But many had opposed David’s actions. Buchan himself—then without his earldom and known only as Alexander Stewart—had been accused of rebellion against that same king.
For that alleged crime, he’d even been imprisoned for a time, along with his father and brothers.
Which would seem to have made Alexander Stewart and Raghnall, the Laird of Kincaid … allies, of a sort.
Why would one ally conspire against the other?
It was a question he still pondered when hours later, he arrived at Inverhaven, escorted by a score of Kincaid warriors who had silently ridden alongside him after he crossed over into their lands. He had done so without stealth, so that they might see him and know he did not seek to challenge them.
He had requested an audience with the Kincaid, and from their snarls and glares, he knew his request for secrecy over his relation to the Kincaid had been respected by all those who knew the truth. On the ride to the castle, he observed that the mercenary army Niall had raised to take Inverhaven remained in place.
They appeared to be staying for the winter—if not forever. Teams of warriors worked at finishing a new barn, but he saw other structures underway, which appeared to be cottages, and even a large hall. He’d take secret pleasure watching the Alwyn losing his mind and manners over that.
It was a strange thing, riding up the road to the famed An Caisteal Niaul, the “Castle in the Clouds,” so coveted by the Laird Alwyn. His gaze moved over the walls and towers, fashioned of light and shining stones compared to Burnbryde’s sea-blasted darkness. Both were ancient bastions of highland history, each representing a long and illustrious ancestry—but only this one had ever truly been his home.
It pained him grievously that he could not remember what his life had been like here, with his family, before they’d been torn apart.
The warriors who had accompanied him thus far, dismounted, and escorted him toward the great double doors—their hands on their sword hilts, as if they would slay him at the slightest provocation. And yet before his boot touched the first stone step leading to the door—the door swung open.
Niall stood there, looking at him, with an expression he couldn’t discern. The tattooed giant who accompanied him everywhere—an older, yet still fearsome warrior named Deargh—stood in the shadows behind him, along with several other men.
In the next moment, Elspeth rushed past her husband and, smiling warmly, took hold of Magnus’s arm, leading him inside. “We saw you riding in, from the window above.”
Her dark hair gleamed against the yellow kirtle she wore, and she looked radiant with happiness. The door closed behind him, and his warrior escort was left behind.
“Welcome, brother,” said the Kincaid, reaching for his hand, and gripping it hard, his gaze scrutinizing and wary—but a warm welcome. “I had begun to suspect you’d never return.”
Magnus grasped his brother’s hand in both of his, and held his gaze. “I would have come sooner if able.”
In so many ways they were opposites. Niall was dark-haired and impressively muscled, while Magnus was fair and while still powerfully built, more lithe and lean of stature. Magnus wondered which ancestor each of them took after.
The corner of Niall’s lip turned upward with a smile. “Come as often as you can. You are always welcome here, your true home, and may stay whenever you like. But come. Let us talk.”
Niall led him down a long spacious corridor to a large council chamber—one with a large rectangular table at the center, and chairs all around. At the door, only Elspeth proceeded with them inside, while the other men remained behind.
Niall gestured to a pair of chairs beside the fire. “Sit, brother, and tell me whatever it is you have come to tell me.”
They were strange words to hear from a man he had viciously fought against and, for a time, mistrusted—when he’d believed himself to be an Alwyn, and Niall a mercenary, hired to protect the MacClaren borders against the Alwyns … as well as the savage Kincaids. Aye, he had fought for the wrong clan, the wrong chief, because the custom of the Highlands all but commanded fealty to one’s own blood—and he’d believed himself to be an Alwyn, bound by duty to the betterment of that clan. Still, he’d found himself in conflict with the Alwyn’s ways, and with Hugh, and had sought to make a place for himself, away from Burnbryde by trying to persuade Elspeth to marry him. This, so that he might gain possession of her tocher lands, not only for himself but for them both. But she had refused. Even so, their continuing friendship, and his protectiveness toward her, had put him in conflict with the warrior she now called her husband.
Though he still found it difficult to believe Niall could simply forgive what had taken place between them in the past, and accept him as a brother, that seemed very much to be true. His own heart, and the forgiveness he found there, surprised him as well.
He sat, as did the Kincaid, as Elspeth poured them both a goblet of wine.
“I do have much to share.”
“Go on,” his brother answered, leaning forward in the chair to look back at him.
Magnus felt a jolt of recognition. Something about Niall’s face … its shape, the way he smiled, his manner seemed familiar, in a way he hadn’t perceived before. Elspeth sat in another chair, just a space away, glowing with pleasure—as if the two of the men sitting together and conversing peacefully were her greatest wish.
“You are already aware that the Alwyn has requested the intervention of his ally, the Earl of Buchan, in ousting you from these lands.”
“Aye, brother.” Niall sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “That I know.”
“There is something else I must tell you, that may seem to have little to do with any of this.”
Niall flashed a grin. “But you are telling me, so I trust that it does.”
Magnus nodded. “You will recall that Hugh was betrothed to the earl’s ward, and that when that marriage did not go forward—”
Elspeth interjected, “And then the Alwyn attempted to force a marriage between Hugh and me.”
Niall’s brows gathered, and he scowled. “I recall.”
Magnus paused. “What I did not reveal at the time, because it seemed of no real consequence to the matter at hand, was that the reason the marriage did not go forward between Hugh and Buchan’s ward—a girl by the name of Arabel Iverach—was that she unexpectedly died while at Burnbryde.”
“Died!” Elspeth exclaimed, her hands gripping the arm rests of the chair.
“Of a fever, I was told,” he said.
“So young,” Elspeth murmured, her expression one of sympathy. “Poor girl.”
“Iverach, you say…” Niall rubbed a hand over his chin, deep in thought. “The name is familiar, but I cannot recall why. Very tragic for one so young, but why are we talking about her now?”
Behind him, a large crow landed on the window ledge, and peered inward, before hopping back around, and flying away.
Magnus thought of Tara then, in the tower, and her desire to escape.
“Yesterday, her replacement arrived. A younger sister, Tara Iverach. Also Buchan’s ward.”
Niall’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting. Buchan has provided a Highland laird with not one, but two brides for his son. What service could the Alwyn have performed or promised to warrant such favor?”
Magnus recognized the suspicion in his brother, for it matched his own.
“I may have the answer,” he said solemnly.
Niall straightened in the chair, and leaned forward, his blue eyes ablaze with interest. “Do ye now? Then let me hear it.”
Magnus told him what he’d overheard that morning, when the Alwyn had written the missive, and what he’d come to believe was true.
“But what I don’t know is why?” Magnus mused. “Why would Buchan have our father murdered, if they were on the same side?”
His brother stood. He took several steps away, before turning to face him, his expression grave. “We’ve never talked about Buchan, you and
I, but I served for several years as one of his side warriors. He had no knowledge then that I was a Kincaid. No one did. Even now, I’m not certain that he realizes that I am one and the same, and in conflict with the Alwyn. He will know soon enough, when we meet face-to-face.” The firelight reflected off his features, engraving the faint lines around his eyes and his mouth. “He respects me, I think. But he can be a dangerous and vengeful man, if crossed.”
“And yet you served him,” said Magnus. “Why?”
Niall peered at him. “Truth be told, I was placed among his guard as a spy by his elder brother, the Earl of Carrick, who feared he lacked restraint in his exercise of influence and power.”
“Buchan’s own brother spied on him,” Magnus murmured.
“The King wields little power now. His sons and their allies vie for control.”
Magnus felt a spur of hope. “Do ye have influence with Carrick, then?”
“Perhaps.” Niall rested his hands on his hips and peered at him. “If our cause aligns with his interests in some way, then aye.”
Magnus rubbed his hands together. “He may be our only hope of ever having formal justice against Buchan, through the Estates of Parliament or the King’s Council. He would have influence with his father, the king.”
His brother answered, “It is possible he would hear our grievances against Buchan and the Alwyn, and act on them, but I make no guarantees. These men are mercurial by nature, and serve only themselves.”
“Buchan.” Magnus, too, stood, unable to sit for the fury coursing through him. “Our father crossed him in some way. It matters not that he is the king’s son. I would see him answer for what he has done.”
“Do you mean you would kill him?” asked Elspeth, in a hushed voice.
“He cannot go unpunished,” Magnus replied passionately. “And if neither the king nor the courts will hold him accountable, then I will.”
“We will,” said Niall, eyes flashing darkly.
“This is a dangerous and powerful man of whom you speak,” she said from her chair, her tone pleading and her cheeks flushed. “The king’s own son. Please proceed carefully. The both of you.”
Niall nodded. “We must know for certain what occurred, before any justice can be rendered, either within—or outside—of the law. We must draw him near.”
His brother’s eyes reflected the same hate that he knew burned in his own.
“We won’t have long to wait.” Magnus replied, “Buchan promises to come for the wedding, which will take place in less than a fortnight. If Mistress Iverach does not escape by then.”
“Escape. What do you mean by that?” asked Elspeth, her brows drawn together.
He felt his brother’s attention grow even more intense. “Yes, what?”
His back to the fire, he looked at them. “She wants nothing more than to avoid marriage to Hugh.”
“How do you know that?” Elspeth asked, her eyes alight with sudden interest.
“None of that matters,” her husband gently rebuked, raising both hands in impatience, before directing his gaze once again to Magnus. “You must do everything within your power to keep her there. We can’t take the chance that Buchan won’t come. Understand, brother, we can only challenge him … defeat him here. In our Highlands.”
“I do understand,” Magnus insisted. “But I won’t have her endangered.”
His brother and Elspeth looked back at him in silence.
“Oh, Magnus,” she said softly. “You care for her.”
“I don’t,” he insisted. “Not in the way you imply.”
“She must be very pretty,” she countered.
He frowned at her. “I’ve never even seen her face.”
“But you have spoken to her.” She smiled impishly. “You’ve been charmed only by speaking to her. How powerful. How perfect!”
“Aye, Elspeth, I have spoken to her,” he retorted, annoyed by her teasing. “And she is innocent of all this. I would not have her harmed. That is all.”
“And she will not be harmed,” said his brother. “Watch over her. Keep her safe. And if you truly believe she is in danger, bring her here in secret, and we will protect her until this thing with the Alwyn and Buchan is done.”
After a long moment of inward turmoil, Magnus nodded, trusting his brother’s assurances were true. “Agreed. But now I must go. I have already been here too long.”
He strode forward and grasped his brother’s hand. It was only then that he remembered—
“One more thing.”
“Yes.”
He released his brother’s hand. “Last night, Mistress Iverach and her traveling party were set upon by brigands, barely a stone’s throw from Burnbryde.”
Niall shrugged. “They should not have traveled at night. These are the hielands, after all.”
Magnus tilted his head. “The brigands wore hoods to conceal their faces, and claimed to be Kincaids. They even accused the traveling party of venturing onto Kincaid land, when any Kincaid or Alwyn would know they did not.”
Niall’s eyes narrowed. “Did they, then?”
“If it is true,” Magnus said, “that these men were Kincaids, I do not seek to question your strategy, although I find it curious. But a necklace was stolen from the girl. One that means very much to her. I would ask it be given to me so that I might return to her.”
Niall’s gaze intensified. “Again, this Mistress Iverach … arrived only yesterday, and already you put yourself forth to enter into negotiations for the return of her necklace?” His lips curled into a slow grin.
Magnus muttered through clenched teeth. “Do you have the necklace or not?”
“I don’t. And your brigands weren’t Kincaid men, or any of my mercenaries, I can promise you that. But I’d be interested to know who they were.”
Magnus exhaled. “As would I, brother.”
They all walked to the courtyard, where he said his good-byes to Niall and Elspeth. Magnus could only hope that one day soon, their days might pass differently, without mention of war or revenge. That they might forge a deeper friendship, and rebuild the bond of brotherhood that life had taken from them.
“I will return soon,” he said.
“We will stand ready,” Niall assured him solemnly, clasping a hand to his shoulder. “Though ’tis difficult for me to stand back, to let you face this danger alone.”
“I am not alone,” answered Magnus, staring into his eyes. “I carry the spirit of all the Kincaids in my blood.”
Magnus reached out his hand. Niall grasped it and squeezed.
“We will either triumph—or die together,” Niall said. “As brothers.”
Elspeth touched a hand to both of their shoulders, tears rising in her eyes.
“You will triumph,” she announced in a firm, yet tremulous, voice. “There can be no other outcome, when your cause is honorable and right.”
Magnus rode away from the castle, this time without a warrior escort. Clouds burdened the sky above, and a frigid wind swept across the plain, causing his plaid to ripple and snap in the wind. Some two hours later he passed into Alwyn lands, where he spied in the distance a carriage and six outriders, which in time traveled past him at a surprising speed. He saw then that the conveyance bore the mark of the Earl of Buchan.
He waved a hand, and one of the Alwyn outriders broke away, riding closer and raising a hand in greeting.
“What is going on here?” Magnus asked. “Where are you going?”
“The Alwyn has tasked us with returning the nun to the priory. The aged sister who delivered Hugh’s betrothed.”
Magnus nodded. “A safe journey to you, then.”
They parted, going their different ways. A short time later, Magnus encountered a party of warriors—riding fast, with Chissolm at their lead.
They slowed, and circled one another.
“What is this?” Magnus inquired, raising his hand in greeting. “Where are you going without me?”
The wind ruffling his rust
y hair, Chissolm grinned back at him, his cheeks red from the cold. “It seems Hugh’s betrothed plotted a switch with the old nun who brought her here, and she’s escaped.”
“Escaped?” Magnus’s body tensed, his heart beat faster.
“Aye, and the Alwyn has sent us tae brin’ her back.”
Magnus’s pulse tripped, and despite his agreement with Niall to do everything in his power to keep Tara Iverach at Burnbryde, he knew a moment of indecision. Would Buchan come to Burnbryde if she were gone? Very possibly, no. But was he not selfish to use an innocent young woman for his own benefit, even if he did all he could to protect her? Did she not deserve her chance at freedom? He recalled her voice from the night before … the words she’d spoken. Her tears.
He looked over his shoulder, away from the men, and considered the blank landscape. He could tell them he hadn’t seen the carriage—or send them off in another direction.
But one thing struck those possibilities from play.
The horses’ hooves and carriage wheels had left a clear path of damp, damningly turned-up earth, making the carriage easy to follow.
If it were only himself and Chissolm. He could swear his friend to silence … but they were not alone. They were in the company of a score of men. Not just warriors of the Pit, who might keep his confidence, but others undoubtedly loyal to the laird.
Left with no choice, he pulled the reins of his horse and turned the animal around. “Let’s go, then.”
Chapter 7
He rode hard, at the forefront of them all, his heart beating with anticipation and dread. He had to get to her first.
At last he saw in the distance, the dark anomaly of the traveling party against the rust and green meadow ahead. When he drew nearer, the sound of the horses’ hooves and harnesses jangling, and the carriage wheels scrabbling, drowned out any calls for them to stop, but he urged his mount faster and swept alongside, waving his arm to draw the driver’s attention. At this, the carriage slowed.
He swung down from the saddle, exhaling through his nose.
“Take my horse,” he said, transferring the reins to Chissolm’s open hand. “I’ll ride back with the lady. I don’t know her state of mind, but we don’t want her jumping out or harming herself in any way.”
The Rebel of Clan Kincaid Page 10