Claimed by the Clan Chief

by Lily Harlem

  “So when is my trial? It seems you’ve already found me guilty.” She glared at several villagers who’d stopped what they were doing to watch Rabbie hauling her toward the pile of branches and sticks. Most of them looked quickly away.

  “You’ll get your trial.”

  “When I’m tied to a stake? That’s hardly fair, you ken.”

  “This is not for you to decide, witch.”

  “I am nay a witch and this is my life. Of course it is for me to decide.”

  “Your trial has been held.” He continued to steer her past the villagers to the pyre.

  “What? When?”

  “Last night.”

  “But… but I didn’t get to defend myself.”

  “The evidence was conclusive, no defending necessary.”

  She was aghast at the injustice and beyond terrified. They really meant to burn her without giving her a chance to prove her innocence. “You’re monsters, all of you.”

  “We are but simple people, you are the devil’s work,” a woman shouted and pointed at her.

  “Aye, witch, witch, witch!”

  The chant started up again.

  The pyre was getting closer as Rabbie hauled her toward it.

  “Get off me.” She twisted in his grip, but it was no good, he was too strong, his hold on her too tight. “Let me go, this is all wrong.”

  “Witch, witch, witch.” More people had joined in. The crowd was growing.

  “I’m nay a witch.” Panic seared through her veins. Terror flooded her mind. “But if I was I’d curse you, curse the lot of you.”

  “See, she is a witch, she said as much! We’ve witnessed it,” the man who’d spat at her shouted. “Kill her.”

  “Aye, burn her!”

  “Burn her!”

  “Kill the she-devil.”

  Isla flailed and fought, but it was no good. Rabbie shoved her to the stake and set about securing her wrists behind it.

  Her fate had been sealed.

  She lifted her chin and stared at the crowd. “From me to you, comes back times two. It is my power to wish you all ill. Until you fade and become but dirt. Ken this now. Ken your future, each and every one of you.”

  They gasped and looked at one another, shaking their heads.

  “Proof indeed,” Rabbie said, stepping away from the pile of wood. “That this woman is a witch. She must be burned.”

  “Witch, witch, witch.”

  Suddenly the crowd parted. Heads twisted to look behind themselves. A thumping noise echoed around the small houses and through the ground.

  A huge bay horse crashed through the centre of the swarm of people. Several villagers fell to their knees, one had his leg trampled and screamed out.

  Rabbie stepped forward, anger on his reddened face and his fists clenched.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the rider shouted, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt in front of the awaiting fire pile.

  McTavish!

  His deep voice sang through Isla’s ears, breaking apart the terror like a hot shovel against ice.

  He’s here.

  She stared at him. Hardly able to believe what she was seeing. Was he real or was it her terrified mind playing a wicked trick?

  “I will say it again.” He leaped from his horse and marched up to Rabbie. “What is going on here?”

  It is him. He’s real.

  Her heart leaped and a swelling sensation filled her chest—hope.

  “We’ve found a witch.” Rabbie tipped his chin and pointed at Isla. “Who is about to burn for her devilish incantations.”

  “Witch, witch, witch,” the crowd chanted.

  McTavish drew his sword and held it forward. He then swung it around the crowd. “The next man or woman to call my wife a witch dies.” He stepped quickly up to a man who was clapping each time he shouted the word and jabbed the sword onto his chest.

  The chanting stopped abruptly.

  The man’s eyes widened and he shut his mouth and dropped his hands to his sides.

  “That’s better,” McTavish said, swinging his sword left and right. “Anyone else want to ken if I speak the truth about my intentions? Because believe you me I have used this sword to kill in the past and I have no fears of doing so again.”

  Collectively the gathered villagers appeared to take a step back. A few muttered to each other as though recognizing McTavish and realizing he spoke the truth.

  He was not a Highlander to quarrel with.

  Isla battled with the rope wrapped around her wrists. She needed to get off this pile of dry wood that would flare up with one spark.

  “Release her,” McTavish directed at Rabbie. “Now.”

  “That is not possible.” Rabbie folded his arms. “She must burn, you have naught say in this.”

  “Naught say in the fate of my wife?” There was disbelief in McTavish’s voice. “Are you a mad man?”

  “Nay, I am a man who wants to protect the innocent from the devil.”

  “And you think she, this beautiful woman who only ever wants to help people is the devil?”

  “Aye, I ken so.”

  “How do you ken?”

  “Because she has cursed all here.”

  “With her terrified last words? You’ve treated her like an animal, I can see that. It is any wonder she can barely think straight to speak.”

  Rabbie hesitated, then, “Not just that.”

  “So pray tell me what else.”

  “Because she cast a curse on me, an ill wish. She made it, with her own hands and filled it with the devil himself.”

  “I do not believe ye.” McTavish caught Isla’s gaze.

  She tried to flick her messy hair from her face.

  “It’s true,” one of the villagers shouted. “I seen the ill wish with my own eyes. She made it, and she cursed Rabbie Finlay with it.”

  “Curses are not real and those who believe in them are as likely to believe in changelings.” McTavish huffed.

  There was a gasp from a woman to the right.

  “Changelings are naught but sickly bairns, madam,” McTavish said. “Bairns who need healers to thrive, healers like my wife.”

  “I do not believe this maid has a husband, and certainly not that you are he,” Rabbie said, pointing at Isla. “She is naught but a skinny wench with an evil face.”

  “Are you calling my wife ugly?” McTavish raised his sword to Rabbie. “Are ye?”

  Rabbie eyed the sword warily, then seeming to muster courage he puffed up his chest. “Aye, an ugly witch who I had to drag here.”

  McTavish was quiet for a moment then, “You dragged her here?”

  “Aye, for her trial.”

  “There was no trial,” Isla cried out, her voice hoarse. “You accused me and found me guilty in one fell swoop.”

  “Because it’s true, you are a witch!” Rabbie yelled, waggling a pointed finger at her.

  “You dragged her here,” McTavish repeated.

  “Aye, I dragged her, for the good of everyone in Laird McDonald’s land.”

  “So that means you touched my wife?” McTavish had spoken softly but Isla could hear the anger in his voice. It was a dangerous sound, one that tightened her chest and quickened her breaths.

  Rabbie hesitated, then, “Aye, I touched her.”

  “Roughly?”

  “Hard to drag a witch to the pyre with sweetness.”

  McTavish raised his sword, then quick as a flash he sliced it down on Rabbie’s outstretched arm. The limb was sliced clean off and landed on the ground with a thud.

  Isla gulped at the spectacle.

  The crowd gasped.

  “You have been tried and punished for touching the woman I love.” McTavish turned from Rabbie who’d fallen to his knees, clutching a bloody stump. “Who else touched her?”

  The crowd stepped backward, parting when McTavish wielded his red-stained sword at them.

  “Come on, I’ll find out,” McTavish roared.

  “No one,�
�� a woman said. “I promise you, sir, only Rabbie Finlay manhandled your wife, sir.”

  “But she spent a night here, I ken it won’t have been on a soft warm bed with a full belly.”

  The woman looked away.

  “I should slice off all of your arms for allowing her to have a cold night of fear in this godforsaken village of yours.” He marched to the right and held his face to the sky. “God’s bones, I’m devoting my life to this country and this is how you treat me.”

  “Not you, sir, the witch.” An older man stepped forward. “We welcome you to our humble abodes.”

  “You welcome me.” McTavish moved quickly up to him and set the sword at his throat.

  The man’s eyes widened and he froze.

  “Your idea of welcome is to call my wife a witch?” He glanced at Isla. “And tie her up to tinder dry wood?”

  “I… I…” The man glanced at Rabbie who was groaning and hunched over. “Perhaps a mistake has been made.”

  “You are finally speaking sense.” McTavish removed the sword. “Go and untie her, now, or I will slice the arm off every man here, and don’t think that’s something I will nay do, because at this moment in my life, not only do I ken I could do it, I’d also enjoy it.”

  “Aye, of course, sir.” The man rushed to Isla, stumbling as he crossed the stacked branches and twigs then set about releasing the rope at her wrists.

  Impatience thrummed inside her. She needed to get off the wood. She needed to get the hell out of this evil village.

  Suddenly freedom was hers. She rushed from the pyre, falling at the last second but finding thick strong arms around her.

  “My love,” McTavish said against her ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

  “You came for me.”

  “I’ll always be here for you, and I ken now not to let you out of my sight again.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She looked up at him, knowing she was a dirty mess and hoping he didn’t care too much.

  “We’ll save this conversation for later.” He touched his lips to the tip of her nose. “Right now we need to get out of this hell hole.”

  He turned and clicked his fingers. His horse lifted its head from where it had been enjoying grass despite the drama, and stepped up to him.

  The next thing Isla knew she’d been lifted into the saddle. She gripped the horse’s soft mane and released a juddering breath.

  McTavish walked up to Rabbie. He set his boot at the fallen man’s side and shoved.

  Rabbie tipped over, his knees bent and his clothing now red stained. “Real men don’t hurt women,” McTavish said. “They treasure them, appreciate their beauty and wisdom. Real men ken the women in their lives are gifts.”

  Rabbie didn’t answer, instead he screwed up his eyes and moaned.

  “You won’t forget me, will ye?” McTavish said. “Every time you look at your ugly stump you’ll see my face.”

  “Bastard,” Rabbie muttered.

  “What did you say?” McTavish leaned closer to him.

  “I said you’re a bastard.”

  “Be careful,” McTavish put his hand on his sword handle. “I could take off your other arm, and your legs too for that matter.”

  “McTavish,” Isla called. “’Tis lesson enough.”

  McTavish stared down at Rabbie. He flexed his fingers then wrapped them around the handle again. He rocked backward then forward on his heels.

  She knew he was battling within himself. He wanted to kill the man on the ground for his harsh treatment of her, but McTavish wasn’t a man who took life for the sake of it. He believed in justice but also kindness.

  “We should go,” she called.

  “Aye.” He released his sword and drew back his shoulders. “We should.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isla was almost delirious with both exhaustion and relief on the ride back to Fifths Castle. She was glad McTavish had such a tight hold around her waist and was glad of his big warm body to lean on.

  He set the horse at a gentle canter and they quickly covered ground.

  When they trotted into the courtyard two stable hands rushed to take the horse and within seconds Mrs. Humphrey was rushing from the main doorway.

  “Isla, my dear lass, you have returned. I’ve been so worried.”

  “Aye, she is, but no thanks to anyone around here.” McTavish swung his gaze around the castle staff. “You ken this was my wife, right?”

  “Nay, sir.” One of the stable hands shook his head. “We didn’t.”

  “That shouldn’t have mattered.” McTavish slipped from the horse and landed on the cobbles with a thud. “No one here should have watched a woman dragged to her death by a crazed group of heathen villagers. We are a better country than that. We should care for one another.”

  “Aye, sir, sorry, sir.” The stable hand lowered his head.

  McTavish muttered something below his breath and reached for Isla. Carefully he helped her from the horse then kept his arm firmly about her waist.

  “I was so frightened for ye, lass.” Mrs. Humphrey took Isla’s hand. “I sent word to your husband straight away.”

  “I thank you.” Isla smiled at the kindly face she’d feared she’d never set eyes upon again.

  “Aye, thank you.” McTavish rested his hand on Mrs. Humphrey’s shoulder. “You are a friend indeed.”

  “Talking of friends, where is Una?” Isla asked.

  “Una.” Mrs. Humphrey huffed. “She is gone to offer her services at Beacon Bridge yonder. I told the laird I couldn’t have a woman working for me who was so quick to send another to her death.”

  “Aye, that is what happened.” Lord Stewart McDonald walked up to them dressed in his kilt, plaid, and with his clan badge glinting in the sunshine. “I need to be able to trust my staff on all accounts.” He smiled at Isla. “I’m sorry to say I wasn’t here yesterday otherwise I would have fought your corner and not allowed these people over the drawbridge. My guards have been reprimanded for allowing them in just because they were local villagers.”

  “Aye, sir, I ken you would have helped me.” She smiled at him, then, “I’m nay a witch.”

  “I understand, lass. But when you have a way with healing potions some folk get the wrong idea.” He nodded at McTavish. “Which is why it’s good to have a Highland warrior for a husband. I ken he’ll get you out of future tight spots.”

  “There will be no future tight spots,” McTavish said firmly. “I will make sure of that.” He squeezed her a little closer. “And my wife is no longer a maid here, she is Lady McTavish of Caerlaverock.”

  “Of course, and let me pass on my congratulations on your wedding. I’m sorry I didn’t attend,” the laird said. “A most joyous union.”

  He smiled broadly and Isla saw the genuine pleasure in his eyes. He was a good man, one she’d never minded working dawn till dusk for. Not that she was complaining those days were over, she wasn’t. Being at McTavish’s side as his wife, and hopefully mother to his children was where she wanted to be.

  “It was but a small private affair,” McTavish said. “And now, if it’s not too much trouble, Laird McDonald, I’d like to bother you again for use of your guest chamber.”

  “My home is yours. Your work for the rebellion is a difficult one, I wish to do everything in my power to ease the burden.”

  “And the burden is great.” McTavish paused. “As you ken I was hoping to meet with the duke myself in Edinburgh, but I’ve had to leave that task with my most trusted men.”

  “And do you think he will be of use?” The laird clasped his hands together.

  “It’s hard to say at this stage. He will either move our cause along greatly, or he will be acting for his own gain.”

  “An Englishman with power and sympathy would be a great ally indeed.”

  “Which is why I’m pursuing a meeting with him. Only an idiot would dismiss the possibility of a Jacobite duke.”

  “And you are no idiot, McTavish, we all ken th
at.” The laird gestured to the tall walls of the castle surrounding them. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Aye, some bathing water; my wife smells of damp earth and has clumps of mud in her hair.”

  * * *

  Isla sat in McTavish’s guest chamber wrapped in a soft red tartan blanket and eating bread coated in a thick layer of salted butter.

  Diane was filling the tin tub before a raging fire.

  “Will this help your aches?” McTavish held up a small bottle of lavender oil.

  “Aye, it will.”

  He tipped the entire contents into the warm water and the room was instantly filled with powdery scent.

  “Nearly done, sir,” Diane said, tipping in another pail of warm water.

  “Do you have soap?”

  “Aye, sir, just there.” Diane pointed to a fresh bar then looked at Isla. “Is there anything else I can get you, m’lady?”

  “I… er…” It was strange to hear herself addressed that way by a friend. “No, thank you, that will be all.”

  Diane placed a final pail of water on the fire to warm then left the room.

  “Come,” McTavish said. “You should get in here and wash away that hateful village.”

  “They were just scared.”

  “Do not be so forgiving. They were about to burn you.”

  She shuddered as she stood. The blanket fell to the floor exposing her naked form, complete with muddied knees and hands. “Haps you’re right.”

  “I ken I am and you ken it too. Never again will we go back to that village and never again will I be so far away from you.” He held out his hand for her to hold. “I can’t even think about what could have…” He swallowed and frowned. “If I had been a few more…” He pulled in a breath. “Sit, I will wash you.”

  The warm water was like a balm to her skin and aching back and shoulders. She stretched out her legs, enjoying the way it slid between her thighs.

  McTavish kneeled at her side, dipped a cloth into the water then soaped it. Very gently he wiped her face clean, the he did the same to her hands, lifting each one from the water and paying particular attention to her fingers and nails.

  He wiped over her breasts then ordered her to sit forward.