Sins of a Highland Devil: Highland Warriors Book 1

by Welfonder Sue-Ellen

  “That stoat! I’ll have his head, too.” Kendrew’s grin widened. “On a pike o’er my curtain wall. Or, better yet, stuck on my own bedpost.”

  “Plague take you.” Alasdair’s voice rose with anger. “‘Tis to your bed you can return. Or whate’er dark hole you’ve been hiding in. I erred to think a man could reason with you. We’ll leave you be. But know this” – he set a hand to his sword, jerking it halfway from its sheath – “we shall meet again soon and-”

  “I say we’re meeting now.” Kendrew whipped out his own sword and tossed it high in the air, laughing as the blade flipped brightly. “And you, MacDonald” – he caught the sword by its hilt as it fell – “are going nowhere this day, save taking a journey to hell!”

  In the shadow of the cliff, Catriona’s heart pounded fiercely.

  Were she a man, she’d draw her own steel and charge up the stone steps, running the bastard through before he could loose another of his horrible bray-like laughs.

  She shot a glance at Alasdair, the white around his lips and the hot glint in his eyes showing he burned to do the same. But he’d restrain himself because of her presence, a truth that galled her.

  It was then that her necklace began to hum and burn.

  “Alastair, my ambers-” She started to yell, but sudden shouts behind them made her twist around in her saddle. Men were running towards them, their war cries and the thunder of their pounding feet echoing from the hills as they streamed out from behind the odd rock formations and raced like wild-eyed demons through the rolling mist.

  Mackintoshes, each man heavily armed, bristling with swords, axes, and spears. They bore no shields, as if they felt secure in their victory. And some – Catriona stared – had blackened their faces and slung terrifying-looking wolf pelts over their plaids.

  “Bastards!” She leapt from her horse and ran to Alasdair, seizing his arm. “They’ve laid a trap for us!”

  But he’d already seen. “So they have, but they’ll no’ have us without a fight.”

  Scowling fiercely, he grabbed her, dragging her round behind him as he whipped out his sword. The others acted as quickly, forming a wall of shields and horseflesh around her. All she heard was the screech of steel as they, too, jerked their blades from their scabbards.

  Then, from behind and above her came an equally terrifying sound.

  It was an inhuman bellow, followed at once by Kendrew Mackintosh’s pounding footsteps as he charged down the steep stone stair.

  Chapter 13

  “Hell everlasting, MacDonald!” Kendrew Mackintosh stood in the middle of his colorful, mead-reeking great hall and bellowed like a steer. “Have you lost your wits, man? Coming here with a woman? Your sister, no less! So easy” – he thrust a hand in the air, clenching his fist, swiftly – “and we could’ve snuffed out her life!”

  “You would’ve lost your own trying.” Alasdair spoke hotly, his face dark.

  “Ho!” Kendrew’s deep voice shook the rafters. “Your blade couldn’t find me if I were tied to a chair!”

  Alasdair snorted. “A blind beggar could find you, loud and clumsy as you are.”

  “Nae, ‘tis deadly I am.” Kendrew drew himself up to his full, imposing height. “And just seeing you beneath my roof is making me itch to redden my sword.”

  “I’ve no’ qualms to spill blood in your hall.” Alasdair’s words were harsh. “Mackintosh blood, no’ my own!”

  At his side, his men growled their agreement. They also placed demonstrative hands to their sword hilts. One produced a wicked-looking, well-honed dirk and used its tip to clean his fingernails.

  Kendrew raked them with a glare, his eyes glittering dangerously. Then he glanced at the man nearest him, one of his own warriors, a tall man nearly as burly and broad in the chest as himself. “Did you hear, Gare?” He thumped the man’s shoulder, his gaze snapping back to Alasdair. “Beware, MacDonald, for we’ll stuff your blades down your throats before you see a drop of our blood.

  “Then” – he clasped his sword pommel, grinning now – “we’ll dance on your corpses before we take our supper! Try and draw your steel and I’ll prove it.”

  Catriona stood near one of the hall’s narrow slit-windows, watching. She almost expected Kendrew to turn into a bear any moment. There were tales said that he could. Stories that claimed the Berserker rage ran deep in his veins, slumbering and waiting to be roused. Those who believed in such things whispered that he most often became a bear when he was in a black temper.

  She could well imagine it, big and fearsome as he was. Especially having seen him storm down the cliff stair, roaring like an enraged beast as he’d ordered his men to hold their steel. He’d taken the steps three at a time, his tangled red hair flying in the wind and his face wild-eyed and livid with rage.

  He’d quite terrified her, though she’d sooner stick a needle in her eye than admit it.

  She did feel her face coloring, the heated words making her pulse quicken. She also pretended to smooth her skirts, in truth seeking and resting her hand against the hilt of her lady’s dagger.

  Its hard shape against her thigh reassured her.

  She might be a woman, but if a fight did erupt between her brother and Kendrew, she’d not stand by weeping. In a tightly packed hall, full of men and rows of long tables and benches, a short blade such as hers was handier than a man’s great sword. She knew how to fight. And she wasn’t squeamish. If she must, she’d seize her dagger and jump into the fray, stabbing and thrusting and doing whatever damage she could until someone stopped her.

  Indeed, she burned to do so.

  “You needn’t prove aught, Mackintosh,” Alasdair snarled then. “Your actions this day, ambushing good folk who came here in peace, speaks clear enough.”

  “I had reason.” Kendrew’s face set mulishly. “If you’re getting forgetful, think back to last summer. We agreed that quarrel was over, vengeance served and accepted. Then you-”

  “It was over.” A muscle twitched in Alasdair’s jaw, anger pouring off him. “I sent men with my condolences and, by God, I meant it!”

  Kendrew laughed, coldly. “To be sure, you did. So much that you sneak onto my land, trying to kill me unawares. Think you-”

  “I think only that you’re crazed.”

  “That may be! Many say so. But you’re overlooking one thing-”

  Kendrew broke off to grab a horn of honey-mead from a passing squire. He tossed down the frothy brew in one long, guzzling swig.

  “Mackintoshes dinnae make war on women.” He thrust the silver-rimmed horn back into the lad’s hand, flashing an outraged glance at Catriona. “We bed ‘em, we do. We please and satisfy those who catch our eye, making them beg for our loving. And we honor the ones who give us life and we protect the wee ones borne of our wives.

  “Ne’er do we draw steel on them.” He took a menacing step towards Alasdair. “I could split you for bringing thon lady here.” He shot another look at Catriona, his blue eyes blazing like ice shards. “Had I no’ seen her run to you, and called off my men, they’d have been all o’er the lot o’ you in less than a beat.”

  “And did they no’ see her before?” Alasdair seethed with equal fury. “It took us long enough to pick our way across your stony ground.”

  “Mackintosh land where your ilk isn’t welcome.” Turning his back on Alasdair, Kendrew elbowed his way through his sullen-eyed, black-faced men and went to stand by his hearth fire. Double-arched and massive, the fireplace could’ve roasted two oxen. Just now, huge logs blazed on the grates, the flames giving a hellish cast to the round, brightly-painted shields adorning the wall above.

  The shields, and an impressive array of weaponry, ran the length of that side of the hall. Boldly-colored hangings and animal skins covered the other three walls, giving the vast chamber a masculine air. But the floor rushes were spread thick, clean, and had been recently freshened with meadowsweet. Catriona nudged the well-kept flooring with her toe, releasing a waft of spring-like scent.
r />   She also noted the polished sheen of the silver candelabrums set on the long tables. Each candle appeared to be of fine beeswax rather than inferior tallow. These were small but pleasing touches that, like the freshening herbs, indicated a woman’s careful householding.

  Curious, she edged away from Alasdair and their guardsmen. They were sticking so close to her, she couldn’t breathe. Her ambers had cooled, so she no longer felt threatened. And if she had to find herself at Castle Nought – however unpleasant the circumstances - she did hope to catch a glimpse of the famed Lady Norn.

  But Marjory Mackintosh was nowhere to be seen.

  Glowering men, MacDonald and Mackintosh, filled the smoky hall, their angry words beginning to make her head ache.

  “That was no’ answer, Mackintosh.” Alasdair was striding across the hall now, making for Kendrew. “I already know we’re no’ welcome. I’d hear why your men can’t tell a wench with streaming, flame-bright braids and a bosom from a score of plaid-draped, ugly-faced men.”

  He reached the other chieftain, going toe-to-toe with him, crowding Kendrew against the shield-covered wall. “I’ll have your explanation or I’ll be standing here till the end of all days, and so will you.”

  “Then who will lead your men onto King Robert’s field of foolery?” a husky female voice queried from the door arch. “You’d both be here, gathering dust and doing no good, while your champions face trials no warrior should suffer without knowing his chief fights at the front of the affray.”

  “There speaks the bane of my life!” Kendrew’s shout could’ve raised the dead, but admiration kindled in his eyes as he pushed past Alasdair to confront the young woman on the threshold. “MacDonalds – behold my fair and most wise sister, Lady Marjory!”

  Catriona stared at Marjory Mackintosh, seeing at once why she was called Lady Norn.

  Tall and generously made, Marjory had sparkling blue eyes and a welter of curling, red-gold hair every bit as wild as her brother’s. Hair nothing like Catriona’s own garnet-colored tresses, but sun-flashed curls with only a hint of red and shining with all the golden-blond brightness of a Nordic summer sun.

  She wore a colorful gown in rich blue and gold tones, the bodice cut low, and laced to highlight every ripe curve of her shapely body.

  She could be a Viking goddess.

  And – Catriona could scarce believe it – without even setting a foot in the hall, Marjory achieved what no other female had ever done: she’d rendered Alasdair speechless.

  His face was still flushed with anger, but he’d unclenched his fists and his eyes had gone just as wide as Catriona’s. The look in them as he stared across the hall at Marjory would’ve made her laugh if they weren’t all caught up in such a grim tangle.

  But Alasdair recovered swiftly, crossing the hall to make Kendrew’s sister a gallant bow. “Lady Marjory.” He took her hand, kissing the air above her knuckles. “I am honored. Though” – he shot a dark look at Kendrew, who was grinning – “it grieves me to meet you under such circumstances.”

  “They are regrettable, I agree.” Lady Marjory’s blue eyes flashed, her hair glowing like sunfire in the torchlight.

  Catriona almost choked. She couldn’t guess the other woman’s mind. But she knew it didn’t pain Alasdair at all to meet Lady Norn.

  He’d almost stumbled over his own feet hastening to bend his knee to her. Catriona squelched the urge to make a tart comment when he signaled for her to join him.

  It wasn’t easy.

  But Marjory Mackintosh had warm, laughing eyes. And from the statement she’d made at the door, she also possessed spirit and wit, which were things Catriona admired.

  “This is my sister.” Alasdair turned to her when she stepped up to them. “Lady Catriona of Blackshore. She’s with me because we’d been at Castle Haven earlier. There wasn’t time to ride south to Blackshore and then hasten north again to Nought, so we made the journey directly. I had tidings to share with your brother.”

  Beside them, Kendrew snorted. “So you say.”

  His sister lifted a pale gold brow. “Do you have reason to doubt him?”

  Kendrew glared at her. “Does a herring swim in the sea?”

  “True enough.” Lady Marjory shoved a sheaf of tumbled curls over her shoulder. “But sometimes they also land in hot, sizzling cooking fat and swim in the dark of a man’s belly.”

  “See what I must listen to, every day o’ my life?” Kendrew turned again to Alasdair. “I will sell her to you for the weight of a good barrel of ale in silver. If you think you could stomach her.”

  Marjory didn’t look offended. “All you’ve done” – she fixed her blue gaze on her brother – “was demonstrate what I must tolerate, living with you.”

  Ignoring Kendrew’s grumblings, she reached for Catriona’s hand, her grip strong and firm. “Lady Catriona.” Her voice was low-pitched and smooth, friendly. “I am sorry for how you were treated on arriving here. Perhaps I can make amends for my kinsmen’s error-”

  “We didn’t err.” Kendrew shot Alasdair a heated look. “Thon bastard and his men should be fodder for carrion by now. They would be, no mistakes made, if he hadn’t brought along his sister’s skirts to hide behind.”

  “Have a care, Mackintosh.” Alasdair took a step towards him, threatening. “I’ll no’ draw my sword in front of your sister, but if you dinnae cease insulting me, I’ll gut you first chance I get. The fish in Loch Moidart can gorge on your flesh and I’ll order my squires to make rope out of your dried innards.”

  Catriona stifled a lip-twitch. Alasdair was so noble he gave any fallen foe a hero’s burial, often tending the grisly task himself in honor of the dead warrior’s bravery.

  As if she suspected the same, Lady Norn watched him with interest.

  Unaware, Alasdair balled his fists, his hot gaze on Kendrew. “That’s only half of it. We’ll use your ground bones to nourish our crops. And if there’s anything left, we’ll feed the remains to the crows.”

  “Hah!” Kendrew cut the air with a hand. “If you swing your blade as poorly as you shoot arrows, I won’t be for fearing you overmuch.”

  “Arrows?” Alasdair glanced at his men. Then he looked back to Kendrew, frowning. “I ne’er shot an arrow at you. Nor did any of my men, that I vow.”

  “I say you did – or one o’ your minions, whatever.” Kendrew’s eyes narrowed. “Who else would want me dead? Deny it all you will, your lies change naught.” Striding to an aumbrey set deep in the wall near the hearth, he opened the cupboard’s door and withdrew his evidence.

  “Here it be!” Returning to Alasdair, he held out the arrow. A simple goose-feathered shaft tipped with a sharp steel head. “This” – he shook the thing beneath Alasdair’s nose – “came whizzing past my ear when I stepped from the gate three days ago. Good for me, it thwacked into the curtain wall and no’ into my skull.

  “If your aim hadn’t been two feet off” – he slapped the arrow onto a table and spread his hands, indicating the distance of the miss – “I’d no’ be standing here tolerating your foul presence in my hall.”

  “I’m a man of the sword, no’ a bow picker.” Alasdair made a derisive sound. “But had I aimed an arrow at you, rest assured I wouldn’t have missed. You have other enemies. Look to them, no’ me.”

  Kendrew glared at him. “I did think of Cameron, that hound-lover, but” – he tossed his head, sending his wild red mane swinging about his face – “you’re the one to come sneaking onto my land, no’ James Cameron. So when my spies reported that you were riding through the mist, heading to Nought, I figured you were coming, with men, to finish the job you botched three days ago.”

  “Three days ago I was with Cameron.” Alasdair went to examine the arrow, turning it in his hands. “There are no identifying marks. Whoe’er shot this” – he returned the arrow to the table – “went to pains to use an arrow that wouldn’t reveal its owner.”

  Kendrew’s face turned red. “Think you I’m a daftie? I know why the
shaft doesn’t show an ownership mark.”

  “And now you also know it wasn’t me or James Cameron. We were together at Castle Haven. My sister” – Alasdair glanced at Catriona – “and my men will swear we were there for nearly a sennight. Cameron will tell you the same if e’er you ask him.”

  “Why should I believe either of you?” Kendrew started to pace, then wheeled around. “Come to think of it, what were you doing at Castle Haven? Or” – he thrust his red-bearded chin – “are the two o’ you throwing your lots together to oust me from the glen?”

  “I’m my own man.” Alasdair didn’t flinch. “But Cameron and I are of a mind about certain matters. That’s why I came here. And now” – he glanced at his men – “hearing that someone tried to kill you-”

  “Someone who shot his arrow from hiding and then rode off before anyone could see him. I heard his horse’s hooves racing away, fast as night.” Kendrew spat on the floor rushes, earning a sharp look from Lady Norn.

  “Kendrew….” She went over to him, slipping her hand through his arm. “I’ve ordered a repast, victuals and good mead to soothe the wrong you’ve done-”

  “I’ve done no wrong! Or have you been sticking your fingers in your ears as well as interfering in affairs that are none of your concern?” He jerked away from her just as a line of kitchen laddies marched into the hall bearing platters of ripe green cheese, freshly baked bread, smoked herring, and huge trays of steaming beef ribs.

  “Thor’s jumping hammer!” Kendrew’s face turned purple.

  “Nae.” His sister angled her chin, reprovingly. “Hospitality for guests as is custom in these hills, or have you forgotten?”

  “Then I say we give them thon bandaging.” Kendrew stalked to a table piled high with folded linens. “That will suit as courtesy. And save us the trouble of carrying them to the trial by combat.”

  “Kendrew!” Marjory hastened after him. “Now isn’t the time to speak of such things. Not after what could’ve happened at the cliff stair.”