Heart of the Highlander

by Robbins, Kate

  All of that aside, Rorie’s only real thought was of Muren. He had to get word to Eilean Donan and let her know what had happened. If the fates were kind, he would deliver the news himself and comfort her properly. But this battle had not even begun, and already he felt a massive loss even though Ronan had fully intended to fight against him.

  “What now, MacKenzie?” Fraser asked.

  Rorie swallowed hard. He did not want this. Any of it. Surely there was a better way to resolve their differences than slaughtering one another. And what exactly did the king gain by killing Ronan? The man already had an heir, so someone else within the clan would step in until his young son, Artagan became of age. Unless the king planned to place someone of his own choosing in such an exalted position. If that’s what he had in mind, then none of them were safe.

  “We wait for the king’s terms,” Rorie said. “We are as ready as we can be, and the longer we wait, the more likely Fergus will be here with his added numbers before the first arrow is let loose.”

  His strategy was sound, but his whole body itched as though an army of biting, irritating midges had hunkered down for a feast on his flesh.

  As it was, they did not have to wait long for some action. Just as riders took off from across the glen to where the king was stationed, Fergus rode up alongside Rorie.

  “What do you think he wants?”

  Rorie turned to Fergus. Clearly, no one had told him yet, which was no surprise considering the delicate history between them. Their fathers being sworn enemies, Fergus and Ronan’s elder brother, Artagan, had met and befriended one another. That was until Ronan’s father caught wind of the occurrence and put a stop to it. He beat young Artagan so bad that the lad died from infection a month later. It was quite incredible that Fergus and Ronan had managed to secure an alliance despite the clan history, and that Fergus’s own sister was married to Ronan.

  “Fergus—”

  The man watched the king approach and then fixed his gaze on a spot between them and Rorie. “Has there been a battle already?”

  “No, Fergus, but—”

  Rorie didn’t know how to force the words from his mouth.

  “Whose blood soaks the glen?”

  “Fergus, I could not reach him in time.”

  “Whose blood?” Fergus’s voice became quiet and low. Deadly.

  “Ronan’s blood, Fergus.”

  With that, Fergus took off across the glen. Rorie followed but, despite being an accomplished rider, could not catch up.

  The king and his men stopped not long after Fergus tore off. Rorie could hear a thunder of hooves, no doubt the MacKay men were following their laird to protect him. Rorie was tight at their heels.

  Fergus encircled the king and the three other riders he’d taken with him. MacIntosh was among them, and Rorie noted the brief nod of acknowledgement between the two men. Were it not for MacIntosh, Fergus would have surely perished five years ago when Ronan’s father and the elder MacDonald had plotted to pin a heinous crime at his door.

  “You killed my brother-in-law,” Fergus said to the king.

  “Fergus, it is a lot more complicated than that,” MacIntosh said.

  “No, it is not,” Rorie said, catching up just in time to hear the remark. “Ronan had made a choice to stand with us against a king who would barter his people to line his own pockets at any cost, only to be run through by the same man.”

  “Those are serious accusations, MacKenzie. I would choose your words wisely,” MacIntosh said.

  “You call yourself a Highlander,” Rorie scoffed, “but you’re more interested in the scraps from the king’s table than banding with us to protect the Highland way and her people.”

  Fergus encircled the men one more time then stopped directly in front of the king, pulling back on his destrier’s reins so the beast’s head was kept up to face off the king’s horse. It was an aggressive move. The king did not flinch. Nor did his horse.

  “If you can put a leash on your boarhound here, I will offer you my terms,” the king said.

  “Why should we believe anything you say? Your words have always been washed away in bloodshed.”

  “Because if you do not accept my terms, there will be massive losses on both sides this day. With MacKay’s men, our scores are nearly even. How long do you think your patchwork army can stand up against mine who’ve trained together for years?”

  Though he was right, every single inch of Rorie did not want to engage in any kind of agreement with this man who displayed such a lack of honour it made Rorie’s guts lurch.

  “You should hear him out,” MacIntosh said.

  Rorie was damned near sick of him and his politics. He’d hear the king out just to get MacIntosh to shut his pretty mouth.

  “Very well. Say your piece. But you have slaughtered one of ours. You will answer for that,” Rorie said through gritted teeth.

  The king raised his brows. “You can say that even though he had planned to face you on the battlefield?”

  “Only because of the position you put him in. It’s true I had a quarrel with his father, but the son was an honourable man. You will get no sympathy in the Highlands after such an act.”

  “I don’t need your sympathy. Only your fealty. And if I do not get it willingly, I will take it.”

  “At what cost?” Rorie asked though the answer was obvious.

  “At any cost. The survival of the Crown is paramount to any individual need.”

  The man was bold. But he would not take what he wanted without a fight.

  “Very well. Speak your terms.” Rorie noticed MacIntosh open his mouth and shut it again; no doubt he’d been about to chastise Rorie for not using a formal address with the king. Rorie did not care anymore. This king’s greed knew no bounds, and with his dying breath, Rorie would not stand for it.

  “For defying my order relating to the betrothal of Lady Muren to William Douglas, I hereby revoke the MacDonald lands I previously offered, and decree that one of my magistrates will be sent to govern your lands in my stead. An additional tax will be imposed upon you for each seafaring man. You will pay me for each time a MacKenzie boards one of your ships. You will do this or lose your ships. Fitting, I think, since those same ships were used in your deception.”

  Rorie shook his head. “Do you make up taxes in your head beforehand, or do you think them up in the passing moment?”

  “Careful, MacKenzie,” MacIntosh warned.

  “And that will be enough out of you,” Rorie said to him.

  The king smirked and turned his horse around. MacIntosh and the other guards followed.

  “This has to end,” Rorie said.

  “Aye, but for now we must think of Freya and Muren. Has anyone sent news to Dunrobin?” Fergus replied.

  “I have not, but I cannot speak for the actions of the Stewart. He may try to claim their lands as his own, knowing him.”

  “He cannot do that. Ronan has an heir and, though young, it is up to us now to ensure a proper steward is put in place until Artagan comes of age. If we make haste, we can be there on the morrow,” Fergus said.

  “I must return to Eilean Donan to Muren.”

  “Muren is not at Eilean Donan, Rorie. She is at Dunrobin. Freya sent word as soon as they arrived.”

  “What? Why would she do that?” Rorie asked. He couldn’t believe she’d put herself at risk!

  “I do not know. All she said was that Muren was with her. I suspect she knew that Muren travelled without your permission.”

  “It was more than that. I told her to stay where she was. That woman will turn me into an old man,” Rorie said, as he raked his hands through his hair. He took one last look out across the glen at the spot where Ronan’s lifeblood had spewed from his body. “Fergus, I tried to reach him.”

  Fergus looked at Ronan’s chest and arms. “He died in your arms. At least he was not alone.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “No, Rorie, I blame the Stewart. ’Twas his sword that
ran him through, but I cannot speak for what my sister will think. She has a quick temper, and Ronan possessed the other half of her soul.”

  They galloped back to the men and informed them of their decision to ride to Dunrobin. Rorie instructed Ewen to return with the men to Eilean Donan. He would ride hard to Muren and comfort her, aye. But she would answer for defying him.

  ***

  Muren stroked Freya’s hair as she sobbed. A full night and day had passed since the devastating news had been presented to them. Ronan’s body was being held in another chamber, and Bishop de Strathbrook himself had travelled from Dornoch to oversee preparations for the funeral. Freya was told she must wait for his body to be cleansed before she could see him. It was everything Muren and her mother could do to hold her down when she insisted on seeing him immediately. In truth, it was only the weakness from childbirth that kept the woman abed. Other than that, she would have surely torn the house apart.

  Freya was the strongest woman Muren had ever known, and there was no doubt she would get through this, but right now there was only anguish. More than anything, Muren wanted Rorie. She had no idea where he was or how to get in contact with him. Comforting Freya whilst trying to reconcile her own grief, was exhausting. She had only slept but moments since the news had come, and the only moments of peace she received were when she was able to hold the child. In those times, a wondrous calm settled over her, as though something was telling her all would be well. Still, she would feel much better to see Rorie alive and well and in one piece.

  Freya had just settled into a deep sleep, and Muren’s eyes drooped when a knock sounded at the door. Muren placed the bairn in her cradle and crossed the room as quietly as she could. She lifted the latch and opened the door a crack. Her heart caught in her throat when she spied both Rorie and Fergus on the other side.

  Muren slipped out into the hallway and closed the door quietly. The look of anger on Rorie’s face confused her. And then she remembered; she was not supposed to be here. Going against his wishes seemed rather minor now, considering all that had transpired, and it had in fact been good that she had been here for Freya when the news came. Despite those logical thoughts, Muren’s belly coiled into a knot, and her hands trembled.

  “How is my sister?” Fergus’s voice was hard, and it was everything Muren could do not to cower from it.

  Muren cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “She is very weak from the bairn coming early, and I fear the news has taken a toll on her.”

  “Her bairn came early?” Fergus asked, his voice a little softer.

  “Aye, the day before we got the news about R-Ronan.” Muren stole a glance at Rorie whose lips were set in a hard line. She could not meet his eyes. And then she became angry with herself. She had gone against his wishes, true. But she was not his prisoner, and she would not have the kind of marriage where her husband dictated to her what she could and could not do. Muren lifted her chin a little and met Rorie’s gaze.

  “I wish to sit with my sister. I will leave you two alone,” Fergus said.

  When the door closed behind him, a lump formed in Muren’s throat. The fact that Rorie did not speak right away told her that he was angry with her. In her grief-ridden state, she was not sure she could bear it.

  “Rorie,” she said in a breathless voice.

  A flash of pain crossed his features, which tore at her heart. God, she wanted his arms around her. Why was he holding back?

  “You left Eilean Donan.”

  “Aye, Rorie. I was so worried about you and Ronan, I could not sit by and just let it happen. I came here to find Ronan and talk him out of coming.”

  Rorie’s brows shot up. “You dreamed about Ronan’s death?”

  “Aye.” She had tried hard not to think about the image, but now it came back with a vengeance. “I saw the king run his sword through Ronan’s heart. I saw his blood spill onto the green grass.”

  Rorie placed his hands on his head. “I cannot hear this. Someone told you.”

  “No, Rorie. No one told me. I saw it in my visions.”

  Rorie took her by the arm, not too roughly, but forceful enough to make her come with him. He opened a chamber door and looked inside. He then entered with her in tow and closed the door, releasing her at the same time.

  “I have told you to keep quiet about those dreams.”

  “Visions, Rorie! They were visions, and now you know what I saw came true. I can see it in your eyes that you now believe me.”

  “No, I do not. You never told me about Ronan.”

  “I did not have the heart.”

  “I do not believe you.”

  Muren gasped as though someone had punched her in the gut. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “I am saying that you must give up this business about the visions, or you will be in much more trouble than you’ve ever known.”

  That last statement was so pig-headed of him. How dare he presume to rank the dangers in which she was placed because of the greed of men.

  “I came here to warn my brother that he was in danger, and then I planned to come find you and tell you the same thing. The fact that I was right about Ronan, and now the child, proves that. You were in my visions, too, Rorie, and you must heed me.”

  “I will not listen to another word of this, Muren. You must stop this right now. I will not stand by whilst you invite more trouble to our doorstep.”

  Muren could not have been more shocked had he slapped her. “You think I do this to invite trouble? How can you possibly say such a thing, when all I want to do is tell the truth and maybe help someone?”

  “No, Muren. You only bring danger to yourself by sharing these dreams or visions, or whatever you want to call them. Do not bring it up again. For your own safety and for those around you.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. While there was some sense to being cautious, she would not forget these visions had come to her. Now more than ever. He was in danger, and there was still the king’s slaughter. Muren could not stay silent. She would not.

  “And that’s your final word then, is it?”

  His expression took on a sadness as he shook his head. “Muren, please. I just want to go home and start our life together. I do not want to quarrel,” he said and reached for her.

  Muren stepped back. “Back to your home, where you will dictate to me where I may go and what I may say? I think not, Rorie.”

  “Muren, I love you. You know that. I only say these things to protect you.”

  “You do not ask what I think. You only bark orders, and I will not have it. As much as I love you, I told you before that I will not be bartered, bullied, or belittled ever again. If you cannot accept that then—”

  “Then what? You will have our marriage annulled? You will stay here with Freya? Honestly, Muren, I have done everything you wanted. I gave you the space you wanted, even when it went against my better judgement. I protected you, hid you, and moved hundreds of men to create a diversion so I could save you. But I will not let you bring harm to my doorstep in the form of a witch-hunt. My clansmen and the people under my care deserve better than that, and so do you. I know you’re caught up in these dreams, and I know that you’ve suffered. But your brother is on a slab because of this mess, and I am saying enough is enough. We have a temporary peace with the king, and I want to put this behind us.”

  “You think this is all my fault.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Aye, this business—as you put it—has everything to do with me. You protected me, hid me, moved men for me, and my brother is lying on a slab. That all has to do with me, and you just want to go home. Well, why don’t you just go home, Rorie? I cannot escape the magrymes, and I cannot escape the visions. If I could, believe me, I would have done so long ago. Go home to your clan and keep them safe. The world I live in is a lot more complicated, and I cannot give up quite so easily.”

  Rorie clenched his fists. His jaw was set, and his eyes bore into hers. “You se
em to delight in twisting my words. You are my wife, and I will not leave here without you. So, like it or lump it, we leave here as soon as your brother is put to rest. You might as well get used to the idea of being married to me, Muren. ‘Till death do us part.”

  With that, he left the chamber and slammed the door. ‘Till death indeed. Two of her visions had come true despite her trying to intervene. By God, she was not about to give up trying to protect him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rorie found Fergus in the great hall. His hand rested at the top of the hearth as he stared into the flames.

  “How is Freya?”

  Fergus turned. The man looked like hell. He could put fear into the hearts of men on the battlefield, but this man definitely had a soft spot for his sister.

  “Not well. She will return to Tongue with me until she is recovered. She wishes to return and help run the clan and oversee the stewardship until Artagan comes of age.”

  “She is a very strong woman, Fergus.”

  “Aye, that she is. As is your Muren.”

  Rorie shook his head. “These dreams of hers, Fergus, they’re going to drive me mad. She insists she foresaw Ronan’s death,” Rorie said in a whisper.

  “Christ. Then she cannot tell anyone about them.”

  “That’s what I told her, but she insists by sharing them she can prevent harm.”

  “Did you know about her dream involving Ronan?”

  “No.”

  “So she thinks that by not warning him, she is responsible?”

  “Aye, something like that.”

  “What did you say to her?”

  “I told her to forget about them.”

  Fergus chuckled. “And how did that go over?”

  “Not well, I fear. I told her we shall return to MacKenzie lands as soon as her brother is put to rest.”

  “And she agreed?”

  “No, not really.”

  “What were her other visions?”

  “One was about a child. I suspect she is convinced it is Freya’s wee lass. And the other has to do with the king.”