Devil in a Kilt

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Could the compassionate soul who’d so lovingly looked after her truly have been her husband?

  Dare she hope it?

  Was Duncan MacKenzie, the formidable and mighty Black Stag of Kintail, capable of such great gentleness? Or was she deluding herself, adjusting her vague memories of the dark hours following the ghastly vision to better suit her secret desires?

  Scooting up to a sitting position, she rubbed her throbbing temples and tried to think. Could Duncan harbor such concern for her or had she merely crafted a soothing lie to sweeten what transpired after she’d lost consciousness?

  A sideways glance at the small table near her bed assured her the gentle hands, the loving ministrations she remembered, hadn’t been imagined. Someone had cared for her, for atop the table stood an earthen water jug, a drinking cup, and a small metal basin, empty but for a few damp cloths.

  She’d imagined naught, and it was indeed her husband who’d sat by her side, tending her so lovingly.

  It had to have been him, for deep inside she knew his touch. A slow smile spread across her face at the revelation. She would ken his caress, the feel of his hands, amongst those of a thousand men. Mayhap more. He did care. Heat stole into her cheeks, joining her smile, as warmth spread through her, filling her with hope and banishing the lingering aftereffects of the disturbing visitation.

  Slipping from the bed, she crossed the room and flung the shutters wide, eager to let in what meager light remained. But more than fading light and chill, briny air came in through the opened window. The sound of men’s voices, low and troubled, entered as well, drifting down from the ramparts above.

  Men’s voices raised in anger, the words carried on the wind turning her blood to ice water.

  “… butchered every last one o’ them, even the bairns. The laird’ll carve the bastard to pieces when he catches him…”

  Linnet snatched her mantle from the back of a chair and tossed its warmth around her. With trembling fingers, she worked in vain to fasten the brooch at her shoulder, gave up, and hurried from the room. Clutching the cloak about her shoulders as best she could, she made her way to the great hall as fast as her legs would carry her.

  Deep grumblings and furious shouts rose up to greet her as she descended the tower’s circular stair. Pounding noises and loud thumps, too.

  And the unmistakable hiss and clatter of steel.

  The nearer she came to the hall, the more fierce the ruckus sounded. It was as if the entire assemblage were either slamming their fists upon the tables, stomping their feet, or unsheathing their swords.

  Mayhap all three from the frightful din they made.

  “Cuidich’ N’ Righ! Save the king!” The clan war cry erupted suddenly, bursting forth, resounding and ferocious, from the lungs of what sounded to be a legion of MacKenzie warriors.

  Each one filled with rage.

  Nay, rage was too paltry a word.

  ’Twas bloodlust she heard.

  Bloodlust pure: cold, unforgiving, and bent on revenge.

  “Cuidich’ N’ Righ!” ’Twas a chant now, the fervent cry deafening as it bounced off Eilean Creag’s thick stone walls, echoing eerily in the stair tower as she rounded the last curve, finally reaching the great hall’s arched entrance.

  There, she stopped short, drawing back into the shadows to assess the sight before her.

  In the center of the hall, her husband stood upon one of the trestle tables, his powerful legs arrogantly spread. With both hands, he held his sword high above his head as he led his kinsmen in shouts for justice.

  Flickering light from scores of lit torches glinted off his black mail hauberk whilst little flames appeared to dance in the gleaming darkness of his wildly disordered hair.

  Linnet’s fingers tightened on the edges of her cloak as she stared at him. He looked savage, fierce, with great waves of anger emanating from every taut muscle of his warrior’s body.

  A bloodthirsty, brutal warrior demanding vengeance.

  Repeatedly, he thrust his great sword upward, skillfully whipping his men into a frenzy. As one, they repeated the war cries he roared from his lofty perch.

  Unable to move, frozen in place and transfixed by the spectacle before her, Linnet stared at him in awe. Every inch of him exuded sheer power. Light from the many raised torches reflected onto the steel mesh of his mail tunic, gilding his muscles and turning the close-fitting hauberk into a glittering shirt of flames.

  Flames. Her breath left her in a rush and her heart slammed against her chest.

  She’d near forgotten the two-headed man she’d seen standing in the flames! Terror seized her, chilling her to the very marrow of her bones. The message had to pertain to whatever vile deed had unleashed such havoc upon the Clan MacKenzie.

  She had to warn Duncan, tell him about the two-headed man.

  Mayhap he could make sense of it.

  Shaking anew, Linnet forced herself to leave the shelter of shadows in which she’d been hiding. On legs that felt too wobbly to carry her through the crowd of angry, jostling men packing the hall, she made her way forward.

  With great effort, she pushed through the MacKenzie warriors to where Duncan loomed heads above them, now brandishing his sword menacingly in the air, jabbing ferociously at an unseen enemy. “Let none among us rest until the lives of those taken from us have been avenged,” he swore, his outraged voice reaching even the farthest corners of the massive hall.

  “Tomorrow, before first light,” his booming voice rang out, “we shall descend upon the camp of the bastard Kenneth and have done with them afore they’ll ken ’tis their time to take their places in hell!”

  Resheathing his sword, he planted his hands on his hips and raked his men with a challenging stare. “No quarter! We’ll slice every last one of the miscreants to ribbons. All save Kenneth. Sir Marmaduke alone shall have that honor.”

  He paused to draw a breath, his angry gaze sweeping the width of the hall before issuing further challenges. “Cuidich’ N’ Righ!” he shouted, his fist thrust high in the air. “Save the ki—”

  The war chant froze on his lips when he spied his wife teetering through the crowd, her fiery tresses cascading unbound to her waist, her amber-colored eyes wide in a face gone deadly pale.

  What the devil was she doing up and about? He’d ordered a watch placed on her door.

  Hers and the lad’s.

  But instead of his orders being heeded, none had stopped her and she now struggled toward him through the tightly-packed hall. The sheer terror in her eyes made his gut clench.

  Blood of Christ, he’d meant to spare her hearing details of the butchery wrought upon his people, meant to know her safely ensconced in her chamber, far from this gathering intended to stir the fires of revenge in his men.

  Saints, but he’d not wanted her exposed to such madness.

  The lad neither, his seed or nay.

  Not that he’d admit any greater concern for the child than he felt for any of the other bairns under his protection.

  Scowling, he dragged his arm over his damp forehead and watched her approach. As if they’d only just become aware of her presence, his men parted before her, clearing her way through their midst.

  Unfortunately, Duncan’s mood worsened with each faltering step she took forward. Holy St. Columba preserve him, but, as she neared, he imagined he saw her not as she appeared, healthy and whole of limb, but mangled and bloody.

  Violated.

  Her creamy skin streaked and crusted with blood, her lush curves horribly mutilated in the heinous ways his patrol reported Kenneth and his band had massacred his crofters’ women.

  And the poor crofters themselves.

  Their innocent bairns, too.

  Even the oxen and milk cows hadn’t been spared. Naught had escaped their butchery.

  Closing his eyes on the imagined horrors, Duncan threw back his head and let out a bellow of sheer rage. When he opened his eyes again, Linnet stood directly beneath him, her hands clutching the edge of the table for
support.

  “My lord, I must speak with you,” she stammered, the words trembling as much as her body. “’Tis a matter of grave importance.”

  Seeing her so close, so near he caught the sweetness of her scent rising up to him, pushed Duncan’s control beyond its limits. The very thought aught could happen to her made his blood run cold. The possibility terrified him and undid the last vestige of his already waning discipline.

  Jumping from the table, he landed mere inches from her and clamped his hands down hard on her shoulders. “Whate’er possessed you to hie yourself down here?” he shouted, his words echoing in the vastness of the vaulted hall. “Can you not see this is no place for a woman?”

  Her trembling increased at his outburst, but she stood her ground. “Sir… husband… you did ask me to warn you if ever I foresaw danger.”

  “Lady, ’tis because of danger I ordered a guard on your door. I willna have you underfoot here, jostled about and hearing tales not fit for a lady’s ears!” he fair boomed, his voice rising with each word.

  “But—”

  “No buts,” he cut her off, half-mad from the silky feel of her hair beneath his fingers, for as he spoke he imagined her shining tresses brittle and matted with dried blood. “Naught you can warn me of matters now. ’Tis too late.”

  Linnet shook her head. “Nay, but it does. What I must tell you has naught to do with whatever wickedness has caused you to raise a hue and cry.” She paused to wet her lips. “’Tis of a future evil I must warn you, a foretoken I beg you to hear.”

  Duncan swallowed his irritation. He didn’t want to learn of more ill tidings. What he wanted was to know her safe in her chamber.

  “Lady, I dinna ken what fouler deed can befall me than what already has. A full score of my kinsmen and their families have been killed, butchered,” he told her, his voice ragged, drained. “Simple farmers who work the outlying reaches of MacKenzie land. ’Twas Kenneth’s doing, and an even worse devastation than he’d wrought upon the Murchisons. In the wee hours, I’ll ride out with a party of my best men. God willing, we’ll find them before they can escape us.”

  His wife blanched upon hearing his words, but didn’t lower her gaze. Instead, she slowly shook her head once more. “It was not Kenneth I saw,” she insisted, digging her heels into the rushes when he tried to propel her from the hall. “’Twas a stranger, a two-headed man surrounded by flames.”

  Gasps issued from the men standing near enough to have heard her whispered words, and Duncan swept the lot of them with a furious glare, cowing them into silence.

  ’Twas nonsense his lady wife spoke, and he wouldn’t have his men plagued by thoughts of two-headed monsters whilst Kenneth merrily hacked his way through those MacKenzie kin not dwelling within the safety of Eilean Creag’s protective walls.

  Gathering Linnet into his arms, he stalked toward the spiral stair at the back of the hall. His men fell back, making way for them, as he strode angrily through their midst. “’Tis no such thing as two-headed men. I’ll hear naught of such drivel,” he thundered, purposely raising his voice so his men would hear. To them, he called, “Sharpen your blades, then get what sleep you can. ’Twill be time to sally forth before you know it.”

  “I wouldn’t discount the lady’s words,” Sir Marmaduke cautioned, stepping out of the throng and boldly blocking Duncan’s way up the stairs. “It behooves you to listen to her warning.”

  Duncan’s patience snapped. “Indeed?”

  “Yes,” the Sassunach replied, crossing his arms. “She wouldn’t appear so troubled without just cause.”

  “And, pray, did you hear her warning? ’Twas of a two-headed man she spoke.” Duncan heaved a deep sigh. “Mayhap such blighted creatures roam England, but I forswear I’ve ne’er seen one hereabouts. Furthermore, it behooves you to get yourself out of my way lest I be tempted to ask why my orders weren’t followed. I told you to post a guard on my lady’s door.”

  He paused to narrow his eyes menacingly at his friend. “Is it possible you also neglected to send a guard to the lad’s chamber as well?”

  “Think you I’d shirk my duties?” Sir Marmaduke asked, a look of mock astonishment on his scarred face. “Nay, my liege, never would I ignore your wishes, ’tis only a bit late I am in implementing them… with just reason, of course.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Rather than answer him, Sir Marmaduke nodded to someone in the crowd behind Duncan. Before he could turn around to see who it was, Thomas, the tongueless lad, pushed his way forward, Robbie perched high atop his broad shoulders, a child-sized wooden sword clutched tightly in the boy’s hand. Mauger, Robbie’s ancient hound, followed close on Thomas’s heels.

  Duncan’s heart turned over in his chest. If e’er he’d doubted he possessed one, he knew it now. As with Linnet, for one sickening moment, he imagined the wee lad limp and lifeless, bloodied and bruised.

  For a moment, Duncan lost his footing on the loose rushes, slick as they were with ale spilled from his men’s tankards. He stumbled and would’ve dropped Linnet had she not clung to his neck. Truth to tell, he was nigh onto losing the last victuals he’d eaten, so wrenching was the thought of Robbie meeting the same fate as he knew had befallen his crofters’ innocent bairns.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded of Sir Marmaduke, venting his rage on him rather than face the demons riding his back.

  Keeping his gaze averted from young Thomas and Robbie, he thundered on, “Why isn’t he in his chamber with a guard watching over him?”

  “I dinna need a guard,” Robbie piped up, brandishing his little toy sword. “Uncle Marm’duke said I must protect the ladies.”

  “And so you shall, little mite,” Sir Marmaduke addressed the child, his good eye twinkling with mirth.

  Duncan winced inwardly at the look of adoration Robbie bestowed on his uncle. How long had it been since the lad had looked at him thusly?

  Saints help him, he couldn’t remember, and admitting such was akin to having a white-hot blade thrust deep into his belly.

  His lady wife twisted in his arms, turning toward Thomas and Robbie. “I vow ’tis no man I’d trust more to defend me,” she said warmly, her voice, for the moment at least, no longer shaky and frightened.

  Stealing a glance at her, Duncan saw her lips were gently curved as she gazed lovingly at the lad. Faith, she had the face of an angel when she smiled like that. ’Twas a look she’d gifted him with, too.

  Once or twice. Mayhap more often.

  And each time he’d managed to banish it with the bitter utterance of his harsh and foolhardy words.

  “I asked you a question, Strongbow,” he said tightly, tamping down the shame he felt at his own actions and aiming a heated glance at his Sassunach brother-in-law. “I would that you answer it.”

  For the space of a heartbeat, Duncan thought the Englishman would try to outstare him, but he finally complied. “Be our intent not obvious? We were making haste to bring Robbie and your lady’s maid to your wife’s chamber.”

  He paused, arching his one intact brow. “It was surely an oversight on your part to order two guards posted at separate doors when in truth it is wiser to have the Lady Linnet, her woman, and Robbie, safely ensconced in one chamber, with one guard?”

  Heat crept up Duncan’s neck at the wisdom of his friend’s words and at his own neglect in seeing it himself. He’d meant to spend what few hours remained till he’d must rouse his men, sleeping peacefully in his lady’s arms.

  Right or wrong, naught else had concerned him.

  The saints knew he’d need his rest, and all his wits, afore it was time to lead his men in pursuit of Kenneth. But the good Lord knew no peace would be his with Elspeth and Robbie sharing the chamber.

  “I—” Duncan snapped his mouth shut, swallowing the sharp protest he’d been about to voice when he caught sight of Fergus and his lady hovering on the edge of the circle of men gathered round them.

  Although she tried to hide
it, he could tell the old woman was frightened. ’Twas writ all o’er her face and in the way her gaze kept darting to the wicked-looking mace Fergus held in his gnarled hands.

  “Aye, ’tis right you are,” Duncan conceded, watching Elspeth as he spoke. Sure enough, the taut lines around her mouth relaxed upon hearing his words.

  Turning first to Sir Marmaduke, then young Thomas and Fergus, he continued, “Marmaduke, you help me escort the women up the stairs. Thomas, you’ll follow with the lad, then stand guard at the door. And you, Fergus, see the men stop quaffing ale. Send a few extra up on the wall walk and to the gatehouses and make certain the rest bed down to sleep. ’Twill be a short night.”

  His commands issued, he nodded briskly at his seneschal, then began the circular climb up the stone steps, Linnet cradled securely in his arms. The others followed close behind, the burning torch Sir Marmaduke held aloft casting eerie shadows on the wall as they went.

  “I must speak with you,” Linnet whispered close to his ear, her warm breath sweet against his skin, and stirring more than his hair. “You misunderstand the portent of my vision. It was not a true two-headed man I glimpsed, but a veiled warning. My gift always works thusly, and I can do naught but guess the meaning of such messages.”

  Curling her fingers around his neck, she tried to draw him closer. “I canna speak louder lest the others hear, and I do not wish to frighten Robbie, but you must heed the warning. Please, I beg you.”

  Without slowing his pace up the cold and damp-smelling stair passage, Duncan shifted her in his arms, pulling her tighter against his chest. He held her so close his heady male scent filled each breath she took, and the hard, unyielding links of his mail shirt pressed into her skin despite the thickness of her woolen mantle.

  As if he hadn’t heard her plea, or chose to ignore it, he remained silent until they came to the door of their bedchamber. Halting before it, her husband ordered Sir Marmaduke to open the door, then, without releasing her, he stood back to allow the others to file inside.

  Rather than follow them into the darkened chamber, he remained looming near the arched opening, saying nary a word as the Sassunach busied himself rekindling the fire and Elspeth bustled about like a mother hen, lighting tallow candles with shaking hands whilst murmuring reassurances to Robbie. The boy sat by the hearth, his arms wrapped tightly around the neck of his dog.