Promise of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  And there it was. The jaws sprang shut. He heard his mother gasp as the import of Finn's words sank in. He understood what his uncle was asking. Could he do it? Could he give up his quest? Could he come full circle, take up the role he had abandoned?

  He glanced at Lia, saw her watching him with huge eyes.

  Aye, he could do it. For Lia, for his clan.

  I'll do it," he whispered. "If that's what it takes. I will stay. I will take my place as my father's heir."

  Thea leapt to her feet, her eyes shining, but he dare not look at her. He couldn’t bear the hope and pride he would see shining in her gaze. Instead, he watched Finlay and saw a faint gleam of triumph in his uncle's eyes.

  "So be it," Finlay said. "I’ll have the scribes draw up the pardons for ye to sign."

  Ross nodded. "Have them brought to the stables. I'll be saddling Traveler."

  Then, without looking at any of them, he turned and strode out of the Great Hall, suddenly desperate for some air. He escaped to the stable and was busy saddling Traveler when a voice spoke behind him.

  "You okay?"

  He spun to find Lia standing in the doorway of the stable.

  "Fine," he muttered, adjusting one of the stirrups.

  She moved up behind him, laid a hand on his back. He stilled under her touch and turned to face her. How could he ride away and leave her here? What choice did he have?

  "You think Archer will agree?" she asked.

  He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. "I hope so but I canna be sure. He has no love for the clans and even less trust of them. But I have to try. I hate to leave ye."

  "I'll be fine. Just be careful. Don't do anything stupid."

  He smiled wryly. "When do I ever do anything stupid?"

  Lia raised an eyebrow. "Don't even get me started. Promise me you will come back."

  He cupped her face in his hands, feeling the softness of her skin, and gazed down into her eyes. "I promise. I will always come back to ye, Lia. Always."

  He bent his head and kissed her gently. She leaned into him and he felt her trembling. Lord, she was as frightened as he was. How had they ended up here? When he had ridden into that village that day and rescued a woman who spoke and dressed strangely, he would never have dreamt that it would lead him here, to them both fighting to save Clan MacAuley.

  "I want a promise from ye too," he said gruffly. "At the first sign of trouble, ye will get inside Dun Ringill's walls. Ye willnae do anything stupid either. Ye willnae risk yerself. Yer word, Lia! I couldnae live if aught happened to ye."

  She nodded reluctantly. "Okay. I promise."

  A cough from the doorway made them spring apart. A scribe stood there, holding a leather satchel. "I beg yer pardon, my lord," the man said. "Lord Finlay told me to bring these to ye.”

  Ross took the satchel with a nod of thanks and tied it to Traveler's saddle. Then he led the horse out into the bailey and climbed into the saddle. With one last look back at Lia watching from the doorway, he set his heels to the horse's flanks and rode out of Dun Ringill.

  Chapter 16

  "Where do ye want this, my lady?"

  Lia, staring at the sheet of parchment, took a moment to register that the question was addressed to her. She just couldn't get used to being addressed so formally. She looked up to see a youth pushing a wooden wheelbarrow full of grit.

  She waved at the river bank. "Down there. Otto will show you what to do with it."

  As the lad trundled off Lia let out a big sigh and looked out over the scene before her. She was perched high on the river bank upriver from Dun Ringill. Both banks of the river were hives of activity. The MacAuley clan had adopted her plan with fervor and now they worked with an almost feverish zeal to be ready before the raiders arrived.

  That familiar stirring of doubt filled her stomach, swirling like acid. What if she failed? What if these people put their faith in her and she let them down like she had with her father? Oh God. A wave of dizziness passed through her and she pressed her palm against her forehead.

  No, she told herself. This won't fail. It won't. It will work. It has to.

  But despite her protestations, she couldn’t quell the misgivings in her heart.

  "Lia! We're ready!"

  Down by the water's edge, Thea was waving at her. Lia nodded. Although she'd checked her calculations a thousand times she couldn't help glancing at them once more, just in case. They looked right. Oh God, let them be right!

  A double line of people stretched all the way across the river. It was low tide, the only opportunity they would get to do this, but even so, the water swirled around everyone's knees, cold and fast. The workers were lashed together with rope so if anyone lost their footing they would not be swept away. It was dangerous work, but they had little choice.

  She made her way down to the water's edge and waded in. The water was cold enough to make her gasp, but she gritted her teeth and took her time making her way along the line, surveying the site. Otto, the clan's master builder, walked by her side. He was a huge man with shoulders like a bear and hardly ever said a word. But he was intelligent and quick to latch onto her ideas. He'd been invaluable over the last two days.

  Two days. Was that all it had been? Two days since Ross had ridden out of Dun Ringill. It felt like a lifetime. She missed him terribly. His absence was like an ache she couldn't get rid of and she found herself glancing over her shoulder constantly, eager for his return.

  The workers had done well, following her instructions to the letter. A line of twenty narrow wooden boxes crossed the river in a line. They were frames to hold the piles as they were driven into the river bed. Each had been anchored to the river bed with stakes and would mean the piles could be safely driven in at the required angle.

  Lia waded to the middle of the river. The water was deep enough to swirl around her waist.

  "Bring the first timber!" she yelled.

  A team of six men hoisted the first of the stripped tree-trunks from the pile that lay on the river bank. Carrying the trunk carefully on their shoulders, they waded out to Lia and Otto. Then, under Lia's instruction, they up-ended it and slotted it into the wooden frame. It stood high out of the water, visible to anyone coming down the river but if Lia had done her calculations correctly—oh God, please let me have done my calculations correctly! —then by the time the pile had been driven into the river bed, the tip of it should sit just below the surface, low enough to be invisible, high enough to impale any attacking ship.

  Lia nodded and Otto, the only man tall enough for the job, hefted a huge wooden mallet and began hammering the end of the pile, driving it into the river bed. A tense silence filled the site, the only sound the gurgle of the river and the thump, thump, thump of the mallet.

  Lia shared a look with Thea who was standing in the shallows, watching intently. Tension was written on her face. Lia well understood her feelings. There were so many things that could go wrong. She could have miscalculated the angle of the pile and so it wouldn't go into the lake bed and collapse instead. The frame that held it could break or the pile itself could split or...or...or...

  Thump, thump, thump.

  "Ha! That’s got the bugger!"

  It was the most words in a row she'd heard from Otto. The pile now sat just a few feet above the water, its end pointing upriver at an angle. Lia stepped forward with her tools and took some measurements, heart beating rapidly. She pushed hard against the pile. It didn't move. Then she took a set of weights from Otto that were designed to simulate the weight of the water at high tide and hung them on the end. The pile didn't move an inch. It felt as solid as rock. She bent to her parchment again, now soggy and smudged. She ran through the calculations again and then raised her head.

  A grin spread across her face. "Clear!" she yelled in a ringing voice. "It's strong enough to stop those ships!"

  A cheer went up across the river and people began shaking hands and clapping each other on the back. Lia was struck again at how well th
ese people worked together. They helped each other without being asked, complimenting each other's skills and making allowances for those who struggled a little. It was obvious that Ross's clan was extremely closely knit.

  "Get this one sharpened," she said to Otto. "We want it to splinter their hulls and force them to abandon the boats. Then the other piles can go in, right across the river."

  Otto nodded. "Aye. It will be finished by nightfall."

  Lia waded back to shore. She left Thea and Otto shouting orders and jogged along the river bank back to Dun Ringill where she made her way to the blacksmith's forge.

  Noise and heat smacked her the moment she stepped inside and she coughed as the tang of smoke caught the back of her throat. Donald, the master blacksmith, was hammering hard on a piece of metal but he paused and straightened as she entered.

  He set down his work, pulled off his gloves, and walked over. "Nearly ready," he said without preamble, indicating a pile of metal implements sitting in a wheelbarrow.

  Lia picked one up. It was a metal cone, designed to go on top of the piles once they'd been sharpened. This had actually been Thea's idea and Lia was pleased with the result. They would ensure the tips of the piles didn't snap off when the ships hit them. The blacksmith had been making nothing else for two days.

  She nodded. "Good work. They're almost ready for them down at the river. I'll send someone to fetch them later and—"

  A horn blast suddenly sounded, high and sharp. Lia froze, recognizing the call to arms and her blood ran cold. She and the black smith stared at each other for the length of a heartbeat and then they both bolted outside into the bailey.

  The bailey was awash with warriors dashing to the battlements and gates. The refugees had been cleared—either found space within the castle itself or on the training ground on the seaward side in order to leave the bailey and battlements clear for the defenders. Shouts and commands rang back and forth.

  What was happening? Had the raiders arrived early?

  Heart hammering, Lia took the steps that led up to the battlements two at a time. The wind snatched at her as she came out at the top, squeezing tears from the corners of her eyes as she leaned on the wall, squinting into the distance. A line of warriors was riding along the coast towards Dun Ringill. The sun glinted off weapons.

  Suddenly another horn blast sounded, indicating for the defenders to stand down and the gates of Dun Ringill were swung open. Lia watched the column and as they got close enough to make out features, her heart surged.

  Ross rode at the head of a column of warriors, Archer by his side.

  She spun, clattered down the steps, and by the time she reached the bailey the riders were entering the courtyard. The MacAuley defenders watched in silence, forming a crowd around the edges of the bailey. Through the throng she saw Ross pull Traveler to a halt and his amber gaze rake the clearing. His expression was grim. She wanted to run to him but the press of bodies was too thick.

  The rest of Archer's people, most of them on foot, entered the bailey. They looked wary, hands held close to their weapons as they surveyed their new allies, allies who eyed them with suspicion.

  There was no cry of welcome, no joy at this unexpected help arriving from such an unlikely source. Instead, tension filled the air.

  For a few uneasy moments there was silence. Then someone in the crowd shouted, "These bastards stole my brother's cattle last spring! Murderers and thieves, the lot of them!"

  An angry muttering broke out and Archer's people grabbed their weapons. In response, many of the MacAuley defenders drew their swords. Lia held her breath, sensing impending bloodshed.

  "Hold!" bellowed Ross, standing in his stirrups. His voice was strong and commanding, meant to carry over the pitch of battle. "The first man to move will feel my wrath!" He glared at those around him and many shuffled awkwardly. But nobody put their weapons away.

  "Ye all know me!" Ross continued. "I am Ross MacAuley, heir to the lairdship of Clan MacAuley and, by the oaths of fealty ye have all taken, ye will do as I command! None will spill blood inside these walls! Soon an enemy will be upon us who willnae care who is an outlaw and who isnae! They will kill ye regardless! The only chance we have to repel them is if we work together. John Archer and his people are no longer outlaws! In the name of my father, Laird Logan MacAuley, I have pardoned them all. In return they will fight and give their blood for Clan MacAuley, for Scotland and the king! Does any here dare gainsay me?"

  Nobody spoke. Then Donald, the blacksmith, raised his voice. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Isnae that the saying? If these folk want to fight by our side, then I for one am glad to have them."

  His words broke the spell and there was the scrape of steel as weapons were sheathed. Stable hands ran to take the horses and servants came forward to show Archer's people to their lodgings. Lia spotted a familiar face in the crowd and fought her way through to a woman who'd just dismounted from a sway-backed gelding.

  "Maggie!"

  The scarred woman grinned at the sight of Lia. "I knew ye were trouble!" she said by way of a greeting. "Thanks to ye I'm a member of the MacAuley clan now! Who would have thought it? Me, pardoned and all."

  Lia laughed and embraced her friend. "You'll have to make a respectable living now. However will you cope?"

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Aye, I'll worry about that after. We've got to survive the next few days first.”

  Lia craned her head over the crowd to catch sight of Ross. He was standing by the steps, talking to Archer. She began weaving through the crowd but the press was so thick she barely made any progress.

  Somebody caught her wrist, and she turned to see Donald. He leaned close so she could hear him. "Runners come from the river site. They've got the piles in and are ready for the caps. They've asked for ye to come and check it over."

  Lia hesitated. She glanced at Ross and then back at Donald. She nodded. "Of course. Lead the way."

  ROSS WANTED NOTHING more than to change out of his mud-splattered plaid, have a wash, and then spend the afternoon catching up with Lia. But it wasn’t to be. As he sat in the laird’s chair in the Great Hall, surrounding by people all talking at once, he wondered how his father ever put up with it. He longed for the peace of the open road, the only sound the clop of his horse’s hooves and the call of the wind.

  “I willnae take orders from any damned outlaw!” Roland, the grizzled garrison commander snapped.

  “Is there something wrong with your hearing, friend?” Archer growled, bristling. “I’m no bloody outlaw anymore. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Ross put a hand to his forehead. He was getting a headache. He glanced around for Lia but didn’t see her. He’d searched for her in the bailey when they arrived but in the press of people he hadn’t been able to find her. It was thoughts of returning to her that had kept him going these last few days, riding so hard he’d had little time for rest or food.

  The commanders of Dun Ringill’s forces and the commanders of Archer’s outlaws were arrayed before him, a clear line down the middle separating them. Each side eyed the other with open mistrust.

  “Maybe it’s ye I have a problem with, friend,” growled Roland. “Maybe we should step outside and—”

  “Enough!” Ross roared, surging to his feet.

  The crowd flinched, stepping back a pace.

  He glared around at them all, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Ye squabble like children! I willnae have it! Any man who causes trouble in Dun Ringill will be thrown out on his ear be he an outlaw or a clansman! Is that clear?”

  He glared first at Roland and then at Archer. Neither men could hold his gaze.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Yes, Ross.”

  He sucked in a few deep breaths. How, by all that’s holy, was he supposed to mould these people into a coherent fighting force? Not for the first time he wished his father and uncle Camdan were here. They’d know what to do.

  “Roland,” he said. “Ye wi
ll be in command of those left to defend Dun Ringill. I will take command of those who ride out to meet the raiders. Archer, ye and yer forces will ride with me. Ye will take the eastern bank of the river, I will take the west.”

  He met Archer’s gaze. The man watched him steadily, a thoughtful look on his face. He understood what Ross had done. By splitting Archer’s forces away from his own he’d stop them from fighting amongst themselves and had announced to everyone that he trusted the outlaws not to turn tail and run without a MacAuley commander watching over them.

  “Very well,” Archer said at last. “The east bank it is.”

  Ross nodded. He waved for the others to make their reports and listened as his mother outlined the work that had been going on in his absence. They talked for several hours, discussing defensive plans, possible lines of attack and retreat, supply for the warriors, and a hundred other things that made Ross’s headache even worse. Food and drink was brought and the candles were beginning to be lit in the Great Hall when a commotion at the doors made him look up from the map he was perusing.

  Finlay strode into the hall flanked by a group of his trackers and two great wolfhounds who, glad of some warmth, slumped onto the flagstones and rested their heads on their paws. Finlay was soaked through to the skin and even more mud-spattered than Ross was.

  Ross rose to his feet. “What news?” he demanded. “Where are they?”

  Finlay grabbed a cup of ale from a servant and downed it before answering. “Close,” he replied. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

  A murmuring went around the Great Hall but Ross remained still. His fingers tightened on the map, crumpling the parchment. It was time. Tomorrow would decide if his clan lived or died.

  Turning to the steward he said, “Order the cooks to make extra and see that everyone eats well tonight but serve only watered-down ale.” Raising his voice, he said, “There will be no drinking tonight and see that ye find yer beds early. Get as much rest as ye can. We assemble at first light tomorrow. That will be all.”

  He strode down the Great Hall, ignoring the questions that were fired at him. This might be his last night on Earth and there was only one person he wanted to spend it with.