The Lass Defended the Laird (Explosive Highlanders Book 2)

by Lisa Torquay

“A good sign I would say.” The older McKendrick added.

  Conflicting thoughts zinged Drostan’s mind. On one hand, if The McPherson appointed an heir, or successor, it would free Freya and Ewan from the danger looming over them. This being the most important outcome of his father-in-law’s decision. On the other hand, it might create dissention in the McPherson if the appointed successor did not satisfy most of the clan. He sincerely hoped Freya’s father chose someone who would be a consensus in his clan to avoid further conflicts. That done, he must deal with Ross’s and James’s ambitions, certainly a tricky event. Whichever way, Drostan would keep alert.

  Fortunately, the snow which had caught up with Freya and Ewan when they returned to the manor had been washed by the sloshing rain that came afterwards. It did not snow anew. They had a few days without rain which made the roads more dusty than muddy, but not impassable. This first week in December brought that sort of crisp windy weather usual between autumn and winter.

  Freya and Ewan travelled in a carriage while the McKendrick men rode their impressive horses. Inside the carriage, the servants had placed hot bricks to protect Ewan from the chilli air. In spite of the risks, Drostan and Freya decided to take their son as the gathering would provide a good opportunity for the boy to meet his grandparents. To leave him alone with the nanny in the manor did not seem sensible though there would be servants around to take care of the four-year-old. Freya did not feel confident enough to be separated from him, in any case.

  The McKendricks lived close enough to travel to and from in the same day. Several Lairds did not have the same convenience and would have to overnight at the McPherson, like in the old days. A sense of nostalgia came over the lady at this. Her grandfather used to be too fond of the glorious days of Scotland and regaled her with innumerable stories of wars, adventures, and clan rivalry. He even sang the old ballads to her in his croaky voice. A wistful smile drew her lips. She would certainly pass on this to Ewan. She had already started doing it in their bleak days in the derelict cottage where she had found refuge for those horrible years.

  Her father’s letter induced contradictory feelings in her. Relief was the foremost because his decision would resolve this awkward situation and free her and Ewan from the dangers they endured in the past years. Any probability that he would choose Ross as the new leader should be regarded as slim at best. This man would not accept it so easily which meant he would continue his machinations towards his sole goal. The knowledge of it caused extreme apprehension in her. Not for herself, but for the successor. If the clan did not support him, the man would be in for a very hard time. She would be sure to alert the appointed successor to it.

  Despite these musings, optimism overruled the other feelings. Not having seen her parents in years, the visit inspired eagerness in her. Without siblings, she had bonded with her nearest cousins who provided her with countless childhood memories. They would be there for sure, and she would be able to rekindle their bonds.

  Through the window, she saw the manor where she grew up as enthusiasm dominated her. She checked her white blouse, black external corset, and green, black, and white plaid skirt, under her elegant cloak, smoothing any possible wrinkles. Also, a pat on her simple chignon, with auburn wisps falling from it assured her of her hair’s tidiness.

  The great McPherson hall already displayed several people in colourful plaids. Most men dressed the traditional tartan and most women chose attires like hers in their own clan plaids. Her eyes surveyed the place expecting to see Ross, but he seemed not to have arrived yet, a calming breath inundated her lungs.

  Drostan at her side, they held Ewan’s hands as the boy’s wondering gaze took in his surroundings. Wallace, Fingal, and Lachlan followed close, on the lookout for any strange moves. Her parents stood right ahead greeting the newcomers. A smile came to her as they approached the elderly couple. Both opened their arms to her. Edna McPherson still preserved strands of auburn hair among grey ones, but her luminous brown eyes continued vivacious like Freya remembered.

  “Oh, Freya.” She smiled openly. “I am so happy to see you.” Her eyes lowered. “And who is this gorgeous young man here?”

  “Mama, meet Ewan.” Mother turned to son. “Ewan, greet your grandmother Edna and grandfather Irvine.”

  Edna lifted the boy in her arms and his grandparents talked proud to him. Not shy, her son answered their questions.

  After the greetings, the McKendricks advanced inside, coming across Aileen and Taran. The Lady McDougal hugged her brothers, and the men exchanged camaraderie handshakes with their brother-in-law.

  “I do not think you have met my son Sam.” The McDougal introduced. “He is already home for Christmas.”

  Freya looked at the lanky red-haired lad bearing round glasses over green eyes the replica of his father’s. “Sam, it is nice to finally meet you.” She smiled. “I am Freya, your cousin.” Fiona gave him his hair colour though.

  He smiled shyly behind his glasses. “My father said you have come for a visit.” He started. “A pity we never met before.” He bowed formally to her.

  “Laird McTavish is at the back of the room. You remember him, do you not, Fingal?” Drostan asked his brother suggestively. The man sent the marriage proposal for Fingal and his second daughter Anna.

  “I remember him.” Fingal answered above the noisy conversations around them. “The years passed for him too.” He surveyed the man’s black hair gone grey. His daughters did not come as they stayed in London to further their ladies’ education.

  “The hard-working McKendricks found time for a social outing.” A saucy female voice directed at Lachlan who had wandered away from his siblings.

  His eyes fell on the not so tall lass, observing her Darroch plaid, but not recognising her. The lass looked too pretty for her own good.

  “You do not remember me, I can see.” She guessed. “Moira Darroch at your service, my Laird.” She made a mocking curtsy, her mischievous eyes direct on his. The Laird Darroch’s daughter, then.

  At eight and twenty, the youngest McKendrick was by no means a cold-blooded highlander. And the daring lass was by no means devoid of good looks. Her attitude stirred his curiosity together with his hot-blooded response. “Dame Moira.” He mock-bowed to her, following her playful tone. “A pleasure to rekindle our acquaintance.” They had surely met at one or other festival held during spring and summer. He would have remembered if they had talked or danced. Especially danced, his eyes strolled down her hour-glass figure.

  “Pleasure’s all mine, my Laird.” Her attention accessed him in return, without a single drop of demureness. Which caused the expected effect in Lachlan. “I will see you around.” She said as she went to join her clan.

  The guests were taking their places and the McKendricks would occupy the honoured seats by Laird and Lady McPherson on the elevated table at the front of the hall.

  Footmen passed trays of food, ale and whisky among the guests.

  From here, Freya could see the whole hall swarming with people. The McPherson chieftains all reunited at one side. A movement at the entrance attracted her attention. Ross and James had just arrived, causing a frosty chill to wash over her. Between her father and Drostan, with Ewan on her lap, her visibility was high.

  Ross turned to the high table and his flinty eyes squinted on her with such hatred and contempt it moved the air about her. Stare directly on him, she did not show her apprehension. Under the table, Drostan squeezed her hand in a sign of support. “He cannot do anything to us here.” Her husband assured her between his teeth.

  No, not here. And after this day, she would be rid of his threats, she steeled herself.

  At that moment, her father stood up, and the hall fell silent. “It makes me happy to see you lairds and lasses gathered here.” He began.

  The entire room cheered before he could continue. “I have been deliberating the need to appoint my successor or make an election for years, balancing the pros and cons of possible candidates.” His voice
boomed in the torch lit place. A big fire blazed in the enormous fireplace to one corner. “You are here today to bear witness of my choice.”

  “Before doing that, though, I am extremely proud to present my grandson to you.” He picked Ewan by his waist and lifted him high over his head to face the crowd. “This is Ewan McKendrick.”

  The hall exploded in cheers of ‘Hail, Ewan’.

  Irvine sat the boy on his shoulder. Ewan seemed very comfortable being the centre of everyone’s attention. “I declare Ewan McKendrick my sole heir apparent.”

  The statement made the room fall so silent that one heard the fire cracking. Freya’s blood drained from her face as dizziness nearly overcame her. Irvine did nothing short of transforming her son in a target. How could he be so clumsy? Inhaling gulps of air, she forced herself to regain her clarity. With the corner of her eyes, she tried to gauge Drostan’s reaction, but he was looking straight ahead. She got no chance of determining what he thought about it.

  “I made my choice based on what most kin in my clan conceived of a coalition between the McPhersons and the McKendricks.” Her father resumed after long minutes. “I realised that joining forces will strengthen both clans.” The explanation might be sound, but still... “By doing it, I will strengthen the Highland’s traditions and assets.”

  He had the right of it, no doubt. But she did not know the cost. Irvine should have talked to her and Drostan before he announced his heir. Her father must have thought she and her husband would be exhilarated with his choice. Her eyes turned directly to The McKendrick as he displayed mixed expressions on his stance. His old-whisky eyes glared menacingly at Ross while his sensuous mouth upturned in a satisfied smile. Proud and worried, she concluded.

  Irvine placed Ewan back on her lap, and she hugged the boy with trembling arms.

  “It has come to my attention,” The McPherson’s voice regained the room’s silence. “That a certain chieftain among mine has transformed my daughter’s life in hell.” His hand pointed at her for emphasis. “I hereby ban Ross McPherson and his brother from my lands for the remaining of their life.”

  All the people in black and yellow stood and cheered so noisily it deafened her. The entire audience looked at said chieftain who found no way of hiding a scarlet face and a furious glint on flinty eyes. He and James stomped out of the hall.

  Though it was good to know Ross got what he deserved, it made her no less tense. Without a place to live and an income, he and James may resort to more criminal acts against anyone in the Highlands. In her opinion, both should be forced to become tenants or even peasants. Naturally, complete destitution came heavy with humiliation. This was probably what her father intended in the first place.

  For the rest of the day, the people present ate, drank and interacted festively.

  Past mid-afternoon, Freya jostled in the carriage back to the McKendrick. There had been no opportunity to talk privately with Drostan about the day’s events. They had only the chance to invite the McDougals to overnight at their manor with more comfort than at her parents’. In a last-minute decision, Freya had asked Aileen if they could take Ewan in their carriage for safety reasons. Taran did not even blink as he assented, understanding what was at stake. Lachlan and Wallace accompanied them in their horses. They had departed a few minutes ahead of her, Drostan and Fingal.

  Of course this new coalition would have consequences for the other clans, too. With it, the McKendricks would gain even more influence and assets. In her mind, she reviewed the network and concluded that the McKendricks had formed alliances or agreements with most of the clans. Everyone would benefit direct or indirectly from the new development. The real effect would take years yet. Her father still had a long time to rule, and Ewan would be able to undertake his place only at eighteen. For the time being, not much would change, she soothed herself.

  Outside, behind the carriage, Drostan and Fingal rode sedately through the grey weather. As the father to the heir of two clans’ leadership, Drostan swelled with pride. His approach of preserving Highland’s traditions and force seemed more solid with Irvine’s decision. He would make sure to raise Ewan to prioritise cooperation and win-win attitudes so that everyone shared in the advantages of the coalition. Safety must be reinforced though, he understood it all too clearly.

  “My value has increased considerably in the marriage mart.” Fingal said with a pinch of sarcasm.

  Drostan scoffed at his brother. “Going to be cocky about it?”

  “I should, should I not?” A side smile came to his features. “I might play hard to get.”

  “That would be a funny thing to see.”

  “Seriously now.” His stance became grave. “I believe I shall accept the McTavish lass.”

  Drostan’s gaze turned to his second brother. “Are you sure?”

  “I am not so in a hurry to be leg-shackled, but the lass would bring a new branch into our alliance network.” His cinnamon eyes looked ahead in reflection.

  “I cannot disagree.” His brother answered. “They say the lass is one of the prettiest in the Highlands, tall and slender.” The eldest said with detachment. The lass’s appearance meant nothing to him.

  “Well, I will not complain about these secondary advantages.”

  “Secondary, huh.” Not that Fingal was a womaniser, but he counted his share of ‘interested’ lasses. “Alright, I will send a letter to The McTavish.” Fingal nodded in acknowledgement.

  With a book in hand, Freya did not pay attention to what Drostan and Fingal talked outside. The nanny had put the tome in the carriage saying Ewan might fall asleep and the lady would have time for it. Freya was grateful for the afterthought.

  Pounding hooves and shouting in the distance tore her from her reading. The carriage screeched to a stop. Hazel gaze peered out at the road, and saw two riders and the McPherson colours. No need for more visuals to know who they were.

  Ross and James pulled their reins about fifty yards away from their group, rifles in hand.

  Extreme despair wrenched her insides. These men had nothing else to lose. Or they had little else to lose, except their life. But they did not seem to care for it anymore.

  “Get down from your horses.” James ordered.

  Before the McPherson brothers neared, Fingal positioned himself in front of the carriage to surround Freya with more protection. He made the coachman go down.

  Heart pounding inside her ribs, fear for her husband clogging her throat, she would not sit and watch those villains do whatever they wanted. In a decisive movement, her hand shoved the carriage door.

  “Stay inside!” Drostan’s hoarse edit scratched her ears.

  They pointed each riffle at The McKendrick, and Freya’s world tilted perilously into darkened vision. Her throat swallowed what had to be sand as she forced her legs to pace to her Laird.

  She stood in front of her husband, shielding him from the riffles. Everything she had seen in her nightmares. Everything she had worked so hard to avoid. The years apart, the longing, the fear. Everything she had in her life, outside her son. Everything…did not spare the love of her life from this moment. It had all been for nothing! The sorrow, the despair, the hopelessness. Fat tears spurted from her eyes. She did not swallow them. They cascaded down her cheeks freely. And silently. For she did not want her husband grieved by them.

  “Have you gone insane, woman?” He held her upper arm, trying to move her from his front. “Go to the ground.” He ordered.

  She heard none of it. Would do none of it. Her heart overflowed with searing, intense emotions burning through her. No chance of hearing anything outside what this soft organ of hers demanded, needed. Craved. And it must come out. At once. There was only one thing she wanted to give as answer.

  “Drostan, I want you to know I love you.” She started, straining not to let her tears seep into her words. “I love you so much, it hurts. I have always loved you since I was eighteen. Not for an hour, not for a minute, not for a second have I stopped lo
ving you.” Her voice so soft only for him. “Everything I did, everything I will ever do is for you and your safety.” She sniffed pitifully. “Because I…I cannot live in a world where there is no you. Do you understand?”

  “Freya…” He murmured in a tone that suggested her words shifted his guts.

  “Did I not say I would kill him if you ever came back?” Ross spat at her, insensitive to her moist cheeks.

  Though her stare remained on Ross, she did not deign to listen to his vitriol. He was the criminal. Whatever he said or did not say did not signify. His actions would be harmful and that was all that kept her talking to her husband.

  “I hope you forgive me if I have upset you.” She carried on without heeding her kin. “In case I am gone, I want you to be happy. To marry again and give Ewan brothers and sisters. You hear me?”

  “Stop it, Freya.” He emitted, but his hand on her was not so steady now.

  “Ha!” Ross continued. “I told the lass that if she did not leave you, I would kill you, McKendrick.” That mocking a disgusting interruption. “The lass scurried away like a mouse.”

  The villains got down from their horses and paced to them.

  “Promise me, Drostan.” She asked unafraid of the riffles approaching them

  “No.” He said with finality. His glare never leaving the McPhersons.

  “Promise me, please.” She pleaded not disguising the tears in her voice anymore.

  “No.” He repeated, his arm pulling her to lean on his warm taut body.

  Time froze around them. Fingal unable to do anything, held his ground.

  “Where is the bairn?” James asked eager to draw blood.

  “He is not here.” Her husband’s tone dripped loathing.

  Ross did not look at his brother, but jerked his head to the carriage behind Freya and Drostan. James walked to it.

  “When I say down, you throw yourself to the ground, got me?” Drostan murmured softly in her ear.

  In the smallest of movements, she nodded. She would do anything for him, except let him die.