“Humph.” Kendrew set his mouth in a hard line.
“We do not need your wound linens.” Alasdair looked from Kendrew to the folded cloths and back again to his foe. “We have enough-”
“Hah! You misheard me, you did.” Kendrew barked a short, harsh laugh. Then he gave Alasdair the kind of look he might have worn if he’d just thrown open the gates to Niflheim, the Norsemen’s frozen underworld realm of cold mist and unending darkness.
Viking hell.
His eyes still glinting, Kendrew folded his powerful arms. “The bandaging isn’t for my warriors. We shall win the battle and leave the field unscathed. My sister and her women made the linens for you!
“A token courtesy we meant to deliver to you and Cameron on the day.” He thrust his chin, arrogantly. “That’s my hospitality to you, no’ my good victuals and mead.”
“You’re a snake.” Alasdair clenched his fists, advancing on him.
* * *
Marjory stepped between them, flashing a furious glance at her brother, then touching Alasdair’s arm. “He is riled. You can’t know how much he reviles the mistreating of women. What happened at the stair has shamed him. That’s why-”
“Hold your tongue.” Kendrew pulled her away from Alasdair. “I’m angry, no’ shamed,” he roared, his deep voice rolling through hall like trapped thunder.
Ignoring him, Marjory turned back to Alasdair. Her glance also flicked to Catriona and the MacDonald guardsmen. “When I learned what happened, I ordered rooms prepared for you. So you can recover and refresh yourselves before you leave in the morning. Besides” – she cast a challenging look at Kendrew, as if she expected him to argue. “It isn’t wise to ride through the dreagan rocks at night. Even we do not.”
“Say you. I dance naked on top of the dreagan rocks when the mood takes me. Be it night or day.” Kendrew stomped away, muttering into his beard.
Marjory glanced down the hall to where the kitchen boys were placing the food platters on the high table, and then sailed after her brother. “Wait, you!” She caught up to him near the hearth, seizing the back of his plaid so he had no choice but to whip around. “It is enough.” Her voice held the same thunder as Kendrew’s, but her fury was controlled.
“Now” – she released her grip on him and stood back, hands on her hips – “lest good meat is refused, perhaps you’ll finally tell the Lord of Blackshore why our men failed to see his sister in their party?”
“Dinnae goad me.” Kendrew’s angry blue gaze met her icy one. “I speak when it pleases me.”
“If you do not tell them I will.” Marjory sent a look, a much warmer one, to Catriona. “At least let Lady Catriona know you’ve dealt with the scout who first spied their entourage. He is the one responsible.”
Kendrew tipped back his head and blew out a breath before turning to Catriona. “I’ve punished the watchman. My sister speaks true. He should’ve seen you. The man swears the mist was too thick and that he only knew MacDonalds were crossing onto our land.
“We keep a man posted on our boundaries, always.” He touched the Thor’s amulet at his neck, his fingers gripping the silver. “It was his duty to report to me what he saw, or thought he did. Even so, I’ve ordered him to spend three nights in my dungeon, with only slaked oats and water, to ensure he looks closer next time.”
“I hope he will.” Isobel nodded, relieved.
She’d half expected him to say he’d have the poor man for his breakfast.
Alasdair wasn’t as easily appeased. “What of them?” He jerked his head at the sullen-faced men gathered near two of the hall’s narrow slit-windows. They stared back, their faces still smeared with peat and their shoulders yet covered with wolf hides.
“They cannae be blamed.” Kendrew bent a belligerent eye on Alasdair. “Odin’s rage was upon them. Once they’d blackened their faces and donned the wolf skins, the battle frenzy blinded them to anything but their bloodlust. And” – he took a deep breath, as if any explanation burned like bile in his throat – “they had orders to stay hidden behind the dreagan stones until they heard you ride past and knew you’d have enough time to reach the cliff stair where-”
“You meant to trap and slaughter us.” Alasdair looked at him.
Kendrew glared back. “Would you have done otherwise?”
“No’ if I thought you’d tried to kill me and were returning to finish a botched attempt on my life.” Alasdair’s voice was hard. “But I would’ve first made certain my suspicions held water, that you can be sure.”
Kendrew flushed. “I only have two enemies. You and Cameron. No one else would dare to challenge me.”
Alasdair lifted a hand, studying his knuckles. “Could be we all have an unknown foe. That” – he looked up sharply, fixing Kendrew with a stare – “is why I came here. To find out if you or anyone else at Nought has seen a tall, dark-cloaked man skulking about in shadow. James Cameron and I have seen such a dastard.”
Casting at glance at his men, Alasdair arched a questioning brow. “Are you agreed we share what we know?”
When they nodded, he told Kendrew everything. He began with James’ account of the figure he’d chased through the wood and ended with his own tale of the damaged galleys at Blackshore, leaving out no detail save Catriona’s ploy with Birkie.
He also mentioned the suspicion that Sir Walter was somehow involved.
When he finished, the hall was silent.
Catriona and Marjory exchanged looks. The other woman had come to stand with her as Alasdair told his tale. Catriona couldn’t help but notice that her scent was as vibrant as her looks. It was a seductive dusky rose, with a trace of something exotic Catriona couldn’t place. Whatever it was, the result was pleasing. Perhaps later – unless Alasdair declined her offer of hospitality for the night – she’d ask her about the scent’s ingredients.
Just now it was more interesting watching her listen to Alasdair. Marjory hadn’t taken her gaze off him since he’d started speaking. She had a fiercely intent look on her face that was just as telling as Alasdair’s charge across the hall to make her a gallant bow.
He hadn’t bent his knee half that low to Isobel.
Catriona pushed the thought of James’ sister from her mind. Thinking of Isobel or Castle Haven would remind her of James. And she needed her wits. Nothing would scatter them faster than remembering how she’d lain in his arms as if they’d been made for each other, despite their names.
And regardless of how rudely he’d jumped away from her.
She’d felt his passion.
Even now she could feel his mouth slanting over hers, kissing her fiercely. Or the incredible thrill that had ripped through her when she’d opened her lips to him and his tongue swept against her own. His hands smoothing over her, everywhere, then holding her fast against him. The surging pleasure when he’d slid into her-
“Lady Catriona...”
She started, blinking to find Marjory peering at her.
“I knew your brother would have a good reason for coming here.” Marjory leaned close, her voice low. “He doesn’t seem a rash man, not like Kendrew who often lets his sword speak before he listens.”
“Alasdair felt it was important to speak with your brother.” Catriona ignored Marjory’s other comment. She could’ve sung about Alasdair’s hot-headedness. But seeing Marjory’s face brighten when she spoke of him made it impossible not to hold her tongue.
She liked Lady Norn.
And she didn’t want to disillusion her. Nor would she speak ill of Alasdair in front of a feuding clan.
MacDonald pride was strong and she wasn’t about to besmirch it.
But she would tease Alasdair mercilessly later. He could never again scold her for her attraction to James after he’d stood in the hall at Nought, making moony eyes at his enemy’s sister.
Just now, he was looking at Kendrew, waiting. “Well? I’m thinking your arrow-shooter may have been the dark-cloaked figure. Have you seen such a man?”
&n
bsp; Kendrew drew a long breath and released it slowly. “Nae, I haven’t done.”
Alasdair nodded. “What of your men?”
“They would have told me.” Kendrew shook his head. “They are loyal, true as stone.”
But he glanced at them now. His warriors who stood so grimly over near the window-slits. Sleety rain had just started to strike the windows’ narrow stone ledges and a cold, damp draught lifted the men’s hair and beards, the fur of their wolf pelts.
One still had his huge battle axe slung over his shoulder. Several had kept their long swords, but they’d set aside their spears.
They all had glowering, hard-set faces.
Kendrew glared back at them, seeming a man who enjoyed scowling.
“You heard.” He watched his men closely. “Any of you seen such a man? Note anything amiss? Besides” – his voice took on a sour note – “a party of MacDonalds?”
“Nothing, lord.” The man with the war axe spoke for the group.
“Well, then.” Kendrew’s gaze met Alasdair’s. “If such a man exists, and I am still no’ convinced, perhaps we can all keep an eye out for him when we march to King Robert’s fighting ground?
“If he’s seen” – he drew a finger across his throat, grinning – “we put him out of his misery.”
“I’m no’ sure it’ll be so easy.” Alasdair frowned. “If he is Sir Walter, the King’s man-”
Kendrew roared. “All the more reason!”
His warriors broke into a chorus of agreement, thumping balled fists on tables and rattling swords.
When Alasdair’s men joined in, Marjory clapped her hands. “Come, let us take our meat.” She raised her voice above the ruckus. “I’ll not see the dogs snatching food from the tables while men work themselves into a frenzy that will bring no good to us.”
Then she lifted her skirts and started forward, letting the others follow her to the raised dais and high table at the far end of the hall.
Catriona lingered behind, going instead to the nearest of the oh-so-narrowly-cut window-slits. She’d felt a need to stare out over the stony ground they’d ridden across – the dreagan rocks – and rid herself of the terrible prickles crawling up and down her back ever since the men spoke of Sir Walter and the hall had gone wild.
She’d hoped seeing the weird outcroppings without a band of screaming, black-faced warriors running and leaping through the stones would banish her chills.
The rocks were just that after all, rocks.
And peat smeared on a face and a wolf skin thrown over shoulders, didn’t make a man a beast.
A Berserker, as Kendrew and his men seemed to believe.
But the view from the arrow slit proved disappointing. The day had turned dark. And she could only see cold mist, even thicker now, and the silvery sheen of ice rain, pelting the stronghold’s walls.
Castle Nought was a forbidding place.
But not near as daunting a place as her heart had become.
Or as traitorous, for – God help her – each time she’d heard her brother or Kendrew mention Sir Walter’s name and the coming carnage, it hadn’t been Alasdair’s face that had leapt into her mind.
Oh, she’d thought of him, to be sure. And every other MacDonald champion who would stride onto that field, ready to kill or be killed.
But her first thought was of James.
Imagining what could happen to him was worse than if a great iron fist burst into her chest, squeezing her heart until the world turned black and she couldn’t breathe.
So she stared out Nought’s ridiculous sliver of a window, seeing nothing and biting down on her lip, hard until she tasted blood.
Truth was….
If James fell, she didn’t think she could bear it.
* * *
Much later, in the smallest hours of the night when Catriona slept comfortably in a chamber readied by Lady Norn’s own hand, another maid of the glen found no rest at all. Even though, as many would point out, she’d been at peace for more centuries than she cared to remember.
Not that Scandia considered her ghostly existence tranquil.
And though she could have joined Catriona in her well-appointed guest quarters at Castle Nought, twinkling herself there in a blink, she preferred not to stray too far from Castle Haven.
It may have been long since she’d walked, rather than drifted, through her beloved home, but that didn’t mean she felt any less attachment to the ancient stronghold.
She just regretted that the Camerons who came after her thought of her as a bringer of ill fortune.
The Doom of the Camerons.
In truth, she didn’t feel like anyone’s doom. She certainly never summoned the like. She simply took comfort in staying in the place she’d always loved so dearly. And she enjoyed being surrounded by the clan that shared her blood and still meant so much to her.
She was proud of each and every Cameron.
And although she’d met her own doom at Castle Haven, the tragedy hadn’t changed her feelings about the place.
Even if she did do her best to avoid the Lady Tower, which wasn’t named for any particular lady, but because of the six window embrasures in the tower’s uppermost chamber. The alcoves were placed at intervals around the circular room and boasted unusually large windows, allowing splendid light throughout the day.
Ladies at Castle Haven favored the embrasure room to do their needlework.
The room also gave access to the battlements.
And that was the reason Scandia now hovered, shimmying agitatedly near the darkened entry to the Lady Tower’s turnpike stair.
She didn’t want to be reminded of a certain afternoon on the wall-walk.
A day that proved to be her last.
Her final real day, that was.
Her present existence didn’t really qualify as such, although she did try to keep herself occupied, sometimes even enjoying herself.
It was in pursuit of such diversions that brought her to the Lady Tower now. There’d been a terrified scream from one of the tower guest chambers. Cries, shouts, and much banging and bumping had followed the first ear-splitting howl, the noise sending James racing up the stair.
And, of course, Scandia floated after him.
She was grateful for any excitement, even if it meant entering the Lady Tower. But when James threw open the door of the room with the ruckus and burst inside, she hesitated to follow him. Instead, she stayed where she was, several paces from the door.
Now that she was so close, she recognized the yelling voice as Sir Walter’s.
And he sounded very angry.
“I knew you Highlanders were naught but unwashed savages! Heathen barbarians! This is proof. Disgusting, vile-… eeeeeie-” Sir Walter shrieked as a loud crashing noise came from inside the room.
“Sir, come down from the table.” James’ deep voice floated into the corridor, his words as calm as if he spoke to a child. “‘Tis a fearing dream you’re having, is all. A waking one that’ll pass soon enough if you’ll return to bed.”
“Are you mad?” Sir Walter shrilled higher. “The bed is crawling with vermin! Rats! They’re everywhere! I’m not getting down until you get rid of them.”
Scandia floated to the doorway, peeking inside. She saw at once why the Lowland noble was so distressed.
The room was full of rats.
James stood in the midst of them, not seeming to see them. But Scandia felt her own eyes rounding as she stared into the room.
Huge rats scurried across the floor rushes, covered every inch of the bed, and were even climbing up the embroidered bed curtains. The wall tapestries were under similar siege. And even the sturdy table that now supported Sir Walter teemed with chittering, furry bodies.
Worst of all – to Scandia, anyway – Sir Walter was naked.
And he wasn’t a comely man.
“Here” – James stepped closer to the table then, offering Sir Walter his hand – “let me help you down and-”
�
��Don’t touch me!” Sir Walter jumped when one of the rats tried to scramble up his leg. “Just get the rodents out of here.”
“There aren’t any rats to remove.” James grabbed Sir Walter’s tunic from a chair and tossed it to him. “Get dressed and I’ll take you to my chamber. You can sleep there and I’ll spend the rest of the night here.”
Scandia blinked. She saw the rats, and plenty of them.
Puzzled, she knelt by the door and caught one as he raced past. The rat vanished in her hands, leaving a dusting of peat and other unidentifiable bits to trickle through her fingers to the floor.
She stared at her palms, understanding.
The rats were spelled.
And they’d clearly been sent to scare Sir Walter and no one else. That was why James couldn’t see them. She had because, in her realm, she could see many such wonders. She also had a good idea who’d sent the scurrying creatures. But before she could wonder what Grizel was up to, Sir Walter gave another great shout.
“They’re gone!” He’d pulled on his tunic and was glancing about, wild-eyed. “Where did they go?”
Scandia knew. She’d surely undone the charm by touching one of the rats.
But James only shrugged. “You were dreaming.”
“I never dream. But” – Sir Walter sneered, his arrogance restored – “you’ll soon wish I had been. I’m leaving here at first light. I’ll not spend the remaining two days until the trial by combat in a rat-infested pile of stone. My men and I will take quarters in the King’s tents. After I’ve had his ear, you’ll regret-”
“What will you do?” James folded his arms, his calm making Scandia so proud. “Tell him you jumped onto a table for fear of rats that weren’t there?”
“I will-” Sir Walter snapped his mouth shut, flushing deep red.
“Indeed.” James grinned. Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
Scandia shimmered delightedly.
Then she drifted after him, eager to put the Lady Tower and its memories behind her.
Chapter 14
Sins of a Highland Devil: Highland Warriors Book 1 Page 21