Father William studied the door then looked at the chair. “Aye, lad. Good enough.” He hurried over to the great mahogany wardrobe filling one corner of the room and fetched Catriona’s warmest cloak. “If ye find the strength and ye are still determined to do so, let’s don your cloak and get ye seated.”
“I can never thank ye enough for this, Father.” With the help of the two lads, Catriona teetered to her feet, allowed the priest to drape her cloak around her, and help her walk to the chair.
Father William held tight to her arms as she held her breath against the pain and lowered herself to the seat. “If ye have a girl child, I wish her named Willa Antonia Catherine McBride, aye?”
That drew a snorting laugh and made Catriona grab her side. “Aye, Father, but I beg ye, dinna make me laugh.”
“Hold tight to the arms of the chair. The lads will be as careful as they can but ye’ll still jostle about a bit for certain.” Father William motioned the boys forward and directed them to the chair. “One to the back of the chair and one to the front. Lift the feet and tilt her back a wee bit so she doesna slide out.”
The young men complied. Catriona held her breath as they carried her through two sets of doors and out into the hallway. The farther they traveled, the more she trusted the young men and breathed easier as they headed to the front of the keep and the stairs leading to the parapet and the battlements above the great door built into the skirting wall. Still a bit lightheaded, Catriona had to admit that the throbbing in her side and her shoulder seemed somewhat lessened with her exertion. Catriona smiled. The thought of reaching Alexander’s side as he faced Jameson Campbell surged newfound strength through her.
When Mathy pushed open the door to the parapet, Magnus met them with pistol and sword drawn. Eyes wide and mouth ajar, he eased back, as though he'd just come upon a poisonous viper. After tucking his weapons away, he held the door open whilst they carried Catriona through it.
“I’m no' responsible for what Alexander does about this, Father,” he said with a meaningful look at the priest.
“'Twas my idea,” Catriona said, sitting taller in her makeshift litter and stretching to see over the wall.
“What in God’s name is this?!” Alexander’s roar echoed down the mountainside.
“Hail Marys all around, Father,” Magnus advised under his breath as Alexander stormed toward them.
“I shall have each and every one of your heads!” Alexander shouted to the wide-eyed boys then turned to the priest. “And yours as well, Father!”
“Alexander!” Catriona clapped her hands together, flinching as she did so. “If it’s anyone’s head ye should have, 'tis mine and no others. Now leave them be and help me to the front battlement so I can see what we face.”
Alexander glared a long, stern look at each of the boys, Father William, and Magnus then directed them down the parapet. “I would have a word with my wife,” he said through gritted teeth.
None of them paused but took their leave as though their shirt-tails were on fire.
Catriona’s flesh prickled as she lifted her gaze to meet Alexander’s scowl. With his teeth bared and fists clenched, she couldna remember if she’d ever seen him this angry before—at least no' toward herself. “Now, Alexander…”
“Do ye wish to unman me and cut off me bollocks in front of your people? The verra people ye asked me to lead?” His tone was dark, low and rumbling, like a powerful storm building to a dangerous crescendo.
Alexander’s perspective on what she’d just done dawned on her and the regret for showing him in such a poor light made her drop her chin and stare down at her hands knotted in her lap. She’d never meant to humiliate him. How could I be so foolish? Never one to think before she spoke or took action, she'd oft paid the price. But surely Alexander knew she meant him no harm. 'Twas merely her wish to show her support and stay at his side.
“Well?” he demanded as he resettled his stance in front of her.
“Forgive me,” she whispered. She forced herself to look up and face his scowl. She deserved the imminent scolding. “I wanted to be with ye,” she defended in a meek tone. “To help.”
Alexander scrubbed a hand down his face, blew out a huffing growl, and turned to glare over the battlements. “Can ye no' understand that I canna defend either yourself or your people if my focus splinters? How can I plan with wisdom whilst pulled apart with worry about ye at my side?” He looked back at her and shook his head. “I ken ye are a strong woman, Catriona, and I admire that—I swear I do. But ye must stop defying me at every turn and so easily disregarding what I ask of ye or aye and for certain, I will grow to resent ye as ye fear.”
He could never have said a worse thing in a thousand years. Catriona ducked her head again and blinked hard to stop the tears and rein in the hurtful pain that was so much worse than the ache from her wounds. How could she make him understand? They had reared her to always be the strong one, the one taking matters into her own hands. Of course, her doing such had oft gone afoul. Of that, she freely admitted. But if her actions risked pushing Alexander away…
She closed her eyes and refused to allow herself to cry. Marriage and good wifery was so feckin' complicated.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, pulling in a deep breath and lifting her head. “I will change, Alexander. It willna happen again.”
Alexander stared at her for a long moment, weariness and worry deepening the lines in his face. “Can ye walk at all?” He pushed away from the battlement and came to stand beside her chair.
“Not far,” she admitted.
Before she realized what he was about, he scooped her up into his arms and strode down the path of the skirting wall behind the crenelated parapet. He stopped behind one of the merlons so they were shielded as she peeped down through the adjoining embrasure notched into the wall to permit the firing of weapons. He sidled her closer so she could see down into the glen below.
“So many,” she whispered as she clasped her arm tighter around Alexander’s neck. “Why would he bring so many? 'Twas supposed to be nothing more than a wedding feast.”
Jameson Campbell’s men covered the rolling hillside in front of the keep like a swarm of teeming insects. Clan Campbell’s tartans and flags hung from tall poles beside two rows of wagons filled with supplies and cannons, flapping in the wind as though whispering a warning of what might come to be. Tents dotted the landscape and more were being erected. At the far end of what couldn’t be called anything less than an amassing army was the largest tent of all, Clan Campbell’s colors flying on either side of its doorway and all around its sides.
“Duncan and Sutherland said sixty.” Alexander blew out a disgruntled huff of air. “Me thinks their count was a mite shy.”
“Father William might know more of what they’re about.”
Alexander shook his head. “I already asked the man, and he knew nothing. Said they’d barely speak to him since most of Campbell’s men have converted and now consider themselves followers of the king’s Protestant beliefs.” He propped her atop the stone block meant for holding extra weapons and pointed to an impressive array of firearms, swords, and spears stacked beside the main tent. “Look there. Their intent is to claim this keep, lass. Every man ye see is armed and they have all those stores in addition to what they carry.”
The sight struck fear deep into her soul, causing a pain that was much worse than her wounds. With their stronghold butted up against the mighty Ben Nevis, they could hold the Campbells off for a while—but how long? The only thing Catriona knew of warfare and battles was the havoc and loss they caused. She became aware of Alexander’s gaze upon her. “What?”
“I shouldha ne’er brought ye back here,” he said in a quiet, pained tone, regret echoing deep in his voice like the tolling of a death knell. “I shouldha listened to my instincts rather than my heart.” Sadness and worry etched creases across his brow and narrowed his eyes. He breathed out a heavy sigh. “Ye taught me to love, Catriona, but now I f
ear 'twas all for naught.”
“Love is ne’er for naught.” She hugged an arm around his waist and pulled him closer so she could lean against him. “I dinna ken what the future may bring but I’m ever so grateful that I no longer have to face it alone.”
Alexander stiffened and stood taller, throwing out his chest. Catriona eased back and looked up at him. His fierce scowl said more than any words. She hurried to look through the embrasure, down at the glen below at whatever had triggered such a reaction.
'Twas a great burly man riding the largest horse Catriona had ever seen. He wove the mount through the Campbell troops, making his way toward the gatehouse of Tor Ruadh.
“Jameson Campbell.”
Catriona shuddered at Alexander's tone. It was a deep growling rumble filled with defensive fury. The predatory sounds of a raging beast.
Alexander turned and made a jerking summons with one hand. “Magnus!”
Magnus hurried to his side. “Aye?”
“Take Catriona to her chair and have the ones who brought her up here get her safe to her room whilst I go down to the gatehouse and greet our guest.”
Magnus peered over the battlement, his pale eyes narrowing when he spotted Campbell. He stepped back, gave Alexander an obedient nod, then politely bowed to Catriona. “M’lady, I dinna wish to offend ye but we must make haste. I feel I must carry ye rather than help ye walk, aye?”
A sense of doom nearly drowning her, Catriona held up a hand to Magnus but before she could speak, Alexander interrupted.
“Catriona! Ye promised!”
“Aye,” she said. “And I will keep my promise but surely ye’ll no' deny me a kiss afore ye go to battle?” She couldna hardly breathe for the fear squeezing the air from her body. “I love ye, Alexander.” She swallowed hard, struggling not to cry.
Alexander gathered her up and kissed her. A kiss so filled with need, sorrow, joy, and regret she thought she’d surely die when he pulled away. “I love ye, Catriona,” he rasped out. “More than ye shall ever know.”
She squeezed his arm then turned to Magnus and held out her hands. “I’m ready now but I beg ye, when ye return to Alexander, please protect him.”
“I’ll do my best, m’lady,” Magnus replied as he picked her up, carried her back to her chair, then eased her down into it. “Ye have my word, I’ll do my best.”
Chapter 22
“I’m here for me wife,” Jameson Campbell shouted from the back of his pale gray horse. He’d halted the mount several feet away from the tall pair of gatehouse towers and imposing portcullis of blackened iron and wood. “I bid ye grant me entry. Now.”
“Rude bastard,” Graham observed from his post at Alexander’s left.
“At least he gets to the point,” Magnus said from his position at Alexander’s right.
Ignoring their commentary, Alexander took a step closer to the small open window of the gatehouse’s main guardroom on the second floor of the right tower. The portal was at the perfect angle for greeting unwanted guests with a volley of arrows or gunfire while still being shielded from any return fire.
Might as well gig the man and see how long it took him to reach a full-blown rage. It always paid to know your enemy. “And who might your wife be, sir?”
“Catriona Neal,” Campbell said with a surly glance up at the window. “Open your gates.”
“Misinformed, ye are.” Alexander watched Campbell, committing every nuance of the man to memory. “Catriona Elizabeth Rose is my wife and her last name is now MacCoinnich.”
“Ye lie!” Campbell’s face flared an angry red as he bared his teeth. “Where the hell is the Neal?”
“Gordon Neal is dead and so is his son, Calum.”
Even from the second floor of the guard tower, Alexander could tell this tidbit of news shocked Jameson Campbell and threw an unsuspected kink into his plans. The man’s eyes flared wide and his horse stomped and pawed from side to side as though ready to bolt.
“Who the hell are ye?” Campbell shouted. His hand lit on the gun clipped to his belt but he must’ve realized his vulnerable position because he jerked it away and fisted it back to the pommel of the saddle. “Your name, sir!” He bit out the words with such anger spittle showered down his dark beard.
“Alexander MacCoinnich, chieftain to Clan Neal.”
A mighty roar went up from the battlements atop the curtain wall, echoing out across the glen below. “Je ressuscite! Je ressuscite! Je ressuscite!”
Je ressuscite. I rise again. The MacCoinnich battle cry Alexander had no' heard since the morbid sore throat sickness had decimated his clan and left naught but a handful of MacCoinnichs to walk the earth. He turned to Graham and Magnus. “And who, might I ask, taught them that?”
Graham grinned. “I dinna ken but ye must admit, it has a fine ring to it.”
“I bid ye grant me entry, MacCoinnich!” Campbell shouted. “I dinna take kindly to being cuckolded nor cheated out of what is legally mine.”
“Legally yours?” Alexander rested an elbow on the window ledge. “How are my wife and my land legally yours?”
“Betrothed to me, she was. Given by her father, the chief, along with Neal horses and the land upon which they graze.”
“Show me the contract.” Catriona had assured him Calum signed nothing because her brother never left written proof of anything that might hinder him backtracking on his word.
Campbell’s mount stomped again and if Campbell’s face grew any ruddier, the top of the man’s head 'twould surely blow off. “I’ve no paper, ye bastard, as I’m sure ye already ken.”
“Aye,” Alexander replied. “And I’m no' in the habit of honoring the word of deceitful bastards—especially dead ones.”
“I will take what was promised me,” Campbell said with a brief glance behind him. “I’ve men enough to make this last as long as needed and force ye to open your gates without so much as a single skirmish. Ye ken that as well as I. Open your gates and give over. I’ll grant the women and children safe passage to Fort William.”
“Bastard,” Alexander said under his breath. The Campbell’s threat was not idle. With that many men securing the glen, he had the power to starve them out. Alexander had no’ had the chance to assess Tor Ruadh’s stores of food, water, and ammunition but he would do so at first opportunity, or at least send Duncan or Sutherland to tend to such. “Send our little brothers to size up how long we can last without opening our gates,” he said to Graham.
Graham nodded and rushed from the room.
Magnus stepped up to the window, peering down as he folded his arms across his chest. “The elders might know if they ever brought any supplies in through the passages in the mountain.”
“I was thinking the same,” Alexander said.
“What say ye, MacCoinnich?” Campbell shouted.
Alexander cocked his pistol, took careful aim, and fired. The bullet hit where he intended. It splintered the wooden pole holstered in Jameson Campbell’s saddle, the one bearing the Campbell colors, neatly cleaving the rod in two. The tartan flag sagged downward in a slow spiral like a felled tree then fluttered into the mud.
The battlements nearly shook with laughter, jeers, and roars, “Je ressuscite!”
Campbell’s horse reared, pawing at the air, as Campbell jerked hard on the reins and turned it back toward his men. “If it’s war ye want, it’s war ye’ll have!” he shouted as he kicked his horse and galloped away.
“Why did ye no' just shoot the man himself?” Magnus asked.
Alexander shrugged. “I probably shouldha killed the bastard but with the king’s regiment headed this way, I didna wish to risk it. Campbells are too cozy with King William. I’ve enough to deal with at present.” He thumped Magnus on the shoulder. “Keep watch whilst I try to discover how great our disadvantage.”
He exited the guard tower and loped down the steps leading to the bailey. Once inside the keep, he spotted Sawny and flagged him down. “Fetch the elders and bring them to Lady Catrio
na’s room. I need as much information about this stronghold as possible, aye?”
“Aye, my chieftain.” Sawny took off at a run.
Alexander made his way across the main hall as fast as he could what with the Neal kinsman acknowledging their new chieftain with bows and curtsies and some even kneeling in his path and swearing fealty on the spot. At long last, he made it across the length of the room milling with people. He hurried up the stone steps leading to the private floors. Steps still pained him but he would no' allow his scars and old wounds to slow him down. At last reaching Catriona’s rooms, he withstood the urge to burst into the innermost chamber. He paused in the sitting room to rap on the door.
“Who knocks?” Father William asked from the other side.
“Open the door, Father.”
Latches clicked, and the door swung open. Father William nodded then moved to exit the room. He paused at the door. “I’ll wait in the sitting room, aye?”
“Aye.” Alexander pointed to the door. “Sawny’s gathering the elders and bringing them here. I need to know as soon as they arrive, ye ken?”
Father William nodded.
Alexander closed the bedroom door and after a brief pause, locked it. 'Twas safer that way. They’d breached the fortress with ease. Who was to say a Campbell spy might no' do the same?
“I heard shouting,” Catriona said from the bed. Propped among an immense pile of pillows with a tray across her lap, her color looked decidedly better than it had on the skirting wall.
“It appears Clan Neal has learned the MacCoinnich battle cry.” Alexander traced the backs of his fingers along the curve of her cheek then bent to press a kiss to her temple. “The rose has returned to your fair cheeks. It makes my heart glad.”
Catriona smiled and the flush on her cheeks grew even rosier. “I’ve had a bannock and forced down a cup of Elena’s jaw-locking tea. Even though it has a fearsome taste, apparently, 'tis quite good for what ails me for I feel suitably refreshed.”
The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel Page 22