A Fearless Rebel

by McQueen, Hildie

  “I wish to put that behind me, and I cannot if I have to worry about ye.” Catriona lifted the basket she’d been placing the clipped blooms into and motioned to the house with her head. “Tis almost midday. I will go see if yer mother requires help with preparations for Esme’s visit.”

  His sister, along with several from Clan Ross, were due to arrive in the following days, which meant he’d be forced to remain home.

  “I must go to the village. Let Mother know I will not return for last meal.” Heading to the stables, he hoped to find the information he’d been waiting on.

  Keithen walked into the dim tavern that was located in the same tiny village on Chisholm land that he’d once caught Ava returning from. He immediately recognized who he was there to see. A lone man sat at a back table with a tankard at his elbow.

  Keithen neared and sat at a different table but faced the man who met his eyes for a moment.

  “Ale,” he told the woman who shuffled over and she hurried away to fetch his beverage.

  “There will be a peculiar thing in the eastern forest the next two nights,” the man said, looking in his direction. “A lone sheep is easy to hunt.”

  He nodded and studied the worn wood of the tabletop. “I will hunt.”

  “Be with care, sheep can bite,” came the cryptic reply.

  He wondered what the man meant by the last words, but he could not ask as the stranger walked past, grabbed the bag of coins Keithen had set on the table and then slipped out.

  Once he drank the ale, Keithen went to his horse and considered the best route to go to the forest on Mackenzie lands in order to avoid detection. Of the areas around Mackenzie Keep, the eastern territory was the most dangerous. Guards constantly patrolled that portion because it bordered several other clans, Clan Ross included.

  Although his clan was allied with the Ross, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be questioned if caught by them as well. There was much to worry about and plan for.

  However, if he managed to kill one of the bastards who’d attacked Catriona, it would be well worth it. He knew exactly who he was hunting that day. It was the man with a reddish birthmark on the right side of his face.

  He’d failed to protect her before, had allowed not only Catriona, but his own mother to fall into the hands of abusive men. So now it was his responsibility to ensure it never happened again.

  There would be no rest for him until every man who had dared to touch Catriona or his mother was dead. He’d managed to kill three, and each kill had been satisfactory.

  Just then, a familiar horseman appeared. Ewan Ross dismounted and sauntered over to him. “I thought ye’d be in this area.”

  “What are ye doing here?” Keithen could not believe his bad luck. Not only did he have little time to get to where he was going, but now had to figure out a way to get rid of Ewan.

  “Looking for ye,” Ewan replied, his keen gaze moving from him to the horse. “Ruari asked that I keep an eye on ye. He told me what ye are doing.”

  Keithen had wondered why it had been almost impossible to get away in the last few months. He’d managed to get away from his keep once. But other than that, each time he’d set up a meeting with the man who’d just left the tavern, something had gone awry.

  “It’s been ye that have impeded my progress then?” Keithen asked with a glare. “Do ye realize how much it has cost?”

  “Yer life perhaps.”

  “Return to the keep. Stay out of this. It has nothing to do with ye or my sister’s husband.”

  Ewan shrugged. “Matters naught to me. However, think of Catriona and what this would do to her. If ye get yerself killed, it would only add to her burden.”

  Disgruntled, but with no other choice, Keithen rode back to his keep. There wasn’t much to be done with Ewan Ross following him.

  As night fell, he considered that he’d not have another opportunity for a long time yet.

  *

  Keithen, Ewan and several guards rode out as part of their daily patrol the next morning. Keithen studied the Ross archer. “Ye did not grow up with Malcolm and his brothers, did ye?” he asked, referring to Laird Ross.

  “I grew up on Uist.” Ewan looked in the direction of his home with a faraway look. “I have always lived by the sea.”

  Although he’d never been to Uist, Keithen had traveled to the shore several times. He studied the man. “Why did ye leave?”

  “Riders approaching,” Ewan said. In the distance, a group of men on horseback galloped toward them.

  The Fraser tartan was instantly recognizable and Keithen relaxed. Upon seeing Keithen, the man in the lead signaled for the group to slow and they came to a stop.

  “What is going on?” Keithen asked.

  “Mackenzie warriors are out in force, searching out a band of men. They are on attack.”

  As a group, they rode hard until reaching Fraser Keep. Keithen called out for the gates to be closed and ordered every guard to his post.

  His father, upon being informed of the possible threat, sent a group of warriors to protect the village.

  Keithen stalked from one side of the roof to the other, his gaze on the surrounding land. “Where are the scouts?”

  “It will take time to find out what happened,” his father said. But he, too, kept watch toward the north.

  It was hours later that a group of Mackenzie warriors appeared. They rode fast until they arrived at the gates.

  Along with the laird, Keithen hurried to the courtyard. “I will speak to them,” Keithen said, placing an arm protectively in front of his father. “Ye remain here.”

  His father remained silent as the gates were opened and four of the twenty or so entered. One man dismounted and walked toward Keithen and his father, his path blocked by Fraser guards, swords drawn.

  After a flat look around, the man met first his father’s then Keithen’s eyes. “We search for a group of men who may have come here for refuge.”

  “No one has come here as of late,” his father replied in a strong voice.

  The man met his father’s gaze for a long moment as if attempting to sense if he spoke the truth. “They have much to answer for.”

  Keithen’s chest tightened. “Is my wife safe?”

  The man’s upper lip curled in distaste. “What would it matter to ye?”

  In truth, he had no claim when it came to Ava. After all, he’d rejected her and turned his back on the woman. Yet it did matter to him. He didn’t wish anything bad to happen to her.

  “If men come seeking refuge, I am not sure I could turn them away without knowing what they are being charged with,” his father told them.

  The visitor looked over his shoulder to the other three. Whatever happened, it was quite dire, it seemed. “I can only say that there was an unprovoked occurrence to our clan. We will eventually find them, and they will be punished.”

  As dictated by Highland custom, the men were fed and offered rest for a night. They accepted the food but turned down the offer to remain and were soon on their way.

  “It is fruitless to try to figure out what happened.” Keithen’s Uncle Hamish and Aunt Matilde, who lived just a few miles away, arrived upon hearing about the Mackenzie warriors coming to their land.

  His father sat back, absently rolling a glass of whisky between his hands.

  “The scout has returned,” a guard announced from the door and they all reacted by getting to their feet.

  The man who entered had been in his father’s service for as long as Keithen could remember. First as a stable lad, and later, much too small in size for battle, as an archer. A fast rider and quite sly, he now served as a scout.

  “What news do ye bring, John?” his father asked impatiently.

  John’s face lit up. “The Mackenzie is either dead or dying. Apparently, while returning from a visit to his brother with a small escort, he was shot several times with arrows. Whoever it was remained so well hidden that the laird’s guards could not find him. Torn with having to sa
ve his life or try to find the attacker, they chose to take him to the keep before dispatching warriors to hunt those responsible.”

  “When did this happen?” Keithen asked, feeling relieved that it was not Ava who had been injured in some way. Although, he supposed, she would be saddened at losing her father.

  “At dawn, today,” the scout said.

  They settled into their chairs, each quietly considering the ramifications of what would happen if Laird Mackenzie died.

  “His son, Alastair, is not much better than his father,” Keithen’s uncle said. “Perhaps not as ruthless. I am not sure.”

  Broden, who was also in the room, grunted. “I competed against him during the games a year ago. He was actually somewhat pleasant.”

  “Taking over as laird could bring out the worst or the best in a man,” Laird Fraser replied. “I wonder what this means for us. I cannot see how it will impact us in any way.”

  For a long time, the men sat around the table deep in thought, every so often saying something that occurred to them. The truth of it was, they would eventually find out if the Mackenzie lived or died.

  Keithen walked out of his father’s study and out to the courtyard. There was work to be done. The duties of everyday life called.

  However, his thoughts kept returning to Ava.

  How was his wife faring?

  Chapter Eight

  “Mother!” Ava called out, pounding on the closed door. “Open the door.”

  After a long moment, the heavy door was opened, and she entered her parents’ bedchamber and had to swallow to keep from gagging. The mercurial stench of blood and vomit was thick in the air, mixing with the pungent smell of whatever herbs the healer used.

  There were several others in the room, but only the healer and his helpers surrounded the bed where her father lay.

  Lady Mackenzie sat by the window, a handkerchief over her mouth and Alastair looked on from the corner.

  Ava neared the bed and peered down at her father. If not for the fact that the healer continued cleaning a seeping wound, she would have thought him to be already dead. His skin and lips blended in an alarmingly pale shade of gray. His closed eyes were sunken.

  Instead of the intimidating persona her father ensured to always maintain, he looked to have shrunk and disappeared into the bedding. Exposed from the waist up, she could see where the arrows had pierced the flesh, the wounds concentrated in the center of his chest. Three punctures in all.

  “Did ye get all the arrows out cleanly?” Ava asked the healer who frowned at her but nodded.

  After touching his forehead and noting that he was not feverish, Ava then placed two fingers at his neck. Her father’s pulse was so weak she could barely feel it.

  There was little doubt in her mind that he was dying, but she kept the fact to herself. A strange sense of calm came over her and she wondered if it was good or bad. Whether her father lived or died should be upsetting and yet the sense in the room was more one of acceptance.

  From where she sat, her mother leaned forward to see what Ava was doing. Ava touched one of the puncture wounds, testing it.

  “Come away from the bed,” her mother said in a dry tone. “Allow the healer to do what he has to do to save yer father.”

  Ava met the healer’s gaze. “There is nothing further to be done. Ye should allow him to rest.”

  The healer’s shoulders fell in obvious relief. He would not be blamed for the laird’s death if he followed the man’s own daughter’s advice.

  With little to do when she was young, Ava had spent weeks in the tutelage of her grandmother, who was a celebrated healer. It was said no healer could ever compare to the woman, who healed many from their deathbeds.

  Although she rarely was called on to heal lately because her father had no trust in her abilities, she regularly met with the official healer to discuss the best ways to care for the ill and injured.

  The healer nodded. “Bring fresh water and clean sheets,” he instructed.

  Together with the healer, Ava helped wash her father and wrap him in clean bandages. He was then laid atop fresh linens.

  The windows were opened to allow fresh air in, which her mother tried to argue against.

  “Ye cannot allow it. The air will cause him harm,” she told the healer.

  The healer led Lady Mackenzie to the bed. “Tis best ye say yer farewell. I am afraid there is little that can be done for yer husband now.”

  *

  Ava listened in when the Mackenzie council met. Everyone, including her brother, was much too preoccupied to tell her to leave the room.

  The fall of Clan Mackenzie, the most feared group of warriors was swift. As soon as news spread of the laird’s death, it was as if a dam broke and, immediately, allies broke ties with them. There was little to do as they could not fight battles on every side.

  Alastair did what he could to keep some of the smaller alliances but, for the most part, no one wanted anything to do with him.

  It became evident that there had been clandestine meetings between lairds. They’d been waiting for something like this to happen in order to end the alliances and form their own.

  Now with Clans Matheson, Macrae, Chisholm and Urquhart joining with a portion of the southern McLeods and MacDonnells, they became much too great a force for the Mackenzies to overtake.

  Therefore, within weeks of Laird Mackenzie’s passing, Alastair inherited a much smaller, and weaker clan.

  Ava entered the great room one afternoon to find her brother and one of their uncles, who’d become Alastair’s advisor, sitting at a table. She neared and waited for Alastair to take notice.

  “Ye called for me?” Ava asked.

  Alastair looked to her for a moment. “Aye, ye must go with our uncle to speak to the Fraser.”

  Her stomach sunk. “Ye cannot expect me to face them. Not after what they did.”

  “We are allied with them and must ensure it remains that way. Without them, our southern borders are vulnerable.”

  “What ye fear are the repercussions of what our clan did to many for years. Killing, stealing and overtaking people just for gain of power. Why would the Frasers want to help us? Our clan attacked them and then forced them to accept a marriage that brought nothing but shame to us.”

  Her brother jumped to his feet. “Enough! Stop speaking. Ye will do as ye are told.”

  “I cannot. It would be as if I am a dog begging for a scrap.”

  The slap across her face was so hard it sent her backward several steps, but Ava was much too angry to even feel it.

  “Ye should go. Ye should see about repairing what has been done. As laird, it is ye who should speak to their laird.”

  When he lifted his hand again, she held up both of hers. “Don’t ye dare.”

  Alastair grabbed her by the hair and yanked her down to her knees. “Ye will do as I tell ye.”

  Despite the anger, Ava knew it was best not to goad him further.

  Their uncle finally spoke up. “Release yer sister. Ye cannot hope to get anything done if ye cannot control yer temper.”

  Properly chastised, Alastair released her and stalked back to the table and drank deeply from his tankard.

  “She cannot speak to me in such a manner.”

  “Ava,” her uncle said, looking to her. “Yer brother is now yer laird. Ye must strive to be respectful.”

  Two guards entered and approached. Alastair glared at Ava for a moment before acknowledging the men. “Travel to Clan Fraser. Give them the message that my uncle and sister will travel to them and arrive in two days. They come to discuss the alliance.”

  As the guards started to walk away, her brother spoke again. “Tell Keithen Fraser my sister will remain there. We care not in what capacity.”

  Ava’s eyes widened. “No. Ye cannot do that. Please.” She rushed to Alastair and yanked on his arm. “Call them back. Please.”

  When the guards left, she raced up the stairs to find her mother. If anyone could
talk sense into her cruel brother, it was Lady Mackenzie. She burst into the chamber and found her mother sitting on a large settee holding a cup up to her lips accompanied by a pair of women who laughed at something she’d uttered.

  Around the room, there were trays with baked tarts or goblets next to pitchers of honeyed mead.

  The cool breeze blew in through windows that had been thrown open. A partially undressed young man lay stretched out on the bed. He looked to be sleeping.

  A widow’s life suited her mother perfectly. She’d been entertaining and enjoying different men since her father’s burial.

  Lady Fraser smiled warmly at her. “Come in Ava. Pour yerself some mead and join us. We are about to begin a new task.”

  Her mother’s tasks varied from embroidery to reading a specific tome. Once, a piper was hired to teach them to play. It had been a horrendously annoying few days.

  “I beg that ye speak to Alastair immediately,” Ava said, looking to the bed where the young man opened his eyes and stared at her. “Who is that?” she asked, pointing to the bed.

  “Our instructor,” her mother said. “He is a painter. He needed rest after his long…travel.”

  “Mother, Alastair plans to send me to Clan Fraser.”

  Surprisingly, her mother immediately got to her feet. “That will not do at all.” She motioned to the women. “I will return in a bit. See that Marcus eats something.”

  They walked down the corridor and descended the stairs to the great room, her mother’s long strides making Ava rush to keep up.

  “Alastair,” her mother said, approaching the table where he and her uncle remained. “Ye will not send yer sister away. Those people do not deserve a Mackenzie in their midst.”

  “She is not a Mackenzie, but a Fraser now,” Alastair replied in a bored tone. “She’s married to one.”

  “Not by my choice,” Ava interjected, even though it went without saying.

  “I will not allow ye to send off yer sister to the people that rejected her so publicly.”

  Her brother stood, his flat gaze moving from Ava to their mother. “I am laird now, Mother, and as much as I respect yer opinion, I must do what is best for our clan. Did Father not say it matters not who pays as long as we gain power?”