Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  Her eyes widened. “What are you going to do with that?”

  She tried to squirm away when he looped the cord around the tree and reached for her hands.

  “Get away from me.”

  In spite of her size, she was far stronger than he’d imagined. But Alexander had her hands tied behind her back before she could cause him permanent bodily damage.

  “You won’t get away with this. I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

  “Which reminds me.”

  He reached inside her belt and found the dirk. But he took his time. Their faces were just inches apart as his hand rested intimately against the warmth of her belly. A flush rose into her cheeks. He saw her gaze move down to his mouth, but then her eyes narrowed.

  “You come this close to me again tonight,” she told him, “and I’ll make you my wife.”

  Shaking his head, he took the dirk and walked away.

  Sir Ralph Evers followed his squire down the winding torch-lit stairwell from a tower chamber. “Anything out of him?”

  “Nothing, sir. Can’t get him to say a word. Redcap says he thinks there ain’t much more the old codger can take.”

  Ducking under the low round arch of the doorway, Evers stepped into what was once an attractive Great Hall. Now scores of men huddled in groups or lay on the filthy, blood-soaked rushes that covered the floor. Some were bound; others were too whipped to make a difference.

  “The stench is getting worse,” Evers said, letting his gaze sweep across the room, searching for any remaining hint of defiance.

  “Aye, m’lord. Got dead ’uns mixed in.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. It will remind the living ones that they’re next.”

  The man motioned to a dead body near them. “This one, soon as he saw the end a-comin’ for him, had a bushel full to pass on.”

  “Anything of interest?”

  “Aye. Swore that Cairns talks to the dead. Knows all their secrets. Says the codger talked to his dead wife. And their lad that drowned in the river. Claimed the old man told him things only his dead kin could know.”

  Evers nudged the corpse with his boot, hoping there was some life left in him. He had more to ask him. Vacant eyes stared back.

  This was the same thing he’d heard from others since Maxwell brought in the old man.

  In a murky, torch-lit antechamber beyond the Great Hall, Redcap had strapped Cairns over a barrel. Blood was pooling around him on the floor. In the burly torturer’s hand a whip dripped red.

  Seeing Sir Ralph Evers enter, Redcap Sly shook his head in disappointment before kicking the heap of skin and bones.

  “Tell his lordship the secret behind yer trickery and ye might receive his mercy.”

  There was no answer. The old man’s breathing was labored. This room reeked worse than the Great Hall.

  Evers glanced one more time at Cairns. Like all the others, the man was a fraud.

  “Finish him,” Sir Ralph ordered.

  Redcap Sly ran a hooked blade across Cairns’s throat. Not even a scream of pain followed. Nothing.

  Cairns’s body slid to the floor. Lifeless eyes stared up at Evers.

  Evers turned to leave but stopped at the sight of a collection of items on a block of wood. Prayer beads, acorns, a hand-carved whistle, small knives.

  “Any of these belong to Cairns?” he asked.

  “The small pouch there. A paltry piece o’ stone in it. Hanging around his neck, it was.”

  Evers snatched up the pouch and walked out. He had stayed long enough in this Borders hellhole. It was time to cut loose and move north. In the Great Hall, he paused by his captain in charge. “Finish them all. We’re moving north at dawn.”

  Stopping beneath a torch ensconced on the wall, Evers pulled open the pouch. He reached in, only to jerk his fingers out.

  The stone burned him. He shook it out of the bag, and it dropped to the floor. He crouched down.

  Just a light-colored stone with markings carved on it. He picked it up. It was still hot to the touch.

  He turned as the sound of cries and pleas filled the hall. His men were moving among the prisoners, putting an end to their miserable lives.

  A movement near him drew his eye. A man stood beside the dead Scot he’d passed before.

  It was the dead Scot. No chains. No shackles. Just staring at him.

  Before his unformed question could take shape, Evers had his answer. One of his soldiers walked by and stepped through the specter. No living man. A shadow. A ghost.

  Beyond him, others were sitting up, rising from their bodies, standing, staring at him.

  Evers strode back to Cairns’s corpse.

  “I know you cannot deny me in death what you refused me in life. Speak.”

  A dark wisp, Cairns’s spirit hovered over its shell.

  “Tell me about this stone. What is it? And are there others like it?”

  And Cairns told him about the four who walked away from a shipwreck fifty years ago. Each carried a piece of an ancient tablet. The first talked to the dead. The second, a healer, could bring a man back from the edge of death. The third knew the secrets of anyone’s past. And the last, a prophet, saw into the future.

  Chapter 5

  I charge thee on thy allegiance.

  Kester, the MacDougall’s captain of the guard, had his hand on the hilt of his short sword, awaiting the laird’s command. The abbot kept his gaze on Emily’s father, knowing that the next few moments would determine his fate. He sent a prayer skyward to Saint Andrew.

  The abbot could wring his hands, deny his involvement, and bow his head until his neck ached. What the Macphersons had dared to do was inexcusable. But he himself had done nothing wrong. He was but the bearer of bad news.

  Still, that could be enough to make him an accomplice in the eyes of the MacDougalls.

  The Macpherson warrior had left him to his fate outside the gates of Craignock Castle. Watching the man disappear into the night, the abbot realized Diarmad was not about to allow his own head to adorn a pike when there was a cleric to sacrifice.

  The MacDougall, three clan elders, and the captain were conferring in the laird’s private chambers when the abbot had been led in. It was late. Coming through a subdued Great Hall, he’d felt dozens of eyes following his every step. Trenchers of food had long ago been emptied and taken away. Dogs gnawed on scraps and bone beneath the long tables. They’d probably be gnawing on his bones tomorrow, the abbot thought.

  After hearing the cleric, Graeme MacDougall didn’t say a word, but sat with his fist wrapped around the cup of ale as if he were choking someone’s life out of it.

  The abbot did not move. He barely breathed.

  “Where are the men who escorted the lasses?” one of the elders finally demanded of Kester.

  “They came back after the two went missing. I sent them out again with the search parties. We knew nothing of this. Just assumed Lady Kenna wandered off, with Lady Emily in her wake. We had no suspicion of foul play till this moment.”

  “Where are they now?” the other elder asked.

  The abbot shifted his gaze from the laird. “I don’t know. On the way to Oban, I should think. They were to leave immediately after I started here.”

  “What route were they taking to Oban?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How many of them are with the lasses?”

  “Five that I saw. But there could be more. Many more.” The abbot decided to not mention that Diarmad had accompanied him to the gates of Craignock.

  “Are all three Macpherson brothers with them?”

  “Only the two eldest . . . that I saw.”

  The elders began to speak all at once. The abbot said nothing, waiting for the laird to speak.

  “Were any of their ships sitting off the coast?”

  “We can go after them.”

  “If they had enough men, they would have laid siege to Craignock.”

  “They must have only a few ships.”

&nb
sp; “We set a trap in Oban.”

  “Nay, they’re laying a trap for us.”

  “Laird, I told you it would bring disaster taking the Macpherson ship. If you’d only—”

  “Enough!” The laird slammed his cup on a table beside him, sloshing ale on the scarred wood surface. He addressed the abbot. “Emily and Kenna. How do they fare?”

  “Very well, m’lord. They’re being kept together, and they were in good health and spirits when I took leave of them.”

  The MacDougall looked down, twisting a large gold ring on his finger. The ruby inset glittered in the torchlight.

  “And how did Alexander Macpherson react when he realized he’d kidnapped his own wife?”

  “They were both astonished, m’lord.” Saying less was the best course, the abbot decided.

  “You say we can have Emily returned tomorrow?”

  The old man nodded. “They’re only after their ship. On that, Alexander was perfectly clear.”

  Before anyone could speak, the laird waved a hand, requiring silence. He and Kester exchanged a look. “No action will be taken against the Macphersons. The ship will be returned. We will have my daughter back.”

  The abbot breathed more easily.

  “Word of this is not to leave this chamber,” the laird ordered. “It that clear?”

  “Aye, laird,” an elder replied. “But what about Sir Quentin Chamberlain? What of Emily’s dowry?”

  “I negotiated my daughter’s marriage contract. I will make whatever adjustment we need to make in her dowry. I always had my doubts that the Macpherson ship would have worked out, anyway. And I’m certain Magnus MacKay would have objected to it, too.”

  The other clan elder spoke up cautiously. “But what if Sir Quentin learns Emily has been in the hands of these Highlanders?”

  “There is no reason he should know of it. We don’t expect him for another sennight,” the laird told them. “And you will spread the word that my daughter has gone to Glosters Priory with Kenna for a few days. They will be back soon.”

  It all seemed settled. There was some grumbling, but not one of them was brave enough to speak out. A serving lad appeared and whispered in the laird’s ear. MacDougall nodded and then directed him to take the abbot to the Great Hall and find him some supper.

  Satisfied that disaster had been happily averted, the abbot followed the lad out into the corridor, only to find Diarmad waiting to enter the laird’s chamber. The warrior nodded at the stunned cleric.

  Pausing at the top of the stairs, the abbot stared at the broad back of the Highlander. And before the door closed, he would have sworn he heard laughter.

  Chapter 6

  What we have we prize not to the worth

  Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost,

  Why, then we rack the value, then we find

  The virtue that possession would not show us

  While it was ours.

  Dresses the colors of spring glimmered with needlework of gold. The jewels the women wore caught every ray of light, blinding with their brilliance. Their faces were bright as the moon. Their voices soft. Their movements deliberate and refined. They crowded the Great Hall, standing in groups, whispering and sending scornful glances in Kenna’s direction.

  The men in the hall formed a single line before her, their faces hidden behind masks. Her father stood beside her, nodding when it was time for each of them to approach and present himself. She looked down at her wet dress, torn in places, stained nearly black at the hem. Her feet were bare and filthy. Strands of hair fell across her face.

  “Choose one,” her father ordered.

  “But I’m already married,” she told him. “I’m married to Alexander.”

  “He cast you off. Sent you back. He doesn’t want you.”

  Her throat tightened. Sadness clamped down on her heart, but it was no surprise. She’d fought him, deserted him, and said so many false things . . . all the while knowing that he was the only man she would ever want.

  “Choose one for your husband and do it now, Kenna. We will not move until you have done so. I’ve grown tired of this foolish independence.”

  Kenna tried to prove him wrong. She needed no protection from him. She tried to take a step. Her feet wouldn’t budge. She tried to raise her arms. They were bound to her side. She was a captive.

  The next man in line approached. “Will you have me, lady?”

  She could see nothing of his face, but only the crown sitting askew on his head. “Nay. You are just a prince’s fool.”

  The next one approached. “Will you marry me, great lady?” he drawled each word as if they were a collection of yawns.

  “You are duller and more false than a January thaw.”

  The next man was too cheerful in his question.

  “Nay,” she dismissed him. And the one after. And the dozens after that.

  She did not want another husband. He might have sent her back, but they were still married. Alexander told her that. It was not too late.

  The last man in the room finally stood before her. Before he could ask for her hand, her father spoke first.

  “Take her. She is yours.”

  Kenna struggled against her invisible restraints. “I won’t belong to another, Father. I’m already married.”

  Tears blurred her eyes. She shook her head, trying to get away as the man approached. She struggled to push him away. But her hands would not move. They were tied, bound now behind her back.

  Startled, Kenna opened her eyes and gazed up at the blue sky through an opening in the trees. She was outside. There were no lines of men. Her father wasn’t there. There were no clusters of women ridiculing her for the way she looked.

  It was odd to imagine she’d come to think of Alexander as her escape. Six months ago, marrying him would have put an end to Magnus MacKay’s authority. But was she happy with the arrangement?

  She wasn’t. Especially not after the talk with her father.

  Alexander lay sleeping on his side an arm’s length away. They were sharing the same blanket. She looked at his unshaven face and long lashes. No man had the right to look as attractive as he did. Her gaze moved down his face, and she recalled the havoc the touch of his lips caused in her body.

  In her dreams she’d wanted him to come for her. During her months at Glosters Priory, Kenna dreamed he would pursue her, know her, accept her for who she was, and fall in love with her. Then she would go with him to the farthest corners of the world. But he’d never come. He’d sent a messenger instead.

  Perhaps she’d been too impulsive, burning the letter without reading it. But it was his fault. A man shouldn’t send a letter saying, Sorry, dear. I drunkenly bedded a wench on our wedding night, or whatever else he wrote. If that in fact was the content of the correspondence.

  Anger rose in her. Her hands were still tied behind her. Her shoulders and arms were sore from sleeping this way.

  She glared at a bird singing loudly on a branch above them.

  “Fly away, bird, or I’ll be plucking your feathers the moment I’m free.”

  Kenna struggled and managed to sit up. Aches in the rest of her body matched the pain in her arms. She was getting too old to be jumping off towers and cliffs on the same day. She looked for her cousin. There was no sign of her.

  “Emily?”

  She couldn’t see James Macpherson or the other men traveling with them, either. And the horses. Where were the horses?

  Everyone was gone. They were alone.

  “Wake up, mammet,” she growled at her husband.

  He mumbled something in his sleep and rolled onto his back.

  “They’re all gone, Alexander. Where did you take Emily?”

  The coals in the fire were still smoking. They couldn’t have been gone too long. Kenna stood up. She couldn’t take more than a step away from the tree, for the cord restraining her hands was still tied to it.

  “My husband,” she said scathingly.

  She assessed t
he object of her anger and balanced her weight on the sore ankle before delivering a kick to his hip with the other. “I said wake up, you puny—”

  The breath was knocked out of her as she hit the ground. One moment she was delivering a kick and a curse and the next, she was down on the blanket with Alexander’s weight partially covering hers.

  “My wife. I can’t put into words what a joy it is to wake up to your caresses and endearments.”

  This was too close. He could surely feel the thrum of her heart. “Untie my hands, you villainous pignut.”

  “Must I?” He pushed the hair out of her face and gently cupped her cheek. His thumb caressed her bottom lip as he looked into her eyes.

  Kenna forgot to breathe and his knee slowly slid upward between her legs. She lost track of the terms of abuse she was planning to deliver. The weight of his body felt perfect. A delicious tingling spread to unthinkable places.

  “I like you when you’re submissive like this.”

  Her knee was intended to connect with his groin, but he was too quick. He rolled them until she was straddling his lap.

  “You don’t need to unman me. Speak to me. You can be on top. I won’t argue.”

  “Untie me, you qualling measle,” she demanded. “Everyone’s gone, including Emily. What have you done to her? Where did they all go?”

  A moment later, she was free. He moved across their camp. She stretched her sore arms and limped after him. The others were definitely gone.

  Alexander disappeared into the woods. Kenna noticed a bag left by the fire. She rummaged through it. Another blanket, some dried meat, and oatcakes.

  He came back carrying a sword in its sheath. He strapped the weapon to his belt.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked again. “Where is Emily?”

  “James must have taken her, and not too long ago.”

  “But why? Where are the horses? We have to go after them.”

  “They’ve taken those, too,” he said.

  “Why? There has to be a mistake.”

  “I don’t think so.” He looked around the camp. “We’ve been abandoned . . . for some reason.”