Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay

by Return to the Highlands

  Hugh pulled away. “Ach, I will do what I can. But have a care, Bastian. We are finally all together.”

  Bastian grinned and nodded. “I’ll be back before ye even miss me.”

  ***

  Sebastian left Varrich behind, running lightly over the rocky terrain, his feet protected by flat leather shoes tied over his feet. He’d remove them when crossing any streams, but they did help with the thorns from the heather. It one of the few measures of comfort he had allowed himself, as most of the Highlanders went about barefoot for most of the summer, and some even into winter. He could do so without any ill effects, but chose not to, a mark perhaps, of Donald’s wealth to be able to afford shoes, and horses for that matter.

  Horses were noisy creatures, however, and he needed stealth. Running was far better.

  The day grew stormy once beyond Varrich and the path leading him up the great lengths of Ben Loyal. The views from that great place were stunning, the height breathtaking. Sebastian saw it as he ran, but so used to the image he spent no time admiring it.

  He reached a small valley by nightfall and camped near a narrow stream. His plaid pulled over his shoulders, he ate the rest of his cheese and then lay back to sleep to rise only a few hours later.

  Morning had him on his feet passing into another deep glen. Rain began to fall in sheets, a late summer gale, common to the Highlands. He ignored the rain, crossing a swiftly flowing stream up to his knees, and then resumed his journey without faltering. Mid morning had him climbing down a steep descent, his way marked with heather and gorse. Another stream broiled beside him, the water clear and cold. A bend hid the stream as it wended further into the valley, the rain a grey curtain around him.

  The scream made Bastian recoil in surprise.

  He rushed forward beside the stream, halting when an angry voice followed the scream.

  “Oh you rat, look what ye’ve done, you stupid cur.”

  Sebastian recognized the voice, chin lifting as he slid behind a rocky outcrop.

  He was still on Mackay land. The voice belonged to a Macleod.

  Sebastian drew his dagger, holding it loosely in his left hand. He peered around the rock expecting to find a group of Macleod warriors only to find one woman instead.

  He would have known that voice anywhere, and had expected some retort from her companions, except she had none but for an old dog lying on the bank of the stream, its head on its paws looking quite dismayed. He grinned at the dog, recognizing the elderly wolfhound as one that had often come to visit him when he’d run these hills as a boy.

  Rose Macleod was much as he remembered her, tall, willowy, with a curtain of long dark hair to her waist. She sat in the middle of the stream with the water flowing around her, dragging at her skirts.

  She pointed at the dog. “We’ve lost the bloody rabbit, the rain has ruined any herbs I’ve gathered and now I’m stuck fast. Have you no wits, cur, to leave go when I said leave go?” She hurled a rock at the dog.

  Why was the woman on Mackay land, without escort? He watched as she pulled up her skirt nearly to her waist. Creamy skin beckoned his eye, the rain plastered her kirtle to her chest, her breasts nearly visible under the thin fabric, the tight stays underneath and around her waist hidden by the water.

  Her teeth chattering, she pulled on her leg, clearly caught fast in the stream.

  Sebastian grinned and moved into view. The dog sat up and whined. Rose Macleod turned to look and gasped, shoving her skirt back into the water and over her legs. She looked around her quickly and then picked up a rock from beneath the water to hold it in her hand. She waved it warningly. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Sebastian halted, tilting his head to study her. “Ah, but that is not a good choice, lass. A bit too heavy to throw far, it would behoove you to choose a nice stone a bit smaller. Hit a man between the eyes and you can knock him right out.”

  Rose stared at her rock and then at him again. “It’ll do well enough.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “Have it your way. You seem to be stuck fast.”

  Rose’s lips were turning blue. “Nay, I sit in icy highland streams all the time. Go on with you about yer business, I’m well enough.”

  “Nay I can’t do that,” he said. “A Macleod on Mackay land proves to be an issue, you see.”

  “Mackay?” She spat, glaring at him. She pointed the rock at the dog. “I am where I am because of that rotten cur. He led me here, whining as if something were dying. I told him he’d pay. I’ll be off yer land soon enough. Be off with ye.”

  Sebastian moved along the bank, while she watched him anxiously, her rock in hand. He leaped a few rocks, waded past another to stand in front of her, just out of reach of her throw. “Ye be a long ways from Macleod country, lass. Try again.”

  She shifted her grip on the rock, clearly growing weary of holding it. “I mean you no harm, so go away.”

  “As I said, I can’t,” Sebastian replied. He moved in suddenly, startling her, gaining her side in time to duck the rock, which splashed harmlessly beside him. She fought him as he bent over her, scratching and hissing, while he delved into the water to figure out to how free her.

  Her ankle was stuck, swollen from the rocks holding it, but intact. He shoved aside the rocks while she pounded on his side. Her gasp of relief made him smile when she was finally free. He lifted her into his arms, ignoring the water draining onto his shirt and legs.

  “Let me down,” she demanded, but her arms slid around his neck as he maneuvered back out of the water.

  “Ye demand a lot of things I cannot provide,” Sebastian complained. He whistled for the dog and began to stride rapidly away from the stream.

  “W-what are you doing,” Rose demanded. She shivered almost violently in his arms, her protest clearly an effort.

  “Taking you to shelter,” Sebastian answered. He tried to ignore the vision she presented in front of him, the sheer material of her shift, the dark hair plastered to his arm and her back, the brown eyes that watched him warily.

  “I insist ye put me down.” Teeth chattering, she glared at him, an amusing contradiction in his mind. He had no intention of letting her down, or standing by to watch her catch a chill in the wet clothes. He didn’t care if she fought him tooth and nail, he was going to get her inside by a warm fire if he had to walk all day to do it.

  “Insist all ye like, but yer lips are blue. If you don’t get out of those wet clothes ye’ll have a chill and be dead in a week.”

  She snorted rudely. “I am well versed in such things, man. I’m chilled but able to do for myself.”

  “And the ankle?”

  Rose frowned. “Tis well enough.”

  He set her on her feet and she buckled, nearly falling as her ankle gave way. “Well it is,” he noted and picked her up again. He resumed his stride. He knew there was a crofter hut close by, the pasture one of many they used for the cattle, guarded by the younger Mackays. Sebastian had spent many summers here.

  He found the hut, nearly hidden in a fold of land, protected from the fierce gale winds by the rocky outcrops around it.

  Bastian settled Rose inside the murky room and then went about gathering peat from a pile outside to light a fire.

  Rose sat still, only her eyes moving to watch him.

  The fire finally crackling enough to give off heat, Sebastian turned toward Rose. “So answer my question. How do you come to be on Mackay land without a man about?”

  She stiffened, her chin lifted as she glowered at him. “I need no man, Sebastian Mackay!”

  He thought otherwise and smiled. “So you know me?”

  “Aye, I’ve seen you about,” she admitted stiffly.

  “And yer answer, lass?”

  She rubbed her nose. “I wasn’t lying. I was following the dog. He acted strangely, like I was needed. I knew I’d crossed onto yer land, but the dog wouldn’t stop.”

  “Ye traveled all this way alone? Are you mad?”<
br />
  “Aye, perhaps I am,” Rose declared, seeming weary suddenly. She wilted in front of him, folding to put her face into her hands.

  Sebastian cursed and stripped off his plaid. It was damp, but the wool would still be warmer than what she wore. “Put this on, it’ll be warmer. We can dry your clothes and I’ll take you back home.”

  Rose lifted her head to stare at him. “Take me back? Now you are mad, Mackay. I’d no more let you lead me to Macleod than the devil himself.”

  Chapter 15

  Ann Mackay had come down to dinner, a rare event it seemed, carried into the hall by Donald. She was a fair woman, dark of hair, her complexion alabaster. Nicholas pulled out the bench for her and Donald settled her on it with great care. Kissing her cheek, he then sat at his place while Nicholas dropped beside Mary. He laid his hand over hers on the table with a light squeeze.

  Branwen came in with Hugh, regally as if she owned the manor. They sat down across from Mary and Nicholas. Hugh’s face lit up at the sight of his mother. “Ye honor us tonight, mum.”

  Ann smiled at him. “Aye, I thought I’d like to sit with ye.”

  “For only as long as you do not tire,” Donald reminded her. “Yer workings in the garden are hard enough.”

  Ann waved a hand to dismiss him. “Nay, my garden revives me, husband. I would not survive unless I could breathe the highland air. She patted his hand when he scowled. “It does me good, Donald.”

  “Aye,” Fiona agreed from where she sat beside Rory. “The air is fresh and clean here. Her cheeks are pink because of it.”

  Branwen frowned at Fiona and then looked at Ann with concern. “She runs a fever, that’s why her cheeks are pink. You should be abed, Ann.”

  Ann’s smiled wavered briefly but then reappeared, firmly. “I know what is best for me, Branwen dear, but I appreciate yer concern.” She looked down the length of the table. “Where is Sebastian?”

  Hugh looked up from his ale. “He’s gone hunting, Mother. He said he’d be back in a few days.” Hugh looked at Nicholas and Donald, and then resumed sipping his ale.

  Ann nodded and then leaned forward to smile at Fiona. “Fiona, have you and Rory been together long?”

  Fiona looked at Rory. “Nay, not long, my lady.”

  Rory grinned wickedly. “Long enough to know I’ve a real handful on me hands.”

  Mary was sure Ann winked at Donald.

  Nicholas reached for the ale and poured a glass for Ann, and then for Mary. “Hugh’s new calf is a fine one. Do you mean to sell it?”

  Donald shrugged. “If the English don’t come to take it before it’s old enough to breed.” He pointed his knife at Rory. “How does the Drummond clan fare? You are much closer to things than we.”

  “As well as we can,” Rory replied. He leaned his elbows on the table to look at Donald. “The fighting is hard between Scots, both verbally and not. King Robert vies for rule, while the English attempt to intercede and demean him every chance they can. Edward means to overtake us,” Rory said. “If not now, then later.”

  Donald frowned down at his plate. “Our way of life becomes a challenge.”

  “Ye don’t think we would be defeated?” Hugh exclaimed.

  Donald met his son’s gaze. “I would hope not, nor does it really matter. Our way here will continue as it always does. Clan politics will continue to hold sway.”

  “Are the Sutherlands still fighting over the land?” Nicholas asked.

  “Always, as do the Macleods, as we always have.”

  “They have no claim to it,” Hugh declared stonily.

  “They do what they do because it’s always been that way,” Ann reminded him. “There is little we can do to make peace. Unless we mix blood, the fight will go on.”

  Donald grunted, his gaze glinting perhaps in memory. Hugh and Nicholas looked at each other. Mary swallowed her ale. Fierce, protective, the Highlanders were all suddenly grim.

  “This is not good talk for the supper table,” Mary said bravely. “Are there no festivals due this way?”

  Nicholas kissed her cheek. “Aye, the harvest grows nigh. There will be celebration then. Would you like to go?”

  Mary nodded. “Aye, that would be fun.” She pressed her fingers against Nicholas’s hand. Branwen watched them, eyes narrowed. Hugh continued the conversation seeming unaware of the sharpness of his wife’s gaze, his arm thrown casually around her shoulders. Mary sat back to avoid the woman’s stare, shivering at the goose bumps rising on her skin.

  ***

  Hugh mucked out the stall, raking the straw into a tidy pile. Dressed in his plaid, and a pair of dingy breeches, he moved efficiently, his mind bent on his thoughts. Nicholas sat on a bench just outside the stable door sharpening a scythe. A few more tools lay at his feet waiting their measure. Eying his tools, Nicholas smiled as he felt Hugh creeping silently up behind him, but did not look up.

  “Drop that on me, Hugh, and I’ll dunk you in the pond.”

  Hugh paused with the straw just over Nicholas’s head. A few pieces drifted down to land on Nicholas’s lap. “How’d ye know?”

  “I’ve been fighting for fifteen years, Hugh. Not to mention we grew up together. I know you only too well.”

  “Damn,” Hugh complained.

  “Put it down,” Nicholas said.

  Hugh tossed the straw outside. “Have ye seen Bastian yet?”

  Nicholas eyed the road and then resumed sharpening the blade. “Nay.”

  “I told him he should not have left.”

  “I know what he is doing.”

  “Do you now,” Hugh inquired, moving into the sun to sit on his heels. He peered at Nicholas curiously.

  “Sebastian is not the eldest only by blood. He has responsibilities.” Nicholas held up the blade to inspect it critically. “He’s gone to check on the Macleod’s, or at least that is his excuse.”

  Hugh rested his elbows on his knees, relaxed in a posture a Highlander could hold for hours. “What do you mean?”

  Nicholas lifted a brow at Hugh. “He’s gone looking for someone.”

  “Not Macleod?”

  “No, not Macleod. We will come across him soon enough,” Nicholas predicted. “No, Sebastian’s being led at this point by lust.”

  Hugh lifted a hand to rub his chin. His dark hair curled around his ears, shorn close to the scalp. A thin beard curved along his jaw, well trimmed to a sharp line that only emphasized the stubborn cast in his expressions. “I’ve not seen him with any lass.”

  “I think it’s been a long distance affair,” Nicholas surmised. “My returning, perhaps, has prodded him into motion. The problem is she is not Mackay.”

  “Bastian wouldn’t want someone easy,” Hugh agreed with a wry smile.

  Nicholas chuckled at the comment. No, the eldest of the Mackays had resisted marriage much like Nicholas had, refusing any suggestions put to him. Not that it mattered to the local women, who flocked to the man like bees to honey. “He’s fool enough to choose someone already married to boot,” Nicholas added.

  Hugh narrowed his eyes, clearly debating on the available women. Sebastian was almost secretive on the issue of women, preferring to pursue his quarry unhurried and without interference. It would not be a surprise if Bastian had not mentioned anything.

  Hugh scratched at his chin and studied Nicholas. He smiled when Nicholas glanced at him, brows drawn tight. “What are you thinking, Hugh?”

  “Ah, that love comes like a knock on the head some days, does it not?”

  Nicholas paused, his hands dropping to rest on his thighs. “Aye. Was it that way with Branwen?”

  Hugh’s expression changed, his gaze shuttered. He shook his head. “Well enough, Nicky.”

  Nicholas frowned, staring at him for a long moment. “You are sure?” He knew Hugh would not tell him much. Their differences in Stirling still hovered between them. Nicholas had no idea how to repair the closeness they once had, cursing Branwen
for coming between them.

  Hugh grimaced. “To all purposes we are, leave it go.”

  “I don’t like seeing you so troubled,” Nicholas remarked quietly. “You pretend to be happy, Hugh, but you are not.”

  “I am,” Hugh argued. He stood up abruptly, changing the subject. “So who do ye think it might be? Ye think she’s married?”

  “Aye, and no doubt saddled with a passel of brats and without most of her teeth,” Nicholas replied, his gaze still thoughtful as it rested on Hugh.

  Hugh laughed ruefully, green eyes twinkling again. “I think I might know who he longs for,” Hugh said. “It’s that Macleod woman isn’t it?”

  Nicholas grunted. “How do you know about her?”

  “Bastian mentioned her one time, in a way I’ve not heard him speak of any other. I’ve never forgotten it, even when he’s had more women than I can count on two hands.”

  “Well, he is the heir. Important to continue the line,” Nicholas suggested in amusement.

  “Ach, he’s fathered none that I know of. Things don’t last long enough for that.”

  Nicholas chuckled. “Leave him go, Hugh. He’ll be back, lass in tow if he can.”

  ***

  Sebastian did indeed have a woman in tow, if reluctantly, cursing him nearly every step of the way. Rose had agreed to use his plaid only if he remained outside the hut. Accepting her conditions, he had spent the night in the rain in only his shirt, the dog his only companion. It brought back memories of his youth, the dog an irregular attendant at times.

  “Well boy,” Bastian said to the dog. “We’ve survived the night. Ye’ve brought me a handsome gift, ye know.”

  The dog looked at the closed door and then at Sebastian and barked. He snuffled at the door and it opened to reveal Rose dressed once more in her kirtle and stays, her skirt covering her toes.

  “Get up, Mackay.” She kicked him out of the way.

  Sebastian rose fluidly to his feet and turned to block the doorway, bracing his hands on the frame beside him. “Be nice, Rose, I’ve done as you asked.”