“Get your wife and children out quickly,” he called to Malcom. “Hurry! Hurry!”
“Leave him to take care of his own children,” Sorely said, pulling at Connor’s arm. “Ye must escape. I’ll stay at your side.”
It seemed unlikely that two galleys full of MacLeod warriors happened upon them. Until Connor knew which man had betrayed him, he was not traveling alone with any of them, not even Sorely.
“Go,” Connor said. “I’ll find my own way back.”
“But—”
“I said go,” Connor commanded.
By the time Malcom and his wife had herded the last of the children out the door, Connor heard the thuds of feet running up the hill from the beach.
As he swung the door closed behind them, Connor caught sight of a curly-headed bairn coming down the ladder from the loft. He reached her in three long strides, plucked her off the ladder with one arm, and ran out.
As he rounded the corner of the cottage, he saw the mother running toward him holding a child with each hand. She must have realized she had missed one.
“I have her,” Connor told her. “We must get your family hidden now!”
“This way,” she said.
They were in plain view, and the MacLeod warriors would reach the top of the hill at any moment. Connor scooped up the child who was lagging behind and holding his mother back, and together they ran for the copse of trees behind the cottage.
Shouts and the sounds of the enemy warriors smashing the family’s pots and meager furniture reached Connor’s ears as they entered the trees and continued running. On the other side of the small wood, they caught up with Malcom and the other children, who were waiting for them on a well-trod path.
“I’m grateful to ye for helping with my family,” the woman said, her voice breathless. “But you’re in danger here, Chieftain. Ye must go while ye can.”
“I’ll wait until you and your bairns are safely hidden,” he said. “We’re too close to the cottage. They’ll find ye here.”
“We can hide down the hill,” she said.
They had evidently hidden there before because the older children were already disappearing down the side of the hill. As Connor left the path to follow them, he glanced over his shoulder. He saw no one yet, but they would be coming.
The family hid in an eight-foot-wide depression in the side of the hill created when a large tree had been uprooted.
“Ye must keep the children quiet,” Connor whispered to Malcom and his wife while he passed the two bairns he had carried down to them.
Connor lay flat in the grass next to their hiding place where he would be able to see anyone on the path above them. Sounds were still coming from the cottage, but he suspected the MacLeods would split into groups to search. At least, that is what he would order if he were in charge.
One of the children cried out and was quickly silenced.
“This way!” a voice called out. “I heard something!”
* * *
“Put that knife down before ye slice your thumb off,” Cook said and took it from her. “Ye shouldn’t be doing kitchen work at all, but you’re a danger to yourself today.”
“I’m sorry to get in your way,” Ilysa said. “I’m just worried.”
After pacing her room until she could stand it no more, she had come down to the kitchen hoping to distract herself.
“The chieftain has gone out with some of the men several nights now,” Cook said as he chopped onions with blinding speed, “and nothing’s gone wrong.”
Ilysa had told herself that over and over. Yet she could not shake this feeling of impending disaster.
“The men will return soon,” Cook said. “You’ll see.”
“Of course they will,” Ilysa said and kissed his cheek. “I’ll leave ye to your work.”
As she was going up the circular stairs to her chamber, Ilysa suddenly felt cold pass through her as if someone were walking on her grave. She held her hand against the stone wall to steady herself while her sight grew blurry. Though she was aware of where she was, the stairwell disappeared, and she saw Connor bathed in moonlight. He was reaching his arm out to her, and his tunic was dripping with blood.
As soon as the vision passed, Ilysa raced up the stairs, knowing what she must do. She hurriedly collected the things she would need and put on her cloak.
CHAPTER 11
On the ridge above them, Connor saw the outline of five warriors, clearly visible in the moonlight. Barely breathing, he glanced at the row of children flattened against the side of the hill and prayed they would keep silent.
Through the tall grass, Connor watched the five warriors, willing them to leave. They were close enough that he could make out their voices in the quiet night.
“The MacDonald chieftain was supposed to be here,” one of them said. “Our reward will be great if we’re the ones who find him.”
The MacLeods knew he would be here. As Connor had suspected, one of his own had given him up. But which one?
Connor held his breath as the men turned north and followed the path in the direction of Trotternish Castle. He waited several long minutes after they disappeared before rising to his hands and knees for a better look.
“Are they gone?” Malcom asked.
“Hush!” Connor ordered when he heard the low rumble of the warriors’ voices above him. “They’re returning.”
A short time later, the MacLeod warriors were once again standing above them.
“We should look down this hill,” one of them said.
Connor tensed. Malcom was not a trained warrior, which meant Connor would have to take all five MacLeods himself.
“Ach, no, let’s go back to the boat,” another of the men said. “I have a jug of whiskey and a warm lass waiting for me at home.”
Connor prayed the others would listen to him.
“We’ll leave after we look down here,” the first man said.
Connor heard the familiar swish of their claymores swinging through the tall grass as the five men walked down the hill. After signaling to the family to stay low, he ran across the side of the hill in a low crouch. He had to move fast to circle behind the men before they stumbled upon the family’s hiding spot.
When he reached the path, he scooped up a handful of stones and climbed a large tree. As soon as he was out of sight in the branches, he hurled the stones, sending them bouncing up the path. Then he climbed out onto a thick limb that hung over the path and waited. If he did not hear the men coming toward him soon, he would have to shout to draw their attention. He smiled when he heard running feet.
He let the first three warriors pass and dropped on the last two, driving his dirk into one and then the other in quick succession. Before the others turned around to see what happened, Connor had his claymore in his hands. Three at once could be difficult. He was pleased when one charged him. With a swift stroke, he blocked the attacker’s sword, then swung in a circle and drove his blade deep into the man’s side.
The remaining two used their advantage and acted in concert, one coming at him from his left and the other from his right. Connor picked up the sword of one of the fallen men and fought them back using both swords. More MacLeod warriors could come looking for these at any moment. Damn, he needed to end this quickly.
He dove to the side as one of the men swung at him, and the blade glanced off his arm instead of piercing his chest. As he came up, Connor pulled the dirk from his boot. His opponent’s arm was still extended with the force of his swing when Connor sank his dirk between the man’s exposed ribs.
The last warrior charged at him with a roar before Connor could recover and block the attack with his claymore. He felt the wind of the man’s sword on his back as he dropped to the ground. Before he could get up, his opponent raised his blade over his head and brought it down with all his force. Connor managed to roll to the side in time to avoid being split in two, but the blade caught his thigh.
Connor was on his feet again, and
he had only one opponent left. When he could, Connor showed mercy. But this was not one of those times. He swung his great two-handed sword in deadly, rhythmic arcs, forcing his opponent back and back again.
Finally, the MacLeod warrior swung with all his might into Connor’s injured leg. Connor had anticipated the move and jumped over the blade. When his opponent’s sword met with no resistance, the force of his swing threw him off balance long enough for Connor to deal him a deathblow and end it.
As he leaned on his sword to get his breath back, Connor noticed that the family had crept out of their hiding place and were watching from the tall grass. He signaled for them to stay where they were and started dragging the dead bodies off the path. If the other MacLeod warriors came this way and found their comrades, they would be far more vigilant in their search.
“Just keep your children quiet and off the path,” Connor told Malcom when he offered to help.
By the time he had dragged the five dead MacLeods into the bushes, his head was spinning.
“I must return to the castle, but ye should be safe if ye stay hidden,” he told the family. “Don’t go back to the cottage until it’s daylight and ye can be sure that they’ve sailed away.”
“Let me take care of your wounds before ye go,” the woman said.
Connor only now realized that his sleeve was soaked with blood. He remembered being struck in the leg as well. That would explain why he was light-headed.
“Help me bind them, and I’ll be on my way,” he said.
Using Connor’s dirk, she cut two strips from the bottom of her skirts. She tied the first around his arm while he tied the second strip around the gash on his thigh.
“’Tis a long way to the castle, and the path is overgrown and difficult to follow in the dark,” Malcom said. “I’d better take ye.”
“I’ll manage,” Connor said. “Stay with your wife and children.”
“Mind ye don’t enter the faery glen,” Malcom said. “The path circles around it. Don’t be tempted to cut through it to make your journey shorter.”
Faeries were the least of his worries.
“If ye do find yourself in the glen, ye must have a token to leave for the faeries,” the wife said. She reached into her pocket and brought out a stone that glittered in the moonlight. “Sometimes a gift will appease them, though ye can never tell with faeries.”
Connor did not want to insult her, so he thanked her and put the stone in the leather bag tied to his belt. He had miles to travel, and he was anxious to be on his way.
“I see now why they say ye are the hope of our clan,” the woman said. “May God watch over ye. We need hope.”
CHAPTER 12
Connor walked for what seemed like hours. He was grateful for the quiet of the night, even if the sense of peacefulness was false. He needed the time to think, and for once he was not accompanied by his guard. As chieftain, he was always surrounded, and yet always alone.
Which of his men had betrayed him? He considered each man who had come with him and dismissed each in turn. And yet, the traitor had to be someone who knew their destination.
After a couple of hours, Connor grew too light-headed to think anymore. He kept walking. Twice he lost the path and had to retrace his steps. Ahead of him, he saw the outline of odd, conical-shaped hills.
He stumbled ahead. As he drew closer, the night fog that lay between the strange hills transformed the moonlight into a soft glow. Above the mist, the tops of the hills had rows of ridges along their sides like ripples on the surface of water.
His mind was working slowly, but he had the uneasy feeling that he was forgetting something important. Something the woman with all the children had told him. The bindings on his arm and leg had loosened as he walked, and he was aware, in a distant way as if it were happening to someone else, that he was losing too much blood.
He sat down to tighten the bindings and dropped his head between his knees while he gathered his strength to do it. Then, forcing himself to stay alert, he retied the strip on his arm, using his teeth and one hand. Next, he unfastened the blood-soaked strip on his thigh and pulled that binding into a tight knot. With that done, he decided he could let himself rest for a moment before he got to his feet again.
Connor awoke shivering and realized he must have dozed off. With an effort, he lifted his head. The moon had not traveled far across the sky, so he could not have been asleep for long. He told himself he must get up and return to the castle before daylight. If the MacLeods—perhaps assisted by one of his own men—were searching for him, it would be safer to travel under cover of darkness.
His mind was thick and slow, but eventually it came to him that he was sitting in the midst of the faery glen. Though he had never been here before, the conical hills were just as they had been described to him. Strangely, the realization did not alarm him in the least.
Connor turned his head and saw the flickering light of a small fire through the mist. Friend or foe? A distinctly feminine form crossed in front of the fire. Whether she was a faery or a human, he did not know.
Was he imagining her? Connor blinked several times, but she was still there. Her slender, alluring shape was draped in a translucent, gossamer cloth, just like an angel. Or a faery.
As he watched, she began to dance around the fire, swaying with the grace of a bird dipping and soaring through the sky. Each time she passed on his side of the fire, he could see her lithe, supple shape through the thin cloth of her robe. She appeared to wear nothing at all underneath it.
There was something so beguiling about the faery lass’s movements that Connor did not consider leaving. Since childhood he had heard tales of enchantments wrought by faeries, but if this was one, he did not care.
She sang in a high, sweet voice. Though Connor was too far away to make out the words, the sound filled his heart with longing. Everything about her entranced him: the tips of her small breasts beneath the thin fabric, the graceful swing of her robe, and the long, fair hair that tumbled down her back like a shimmering waterfall.
Desire swept through him. Whether she was a faery or an apparition, he wished with all his heart he could have one magical night with her. He longed to sweep his hand along the graceful lines of her body, to cup her breasts, to feel her hair slide over his skin. One enchanted night with this faery lass that he could hold on to and remember after she returned to her world and left him in his, where he was the hope of his clan and must always, always put duty first.
Connor sucked in his breath as sparks flew from her fingers. What would it be like to touch this ethereal, magical lass? To run kisses along her swanlike neck? To bury his face in her hair…to feel her breasts pressed against his bare chest…to feel the sparks from her fingertips on his skin…
His eyelids grew heavy as he watched the slow sway of her body and listened to the sweet melody of her voice. He was not sure if he was awake or dreaming as he lay her down on his plaid and she wrapped her slender legs around him while he kissed her deeply. If he was dreaming, he did not want to wake.
* * *
The feather-light fabric slid sensuously over Ilysa’s skin as she dipped and whirled in slow, arcing movements around the fire. At first, she felt self-conscious dancing with her hair loose and nothing on beneath the thin gown, but no one else would venture into the faery glen and see her. Ilysa had braved coming to this special place to enhance the potency of her spell. After seeing the black danger around Connor in her vision, she understood that no simple charm could guard against it. Teàrlag, who knew such things, said that the faery glen retained the power of the old magic.
Ilysa had never before attempted the fire dance, which called upon the power of the faeries, but Teàrlag had told her what to do. She concentrated on her movements, which, like her dress, were meant to flatter the faeries by emulating them.
The old seer claimed to have received the gown, which was made from cloth that had lain outside on three successive full moons, as a gift from the faeries when
she was a young lass. Ilysa found it easier to imagine that the gown had been made by faeries than to imagine Teàrlag had ever been young.
As she swayed and twirled, Ilysa forgot herself and became lost in the freedom of the dance. Instead of the quiet, constrained lass no one noticed, she was a beautiful and beguiling faery princess. The power of the spell coursed through her as she sang the words.
Blades may cut you,
Yet none shall kill you.
False friends may deceive you,
Yet none shall kill you.
Allies may desert you,
Yet none shall kill you.
Enemies may trap you,
Yet none shall kill you.
Seun Dhè umad!
Làmh Dhè airson do dhìona!
Spell of God about you!
The hand of God protect you!
As she dipped and whirled, she sprinkled the special herb mixture into the fire with both hands, causing it to snap and shoot sparks into the darkness. This, too, was to please the faeries, who were known to like anything that sparkled or shone.
When she finished the dance, Ilysa collapsed onto the ground and stared into the fire. Doing the fire dance once would afford Connor a strong measure of protection. But to gain the full power of the spell, she must do it a second time, also on a full moon.
She had done everything just as Teàrlag had instructed. Still, she decided to add one more measure of protection and got to her feet. She had seen her mother do this many times in the years her brother, Connor, Ian, and Alex were in France—and the four of them had come home safely. It was a simple spell, just a charm really. The only important part was to make the circle in the right direction.
Ilysa moved around the fire left to right, deiseal, the direction that brought good fortune, dragging a stick along the ground.
The Chieftain Page 8