Highland Promise

by Alyson McLayne

  She went to the bedchamber door again and tried the handle. Locked. Oslow had instructed her to bar the door from the inside, then proceeded to lock it from the outside with her consent. She supposed it was for her own safety, but she’d spent three years at her uncle’s keep under guard, and it brought back bad memories.

  Why hadn’t she told Darach earlier? She’d been with the MacKenzies for nearly a month. Why hadn’t she told him everything when he’d first asked? Now he was faced with discovering her secret from his enemy, who was sure to twist everything. Maybe even claim things that weren’t true. Darach would be ambushed and humiliated in front of his clan because she hadn’t trusted him.

  She groaned and fell face-first onto the bed. There was no way she could get out of this one. If Darach couldn’t save her, no one could.

  * * *

  Darach sat in a large, intricately carved chair on the dais where the high table usually stood, waiting for Fraser and the others to arrive. The tables and benches were stacked neatly in a corner and both hearths roared with fire. He had a moment of pride as he took in his surroundings. The keep was clean, bright, and fresh smelling, the surrounding castle a modern-day bastion of strength. Bright tapestries and jeweled weapons adorned the walls.

  He seldom noticed the family treasures, but for today’s meeting, they were an important indication of the clan’s prosperity. As was the fine-smelling liquor in a golden, bejeweled goblet that sat on a table beside him. He wanted to impress Caitlin’s uncle and the King’s man with the MacKenzies’ physical strength and wealth. At the same time, he wanted to impress upon Fraser that the MacKenzies were undefeatable.

  His warriors lined the walls of the hall and Lachlan and Oslow stood on the dais to either side of him. On the floor to his left, Hati and Skoll sat with their ears forward and eyes alert. Every once in a while, one of them would bark or growl low in his throat.

  He noticed Lachlan eyeing the prized whisky made of malted barley and raised a brow, saying, “Maybe you should keep your mind on the task at hand rather than the uisge-beatha.”

  “’Tis not my mind I want on the drink but my tongue and lips. God’s truth, that smells incredible. Where have you been hiding it?”

  “In a place I knew you wouldnae look. The library.”

  Lachlan snorted. “’Tis no wonder you enjoy reading so much.”

  Darach smiled, then sighed. “’Twas my father’s, and his father’s before that. I intended to unseal it with my brothers-in-arms on the day of Fraser’s defeat. Now I wield it as a weapon for Caitlin.”

  Lachlan shuddered. “’Tis regretful such a prize will be wasted on filth.”

  “Aye.” Darach picked up the goblet and inhaled the rich aroma. His mouth watered. He took a sip, then passed it to Lachlan and Oslow for a taste. When it returned to Darach, he lifted it into the air. “To Fraser’s head on a stake, and Caitlin’s everlasting happiness.”

  “Hear ye,” Lachlan and Oslow murmured together.

  The door banged open and bright sunshine streamed in before several bodies blocked it. Two armed MacKenzies entered followed by Fraser—a dirty, mean-looking devil with beady eyes and greasy hair. With him were an older man who looked like a bloated pig and a tall, wind-swept man with clean, ginger-colored hair and a trimmed beard. He appeared to be Darach’s age, with bright eyes and a firm jaw.

  Lachlan leaned toward Darach. “The last is the Lowlander, Birk Anderson. He sits his horse well and keeps a small but noticeable distance from the other two. The second man is obviously Caitlin’s uncle, Laird MacInnes. I doona see any resemblance, do you?”

  Darach eyed the group. Sure enough, Anderson kept a space between himself and Fraser and MacInnes. The Lowlander stood well balanced on his feet as he discreetly scanned the room and the Mackenzies. Darach guessed he’d be good with a sword, but none of the men had been allowed to enter with a weapon.

  Fraser watched Darach with a sneer on his face. He did naught but stare back stonily, hiding his fury toward Caitlin’s abuser. It disgusted him to have the rabid dog in his home. He’d become hunched, gray, and pitted in the eight years since Darach had hid in the secret passageway that led to Moire’s bedchamber and listened to her and Fraser talk freely about the treachery they had planned for the MacKenzies. He’d wanted to slice them open right there but had forced himself to think of Oslow, who’d been a wounded prisoner in the Fraser keep at the time.

  By God’s grace, he’d managed to save Oslow and warn his clan of the impending Fraser attack. A month later, Moire had been dead by her brother’s hand. Most likely burning in Hell for her sins.

  Soon, Darach would send Fraser to join her.

  Turning to watch Laird MacInnes, Darach repressed the urge to pummel the man. Caitlin’s uncle gaped everywhere at once, jaw slack, eyes greedy. Darach tried to see past his revulsion and note any similarities between MacInnes and Caitlin, but there were none. The uncle was large, with dark features. His nose curved, hawk-like in his face, and his chin square. As well, his manner couldn’t have been further from that of his niece. Darach didn’t think Caitlin had ever noticed the jewels embedded in some of the weapons mounted on the walls. She’d been too concerned over the dogs, the kittens, and Fergus.

  MacInnes was the biggest threat to her. Legally, he controlled her and had every right to demand her return. Morally, he was a degenerate bastard who Darach wanted to gut for hurting her and possibly killing her parents. Unfortunately, he needed the uncle on his side. If sleeping with the devil was the only way to keep Caitlin safe, he would do so. But maybe there was another way. MacInnes’s cruelty to his niece should not be rewarded.

  Darach wondered again at the lack of familial resemblance between them. She’d said she took after her mother, but surely something of her father’s family would appear in her features.

  When the group drew close enough to smell the liquor, he lifted the goblet, swirled the whisky, and took a sip. MacInnes eyed the uisge-beatha and licked his lips.

  “I would offer you a drink and a meal, Laird MacInnes, and you, Master Anderson, but you enter my home with my enemy.”

  “Well now, we’re just here to clear up a wee misunderstanding,” the uncle said, smiling as he gestured with open hands.

  Darach forced himself to nod; it almost killed him to do so. Fraser wore a look of scorn that Darach wanted to knock off his face. Hard.

  “My companions doona want your hospitality, MacKenzie. We came for that which you stole from me and for breaking the King’s peace. My man Anderson is here for that.”

  “Your man?” Darach asked, allowing amusement to tinge his words. “Are you King now, Fraser?”

  MacInnes guffawed and Darach wanted to turn his tongue and sword on him too. Instead, he shook his head. “The King said naught of allowing lasses to be beaten and drugged, of tying them belly-down over a horse like a sack of oats. Or maybe Miss MacInnes’s uncle knows naught of how you treated his niece? The lass nearly died from her injuries.”

  MacInnes glanced sideways at Fraser, brow furrowed in false concern, then stepped away. It was obvious he wanted to disassociate himself from Fraser and ally with the MacKenzies after seeing their wealth.

  “’Tis not your business how I treat my property,” Fraser said. “The lass disobeyed me. And I ne’er drugged her. ’Twas her uncle who did that.”

  MacInnes looked startled and turned pleading eyes on Darach. “’Tis not how it seems. She was anxious, that’s all. The herb was meant to soothe her. Maybe I erred and gave her too much. It breaks my heart to think my dear Caitlin was so abused. I’m grateful you saved her.”

  Fraser’s eyes bulged with fury. “He did not save her. He stole her. Took her off my land, along with the white stallion, and attacked me and my warriors.”

  “We doona have the stallion,” Darach said calmly. “But if he’s caught on MacKenzie land, I will gladly keep him. For good.”


  “You have no right. The stallion belongs to me. Caitlin MacInnes belongs to me.”

  “’Tis a pity, then, that I have her.” Darach’s gaze shifted to Anderson. “Is it not right to help a damsel in distress? If you had seen her bruised face and held her feverish body as she fought for her life, you wouldnae condemn me. ’Tis what good men do.”

  “Aye,” the Lowlander said, “but you shouldnae have been on Fraser’s land in the first place.”

  “Then we wouldnae be here today, for Caitlin would be dead.” Darach picked up the bejeweled goblet, drank the uisge-beatha, then tossed the goblet at Fraser’s feet. “I will pay a fine for being caught on your land, but no more. Take it and leave. But be warned, ’tis the last time you will e’er leave MacKenzie soil alive.”

  Fraser lunged at Darach. Anderson moved quickly and held him back.

  “Nay, you will give her to me now,” the laird said. “By King and Christ, I demand my wife back!”

  Fourteen

  A collective gasp rose from the MacKenzies as Fraser’s words echoed throughout the hall. Everything inside Darach turned to ice. His blood. His breath. His heart.

  “Aye,” Fraser sneered. “She’s mine. Bound to me by King and the holy church. Witnessed by her uncle. You will return her as my rightful property or face sanctions from the Crown and the church.”

  A burning rage rose within Darach, melting the ice inside—his Caitlin, forced to marry this loathsome creature by a man who should have protected her. “That is how Frasers treat their new brides? By beating them and tying them o’er a horse? Tell me, do you force them to the marriage bed too? Or just rape them on the cold forest floor!”

  He wanted to leap from his chair and smash his fists into Fraser, MacInnes too, but a strong hand settled on his shoulder. Lachlan. Darach breathed deeply, forced down his fury.

  Caitlin was not going back. No matter what had happened or who claimed her, she was his. He would send Fraser and MacInnes home, follow with his army, and kill them in a fair battle. The King’s man too, if he stood in his way.

  “She’s my wife. It willna be rape,” Fraser said.

  Bile rose in Darach’s throat at the notion of any woman having to endure such abuse. Then Fraser’s meaning sank in. He’d said “willna.”

  He closed his eyes as relief rose like bubbles in his veins. There hadn’t been time for Fraser to touch Caitlin before Darach had saved her—she had said as much. The marriage vows had not been sealed. Still, he needed to tread carefully.

  The King’s man, Anderson, looked at Fraser. “Is she a maid, then?”

  Fraser bristled and raised his chin. “’Tis not your concern.”

  “You made it my concern when you involved me in this dispute. Is she a maid?”

  Fraser scowled. “Not for long.”

  The Lowlander’s brow crinkled and he looked at Darach, then back to Fraser. “I doona think Laird MacKenzie will release her to you long enough to complete the act. Your marriage is in jeopardy of being annulled, Laird Fraser.”

  “I have signed contracts. I paid for her in salt and gold.” He nodded to MacInnes. “Show them.”

  MacInnes glanced apologetically at Darach, then looked through his sporran, dithering first with the clasp, then the contents. After a moment, Fraser snatched the leather pouch from him and lifted sheets of parchment into the air.

  “By law, she belongs to me!”

  Darach signaled to Oslow, who stepped off the dais and reached for the marriage contract.

  Fraser held it to his chest. “You canna have it.”

  Darach rolled his eyes. “Then give it to the King’s man. Or doona you trust him either?”

  Fraser passed it to Anderson. As he read it, his eyebrows lifted. “She must be a winsome lass. ’Tis much to give for a wife with little in return.” He glanced at Darach. “Maybe I could meet her? She can tell me in her own words what happened.”

  “Nay!” Fraser and MacInnes said together.

  “The lass is a bit addled and can be disagreeable,” MacInnes added. “She’s bonny, but she canna keep a thought straight in her head.”

  “On the contrary,” Lachlan said, “I find her exceedingly bright. As for being bonny, ’tis true, once the bruises faded and the poison left her body.”

  The MacKenzies around the great hall voiced their agreement.

  Anderson looked curiously at Lachlan. “Your name, sir?”

  “Lachlan MacKay, laird of Clan MacKay.”

  “My foster brother. We were raised together by Laird MacLeod. Mayhap you’ve heard of him? Or my other foster brothers, the lairds MacLean, MacKinnon, and MacAlister?” Darach gazed at the three men before him. “You shall meet them soon enough.”

  Anderson nodded. “I look forward to it.”

  “You think to flaunt your alliances here?” Fraser asked scornfully. “Know that I have the backing of the King and the church. None are more powerful than them. Caitlin is by law a Fraser and will bear me a son.” He grabbed the parchment from Anderson and shook it at Darach. “’Tis contracted.”

  “Then we shall break the contract. Goods may have been exchanged, but you havnae bedded your bride, Fraser. The contract is incomplete and the marriage invalid.”

  “That isna for you to decide. ’Tis for her uncle to decide, and I doona think MacInnes will want to return the goods I gave him.”

  All eyes turned to Caitlin’s uncle. He wrung his hands and shifted his feet. “Well now, ’tis my duty to protect my clan, and my people were in need. The gold and salt from Fraser has already been used.”

  Darach schooled his features and showed just the right amount of compassion. Underneath, he felt naught but disgust. The treasure was most likely locked in MacInnes’s keep. His clan would never see any of it.

  By rights, it should have been the bride’s family that paid a tocher to the groom. For Fraser to pay for his bride was unusual and, in Darach’s mind, immoral. “So you canna return the…payment.”

  “Nay, but maybe something can be worked out. I see you care for the lass, but I canna allow you to keep her without benefit of marriage and a wee boon to Clan MacInnes. Of course, if I’m wrong…” MacInnes glanced significantly at Fraser.

  “She’s already married, you traitorous blackguard! We were joined by a priest. I have completed my side of the bargain, and by law, you must complete yours. Give me your niece!”

  MacInnes snarled back, “I doona have her. Stay calm, Fraser.”

  “There’s naught to work out! You will demand her return and hand her over to me. Elsewise, you breach the contract.”

  Anderson stepped forward. “Aye, he’s right. Caitlin rightfully belongs to Fraser. Lest the wedding ceremony was invalid—then, MacInnes must return the goods, terminating the contract, and Caitlin reverts to her uncle.” He gazed at Darach. “’Tis time. Please bring the lass. I must speak to her.”

  * * *

  Caitlin sat on the middle of her bed, knees pulled up to her chest, hands dug into her hair. It had been at least an hour. She’d spent a third of that time pacing, another third trying to convince the guards at the door to let her out—to no avail, as Oslow had the key and wasn’t there—and the last third raging at her circumstances until she was spent.

  Now she watched the door, waiting to hear the verdict.

  If she’d been braver, she’d have fashioned a rope from the bedsheets and climbed out the window, but it was a long drop down and she’d never been good with heights. Besides, she’d promised Darach she would never again leave without telling him.

  A knock sounded, and Lachlan called her name. She rushed over and removed the bar to open the door.

  Lachlan’s smile faded when he saw her. “What have you been doing to yourself, lass?”

  Caitlin wiped her hand across her cheeks and down her hair. It felt a tangled mess. “What d
o you mean?”

  “You look like a madwoman. We want you to look safe and happy, not like you’ve been locked in a dungeon.” He took her elbow and led her into the bedchamber. “Do you have a brush?”

  Caitlin picked it up from her washstand, her hand trembling. He took the brush and worked the bristles through the tangles in her hair. “You have naught to worry about, love. Darach will refuse to let you go, and your uncle will return to his clan satisfied. He’s already received Fraser’s gold.”

  “What about Fraser?” she asked.

  “What about him? The MacKenzies and the Frasers have been at war for eight years. Naught will change.” He put the brush down, then wet a linen cloth in a basin of water and gently wiped her face. “Doona let them see how frightened you are. They doona deserve your tears.”

  “I doona cry for them. I cry for Darach, for you, for Fergus—all the MacKenzies. For the kittens, Cloud, and the dogs. I ne’er want to lose any of you.”

  Lachlan put the linen down and pulled her to his chest. “They couldnae separate you from Darach with a whole herd of horses. Or me, for that matter.”

  “Or us, lass.”

  Caitlin looked up to see her guards standing in the doorway. She knew all three, had supped, ridden, and laughed with them. Dredging up a smile, she said, “Thank you, but I fear I’ve put you all in terrible danger.”

  “From Fraser?” one of them asked with a snort. “He’s a wee ablach, that one. He couldnae find his arse with his sword.”

  Laughter bubbled up from her throat despite the severity of her situation. “And my uncle?”

  “That one would have no trouble finding his arse, lass. ’Tis the size of the pink sow. I’m glad you doona take after him.”

  “Och, but I do. My bottom is soft as churned butter.” Four pairs of eyes dropped to her backside. Blood scorched her cheeks, and she cursed her tongue for speaking so inanely.