“I’ve offered to send ye if the Drummonds are called to fight,” Donald Mackay added.
Nicholas looked at the Drummond chieftain - thane, laird, the man had many titles and was clearly destined for importance. “If needed I will be there.”
“We have the blood of kings in our line,” Maelcolm Beg said. “We have harbored queens, brought them to safety, have seen political intrigue as only royalty can provide. We may have need of yer arm, Nicholas. But I would give ye time with Mary first.”
“Kind of you ,” Nicholas murmured at Maelcolm’s lewd wink.
“So admit ye have feelings for the lass,” Donald said. “So that all here can accept this deal has been done with no harm meant to Mary at all.”
Nicholas glanced at the men further down the table. He had never intended on hurting her. After last night, he didn’t intend on leaving her in Perth either to go on about his life as Rory suggested. “Aye, I do.”
Donald seemed relieved. “Good. I didn’t want the Drummond boys to thrash ye later, thinking ye'd treated Mary wrong. Besides she’s clearly taken with ye to she wants to live in some crofter’s hut.” Donald grinned as Mary blushed again. “We will leave for Varrich Castle tomorrow. Drummond has sent for Mary’s things so ye can join us.”
Mary looked up, eyes wide. “But I’ve some things they won’t know to bring,” she cried.
In the end, they sent William to fetch the items Mary wanted, and the leaving for Varrich delayed until the man returned to Perth. Their final night before leaving was balmy and Nicholas sat outside with Mary to watch the stars glitter in the night sky.
“It’s the same at Varrich, isn’t it?” Mary asked. She snuggled against Nicholas’ chest wrapped in a warm wool shawl.
“Aye.”
“Fiona seemed distressed today. What did she say?”
Nicholas sighed, finding such moments with Mary far too enticing. “Nothing important, Mary. She’d lost something and asked if I’d seen it.” He leaned his cheek against her hair to breathe in the smell of lilacs. A heady aroma and one that brought him back to Varrich where Ann had grown the trees. She shifted to look up at him.
“Liar,” Mary chided. She thumped his chest gently, frowning as he coughed. “She’s got the sight.”
“Not wise to blurt that about,” Nicholas said in a low voice. Had Rory told her that, or Fiona? Such things were dangerous to know or even remark on. Ears were everywhere. He’d seen too many lost to such accusations, both on his travels and during his childhood. It was a grisly sight with most innocent of the charges.
“I know,” Mary whispered. “I didn’t say it loudly, lad. She’s warned you of something.”
“Aye, has a feeling there is danger,” Nicholas admitted.
“There is always danger,” Mary agreed, probing for more.
She rested her cheek against his chest. Did she note the quickness of the beat at her touch? He brushed a slim strand of blond hair behind her ear. “There is nothing to worry about.”
Mary touched the locket once again hanging around Nicholas’s neck. “Who gave you the locket? Is it yer mother’s?”
He felt for the chain and touched the locket briefly. “No, Mary, it was given to me by another woman.”
Mary sat up with a frown. “A woman?”
He drew her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her as she shivered. “Aye, a woman I nearly killed in Rhodes, a Muslim woman, lass.”
“A barbarian then,” Mary surmised.
“Nay not so,” Nicholas argued. He sighed at the memory. “People who simply believe differently, who wish only for peace, for the most part.” His memories of those days were blurry, like another lifetime. He could remember the fighting, his flight to evade the men sent to destroy the Knights. Caught and held against his will, the woman had set him free. He could not remember her face clearly but her voice lingered in his mind, her desire to see him live to face his destiny. He blinked at the memory.
“But they fight?” Mary said.
“We fought,” he agreed. Images rose in his mind, the men arguing, the orders to kill, to destroy. He shook them away. “We battled to take their lands for a god, thinking our ways were better, that we were better.” Nicholas growled, closing his eyes. Anguish colored his voice. “I had to leave, yet then found myself in same fight here. We fight Edward for what is ours, for our way of life. We are Highlanders; the English do not belong here.”
Mary touched the locket. “So this is to remind you of that.”
“Somewhat,” he agreed. The locket was a gift of life, a reminder not to throw it away in a useless endeavor.
“Did you love her?”
Nicholas drew Mary’s head to his chest. Had he? Mina was beautiful in her own way, marked by hardship and abuse, she had not been pretty but her heart had been true. “No, but I did care for her.”
“Did she live?”
“Aye, when I left, but cannot say after.” He had ridden away full of guilt, leaving her alone to face certain punishment for allowing him to go free. She had had a courage few could match.
“We will be fine, you know.”
Nicholas kissed her brow, smiling. Perhaps here was another with such courage. “Indeed.”
Chapter 11
Nicholas rode beside Rory, while the women followed behind them, along with the Mackay clansmen, a couple of Drummonds for Mary’s sake, and Donald who led the way with Bastian at his side. Rory had insisted on accompanying the new couple to Varrich, if only for the chance to berate Nicholas once more for breaking his nose.
“I’m afraid it’ll heal crooked,” Rory complained, feeling his nose which finally had returned to a normal color other than yellow green.
“Didn’t think you’d really care either way,” Nicholas replied, eyeing the big Scot with a smile. “Are you afraid Fiona will find it distasteful?”
Rory chuckled. “Aye, well no, she’d as soon break it herself if she thinks it needs a bit o’ twistin’.” He sighed, glancing back at the women. “She’s a tough lass, that, as is Mary.”
Nicholas grunted. “Hard to say, Rory, I’ve not known her that long.”
“She told you she hid your armor?”
“Aye, I am sure someone will have found it by now, but if not, you can retrieve it next you go home.”
“I would if you like.”
“You didn’t have to come, Rory.” Nicholas watched his father ahead, noting how much he had aged since Nicholas had last seen him. Not unexpected, surely, but there were lines about his eyes that spoke of worry, stress that perhaps Nicholas had caused directly.
He wasn’t sorry to have left, and knew Bastian would have taken up any slack in defenses and in political matters, yet Nicholas knew doing so had left an empty place at the Mackay table, one he thought would be forgotten after these long years. According to his father, it had not.
Bastian had hugged him after the wedding. Sebastian Mackay hid much behind his quick smile, yet those quicksilver eyes had said more than words could ever have.
They were glad to have him back.
Nicholas only wished he were just as happy to go back. Varrich was an enigma, home yet not home. It belonged to Donald, and would then go to Sebastian, while Nicholas would only be a guest. The long years away had dulled his feelings toward the northern wilds of Scotland. Perhaps, once back in the embrace of the Highlands, he would remember and feel like he was home.
Rory coughed beside him. “Deep thoughts ye got there lad.”
“And I blame it on you,” Nicholas declared. He smiled to soften the accusation. “So how is it that you found the lovely Fiona in a pub, man?”
Rory ran a hand through his blond hair, ruffling the strands where the wind caught them. “She was leaving, actually, as I rode in. Couldn’t take me eyes off of her, in fact blocked her way with my horse.”
“Gallant of you,” Nicholas said.
“Nay, it was quite rude actually, a
s she complained.” Rory grinned at the memory and rubbed his jaw. “Offered her a token for a night or two, not knowing she was a lady and all.”
“A token?” Nicholas scoffed. “You meant to pay for her services? She didn’t tell you what or who she was?”
Rory winked. “Well, I didn’a give her much chance as I got off Nim, who, by the way, lad, is lucky to like ye. Could’ve killed both you and wee Mary had he not.”
“Nim and I are old friends. Remember, I had to ride him once before to get your sorry arse out of trouble.”
“Aye, and broke my nose that time too,” Rory remembered with a scowl. “It was just a scuffle, lad, no need to have gotten so bloody angry at the lad.”
“I was tired of being needled. Besides, it wasn’t my fault you didn’t see me duck the bench, so technically, I didn’t break it, Angus MacDubh did.”
“Well if you hadn’t complained about ‘is sister looking like a nag, we’d ha’e been fine.”
Nicholas arched a brow at Rory. “But she does, you cannot deny it.”
“Doesn’t matter when you are talking to her brother, lad,” Rory complained, laughing.
Nicholas smiled faintly. “Perhaps not, but it did get a good rise out of Angus.”
“And me a broken nose,” Rory agreed. He touched his nose gingerly. “So Fiona’s told you her worries?”
“Aye, I’ve heard her warnings. Be careful of that, Rory.”
“I know what she is,” Rory replied.
Nicholas glanced at him. “Anyone else might not be so generous, especially in the Highlands.”
“I’ll worry about that. Varrich, now, she sits on the sea?”
Nicholas leaned back in his saddle, his gaze distant as he remembered his family home. “It sits on a hill overlooking the Kyle of Tongue. It’s a long bit of water running deep between Ben Loyal and Ben Hope coming in from the sea. Behind Varrich you see a grand view of the mountains.” He chuckled and winked at Rory. “We built it over a Norse fort that was there for years, a nod perhaps to the ambitions of my forefathers.”
“So you are descended from the Vikings, then?” Rory asked, amused.
“Norse and Pict, a rather wild confluence of bloodlines, including some say, wild Irish rovers,” Nicholas agreed with a wolfish smile.
Rory laughed. “Indeed, a wild bunch you are, one can tell by looking at you. But Mary’s not intimidated in the least.”
Nicholas could think of times that she should have been and shook his head. “Perhaps not wisely, even so. She may not like it there.”
“I think she’ll like it anywhere you are,” Rory surmised.
Nicholas stared ahead at Donald. “Aye, well then maybe we’ll have to find that crofter’s hut up on Ben Loyal then. She’ll have all the luxuries the Highlands can offer-- cold, wind, snow and brutal clansmen.”
Rory looked at Nicholas intently. “She’d not mind most of that, but be brutal to the lass, Nicky, and I’ll have yer head up yer arse.”
Nicholas smiled at the Scot, knowing with Rory that anything was quite possible.
***
It had taken them nearly a week to get near Varrich. The landscape looked familiar, the same mountain heights and winding valleys, if more dramatic and lonely. Varrich, yet another day’s ride, was not yet visible, but the mountains near which it sat had to be much the same as those they rode through now. Mary looked about to note fog still drifted in the lower valleys, while the sun kissed the green rocky peaks of the mountains overhead. Their stay last night had been in a small inn, hardly big enough for the group of clansmen,. Most of the men slept outside near the barn, while Mary had spent the night with Fiona. Her marriage, it seemed, did not alter the fact the men slept together, while the women stayed in safer confines. Mary didn’t mind sleeping with Fiona, they had talked long into the night despite their exhaustion.
Highlanders, they both agreed, seemed to have an endless supply of energy. Most of the men had walked the journey from Perth, keeping pace easily with the sturdy lowland ponies. Nicholas, the Drummonds, as well as his father and Sebastian rode the more feisty horses.
Fiona had whispered of Rory and their initial meeting, leaving Mary and Fiona both giggling. Her brother, usually so nonchalant when it came to women, had fallen deeply for the petite Frasier lass. Their attraction had been instant, a vibration, Fiona confessed, she could feel in the air. He had been uncouth, ordering her to come to him as if she were some common trollop. Intrigued still, Fiona had laughed that she’d agreed and had wound up in Rory’s bed before the day was done. Fiona wasn’t pretty in the sense of physical beauty, quite nondescript in fact with brown hair pulled back into a braid, brown eyes and a quiet air about her. Yet beneath that quiet exterior Mary had found Fiona to be fiercely independent, willing to face such hardships as Mary had without complaint. They were two of a kind, Mary thought, and she was thankful to have the woman’s companionship. Her life had turned upside down and she was still not sure what she had done would go well.
Mary left the inn to stand outside on the steps. The air was still crisp even though it was the middle of summer. Breath fogged as the men moved around loading the horses. Nicholas stood with Rory near the barn, his hair pulled back into a small tail behind his head, broad in shoulders yet still thin compared to Rory’s hulking greatness.
His cough lingered, much to his annoyance and Mary’s worry. William had told her the lung would heal with time, but anything energetic would only delay it. Nicholas had had little time to rest between dragging her from Drymen to the events at Perth; it was hardly surprising that he continued to have effects from the blow to his chest. He was lucky to have survived.
Nicholas turned from Rory, and spying her at the steps of the inn, walked quickly over to her side. “You should be inside; it’s still cold out here.”
She pulled the edges of her cloak closer. “Nay, my place is near you.”
He rubbed her arms gently to warm her. “You have attached yourself quite readily to me, Mary Drummond Mackay. Is that so wise?”
Mary stared at the dark blue plaid he wore wrapped around his waist and then pinned at his shoulder with a small bronze clasp, surprised to see him wearing it. “Perhaps not, Highlander, but I must make the best of it.” She touched the cloth. “Do you wear this to please yer father?”
Nicholas sighed as he looked down at her fingers. “In as much as it does, I found it comforting to put on. Perhaps I am not so removed from my place as I thought.”
Mary curled her fingers into the cloth and drew him closer. She had to look up even standing on one of the steps. “It is a good thing to feel you belong, Nicholas. Don’t push that away.”
“I will try, Mary, but it’s been a long while.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb but then turned at the sound of horses.
The arriving clansmen drew Donald Mackay from within the inn to stand next to Mary, while Nicholas turned around to stand in front of her. She felt oddly protected as the riders came to a halt in front of the inn.
“Well now, are my eyes deceiving me or is it Nicky Mackay?” the eldest of the men declared with a grim smile. Mary shivered at the look of the man, awed by the power that seemed to radiate from him. Sitting stiff and straight, he wore a dull red plaid over one shoulder over a leather tunic to his hips. A claymore strapped behind his back and a blade behind his hip spoke of the violence of the Highland clans, his eyes a frigid pale blue.
“Aye, I am back,” Nicholas replied in a low voice.
Donald rested a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “It is from merry doings that we return to Varrich, William de Moravia. You will not ruin the day.”
De Moravia lifted a brow. “Have you finally settled your errant son with a woman, Donald?”
Nicholas stiffened in front of Mary. Donald moved his hand from Mary’s shoulder to Nicholas’s. “Indeed, we have. As I said it’s been a merry occasion. We only pass on to Varrich.”
De Moravia glanced back at his
men. “Still a bit of a ways to go as yet,” he noted.
Rory appeared at Nicholas’s side. “And who have we got here?” he asked, no longer the brother Mary knew, but a clansman to the Mackay, his hand casually resting on his sword.
“William de Moravia, third Earl of Sutherland,” Nicholas replied. “How is your lady wife, my lord?”
“She is well enough.” The earl studied Rory intently. “We’ve just come from Bannockburn. Quite a battle it was.”
Rory smiled agreeably, yet his gaze remained hard. “Indeed, a rout thanks to my brother’s wicked invention.”
William nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, I heard about the caltrops. We lost none of our clan, thankfully, the English, a bit more. But they’ll be back.”
“Aye, as will we,” Rory promised.
“So you have taken on a Drummond, Donald Mackay. How did you manage that?”
“It is none of your business,” Nicholas declared. “We’ve to be on our way.” He pulled Mary from the steps while the earl watched.
Mary hurried behind Nicholas, but looked back, aware of the undercurrents of hostility that flowed between the clansmen. “You don’t like him?”
“No Mackay likes a Sutherland rat,” Nicholas hissed, drawing her into the warmer confines of the barn. He pressed her against the wood siding. “Beware, Mary, of William’s silver tongue. He’d just as soon drag you off or kill you if he thought it would aid his clan. We’ve fought them as long as I can remember.”
“Ah, a clan feud is it?” Mary said, familiar with such politics. “I’ll have a mind, don’t worry. But can he keep you from Varrich?”
“No, this is a public road, but having him notice you was not a good thing.”
“Are you worried for me, lad?”
He placed his hands beside her to hold her against the wall. “Aye, I am. It makes me ill to think of anyone touching you.”
She smiled and brushed her fingers against Nicholas’s cheek. “Ah, be careful, Nicholas, I might steal yer heart yet.”
He kissed her, a quick thing that left her breathless, but more so to watch him stalk out of the barn. He had become something new again, a warrior with clansmen at his side, speaking yet with Sutherland on his horse. The men bandied words; low-voiced hissed sentiments that set well with neither party. Mary watched it from the confines of the barn door and its shadow. Her heart raced too fast while a sudden and irrational fear settled deep into her stomach. She might lose Nicholas to this fight, in as much as he was nearly lost at Bannockburn. A well-aimed stroke of steel could take him from her and for the first time she feared the politics of the Highlands, of clan feuds and more, feared losing the man she knew so little about, who had already burrowed deep into her heart.
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 9