by Amy Jarecki
Niall rubbed his belly. “I hope we arrive in time for supper.”
Gar yowled, as if complaining about his empty stomach as well.
By the time they rounded the last hillock, the sky had turned violet. Ian’s spirits soared. Torches blazed on the castle walls. What a lovely sight. Shadowed galleys and small boats moored sleepily in the water, surrounding the castle grounds.
Ian urged his horse to a canter and called over his shoulder, “Come. I can smell the roast lamb from here.”
Merrin’s gelding dragged his hooves. Ian circled back and took charge of her reins so the old fella would keep pace with his younger mount. Gar loped beside them, excitement lighting up his dark brown eyes. Ian looked back. Niall kept up. Thank heavens they’d made it in one piece. Once they gained entry to the stronghold, Rewan might lurk about for a sennight or two, but after Ian convinced the clan to help him, Ruairi’s henchman wouldn’t stand a chance. He didn’t have enough men, for one. He’d be forced to sail back to Stornoway for reinforcements, and then his uncle would need to decide if a full-on feud was worth Ian’s head.
The hair on the back of Ian’s neck pricked when they passed the first galley. No light hung from its mast—the owner most likely enjoying the laird’s table. Ian couldn’t shake the icy tingle slithering around his neck. He looked again.
Three musket barrels slid over the rail.
Ian slammed his heels into his horse. “Get down!”
Merrin’s gelding tugged against Ian’s hold. He wrapped his hand around the reins and jerked with all his might.
“Da,” Merrin shrieked. “Hurry!”
Crack. Crack. Crack.
A thud shook the ground.
Merrin turned and pulled up. Niall lay flat on his back. “No!” She whipped her horse around. “Da!” He didn’t move.
Ian reined in beside her. “Go before they can reload. I’ll see to him.”
“I cannot!”
Ian threw his hand back and slapped Merrin’s horse so hard the steed would stop for nothing. Her shrieks of protest diminished as the gelding galloped toward Eilean Donan with Gar alongside.
Ian leapt down to Niall’s side and tugged him behind the security of a massive boulder. The old man’s breathing wheezed. Blood frothed on his shirt, directly under his lung.
“Come, Niall.” Ian shoved his arms under the healer’s body and heaved.
Niall groaned. “No.”
Blood trickled from the corner of the healer’s mouth. Ian couldn’t stop. He had to spirit him to safety. “I must take ye to the castle.”
“Leave me.”
Ian hefted Niall into his arms. “I cannot.”
“Promise me.” Niall tried to swallow. “Promise you’ll care for her.”
Three muskets clapped in quick succession.
Ian hugged Niall tight against his body and ducked. Lead balls hissed through the air around them. Before Rewan’s men could reload, Ian hefted the old man over his pommel and jumped on the steed’s back, digging in his heels. “Get up.”
“Promise me.” Niall’s voice gurgled.
“Aye. Ye have me word.” Ian leaned forward to urge the horse faster, one hand keeping Niall from bouncing off. “But ye’ll be here a long while yet.”
The muskets cracked, but Ian knew they were out of range.
Merrin’s gelding stood rider-less at the gate. Merrin sprinted to meet them. “Da!”
“He’s hurt bad.” Ian knew full well what frothy blood meant. He only hoped Niall could stay alive long enough to hear his last rites. “We need to carry him inside.”
Merrin turned and pounded on the portcullis. “Help us. Me da’s dying!”
Ian dismounted and hauled Niall into his arms. Vacant eyes glared, accusing him of murder. God help him, it was too late.
Merrin spun around.
A hundred emotions distorted her features. “Noooooo!” She ran to her father and cradled his head to her breast. “Da. It’ll be all right.” Tears burst from her eyes. “I’m here for ye.” Her mouth pulled down in the most painful grimace Ian had ever seen. “Da. Ye cannot leave me. I need ye.”
Ian clenched his jaw and pounded on the gate. “Open. I am Ian MacLeod of Raasay, a chieftain’s son.” Never had he been so ashamed of those words.
He blinked his eyes and choked back against his urge to bellow with remorse.
The chains of the castle portcullis groaned as the old wooden gate began to rise, black spikes pointed downward.
Ian didn’t wait for it to draw up fully. When it reached his waist, he ducked under with Niall’s body. A sentry dressed in a steel helm and mail faced him, sword drawn, targe held across his chest. “What is your purpose, Ian MacLeod of Raasay?”
Wailing, Merrin held Niall’s hand to her chest. Gar stood protectively at her side, eyes darting around the scene.
Ian inclined his head toward Niall’s body. “This man was shot by Rewan, henchman of Lewis. We seek sanctuary.”
“Granted.” A woman’s voice came from the wall-walk above.
Ian’s gut twisted in a million knots. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Janet.
Iron chains clanked and the portcullis slammed down behind them.
The sentry waved other soldiers forward. “I’m Henry MacRae, the man-at-arms.” He cast his gaze to Niall. “Take him to the chapel.”
Janet descended the stairs. Ian locked eyes with her, his heart shredding into a million pieces. “Thank you, m’lady.” He glanced to the weeping woman who’d now become his charge. “Come, Merrin.”
Ian followed the sentries to the chapel and rested Niall’s body atop a long table. Merrin fell to her knees. “Please, God, do no’ take him away. There is no one else who’ll take me in.”
Ian rested his hand on Merrin’s shoulder and squeezed. “I must avenge him.”
She snapped up and grasped his shoulders. “No more bloodshed.”
Ian ground his teeth and looked to Niall. “Ye must pay your respects. I’ll fetch the priest.”
He couldn’t utter the words, but Rewan would never give up until one of them was dead, and by God, Ian would finish it this night.
He couldn’t tell Merrin she’d be safe, he couldn’t tell her of the pledge he’d made to her dying father—not until the battle with Rewan was over. He hated to leave her like this, but it was the only way. He clamped his lips and left.
Janet waited outside the chapel, wringing her hands. “What are ye doing here?”
Ian choked back his gasp. “Moreover, what are ye doing here?”
“Me father thought I’d be safer tucked away at Eilean Donan. Rewan cannot discover my presence.”
Merrin’s cries resounded through the door. Ian’s shoulders dropped. It should be him laid out on the table. Niall was innocent. “I’ve got to make this right, else Rewan will be chasing us forever.”
Janet’s lithe fingers caressed his cheek. “What can I do?”
Ian shuddered. Her touch soothed his troubled soul, but Ian raised his chin. He could not succumb to those deft fingers, not again. “Merrin needs a bath and clothing. ’Tis a long story, but know she’s a good and honest woman. She and her father plucked me from the sea with a musket ball in me back and healed me.”
Janet’s gaze shifted to the chapel doors. “I shall see to her comfort.”
“Thank ye.” Ian started off then turned. “Bring the priest to her. If I do no’ return, see to it that Merrin is cared for. The last thing her father heard on this earth was me vow to protect her.”
“If you vowed it, I will make good your promise.”
Janet would be true to her word. She owed him at least that.
Once in the courtyard, Ian turned full circle. The castle grounds were smaller than both Brochel and Stornoway, but it didn’t take him long to spot the armory. Similar to most keeps, weapons were kept near the gate. He tested the latch. Unlocked, the door creaked as he slipped inside. Running his fingers along the wall, he found a quiver fu
ll of arrows. After slinging it over his shoulder, he pushed outside. His memory kicked into gear and he headed up the stairs to the west tower.
Up and down stairs, it was as if he had to maneuver through a maze to reach the rear gate. Ian drew his dirk and sidled up to the guard. “I aim to return this night. See to it the gateway opens without me having to make a racket.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Ian didn’t correct him. He was no man’s lord, but perhaps it was better for this man to think him nobility—for now. At least the gate might remain tended.
Chapter Twenty-one
Still wrapped in the musty robe with the piece of linen tied around her neck, Merrin could no longer feel her knees driving into the chapel’s stone floor. Her whole body had gone completely numb. Her father’s lifeless body stretched across the table with his lifeblood pooling on the floor beneath. A priest had come and gone, making the sign of the cross and uttering imperceptible Latin prayers. He had left her with nothing but emptiness.
How could she go on? This couldn’t be happening. When her home burned, she thought she’d lost everything, but now she truly had. Merrin’s tears bled down her face as she rocked her quaking body.
A woman placed a hand on Merrin’s shoulder. “Come. Ye need to tend to yourself.”
Merrin’s breath stuttered, her eyes raw. “I cannot leave him.”
“He would want ye to rest.” She tugged Merrin’s hand and helped her stand. “I’ve ordered a bath drawn for ye and a change of clothes. Ian asked me to see to your comfort.”
Merrin looked at the woman for the first time. Dressed in a gown of finely spun cloth, she was young, small boned and lovely with blonde hair—she looked like a queen. “Where is Ian?”
The woman shifted her gaze sideways. “He’s stepped out for a bit.”
“No.” Merrin yanked her hand away. “Do no’ tell me he’s gone to face Rewan.”
The woman’s stricken eyes gave her secret away.
Merrin clutched her arms around her stomach. This could not be happening. “I told him no’ to go.” She doubled over. “I cannot lose him too.”
A fresh bout of tears poured from her eyes. Merrin howled like a wounded dog, but she didn’t care who heard. A sentry picked her up and cradled her against his chest. Merrin pounded her fist against his rigid chainmail. “No.” She hit him again. “No, no, no.”
But the man marched forward. “Easy, lass. We’ll set ye to rights.”
Merrin didn’t want to be set to rights. He marched on and the door to the chapel slammed closed behind them. Through bleary eyes, it registered he was taking her above stairs. Unable to continue to struggle, Merrin covered her face with her hands and wept.
He pushed into a chamber and set her down in the center of the room. Merrin took her weight and swayed.
He grasped her shoulder firmly. “Will ye be all right, miss?”
Merrin nodded.
“Leave us,” the woman said.
“Aye, Lady Janet.”
Merrin’s back stiffened. “Ye’re Ian’s Janet?” It came out like an icy whisper.
Janet beckoned two maids with a wave of her hand. “Ian cast aside everything he held dear to help me escape from a tyrant—and now I’m repaying the debt by helping ye.”
Before Merrin could blink, the friar’s robe fell from her shoulders. She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I do no’ need your charity.”
Lady Janet’s gaze slipped down to Merrin’s boots and back up. “From the tattered state of your shift, I disagree.” She pointed to a large wooden basin. “Bathe and dress her. I’ll send up food and a tonic.”
Merrin jerked her arm away from the maid’s grasp. “What tonic?”
“Something to make ye sleep.”
“I do no’ need sleep.”
Janet offered a faint smile and slipped out the door.
Merrin faced the maids. Her stays dropped to the floor, followed by her shift. A maid lifted her arms to untie the bit of cloth around Merrin’s neck. Her hands flew up and covered it. “This stays.”
***
Ian found a skiff and silently rowed through the shadows behind the line of moored vessels. A watchman stood at the helm of Rewan’s galley, panning his spyglass across the scene.
“Anything?” Rewan’s disembodied voice asked.
“Nay. Looks like the yellow-livered bastard’s hiding with the MacKenzies for the night.”
“Unfurl the sail. I do no’ want to come under their cannon fire come dawn. We’ll moor behind the shelter of a cove and sleep.”
“How do ye expect to ferret him out of Eilean Donan?”
“Patience,” Rewan growled.
Ian steered his boat behind a pinnace and moored only feet from the galley. He pulled himself up the ship’s rigging, hand over hand. Crouching on the deck, he scanned for signs of life. No one.
Ian tiptoed across to the starboard rail, keeping his head below it. The small ships were moored so closely, he could practically reach out and touch the enemy galley.
He reached back, pulled four arrows from his quiver and leaned them against the hull. He prayed he’d have time to fire them all. Peering over the rail, he eyed his first target—one of the two men unfurling the single-masted sail.
Ian’s stomach turned as he loaded his bow. He didn’t care for killing, but Rewan had left him with no other choice. He silently slid his weapon over the rail. With a clear shot, he pulled the string taut. Ian only had one chance. He must hit his mark every time. Holding his breath, he released.
The arrow hissed through the air. In a blink of the eye, the man grunted and clutched his chest. Without a cry, he fell forward.
“Man down!”
Before the second sailor could hop from his perch, Ian fired an arrow into his heart. Another dashed across the deck. Ian snatched a third and loaded his bow. He timed it with the man’s pace and released. With a gurgling cry, the man dropped.
Silence. Waves slapped the hull, but tension hung thick in the air. Rewan and at least one other kept quiet, awaiting their chance to strike. Ian wasn’t about to give them an opportunity to counter his attack.
He yanked his sword from his back and took a running leap over the hull. Ian sailed through the air, the water of Loch Duich passing beneath his feet. With a jarring thud, Ian landed on a bench of Rewan’s galley and stumbled sideways. Scrambling to scoot his feet beneath him, Ian swung his claymore in a circle.
Two men faced him. Ian’s calculations were right—only two remained—Rewan and Alick. Rewan chuckled, sword drawn, sauntering close. “Ye’ve finally seen fit to face me like a man.”
Ian backed against the rail, his eyes shifting between both. Rewan swung down. Ian deflected and spun. He snatched his dirk. Alick raised his sword, laughing. But Ian stopped him with a thrust of his dirk, straight to the gut. Ian yanked and twisted it up to finish the kill.
Stunned to lifelessness, Alick dropped between the two vehement enemies.
Rewan leveled his sword, circling. “Ye killed all me men.”
Ian watched for a twitch—any sign to signify a strike. “Why can ye no’ leave me alone?”
“Ruairi needs proof of your death. I cannot return to Lewis without it.”
“We were friends. Does that no’ count for anything?”
“I’ve pledged me life to Ruairi. Have ye forgotten ye did too?”
“Fealty, aye. But I did not sign on to stand by and watch an innocent lass suffer at his hand.”
“It is no’ our place to question our laird.”
Ian circled with deadly intent. “As knights, “tis our place to protect women and children.”
Rewan’s eye twitched. He lunged in, brandishing his sword like a madman. Ian’s muscles jarred, deflecting the larger man’s brute force. Rewan advanced relentlessly, hacking his blade with downward thrusts. Ian backed against the rail. His heart raced, his arms burned. Rewan slashed harder. Ian rolled to the side. Rewan’s blade sank into the ship’s rail.
<
br /> With a bellow, Rewan heaved up to release his claymore, but the sword stuck. Ian stepped in and pressed his dirk against Rewan’s throat and twisted until it drew blood.
Rewan held up his hands. “Wait.”
Ian pulled the big man’s dirk and hurled it over the side. “Ye need proof of me death?”
Rewan swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding against the blade. “Aye.” His voice quavered, nowhere near as self-assured as it had been moments ago.
Ian held his dirk still. “I do no’ want to kill ye.”
“Please. I’ll do anything ye ask.”
“Vow it.”
“I swear on me father’s name and to the Almighty God.”
Ian’s gaze met the man’s black-eyed stare. He’d never known the henchman to go back on his word—though now he no longer could be sure. “I’ll spare ye if ye take me dirk back to Ruairi, but I need your pledge to never come after me again.”
“I cannot—”
Ian dug the blade into Rewan’s flesh until blood streamed down his neck. “Ye will or die this night.”
Rewan blinked. “I swear it.”
Keeping his blade trained on the henchman’s neck, Ian backed toward the rail. “I’ll hold ye to it. For ye will no’ live should ye ever cross me path again.” He yanked away his dirk from Rewan’s neck and tossed it astern. “Leave now. If I do no’ see the backside of your boat by the time I reach the castle, I’ll order the guard to blast ye with cannons afore the sun rises.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Ian trudged through the castle gate. He couldn’t face Merrin. Not yet. He’d killed before, but that didn’t lessen the bile burning in his gut. He probably should have finished Rewan, but couldn’t do it. He abhorred the unsavory task of killing a man with whom he’d shared a table, a man he once fought beside. He only prayed he knew Rewan well enough to believe the henchman would own up to his word.
Ian stopped at the chapel door and slipped inside. A lone candle burned on the candelabra beside Niall’s body. They’d covered him with linen cloth. All color had drained from his face and it looked like sallow cream, but peaceful.