A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 9)

by Celeste Barclay

  Ultimately, the choice was taken from him. Before dawn on the third day, Brodie sent Graham and three men to scout from Crianlarich, or Ben More mountain. The path was steep, rising over a thousand feet in less than three miles, so the men went on foot. He was certain they would summit just as the sun rose, and they would have an unobstructed view in all directions. It was the highest point in the southern Highlands. They’d made camp at the base of the mountain, but they’d only kept a fire going long enough to cook what they’d hunted. Brodie didn’t want the plume of smoke against the clear autumn sky to signal their location. He’d held Laurel close the entire night, barely sleeping because he was unable to relax. He remained vigilant now that Laurel was back where she belonged—in his arms. Now, she huddled against him as they stood together, his broad back shielding her from the wind whipping down the mountain face.

  “I see them.” Donnan pointed toward four shadowy figures moving down the path. It was only a few minutes before Graham and the others returned to camp, winded and flushed.

  “It’s nay good,” Graham warned. “There’s a camp to the other side of Ben More. It looked like Lamonts, but mayhap a score or two. There’s another northwest. Lady Campbell and the Rosses would have to ride through the hills to Ben Lui to avoid them.”

  Brodie shook his head. The mountain didn’t have a clear pass for riders. It had five ridges with four corries, or deep valleys, between them. Even though it was early autumn, it wasn’t unheard of for there to be snow already.

  “What else?” Laurel asked quietly. She shifted nervously, not yet convinced that any of the men besides Brodie welcomed her voice. But he’d encouraged her to contribute to the conversation the night before, and it had been her idea to send scouts up Ben More.

  “We saw smoke toward Inverarnan. That’s where they last attacked,” one scout added.

  “Damn it,” Brodie hissed. When Laurel turned questioning eyes to him, he explained. “If we pursue them, we have to contend with the Falls of Falloch.” At Laurel’s blank gaze, he continued. “They’re a few miles from here. The land is hard for men to traverse, but it’s not ideal for horses. We face losing at least one mount or leaving them behind and approaching on foot. The latter isn’t worth considering now that the sun is rising. Without darkness to hide us, they’ll spot us before we can surprise them.” Brodie scrubbed his hands over his face. He looked at Monty, who’s grim expression matched his own. He shifted his eyes to the top of Ben More, and Monty nodded.

  “Donnan, take Laurel up,” Monty instructed his partner.

  Laurel looked between Brodie and Monty, then Monty and Donnan. Her eyes widened, but she nodded. She stepped forward and embraced Monty. She knew he would lead the Ross warriors while Donnan took her to safety. She didn’t relish watching her husband or her brother ride into battle. When Monty released her, she stepped in front of Brodie. His brawny arms lifted her off the ground, bringing them to eye level.

  “Be careful,” Laurel choked. She still couldn’t bring herself to confess her feelings, partly because they were too raw to express. She kissed him, hoping he would understand. When his deep gray eyes looked into hers, he nodded. It was the closest either came to professing their love, but they understood one another.

  “I trust Donnan. Stay with him no matter what happens.”

  “I ken, mo chridhe.” My heart. Laurel kissed him once more.

  “I will return to you,” Brodie stated emphatically. He cast a long, wistful look at Laurel’s upturned face. He held her chin between his finger and thumb. Brushing his lips against hers in the barest hint of a kiss, he whispered, “mo chluaran, mo ghaol.” My thistle, my love. Laurel nodded her head as she swallowed. Then he was gone. Laurel watched as his plaid swished against the back of his muscular thighs before he mounted and rode east.

  “Laurel, we need to start the hike. It will be harder for you because of your skirts. I want you out of sight and out of reach before the sun casts enough light for anyone to see us.” Donnan led the way. Four Ross men surrounded Michael and prodded him up the mountain. Laurel caught herself praying there would be a reason to push him to his death.

  Brodie looked back once, but he couldn’t spot Laurel or the men tasked with guarding her. He trusted Donnan, and he trusted the Ross men. Michael, he would relish punishing. But he didn’t fear Michael harming Laurel as long as he remained bound and gagged. He’d given his men quiet instructions the night before that if the traitor made any move to endanger Laurel, they were to kill him without fear of reprisal.

  Facing forwards once more, Brodie led the Campbell and Ross warriors north to the encampment that barred Laurel and the Rosses from continuing to Kilchurn. He’d decided that attempting to make it to Inverarnan wasn’t a wise use of their time. There would be little he could do for the village, and the risk to the horses wasn’t worth traversing the Falls of Falloch. Whoever led the raid there would have moved on by then. So they rode toward the first impediment to getting Laurel to safety. If she remained at Ben More’s summit, he didn’t fear the Lamonts finding her.

  It was an hour’s hard ride before they saw signs of the camp. Graham once more scouted, creeping through the conifers as he counted the MacDougalls who were breaking camp. He returned to Brodie, grateful that he could inform his laird that their party outnumbered the MacDougalls. With their war cry, “Cruachan!” bursting forth, the Campbells charged into the camp, catching the MacDougalls off guard. The Rosses had circled around the camp, and with their clan motto “spem successus alit”—success nourishes hope—on the breeze, they roared into their attack. Outnumbered and unprepared, the MacDougalls fell in quick succession. Brodie recognized Devlin MacDougall, the laird’s youngest brother, among the men. With a bird call, the men closest to him surrounded Devlin. By the time he was subdued, the battle was over.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Brodie said as he stalked toward Devlin. He suspected it was Devlin’s daughter with whom Michael was having an affair.

  “Go to hell,” Devlin barked.

  “Undoubtedly. Just not today.” Brodie walked around Devlin, as if he were considering the man from every angle. “I hear your grandbairns are half Campbell.” Brodie hit the mark when Devlin sneered but said nothing. “How fitting that you named your daughter Eve. You must have known she’d be a whore.”

  “Bastard.”

  “I’m not, but those grandbairns of yours are. Bastards in the laird’s own family. Tsk, tsk. And not only were they born on the wrong side of the blanket, their father is a traitor and a Campbell. Och, they shall have a fine life among your people.” Brodie antagonized the man, watching each reaction. “But then again, is Michael really a traitor? You were lured onto my land, and I’ve found you. How could that be?”

  Brodie watched the doubt flash across Devlin’s face before his bravado returned. He raised his chin and glowered at Brodie. “If he were loyal to you, then why would he have told us where you rode with the first Lady Campbell? Why would he tell Nelson the route you would ride home from Stirling?”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “I do not believe for a moment that you sacrificed Eliza MacMillan to trick us. And from what I hear aboot you and your newest Lady Campbell, you wouldn’t risk her life for aught. Unfortunate that she’s dead.”

  Brodie laughed, and his men followed. “My wife is alive and well. She was spewing curses at Michael just this morn. She has a way with words.”

  “Aye, a right skilled mouth from what I hear,” Devlin taunted.

  Brodie shook his head. “You really must not care for your wife and daughter. Insulting my wife, endangering her—not a wise choice. You have harmed two women in my life. Now I shall do the same to you.” Brodie watched as fear entered Devlin’s eyes. Brodie had guessed that the man would care about his womenfolk, but he hadn’t known for sure. He’d taken a chance and come out the better. “I think I shall give your wife to one of my men. Your daughter—ha-ha—there’s a busy tavern in Kilchurn. I’m cert
ain she can find work there.”

  “You would make my wife and daughter whores,” Devlin accused.

  “I’m not making them aught. They did that themselves.” Brodie squinted at Devlin, then put his hands on his hips and leaned back. He laughed again, but there was still no mirth. “You don’t ken, do you? Arnold’s been tossing your wife’s skirts for years.” Brodie named Nelson and Matthew’s father, Laird MacDougall, as Devlin’s wife’s lover. Brodie caught wind of the rumor years earlier, but the rage that washed over Devlin confirmed it.

  “You did know! You’re naught but a cuckold. Should we check to see if you still have any bollocks, or did your wife give them to your brother?”

  “Bugger off, Campbell.”

  “Where to? I’m on my land.” Brodie raised his hands in question. “Speaking of land. You’re on mine too. Do you think anyone will come looking for you and your men?”

  “You know they will,” Devlin seethed. “And they will burn every village in their wake.”

  “Haven’t you done that already? What’s left?” Brodie hissed, pretending to lose his temper.

  “We haven’t razed your lands west of Kilchurn. That’s next,” Devlin smirked until he realized what he’d done.

  “Kill him.” Brodie turned back to his horse.

  “Wait!”

  Brodie prolonged the man’s agony by taking his time to turn around. He looked over his shoulder before twisting his body, then finally turning to face Devlin. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, boredom clear on his face.

  “I ken you’re going to kill me. But I will tell you what you need to know if you spare my wife and daughter.”

  “Mayhap. Depends on what you tell me.” Brodie had no intention of going after either woman. He didn’t fight his battles by harming those who couldn’t fight him fairly. But he would use them as bait.

  “Arnold wants to marry the Lamont’s daughter. He wants to bind our clans by blood, but the Lamont won’t consent. Lamont insists we need to prove we’re worth the alliance. Arnold already has sons, so he doesn’t need a wife. But he caught sight of the chit and decided he fancied her. He wants her in his bed, and he wants the Lamonts as his bedfellows. He thinks our two clans can weaken yours. His plan is to marry Matthew to Brenna MacArthur.”

  Brodie’s lips thinned as he considered what Devlin told him. The Campbells and MacArthurs descended from the same lineage, and they’d been rivals since before the days of King Alexander. They’d once been the dominant clan, especially with their ties to the Lord of the Isles, John of Islay. They were the famed pipers of Islay’s clan, the MacDonalds of Sleat. But the Campbells loyalty to Robert the Bruce increased their power throughout Argyll and Lorne. The increase in wealth and status had rubbed the MacArthurs the wrong way. Brodie could guess what he would hear next.

  “And I suppose the MacArthurs are all too happy to court the MacGregors to their side, riding campaigns against us. You think to surround us and squeeze.”

  “Aye. That’s just what Arnold plans.” Devlin nodded his head. “Will you spare my wife and daughter?”

  “One or the other. Choose.”

  “My daughter.” Devlin didn’t think twice.

  “Choose between your daughter and your grandbairns.”

  “I—I can’t,” Devlin stammered. Brodie enjoyed the stricken look on Devlin’s face. It was what he hoped for.

  “Then tell me where the Lamonts attack next and where your brothers have their men.” There were three MacDougall brothers. Arnold was the eldest and laird. Devlin was the youngest. Martin was in the middle. Arnold was too ambitious for his own good, and Devlin was a milksop. But Martin was the one who gave Brodie the most concern. He had no conscience and reveled in causing others pain. Brodie had been certain Martin led the raids on the villages they’d passed through. He was the only one perverse enough for the level of carnage they encountered. He’d tried to spare Laurel, but she’d caught sight of too much before Brodie could shield her.

  “The Lamonts are south of Ben More. Arnold led the attack on Invararnan, while Martin brings his men west from your border. We’re to meet at Inverchorachan tonight and ride for Kilchurn tomorrow. The MacArthurs and MacGregors camp near Edenonich. They will attack from the north and the east while we come from the south.”

  Brodie nodded and turned away again. “Kill him.” When he heard Devlin thrash and try to break free, he knew two men restrained him and a third approached. He tossed over his shoulder just before the Campbell warrior’s sword speared him, “By the by. I never intended to touch your family. I’m not you. I don’t target the innocent.”

  Brodie heard the strangled gasp as Devlin MacDougall breathed his last. The Campbells and Rosses retreated from the camp, leaving the MacDougalls’ bodies in their wake. Away from the clearing, Brodie and Monty stood together.

  “The route is clear for Laurel to go to Kilchurn. You and your men take her there, while my men and I ride for Dallmally. Neither the MacArthurs nor the MacGregors can reach Kilchurn from Edenonich without crossing the River Orchy. There’s only one place for them to cross, and it’s downstream from a dam. I have patrols that ride that area to protect it. If we time it right and release the dam, the flood will wash away the MacArthurs and MacGregors. Any who survive will wind up in the estuary to Loch Awe—just in front of Kilchurn village.”

  “Do you think the MacFarlanes will rally?” Monty asked doubtfully.

  “Mayhap. If they do, it will be the Lamonts and MacDougalls sandwiched between us and the MacFarlanes. If Laurel is behind the walls, then I don’t care whether the MacFarlanes show their faces. I have enough men to obliterate both the Lamonts and MacDougalls. My guess is they think Michael will be there to let them in. Or mayhap they even have someone else within my clan. At this point, naught would surprise me. The MacFarlanes would do well to lend their arm, but I don’t need them.”

  Monty nodded as he looked in the direction from which they rode. The peak of Ben More was visible as a hazy outline. Both men mounted and led their men back toward Laurel and Donnan.

  “I can summon men from Innes Chonnel, Inishail, and Fraoch Eilean, Monty. She will be safe once she’s home.” Brodie prayed he could get Laurel to Kilchurn before anything more happened. He regretted that his clan’s new lady would arrive without him and that her introduction to her clan and castle would be hide within the keep. But there were few choices left for him. If all went to plan, there would be little more than a skirmish with the Lamonts and MacDougalls. If it didn’t, his clan faced a mighty battle against four enemies. All of whom wanted nothing more than to see the Campbells’ demise. He’d fought too many battles alongside his father to see his people lose even an acre of land. He would fight to the end to defend Laurel, his people, and his home. God help anyone who thought he wouldn’t.

  Twenty-Eight

  Laurel watched in horror as the Lamonts seemed to multiply before her eyes. She crouched beside Donnan as men arrived from the south and joined those camped at the southern base of the mountain. They fanned out like ants as they moved to encircle the mountain.

  “They’ve seen us,” Donnan whispered.

  “Likely seen my bluidy hair,” Laurel muttered. She’d grown warm and allowed her arisaid to slip off her head until Donnan pointed out that her hair would be noticeable to those at the foot of the southern trail. She’d hurried to cover herself, but she feared it was too late.

  “We need to get back to the horses and ride before they converge on us,” Donnan explained as he motioned to the four Ross men. Laurel looked at Michael and stopped short, Donnan bumping into her.

  “He signaled them.” Laurel pointed to a coin in Michael’s hand that glimmered in the sunlight. “He drew their attention.”

  Donnan lunged at Michael, jabbing his fist into the man’s face. When Michael stumbled backwards, his ankles now bound along with his hands, he had no way to keep his balance. He pitched toward the edge of the path. Donnan shoved his chest, pushing him over the
ledge where they rested. Laurel watched as Michael appeared to soar through the air before his body crashed into the rock face. He rolled and bumped from one crag to another. There was no chance that he survived by the time he reached the ground. The Rosses didn’t wait to see. Laurel had already lifted her skirts and was flying down the path between Donnan and one of the guards, the other two at her back. She skidded along the shale and pebbles, reaching out to Donnan’s shoulder more than once.

  When they reached the base near where they’d camped, Donnan whistled. A Ross appeared with their mounts. Laurel didn’t stop to think when Donnan tossed her into the saddle. She slipped her feet into the stirrups and gathered the reins.

  “We need to get closer to Kilchurn,” Donnan called as they charged away from Ben More. “There’s no avoiding them. We have to outrun them.”

  Laurel knew he spoke the truth. She had a greater chance of surviving if they could reach Brodie and Monty and if they could gain ground toward the keep. She didn’t doubt that Nelson, Matthew, and Edgar led their men toward them. Between following their trail and knowing of the MacDougalls’ plans, they would ride in this direction. They couldn’t go back the way they came without facing her captors.

  The seven riders laid low over their horses’ withers, making it easier to gallop and to make them less of a target for the arrows that flew toward them. Laurel watched as Lamonts rode toward them, swarming like an angry hive of hornets. Seeing their direction, men rode to intercept them while others came from their left and behind. Laurel squeezed Teine’s flanks, encouraging him to continue galloping. She gave him his head while grasping hanks of his mane along with the reins. She’d only encouraged him to run like this a handful of times when he was a colt, and she was still a young girl at Balnagown. She’d grown fearful that she would harm him if she was so reckless. But now, she let him run. He sensed the danger and the race. It was as though her gelding knew he raced against stallions and sought to prove himself. She knew he could outrun most horses, even when she restrained him. She prayed now that he had the stamina of the warhorses and more speed.