The Chieftain

by Margaret Mallory

  “I apologize for interrupting, but I fear for your sister’s safety,” Ilysa said, looking at James. “I’m sure ye won’t want the whole castle to know, but I saw a man sneak into the bedchamber I share with her.”

  Connor leaped to his feet, ready to charge out to protect his guest. When he noticed that James was considerably slower to get out of his seat, a bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

  “I heard her cry out, but the door is barred,” Ilysa said, clenching her hands in front of her. “Ye must hurry. Please. Who knows what he’s doing to her?”

  “You two wait here,” Connor ordered Ilysa and Niall as he pushed past them. “James and I will deal with this.”

  When he and James reached the hall, Connor slowed his pace so as not to draw attention.

  “Ilysa must have been mistaken,” James said in a low voice. “Surely, none of your men would harm a guest.”

  Connor ignored him and went up the stairs to the keep’s bedchambers. Without pausing to knock, he rammed Ilysa’s door with his shoulder. It was barred, so he stepped back and kicked it, tearing it off its hinges with a crack.

  When he stepped inside, Deirdre stared at him from the bed with her mouth open. She did not have a stitch on, and she was sitting astride a man, who was struggling to sit up. As soon as Connor saw that it was not one of his own men, he turned around.

  “She’s your problem, not mine,” Connor said to James, who had come in behind him.

  James was glaring at his sister with murder in his eyes, clearly furious with her.

  But he did not look shocked.

  * * *

  Connor never let his emotions rule his behavior, but he was so angry his vision blurred. He wanted to pound his fists into the stone wall and shake the building.

  “Not a word of this to anyone,” he hissed in Niall’s ear as he held him by the back of his shirt and ushered him out of his chamber. “We shall speak of your role later.”

  He slammed the door shut and turned to Ilysa, who was perched on a stool. For once, she did not look serene in the face of danger.

  “Ye knew Deirdre was in that bedchamber with a man,” he shouted at her. “Ye embarrassed both me and my guests by what ye did.”

  “I tried to warn ye about her,” Ilysa said in a soft voice.

  “Ye led me to believe ye disliked the lass because ye were jealous of her,” he said. “Ye did not tell me she was bedding one of her clansmen in my keep while her brother was negotiating a marriage contract with me!”

  “I didn’t know how else to stop ye.”

  “Ye came in here playing the innocent with that story about poor Deirdre being attacked,” he said. “Ye deliberately deceived me and made fools of us all!”

  Ilysa looked so small and pathetic sitting in her oversize gown that he felt like a monster for yelling at her. With an enormous effort, he forced himself to stop.

  “A chieftain is judged by how he treats his guests,” he said, though it was a ridiculous point and not the reason he was upset.

  “They were not being very good guests,” she murmured.

  “I do not gauge my behavior by others,” Connor said.

  “I’m sorry for how I did it,” Ilysa said, worrying her skirts in her hands. “But I had to do something before ye committed yourself.”

  Connor rubbed his neck and took a deep breath. “Ye should have simply told me what ye knew, instead of making vague remarks about her not being the right wife.”

  “All right,” she said. “Next time I will.”

  Next time? God help him, there had better never be a next time.

  “There is something more ye ought to know,” she said in her quiet voice. “I think Deirdre is already with child.”

  Connor sank into his chair and rested his head in his hands. Of course Deirdre was pregnant. And of course her brother knew it. Connor felt like a failure to have been duped like that. By tradition, the clan chose a chieftain from among the men who carried chieftain’s blood. To avoid strife, it was essential there be no question that Connor’s sons were truly his.

  Ilysa was right to stop him, though he wished to God she had chosen a less dramatic method. If he had signed a marriage contract, it would have been a disaster.

  Deirdre’s child would have been born too early and then Connor would have two choices, both of them bad. If he returned her in disgrace, he would risk war with her powerful father. If he kept her, he would lose the respect of his clan and the other clans. A chieftain who was not respected weakened his clan.

  He should have been suspicious when James was so intent on rushing the marriage contract. Connor was in need of a quick alliance, but their clan was not. Why had he failed to be more cautious?

  Connor could tell himself it was because he was desperate to gather forces to attack the MacLeods before they attacked him. But that was not the whole of it. He had wanted to bed that lass so badly it hampered his judgment.

  Lust had made him hasty and careless. It was unforgivable. He would not allow himself to be so weak again.

  CHAPTER 8

  It was kind of ye to come with me,” Ilysa said to Niall as they walked the final yards through the field to the castle.

  “’Tis dangerous outside the castle,” Niall said in an uncharacteristically gruff tone. “Connor said ye needed a man to protect ye.”

  Ilysa was surprised Connor was even aware that she had been called to a nearby cottage to assist a woman who was having a difficult birth. But then, he had promised Duncan he would protect her, and Connor was vigilant about his responsibilities.

  “Ye won’t tell anyone that I keeled over, will ye?” Niall asked, sounding young again.

  Niall was over six feet and was a courageous warrior, but he had fainted dead away when the babe was born.

  “Of course not,” she said. “You’re not the first man to do that, I promise ye. Now you’ll know what to expect when ye have your own.”

  “What I’ll expect,” Niall said making a face, “is to be where I don’t have to see any of it.”

  “I suspect you’ll feel differently when the time comes.”

  Niall had a soft heart. He would be the sort of husband who refused to leave his wife’s side and got in the way.

  “I can smell spring in the air,” he said, drawing in a deep breath as they neared the gate.

  Beltane would be upon her in no time. In the week since James and Deirdre’s hurried departure, Connor had been courteous but distant. She missed the talks they’d had when she re-bandaged his wounds each day, but he had informed her that his wounds were healed.

  Niall grabbed her arm when she stumbled as they entered the castle.

  “You’ve been up all night,” he said. “Go up to bed, and I’ll tell one of the serving women to bring ye something to eat.”

  “I am tired,” she admitted. And she had not eaten since supper last night.

  Ilysa intended to take Niall’s advice, but she scanned the hall from habit to be sure all was well before going upstairs. Connor was not there. Most of his guard was gone as well, so she assumed he was away from the castle.

  When she glanced once more around the hall on her way to the stairs, her gaze fell on a man she had never seen before. Her vision swam, and she halted in her tracks.

  The Sight came to Ilysa so rarely that she was slow to recognize it. At first, she dismissed her reaction as due to an empty stomach and being overly tired. Then she realized that her weariness had made her mind open to The Sight. Teàrlag always said that she resisted her gift.

  The vision grew stronger, and vivid colors vibrated around the stranger. Alas, Ilysa had no idea what it meant.

  The stranger sat alone on a bench against the wall with his arms crossed, as if waiting. From his dress, his muscular frame, and the claymore strapped to his back, he was a warrior. He had fair hair, and his skin was tanned from being outdoors, though it was early spring yet.

  Ilysa was examining the strong, hawkish nose and broad cheekbone o
f his profile when he suddenly turned and met her eyes. Men usually looked past her or through her, but this stranger fixed his gaze on her with unwavering intensity. Ilysa wondered if he sensed that she saw something in him others did not. As they locked gazes, the feeling grew inside her that this warrior had a secret he did not want known.

  Ilysa went to investigate.

  “Good day to ye,” she greeted him when she stood before him.

  “I have business with the chieftain,” the stranger said as he rose to his feet. He was a tall man, and he held himself taller.

  “Our chieftain is away, but he would want me to bid ye welcome.”

  “Who are you?” he asked. “His wife?”

  The man was rude.

  “No,” she said. “My name is Ilysa.”

  His sharp green gaze swept over her, making her recall her brother’s warning that her role in the castle would lead men to assume she was the chieftain’s mistress. She could almost hear this stranger wonder why the chieftain had chosen such a plain lass.

  “My mother was our chieftain’s nursemaid, and my brother is his best friend.” She had never felt the need to explain herself before, but the stranger’s scrutiny made her self-conscious. “The chieftain and I are nearly sister and brother.”

  “Nearly?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “Very nearly,” she said in a firm voice and held his gaze. “If you’ll come sit at the table, I’ll have refreshment brought for ye.”

  She was a trifle annoyed that no one had brought him anything already. It was midway between breakfast and the noon meal, but a traveler usually arrived hungry—and even a rude guest merited hospitality.

  When she sent a meaningful look at one of the serving maids, the lass went scampering to the kitchens. The trestle tables were taken down between meals, so she directed him to sit at the end of the high table. By the time he settled himself, the maid was returning with a cup of ale and a bowl of steaming stew. Ilysa gave her a grateful smile.

  “Sit and keep me company,” the stranger said.

  Ilysa was dead on her feet, but she could not rest until she learned more about him.

  “I’ve told ye my name,” she said sliding onto the bench beside him. “Will ye do me the same favor?”

  “I am Lachlan.”

  “Are you the Lachlan who has been leading raids against the MacLeods?”

  “Mmmph,” he grunted in what she took as an assent and leaned down to scoop a spoonful of stew into his mouth.

  So this was the warrior everyone thought Connor should make captain of his guard.

  “This is tasty. Things have improved since I was last here.” When he was halfway through his stew, he paused and said, “Since ye know our new chieftain so well, being nearly a sister to him, tell me about him.”

  Ilysa did not like his sarcasm. “Is there something in particular ye wish to know?” she asked.

  “Is he a man worth serving?”

  This Lachlan was direct, even for a Highlander.

  “He’s your chieftain and that should be sufficient,” Ilysa said, sounding prim to her own ears.

  Lachlan gave her a bored, sideways glance and resumed eating his stew.

  “Ye shouldn’t need a better reason,” she said, letting her disapproval show in her tone, “but I’ll tell ye that Connor MacDonald is as fine a man as any to walk this earth.”

  Lachlan set down his spoon and turned to look at her. “So that’s the way of it.”

  “Ye misunderstand,” Ilysa said and felt her face grow hot.

  He gave a noncommittal shrug and commenced eating again. What an annoying man. Ilysa wanted to set him straight that she was not Connor’s mistress, but continuing to protest was likely to have the opposite effect.

  “How good a warrior is our new chieftain?” Lachlan asked.

  “There’s none better, save for my brother Duncan.”

  “Duncan, the former captain of the chieftain’s guard?” he asked. “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Perhaps that will make ye think twice,” she said, “before making judgments about me that ye have no business making.”

  “I apologize,” he said, his expression softening a fraction.

  At the sound of men’s voices, they both turned toward the door just as Connor came through it with several of his guards. As always, Ilysa’s heart made an odd little lift in her chest at the sight of him.

  The next moment, she was disoriented by a burst of red colors emanating from Lachlan that felt like hostility washing over her. Then she was rocked by anguish as a vibrant blue color glowed behind the orange-red flames engulfing him.

  She gripped Lachlan’s arm to draw his attention. When he dragged his gaze away from Connor, his eyes held a fierceness that frightened her. But the anguish she had seen in his heart tempered her fear.

  “Whatever ye think ye know about our chieftain is wrong,” she said. “Connor is a good man.”

  “I’ve never met him before,” Lachlan said, fixing his gaze on Connor again. “I don’t think anything about him.”

  He lied.

  Ilysa felt the tension in Lachlan’s body as Connor turned his silvery blue gaze their way, then crossed the room to them. When the two men faced each other across the table, danger pulsed around them and echoed in Ilysa’s head like a drumbeat.

  * * *

  “I am Lachlan of Lealt,” the newcomer told Connor, identifying himself as being born near the Lealt River, which ran on the east side of the peninsula. “I hear ye have need of strong warriors and have come to offer my sword.”

  Lachlan was about Connor’s age, well built and nearly as tall. His honed muscles bespoke long hours of practice, and he had the hardness in his eyes of a determined warrior. Connor liked what he saw.

  “I’ve heard a good deal about ye,” Connor said. “They say ye have been protecting the homes of our people here.”

  “Not all of us fled in the face of the MacLeods.”

  No false modesty from this one. “If ye want to fight MacLeods,” Connor said, “I have need of you and your sword.”

  “I’m happy to demonstrate my skills,” Lachlan said.

  “I’d practice with ye, but I’m healing from a wound.” Connor flicked his gaze to Ilysa. “I fear this wee lass will take a whip to me if I re-open it.”

  Lachlan’s eyes widened a fraction, but he gave no hint of a smile. Connor supposed it had been too much to hope that the new man had a sense of humor as well as fighting skills.

  “I’ll fight him,” Sorely said, stepping forward.

  Connor was about to tell them it could wait until after Lachlan finished his meal, but Lachlan swung off the bench, nearly dislodging Ilysa, and strode toward the door. The other warriors stampeded out with shouts. Men did love to watch a fight. Amid the chaos, Connor noticed Ilysa was looking at him with an expression of alarm.

  “I won’t let them kill each other,” he said, giving her a wink to reassure her. “I need them both alive to fight the MacLeods.”

  Ilysa did not respond with the amused glimmer in her eye that he expected. Connor regretted the discomfort that had been between them since the debacle with Deirdre. But after letting lust interfere with his judgment, he was keeping his distance from all women, especially Ilysa.

  The two combatants waited to begin until Connor joined them in the middle of the courtyard. As soon as he gave the signal, Lachlan attacked with force and no hesitation. Connor folded his arms and smiled as he watched. Sorely was good enough to make Lachlan work for it, but it was clear to Connor from the start who the victor would be.

  The fight went on for some time, but Sorely remained on the defensive. When Lachlan knocked him on his back and took his sword, the men erupted into cheers. Lachlan’s face showed no emotion as he let his opponent’s sword clatter to the ground and returned his own to its scabbard.

  “I’m glad ye decided to join us,” Connor said after the shouting died down. “You’ll want to finish your meal now.”

  La
chlan gave him a sharp nod and turned on his heel to return to the hall.

  “But first,” Connor said, bringing him to a halt, “I’ll have your pledge of loyalty.”

  When Lachlan turned around, Connor caught a flash of resistance in his eyes. It was gone quickly, but Connor did not think he was mistaken.

  “Of course.” Lachlan dropped to one knee and laid his sword at Connor’s feet. “I pledge my sword and my life to defend the MacDonalds of Sleat against all others.”

  Connor was not entirely satisfied, but he nodded and dismissed Lachlan to his dinner. A chieftain had the right to expect absolute loyalty from his clansmen. Thanks to his uncle Hugh’s efforts to take his place and tear the clan apart, however, Connor understood that he had to earn his men’s loyalty.

  Sorely brushed off his clothes and came to stand beside Connor.

  “He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” Sorely said as they watched Lachlan go up the steps to the keep.

  “Aye, but he is an impressive warrior,” Connor said, “and I’m badly in need of those.”

  * * *

  While everyone else in the household was in the courtyard watching the fight, Ilysa frantically looked through her trunk for the bag of herbs Teàrlag had given her. When she found the bag, she hid it in her medicine basket and raced to Connor’s bedchamber. As she hoped, the door was unguarded and the room empty.

  She was relieved that the peat in the brazier still glowed hot and dropped to her knees before it. Here in Connor’s chamber, she hoped she could bring on The Sight and discover if Lachlan of Lealt was a danger to him. To calm herself and clear her mind, she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Then she scattered the herbs that were supposed to enhance visions over the brazier.

  A spray of sparks shot up from the fire followed by a pungent puff of smoke. As Ilysa leaned forward and breathed deeply, she felt as if the room were tilting. She tried to focus her thoughts on Connor and Lachlan. Instead she saw two women cooing over a babe. It should have been a comforting scene, but she felt a heavy sadness surround the women.

  Then she sensed danger and a man’s presence lurking just outside her vision.