“I have been gone too long. Besides, my brother will ensure my arse barely warms the seat before my head rolls down the center of the great room.”
“True,” Declan replied and sunk into a chair. “Fine. I will go with you to speak to the McNeil. Guard!” When a guard appeared in the doorway, Declan nodded in acknowledgement. “Have Struan come to me and prepare two horses for Ian and myself. Six guards will accompany us to the McNeil keep in an hour.”
Declan seemed to have a lot on his mind as they rode to the McNeil keep.
“What bothers you?” Ian asked.
Declan looked over his shoulder to make sure no one rode close enough to overhear. “The McNeil is quite ill.”
“How bad?”
“Not expected to see winter.”
“Does Elsbeth know?”
“They are keeping it from her, which is why he’s been searching for a bridegroom for Elsbeth.”
“Ah.” His gut clenched and chest constricted. How would the McNeil react to his request for his daughter’s hand?
Malcolm, an archer, came alongside them and motioned with his head. “We are being watched.”
Shadows of horsemen formed behind the dense trees. Whoever they were had not planned their strategy well. Ian’s party of eight knew the land and had a clearer path. Declan narrowed his eyes. “Did you make out a plaid?”
“Aye, Sinclair,” Malcolm replied and grunted. “Not sure what they’ll do, far from their own lands.”
Ian looked behind to notice the six guardsmen had gone silent and scanned the woods for signs of more men. “Just ahead, when we reach the clearing, we’ll be exposed. We should divert and travel west a bit.”
“Nay,” Declan said. “I don’t want to lead them closer to the village.”
Ian let out a breath. “We don’t know how many there are. Elsbeth said only six came to the keep.” Although they were battle-hardened men, if the men who followed were large in number, going to the clearing was a mistake. “Then let’s turn east.”
“Very well.” Declan nodded and they urged their mounts to a faster trot east into the forest.
An hour later, they’d diverted twice and still the Sinclairs followed gaining ground. Ian’s party ascertained they numbered at about ten and five. Thankfully, just ahead they’d enter the McNeil’s land and the scout would have rounded up enough guards to fend off the encroachers.
All of a sudden, with a battle cry, the men broke out of the trees toward them.
Ian and his men turned their steeds to face them, swords held up at the ready. “Leave!” he screamed to Declan. It was his job to protect the laird and from the looks of it, if their guardsmen did not arrive in time, he would not be able to.
Metal clanged against metal as the enemy reached them. They’d formed a semi-circle and, much to Ian’s chagrin, Declan remained, fighting alongside them. The first man to fall was a Sinclair. Any relief at the sight was a short-lived when a Gordon fighter fell next.
“There’s too many of them,” Malcolm told Ian. “Move away and take the laird with you.”
“Nay!” Declan swept across a man’s midsection with his sword, the hapless male fell to the ground, his arms around his spilling guts.
Ian could not afford to argue or break his concentration. He fought against two men at once.
“Stop!” a voice boomed from the darkness of the trees seconds before a lone horseman appeared. Ian took the opportunity to spear the man to his left.
The Sinclair warriors stopped fighting, now surrounding the Gordons. The barrier of horses and warriors made it hard to move.
Declan looked to Ian. His other five men lined up three in front and two behind. “What is this?”
“I think he wants to have tea with us,” Ian replied while searching for his fallen comrade. Although injured badly, the man was still alive. The guard moved just enough for Ian to notice.
“Declan Gordon?” The man who approached spoke with a heavy Highland accent proving, along with the long, dark blond hair and beard, that he was all Highland warrior. “I come for Griogair Sinclair. Laird Sinclair requests his son return to take lairdship of our clan.” There was coldness in the man’s gaze as it swept over Ian. “Ye are Griogair Campbell. I recognize ye.”
Declan held his sword at a ready. “What nonsense do you spew stranger? The McNeil’s guards will arrive shortly. I suggest you and your men leave now.”
The man did not look to be worried at Declan’s threat. He scanned the men’s faces, his gaze resting on Ian for a beat before moving past. “My orders are to return with the Sinclairs son. I will not return empty-handed.”
“I know nothing of that person,” Declan replied. “Ask your men to allow us to gather our injured man and pass.”
Ian held up a hand. He inched closer. “Return to my brother, Liam, and tell him I will never return and will never seek lairdship. I do not want it. If he does not pay you for your trouble, I will. I renounce the name Sinclair. I am Ian McRainey and forever will be named as such.” Declan’s guards all looked to him, some with mistrust, but most with curiosity.
Although there was doubt in the attacking leader’s eyes, he nodded. “Very well. It will be noted that you renounce the name Sinclair and henceforth will be considered enemy and traitor to the clan.” He spat on the ground and his men did the same.
He then met Ian’s gaze for a long moment. “We will not return.” He motioned to his men, who moved away and waited for Malcolm and another guard to lift the injured man to a horse. Two by two, Ian instructed the men to retreat, leaving him and Malcolm last.
Every once in a while, he looked over his shoulder to the Sinclairs who remained lined up watching him. The red and green colors proudly displayed over their shoulders now in silent reproach. He was a man without a clan, without a tartan to call his own.
They rode in silence until almost to the McNeil keep. Declan came alongside Ian and lifted a brow. “For a man who is about to declare his undying love, you look as if you are facing the gallows instead.”
“I have nothing much to offer someone like her.” He battled to keep from turning his horse and galloping away. “Why should the McNeil accept me? A man without a clan, no title.”
“You are a Gordon now,” Declan said, throwing him a tartan he must have procured from another man. “Wear our colors with pride, my friend. You have much to offer. Your honor is worth more than a title.”
A lump formed in his throat as he draped the white and blue fabric over his shoulder. He let out a sigh, not sure if it was relief or exhaustion. There was much to face still. Yet, for Elsbeth, he’d face a fire-breathing dragon. For her, he’d release a last dying breath without regret.
Chapter Six
Elsbeth stood before her father, her chin lifted in defiance and her gaze pinned to his. She’d not back down on this. As much as she hated conflict with either of her parents, she stood her ground. “I will not marry Kiernan Seton, Da. I am in love and prepared to leave if you do not accept Ian McRainey as my husband. Please do not force me to make that choice.”
Her mother rushed in, wide eyes going first to her father then to her. “What happens?”
The McNeil lifted an eyebrow; finally pulling his gaze from Elsbeth’s to look at his wife. “It seems Elsbeth considers herself in love. The man in question is not here to face me. In his stead, my daughter defies me alone.”
“He had to go renounce his lairdship of Clan Sinclair, as there seems to be a price on his head.” She prayed he arrived safely and returned unharmed. The thought that he could perish terrorized her.
“Ah,” her father’s short reply did nothing to tell what, exactly, he thought. The Setons visit was to be within days. Her father had to send a messenger to keep them from wasting their time. “I am perplexed, Elsbeth. Ian McRainey was just here days ago. Why did he not speak to me then? If he is a man of honor and sought your hand…”
“Things er… progressed. We only yesterday realized how deep our feelings ran
.” Her face burned as she recalled exactly how far things had, indeed, progressed. She prayed her parents did not suspect.
Her mother went to her father and placed a hand on his shoulder, a sure sign of solidarity with him. If ever there was a time she felt alone, this was it.
“Sire, the Gordon and his second are here to speak to ye,” a guard announced from the doorway.
“Is that so?” Her father looked to his wife, a silent communication between them. “Show them in.”
Why was Ian here? He was supposed to go north. Her heart tumbled in her chest. If they came about another matter altogether, the situation was about to become worse.
Due to his station, Declan Gordon entered the room first. He greeted her parents before his green eyes met hers. There was warmth in them that settled her. Ian crossed the doorway behind him. Just as tall and commanding as the laird, Ian had pulled his hair back with a leather strap and wore the Gordon tartan over one shoulder. The fabric was cinched at his waist, his sword on his side. An air of assuredness surrounded him, suiting him perfectly. He looked every bit a laird, someone meant for commanding, ruling over the large clan of the north. Yet, he’d given it all up.
Without looking directly at her, he came beside her, allowing Declan to stand before them, respecting the laird’s position.
“Laird,” Declan began. “I return, prompted by my second, as he wishes to speak with you about a matter of great importance.”
Her father looked past the Gordon and directly to Ian. Elsbeth’s pulse quickened and she let out a breath. “Ian McRainey, if that is your true name, what cause brings you to speak to me?”
Ian’s hand brushed hers, the light touch of reassurance she needed. “I was born Griogair Ian Sinclair, heir to lairdship of Clan Sinclair. Ten years ago, I left my clan to offer my sword to the Gordon. When Declan…er the Gordon came to Moriag, I then became his second.” His voice was strong, not one word wavering, his stance proud as he faced her father who remained silent while his eyes moved from Ian to her on occasion.
Ian continued. “I just spoke to the Sinclairs and renounced my clan.”
Elsbeth and her mother both gasped in unison at such daring.
“He is a Gordon now,” Declan interjected. “He is landed, with coin worthy of any laird. I give you my word that he is a man of great honor.”
Her father finally spoke. “Very well. Everything you’ve said, I would agree with. Yet, how does this involve me and my family?”
“I am here to seek your daughter’s hand in marriage. I vow to love, care for and protect Elsbeth. I would gladly die before ever allowing any hurt or pain to come to her.”
An awkward silence fell over the room. Ian remained still. Elsbeth looked to her mother for a sign of what she thought. In return, her mother’s gaze was warm, filled with love and understanding. Lastly, she glanced to Ian, who looked down to her, his expression determined.
“I had guards follow you yesterday,” her father began and her eyes widened. “They were instructed to bring you back unless they found you to be safe.”
“We knew where you were. It seems the only people in this room that didn’t know you two were in love were…you two.” He stood and her chest expanded with pride at her father’s presence. His keen blue eyes narrowed at Ian. “I would have preferred you not to have touched my daughter until after the wedding, but since it was she that came to you…” He left the sentence unspoken.
Her father rounded the table he’d sat behind and went to Ian. “I agree with Declan. Your honor is worth more to me than a title. I have little doubt you are the man who can stand up to my willful daughter.”
Elsbeth wanted to collapse in relief against Ian, but remained erect through sheer willpower. Her mother laughed and rushed to her. “I am happy for you, dear. We are pleased to finally see you settled. That you are in love is a blessing.”
“Marry with haste. If something came of your time…together, I prefer it to seem as if it happened after.” Everyone laughed except for Elsbeth and Ian. A coloring of Ian’s cheeks was the only indication he gave that her father’s words affected him.
The Gordon and her father both clapped Ian on the back and she rolled her eyes at the camaraderie, which left the females out of the equation. She tapped her foot and Ian turned to her. “Do you not think that, perhaps, some sort of acknowledgment to my presence by your person would be warranted?”
Ian closed the distance between them so quickly she lost her breath. He took her into his arms and kissed her soundly.
One Month later…
A gentle breeze blew through the window and across her bare skin. Elsbeth let out a moan and gripped the coverings harder in an effort to remain grounded. Ian’s head was between her thighs, his hot mouth on her sex. He slid his hands under her bottom giving him more access to her as she fought against the impending climax, wanting to climb higher. She released a cry when he suckled and tumbled off the edge into a wonderful abyss.
In a daze, she felt the bed dip as he moved over her, immediately his mouth seeking hers while he maneuvered to enter her pliant body. “Now, I need you Ian, please.”
He pushed in, filling her completely. His soft sack lay against her skin, a sensation she never grew tired of and the contrast that was his body was something she enjoyed exploring every night. He pushed up extending his arms and peered down at her. “You are my heart, Elsbeth. I will never stop wanting you or loving you.”
The words melted over her and she could only smile up at him, words eluding her. Here in their private paradise, where only Ian and she existed, was what mattered at the moment. He guided her to wrap her legs about his waist and she eagerly complied and slid her hands to his shoulders.
Harder and faster he drove into her and she called his name over and over as, once again, peaking threatened. On and on he continued as she, again, lost all control and became undone. Still she clung to him, her legs tight around his body, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Spill into me Ian, fill me with you.”
Her words spurred him to call out her name as he sunk into her once more, so deep she gasped at the sensation. His seed flowed hot.
Ian rolled to lay beside her, pulling her into his arms, his lips trailing kisses across her face and temples. Both gasped for breath, their hearts thumping against their chests.
Elsbeth squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed into his chest. “If only we could remain like this forever, not facing the stark reality of life outside these walls.”
His arms tightened around her. “Your father is doing better. I believe our marriage has settled him some. He was in good spirits last time we visited, was he not?”
Unable to keep a tear from spilling, she sniffed and nodded. “I believe so, yes.” Her father had finally admitted to being ill. An illness her parents had kept from her and only confessed it after she and Ian married. Although she’d suspected it, denial had kept her from seeing the true extent of her father’s declining health. He was pale and had lost weight, his face drawn and more angular now.
Yet, she had hope that he’d live long enough to meet his grandchildren. She and Ian were not with child yet, but if the past weeks were any indication, it would not be long before they had the first of what she hoped were many bairns.
A soft snore sounded and she glanced up to see that Ian’s head lulled to the side, his full lips parted.
A smile curved her lips as she allowed slumber to carry her away to where she’d share more time with her beautiful, golden warrior.
Excerpt from Highlander, The Archer
Chapter One
Air rasped in and out of Valent’s lungs as he cut through the forest. Low branches slashed his arms and face, but on he raced. Fear coursed through his body and tears fell down his cheeks as he jumped over a fallen tree and cut to the right upon spotting the road back to the cottage where he lived. Footfalls closing in behind him forced Valent to run faster.
A hard hit to the middle of his back sent him stumbling forw
ard. He let out a scream when a second hit landed on the back of his head and he fell to the ground dropping his bow and quiver.
It was impossible to count the blows that followed. Kicks and punches continued until he faded in and out of consciousness. Finally, his attackers ran and he curled into a ball willing the pain to go away. If he didn’t get up and make it home to get patched up, he’d lose his spot as apprentice archer the next day.
Valent dragged himself to sit and winced. His sides ached when he breathed. Blood from his nose dripped down the front of his tunic and he held his head back to staunch the flow.
“Valent!” A deep voice called out. “Get on with it, boy. I’ve yet to see what ye accomplished in the hunt.” Old Tavish came into view mouth falling open. “Not again.”
He hurried to him and bent down peering at Valent’s face. “Who did this?”
Not that it mattered if he named his assailants. There was nothing to be done about it. “Donall, Ceardac, and Beathan.”
“Ah,” Tavish held out a hand. “Come on get up slowly boy. Let’s get ye home… I will send for Meagan to come see about ye.”
“No.” He shook with pain at standing. “Not Meagan.”
It took longer than it should’ve to get to their cottage. Tavish couldn’t help him much, the man was riddled with pain everyday from old battle injuries and walked with a pronounced limp.
“I have decided to speak to the laird in the morning,” Tavish announced with a huff. “’Tis time he does something about his sons. Could ’ave killed ye, lad.”
At six and ten years of age, Valent knew he was much too old to have an old man speak for him. “I will do it. Do not be speaking for me, Tavish. If the laird gets angry, let it be with me.”
“Drink this,” Tavish forced a cup of vile smelling liquid to his lips. “All of it.”
Within moments, he could barely keep his eyes open.
Enticed by the Highlander: The Moriag Series Page 25