The Rebel of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  “And the Alwyns also now hold claim to what were once Kincaid lands.”

  “Indeed, and because of that he threatens us in much the same way.”

  “I see,” said Tara.

  “Trust that our warriors can repel any attack on the castle … but it is not an outright attack the laird fears most, but the infiltration of an assassin or that someone … Hugh, myself, or even you, my dear, may be abducted and held for ransom or to force a certain response. We must assume that danger lurks everywhere.”

  “It is wise for the laird to be so careful,” Tara conceded, wondering if she ought to be afraid. Assassins?

  If only fate had not brought her to this wild and dangerous place. She wanted more than anything to leave. To live life in a large burgh like Aberdeen or Perth where there were fine houses lining wide, paved streets, and cathedrals, and most especially well-mannered people. There was nothing redeeming about Burnbryde … except for Anna, who had been very kind to her. And Magnus, though her thoughts of him were somewhat tangled, between trust and distrust.

  “The laird has taken measures to ensure our safety. More warriors have been posted everywhere, both inside and outside the castle walls. And he has asked that we not leave the tower without escort, at least until the danger has passed.” She nodded reassuringly. “We do expect that when your guardian arrives, he will bring sufficient soldiers to quell this Kincaid revolt against the Crown’s authority.”

  Her words didn’t calm Tara. Instead, they sent her thoughts into disarray. She was more a prisoner now than before. Now the tower was not only locked, but guarded.

  “How fortunate that the Alwyn counts the powerful Earl of Buchan among his allies,” she murmured.

  “Indeed, it is. And all of this should make you feel more safe, rather than afraid,” the lady said. “Again, we may move about freely, but with an escort for safety, always. Just tell me when and where you wish to go, and I shall arrange for Gilroy to accompany you.”

  Gilroy. The stone-faced old warrior who had ejected Grizel from Burnbryde, and on the laird’s orders, returned Tara to the tower. That was exactly who she did not want following her everywhere, and observing her every move.

  At that moment, Anna and Mary joined them, both dressed in finer gowns than they customarily wore, which indicated they might not be common servants, recruited from the village, but of higher birth.

  Seeing them, the lady nodded. “It is time we go below stairs and join the others, which I will confide, is not my normal custom. But the laird insists that I not keep you here in the tower, all to myself.”

  Though she smiled, her voice bore an edge of annoyance, and Tara could only conclude the reclusive lady had been commanded by her husband, against her will, to attend dinner in the hall. Tara followed Lady Alwyn down the steps, and the two maidservants followed behind.

  Gilroy met them at the bottom, where Tara observed two guards, in full armor and weaponry, posted outside the door, which he immediately secured behind them. Six male servants also waited, both older and young men who did not display the muscled brawn of the Alwyn warriors. Strangely, they carried large rectangular screens covered with gauze.

  Raucous laughter emanated from the direction of the great hall—the room Tara had only seen from a distance the night before. Orange light from the hearth wavered off the walls and rippled through the shadows. Apprehension weighted her limbs at the thought of entering, because she knew Hugh and his father would be there to greet her.

  Inside, the room was very dark, with only a few lanterns by which to see. Men wandered about, laughing and drinking, while others crowded on benches at long tables. In the distant corner, a young woman danced to the music of a lute. Her gown sagged off her shoulder, revealing a generous portion of her breast. She smiled, gliding around the circle of men who watched her, touching their chests, their arms, their faces—until Gilroy issued a startling shout, at which time all music and motion stopped.

  “The Lady Alwyn enters,” he bellowed.

  At that, the male servants who had accompanied them lifted the screens, shielding them all around, from anyone’s view, though she could see through the gauze enough to discern the hazy outline of faces and bodies. She’d never witnessed such a thing. Why would the lady require such privacy here, in this room intended for gathering? Such separation was more proof the lady did not intermingle often with the people of her clan. They proceeded, protected as such, to the front of the room. Tara glanced aside to see curious eyes peering through, from a respectful distance. She wondered whether Magnus was there, watching also, and she suffered disappointment at not seeing him.

  At the dais, the laird waited, standing, and when they arrived, he ceremoniously led his wife to a seat. In like manner, Hugh appeared, unsmiling, his gaze locked on her. His dark eyes explored her with unfettered interest. Though dressed in fine garments, his eyes were glassy, and underscored by shadows, as if he’d already had too much to drink.

  “Good evening,” he said, offering his arm, which she woodenly accepted.

  “Good evening,” she answered, forcing the words.

  She had no wish to sit beside Hugh and exchange insincere pleasantries, but in this moment there was no alternative. If she complained or refused his company, no doubt she would be portrayed as unruly and hysterical, and bring additional scrutiny upon herself.

  The screens were placed in front of the table, she could only assume, so that curious eyes could not look upon Lady Alwyn and herself, though she could see wavering light and movement through them. Voices rose again in conversation. Servants approached, lowering large trenchers of food, and pouring goblets of ale, which Hugh eyed thirstily, but did not touch.

  The laird, who sat on the other side of the table, leaned forward. “We are pleased to have you here tonight, as part of our family. Let us all forgive each other of our individual transgressions, and move forward from this moment on, as if this afternoon did not occur.”

  The words were conciliatory, yet his gaze was hard. His tone cool. His lips rigid, and unsmiling. Yet she had decided ’twas best to appear to be accepting of her fate.

  She lowered her head. “Thank you, laird. I was homesick for the priory, and allowed my irrational fears to overcome my good sense.”

  The words were not necessarily a lie. The next time she left Burnbryde, she would proceed with more care.

  “You are very young,” said Lady Alwyn. “And these hielands—and their highlanders—can be frightening to outsiders. All is forgiven.”

  “But this is your home now,” Hugh said firmly, staring at her with flat, inscrutable eyes. “Here, with me.” Taking up the nearest trencher, Hugh selected a portion of fish for her plate. “Eat.”

  Tara glimpsed the look of approval on his mother and father’s faces before they turned away toward their own meal. The words—which had been spoken as commands, not in welcome—weighed like chains around her neck. Hearing them, she found it difficult to breathe. They promised a future she desperately did not want. Tara focused her attention on her plate, thankful for something to look at other than his face.

  And yet, it was only a brief moment before Hugh murmured near her ear.

  “At first I did not find you to my liking, but that hair … well, I must say I have changed my mind,” he chuckled, the suggestive tone of his voice putting her on edge. “Pity they took my key.”

  He goaded her, daring her response. She knew that. Still, she could not keep silent.

  “It wasn’t right for you to come to my room uninvited,” she answered.

  “As if I shall require an invitation once we are married.” His hand covered hers atop the table, and he stared down at her, a cruel smile on his lips. Anyone watching would believe they were simply having a private conversation. Flirting even. “Then, it will be your duty to please me. Every night … every morning … and whenever else I please. In whatever manner … I wish.”

  Heat burned her cheeks. Repulsed by his words, she looked at the fish on
her plate, knowing no words would shame him. No rebuke would daunt him. He was beyond salvation.

  He leaned close again, his breath on her ear sending a cold chill down her spine. “You’re innocent, but you’ll learn quickly. Not only from me, but from the other lovers who will share our bed.”

  Tara recoiled, and attempted to jerk her hand away, but Hugh held fast and moved closer, bending near.

  “You disgust me,” she hissed, turning her face away from him, shunning any more of his offensive words.

  Except, the ones he’d already spoken still clamored inside her head, ugly and threatening. The scent of the fish, which moments before had not offended, rose up to fill her nostrils, nauseating her.

  “You don’t like what you hear? Well, then, you shouldn’t have humiliated me by conspiring with that old nun to run away,” he growled beside her. “Don’t you see what you did? Everyone knows. Everyone is laughing behind my back.”

  She held still and silent, listening, her thoughts spiraling.

  “And then you even think to tattle on me to my father’s bastard?” he spat.

  The words I’m sorry rose to her lips but she held them there, behind closed teeth. How could she be sorry for anything, when she suspected the man had harmed her sister?

  “You don’t want to make me your enemy,” he said.

  She turned to him suddenly, in confrontation.

  “Like Arabel did?” she dared ask, hoping to provoke some telling response. Some truth.

  The hate she saw there in his eyes, in his countenance, intensified. “Do not speak to me about your whore of a sister.”

  The vulgar word stunned her, along with the implication of his words.

  “What do you mean by that?” she whispered.

  “Do not ever mention her to me again,” he ordered.

  “But why would you say that?”

  “Shut up.” His hand tightened its grip on her arm. “Do you understand?”

  Each word struck her full in the face, a dank wave of sour breath. Unwilling to inhale his breath, to share that vile intimacy, she again turned away.

  In that moment her gaze happened to pierce the narrow space between the screens, and she saw him. Magnus. He sat at one of the tables, muscular and tall, surrounded by men, his pale hair gleaming bright in the firelight, making him stand out as different, as more brilliant than all the rest. His hand gripped a goblet, and his gaze blazed back into hers, alight with fury.

  The connection anchored her, gave her a sudden surge of strength, knowing that someone watched, that someone cared.

  “I said … do you understand?” Hugh repeated.

  His hand bracketed her chin, turning her face toward his.

  She swallowed down a sob of anger—and nodded, allowing him to believe he’d claimed his triumph.

  Suddenly, the laird was there, leaning close to his son’s side.

  “What is going on here?” he glanced accusingly toward Hugh, and then to Tara. “Is something wrong?”

  Hugh laughed, releasing her face. “Inform the kitchens. My beloved does not care for the fish.”

  *

  “Where are you going?” Chissolm called after him.

  “Do I need your permission to visit the garderobe?” Magnus replied over his shoulder.

  The warrior laughed, and waved him off.

  Certainly it had appeared strange to Chissolm when he’d left so abruptly—in the midst of the other warrior speaking a sentence. But he could no longer keep the expression of anger from his face. He could not sit by and watch Hugh torment Tara, without doing something about it. Without acting in some way.

  What was happening with Hugh? His mind thundered with the question.

  The laird’s son had always been arrogant and boastful. Difficult and unpleasant. Petty and cruel. And he’d always kept terrible company, as if by encircling himself with the lowest of the low might somehow elevate him, at least in his own mind. They’d been at odds since Magnus, as a child, had come with Robina to Burnbryde. Indeed, for as long as Magnus could recall, and while he disliked Hugh intensely, he had also always felt some degree of pity toward the dark-eyed boy, because despite all the approval and attention bestowed on him, it was obvious he had never found happiness.

  But after tonight, Magnus could no longer deny that something in Hugh had changed, and threatened to spiral out of control. First, he had attacked Elspeth at the Festival of the Cearcal. Now, he behaved so lecherously toward Tara that Magnus feared for her safety.

  For the first time, the death of her sister, Arabel, prodded, like a sharp-tipped dagger at his conscience. A fever, he’d heard. But was that truly what had occurred? Had Hugh harmed the girl? Had some crime occurred, to which he and the rest of the Alwyn clan had remained oblivious?

  Something did not sit well in his mind, in his soul. If something terrible and secret had occurred, did that not make him part of the crime? That he had not noticed, that he had not asked questions until he discovered the truth. That he’d been so consumed with himself and his own affairs that her passing had gone unmarked, when that young woman had deserved to be protected, just as much as her younger sister did.

  Tara. She had been so brave upon their return to the castle, facing the Alwyn and Hugh. But she would not be able to save herself. This was the Highlands, and whether right or wrong, men most often decided and women had little choice but to comply, unless another strong man defended the woman’s decisions, her rightful choice.

  Though he did not wish to examine his motivations too closely, he must be that man for Tara. He would go again to Niall, voice his concerns, and make a plan to take her to Inverhaven. There, she could spend her days with Elspeth, and when all this was done, if he lived, he would see her again and perhaps … persuade her to stay. Beyond that, he could not involve his heart, for he must remain singularly angry and full of hate for his enemies, if he were to do what he had to do, without fear or regret.

  His gaze shifted across the room, searching for, and finding Gilroy. The Lady Alwyn’s steward conversed and ate at his customary table, his enormous shoulders hunched over his food. Backing into the darker shadows, he proceeded away from the great hall, toward the tower, where he observed the guards that had been posted laughing with other warriors, a short distance away, in the entrance hall.

  He did not go to the large doors that would lead to Lady Alwyn’s domain. Instead he followed the shadowed corridor around the base of the tower, to a small room tucked beneath the stairs.

  Chapter 8

  He closed the door behind him, and crossed the narrow chamber, lit only by the red coals of a dying fire on a small hearth. Other than that, there was a narrow bed, a table and two stools. Gilroy carried the key to the tower on a brass keyring at his belt. Perhaps he also had possession of the others, such as the one to Tara’s secret window, which would not oft, if ever, be used. On the floor near the bed, he found three small chests, and flipped the lid to the first one, peering inside. Coins. The second one … yes. Keys. A score of them—and other items he could not discern. He lifted the chest, taking it closer to the fire, and scrutinized them as best he could, one by one. One key bore the image of the sun. Another, a star. The third one … he did not discern, but it wasn’t a crescent moon.

  Just then … something else caught his eye. A dull glimmering, and a circular sort of shine. His heart stopped beating as he lifted a necklace from the chest.

  A very fine, very expensive … ruby and pearl necklace.

  His mind thundered with questions. Was this Tara’s mother’s necklace? If so, why did Gilroy have it? Had Gilroy been involved in the attack on Tara’s traveling party?

  Had he done so at the behest of Lady Alwyn?

  The necklace still clenched in hand, he closed the lid and returned the trunk to its place.

  The door creaked. He froze, and closed his eyes. Several heavy footsteps sounded on the floor.

  Hell.

  “What are ye doing here?” Gilroy’s voice sai
d, rough and startled, from behind him.

  Magnus turned on the heel of his boot, his heart beating wild and fast. Perhaps faster than his heart had ever beaten before. Gilroy’s enormous frame blocked his only path to escape.

  Was this it? Had he lost everything by coming here? Would he be forced to fight for his life, to flee Burnbryde in the night, without ever claiming the confession he so desperately desired, and his revenge?

  Tara … what of her?

  Gilroy needed only to take one step back to shout an alarm to the guards.

  But Gilroy did not sound an alarm. Instead, he looked at Magnus in silence, his face blanked out by the shadows.

  Suddenly, the old giant moved stepped inside, and closed the door. He continued forward, brushing roughly past and took up the chest Magnus had held only a moment before. Only to turn again to face him.

  “Ah said, what are ye doing here?” he snarled. “Nosin’ around in me things?”

  But the outrage in the man’s voice rang false and forced.

  Magnus considered every lie he could possibly tell, and decided he wasn’t a very good liar. He wanted to know the truth, and he wanted it now.

  He held up the necklace, so that the glittering gold chain dropped to swing from his hand. “Where did you get this necklace?”

  Gilroy blinked several times. “It belongs to me.”

  Was it possible there was more than one very fine, very expensive pearl and ruby necklace in existence in this rugged corner of the highlands? He supposed there might be. But would such an item belong to an old warrior? Likely not.

  Instinct—and his memory of that night in the forest—told him otherwise.

  “The necklace belongs to Mistress Iverach,” Magnus asserted forcefully. “It was taken from her the night she arrived here, by a masked brigand. A very tall masked brigand claiming to be a Kincaid. Tell me, Gilroy, what do you know about that?”

  Gilroy stared at him in silence for a very long moment.