by Jo Barrett
“Nay, I received word tae come home, but not because of this.”
Taking Colin’s arm, Elspeth pulled him back to the chair by the hearth and urged him to sit. His body fell onto the seat with a weariness he’d never known.
His eyes on the flames, he asked, “How long has he been like this?”
“For nearly a fortnight,” Elspeth said. “His mind seems tae come and go. We canna do more than keep him comfortable.” She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “There was a battle in the middle of the night with the MacKenzies. Reiving, they were, and your father was determined tae put a stop tae it.”
He shook his head slightly. “We have always lived peacefully with the MacKenzies.”
“Aye, and your father tried tae talk tae them, but auld MacKenzie wouldna meet with him. We still dinnae know why they began raiding the outlying farms. They have had good years and are not in need. It makes no sense.”
She lifted her watery eyes to the bed. “‘Twas the blow tae the head that left him this way. Fergus brought him back that night, his own wounds grave. He—he didna survive.”
Colin’s gut clenched unexpectedly. He hadn’t noticed Fergus’ absence when he’d arrived, he’d been too distracted by Ian’s wound and the woman. The thought of never seeing his father’s old friend again, never hearing his rumbling laughter, or receiving a cuff on the ear, although he stood taller than his mentor, sliced at his heart.
He clenched his fists where they lay on the arms of the chair. Grieving would do him no service.
“Colin?” his father muttered.
Elspeth rose and went to his side. She waved Maighread out of the room then stroked his wrinkled brow. “Rest, Douglas.”
Colin stepped to the bed and leaned closer. “I am here, Da.”
He turned his hazy eyes to Colin’s. “Where’s your mother, lad? Why have I not seen her?”
Elspeth silently withdrew her hand from his forehead.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Colin let out a deep breath. His mother had been dead since he was barely more than a babe, her face often no more than a shadow on his memory. Looking down at his father now, he could see her lying in another bed, her skin ashen, her breast still.
“No tears, lad. No good will come from a bunch of weepin’. ‘Tis womanly,” his father had said. “You have tae be strong.” He squeezed Colin’s shoulder firmly. “You’ll be the MacLean one day. ‘Twould be a sign of weakness tae let the men see your tears.”
He swallowed the small lump in his throat from the memory and straightened. “She’ll be along soon, Da,” he said lowly.
The old man nodded vaguely and closed his eyes.
He watched his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. His father was dying.
“The clan needs you, Colin,” Elspeth said, wringing her hands. “I know ‘tis not proper tae take your father’s place before he’s gone,” she choked on the words, her fist flying to her mouth. She took a small breath and lowered her hand. “Something must be done about the MacKenzies. Some of our people have been hurt, some killed. Families have lost their homes.”
His jaw ached from its repeated clenching, as did his head. Soon he would be the MacLean, but he hadn’t expected it to fall on his shoulders so quickly and so heavily.
“The MacKenzies ambushed us in the wood. On MacLean land,” he said, the taste of vengeance tempting his tongue.
“Aye, so you said earlier.”
“I didna know the men, but they wore the crest of the MacKenzies on their bonnets.”
She clasped her hands tightly beneath her breasts. “I didna foresee any of this. What are you going tae do?”
His gaze snapped to hers. “End it.”
Spinning on his heels, he left his father’s chamber in search of a quiet place to think. Women clad in trews, Ian’s shoulder wound, his father’s pale fragile body barely holding on to life, all of it had to be pressed from his mind. Getting to the bottom of the unrest between the clans was where his energy needed to go.
And what of his impending marriage? Was he to wed Aileen MacKenzie or not? Had something happened to negate the verbal contract between the clans? If only his father were well enough to tell him.
Without thinking, his feet carried him to the battlements. He stood for more than an hour, embracing the bite of the wind. His callused hands idly rubbed the stone wall as he watched the churning waters of the loch.
If auld MacKenzie would not meet with his father then there was little left for him to do except train the men, make them stronger, better warriors. Then they would strike back at those who dared to harm his kith and kin.
Chapter Six
Tuck’s door opened and in waltzed the woman who’d practically drooled over MacLean when they’d put Ian to bed. Her long dark hair had been brushed out carefully since she’d seen her last. Probably because her boyfriend was back.
“I was sent tae fetch you tae supper,” she said, her tone dripping with contempt.
This woman, Maighread, Elspeth had called her, wasn’t afraid of her in the least. Interesting, considering the way Fiona had run off. But then this one seemed to be made of sterner stuff.
Tuck crossed the room, slightly uncomfortable with the brush of the skirt against her bare legs. But it was that or go naked. “First, I want to check on Ian.”
Maighread sniffed then spun around. Her pride was obviously bruised in regards to Ian. Well, tough cookies. She wasn’t about to let the local witchdoctor kill the man with her homegrown remedies.
She followed Maighread out into the corridor, noting the guard falling in step behind them. They walked briskly down the hall to the chamber where Ian lay.
Maighread stood aside while Tuck nudged past her and pushed open the door. Crossing to the bed, her patient lifted heavy lids and gazed at her through an alcohol-induced haze.
“Ah, my sweet Amelia. You’re lovelier than ever,” he said with a distinctive slur.
“And you’re loaded to the gills.” She pressed her hand to his forehead, then to his cheeks, trying to determine if he had a fever. As best she could tell, he was all right for the moment, other than being soused. She peeled back the edge of the covers and checked his shoulder, relieved to see the bleeding had stopped.
He smiled crookedly as he battled to keep his eyes open. “The tartan brings out the fire in your hair. I should have known you would be a redhead.”
Tuck shook her head. “I feel like a fire engine.”
His brows knitted together, then smoothed as he captured her hand while she readjusted his covers. “When I am healed, I shall bring you flowers, quote poetry, and court you well.”
Ridiculously pleased with his silly flirting, she eased her hand from his. “Get some sleep, Romeo. You’re going to need your strength to do all that.”
“Ah, you refer to Shakespeare, the new playwright’s work. A fitting name, but I think I prefer Hotshot,” he said with a soft chuckle that faded as he fell asleep.
A faint smile touched her lips. For the first time in her life a man, a very handsome man, didn’t look at her like she was some sort of freak. Or had two men looked at her that way?
She shook her head, setting the question aside. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t the least bit interested in getting involved, especially with a man who’d been dead for more than four hundred years.
Turning for the door, she paused and took a moment to look out the window. Thick vines of ivy clung to the side of the keep, well within reach.
“How convenient,” she muttered softly. The drop was steep, but with a few lucky toeholds in the vines, she could make it without any trouble. Her plan of escape began to form as she left the room.
She followed her unhappy escort down the stairs toward the great hall. As her foot left the last step, Maighread clamped down hard on her arm. It took all her energy not to toss the woman on her ass. But Tuck didn’t think her bear of a boyfriend would care for that idea. The last thing she wanted was to go another round with the ha
iry beast. She didn’t need to have her quarters moved to the lovely dungeon she recalled from the tour she’d taken in her own time. She’d never be able to escape from there and find a way back to Jenny. Her job was her top priority, not putting some irritating witch on her rump.
“You can have Ian, but dinnae be thinking you can have Colin. He’s mine, you ken?” Maighread said with a sneer.
“He’s all yours, sister.” Tuck slipped easily from her grasp, wanting to laugh her head off. How could this bitchy but beautiful woman think she was competition?
The idea she was in an insane asylum was beginning to sound better and better as the day wore on, and was a lot easier to swallow than time travel. What with Elspeth and her second sight nonsense, Ian and his courting—although he had a good excuse, he was drunk—and now this. Honestly, to think she was competition for MacLean was too much. Men just didn’t think of her that way.
The woman’s dark eyes narrowed. “I dinnae trust you.”
Tuck shrugged, resolved to deal with the crazies around her, considering she might very well be one of them. “Fine. No skin off my nose. Just lead the way to chow,” she said with a jerk of her head.
As they crossed the large room, the buzzing of voices stopped and all eyes fell on her.
Elspeth tottered over to her. “Amelia, you’re looking well. Did you have a good rest?”
“Yeah, I feel fine,” she said, scanning the room. “And call me Tuck.”
She couldn’t figure out why everyone was staring at her. It couldn’t be her shoes. Although they were unusual, the skirt hid them. Surely Elspeth hadn’t been telling them a bunch of junk about her traveling with fairies and stuff.
“Come and set yourself down.” Elspeth gently tugged on her arm.
Moving toward the table, Tuck whispered, “Why is everyone staring at me?” The men didn’t seem to be afraid of her, merely uneasy, but from the women she sensed fear. She noticed Fiona, especially, refused to meet her gaze.
“‘Tis likely because they have not seen such a bonny lass in a long time.”
She shot Elspeth a look. “Ease up on the bonny bit. I’m not buying it. There’s more going on here than a bunch of guys checking out the new girl.”
She twittered softly. “You are a different one, I’ll grant you. But you forget, they saw you ride in looking for all the world like a mon. ‘Tis a bit of a shock, I imagine.”
The tension in Tuck’s shoulders eased. She had a good point. Not only were these guys taking in the fact that she was a woman, and a big one, she hadn’t resembled a female in the least when she’d arrived. At least not by their standards.
Of course she wasn’t sure she did now, but the antique push-up bra was helping, and the skirt belted at her waist accentuated her hips. Still, she didn’t make the grade in comparison to Maighread or any of the other women she saw buzzing about the room. Did they see her as competition too?
She snorted softly. Not likely. That whack on the head must have really done a number on her. The most logical explanation was the one she always faced.
She was different. A fact her father never let her forget.
Ignoring the pinch of an old pain, she took her measure of each of the dozen or so men, noting their size. For once in her life she wouldn’t tower over everyone in the room. That, at least, was a good feeling.
“What took you so long?” MacLean barked.
Her gaze zeroed in on her host, seated at the head of a long table. The sight of his face cleanly shaven, put a catch in her step.
Her fluke reaction theory went right out the window. The man was more amazing than when she’d first seen him. The harsh angles of his face, the broad set of his shoulders, he was everything she’d imagined a true warrior would be. But he was also a man who was more stubborn and irritating than any she’d ever met before.
Maighread shot her an icy smile as she slinked up beside him. “I had tae look in on poor Ian.”
The woman was waging a war she didn’t know she’d already won. Even if Tuck wanted to fight her for MacLean, a thought that was as foreign to her as wearing pantyhose and high heels, she wouldn’t have a clue how to go about it. That sort of battle was one she’d never been trained to fight.
Tuck nearly stumbled as she moved to her seat, unable to keep from looking at him. Why couldn’t the man have been ordinary?
Colin had trouble keeping his eyes off her. Although he’d seen her in nearly nothing and had been deeply affected by her visage, dressed in skirts with her crimson curls framing her face, the top of her supple breasts mounding slightly above the bodice, she was remarkable. Traveling alone, she’d been safe dressed as a man. The sight of her now was a testament to that fact. He wondered if that was the only reason she did so, and why was she alone?
As she moved closer to the long table and took a place by Elspeth, he noted the silence thickening in the hall. He turned his gaze to his men and studied their faces. Some stunned to see that she was female, others merely curious, and a few interested in a way that was more than irritating.
“Eat, you bampots! ‘Tis only a woman,” he bellowed.
Everyone jerked their attention from his unwanted guest and went back to their meal. He glanced up and down the table, satisfied, until his gaze found her again.
One fine brow arched high on her forehead, a smirk on her rosy lips. He could see her desire to make some comment, a need to put him in his place, but thankfully she remained quiet. He did not wish to flail her hide in front of the whole clan, although she already deserved a beating. The woman had called him names no man would live to repeat if he tried.
“Colin, your cup. ‘Tis nearly empty. Let me fetch you more drink,” Maighread said, brushing her ample breasts against his shoulder as she reached for his tankard.
He wouldn’t have taken note of his cousin’s none-too-subtle attentions if it weren’t for the she-devil sitting beside his aunt. A sturdy, well-toned, pleasantly rounded body with nimble reflexes and creamy skin lay beneath her borrowed skirts. The memory taunted him to distraction, but he could not allow his urges to rule him. Other, more pressing matters plagued him.
The clan’s safety, the men’s training…the press of his manhood against his sporran. He mentally groaned at his sorry state. Perhaps he should seek out some comfort from a willing lass after all.
Maighread filled his cup to the brim. He took a hefty gulp of ale to cool his ardor and idly noticed the spices she’d added. She was constantly putting herbs and such in everything he ate and drank. Hoping, he assumed, that he would look pleasingly on her, but he didn’t care for the flavoring nor her continued attempts to snare him.
Setting the drink aside, he picked at his meal. Obviously disgruntled that he hadn’t commented on her fare, Maighread sidled closer to him on the bench, her large black eyes peered at him questioningly.
Heaving out a weighty sigh, he asked, “How does Ian?” He hoped for some bit of good news and something to pacify the lass. Much closer and she’d be in his bleedin’ lap.
She shook her head, her long dark locks scraping against his arm. “Not well, I fear.”
The news took him by surprise as did the pinch in his chest, but he kept his features calm. Though Ian was a good friend, he could not waste his time fretting like a woman over his condition. His energies had to remain focused on the clan and its needs.
“She knows not what she’s about,” Maighread said, cutting her eyes to the side toward the stranger. “Poor Ian will likely die from her hand. She is no healer, but a bad omen.”
His brow furrowed deeply, adding to the ache in his head. Looking toward his unwanted guest, he watched her, weighing Maighread’s words. Had he brought a viper into his midst? She had a keen talent for stirring his anger, of that there was no doubt, but he’d seen her with Ian. She seemed genuinely concerned over his health, and Elspeth had taken her to heart as well.
“She isna what she seems, Colin,” Maighread said, her voice tight with suspicion.
“No woman is,” he muttered.
His guest’s red-capped head lifted, and she steadily returned his gaze. He saw strength, determination, and vast amounts of courage reflected in the emerald depths.
No, he did not believe she was a murderess, yet he could not trust her. The welfare of the clan was at stake.
“Dinnae worry over Ian. He is young and strong,” he said, breaking the unusual connection with the woman. He shoved a bit of bread into his mouth. “Elspeth will watch over him. You tend tae the laird. He needs your skills now.”
Maighread smiled up at him, and he withheld a frustrated groan. She’d seen his comment in too fair a light, as it seemed to renew her pursuit.
“I will do all I can for your da, Colin. He is like my own.” She rested her hand on his thigh beneath the table then ran her tongue over her full lips.
It was all he could do not to roll his eyes at her blatant invitation. Although beautiful, she had never held any appeal for him. He’d explained time and again that he would not wed her nor bed her, but she persisted.
He ruefully recalled the day she appeared on the steps of Arreyder Castle. A more bedraggled waif he’d never seen in his life. But there had always been something about her that ate at him. To this day he felt wary around the woman. More than likely due to the stories surrounding her mother.
His own father swore she was a witch, that she’d cast a spell over his cousin to lure him to her bed. The bed in which he’d died. Some say of an illness, other’s say it was murder.
His father was more than pleased when Maighread informed him of the old crone’s death. Yet, regardless of his dislike for her mother, he’d welcomed Maighread into his home, and the infernal woman had been Colin’s shadow ever since.
Removing her cool fingers from his leg before she saw fit to explore beneath his kilt, he said, “I have things tae tend tae.”
He left the hall. His determined stride took him to the room where his father lay quietly sleeping. Although he sorely missed his counsel, Colin refused to disturb his da’s peace. Nor would the old man be able to aid him in his current state of mind.