Highland Revenge (Fated Hearts Book 1)

by Giltenan, Ceci

  “I’ll just get my things.” She started to retrieve the small bundle from her bed.

  “Nay, lass, that won’t be necessary. Please just come with me.”

  “Is something wrong? I saw men riding under the MacNicol banner, leading extra horses. This is about the ransom isn’t it?”

  “Aye, Fiona.” He said no more, simply taking her arm and leading her from the room. They descended the stairs quickly and as she stepped into the hall, she glanced around. Eoin sat at the head of the table, an unfurled scroll and several large bags of what Fiona assumed to be coins on the table in front of him. He looked furious. The MacNicol guardsmen who had accompanied her stood waiting near the main doors.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered to Tasgall, but before he could answer, she saw Padraig standing to one side of the table. He put his arms out and she ran into his embrace. Padraig had been more of a father to her since her own da’s death than Uncle Bhaltair.

  “My lady, I had to see ye, to know ye’re well.”

  “I am, Paud. I’ve missed ye so. I’m glad it’s ye who came to take me home. I’m ready to go.”

  “Ah sweet lass, I’ve missed ye too.”

  She rested her head against his chest and he stroked her hair as a father would.

  “Ye’ve seen her now. Ye can return to Castle MacNicol with yer men.” Eoin growled.

  With yer men? “What about me? The ransom is paid, isn’t it? I’m going home too.”

  Padraig took her hands in his. “Nay, pet. I’m sorry.”

  “It seems, Fiona, that yer uncle was willing to pay for the return of his men, but not for ye.” Eoin’s tone was calm, but he was clearly furious.

  Fiona couldn’t believe her ears. “Nay. Nay. There has been some mistake. Paud, tell him. Tell him there has been a mistake.”

  “I’m sorry pet, it is true. Yer uncle believes that since ye’re betrothed to Bram Sutherland, the Sutherlands should pay yer ransom.”

  “What about Alec? Did ye contact him? He is the laird. He won’t stand for this. I know he will see the ransom paid.”

  Padraig looked stricken. “Alec is missing, Fiona. He left Munro as soon as he received word of yer capture. He hasn’t been seen since.”

  Fiona had been locked in a room for over a week fighting panic and despair. She had pinned all hope on the confidence that her ransom would be paid. This couldn’t be happening. She had to stay strong a little longer. She wouldn’t cry. There was a mistake and it would all be sorted out.

  “Nay, Paud, please. This is wrong. Alec is coming. Uncle Bhaltair made a mistake. He wouldn’t abandon me.” She began to tremble and could not hold back her tears. “Paud please—” her voice broke on a sob and she clung to her old friend. “Please take me with ye.”

  “That’s enough, Fiona. Bhaltair MacNicol is without honor, as I have always known. Padraig, I have granted yer request. Don’t make me regret it.”

  “Laird, please, she’s had a shock. Let me calm her first.”

  “Bhaltair should have thought about that when he refused to pay the ransom. Tasgall, take her back upstairs. Aiden, Marcas, escort our guests out of the hall.”

  Tasgall had a hand on her elbow, but before Aiden and Marcas reached Padraig, he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave a little shake. “Listen to me. Ye’re strong. Ye’re a MacNicol. Ye will make it through this, Finn.”

  Aiden and Marcas pulled Padraig away, out of the hall as Tasgall scooped her, sobbing, into his arms and carried her up the stairs.

  Eight

  There was chaos in his hall as Tasgall carried Fiona MacNicol, weeping, up the stairs. Eoin’s other men escorted the remaining MacNicols out at swordpoint. Eoin tightened his jaw. This should have been a simple exchange of prisoners for ransom; instead it was a disaster.

  The whole week, while waiting to hear from Bhaltair, Eoin had been troubled. From the moment Marcas escorted Fiona from the hall—pale, trembling, and with fear filling her remarkable blue eyes—he had been haunted with misgivings. Initially he tried to exorcise his guilt by reminding himself she was a MacNicol, Bhaltair’s niece, and it was Bhaltair’s fault she was a captive. It would work for a short while, until he glanced up from whatever he was doing in the bailey and saw her lovely visage in the window. She was too far away for him to see her eyes, but he couldn’t forget the fear he had last seen in them, and guilt would flood him again.

  The only thing worse than seeing her looking out from her prison, was not seeing her. For some reason, several days after she had been imprisoned in the tower, she relinquished her post at the window.

  Anna only made things worse with her nagging, but his guilt morphed quickly to anger when he heard the lass had been looking ill and wasn’t eating. If she continued this way, he himself would have to force her to eat, and the thought filled him with dread. How could he do that? Some unwelcome part of him hated that the beautiful woman he had locked away feared him. When Father Tomas had asked to visit her earlier that day, Eoin was beyond relieved.

  He hadn’t had a chance to speak with the priest before the MacNicol riders arrived that afternoon. Their captain was none other than the guard who, with Finn, had helped him survive and escape Castle MacNicol. Eoin would have liked to welcome him as a dear friend, but he would never risk giving away the man’s secret. So he had greeted him coolly as he accepted the missive from Bhaltair MacNicol.

  Damn the man! Why had he done this? Eoin had played by the rules. He had sent a ransom demand—a very large ransom demand. He expected that Bhaltair would not want to pay it. He thought perhaps the man would try to negotiate. But at the very least, he assumed the bastard would secure the release of his niece, the laird’s sister. He couldn’t believe what Bhaltair had written.

  Ye must understand that the ransom ye have demanded is far more than I can afford to pay. Ye ask as much for my niece as ye do for all eight of my men. Therefore, as I cannot pay the full amount, I must ask ye to release my men. Fiona is betrothed to Bram Sutherland; perhaps he has the wherewithal to secure her release.

  Eoin had ordered Marcas to release the prisoners and waited with Padraig in tense silence until the eight guardsmen were led from the dungeon, looking a bit ragged but none the worse for wear. “Bhaltair MacNicol has paid yer ransom. Ye’re free to go. A contingent of my men will ride with ye to our border to make sure ye don’t get lost again.”

  Padraig had looked confused. “Laird MacKay, where is Lady Fiona?”

  “That isn’t any of yer concern.”

  Padraig’s face had turned red as he clearly struggled to control his anger. “The hell it isn’t! I’ve just paid ye her ransom.”

  “Nay, ye haven’t. Ye’ve paid the ransom for those eight men. Bhaltair was very clear about that. Did he fail to mention it to ye?” He had given Padraig the scroll to read himself. The devastation on the man’s face as he read the cruel words was painful to see, but no matter what Padraig had done for him, Eoin couldn’t change the course of events. “Bhaltair MacNicol’s soul is blacker than even I thought possible, but this is the path he has chosen. Ye need to be on yer way now. She is no longer yer concern.”

  “Laird MacKay, please, she is a good lass with a kind heart—kinder than ye can imagine. Please, let me take her home.”

  Eoin couldn’t do that, but he did inquire about Alec. He thought perhaps there would be a way to negotiate with the young, rightful laird. Sadly, that door had slammed too.

  “Laird MacKay, Alec won’t let this pass. I swear to ye he will pay the ransom. It’s just that he is…he is missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Aye, Laird. Bhaltair sent a message to him as soon as he received yer ransom demand. Apparently he left Munro immediately, but never arrived.”

  “How do ye know this?”

  “We didn’t know until yesterday evening. Alec is married to one of Laird Munro’s daughters. A contingent of men from Munro arrived yesterday, accompanying his wife and their child. They expected to find him at C
astle MacNicol already. Apparently, he was bringing part of the ransom.”

  Eoin knew the chances of finding Alec MacNicol were slim, and the chances of recovering any coin he carried even slimmer, but he offered to negotiate with the young laird, should he be found. That was when Padraig asked to see Fiona. Eoin should never have agreed. He could have avoided all of this by simply saying nay. Had it been anyone else, he would not have allowed it. However, he owed this man his life. It might be the only boon Eoin would ever be able to grant him. Allowing Padraig to see Fiona had been a catastrophe, and now Eoin sat stunned in the aftermath.

  Finn.

  Padraig had called her Finn. It wasn’t possible. Finn was a lad—a pale, scrawny, ill-clothed, mouthy lad with close-cropped, curly hair. He was a lad who, in his desire to maintain his clan’s honor, had defied Bhaltair MacNicol and saved Eoin’s life. No, Eoin must have misheard the man.

  When Aiden and Marcas returned, Aiden asked, “Why do ye suppose he called her Finn? It’s an odd nickname for a lass. God’s teeth Eoin, ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”

  Eoin had never identified the guardsman or the lad who had helped him, not even to his family. Secrets had a way of sweeping across the Highlands on the wind. A wrong word, uttered in the wrong place, could have reached Bhaltair’s ears, and his saviors’ kindness would have been paid back with misery. “Are ye sure he called her Finn?”

  Aiden looked perplexed. “Why would ye ask that? We all heard it.”

  “Then it was a message for me. Damn it all, why didn’t I see? Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “Laird, what are ye talking about?” asked Marcas.

  Then Eoin remembered some of the odd things she had said. Ye don’t know who I am. Have ye never been thirsty…Did no one ever aid ye and give ye water? I hope I won’t need to keep this one hidden as ye did.

  Eoin put his head in his hands. “God’s blood, she did try.”

  “Tell ye what?” demanded Aiden.

  “When I escaped from Castle MacNicol, ye remember me telling ye a lad and a guardsman helped me?”

  “Aye.”

  “The lad’s name was Finn, and Padraig was the guardsman who helped him. He called her Finn. He was trying to tell me it was she who saved my life.”

  Aiden said, “Maybe he was lying. It would be hard to mistake her for a lad, and surely that’s something she would have told ye when she was captured. It could only have helped her.”

  “He’s not lying and I think she did try to tell me. She couldn’t say anything outright in front of her uncle’s men, but she mentioned something only Finn and Padraig would know, and I missed it. The first night when Finn came to my cell, he gave me a costrel and told me to keep it hidden. When I gave her my costrel on the ride here, she said she hoped she wouldn’t need to keep it hidden as I had. I thought she was suggesting I might withhold sustenance from my prisoners as Bhaltair did.”

  Aiden was still trying to find a reasonable explanation. “Maybe that’s what she was doing. Perhaps the hidden costrel was found after ye left and they knew someone had helped ye.”

  “That isn’t possible. I took it with me the night I escaped. Nay, I believe the wee lad to whom I owe my life is none other than the tree-climbing lass I have locked in the tower: Fiona MacNicol.”

  “What will ye do with her now?” asked Marcas.

  “To hell with me if I know. I can’t believe the bastard abandoned her. I suppose I will see if Sutherland wishes to pay her ransom. In any event, I need to go speak with her.”

  Nine

  As he climbed the stairs to the tower, he grew even angrier at Bhaltair MacNicol. How dare he desert his niece so heartlessly? Eoin thought of how she’d clung to Padraig, insisting that her brother would be found and begging to go home.

  Mother of God, he wasn’t much better. She had been distraught with pain and loss, and in his anger at her uncle, he had ignored it. She must be terrified now. She had to know that if no one paid her ransom, it was within his right to do anything he wished with her. But he owed her his life. He would not let anything harm her. In a single instant, he became Fiona’s protector instead of her captor.

  He knocked and entered her room. Tasgall sat in a chair, still holding her in his arms. She trembled and looked as if she had only just stopped weeping. An odd, unpleasant emotion stirred in his belly. He didn’t like seeing her in his younger brother’s arms. As if he read Eoin’s irritation, Tasgall said, “She wouldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Well, she is not crying now and there are things we must discuss. Leave us.”

  “Eoin, this isn’t her fault.”

  “By all the saints, I know that, Tasgall. Do ye take me for that much of an ogre?” Eoin started to lift her from his brother’s arms.

  “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, scrambling away from them both and turning her back.

  “Leave us.”

  Tasgall nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

  Fiona stood by the bed, her back rigid. She pulled a small bundle towards her clutching it tightly. Dear God, she had packed. Before he sent for her, she had seen the riders and believed she was going home. His heart ached.

  “Fiona, I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head but said nothing.

  “Please sit with me. We need to talk.”

  “There is nothing to say.”

  “Aye, there are a great many things to say, Finn.”

  She bowed her head and dropped the bundle.

  “Ye were Finn?”

  “Aye.” She turned around and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked defeated.

  “Ye tried to tell me, didn’t ye? Several times.”

  She looked up at him. “Aye. I didn’t think ye would believe me, and I was afraid of my uncle’s men finding out, but I tried.”

  He gazed into her eyes for a moment, her beautiful eyes which reminded him of a pristine summer sky. He remembered looking into those eyes the first night Finn came to him in the MacNicol dungeon. That alone should have revealed Finn’s true identity. Still, he knew she was right. With his burning need for revenge, and without some other proof, he probably wouldn’t have believed her. He sat in the chair Tasgall had vacated.

  “Why did ye look like that? Why was yer hair cut so short?”

  “That September, I had been very ill with a lung ailment; I had a fever for days. At one point the healer cut off my hair, trying to break the fever.”

  “Ye wanted to cut my hair one night. I remember.”

  She smiled briefly. “Aye. At one and ten, I considered myself a bit of an expert on fevers, after having just survived one. Paud wouldn’t let me cut yers, though. He figured it would be a dead giveaway of who was helping ye.”

  “He was probably right. But why were ye dressed as a lad?”

  “I was always a bit wild. I liked rough and tumble games and I loved climbing trees. When my hair was shorn, people joked that I had finally gotten my wish and become a lad. They started calling me Finn instead of Fiona.” She smiled again. “I liked it. I started dressing the part. My mother had become ill when I did, only the fever took her life. I suppose people sort of let me do what I wished out of pity. And for me, it was as if I was someone else for a while. I wasn’t Fiona, the poor unfortunate lass whose parents had died, but wild, free-spirited Finn.”

  “Yer aunt and uncle allowed that?”

  “For a little while. My aunt had trouble bearing children and she lost several to illness in infancy. When my mother died, Aunt Sorcha’s sole focus was on her two living children: Stephen, who was nine, and Kara, who was only three. Eventually though, Uncle Bhaltair decided I needed to become a lady.”

  “Given my memories of Finn, that must have been a challenge.”

  “It was, until he figured out how to control me. It was right after ye escaped, actually. He was so angry. Even though Padraig was found drugged, my uncle blamed him and beat him severely. It was horrible, and I knew it was my fault. I had
talked Padraig into helping ye. I tried to interfere, but my uncle had me locked up. I could hear what was happening, the sound of the whip and eventually Padraig’s screams, and I could do nothing. I screamed and fought to get out until I was exhausted. When he finally released me, my hands were bloodied and I was half out of my mind. After that, anytime I was confined, I went into a panic. He soon realized he had the tool he needed to control me. I would do anything to avoid it.” She looked at him pointedly.

  “God’s teeth, Fiona, I’m sorry.”

  “Ye didn’t lock me up in the dungeon at least.”

  “Nay but in my anger towards yer uncle and my desire for revenge, I hurt ye all the same.”

  “Eoin, I understand yer anger at him. What my uncle did was unforgivable, and I still can’t fathom why he did it. But then, I don’t understand much of what he does. Still, could ye not also have remembered the compassion ye were shown? I’d warrant ye wouldn’t be here now if Padraig hadn’t called me Finn. Ye were willing to vent yer anger on any MacNicol because of Uncle Bhaltair, but ye only return kindness to me now because I’ve turned out to be the one who saved yer life.”

  Her accusation laid him low. He remembered old Grizel’s question after he had returned home. Why are men more prone to revenge injury than to requite kindness? It was true. He had been both greatly injured and shown great compassion at MacNicol hands, and yet the only debt he sought to pay was revenge. Learning that both she and Padraig had suffered for their actions only increased his guilt. “Ye’re right. I’m sorry, Fiona.” His words were woefully inadequate, but they were all he had.

  The look of sorrow in her eyes tore his heart. “What happens now? My brother is missing and Uncle Bhaltair has forsaken me.”