Hamish looked him in the eye. “I pledged my sword to you long ago. Let me now pledge my people and my men.”
Amon’s mouth dropped. He had not been expecting this.
Conor flashed a wide smile, his gray eyes shining with pride. His brother Cole was a McTiernay laird of Torridon and he would be proud to claim Hamish as his own as well. “I, Conor, chieftain of the McTiernay clan, now address you as Hamish, the laird of the McTiernays of Farr.”
In the firelight on a hill where a battle might soon dictate his fate, Hamish swore his allegiance to Conor and the McTiernay clan. Amon, who was still shocked, left soon after to spread the news.
Hamish moved to meet with his lead guards, who he knew would have questions when they were told of the change, but Conor indicated that he needed another moment with him. “There is something about your family history I have been under a vow to reveal to you only now.”
Conor’s tone was serious and Hamish found himself uneasy. What secret could Conor have about him? Who could have sworn him to secrecy? “I’m listening.”
“Your father was not a MacBrieve.”
Hamish sat still. He had just promised loyalty to Conor and found it beyond comprehension why he chose now to dishonor his father’s memory. When he had relinquished the name of MacBrieve, it had not been out of shame, it had been out of acknowledgment of who he felt he was inside. But now he was not so sure.
“Your father was a McTiernay.”
Hamish definitely felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He could do nothing more than sit and wait for Conor to explain.
“Physically, you take after your mother’s side of the family. She was the MacBrieve and the only child of your grandfather, who was the MacBrieve laird. Your father served under mine for several years, but upon a chance meeting, your parents fell in love.” Conor glanced at Hamish. “I think you and Robert get this propensity to fall in love quickly from them.”
That small jibe was enough to rattle Hamish into a response. His anger was morphing into shock, but also recognition that Conor was speaking the truth.
“Your grandfather agreed to the marriage but only if your father assumed the MacBrieve name and accepted the responsibility of becoming the clan’s next laird. Twelve years ago, when we met that day in that skirmish, I had no idea who you were. I thought it was good luck, but your father felt it was fate. When he found out that you had joined my guard, he came down and we met.” That got Hamish’s attention. His father had left the northern lands and yet had chosen not to see him? The questions were multiplying as Conor continued talking. “I was reluctant to see him at first but did so out of respect to another laird. He explained his past and asked that I not tell you about his visit or who he once was. He knew you were not like most MacBrieves and would feel a kinship to the McTiernays. He was afraid such a revelation would give you reason to irrevocably tie yourself to our clan and keep you from coming home, making amends with your brother, and assuming your right as laird. I was uncomfortable with the secret and only agreed to keep it until you had met with your brother, which would only happen when you chose to do so. You have finally released me from my burden.”
Hamish sat for several minutes and then a slow, relaxed smile took over his expression. All these years he had fought becoming a McTiernay because it meant he would no longer be what he was born—a MacBrieve.
But it turned out, he had to give up neither.
He was both. A MacBrieve and a McTiernay.
Mairead would be thrilled learning that she had been right.
* * *
Hamish signaled Amon and they rode out to join Ian, Davros, and his men awaiting them on the ridge—half were on horseback, the others on foot. His army numbered eight dozen now and in most circumstances, the visual effect they created all lined up and armed for battle would have served as a warning that would have been heeded. But the Mackays were gathered on the other side of the strath, and their numbers nearly doubled his.
And Hamish knew that the number of men each laird had on his side was going to be key to swaying the outcome of what was about to happen.
Hamish rode up and down the line, sitting proud on his horse wearing the McTiernay tartan. Word was spreading throughout the village that their newly formed clan was undergoing another change. They again had a choice—wear McTiernay colors or leave. This time, very few were against the idea. Most had come to peace with the idea of uniting into a single clan and their contributions to its security. But it had rankled many to become MacBrieves. McTiernays, however, that was different. To suddenly belong to one of the most powerful clans in all of Scotland was a mighty gift.
Hamish suspected a few in the village might still choose to leave, but neither would he be surprised if some of the families that had already left decided to return. His guard, however, Hamish had no doubt of their loyalty. They may not all be wearing his colors yet, but two hours ago every man had raised his sword without hesitation and swore their allegiance to Hamish McTiernay and vowed to support and fight for clan McTiernay of Farr.
Hamish rode one more time in front of his men, and then with a kick to his mount, he turned and headed out alone to meet Donald Mackay.
Donald Mackay was an imposing figure. He had brown hair that hung loose below his shoulders and sported a dark beard that held hints of gray. His eyes were brown and set above a wide nose that would have looked odd except that every feature of his face was built similarly.
Mackay looked Hamish over with a narrowed gaze. “So you have returned home then.”
Hamish relaxed his expression and gave a signal nod. “I have.” He did not need to say that he was now the laird. He did not need to say that he had united the clans. It was clear Ulrick had told Laird Mackay the initial changes that had been made.
Mackay pointed to Hamish’s men lined on the ridge. “Your numbers have grown considerably in the past several weeks.” Mackay then looked behind before returning his gaze to Hamish. “But not nearly enough.”
Hamish took his time and let his eye glide over all the Mackay men who were waiting for their laird to give them the signal. “Aye, there have been many changes. But your numbers have also grown in the past couple of weeks.”
“Then your spies have misinformed you. I gave Ulrick a place to sleep for a night for the information he provided but that was all. I have not seen him since nor do I expect to. The man has loyalty to only one man—himself. Only a fool would think otherwise.”
Hamish grinned. The verbal swipe was not an insult to him, but his brother. Donald was attempting to get a reaction, to gauge Hamish’s control over his emotions when slightly provoked. Hamish had to admire the strategy. “I agree. Hence there have been changes. Some of which might have bearing on today’s events.”
“I always dreaded this inevitability.” Mackay’s tone was weary, but it held no fear. He knew what was soon to happen, just as he knew that his clan would be the victor. But he took no joy in slaughtering good men. “Your part of the Farr region has always made me uneasy.”
Hamish understood what the older laird meant. Multiple small clans in the region created a lack of predictability, but also it meant that an insurgence was unlikely. However, uniting them into a single clan with a burgeoning army posed a danger that pushed tolerance. It was why Hamish knew this confrontation had to happen now, not in the spring when emotions had grown to uncontrollable limits and Mackay had a chance to gather his full force.
“Change does not have to be taken as a threat. It can be a good thing for all those in this region.”
“I have not found recent changes all that beneficial.” Mackay grimaced. “However, it did give me some pleasure knowing the effort your men had to go through to move all those rock walls. But then I had to endure much grief listening to my men grumble about cleaning out the stream.” Donald tightened his fist on his reins. He did not long for war, but when it came knocking at his doorstep, he would not back down.
It was no struggle for
Hamish to keep his face calm. He felt no fear and Donald needed to know that. “I knew of no other way for us to meet alone and face-to-face.”
A new light of hope suddenly sprang into Donald Mackay’s dark eyes. A man facing potential death did not look as calm as Hamish. “I cannot decide whether you are the most foolish Highlander to come to these parts in some time or the most fearless. But I will admit that your ploy was clever.”
“You have to admit it was successful,” Hamish added.
Donald cocked his head to his side and with a smirk said, “We have met and I admire your mind, but I have yet to hear anything that makes you think this meeting will end in your favor.” He paused to grip his sword and in a solemn tone that spoke of no flexibility, he said, “I have no desire to assume responsibility for MacBrieve mouths, but a neighbor who wants to pick a fight better be ready to have one. So either tell your men to lay down their arms or I will signal mine.”
“There are no MacBrieves at Farr. Nor are there any MacMhathains, Mhic Eains, Ceiteaches, Faills, Shyns, Largs, or Munros.” Hamish moved his hand to flick some dirt off his tartan. When he did, he flung the material, and the color pattern caught Donald’s attention. It was not that of a MacBrieve. Hamish then gripped his own sword and waited until he once again held the eyes of the older laird. “I was born to a McTiernay Highlander and this is a McTiernay plaid. The mouths I feed are part of the clan McTiernay under the chieftain Conor McTiernay.”
In one smooth movement, Hamish rose his sword and immediately Amon rose his. Within seconds, two hundred battle-experienced, highly trained soldiers came into view and joined the eight dozen Hamish already had on the ridge. In front of them all was Conor McTiernay.
Donald Mackay reassessed the young laird in front of him. Those numbers had been kept well hidden and had to have only arrived in the last day or two. It was clear that the rumors of McTiernay strategy and bravado were not overstated. He sighed. “War it is then.”
Hamish shook his head. “I did not come here for bloodshed. I came because I have the same unease about these lands. I also knew that you would never consider an alliance with a small clan that held nothing of value. But one with the McTiernays—you could not easily dismiss that. And your men”—Hamish gestured to the now uneasy Mackay soldiers—“now that they see a portion of the force the McTiernays wield, will not sit in silent disagreement with such a decision.”
Mackay inhaled deeply and let it go slowly. “An alliance?” It was clear he did not like the term.
Hamish nodded. “An alliance of two great clans that would ensure peace for both our peoples. I need to lead my people, not have them live in fear. And you would know that not just my men, but all McTiernays—Conor’s as well as those from Torridon—would never let what happened at Mornay happen to a Mackay again.”
Donald Mackay did not move. Nothing changed about his expression with the exception of his eyes. Hamish knew he was carefully considering the offer. To no longer be alone was a powerful incentive.
“I always heard that McTiernays were brilliant strategists. It would be an advantageous trait to have in an ally.”
Hamish glanced over his shoulder and immediately Conor took his cue and rode down to join the two men. His face was relaxed, but his gray eyes brokered no cheer. “Am I greeting a future ally or should I be giving the signal to prepare weapons?”
Mackay nodded his head in welcome. “You are Conor McTiernay, chieftain of the McTiernay clan, I presume.” Conor nodded his head. “I always wanted to meet your father and then you, after he had passed away.”
“I am somewhat surprised we have not before now.”
Mackay glanced over his shoulder. His men were getting antsy. “It is going to take some time to become accustomed to the idea of an ally, especially when my men are itching for a fight.”
Conor’s impassive face suddenly broke out into a huge grin. “Then I say we have one.”
* * *
The courtyard had been a bustle of activity all day, but the sudden increase in the level of noise caught all three women’s attention. Selah went to look out the window and nodded. “The men are returning. The games must be over.”
Mairead’s eyes were large. “I hope the games included finding food. Three hundred men!” Her voice cracked at the idea.
Laurel shrugged her shoulders. “I’m more thankful that your buttery is so well stocked. But I do believe our husbands improvised a little to ensure tonight’s feast would have plenty of food as well. I believe Conor said that one contest was to see whose men—Conor’s, Hamish’s, or Laird Mackay’s—could erect the most bonfires within an hour. The majority of the soldiers will cook their spoils themselves. So stop worrying about all that. We need to focus on you, not on them.”
Laurel tucked the last of Mairead’s thick hair into a soft bun that was a complex collage of large and small braids with a scattering of pearls intermixed. “There,” she said with a satisfied smile. “All that is left is the dress.”
Mairead had just slipped it over her head and was beginning to lace it up when shouts erupted from the courtyard.
“Ale!” came a loud shout from the courtyard.
“Aye! Lots of ale!”
“The hall!” bellowed another.
“Victors get the hall!”
“Then you shall enjoy the baily this evening!”
“I need ale!”
“I need food!”
“I need a priest!” said one loud voice.
Mairead held her breath as she heard Hamish shout again, this time calling Father Lanaghly by name. She could not believe it. Hamish sounded eager to get married—again.
Hamish must have gotten Conor, Davros, Amon, and every other man to join him for now the walls vibrated with shouts for Father Lanaghly to make an appearance. The old priest must have done so, for now they were shouting for a bride. “We need a bride! Hamish needs a bride! Maaaaiiiireaaad!”
Laurel rolled her eyes and looked at Selah. “This is ridiculous. You would have thought they’d been in the buttery for hours the way they are acting.” She then turned to Mairead and said, “Your sister and I will go and end their madness.”
Selah nodded in agreement. She pressed her hands together and looked as if she was about to cry. “Oh, Mairead. You are so beautiful.”
Laurel kissed Mairead’s cheek. “Come down when you are ready and not a minute before. We will keep the men at bay.”
Mairead watched the two women exit the solar and took a deep, calming breath. She could have left with them, but she was finding herself a little anxious. She shook her hands in an effort to calm herself. It was not like she was not already married to Hamish, but many felt a handfast was not permanent. One could opt to dissolve the union after a year and day. Marriage by a priest, however, that was forever binding.
When Hamish returned that morning with another laird in tow, this time the fearsome Laird Donald Mackay, she had thought that would be the most astounding thing to happen that day. Then there was an alliance followed by some very intense Highland games with all three armies competing. But when Laurel announced that the wedding should take place at sundown, Hamish had immediately agreed. There had been no need to persuade him into the idea. The man had leapt to it, announcing that the games would cease early so they could be wed at sunset.
The music started playing and people were singing loudly. The merriment had begun. “And if you don’t leave now,” Mairead muttered to herself, “you might just miss your own wedding!”
Taking a deep breath, she went to the door and pulled it open.
Her heart dropped. Her eyes grew massive and fear filled her every pore.
Ulrick was standing there waiting for her.
* * *
Mairead screamed, but she knew it had not been heard over the deafening sounds coming from the courtyard. Even if it had been, everyone would have thought she was only one of the merrymakers and not someone who was shrieking that her life was about to end.
; “I’ve been waiting for you.” His voice was deep and dripped with an evil sickness that had no cure.
Mairead backed up a step and began to fondle the sgian dubh that was sheathed against her thigh. She had insisted on the slit in the new gown not because she had thought to need it, but because she was now accustomed to having access to her small knife and not wearing it had felt awkward. Besides, she had always enjoyed the way Hamish had taken it off her leg.
“How did you get in here?” Mairead’s heart was pounding so loudly she could barely hear his answer.
“Through your sneaky little passageway. Those Kyldoane brothers use it to deliver messages in and out of the castle without being seen . . . or so they thought.”
“Leave now, Ulrick, while you have the chance.”
He shook his head back and forth slowly. “I made you a vow. Did you forget?”
Mairead took another step back. She wanted to scream again for help, but the noise from the courtyard had only increased. Another shout would only cause Ulrick to leap forward and she had yet to find her knife through the folds of her dress. Fear was starting to suffocate her, sending tremors through her slender form. “I’m married now. You cannot have me.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The sinister sound sent sheer black fright sweeping through her. “I do not care about such conventions. Your promise means nothing to me and what I plan to take from you.”
Mairead’s fist finally closed around the handle. She took a breath and fought her nerves. She hated fear. Hated reacting to it. “If you touch me, you’re a dead man. Hamish will track you down and leave you for the vultures.”
Ulrick shrugged. “Hamish would have to find me first, but until he did, he would be tormented knowing that I had you. I tasted you. I hurt you.”
“I will die first,” she hissed.
Ulrick’s brows rose and he nodded his head, advancing toward her. “I intend to accommodate those wishes, but I will have you.” With those words, he lunged forward and Mairead pulled free her sgian dubh just in time. She shifted to the right, but Ulrick had anticipated the move and reached out to grab her. But when she had shifted, she had also sunk to the floor. A move that caused Ulrick to hesitate just long enough to give her access to his abdomen.
Never Kiss a Highlander Page 40