Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘What’s happened?’

  The lad looked confused and Laren answered, ‘Someone has taken Adaira. I need to find out who.’ She held up the parchment and repeated, ‘Help me.’

  Startled gazes eyed her and Laren realised that she’d been shouting. Her hand clenched the lock of her daughter’s hair and she wished to God that Alex were here. If he were, he’d be tracking the man even now.

  She took a deep breath, trying to find the inner strength she needed to keep from falling into hysteria. Adaira was her baby, her sweet girl who kept crawling into her bed when she was supposed to be sleeping with her sister.

  Dougal was already off and running, but before he could get far, she spied a horse and rider approaching. Dressed in a priest’s robes, the man continued on until he reached the gates. He dismounted and walked towards them, a parcel in his hands. When he greeted them, introducing himself as Father Ossian from Inveriston, Laren couldn’t gather her thoughts together. She didn’t want to hear about the new kirk or answer questions about why the glass panels weren’t finished. Right now, every thought was with Adaira.

  Calm yourself, she ordered. This priest can read the markings, the same as any other.

  ‘Can you tell me what it says on this parchment?’ Laren asked quietly, her pulse racing.

  ‘It’s the MacLachor crest,’ he answered. ‘They want your chief and his brothers to meet them at Lord Harkirk’s fortress.’

  Laren’s mouth tightened into a line and her hands started shaking. Though she managed to thank the priest, she focused her thoughts on how to get Adaira back. Alex had left to meet with the MacLachor chief only a day ago. Would he find Adaira there? Or had they already taken her to Lord Harkirk’s stronghold?

  ‘I’ve come to speak with your glass artist—’ Father Ossian was saying.

  ‘Father Stephen already inspected the windows not long ago,’ Laren interrupted. Her mind was scattered, not wanting to think of the glass when her daughter had been taken captive.

  The priest sent her a curious look. ‘Father Stephen?’

  ‘Aye, one of your brethren.’ She stared at him, not understanding why he wouldn’t know Stephen. There were fewer than twenty men at the abbey. ‘You sent him with the measurements and instructions for the kirk windows.’

  ‘We have no priest of that name,’ Father Ossian replied. ‘And the plans you speak of were stolen, nearly a month ago. The priest we sent was robbed of his horse and belongings after he tried to help a wounded man. He returned to us and we had to redraw everything.’

  The breath in her lungs seized up at the realisation that Father Stephen was not who he’d claimed to be. Sweet Mother of God.

  Laren let out a curse, for she knew, without any doubt, that the so-called priest had slipped past their boundaries and taken her daughter.

  Alex awoke the next morning to find men surrounding them. He unsheathed his claymore and stood with his brother, slowly moving until he was back to back with Bram.

  ‘We came to talk with your chief about Harkirk,’ he said. ‘I want to know more about the bounty he placed on my head.’

  A tall blond man moved forwards, a shield and sword in his hands. ‘I am Brochain MacLachor, the tánaiste of our clan.’ With a glance to his men, they spread out their forces. ‘And the bounty was on the heads of you and your brothers.’

  ‘We didn’t come to fight,’ Alex said quietly. ‘But if you strike the first blow, we’ll defend ourselves. And I don’t think you want to lose any more men.’

  Brochain’s face tensed, but neither he, nor his men, moved.

  ‘Harkirk is trying to stir up trouble among the clans,’ Alex continued. ‘He wants us to turn on one another, because dividing the clans will weaken us.’ With his weapon held steady, he never took his eyes off Brochain. ‘The chief’s daughter may not even be alive,’ he pointed out. ‘Why would you attack us instead of asking for help?’

  ‘We lost a dozen men trying to break into his fortress,’ the man admitted. ‘Even with your forces, we aren’t strong enough.’

  ‘Where is your chief now?’ Alex asked. He’d never met Finian MacLachor, though he’d heard of the man.

  ‘He left us a few days ago to go after Iliana on his own.’ But there were doubts upon the man’s face as though he viewed it as a hopeless endeavor.

  ‘Our younger brother Callum was Harkirk’s prisoner,’ Bram interjected. ‘He knows the interior of the fortress like no one else. We got him out alive. There’s no reason we couldn’t do the same for your chief’s daughter.’

  ‘And why would you help us? Especially after we attacked you.’ Emptiness settled over the man’s expression, as if he had little hope left.

  ‘Because we’ve a greater need for allies than enemies. You have information about Harkirk; between us, we can put a stop to his threats against the clans.’

  ‘How do we know you’ll keep your word?’ Brochain asked.

  ‘You don’t,’ Bram replied. ‘But if you kill us here, what chance do you stand of getting your chief back alive?’

  Brochain seemed to consider it and after a long moment, he sheathed his weapon. One by one, the others drew back. ‘Come with us back to Moristerry and we’ll talk.’

  From the look the tánaiste sent to his men, Alex trusted him even less. He kept his hand poised upon his weapon as he followed them down the hill towards the MacLachor stronghold.

  Laren mounted her horse, with Dougal and Callum at her side. Though they’d spent hours searching the surrounding areas for Adaira, there was no sign of her daughter. A dull sick feeling had settled within her stomach at the thought of anything happening to her baby. There was no choice but to confront the MacLachors and take Adaira back.

  ‘Gather the clansmen together,’ she ordered Nairna. ‘I want to speak with them.’

  Although her old fears swam in her stomach, she couldn’t hide behind her shyness. She needed the remaining men to help her; without them, her daughter might suffer.

  ‘I’m sorry about Adaira,’ Nairna said, her face pale. ‘I can’t even imagine the pain you must be suffering.’

  ‘I’m going to find her and bring her home,’ Laren insisted. ‘No matter how long it takes.’

  Though she still suffered from the exhaustion of her pregnancy, the nausea had at last subsided. Only Alex and Grizel knew of it and now she was grateful she’d kept silent. No one would allow her to leave Glen Arrin if she’d admitted her condition.

  She hardly slept any more. How could she, when her baby was gone? While Nairna gathered the others, Laren paced, going over the words in her mind. She’d never before addressed the people and it terrified her. Ever since Alex had revealed her glassmaking, they’d grown even more distant, behaving as though she were engaged in sorcery instead of glass.

  One by one they assembled and Laren studied them. They have children, too, she reminded herself. If they understood even half of the fear that burned through her, they might be willing to help.

  ‘The MacLachors have taken Adaira,’ she began. When a slight shifting alerted her that her voice wasn’t loud enough, she forced herself to add more volume. She couldn’t hide the trembling tone, but the men and women didn’t seem to blame her for it. ‘I need your help in bringing her home.’

  ‘Have they demanded a ransom?’ Ross asked. In his wrinkled face, she saw sympathy and the silent offer of help. During the few months she’d stayed with him and Vanora, he’d come to think of the girls as his grandchildren.

  ‘No.’ She held up the parchment with the mark of the MacLachors and the lock of her daughter’s hair. ‘This is all I have as proof.’

  There were murmurings among the men, as though they doubted whether the MacLachors were truly responsible.

  ‘I’m going to find Alex,’ she told them. ‘But I’m asking for a few of you to join me, in case we have to fight for her.’

  Callum stepped forwards, holding his bow and quiver of black-feathered arrows. Laren started to protest, for they needed his
skill at Glen Arrin. But when she tried to speak, he reached over and touched his finger to her lips, silencing her.

  He stared at the remaining men, as if daring them to protest.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Ramsay offered. He sent her a hopeful look, but he was far too young to face such danger.

  ‘I need you to tend my furnaces,’ she said. ‘I’m relying on you and Monroe to continue the glassmaking.’

  Though he looked disappointed, his offer had an effect upon the others, as if shaming them into agreeing. Two more men joined Callum and Laren turned to Ross. ‘Defend Glen Arrin while we’re gone,’ she ordered. The older man inclined his head.

  Laren exhaled a breath and studied the people. It hadn’t been as difficult as she’d imagined, speaking before them. There hadn’t been judgement or criticism in their eyes—only understanding.

  ‘I’m going to find my daughter,’ she finished, not caring that her cheeks were wet with tears. To her surprise, she saw Grizel approach.

  The matron squeezed her hand. ‘Aye, you will. And God help any man who tries to stop a mother from saving her child.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Finian MacLachor held the sleeping child in his arms. The young girl had cried for most of the afternoon until she’d fallen into an exhausted stupor. He drew his cloak over her for warmth and stared at the fortress that lay ahead. More than anything, he wished he could turn back. But his time had already run out and he was afraid of what had happened to Iliana.

  He walked forwards through the gates, still carrying Adaira in his arms with the cloak wrapped around her. The soldiers watched him as he entered, their weapons held in readiness, though there was no need. Two soldiers crossed in front of him. Finian eyed the men. ‘I’ve brought Lord Harkirk a hostage in exchange for my daughter.’

  There was doubt upon their faces, but they led him toward the main tower. Inside the fortress, he saw men dressed in rags, laying stones atop one another to form walls to reinforce the keep. One sent him a grim expression, silently damning Finian for what he was about to do. Aye, this girl was an innocent. And though he hated himself for handing her over to the enemy, he could see no other choice. He hadn’t enough men to save Iliana. He could only hope that Harkirk would trade one daughter for another.

  The soldiers led him into a room where Harkirk was speaking with a group of men. The Baron wore chainmail armour and a conical helm, as though he’d recently come from a battle. When he saw Finian, his gaze turned interested. ‘What have you brought me?’

  ‘The MacKinloch chief’s youngest daughter. In return, I want Iliana back.’

  The man gave a thin smile. ‘So, you think to bargain for her. Why would you believe I kept her alive after all this time?’

  ‘Because you want the MacKinlochs dead. And they will fight for this child. They will come to you…all of them.’

  The Baron sent him an amused smile. To one of the soldiers, he said, ‘Take her.’

  Out of instinct, Finian’s hands tightened around Adaira. The motion awakened the child and, when the soldier seized her, she started wailing again. Harkirk gestured to the man and the soldier disappeared with the baby. The young girl’s cries would haunt him, for he’d now done the unthinkable—handing over an innocent to the devil himself.

  ‘The child could belong to anyone,’ Harkirk said. ‘You’ve no proof that she’s a MacKinloch.’

  ‘She is. I swear it.’ His courage ran cold, for he now realised he’d made a fatal mistake. He’d believed that Harkirk would accept the hostage exchange and that he’d get Iliana back. Now, it was clear that Harkirk had no intention of honouring such a bargain.

  ‘Put him with the others,’ Harkirk ordered. ‘And we’ll see if anyone comes for the child.’

  Four men seized him, the cold metal of their armour biting into his arms. Finian struggled to free himself, but his strength was no match for the others. ‘What about my daughter?’ he shouted as the men started to drag him away.

  ‘She’s already dead.’

  ‘Harkirk’s men attacked us a sennight after they burned Glen Arrin,’ Brochain said. ‘They took Finian’s daughter Iliana and, in return, they wanted your heads.’

  Alex tossed a peat brick upon the fire, understanding what the Baron had intended. ‘If Harkirk hired you to kill us, then he’d keep his hands clean.’

  ‘Aye.’ Brochain’s gaze tightened. ‘He’s nearly annihilated our clan. We’ve hardly any men left at all.’ Bitterness lined his tone when he added, ‘My brother took a group of the others, planning to attack Harkirk’s forces and rescue his daughter. He was the only survivor.’

  Alex took a sip of ale from the drinking horn he’d brought with him and passed it to Brochain. The tánaiste hesitated a moment—drinking from it would signify an alliance between them. But eventually he drank, passing it on to each of his men.

  ‘Do the other clans know about the bounty?’

  Brochain shrugged. ‘I don’t know. And now I may not see my brother alive again.’ He nodded at the others, who numbered fewer than a dozen. ‘We can’t attempt another rescue. It would be suicide.’

  Alex settled back to think. ‘Have you spoken to the other clans?’

  ‘They refused to help us.’ Brochain rested his wrist upon his knee, staring into the fire. ‘I fear our only chance of surviving this is to let Finian go.’ His hand clenched into a fist. ‘But he’s my brother.’

  ‘We’ll help you get them back,’ Bram spoke up. He eyed Alex and said, ‘I swore I’d free Harkirk’s remaining prisoners.’ He raised his wrists, showing Brochain the scars that remained from the chains he’d worn for seven years. ‘But we won’t attack them directly. We’ll have to get inside another way.’

  Alex read his brother’s mind. ‘You want the MacLachors to take us in as their prisoners?’

  ‘No. We’ll get help from Nairna’s father.’ The chief of the MacPhersons had formed a fragile truce with Harkirk, but it was wearing thin.

  Alex began outlining his idea, drawing in the sand. Brochain added his own information that Finian had gathered from his two encounters with Harkirk. They spent hours discussing their plans, and when it was done, Alex felt a sense of satisfaction. If they freed Harkirk’s prisoners, it would diminish his power. Not only that, but when those men returned to their own clans, it would help them to solidify stronger alliances.

  After they finished an evening meal prepared by Brochain’s sister, they heard the sounds of horses approaching. Alex stood, reaching for his shield and weapons as he left the shelter. Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon and he saw Callum, Laren and two other MacKinloch men approaching.

  From the distraught look upon his wife’s face, he knew something terrible had happened.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  Her cheeks were ghostly pale and her lips trembled as she spoke. ‘Adaira was taken hostage by the MacLachors. She’s gone.’

  Laren stared in shock as Alex grabbed one of the MacLachors by his tunic, choking off the man’s air. ‘You said nothing about seizing my daughter, Brochain.’

  Her husband had tightened his grip, hardly caring that his enemy couldn’t answer. Laren dismounted and ran to his side. ‘Alex. We need answers from him.’

  At last he let go and Brochain’s face went from blue to red. He coughed heavily, bending over as he struggled to breathe. ‘Finian,’ was all he could say.

  The fury on Alex’s face didn’t diminish and Laren wrapped her arms around his waist. She held on for a moment as if she could steady the rage.

  He took the man by his arm and forced him up. ‘Did you know about this?’

  MacLachor shook his head. ‘No. But…when we attacked Glen Arrin, Finian wanted a hostage. It didn’t work then, but he must have returned.’ He sat down, reaching for a cup of ale to clear his throat. ‘I suppose he thought to trade one daughter for another.’

  Laren gripped Alex’s arm for support. A hostage? Her baby? The tenuous thread she h
ad on her own anger was ready to snap. The Baron of Harkirk was heartless, an Englishman who kept Scots as slaves and worshipped silver. To even imagine her own daughter in the same vicinity as such a monster…it made her feel sick to her stomach.

  Callum was standing next to Bram and a ruthless air of fury emanated from him. He knew, full well, what Adaira would face in Harkirk’s stronghold. Though his outer scars were healing, no one knew what horrors Callum had witnessed. Though he’d helped the others with the rebuilding, Laren could see the hollowness that haunted him.

  ‘We’ll get her back,’ Brochain said. ‘Finian wasn’t thinking clearly.’ He eyed Alex, rubbing his throat. ‘We’ll leave at dawn.’

  Alex took Laren into one of the abandoned homes and started a fire in the hearth. Laren’s fingers were trembling, her face filled with worry. Alex stood beside her and rested his arm around her. ‘I’ll find Adaira. I swear it.’

  ‘We will find her,’ she corrected. ‘I’ll not be left behind while my daughter is in the hands of that monster.’

  Alex took her hand. ‘If you think I’ll allow you to endanger yourself, bringing you into Harkirk’s fortress, you’re mistaken.’ He brought his hand to her swelling womb. ‘Or have you forgotten that there’s another child that must be kept safe?’

  ‘I won’t go back without her,’ she insisted. Her eyes filled up with tears. ‘What kind of a man would take a baby and hand her over to the enemy?’

  ‘One whose daughter was already taken,’ he answered. He kept his voice emotionless and it seemed to set off her temper.

  ‘How can you be so calm about this?’

  He ignored the question, for he couldn’t let himself think of anything happening to Adaira. Right now, he needed to focus on what needed to be done, keeping his personal feelings locked away. ‘Tomorrow, I’m sending you home with your escorts. Callum will stay with us.’

  She lowered her head, her fingers clenching her side. ‘I don’t understand you. You act as if you’re going off to battle. As if nothing’s wrong.’