Sins of a Highland Devil: Highland Warriors Book 1

by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

  But the keep’s homey appearance was deceptive.

  Several guards leaned against the tower wall, watching his progress with sullen eyes. Others paced the battlements where the MacDonald banner snapped in the wind and morning sun glinted on well-polished helms and mail. Each garrison man bristled with arms and James knew by the sour glances aimed his way, that they’d love nothing better than to give him a taste of their steel.

  “Is it true you once tossed your sword higher than the clouds?” came a small boy’s voice behind him.

  “Ho, there!” James swung around, nearly colliding with a skinny, tousle-haired lad. The boy stood less than a pace away, his thin arms clutching a creel of onions, – a basket almost bigger than himself - as he peered up at James with round, wondering eyes.

  The boy edged closer, the reek of onions with him. “The storytellers say you caught the blade when it fell.”

  Before James could respond, an older lad, equally dirt-smeared and scruffy, sauntered over to them. “He caught an angel, you nitwit.” Thumping the younger boy’s shoulder, the second lad puffed his chest. “The sword went as high as heaven, where the blade snagged the skirts of the angel, pulling her down to earth. But as soon as she landed in his arms, she was an angel no more!”

  “There’s no’ a word of truth in that.” James eyed the older boy sternly. He’d savored the pleasures of more angels than he could recall, but not a one of them had been of the heavenly variety.

  And he wasn’t sinner enough to soil the ears of wee laddies with his amorous adventures.

  “Then you cannae toss your sword so high?” The younger boy’s face fell.

  His friend cuffed him. “You are a daftie. He means he didn’t tumble an angel.”

  “Tumble?” The younger boy’s brow furrowed.

  The older lad smirked. “It’s what-”

  “See here.” James he drew his sword and held her at arm’s length, his attention on the smaller boy whose eyes were again wide. “You’re both too young to think of swords or” – he shot a warning look the older lad – “heavenly beings. Though if your chief will let me, I’ll return one day and show you how to do this.”

  He tossed the blade in the air, secretly pleased by the boys’ gasps as the sword arced high and then spun, turning brightly before racing down to land, almost magically, in his outstretched hand.

  “Now run along and remember” – James slid the blade back into her scabbard – “this isn’t the time to fash yourselves o’er swords taller than you are. The day will come sooner than you think.”

  James watched them go, then threw a quick glance across the bailey to the postern gate. The devil inside him made him wish Catriona might have left the boat strand and had seen his sword toss.

  He was rather proud of his flourish.

  But she was nowhere in view, though when he turned to leave, a door opened in the thickness of the curtain walling near the castle gate. An ancient stiff-legged dog appeared, followed by Alasdair. The other chieftain did his fierce reputation justice, with his plaid thrown proudly over one shoulder and his sword belted low at his hip. He wore a different blade than in his solar. This one had a large amber stone gracing its pommel and other smaller ambers glittering from the elaborately tooled scabbard.

  “A word, Cameron!” Alasdair started towards him, matching his pace to the hinky-hipped gait of his dog. “I’ll no’ keep you long.”

  James waited, his rival’s approach minding him of his own aged beast, Hector.

  He, too, needed twice as long to make his late-night castle rounds in recent years because Hector insisted on shuffling along with him. There were times when he even carried Hector for the last few turns of the stairs to his bedchamber, saving the dog his dignity rather than let him stumble just before they finished their patrol. Something told him that the MacDonald followed a similar routine.

  James frowned, not wanting to feel sympathy with his foe.

  Or even Alasdair’s dog.

  But when the other chief reached him and the dog plopped onto his bony haunches, James couldn’t muster the stern look he’d intended to turn on his rival. The younger dogs tailing him bolted away and nosed Alasdair until he pulled a leather pouch from his plaid and gave each dog, including the old one, a twisted length of dried meat.

  “You wish to speak of the trial by combat?” James guessed at Alasdair’s reason for hailing him. “No good will come of it, I vow.”

  “You’re well prepared. That was no mean feat with your blade just now. Though” – Alasdair grinned – “I’ll still cut you till your bones show.”

  James returned the smile, but pulled back his plaid to display his sword. “You can try. Many men have done, and now lie sleeping beneath the heather.”

  “I’ll keep using my bed, be warned.” Alasdair didn’t sound concerned. “And I didn’t stop you to speak of the battle.” His gaze flicked across the bailey to the seaward gate. “There’s a matter I didn’t wish to breach before my sister. Even in the best of times, she can be-”

  “Your sister is-” James broke off, heat flashing up the back of his neck. Had he truly been about to declare that she was the most vibrant, desirable creature he’d ever encountered?

  He cleared his throat. “She….”

  “She is herself!” Alasdair sounded proud for all that James was sure his words weren’t meant to flatter. “And she can vex even those of us who love her well. She also turns heads. She does so effortlessly, rousing passion in all men with red blood in their veins.”

  James looked at him sharply. “Surely you dinnae think that I-”

  “Misused her?” Alasdair put the outrageous notion to words. “God be good, I meant none the like. I may no’ care for you claiming a goodly portion of my glen, but I’ll no’ be laying such sins at your feet, whatever.”

  James blinked, only mildly relieved.

  He shifted uncomfortably, certain that his every lustful thought about Catriona was stamped on his forehead, red and glowing like a brand.

  “Aye, well.” He brushed at his plaid. “A man would have to be blind no’ to see her charms.”

  “True enough.” Alasdair reached down to stroke his dog’s ears. “What I’d know from you” – he met James’ eye, his gaze piercing – “is why you accompanied her here?”

  “No’ to salt your tail, I assure you.” James didn’t waste words. “And however fetching she is, it wasn’t because of her charming company.”

  “That, I can believe.” Alasdair’s lips twitched. “Yet I’m also sure there was cause beyond your chiefly concern for womenfolk lost in your wood. And” – a thread of steel entered his voice – “I’m for thinking that reason is one I should be hearing.”

  “I was concerned for her.” James’ mind worked furiously. “She-”

  Alasdair harrumphed. “She knows the glen. She could’ve found her way home.”

  “It was still dark, the mist thick.” James rubbed the back of his neck. “No fine day for a young lass to traipse about the glen whether she-”

  “You’re tying your tongue in knots.” Alasdair’s blue eyes glinted. “Her tender age didn’t stop you from chasing her from your land with tales of dreagans years ago. As I recall” – he folded his arms – “you taunted her, claiming the fire-breathing beasties eat MacDonalds? She arrived here a terrible state, having raced through the whole of the glen, alone and frightened.”

  James bit his tongue. He was sure nothing had ever scared Catriona in her life.

  Not even dreagans.

  Even so, he had treated her abominably.

  “I was a lad.” He quashed a surge of guilt. “That was a foolhardy cantrip, no more. Now I place more value on honor than youthful pranks and devilry.”

  “Indeed.” Alasdair looked skeptical.

  “So I said, aye.” James wasn’t inclined to say more. And all the shrewd glints in Alasdair’s eyes weren’t going to persuade him. The lout should be grateful his sister was beneath his roof, safe and sound.


  That was enough.

  He’d taken Catriona under his arm when she could’ve been in grave danger. It was an act of chivalry any Highlander would tender, regardless of the woman’s name. Such was the way of the hills and that had been so since distant times. Trusting an enemy chief with suspicions he couldn’t even pinpoint, was another matter entirely.

  Alasdair was astute enough to now keep a firmer grip on his sister.

  James’ duties were elsewhere.

  And Alasdair was still looking at him, his gaze boring deep. “Then it was only your sense of honor that caused you to stay with her?”

  James shoved a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Damnation….” He strode a few paces and turned, wondering why he felt so compelled to share his concerns with a man who was more than a thorn in his side. There was clearly an odd taint in the cold, damp air hovering over Blackshore that was addling his wits.

  He was sure of it when something bumped his leg and he looked down to see Alasdair’s dog leaning into him. He knew then that he couldn’t lie. The motley-coated beast was peering up at him, his scraggly tail swishing and his rheumy eyes full of trust.

  James bit back a curse.

  “There was another reason, aye.” He ignored the dog and glared at Alasdair. “Though the saints know why I’m telling you. It was no more than a feeling.”

  A look of satisfaction flashed across Alasdair’s face. “So it is as I thought? You perceived Catriona in some kind of peril?”

  James nodded. “It seemed so at the time, aye.”

  He frowned at the morning sky. Thick clouds were drifting across the sun and the darkness they brought suited his mood. The air had also turned colder, the wind more biting. Any moment he expected icy rain to pelt down and that, too, would be fitting.

  Such tidings as he was about to share shouldn’t be spoken on a bright sun-filled day.

  Beside him, the old dog pressed harder against his leg, this time even thrusting his cold, wet nose into James’ hand. The trembles in the beast’s hips made James set his jaw. A soul could believe Alasdair used his aged companion as a secret weapon.

  “Is your dog e’er so friendly to your foes?” James tried to sound unmoved. “Does he ne’er bark when an enemy approaches?”

  “Geordie sees himself of an age where he expects everyone to treat him kindly.” Alasdair’s voice held a softness that irked James. His heart, too, warmed when he spoke of Hector. “As for barking….”

  Alasdair looked at the dog. “Geordie rarely makes a sound. I sometimes think his years have stilled his voice.”

  That did it.

  James scowled his fiercest glower of the day.

  It was beyond tolerating that he’d felt such a pang over a MacDonald dog.

  Eager to be on his way, he began pacing. “Whether you believe me or nae, I would have seen your sister returned safely to you this morn. But had I no’ seen what I did just before I spotted her, I’d have escorted her only to the fringes of your territory and then gone about my business.”

  “Was it Sir Walter, the King’s man?” Alasdair fell into step beside him. Geordie hobbled along at their heels, following at a slower pace. “I didn’t care for the way he looked at Catriona when he visited us.”

  “It could have been him. I’m sure the man I saw was a Lowlander. But he wore a hooded cloak and-”

  “Did he approach Catriona?”

  “Nae.” James glanced at Alasdair. “He had no chance because I chased him.”

  Before Alasdair could question him, James recounted his morn. He started with the strange chills he’d felt in his hall, then the figure near the barricades of the fighting ground, and ending with how he’d pursued the man. He left out no detail, even mentioning his annoyance at Catriona marching so boldly through his wood.

  Finished, he folded his arms. “Now you see why I brought her here.”

  “I would ken who was hiding behind that cloak.” Alasdair rubbed his chin. “Something tells me he might have more evil on his mind than seizing one of our womenfolk.”

  “I agree.” James was sure of it. “The man gives me shivers like a thousand ants crawling up and down my spine.”

  Alasdair nodded. “I doubt Sir Walter would soil his own hands, but who knows what-”

  “There are some at Castle Haven who would have done with the lot of them in the old way.” James secretly admired his cousin, Colin’s fervor. Even his younger brother, Hugh, the clan’s soft-spoken bard, had raised his voice in favor of such action. “They talk of dirking the Lowlanders in their sleep and sinking the bodies in a bog or” – he glanced at the loch – “some other place where they’d ne’er be found.”

  “They are men after my own heart.” Alasdair raised a balled fist. “In the old days, Clan Donald would be the first to rally with you. As is” – he sobered, watching a red-cheeked, big-boned woman hasten past, carrying a basket of herring – “the King has turned us into little more than grains caught beneath a quernstone.

  “Too many innocents would suffer if we used the stratagems of our grandfathers to rid ourselves of this folly.” His voice was grim. “I’ll no’ see good lives ruined for a taste of triumph that would prove hollow.”

  James agreed. “The King is so sure we’ll refuse to fight that he’s gathering a fleet to convey us to the Isle of Lewis.” He shuddered, certain there was no more distant or benighted place. “Sir Walter’s men have been placing bets. They wager on which one of us will break the King’s command, giving him cause to banish us.”

  “Then we shall have to show them our strength, whatever the cost!”

  “That is way of it.” James nodded.

  He only hoped the trial by combat would be the end of Lowland interference in their glen. Machinations that– he suspected – had little to do with King Robert’s wish to see peace between the clans.

  It was a notion he couldn’t shake.

  He could almost smell the perfidy.

  But before he could say so, Alasdair stepped forward and gripped his hand and forearm. “You ken” – his voice was gruff, his gaze direct – “when next we meet, there’ll be no cordiality between us. My sword will be sharpened and I intend to use it well.”

  James grasped Alasdair’s hand with equal firmness. “I would wish nothing less. God be with us both.”

  “Can I lend you a horse?” Alasdair glanced across the bailey to the stables. “A token thanks for your trouble with Catriona.”

  “She was no bother.” James hoped his tone didn’t reveal the lie.

  Shepherding a she-devil through the glen would have been easier.

  Yet he’d relished every step of the way.

  He turned on his heel, making for the gate before Alasdair guessed the truth.

  “A pity you’re a Cameron!” Alasdair’s hail stopped him just as he was about to stride into the shadowed arch of the gatehouse pend.

  James looked back. “How so? I wear my name with pride and would sooner grow horns than carry another.”

  “Simply that” - Alasdair set his hands on his hips – “were you of any other blood I might be calling on you to offer my sister as a bride.”

  “I’d have to pass.” James grinned to soften his words. “I prefer my women docile and less quick to wield a blade.” He glanced at the red slash across his hand. “Your sister might take my breath, I’ll admit, but I’m no’ the man for her.

  “No’ by any name, I say you.” He gave a small bow and disappeared into the gatehouse. Regrettably, he didn’t leave fast enough to miss the bemusement that flashed across Alasdair’s face.

  The bastard knew he fancied Catriona.

  Even more annoying were the meaningful glances that passed between the MacDonald guards as he strode past them and out into the brisk autumn air. God help him if they knew their mistress had bewitched him.

  Their smirks said they did.

  Wishing he’d stayed abed that morn, he ignored their goggling and marched across the narrow stone
causeway back to the mainland. Unfortunately, the tide was rushing in and the slippery, moss-grown stones were already several inches under water. And – he really resented this - the waves sloshing across his feet didn’t help him to depart with dignity.

  He looked a fool and knew it.

  The soggy squish-squishing of his shoes and the way the bottom of his plaid was beginning to dampen and cling to his legs told him that much.

  Furious, he set his lips in a tight, angry line and stomped on, unpleasantly aware of the stares of the guardsmen watching him go.

  They were laughing at him.

  And – he quickened his step – he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing that he knew.

  But when he reached the end of their foul, half-useless causeway, the devil took him. His back almost burned from the scorching heat of their stares, so – unable to help himself - he set his hand on his sword and whirled to send them a parting glare.

  Instead, the glower slid from his face.

  It hadn’t been the guardsmen watching his progress across the causeway. The battlements were empty and the closed gate hid whatever men might yet lurk within the stronghold’s entrance tower.

  He’d felt Catriona’s stare.

  She still stood on the boat strand, her gaze pinned on him, unwaveringly. Wind tugged at her skirts and whipped her hair, the sight of her taking his breath and making his heart pound hard and slow.

  The same cold wind tossed his own hair and tore at his clothes, giving a strange intimacy to the moment. Almost as if they were alone, the only two people in all these great hills. They locked gazes, the air seeming to crackle between them until James was sure that if he reached out a hand, he’d be able to touch her.

  Frowning, he clenched his fists and kept his arms at his sides. But he felt her all the same. The longer their stares held, the more he remembered the supple warmth of her against him as they’d crossed the glen. He recalled, too, how the light, fresh scent of her – gillyflowers? - had almost made him dizzy. And how she’d challenged him with those dazzling sapphire eyes, rendering him helpless and unable to think of aught but having her naked beneath him….