A Highlander’s Homecoming

by Melissa Mayhue

  Robert studied the two of them, searching for any signs of trouble. The MacGahan laird must suspect something was amiss at his castle, otherwise why would he have made a point of asking Robert to watch over Isabella? Did he see that the danger came from his own second in command, or was he so close to the man as to be blinded?

  “What worry’s filling yer thoughts now, Robbie?”

  He looked down to find Isabella staring at him, her gaze penetrating.

  “Nothing,” he lied.

  “You canna expect me to believe such as that when yer forehead is puckered up like a large dress tied about a small woman. Those wrinkles tell me yer worrying over something.”

  When had Isabella become the expert at reading him?

  “I was only wondering if the laird’s new wife might not be in danger from . . .” He stopped, looking around at the people close to them. “From the man we were discussing before,” he finally finished.

  “Hardly,” Isa scoffed. “Agneys is Roland’s daughter.”

  Roland’s daughter? “But that should mean . . .”

  “Isabella! There you are!” Laird MacGahan’s voice rang out over the noise of the crowd and the people quieted, all heads turning to look in their direction.

  Isa grabbed Robert’s hand, as if for support, scooting closer to him before the old man called out again.

  “Join me up here on the steps, lass. I’d have my granddaughter at my side on this day.”

  She looked to Robert, her eyes rounded, and he nodded his reassurance before leading her through the opening that formed in the crowd between the laird and where they’d stood. He gave her hand a squeeze before she let go to stand beside her grandfather.

  He moved back, but only a couple of steps. Though he wanted to watch Isa, to be able to give her encouragement if she needed it, his attention was completely taken by Lardiner.

  The man glared at Isa in a way that made Robert remember the saying, “If looks could kill.” Which made no sense at all.

  After all, Roland’s daughter would shortly be the wife of the MacGahan, so what threat could he possibly see in Isa?

  Chapter 14

  Isa fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. She’d never been seated on the dais next to her grandfather before, and his insistence that she stay for the wedding feast and occupy this place next to him now was most confusing.

  She sat on his right with Agneys on his left. Roland sat next to his daughter, his expression as close to a smile as Isa could ever remember seeing on the slimy man.

  The only positive in her grandfather’s table arrangements had been that he’d seated Robbie next to her. More than once this evening she’d felt the need to let her foot linger close to his under the table. Each time, the look he’d sent her had settled her nervous stomach and given her strength to continue to sit here amid so many stares.

  She slid her foot next to his now, waiting to catch his eye. The almost-smile he gave her warmed her heart and seemed to make the air in the room easier to breathe.

  Not that anyone else would recognize his expression as a smile. Even with his sword hanging from his chair rather than strapped to his back, her guardian looked every bit the warrior tonight, his emotionless mask securely back in place.

  She’d been fooled the first time she’d seen him, thinking the man was truly without emotion, but she knew better now. There was much more to her Robbie than mere warrior.

  She’d seen with her own eyes the kindness in his face when he’d gently taken Jamie under his wing, slowing his progress on the task at hand to allow the lad to work with him on the fence. She’d watched this afternoon as justice had lit his expression when he’d come to the rescue of that family of tinklers in the courtyard.

  And without a doubt, she’d seen the heat of desire in his expression a time or two.

  If only her life had been different, she would have chosen a man such as Robbie to spend it with. A man of intense emotions but always in complete control of them. A man to fill her days and share her nights. A man to father her children.

  She sighed at the hopeless daydream. Even if a man such as he were the least bit inclined to care for a woman like her, the knowledge of what she was, what she was capable of, would send him running in the opposite direction fast enough.

  The clanging of metal tankards against the large wooden tables jerked her attention back to the present. With a guilty start, she found Robbie staring at her, and she felt her face heat as if he could read her thoughts.

  “Raise yer cups in celebration,” Roland announced. “Of our laird and his lady, Agneys.” He paused, waiting for the cheering to subside. “You’ve news yet to share with yer people, have you no, my laird?”

  If Isa didn’t know better, she’d think her grandfather uncomfortable with the question. Though the idea seemed impossible to her, she could have sworn he stiffened in his chair before responding to Roland.

  “I’m no sure what yer speaking of, Roland.” Randulf reached for the full tankard sitting on his left.

  “Here, now, my laird. This is no time to be a modest man. Yer people deserve to hear from yerself the good news you and yer lady have to share with us.”

  Randulf looked out over the faces in his hall before turning his gaze to Isa.

  Isa had always believed her grandfather had the most piercing stare of anyone she’d ever known. When he’d trained that gaze on her as a child, she’d imagined herself a rabbit in the falcon’s sight. As she met his eyes now, she wondered how she could have ignored how much like her father’s eyes his were. How like Jamie’s. Frosty blue, like storm clouds on the horizon.

  At this moment, with their gazes locked, she could almost allow herself to believe he was trying to share his thoughts with her through those eyes.

  But, of course, that was ridiculous. Her grandfather had shared nothing with her since that awful day he’d come to tell her he’d received news of her father’s death.

  At five, she’d had no understanding of how to control her emotions. She’d felt swallowed up by an unimaginable sorrow to know her beloved da would not be coming back to her. When the tears started, she couldn’t stop them any more than she could halt the thunder or the rain or the quaking of the earth that had followed.

  Her fault, her grandfather had accused. The fault of her mother, the treacherous Fae whore who’d broken his only son’s heart and left him with a dangerous half-breed to raise.

  Thunder boomed outside now and Isa closed her eyes to break the strange connection with her grandfather. To break the connection to her past. To stop the horrible memory that was all that she shared with the old man sitting next to her.

  To her amazement, her grandfather patted her hand.

  “Our laird is ever the modest man so I’ll share his news, my kinsmen.” Roland, still standing, seemed as if he could hardly contain himself. “Even now, our laird’s new wife carries his heir. In a matter of months, we’ll welcome the next MacGahan laird into the world!”

  Cheers and applause and shouts of congratulations greeted Roland’s announcement, with people banging their tankards against their tabletops and stomping their feet on the stone floors.

  Isa studied her grandfather’s pale face as he pushed back his chair and rose slowly to his feet. He looked so much older than she’d noticed before, the lines of his face etched more deeply than she remembered.

  “Aye, what Roland tells you is true. My . . .” He paused, looking down at Agneys next to him before continuing. “My wife, Agneys, tells me she carries my, our, child. And today, before all of you as witnesses, I declare that should this bairn be a male child, he will be the next MacGahan laird.” Here he paused again, allowing the hall to erupt into more cheers and clapping until, at last, he lifted a hand, motioning for silence.

  “You also stand witness to this—should the bairn Agneys carries be a female child, I hereby name my granddaughter Isabella as my rightful heir, and declare that whoever Isabella chooses as husband will be the next MacGahan laird
.”

  A hush fell over the room and Isa felt as if every pair of eyes in the room bore into her. Under the table, she laid her hand on Robbie’s thigh, not caring whether or not it was appropriate behavior. When his big fingers closed around hers she felt for a moment as if she might weep with relief at having him there with her.

  After what felt like an eternity, a scattering of applause broke out across the room until, at last, all joined in.

  The MacGahan laird held up his hand once more, quieting the crowd. “Now, my kinsmen and friends, let us drink and eat and enjoy the celebration of my wedding feast. Let the music begin!”

  From the corner of the hall, notes from a pipe and a harp floated into the air, all but drowned out as conversation in the hall resumed.

  Robbie gave her hand another squeeze and then stood, leaning down to whisper into her ear.

  “Yer no to leave this table until I return. Stay at yer grandfather’s side. Give me yer word you’ll do as I say.”

  She started to refuse, to demand he take her along with him or at the very least tell her where he was going, but, in all honesty, she simply didn’t have the energy left for it. The day had been too long and she’d dealt with too much. Her mind was awash in the complexity of all she didn’t understand. From Robbie’s claims about Jamie to her grandfather’s inexplicable announcement, she needed time to process it all. The last thing she wanted right now was to argue with Robbie.

  “You have my word.”

  With one irritated look back at the table on the dais, Robert hurried through the door and out toward the kitchens.

  Damn the laird for his thoughtless need to name an heir tonight! Surely the old man must realize he’d all but signed Isa’s death warrant with that public declaration. If he hadn’t known before he spoke, the black anger on Lardiner’s face afterward should have clearly shown him his error.

  This would likely be Robert’s only opportunity to speak to Auld Annie—now, while Isa was surrounded by her grandfather and his guards. He wanted to learn as much as the old woman would tell him about Isa’s childhood. Perhaps somewhere in that knowledge he could find the key to persuading her she must leave this place and journey to his family’s home, where she would be safe.

  Because if anything, this day had convinced him that they would find safety neither inside this castle nor at her cottage. Her grandfather’s performance minutes earlier had assured that Isa was a marked woman.

  To make matters worse, they would be staying overnight here at the castle. He’d rather have faced traveling in darkness than risking the night within these walls, but the laird had insisted and Isa had given in to his pleas.

  Robert was thankful to find the hallway to Annie’s room empty. The fewer people who knew he spoke to her, the better for all of them. Though he was anxious for whatever she could tell him, he certainly didn’t like the idea of endangering her life. Or worse, Jamie’s life.

  Damn, but he missed the simple things he’d become accustomed to using. He’d give a small fortune for ten minutes’ use of a flashlight. At least he’d been here earlier this day, or he’d likely not find the entryway to Annie’s room in the darkened hallway. Trailing his fingers along the wall, he kept count of the doors he passed, knowing hers would be the fourth.

  He gave only small thought to the lack of guards posted, suspecting the possibility that the door would be locked when he reached it. But the handle gave way easily and he slipped noiselessly into the dark, stifling space.

  The room was strangely silent and pitch-black. He held his position, back to the door, waiting to see if his eyes would adjust.

  “Annie?” He kept his voice to a whisper, knowing only that something felt wrong in this room.

  Across from him, tiny dots of orange floated in the inky black. Embers in the fireplace.

  He searched his memory for the layout he’d seen during his visit earlier today. Once he crossed to the fireplace, he should find a chair angled to the right and a bed off to the left. There should also be a small candle on the shelf by the fireplace.

  Holding his arms out in front of him, he made his way slowly across the room toward the miniature orange fireflies. There’d been a stack of wood by the fireplace this afternoon, so why the old woman would allow her fire to burn down so low was beyond him.

  When he reached the fireplace, he ran his hand over the wall until his fingers bumped into the candleholder. The acrid smell of the tallow hit his nose the instant he bent down and stuck the candle into the embers.

  The light wasn’t strong, but at least it was light. Shadows jumped around him when he turned to survey the room.

  Across from him, a lump in the covers of Annie’s bed drew his attention. Even before he drew the covers back, he knew what he’d find. He should have recognized the odd feel to the room when he’d first entered.

  He held the candle closer, using caution not to allow the tallow to drip on the bed. No sense in letting anyone know he’d been here.

  He wouldn’t be learning anything from Annie this night. Or any other, for that matter.

  Her head jutted out askew on her body like a misshapen doll, her neck obviously broken. From the looks of it, she’d been strangled. With extreme prejudice, to borrow a term from the movies back home. And though he was no expert, he’d guess from the feel of her skin she’d met her demise shortly after he and Isa had spoken to her this afternoon.

  Robert pulled the covers back over the old woman’s head and made his way to the fireplace. He stared at the candle, fighting his own private battle. The internal debate raging in his head at the moment was not a pleasant one.

  The idea of what someone had done to that old lady made his palms itch to crack skulls. But he had Isa’s safety to consider. And Isa was not going to take this well. Not at all.

  If he told her what he’d found, that is.

  “Yer no supposed to be in here.”

  Robert whirled around to face the woman who’d spoken, deciding as he did, the less he admitted to knowing, the better off he’d be. A quick scan of the room assured him she was alone.

  “I came to visit Annie,” he responded, keeping his voice to a hoarse whisper. “But I think she’s sleeping.”

  “Ha!” the woman scoffed. “There’s no a need to mind yer voice for her benefit. The illness took her peacefully, in her sleep, this very night. I’m here to clean her body and ready her for burial.”

  Robert doubted Annie’s death had been peaceful in the least. The old woman had struck him as a fighter.

  “Well, then—” he edged closer to the woman, holding out the candle as he did so—“I suppose you’ll have more need of this than I will.”

  He backed into the dark hallway and pulled the door shut just as the first fist landed in his gut.

  Chapter 15

  Catching him unaware, that first blow knocked the air from him, ramming his back into the door he’d just closed.

  Prepared or not, he’d been a warrior too long, had trained too hard to be taken out of any fight so quickly, and this one would be no exception.

  In the dark, he paused only a second, listening, before he struck out with his left forearm, driving up and into what felt like someone’s chin. At the same time, his right hand flew up to his shoulder, finding only empty air.

  Dammit! His sword still hung on the back of his chair, where he’d placed it when he sat down for the feast.

  On his other side a blow glanced off his shoulder. When he concentrated, he could hear them breathing. There were at least three, perhaps four, of them, and while he gave blows as good as he got when they moved in on him, he wasn’t about to step away from the solid door and leave his back unprotected.

  He was ready for the next hit, grabbing the hand that connected with his shoulder. He twisted, bending it back until he heard the bone snap. He ignored the scream and the footsteps of someone running away as he took another well-calculated swing. His fist connected, hard. He heard the crack of bone and felt the solid hit vib
rate through his arm, satisfied with the scream of pain that followed.

  Two down, though he thought he’d heard perhaps two more.

  What he hadn’t heard was the door behind him open. He realized it had only when something heavy struck him between the shoulders. His reflex to the blow, throwing his arms in the air, left him open to the next hit. Something, perhaps a foot, landed a solid blow to his ribs, sending a shot of unbearable pain lancing through his side. Unable to catch his breath, his legs buckled and his knees hit the floor while he gasped for air.

  A moment later, something hit the back of his head, and he pitched forward into darkness.

  “Master Robbie?”

  He heard the words, as if they came from very far away. He even thought he recognized the voice and honestly did want to answer, but the pounding in his head drowned out any sounds he might try to make.

  “Oh, do wake up, Robbie. I dinna ken what to do to help you.”

  It was a little voice. Young. Helpless. Frightened.

  Robert fought the haze blanketing his head and blinked his eyes, pushing himself up from the floor to sit.

  Small hands caressed his cheeks and Jamie’s face swam before his eyes.

  “Are you hurt? Should I go get Mistress Isa for you?”

  “No,” he groaned. “Wait. Let me just sit here for a moment.” Isa. The memory of what had happened to him flooded back. How long had he been out? “Is she still at the feast? With yer laird?”

  “Aye.” The boy nodded his head. “They are all still there. But Mistress Isa grew worried when you dinna return and summoned me to go find you.”

  Robert ran a hand over the back of his head, fingering a walnut-sized knot that had formed. He sat against the wall, tucked back in a corner and, from the smell of it, not far from a garderobe.

  This certainly wasn’t where he’d been when he’d lost consciousness. Whoever had managed to get the best of him must have dragged him here. For what reason he couldn’t guess, any more than he could say the identity of who he’d fought, which made it all the worse. There were too many unknowns for comfort.