The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5)

by Keira Montclair

  When they crested the peak, the crowd beneath them exploded in cheers and applause. Here the wee bairns of the clan stepped back, making way for each of Alex Grant’s living children, who rode up the hill from the keep and stopped in front of Chrissa and her grandsire on horseback. Jamie, Connor, Elizabeth, and Maeve looked splendid in their finery. They led their horses in a bit of a show as they turned in unison and then led the procession while Chrissa’s siblings—Alick, Broc, and Paden—fell in behind their elders.

  “Do you think Mama is watching, Papa?” her mother asked, her voice choked with emotion.

  “Indeed I do, daughter. And Jake and Aline.”

  They nearly reached the portcullis to deafening cheers, but she was surprised at what she saw. The chapel had been moved to a position a good distance in front of the gates at one end of the meadow.

  In front of the chapel at the end of the meadow was her beloved. Drostan stood with Magnus, his mentor of sorts in the warrior camp, and the priest. Her husband looked so handsome she nearly cried over that.

  Jamie and Connor stopped them just in front of the chapel, then turned awaiting someone.

  All the onlookers had to step back to allow the newcomers to join them.

  Chrissa and her sire were still at the rear of the procession, but they turned to watch the ceremony, and what a sight it was.

  Two rows of Grant warriors in full dress joined them on Grandsire’s right side.

  On the left, led by Logan and Gwyneth Ramsay, they were joined by Aunt Brenna, Torrian, Lachlan, and two rows of Ramsay warriors.

  To the right of the Grant warriors came another group, Clan Cameron warriors led by Aedan and Jennie, all on horseback, and two more sets of warriors approached them on Logan’s left. First the Menzies, with Avelina and Drew leading, and then Diana Drummond and Micheil Ramsay leading the Drummond warriors.

  The last group to join them was led by Loki and Bella. Their warriors, also in Grant plaids, fell in on the other side of Clan Cameron.

  Chrissa had no idea they were all to appear. She peeked up at her grandfather and whispered, “Grandpapa?”

  “’Tis to let all in the land know that Clan Grant does not stand alone,” he said proudly, and she could swear his eyes were misting as he beheld the gathering. “Nor do any of the others. The Ramsays, Camerons, Drummonds, Menzies, Grants. We all stand together. We’ll not be put asunder easily. Stand fast, stand sure, and stand together.”

  Once the procession had finished, the horses moved back to allow the onlookers to move in closer.

  Drostan placed his sword on the ground in front of Alex, Jamie, and Connor Grant. He gave each of them a nod before he came to her, his grin wider than his face, it seemed, and assisted her down. He whispered in her ear, “You are gorgeous. I’m so pleased our day is here.”

  Chrissa stood next to her betrothed, soaking him in with her gaze simply because she loved his handsome profile and the many colors of his eyes. He squeezed her hand as the priest continued on in Gaelic.

  How she adored this man. Even though there were probably thousands observing them, it felt as if it were just the two of them, the sun shining down on them. When the priest finally said the words, it seemed as though she’d missed the entire ceremony.

  Drostan kissed her, his arms wrapping around her, and leaned her back to a bevy of hooting from the onlookers, but he ended it quickly and whispered, “Finally, we’ve both kept our promise.”

  ***

  Drostan couldn’t believe it had finally happened. They were married.

  Chrissa was so beautiful she nearly took his breath away. Her hair, the gown, the flowers, everything about her was beautiful, but nothing caught him as her smile did.

  Her eyes lit up with joy, and her smile told the world she couldn’t be happier.

  They turned around and he held her hand up in the air as a symbol they were married, their hands entwined with a piece of Grant plaid. The sea of plaids was impressive—blue and black, purple and gold, brown and gold, and many different shades of red plaids. To their surprise, her family moved their horses off to the side a wee bit while the other clans moved to new positions. Chrissa and Drostan faced outward with the lairds and her aunts and uncles. The clans in their finery faced them, still maintaining their lines.

  Once they’d all established their positions, Connor and Jamie issued a loud Grant whoop, and the horses all began to move.

  The riders from the different clans all began to move in an intricate choreography, some carrying their banners, some just in the clan colors. They continued weaving in and out and around one another.

  Drostan leaned over and whispered, “What are they doing?”

  Chrissa laughed and said, “I don’t know. Grandpapa told me they were all here and in the procession to show the land that we stand together. Not one of these clans is alone. We will all support each other…”

  “In case evil tries to put us asunder again.”

  “Aye,” she said thoughtfully as she stared across the crowd. “The fools thought that pitting Clan Ramsay against Clan Grant could put an end to us. They were wrong.”

  “And they forgot about all the other clans who support us.”

  “Exactly. Look,” she said, pointing.

  The horses had stopped, all the clans mixed together so that one could not identify any one clan over the other.

  “’Tis beautiful, Drostan. Now it looks as if we truly stand as one.”

  Then the horses spread apart, making way for one more group to come forward.

  John rode a horse with Coira in front of him. Then came Alasdair and Emmalin, Alick and Branwen, Els and Joya, and finally Dyna and Derric.

  John came forward and announced to all. “We fight for all of Scotland.”

  Then he pulled out the sapphire sword and held it up to the sky, each member of the Highland Swords doing the same with their own weapons. The sky filled with bolts of lightning, a show of brilliance and power.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  John and Coira strolled through the forest together, not touching, but talking. John told her all his thoughts of the battle. How powerful the memory of the dead affected him. How he’d talked with Seanair and his father on learning how to handle such tragedy and loss, even for a good cause.

  When they arrived in the middle of the forest, a sudden swarm of butterflies appeared around them, enough that Coira moved next to John and he held her hand, tugging her close.

  “You need not fear them. They are my friends and yours, too. They can be everywhere without anyone noticing.” Erena appeared in front of them, floating down from the treetops, wearing a mint green gown with purple threading and a purple bodice. “’Tis lovely to meet you, John and Coira. You are one of our youngest, but I think this could be a wonderful thing. You did a fine job with the sapphire sword, and we all thank you for helping to rid Scotland of evil for now. There will be no more battles for a while, and your prediction will prove true. King Robert the Bruce will be remembered for his Battle at Bannockburn forever.”

  “What shall we do with the sapphire sword, Erena?” John asked, still holding Coira’s hand.

  “Hide it somewhere where no one else will find it. I’m sure the two of you will find a fine spot. Avelina and Drew hid it behind a stone near a waterfall. But please make sure you’ll remember where you’ve hidden it.” She started to float away from them, all the butterflies alighting on her arms. “Have a lovely life. You have earned it.”

  “Wait, Erena. May we ask a question?” Coira whispered timidly.

  “Of course. Do not fear me, lassie.”

  “What if something were to happen to one of us? What would happen to the sword? Or if something happened to John, what would I do with it?”

  “Do not worry, lass. It is part of the beauty of being the bearer of the sapphire sword. Nothing will happen to either of you until I return and tell you to pass it on. It will always protect you. And now I will say good-bye.”

  And she flitt
ed off as quickly as her butterflies.

  Epilogue

  Alexander Grant sat in front of the hearth and whistled, an ear-splitting noise that all the wee ones in the clan had learned to listen for a long time ago. He smiled as they gathered around him. John considered himself too mature to sit for bedtime stories, but Alex noticed he never stepped too far away, lingering at a nearby table close enough to overhear whatever tale he told that eve, Coira nearby.

  Dyna and Derric’s two daughters, Els and Joya’s daughter, Alick and Branwen’s two sons, and Alasdair and Emmalin’s two young sons sat waiting patiently for Seanair to begin the telling of this eve’s tale. The new lassie was cradled to Branwen’s chest. Other bairns gathered round to participate in the wee ones’ favorite time of the eve.

  Ailith came up to her great-grandfather and leaned on his knee, looking up at him with her odd insightfulness. “Seanair, do you cry? Why?”

  Alex patted her head as he thought on the story he planned to tell in his mind, knowing some of the memories would rid him of the odd pricking of tears in his eyes. “Och, wee lassie, you imagine it. I’m not crying, just thinking hard about which tale I’ll tell.”

  “The swordfight against Grandmama’s betrothed,” one of the ladies suggested.

  “When Growley and Loki saved Gracie.”

  “Nay, the battle to save Aunt Kyla,” another offered.

  “I love the one where Aunt Jennie believed Uncle Aedan died. Such trickery!”

  “When Maddie saved Claray.”

  Loki sat in a chair not far away, a bairn in his lap, and nodded to Alex. “’Tis a night for the telling of the Battle of Largs, my laird.”

  He glanced over at Loki, who was as much kin as if he’d been born a Grant. “I believe you are right. I’ll tell the tale of that battle. Then I’ll tell you one more tale about a fine lass who came to me long ago and will come again someday.”

  The youngest bairns knew not what he spoke of, but he noticed his grandchildren moved closer as did all his nieces and nephews, his brother Brodie, his sister Jennie, and so many others.

  As if they knew what he knew.

  Out of nowhere, Dyna, Astra, and Chrissa joined the circle, their faces as rapt as if they were still bairns.

  It was time.

  Alex had clung to life with everything he had to see this end, to leave his sons and daughters, his grandsons and granddaughters, and his great-grandbairns with what they deserved most—freedom.

  Finally, thanks to Robert the Bruce and the guts, gumption, and tenacity of the Scots, they had prevailed against the English bastards. They had sent Edward running.

  Now he could rest at peace, knowing his clan, his people, were led by a Scot. The sudden surge of exhilaration he’d felt this eve would carry him through this tale of the Battle of Largs. He wished to make sure the courage and strength of his clan and his brothers would not be forgotten.

  “It was a dark day in the history of the Scots when the Norse thought they could bring their multitude of galley ships up the firth and attack our land and our people. They came out of their galley ships, swarming the beach near Largs, swinging their swords against us, but they couldn’t defeat us. Robbie was there with a strong force of Highlanders he’d been training for quite a while. Brodie was there, fighting harder than anyone I’ve ever seen.

  And then there was a lad with a slinger who took out Norseman so slyly the victims never knew what hit them.”

  His praise of Loki’s talent sent the lads he’d mentored—Gillie, Thorn, and Nari, and his adopted son Kenzie—into gales of laughter as they shouted his name.

  “But it was the Scottish people who prevailed in that short battle. Our enemies got back into their ships and sailed away. Our fortitude and loyalty carried us through, much like in the Battle of Bannockburn, which is sure to be remembered as the fight for freedom for many, many years.

  “Of course, some think we have gained much from the Norse’s visits because many stayed, giving us the gift of their strength and culture, not something to be overlooked.” When he made that statement, he gave a pointed look to his son Connor and his half-Norse wife, Sela. Then he reached down and took Dyna’s hand. “You’ve enriched our lives in many ways.”

  He heard Sela sniffle at the end of the tale, but he wouldn’t allow it, instead moving on to his next tale.

  He told of the young blonde lass who’d been mistreated by her own brother but lived on to be one of the strongest women he’d ever known.

  While he spoke, he heard whispers about Great-Grandmama, Maddie, or other enduring terms for his dearest wife. They all knew the story of how she’d been shunned by this very clan in the beginning because of cruel rumors spread by an evil man, her former betrothed. The tale was of a strong woman who didn’t allow adversity to destroy her. She continued to create story books to entertain and delight the children of Clan Grant, and to live an irreproachable life—all while she was mistreated.

  How he’d chastised himself for not noticing. As laird, he’d focused his efforts on protecting and defending the clan instead of what was happening right under his nose.

  He continued the tale of how Maddie had tricked all his guards to look the other way while she jumped into a hole that had formed in the earth, risking severe injury, to save two dear children. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sobs of his sister Jennie, who’d been one of the bairns. She had been stuck in the bottom of the deep hole with a gash on her head, watching over a wee lass who’d hit her head and fallen into a deep sleep.

  Maddie had broken her arm in the fall, but the pain had meant nothing to her compared to her worry for the innocent bairns.

  Alex had awakened to the truth of the situation. He’d learned to listen, to consider others’ feelings, and to love without holding anything back. He’d married the lass, knowing he’d never regret marrying someone with such strong conviction. Knowing she’d gift him with strong sons and daughters.

  And she had—five of them.

  She’d given him more in their many years together than he’d ever deserved. He spoke of their challenges, their joy at each of their children’s births, of their wonder when their three grandsons—Alasdair, Els, and Alick—had been born on the same night, at the same time, and of the wonderful moment they’d adopted Maeve.

  He spoke of their arguments, how she quietly taught him the gift of forgiveness, and how together they’d learned to work as partners to consider possible solutions to their many problems. How they’d been blessed by God in so many ways they’d been grateful every day.

  When he finished, he stood with a great amount of effort, Kyla handing him his long stick of wood he used for support, Maeve and Elizabeth right behind her, while his sister Jennie rushed to his other side to assist him to his chamber.

  He nodded to his two sons, his grandsons and granddaughters, and to his brother Brodie. Then he made his way across the great hall to a quiet rarely heard in the Grant hall. The bairns began to stir behind him, while the others whispered to one another, but he paid them no mind.

  Kyla opened the door for him, Maeve and Elizabeth nearby, but he stopped her, leaning down to kiss her forehead, and said, “I love all of you, daughters, and you’ve always made me proud, but I must speak to my sister privately.”

  Tears tracked down Kyla’s cheeks the way he’d known they would, and he allowed the squeezing hugs that sent ripples of aches through his old bones because he knew they needed it. She and her sisters left him, Maeve wiping away tears, and Jennie closed the door before assisting him into bed, something that took a while.

  Once he lay back on the bed, a deep sigh leaving him, Jennie pulled a chair up next to him. She kissed his cheek and said, “Give Mama and Papa a hug for me, and Maddie, and Robbie, and well, you know.”

  “I know not for sure, but I’m tired, Jennie. My time will come soon.”

  “You’ve lived many wonderful years, Alex, and what you’ve made here… Mama and Papa will be so proud.”

 
; His eyes fluttered shut. He couldn’t stay awake for one more moment. He had a vague sense of his sister covering him up with a blanket before leaving quietly. Being a healer, she’d always had an odd sense of when things were about to happen.

  He fell asleep quickly, hoping to see Maddie. His need for her had become more than he could bear.

  One moment he was thinking of his dear Maddie, and how she’d always carried the scent of lavender, and the next he was riding Midnight, his old war horse, across a meadow full of heather. He found himself in a deep forest, and although he’d never been there before, Midnight led him to a burn where the horse feasted on the cool water. Alex dismounted, realizing at once that he was in the midst of a dream because he carried no pain, no aches. Giddy with disbelief, he pulled out his sword and lifted it overhead, something he hadn’t been able to do for a few years. He did it a few times just for the sheer joy of it.

  A serene sense of peace fell over him, and his first thought was that he wished he could stay in the forest forever, but for the fact that he was alone. The scent of the pines, the swaying of the branches, and the rustle of the squirrels soothed him. He sheathed his sword and lifted his head to take in the sweet Highland breeze, his long hair lifting off his neck from the wind.

  Something made him look up. There, standing in the mist ahead of him, stood a man with dark hair, a pretty red-haired lass a few steps away. “Papa, we’ve missed you. Our thanks for watching over Alasdair and our grandbairns.”

  “Jake?” Alex took a few steps forward, his eyes probably deceiving him because the son he missed every day now stood in front of him with his wife, Aline.

  “Aye, ’tis me, Papa. We’ll spar in a few days, but someone else is here to see you first.” Jake pointed to Alex’s right, a deep mist swirling around all of them as he disappeared.

  Then he saw her.

  Maddie stood not far away, radiant as always in his favorite blue gown that matched her eyes, her hair golden in the moonlight, unplaited and glorious with its soft waves.