. She and Ross hadn’t spoken, not properly, not beyond the brief questions and answers required to find their way here, since the night at Archer’s camp when Ross had revealed the truth about his brother. Yet since they’d arrived in Dun Ringill, Ross’s mother and uncle had welcomed him, not thrown him into a cell as his crime would warrant.

  What was going on? she wanted to ask Thea but knew that was a no-go. She could hardly say, “Is it true that one of your sons killed the other one?” could she? So, despite her desperate longing for some answers, she had to live with the uncertainty going around and around in her head.

  “You said you decided to stay here in the sixteenth century,” Lia said hesitantly. “That suggests you could have left—if you wanted.”

  “That’s right. Everything is about choice. I could have gone home had I chosen to—and so can you.”

  Lia leaned forward eagerly. “I can? How?”

  “The entry and exit points are the same. If you walk back through your arch, you will be right back where you started.”

  Lia’s stomach dropped. Her arch? Oh no.

  “What’s wrong?” Thea asked. “You’ve gone as pale as a sheet.”

  Lia hugged her arms around her chest, feeling suddenly sick. “My arch broke in a storm.”

  “Ah. I see.” Thea leaned forward and patted Lia’s knee. “Don’t worry. Irene wouldn’t have brought you here without a way for you to get back. That’s not how these things work. We just need to track her down. And until we find her—which probably won’t be until she’s good and ready I’m afraid to say—I want you to treat Dun Ringill as your home. I’ll get somebody to show you to one of the guest rooms so you can freshen up and take some rest. Then, if you’re up to it, how about joining us for dinner in the hall tonight?”

  Lia squeezed Thea’s hand, grateful for the older woman’s kindness. “Thanks. Some rest and then dinner sounds like exactly what I need.”

  ROSS RESTED HIS HANDS on the battlements, feeling the grainy texture of the stone under his fingers, and stared out to sea. The wind whipped his hair out behind him and forced him to squint. The ocean spread like a sheet of metal, unmarred by anything man-made.

  He scanned the horizon. He half expected to see black sails there and hear the war cries of blood-thirsty pirates. Were they really planning to attack Dun Ringill? Had they grown that desperate? It would be foolhardy in the extreme.

  His father had taken great pains to strengthen Dun Ringill’s defenses over the years. From the sea, the fortress was all but impregnable. Formerly there had been a beach below Dun Ringill where ships would land but his father had seen to it that the beach was filled with rocks, making it impossible for any ship to land there. Now the only landing place was the wooden docks that could easily be destroyed in the event of an attack. The river mouth that emptied into the sea by Dun Ringill’s northern side was also inaccessible, protected by a harbor wall and watchtower from which defenders could rain down death and destruction on any who tried to attack Dun Ringill that way. So what, by all that’s holy, were the raiders planning?

  Around him Dun Ringill went about its business, oblivious to the threat. He heard the excited barking of a dog down in the bailey, the laughter of children chasing it, the voices of two guardsmen on the battlements as they gossiped like fishwives and the laughter of a group of villagers sat on the pier holding fishing rods that arched out into the waves.

  So familiar. So strange.

  Ah, lord. What was he doing here? When he’d walked out of those gates, he’d vowed never to return. He’d either find the Fae and strike his bargain or die in the attempt. He’d done neither.

  His stomach twisted in that old, familiar ache. Despite himself, his eyes were drawn to the north along the coast and to a spot he’d hoped never to see again. There it was, exactly as he remembered it, a spur of rock sticking out into the wind-lashed sea. Devil’s Bridge, it was called. An apt name. It was there that Ross had committed his greatest evil. Memory flowered like a rotten flower and Ross hung his head, leaning heavily on the battlements.

  “Come on!” he’d said to his brother, Ramsay, his words slurred with too much drink. “I promised Rosie MacTavish I’d meet her there.”

  Ramsay, always the sensible one, looked at Ross and sighed. “Then ye shouldnae have. Ye are an idiot, ye know that? Do ye have any idea what her father will do if he finds out?”

  But Ross only grinned, cock-sure and arrogant. He was the son of the laird! Who would dare gainsay him? He could take whatever he wanted and any woman would think herself honored to share his bed. “Then ye best come with me to keep look-out for her father then, hadnae ye? Come on! It will be fun!”

  But it hadn’t been fun at all and only one of them had walked back alive from that place.

  “I thought I’d find ye here.”

  Startled, Ross spun, drew his sword instinctively, and pressed the razor-sharp tip against the throat of the man standing behind him. Finlay MacAuley glanced down at the blade and raised an eyebrow.

  “I see ye havenae lost any of yer skill while ye’ve been away.”

  “My...my apologies,” Ross muttered. He quickly sheathed his sword. “Ye startled me.”

  Finlay’s eyes flicked towards Devil’s Bridge, no doubt guessing what Ross had been thinking about.

  “I’ve sent scouts out along the coast in relays. If the raiders are hiding out somewhere, we’ll soon ferret the bastards out.”

  Ross grunted then turned back to watching the waves.

  Finlay cocked his head as he regarded his nephew. "I think it’s time we had a chat."

  "There's naught to talk about."

  "Naught to talk about?" Finlay said incredulously. "Lad, ye've been gone for years. We thought ye were dead and mourned ye as we mourned yer brother. And yet here ye are. Yer mother reckons we shouldnae push ye, shouldnae ask ye questions. I think that's horse-shit. I reckon we have a right to know where ye've been all this time." There was an edge of anger in Finlay's voice, an undercurrent of steel that reminded Ross too much of his father.

  He turned to face Finlay. "Ye know where I've been. Ye of all people should understand why I left."

  Finn regarded him in silence. Ross could see memories playing behind his uncle's eyes. "Only madness and death lie at the end of the road ye seek," he said softly.

  Ross nodded. "Aye. Yet it is the only one I can walk."

  "Is it? I thought so too, once. Then I realized there is always a choice."

  Ross glanced at Devil's Bridge. Despair washed over him. No. There was no other choice. His feet had been set on this course from that moment four years ago, the moment that changed everything.

  Finn's hand came to rest on his shoulder and he flinched at the contact. "Stay," his uncle said softly.

  "I canna. There is naught for me here."

  Finn's fingers tightened on his shoulder, digging into his skin until it was almost painful. "Yer family is here. Yer clan. Is that not enough?"

  No! he wanted to shout. It isnae! Ye know what I did! Ye know what everyone thinks every time they look at me! My parents, my kin, every damn person in this place!

  But he didn't say any of this. Instead he gritted his teeth and stared out at the churning waves.

  Finlay sighed, slackening his grip. "Then what about Lia?"

  Ross stiffened. "What about her?"

  "Isnae she a good enough reason to stay?"

  The question hit Ross like a punch to the stomach. He hardly dared to breathe. Stay with Lia? Ah, God help him, just the very thought made his heart hammer against his ribs and his pulse roar in his ears. Was she a good enough reason to stay? Lord above, of course she was. But he'd seen the look in her eyes when he'd told her about his brother. She thought him a monster, and she was right to do so. Besides, she would soon be going home, somewhere he could not follow.

  F
inn rested his hands on the battlements and gazed out to sea, allowing his night-dark hair to whip in the breeze. "If the raiders come, we will need every man able to hold a weapon."

  His voice was grim and Ross wondered if he was remembering that night all those years ago when he and his brothers, filled with Fae magic, had destroyed the army that had come against them. They never talked about it but Ross had gleaned enough from the whispered stories to know it had been a night of terror and blood. Was that what lay in store should the raiders come again? But this time there was no Fae magic to help them.

  "Yer knowledge and skills could turn the tide," Finn continued. "If ye willnae stay for good then how about a compromise? Stay long enough to help in defense of Dun Ringill. Stay until the raiders are defeated. After that? If ye still wish to leave, I willnae stand in yer way. What do ye say?" He held out his hand.

  Ross hesitated. He itched to be away, to resume his quest. The need burned in him. And yet, something else burned there too. Duty. He'd been raised to put his duty to his clan above all else. How could he abandon his clan now? How could he leave them to face the raiders without him?

  How could he abandon Lia?

  Lia. Her face flashed into his mind. Longing flared inside him like a dull ache. Had he not vowed to protect her? How would he do that if he rode away? She might hate him, think him a monster, but that did not mean his responsibility towards her was lessened.

  He glanced at Finn's offered hand. Then he clasped it, wrist to wrist in the warrior's grip, sealing their bargain.

  “Very well. I will stay.”

  THIS HAD BEEN A MISTAKE. Ross, seated at the head table, knew he was glowering but couldn’t help it. He felt like a rat in a trap. A rat being watched by hungry cats. Every time he looked up he found someone peering at him but they would quickly look away when his angry gaze met theirs.

  Around him, the feast was in full swing. The MacAuley clan were in good spirits tonight—despite the looming threat of the raiders—and the rafters of the Great Hall fairly creaked with the din. His mother had told him this jovial mood was down to the fact that he’d come home. How could they not celebrate when Ross MacAuley, the prodigal son, had returned? When he’d promised to stay and help Dun Ringill against the raiders?

  Ross wasn’t so sure. Why would these people be pleased about having him back? The Ross MacAuley they had known had been an arrogant, swaggering womanizer who thought his status as the laird’s son gave him a right to take whatever he wanted. How could they welcome such a man back into their midst?

  He’d already spotted at least two serving lasses he’d tumbled. He couldn’t even remember their names. Then, on the way down to the Great Hall he’d bumped into a squad of Camdan’s warriors who he’d led on cattle raids against neighboring clans—despite his father’s ban on such practices—and without a thought for the consequences should they get caught. Yet they had greeted him jovially. Did they not remember that he hadn’t given a damn if they were hanged for cattle rustling, safe in the knowledge that he, Ross, would have been ransomed by his father?

  Aye, he was ashamed of the man he used to be so he slouched in his chair, drank whisky, and wished he was somewhere else.

  But he couldn’t help continually glancing to his right. Seated between him and his mother, Lia was deep in conversation with Thea. He had no idea what they were talking about but he caught words like ‘internet’, ‘car’ and ‘cell phone’. They may as well have been talking another language.

  He was glad they were getting on so well and also glad Lia was distracted. Maybe she hadn’t noticed the way he’d stared at her like some bumbling idiot when she’d come down into the Great Hall. She wore a long blue dress that accentuated the deep color of her eyes and her hair had been tied back, letting ringlets dangle round her face. The sight of her as she’d stepped into the hall had stopped him dead in his tracks and sent his pulse hammering in his ears. Even now, hours later, every time he glanced at her his blood roared to life.

  Scowling at his own idiocy, he knocked back his whisky. A servant appeared and refilled his cup.

  His head was starting to spin. How much had he drank? But far from loosening his tension, it only seemed to be making it worse. The air felt stuffy, like it was pressing down on him and the walls of the Great Hall, once so welcome and familiar, felt like the bars of a prison cell.

  Oh, how he longed for fresh air and open skies. For a simple camp fire and a quiet evening. For Lia by his side.

  An army of servants began clearing away the plates and his mother signaled for the musicians up on the balcony to begin playing. Finlay was the clan bard, but he didn’t join in tonight. Instead he sat in the laird’s chair, sipping a cup of watery ale, straight-backed and alert, eyes scanning the gathering. At least somebody hadn’t forgotten the threat they faced.

  In the center of the hall the tables were pushed back and people gathered to dance as the first strains of music rippled through the air. Everyone grabbed partners and led them into a ring and Ross caught more than one lass staring at him hopefully. He merely scowled and took another swig of whisky. He was not in the mood for festivities.

  “My lady? Would ye do me the honor of giving me this dance?”

  Ross straightened suddenly as a man approached Lia and gave a courtly bow. Ross’s lip curled in an unconscious snarl. He recognized the man. Andrew Grainger was the handsome son of a border baron and of an age with Ross although he hadn’t seen him since he’d been sent to France to oversee his father’s business interests there. Now he bowed elegantly, flashing a charming smile at Lia.

  A tiny smirk on Andrew’s face suggested he was fully aware of Ross glaring at him. “My lady?”

  Lia glanced at Ross. “I...um...I don’t know this dance.”

  Andrew smiled courteously. “Dinna worry, my lady. I’m an accomplished dancer. I willnae let ye fall.” He held out his hand.

  Lia glanced at Ross again and he forced the snarl off his face, forced his features into an expressionless mask, even though he wanted to leap across the table and punch the smile right off Andrew Grainger’s face.

  Finally Lia nodded and rose from her seat. She walked around the table and let Andrew take her hand and guide her into the ring of dancers. Andrew leaned in close and said something, to which Lia smiled.

  Ross clenched his cup so hard his knuckles turned white. Why was she smiling at him like that? Surely she wasn’t impressed by such smooth charm? Andrew placed his hand on Lia’s waist as they began the dance and she placed her own hand on his shoulder. A stab of hot, raw jealousy went right through Ross as sharp as a knife-blade.

  “Ross?” said his mother, leaning close. “Is something wrong?”

  Ross tore his eyes off Lia and turned to his mother. “Nay. Of course not.”

  “You’ve hardly eaten your meal,” Thea observed.

  “I wasnae hungry.”

  The dance was picking up pace. The onlookers were clapping in time to the beat and the couples were twirling around each other so fast the women’s skirts and the men’s plaids fanned out around them like swirling leaves. In their midst Andrew Grainger held Lia close, and she was laughing. Laughing!

  Ross stood so abruptly he knocked his chair over backwards.

  “Where are you going?” Thea asked.

  “I...need to check on Traveler.” He strode from the hall as though he had wolves chasing at his heels.

  Chapter 14

  The laughter died in Lia’s throat as, over Andrew’s shoulder, she saw Ross get up and leave the hall.

  Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Seems the prodigal son has had enough of the feast. Strange. Feasting and drinking were once two of his favorite past times.”

  Andrew was standing very close. Too close, if truth be told. Andrew was tall, broad-shouldered and very good looking. He had the kind of charming smile and twinkle in his eye that would make many a woman swoon and indeed, as they twirled and parted, and moved around each other in the steps of the dance, Lia saw mo
re than one envious glance aimed her way.

  But she'd agreed to dance with Andrew only to be polite, and because Ross had ignored her all night. He’d said barely a word all evening, knocking back whisky as though it was going out of fashion, giving mono-syllabic answers to any of her efforts at conversation, and glowering like a thunder cloud. Was this because he’d agreed to stay and help defend Dun Ringill? Did he really want to be away from here—and from her—that much?

  "You’re friends?" Lia asked, unable to stop herself trying to glean some more information on Ross.

  "Friends? Hardly," Andrew laughed. "Maybe once, but I dinna think anyone knows who that man is now, least of all Ross himself."

  "What do you mean by that?" Lia asked as they followed a series of complicated steps with the other couples in a line. She was glad of the dancing lessons Ross had given her in Archer's camp. If not for that no doubt she'd be making a fine ass of herself right now.

  Andrew raised an eyebrow as if a little bemused at her questions. "Ross wasnae the same after Ramsay died. Some reckon Ross MacAuley died up on that cliff top with his brother."

  Lia sucked in a breath. This was more information than she'd been able to dig up so far. "Do you know what happened? How Ramsay died?"

  Do you know if Ross killed him?

  She could not force those words past her lips as though to utter them would somehow make them real.

  "Nobody knows what happened up on Devil's Bridge that night," Andrew replied. "All I can say is that two MacAuley brothers walked out there and only one returned. The laird looked into it, of course, but we never heard the full story. Soon after that Ross left. Some say he left because he couldnae bear the loss of his twin. Others say the laird banished him because of what happened up there. But now he's back and I'm glad." He gave Lia that charming smile. "Because if he hadnae returned then I wouldnae have such a beautiful dancing partner."