Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  And Peter was not the neediest in this camp.

  “We’ve put the wounded down there at the water’s edge. The womenfolk are keeping the sick, the old and young, in an old kirk beyond that brae.”

  The moon had not yet risen, but Alexander could see dozens of people huddled around a few fires. There had to be more refugees beyond what he could see. Alexander guessed most of them had to flee with only the clothes on their backs. They were hungry, desperate, vulnerable. This made them unpredictable. He wanted Kenna away from here.

  She had already gone to work with those needing her. As he looked from one group to the next, he spotted her at the center of a small cluster of folk. A tall lad in rags was holding a torch up for her, and she was cleaning and bandaging the head of a wounded farmer. A moment later, she followed an old woman to another dark shape by the water’s edge. She bent down for only a moment and then stood up, giving directions to a bystander. Alexander watched her move on to the next.

  “We’ve had no time to bury the dead. The bodies, bless ’em, are by them trees. There’s a priest come into the camp today. Says he’ll give them last rites in the morning. Don’t know as it’ll do them much good then.” Peter spat on the ground and glared at the grove of trees. “But what do I know, being just a fisherman?”

  Alexander glanced at the shadowy grove, but he quickly turned his attention back to Kenna. He wasn’t about to lose track of her. So far, they’d been received with gratitude, and he’d seen no sign of hostility, but their position was uncertain. Right now, they needed her. But what would happen when they didn’t? He was a Macpherson; she was a MacKay. They had to be considered outsiders, at the very least.

  “Who are all these people? Where did they come from?”

  “Some are from around Knipoch. But some are folk from other villages to the south. MacDougall land mostly. And there are others from inland,” Peter said. “With them dirty English bastards and that treacherous Lowland scum doing their killing for them, it’s safest to take to the hills.”

  Alexander nodded, fixing his gaze on Kenna.

  “Jock arrived here ahead of you this afternoon. The lad said yer wife has a gift at healing. We were anxious for you to get here.”

  Kenna was directing those around her, and bits and pieces carried to them. Her voice was clear. In control. Confident. He’d seen many a surgeon work on the wounded, and there was common sense in everything he saw her doing.

  Above the trees at the far end of the loch, the black velvet expanse of night sky was studded with stars. He felt foolish for the teasing he’d given her when they were walking. There had to be a logical explanation for how he was healed.

  “My wife was trained by the nuns at Glosters Priory on Loch Eil, on Cameron clan land,” Alexander told him. “She knows how to bind a wound and deliver a bairn.”

  “Did a fine job with mine,” Peter replied, holding up his mutilated hand.

  Jock had disappeared as soon as they arrived. Alexander wanted to find the lad and talk to him about exactly what he’d told these folk. He didn’t want any ignorant nonsense circulating.

  Apparently finished with the wounded for the time being, Kenna was led away from the loch toward the rise and the kirk beyond it. Alexander followed, with Peter hurrying to keep up.

  “Does everyone know who we are?” Alexander asked. “My wife? Me?”

  “Aye. Yer the Macpherson’s laird eldest. You command yer clan’s ships. Not many folk along the shore don’t know you.”

  They reached the top of the hill as the moon appeared above the mountains to the east. The ruins of an old kirk nestled between two hillocks in a broad meadow. Not far away, a stream ran down toward the loch. The building must have been deserted long ago, he decided, from the overgrown look of the vines and other plants covering the crumbling walls and windows. The roof was gone, from what he could see.

  Kenna and her entourage disappeared into the kirk, drawing looks from the scores of travelers who’d built fires outside the wall surrounding the kirk yard. Now those faces turned toward Alexander.

  “Word spread before you arrived,” Peter told him. “Alexander Macpherson and his wife Kenna MacKay.”

  “Jock,” he muttered as they started through the refugees’ encampment. So much for the boy’s promise. No wonder he was making himself scarce. Alexander wondered where he was hiding.

  “Don’t blame the lad. He didn’t know his sister was injured until he found her lying here with a gash on her leg and a terrible burned arm.” Peter motioned ahead to the ruined kirk. “Jock’s young. He was desperate that we find yer wife. And we—”

  At the sound of the rush from behind, Alexander whirled in time to knock away the arm holding a blade. As he smashed the assailant on the side of the face with his fist, a club whirred through the air, aimed at Alexander’s head. The weapon landed low, striking him hard on the shoulder and sending him tumbling backward. He was on his feet before they could reach him.

  The two remaining men hesitated, and Alexander knew from their faces this was not going as they’d planned. Another man—the one with a short sword—was shaking his head and trying unsuccessfully to rise.

  He faced them, and the two began to spread out. From their clothes, he knew his burly attackers were fishermen. They carried small clubs and dirks. Behind them, Peter was on one knee, clutching his injured hand.

  “Do I know you lads?” Alexander asked coolly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Because I like to know the men I kill.”

  “Ne’er mind about that,” one growled, raising his club menacingly. “We know you . . . pirate. You and yer MacKay bitch.”

  The two rushed at him, clubs swinging. Alexander took a glancing blow to the head as he ducked under one club. Coming up quickly, he slammed his fist into a furious face, driving one fisherman into the other. The two tumbled to the ground. Following, the Highlander landed a kick to the head of one, knocking him cold. He turned to drop a knee on the throat of the other, who was moaning.

  He glanced up just in time to see the third assailant, standing now with his sword in hand, take a blow to the side of his head and topple like a straw man in the wind. Peter was behind him, glaring fiercely at the three.

  “I’ll take it from here, if you don’t mind,” the wounded fisherman growled, picking up a club. “I know these birds only too well.”

  As Alexander stood, Peter solidly rapped the head of the moaning attacker, silencing him for the moment.

  Kenna appeared, pushing through the crowd that had formed a larger ring around them. She looked from Alexander to the three fishermen and Peter, and back at her husband.

  “Have you finished introducing yourself around?” she asked tensely.

  Alexander glanced at the crowd. No one else appeared ready to fight. “I believe I have, wife.”

  Kenna took him by the arm and pulled him toward the ruin. The crowd parted for them.

  As they started across the kirk yard, Peter could be heard shouting at the others. “So this is the way to thank the MacKay lass for helping yer kin now, is it?”

  Alexander turned to see him kick one of the men who’d started moaning again.

  “Yer lucky the Macpherson didn’t cut yer throat, you cod-faced dolt. And nay, I’d not blame his wife for not sewing you back up if he did.”

  Inside the kirk, Alexander saw that a small fire had been lit at the far end of the church nave. Near it, a number of sick folk lay on blankets, and those seeing to them hovered around. Kenna took him across the chancel through an open doorway into what must have been the vestry at one time. Now, only three walls and part of a fourth remained, and ancient charred timbers from the former roof stretched across the room.

  The rising moon cast shadows across the stone floor, and Alexander looked up at the broad night sky above.

  Kenna led him to a timber in the corner against a wall.

  “How many times do I have to fix you?”

  “I believe we took an oath that calls for . . .
a lifetime’s worth.”

  She shook her head and pressed a flat hand against his chest.

  He sat down. They were eye to eye. Alexander wondered if this would be the good time to apologize for his earlier ribbing.

  Kenna looked exhausted. She used a rag and dabbed at his forehead and the side of his mouth. He wished there were a way he could carry her away from all this, take her somewhere where it would be only the two of them. To a place where he could take care of her and show her that he was a husband that she’d want to keep.

  “That was the same oath that we’re getting annulled. You’re far too much trouble.”

  “Aye, I’m some trouble. But I’m worth it.”

  “For a brigand and an ape, you do have a fanciful imagination.”

  “Admit it, Kenna. You like me.”

  He pulled her by the waist until she stood between his knees. Her eyes rivaled the stars above. Her mouth was inches away.

  “You’re a curious beast, to be sure.” She traced what had to be a bruise by the line of his jaw. “But you have very little charm. Nothing that entices me nor tempts me to change my mind.”

  He drew her closer until her breasts were crushed against his chest and kissed her with a lashing assault of lips and tongue. There was no hesitation on her part. She moaned deep in her throat and her arms encircled his neck. Her mouth opened under the pressure of the kiss, her tongue dancing with his in a seductive promise of more.

  He wanted to tear open her blouse, taste the sweetness of her breasts, feel the weight of their fullness in his palm. He ached with desire for her. He wanted to bury himself deep inside of her. She ground her body against him, and the urge to yank up her skirts, to lift Kenna onto him, was the only half-conscious thought racing through the flashing heat in his head.

  And then, from somewhere, a rational thought intruded.

  To take her here, now, would mean there would be no annulment. The choice he wanted her to make, the choice to stay with him, would be gone. And she would blame him for the rest of their lives.

  Bloody hell, he cursed inwardly. Bloody, fucking hell.

  He ended the kiss, wrenching his mouth away. She was breathless. Alexander stared at those swollen lips, at those half-closed eyes, clouded with passion.

  “I’m telling you now, lass, sex between us will make the Highland storm seem tame, make the summer lightning only a pale flash of light. And you don’t even know where my fancy can take us.”

  “So my reason, my sanity even, depends on never making love with you.” Her eyes, clear and focused now, flashed with mischief.

  “Nay, your reason will never be trustworthy until you experience the bliss that I bring to our marriage bed.”

  “A wee bit full of yourself, I’m thinking.”

  Before she could object, he turned her slightly in his arms, reached under her skirt, and slid his hand up to the junction of her thighs. She gasped as he touched her wetness. Holding her steady, he slipped a finger into the tight sheath and saw her eyes grow round. A soft cry escaped her lips.

  “What . . . what are you doing?”

  “Showing you something of what’s to come.”

  He withdrew his finger and slid it in again. This time she rocked against his hand. He stared into Kenna’s eyes. Her desire matched his.

  “Bad timing, lass. And not the perfect place, but I want to give you this, now.”

  He rose to his feet and pressed her back against the wall, his body shielding hers.

  Her body quivered when he pushed a knee between her legs and he touched her again. He teased her slick folds, and his tongue played the depth of her sweet mouth as he copied the action of his finger. Her breaths became shorter and shorter; her little gasps became whimpers. Suddenly, with a cry that Alexander swallowed with a kiss, she arched against his hand and shuddered with complete abandon.

  Sweeping her into his arms, he sat down and gathered her on his lap. She clutched him about the neck tightly, and he could feel the tremors racing through her body as waves of pleasure continued to wash over her. Doing his best to ignore his own throbbing desire, he simply held her.

  It was some time before he felt enough control to set her again on her feet and find his voice. “And this is only a sample, wife.”

  She took a deep breath. “Oh my. I’ve . . . I’ve never . . .” She stopped, smiled shyly, and stared at his chin. “Very well. I admit it. You’re a temptation.”

  He heard Peter call for him from the nave. Kenna straightened her dress, and he waited until she gave him a nod before going out of the vestry with his wife behind him.

  A hooded, ferret-faced priest was standing beside Peter. His eyes followed Alexander as they drew closer and then fixed on Kenna.

  “The good Father here wants a word with you,” Peter said. “Alone.”

  “I’ll be over there, tending to those who need me.” Kenna motioned with her head toward the sick.

  Alexander watched her go, in no hurry to recover from what had just happened. To him, Kenna’s magic—if that’s what it was—ran far beyond the power of healing. Her true gift lay in the power she had over his heart.

  “What is it, priest?” Alexander demanded when Peter walked away.

  “I need to speak with you privately.” The man looked at the women working at the far end of the ruin. “What I have to say, what I have to offer, is for your ears only.”

  Alexander wasn’t letting Kenna out of his sight. “Whatever you have to tell me, you’ll tell me here and now.”

  The priest visibly bristled; then he shrugged.

  “I know who you are, Highlander, and I know why you’re here,” he said, glancing in Kenna’s direction.

  “So, what of it?”

  “My church and living in the Borders were destroyed by the English marauders, so this is my flock now, such as it is.”

  “And what can I do for you?”

  “It’s not that. It’s I who can be of service.”

  “Go on.”

  “I had a servant traveling with me. He’s gone. Tonight. Taken one of my horses, the scurrilous villain. I believe he’s gone back south to find that Maxwell rogue. I believe he means to lead him back here to you.”

  Alexander looked over at Kenna, who was crouched over a sick woman. He needed to take her out of this place. He looked back at the priest.

  “I still have one horse,” the priest continued. “I want you to have it. Take the woman and get clear of here. Go to Oban and farther if you need to, but get away from us. And go tonight.”

  “I can buy the horse from you,” Alexander told him.

  “Whatever suits you, Highlander.”

  Alexander nodded. “You have been of service. But what of you? Why stay?”

  “As I said, this is my flock now. They need me. If Maxwell comes and you’re gone, he may leave us alone.” The priest shrugged again and looked away. “If not, we’re in God’s hands.”

  Donald Maxwell sliced a chunk of meat from the mutton roasting over the fire pit and tore at it with his teeth. The cotter’s fat wife huddled in a dark corner with her two terrified children.

  They had reason to be afraid. Their stupid oaf of a father lay dead on the dung pile by the sheepcote. Why Highlanders always believe they must fight would always be a mystery, he thought. Not that it would have made a difference.

  “Ale, woman. And be quick about it.”

  The two English riders stood eying the mutton hungrily, but Maxwell was not about to offer them any. His own men nearly filled the cottage, sitting and standing around in the flickering shadows cast by the fire.

  “Go back to Sir Ralph and tell him this: the noose is tightening.”

  He paused as the cotter’s wife handed him a horn cup full of ale. Taking hold of her wrist, he dragged her into his lap, eliciting a burst of laughter from his men as she struggled for a moment and then stopped. Maxwell’s knife rested against her throat. He looked up at the messengers.

  “Tell him that the MacKay woman a
nd the Macpherson have taken to the hills, but they’re exactly where we want them. My men are on their trail, beating the bushes and driving them to me here, where I wait, in hospitable Oban.”

  Chapter 15

  I do love nothing in the world so well as you—is not that strange?

  He’d ignored completely her demand for more time . . . simply scooped her up in front of him and then kicked his heels into the sides of the gray steed. In moments, the loch and the camp and the fleeing refugees were far behind them.

  Several broken bones, some horrific burns, many open wounds, a woman nearing childbirth, and two children hot with fever. Jock’s sister and his cousin. Kenna had tended to them and used no magic. Not intentionally. She didn’t take hold of the stone tablet in the pouch even once, but there were whispers by some of the wounded that her touch alone felt warm or lessened the pain.

  She didn’t understand it, but she was too tired to think it through. She’d been led from one person to the next for hours. She examined them and decided what was wrong. If there wasn’t enough time to do it herself, she passed on the same instructions she’d been taught by the nuns.

  There were some she hadn’t been given time to look after at all. And there was no reasoning with Alexander. He wouldn’t listen. He simply said that she was no good to anyone if she was a hostage or dead. That was what would happen if they were still here when Maxwell’s men caught up with them.

  He would allow no discussion, hinting that he’d drag her away tied and gagged, if need be. After the last few days, Kenna knew he’d go through with the threat. And she knew she was too tired to fight him.

  Kenna left instructions. Many helpers stepped forward. She hoped it was enough.

  Now, riding through the rolling countryside, she felt the complete weight of exhaustion descend on her. Wrapped in Alexander’s protective arms and lulled by his warmth, Kenna dozed, hovering in that shadowy limbo between consciousness and sleep.

  She dreamed of blood and severed limbs and her frustrating inability to sew the wounds quickly enough. Then as a turn or a bump would lift her into wakefulness, Kenna’s thoughts would hearken back to the memory of Alexander’s every touch. Of the two of them locked in a sensual rhythm against the wall. Of her complete surrender to him. Of the excruciating pleasure building within her before that final blaze of glorious release. She’d never thought such a thing possible. Now that, she thought with a smile, was real magic.