They could have been looking at a thousand men all dressed the same, and there would still not have been a doubt as to who was Laird Mackbaythe. He had brown hair, a square jaw, and the same brown eyes as Adanel, but it was his supercilious sneer that gave him away.
Mackbaythe pointed an accusing finger at Conor as he neared. “You killed my son. My only heir. I demand retribution, and if I do not get it, we will go to war.”
Conor remained seated on his horse and took on a relaxed posture. He glanced at MacCoinnich, who gave nothing away about his feelings regarding such demands, and then looked back at Mackbaythe. “And what is this retribution you seek?”
“Land. For the death of my son, all the territory and clansmen under the McTiernays of Torridon would be given to me and be under my rule.”
“And you are to deliver Lady Adanel to me by sundown, unharmed.”
Conor’s brows shot up in surprise, hearing the haughty demand of a newly turned eighteen-year-old.
“Aye,” Mackbaythe interjected, taking back control and attention of the discussion. “And in penance for you taking Adanel, no McTiernay will be allowed to cross Mackbaythe or MacCoinnich land again. Do so and die.”
Such a threat was a serious one. Hamish was the chieftain of the McTiernays of Farr, located on Scotland’s northern border. The MacCoinniches held a wide stretch of the Highlands that was traversed by many northern clans when journeying south. The path used was sparsely populated and had little to no impact to the large clan so crossing their lands had never been an issue. But to go around both Mackbaythe and MacCoinnich lands and travel along the eastern shoreline would add weeks to anyone’s journey.
Conor remained relaxed and just smiled. “Never thought I would see the day you let another laird speak for you, Willemus. Especially a powerless weasel like Mackbaythe.”
Dugan had not known Conor and Willemus MacCoinnich knew each other. He probably should have guessed as powerful as they both were, but it was obvious that Mackbaythe had not known that fact either.
“Powerless?” Mackbaythe sneered. “When you are dead, you will see—”
“He doesn’t,” MacCoinnich said, answering Conor’s implied question. “And neither does my son.”
Daeron felt his father’s admonishment and visibly shook with anger. But he smartly remained silent, letting his father continue. “However, both have grievances that I will not ignore. One of your men killed Mackbaythe’s son and then wrapped him in a McTiernay plaid to be delivered days after his death. And my son’s bride was stolen by a McTiernay the week before his wedding. Daeron is understandably angry. Give us Lady Adanel and the man who killed Eògan, and we will leave in peace. Your passage north will be more difficult and longer taking the eastern route, but that is better than unnecessarily losing many good men to a bloody battle.”
Conor rubbed his jaw. “Well, when a man orders his son to kill me on my land and on my brother’s wedding night, he should expect his son to arrive home dead.”
Every inch of Willemus MacCoinnich froze as he looked Conor in the eye. Conor held his gaze with a frigid look of his own. “I see Mackbaythe failed to disclose that part of his story.”
Daeron leaned forward and said through gritted teeth, “That has nothing to do with a McTiernay taking Adan—”
“Son, do not say another word,” MacCoinnich ordered, his tone cold and deadly. Nothing like the one he had used before.
Daeron clamped his mouth shut, clearly unhappy, but he did not argue.
Conor then returned his attention to Mackbaythe. “Eògan thought to kill Conan. That was what you sent him to do, was it not?”
Mackbaythe’s breathing became more rapid, but he did not say a word. Only hatred poured out of his brown eyes.
“Your daughter’s pregnancy was ruining all your plans,” Conor said in an even, level tone that made it only seem more frightening.
Daeron MacCoinnich flinched upon learning Adanel was with child. He looked at his father, but Willemus ignored him and kept his focus on Conor.
“You blamed the McTiernays for her being with child,” Conor explained, “and you wanted revenge. Understandable, but revenge is a costly endeavor, and you did not want to pay the price. You wanted someone else to.”
Conor then looked at MacCoinnich, who remained completely still, contemplating all that was being said and how it would impact his next move.
Conor continued. “Eògan was a fool from the day he was born, but you sent him here anyway. You knew what would happen when he attacked. You knew I would direct my army and those of my brothers to retaliate, and you thought to trick Willemus into fighting for you. But you made two mistakes.
“The first was your timing. You sent your son to attack during Conan’s wedding. Every McTiernay ally was here and therefore saw what Eògan did. As a result, not a one returned home. They instead sent for more men.” Conor gestured to the large army behind him. MacCoinnich swiftly assessed the view, and Conor noted the moment Willemus realized just how many different tartans he was looking at. It was not war with the McTiernays they were threatening to wage, but with half of Scotland.
“But you made an even bigger mistake. Eògan did not attack my brother Conan. He attacked me and nearly killed my wife and unborn son.” Conor let his gaze swerve to meet MacCoinnich’s. He then looked back and at a now very agitated Mackbaythe. “But I’m still here, and you can have no doubt what that means.”
“I never sent Eògan to kill you.”
Laughter filled the air. Conan nudged his horse forward. “Nay, you sent him to kill me.”
Mackbaythe glowered. “For what you did to Adanel!” he shouted in an effort to try and rally MacCoinnich once more to his cause.
It worked with Daeron, who once again looked like he was about to unsheathe his sword and attack.
Conan waved him back. “I never touched your reluctant bride, boy, who, by the way, was never pregnant. That was a ruse she devised until she could figure out another way to avoid marrying you.”
Daeron gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. Once again, his father saved his life. “Unsheathe that weapon, and you will die justly and unavenged.” Then upon his signal, MacCoinnich, along with all his commanders, pulled their horses back, wordlessly indicating they had broken with Mackbaythe.
“I accept your terms of retribution,” Conor declared. “All your territories and clansmen will now be mine.”
Mackbaythe started breathing rapidly. With MacCoinnich abandoning him and the realization that death was upon him, Mackbaythe panicked and yanked on his reins to turn his horse around and ride away, but Conan had anticipated the move. With his foot, he shoved the man off his saddle.
Mackbaythe immediately jumped up and pulled free his sword as each McTiernay brother unhurriedly dismounted. Mackbaythe swung his blade around several times in a pitiful attempt to look like he could protect himself.
“I told your son to leave and never return when he came down and threatened me. You both should have listened while you had the chance,” Conan said, and with a flick of his wrist, sliced off his left ear.
Mackbaythe cried out and pressed his left hand against the wound. His right hand began to wave his sword with even more abandon. Unconcerned, Craig stepped forward and took off his other ear.
Unthinking and in agony, Mackbaythe thrust his sword to attack but lost the weapon when Crevan clipped it out of his hands as he sliced him across the chest. Mackbaythe staggered but before he could fall, Colin lunged his own blade through his gut, keeping him upright.
Conor took a moment to stare at the man gurgling blood who had almost cost him his reason for waking up in the morning. Then deciding he was done dealing with the man, Conor raised his sword and said, “This is my retribution.”
And with a single swing, Mackbaythe’s head was severed from his body.
Colin pushed the limp form off his sword and along with the others went back and remounted their horses.
“You got Ma
ckbaythe. Now I want my bride,” Daeron shouted, his hand still holding tightly to the handle of his sword.
Conor just stared at the young man for nearly a minute. He glanced at MacCoinnich, who for the first time, was visibly fuming at this son. Returning his attention to Daeron, Conor said, “You are young, brash, and arrogant. Experience will temper the first two qualities and a good thrashing would help with the third. Fortunately for you, my chest still hurts, and I am in no mood to give such a lesson. Prove your father is not raising a fool and do not speak again.”
Conor then said to MacCoinnich, who was discernibly curling his fingers around the grip of his sword, “I have no desire to see your son die, but another word from him and he will earn himself a good scar or two.”
MacCoinnich released his grip and nodded in agreement.
“Tensions are high, Willemus, and based on the numbers, if our tempers erupted, no one would win.”
“The Mackbaythe clan lacks an heir. His daughter was promised to my son. By right, his lands should be ours.”
“Lady Adanel refuses to wed your son, and she has the protection of not just me, but all here. But you cannot have me believe your only goal here was to bring together a man who was a boy only yesterday and a much older woman who would make his life a living hell.” Conor bobbed his head toward McTiernay Castle. “I suggest we talk someplace where in the course of discussion and compromise, violence is far less likely to occur, which we would both regret.”
MacCoinnich raised his hand and signaled to one of his commanders. “Tell the men to make camp here.” He paused and looked at Conor for approval. Upon seeing a nod, the commander rode away to see the orders were followed. MacCoinnich then sighed, feeling the weight of what happened and the decisions yet to be made. “I’ve always wanted to see the famous McTiernay great hall.”
Conor gave him a half smile. “Then you shall.”
* * *
“But I want to hear what he is saying,” Bonny moaned, and pointed to the young man in the corner.
Brenna tossed her pale, wavy, gold hair she inherited from her mother over her shoulder and swatted at her sister’s hand. “That man knows nothing about Lady Adanel and why she and Cole’s commander got married this afternoon. They did not look happy and neither did Father Lanaghly. These are her friends who might be talking about why.”
Crossing her arms, Bonny furrowed her dark brown eyebrows and glared at her older sister. “They didn’t marry. They handfasted,” she grumbled.
Being seven years old and having been in similar situations with her older sister before, Bonny knew she would not be able to convince Brenna to go where she wanted anytime soon. Most of the time she did not care and let Brenna, who was three years older, have her way as she was the one who knew where all the best hiding spots were. Such knowledge had enabled her to learn a multitude of secrets throughout the years. But when their mother, Laurel, had started preparing for their uncle’s wedding, it was Bonny who had been the one to recognize the best hiding spot in the great hall to both hide and listen to any gossip that might be shared.
Just like Uncle Conan’s wedding, night after night there had been activities with a constant flow of people going in and out of the hall. But unlike Uncle Conan’s wedding, no one wore jovial expressions. Tonight was the first time in days children had been allowed to join in on the entertainment. But when Bonny heard her mother instruct the dinner tables not to be dismantled and put away but moved against the walls, she had immediately gone and found Brenna. Her sister had quickly agreed the long tablecloths that hung down so low they touched rushes on the floor created not only an ideal place to hide and listen, but the means to stealthily move from one interesting conversation to another.
Some of the things they had learned Bonny was sure would have shocked their mother, her friends, and even their father, who was chief of the McTiernays and rarely surprised by anything. But it was unusual for Brenna to tell any adult what she had overheard, mostly because no one ever asked her. Her sister might be a habitual eavesdropper, but she was not a gossip.
Unfortunately, that did not matter a lot to their mother, who seriously disliked the practice of snooping on adults and had tried almost everything to get Brenna to stop. Bonny was not sure her sister could. Brenna had to be in the know and usually dragged her along for company. Bonny usually went without argument, because she found people’s reactions to various unexpected pieces of information to be fascinating.
Brenna’s blue eyes bore into Bonny’s gray ones. “I know they only handfasted. Stop being so picky! Now, be quiet. I want to listen,” she said, and peeked out between the overlapping tablecloths once more.
Bonny huffed but did as her sister asked despite her being completely wrong. Just because she liked to be accurate did not make her picky. Brenna was also wrong in wanting to eavesdrop here. These people were only talking about gushy emotional stuff like love, who was hurt, and how to find happiness. That last one was easy. Anyone could find happiness if they just concentrated on the things that made them smile. She hoped Brenna got bored soon because she knew that the most interesting conversation was happening between the two angry men across the room.
Her uncle Conan had often said after a little more life experience Bonny would show everyone just who was the true brilliant McTiernay mind. But being only seven, there was so much she did not understand; however, Bonny was certain that she was much better than Brenna at discerning the truth behind a person’s look or action. And the man across the room was not just angry, he was plotting revenge. Bonny was itching to learn just whom he was mad at and what he had planned.
“Can you believe what they just said?” Brenna whispered incredulously.
Bonny blinked and shrugged her shoulders, making it clear that she had not been paying attention.
Brenna rolled her eyes. “If you want to know about maps, languages, and boring stuff, look at Uncle Conan’s books. But if you want to know about people, Bonny, you are going to have to listen.”
With an irritated sigh, Bonny tried to focus on what was being said on the other side of the tablecloth.
“I told you they loved each other,” Nigel said, rocking back on his heels.
“If they do, it’s masked under a lot of anger,” Tybalt countered with a shake of his head. “People in love tend to stand close to each other when at the altar and speak occasionally during their wedding feast.”
“Adanel would never have married him if she did not love him,” Nigel asserted.
“What I witnessed was not love. It was two people being smart. Dugan wisely accepted the offer to become laird knowing there would never be another opportunity like it again, and Lady Adanel wanted a way to keep her people safe from Daeron MacCoinnich. Again, I say their union was based on simple common sense. Nothing more.”
“Well, common sense won’t keep them together. Only love will and we have only a little time to help them to realize their feelings.”
“You only have a year and a day, and I think it would take five times that before either admitted to even liking the other, let alone being in love,” Faden commented.
Nigel shook his head. “Not me. Us,” he clarified, waving his finger to all in their group. “We have a year and a day.”
Garrett gave Nigel a dismissive wave. “I agreed to help Dugan grow and prepare his own army over the next year. I did not agree to play matchmaker. And neither did any of you. Besides, none of you are going to have the time. Watching you train with the McTiernays this last week made it clear that each of you need significant improvement. That should be your focus. Not playing cupid between two adults who are more than capable of discovering their feelings on their own.”
Faden crossed his arms over his chest and let go a huff in agreement. “I am embarrassingly out of practice.”
“At least you spent most of your time on your feet. I can’t believe Dugan wants me to continue being Adanel’s guard,” Brùid grumbled. He knew he was not very good with weapons,
but he secretly thought his size and strength gave him an advantage in a fight. He had been proven wrong so many times in the last week he had lost count.
“It’s because Dugan knows you would lay down your life for her,” Garrett reminded him. “And right now that’s more than what he would get from anyone else. Besides, no Mackbaythe knows the truth. You’re big and as a guard everyone assumes you know how to use a sword. Before anyone learns any differently, you will be deadly with or without a weapon. You and I will train privately each morning until you become just as lethal as you look.”
“So if you are building Dugan’s army and training his guards, what are all those McTiernay soldiers going to be doing?” Nigel asked. “And how many are coming?”
“Least a hundred, maybe two,” Garrett answered, “and they are coming to give Dugan a chance. They are going to ensure people understand and accept they are no longer Mackbaythes but part of the McTiernays of Gerloch. Trained McTiernay soldiers can’t make people be happy about it, but they can quickly quash the inevitable uprisings and let Dugan focus on getting the port not just functioning, but profitable.”
“Something that the MacCoinniches have no desire to help see happen,” Faden reminded them all.
Tybalt inclined his head, acknowledging the fact. “True. Laird MacCoinnich was not happy about losing the port and he never would have agreed if he thought to have lost it permanently. He fully believes that in a year his son will be running it as planned and the MacCoinnich clan will finally have unfettered access to the western seas.”
“I am going to get another drink,” Faden said, lifting his empty mug, and the others agreed they could use a refill.
* * *
“They were not interesting, and we learned nothing,” Bonny moaned.
Brenna peeked out between the folds and studied Adanel. She was talking to her mother so eavesdropping on her was not an option. Better than most anyone, her mother had a gift at knowing when her daughters were near, but unseen and listening. “If I were ever to have red hair, I would want it to be like hers,” Brenna said with a sigh.
How to Marry a Highlander Page 18