by Willa Blair
And love. Aye, even that. She shook her head in amazement. She’d never thought to know it again. Donal taught her she’d never truly known it before now.
Her husband had been a fine man, God rest his soul. But he had not been Donal.
What she’d felt for him had been infatuation, duty, even affection. But not love. She’d never suffered so much pain as when she’d realized Donal had left the keep, even when she was separated from her husband or after his death. Fear of being alone, of the future—hers and her clan’s, aye. She’d was no stranger to those kinds of emotions. She’d missed him, but not like this.
Missing Donal was like missing a piece of herself. A hole in her heart only he could fill. A bit of her soul out in the world, tossed by the winds, adrift in the dark. A pain deep inside only he could soothe away. When would he return?
A sudden commotion near the gate caused the lads to falter in their practice. A gate guard started toward Bram while several lads on the battlements looked toward him and shouted down into the bailey. Bram frowned toward the gate, then looked up. Seeing her at the window, he raised an eyebrow and she shook her head.
Nay, she didn’t expect any visitors. Could Jamie have sent help already? It seemed too soon for that.
Bram called over one of the older lads to take over the training for him, then ran up the stairs to the battlements overlooking the gate.
She could see him talking, and though she couldn’t hear what he was saying, she did see him tense and draw back. Why? A sense of dread swamped her. Nay, it couldn’t be. She ran to her chambers and fetched her cloak, then hurried out into the bailey and started up the stairs to the battlements to see what had Bram concerned.
“It’s the MacDuff, my lady,” he told her even before she reached him.
Ellie blanched and stopped at the head of the stairs, her heart in her belly. Nay. Not now. In this storm? Panic tightened her throat. Most of the Lathans were out of the keep, gone for who knew how long. And despite the Lathan man regarding her, she suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable.
“What does he want?”
“Guest-right. A haven from the snow.”
Damn him. Ellie suspected they’d fought their way through the pass in this weather just to be able to force her hand this way. She wanted to deny them entry, but did she dare?
“How many are they?”
“He has more than a dozen men with him.”
Despite the warmth of her cloak, Ellie shivered. The time had come, then. Lachlan MacDuff had arrived at her gate in strength, with enough men to subdue any pitiable attempts at resistance attempted by the MacKyries. He must have known the Lathans were gone. Had he stationed men below the pass to report on comings and goings from her glen? She’d wager he’d been surprised to be greeted from the battlement by Bram.
Oh, dear God, Bram. He couldn’t hold them off by himself. They’d kill him if he resisted them. And he would, to protect her.
At that moment, Ellie knew she had dreamed true. The black ravens on snow were MacDuff and his men invading her keep en masse. Trouble, indeed. What would it take to make them fly away as the ravens had done in her dream?
Ellie made her decision. Though it went against all Highland custom, she could not allow the MacDuff into her keep. “Tell him to return home. We’ve no wish to discuss anything with him.”
“Are ye sure?” Bram’s eyebrows rose.
Though it shamed her to turn anyone, even these men, out into a storm, Ellie affirmed her order. “He’s had my answer over and over again. Tell him nay, he’s not welcome. He kenned better than to come here in this weather.”
Bram turned to relay Ellie’s message. As he did, Ellie heard the creak and groan of the gates. Being opened? “Nay! Close the gates!” She picked up her skirts and started down the steps at a run, heedless of the danger of tripping and falling.
But her shout got lost in the thunder of horses’ hooves as the MacDuff and his men rode into her keep.
Chapter 16
“How dare ye invade MacKyrie!” Ellie stormed up to the MacDuff’s horse and stared up at him, feet planted and fists on her hips. Her knees were shaking, but she dared not let him see her fear. Anger? That was another matter entirely. “Take yer men and go.”
MacDuff swung off his mount and gestured for his men to do the same.
“Lachlan, I mean it. Ye’re no’ welcome here.” She held her ground, even though he crowded her.
“Ye opened yer gates to me, woman.”
She glared at him. As soon as she got the MacDuffs out of here, she’d skin the man who had ordered those gates opened.
“I didna. Someone made a mistake. Now go.”
He took her chin in his hand, smirking. Surprised he’d be so forward, a frisson of fear slid down Ellie’s spine. He’d never dared touch her before. To do so publicly and so familiarly doubled the insult from laird to laird.
“What, Laird MacKyrie,” he taunted without releasing her, “would ye ignore the most sacred Highland custom and refuse guest-right to travelers lost in the snow?”
His fingers on her face turned her stomach, but she dared not give ground. “Lost! How can ye say that? Ye ken exactly where ye are and how ye got here.”
“Lost, aye. Blinded by the snow, seeking shelter...warmth...comfort. Thank heaven I found someone who can provide all three.”
His leer left no doubt of his intentions. Aye, he knew she could not defend herself against him. Ellie pushed his hand away. “Dinna touch me, Lachlan.”
He slapped her.
Ellie’s head snapped back with the force of the blow. The shock of it. She raised a cold palm to her stinging cheek, too stunned to protest.
All pretense gone, he kept his open hand up where she could see it and know he would hit her again if she gave him reason to.
Over Lachlan’s shoulder, she saw Bram descending the steps from the battlements, sword in hand. Aye, he’d seen Lachlan strike her. His expression cut as fiercely as would the blade he held, if he lived to use it. She dared not look around at her people. She might incite someone to do something stupid. Better to keep Lachlan’s attention on her.
She drew herself up to her full height and glared. “Ye’ll regret that, Lachlan. I’m laird here. How dare ye assault me?”
Instead of hitting her again, he traced a finger along her jawline. “I intend to do more than that, Laird MacKyrie.”
Ellie couldn’t stop herself. She backed up a pace.
He spoke softly but Ellie heard the steel behind his soft tone.
“Tell yer man to put down his weapon, or I’ll run him through myself.”
MacDuff’s men flanked Bram as he reached the floor of the bailey but kept their distance, giving her time to follow their laird’s orders.
“Bram, put yer sword away. I’ll handle this.”
Bram shook his head, but she stared him down, pleading with her eyes as she dared not do with words. She would not have his death on her conscience. Finally, he relented and sheathed the weapon. One of MacDuff’s men hit the back of his head with the pommel of his sword and Bram crumpled to the ground.
At Ellie’s gasp, the MacDuff laughed.
“He’s no’ dead...yet. But he won’t be causing any trouble, will he? Now, where was I? Ach, I recall it now.” He angled away from her and raised his voice. “I’ve come to stop this foolishness. A woman isna suited to be laird.”
Ellie opened her mouth to object, but he kept on speaking as if she wasn’t standing right beside him. She closed her mouth, her lips compressed in a tight line as he continued.
“Ye’ve seen she is incapable of protecting ye or yer wealth. It takes a man to do that. But I’ll treat her, and all of ye, honorably. I will become laird by right of marriage to her—in the kirk—if ye will follow me without dissent.”
She clenched her fists together over her middle. She’d expected this, even as she delayed, deceived and hid from him to prevent it. All for naught. The Lathans’ presence had given her hope, b
ut they had gone. Lachlan stood, triumphant, beside her. Hearing him say the words broke something inside her, shards of glass that cut until her heart bled. He’d cajoled—even threatened. Now the worst had come to pass. Here he stood, prepared to make his most horrible words into deeds.
She looked around her, hoping by some miracle to see Donal and Jamie standing at the back of the crowd, waiting for their chance to thwart Lachlan MacDuff’s plans forever. But all she saw were the faces of her people, concern written in their frowns. She stood alone in this. She must deal with the MacDuff as the MacKyrie, despite his threats. She straightened her spine. So she would.
“Who did ye pay to open the gate, MacDuff?”
Ellie had not seen Micheil until he stepped out of the crowd. The sound of his voice startled her. Suddenly her knees went weak. He held a short sword before him, jaw clenched, eyes slitted with fury. Nay! Her resolve crumbled into anguish. Micheil’s temper would get him killed where he stood. She could not bear that.
“Micheil, nay. Put yer blade away,” she ordered.
He ignored her, focusing instead on the MacDuff. “Ye plan to marry her, yet this is how ye treat her? Ye start yer courtship with a slap to her face?”
MacDuff didn’t bother to draw his weapon. “Nay, lad. I finish it. She kens now that I mean what I say. And ye, my lad, had best decide quickly to stand with me. I ken ye are her friend. Yer life and Ellie’s happiness depend on it.”
Micheil’s face reddened. A vein bulged on his forehead. His other hand hovered over the dirk at his waist.
Ellie blanched at the sight.
Arrogant as ever, Lachlan stood at ease beside her, but his men were fingering the hilts of their weapons, ready to defend their laird.
“Nay, Micheil. Dinna do anythin’ stupid. It will be well. Ye said yerself, the MacDuff has much to offer us.” She nearly choked on the words.
“I’m glad to hear ye say that, Ellie.” MacDuff didn’t take his gaze from Micheil while he spoke. “It’s taken ye long enough to realize the truth of it.”
Ellie ignored him and held her hands out to Micheil, praying desperately for calm. “Please, we’ve both known this would happen. I’ll accept it. For our people. Ye must, as well.”
Micheil pursed his lips, but he took his hand away from his dirk. The point of his sword dipped. “Are ye sure, Ellie? He had betrayed ye. I’ll fight for ye, ye ken that. We can drive out the MacDuffs.”
“Dinna be daft, lad.” Lachlan laughed. “Ye canna best me. And I’ll no longer ride away at her bidding. I’m here to stay.” MacDuff’s men stepped forward in answer to their laird’s tone.
Ellie heard the challenge in his voice.
So did Micheil. He thrust his blade at the older man.
Ellie screamed as Lachlan’s dirk suddenly cut the air in front of her to clash with Micheil’s blade. Time slowed as Ellie watched the two square off and have at each other.
Micheil had learned much under Donal’s tutelage. His movements were lithe, faster than his opponent’s. But the MacDuff had him on size and reach, even with his dirk’s shorter blade. Micheil couldn’t get inside his defenses, yet Lachlan could strike at him with impunity. It would take a lucky blow would bring Lachlan down, but Micheil’s luck did not extend that far. Nor did his skill. It seemed to take no more than a few parries. Lachlan swung his dirk and knocked the short sword out of Micheil’s hand. Micheil grimaced and pulled his dirk. Then quick as a blink, MacDuff’s dirk sliced down Micheil’s sword arm, splitting his shirtsleeve open, drawing blood. He stepped back. Was he waiting to see what Micheil would do?
“Nay, stop this, both of ye!” Ellie rushed into the breach, reaching out toward each of them. They paused and took a step back, warily watching her and each other. How could she be so foolhardy as to get in the middle of a battle? What did she think to do? Push Lachlan away? Micheil? Protect herself? It didn’t matter. She was unarmed against both their blades and bloodlust blazed in both their eyes. But she had to save her friend. She moved in between them.
“Get out of the way, Ellie,” Micheil spat. “I’m no’ done with him.”
Lachlan laughed.
She faced him. “Stop it, Lachlan. I mean it.” Then she glared at her clansman. “I’ll no’ lose ye this way, Micheil.” She turned her glare back to the older man. “And ye, Lachlan, how dare ye!”
“Defend myself? I do, indeed.”
Ellie grimaced. He had her there. She looked back to Micheil. His stance and expression were still challenging, but blood dripped down his arm from the long slice Lachlan had inflicted. She was surprised he could still hold his dirk.
“Have ye done enough, do ye think?” She challenged Micheil, drawing his attention from Lachlan. “I’m yer laird and I say ye ‘have done.’ Put the dirk away. I dinna need ye to die here today.”
Ellie cut a glance at Lachlan, but he had backed off, allowing her to deal with her stubborn friend. Good. Because the ruddy color that Micheil’s anger and exertion had brought to his face had started to fade, turning him pale, his lips bloodless. He gazed over her shoulder, distant and unfocused. Gods, he was about to pass out. She grabbed the dirk and stuck it in her skirt, cutting through the bottom of the pocket and nearly stabbing herself in the leg. She didn’t care.
“Someone get him inside. Call for the healer. I’ll be there in a moment.”
She watched, relieved, as Micheil went unprotesting inside the keep between two of the lads. Then she rounded on the MacDuff. “Ye have spilled the blood of a MacKyrie here today, Lachlan. Is this truly how ye mean to gain my cooperation?”
“If need be, aye. Heed me in this, MacKyrie.”
A chill ran down Ellie’s spine as he stepped toward her.
“I couldha drawn my sword and killed him. I chose to use my dirk to teach the lad a lesson about challenging his betters. That’s the last time I’ll turn my blade. Do ye understand me?”
Ellie clenched her teeth as she nodded. “Aye.”
“Well, then, now that we have that settled, let’s all go in and get warm.” The forced joviality of the MacDuff’s tone did nothing to hide the command in it. Then he gestured to Bram, unconscious in the snow. “And lads, pick that up and take it somewhere safe, aye? He may come in handy when...if...his friends return.”
Ellie closed her eyes. If? Had Lachlan sent men after the wagons, too? This could not be happening. But it was. When she looked again, two of MacDuff’s men were dragging Bram between them by his arms, hauling him off to the stables. MacDuff planned to use him against the Lathans. How? By torturing him? Killing him in front of them? Did he really think even that would turn them away? Turn Donal away? He didn’t know who he would be dealing with. What he was up against. Not even bargaining with Bram’s life, she feared, would prevent the coming battle. The rest were fanning out, some headed for the stables with their mounts, others breaking up the crowd that had gathered at their arrival.
Suddenly the MacDuff took her elbow. “Shall we, my dear?”
Ellie jerked her arm free. “I’m no’ yer dear, nor ever will be, Lachlan. I do what I must for my people. I dinna have to like it.”
“Nay, ye dinna have to like it. But I shall.” He looked her up and down. “Och aye, I believe I shall.”
****
Micheil gritted his teeth as the healer stitched up the long cut in his arm—his trophy from his attempt to protect his laird. Ellie paced, wincing at each stitch. She could feel Micheil’s pain each time the needle pierced his tough hide. The muscle jumping in his jaw gave an indication of his discomfort, despite the whisky in his good hand. He didn’t make a sound. It was all Ellie could do not to whimper for him.
“I hope ye’ve learned yer lesson,” she told him, trying to keep her tone gentle and sympathetic, though she would as soon have beaten some sense into him herself, had Lachlan not already done so. “Ye canna trifle with the MacDuff.”
Micheil unclenched his jaw long enough to answer her. “He plans to trifle with ye. Ye ken that. How coul
d I no’ try to prevent him? He struck ye.”
Heat climbed up Ellie’s neck into her face and she knew she blushed. Embarrassed and angry all at once, she turned away to stare out the window. “Aye. I didna like that either. But challenging the MacDuff, alone, with all his men standing by, was no’ yer finest moment, my friend. How many times have I warned ye about that temper of yers?” She turned to face him and gave him a rueful smile. “Though I must thank ye for the attempt. Ye did yer best to be my champion. I appreciate that. I do. But I’d rather have ye alive than dead.”
“Glad I am of that,” he replied, then took a long swallow of the whisky and added, “Though no’ at the moment.” He gave the healer a long look. “Is this stitchery never to end, Nan?”
“I’d no’ be doin’ it at all if ye’d kept yer wits about ye, daft lad. Haud yer wheesht. I’ll be done when I’m done.”
Micheil groaned. Ellie grinned. He couldn’t deny he deserved the pain. She hoped he’d not soon forget this lesson. He’d have a fine scar to remind him, should he ever think to be so foolish again.
“I failed ye,” Micheil groused, eyes downcast. “As guard captain, it is my responsibility to keep the gate secure.” He took another swig. “No matter who opened it. I also regret that I ever advised ye to accept that man.”
“It doesna matter, my friend,” she said, trying to console him. “It made no difference in the end.”
Fergus came back at that moment, returned from the walk he’d decided to take down to the kitchen.
“Still at it, eh, Nan?” he remarked, waving to Ellie in greeting. “It’s no more than the lad deserves.”
Micheil rolled his eyes. “’Tis no’ as if ye havena any scars of yer own, Fergus,” Micheil groused and took another swig from the bottle as Nan’s needle pulled another stitch.
“Aye, I’ve a goodly number. But the ones who gave them to me are no longer among the living. I made sure of that.” He flexed and raised the arm wounded in the attack on the wagons. “Except for that last. But once we ken who they were, I’ll see about settling that score.”