Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay

by Return to the Highlands

  She glared at him frostily. “I’m going home now. Yewill not follow, nor come near.”

  “Where is your husband, lass? He should be a might upset ye’ve been gone so long.”

  Rose stared at him haughtily. “I’ve no husband any longer. He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Sebastian crushed the rising glee in his heart. “How?”

  She moved back inside to sit by the fire, now only smoldering coals. She pointed to his plaid lying on the floor. “Dress yourself. Yer legs look nigh near frozen. He was killed fighting against an English division of soldiers sent up to loot and cause mayhem a few years back.”

  Sebastian had heard of that. The English bastards were heartless, killing women and children as much as any Highlander rebel unfortunate to be caught by them. He picked up the plaid, disappointed Rose had little reaction to his wearing only his shirt, even though it covered him decently enough to mid thigh. He sighed and wrapped the cloth around his waist and then was surprised when she stood up to help him belt it, her fingers deftly working the leather around his waist and then into the buckle, tucking the remaining length under the belt. She pulled the rest of the plaid over his shoulder and pinned his brooch.

  His skin tingled where she had touched him. His throat dry, he cleared it to continue their conversation.

  Rose swept outside before he could speak.

  He followed, squinting at the bright light. The rain had finally stopped mid morning.

  “I am going home,” she announced firmly.

  “I will take ye there.”

  “Nay,” she whirled to face him. “Ye can take me a ways for I know you will have me tossed over yer shoulder if I do not allow it.” She grimaced at his grin. “But, you will not go further once I tell you. I will not be bound to you, Mackay, like that woman yer brother Nicholas has brought home.”

  “So ye’ve heard of that already?”

  “Aye, news travels fast. Ye know how Macleod feels about him.”

  Sebastian tucked his dagger back into his belt. “Aye.” He followed Rose along the stream, the dog following behind them sedately.

  She had a good stride, nimble like a deer even with her faint limp. He had offered to carry her and had only gotten a glare in return. He saw flashes of ankle at times, admired the long sweep of her hair, and grinned several times when she had to lean over to climb over a rock.

  He was enjoying himself immensely.

  When she turned to stare at him, hands on her hips, he knew he was caught.

  “Have ye had enough yet, Mackay?”

  Sebastian moved around her just out of reach. “Nay, not yet. you can continue, ‘tis not far now to the border.”

  Rose turned as he circled her slowly. “I need no further escort, man. Go home now.”

  “Perhaps I don’t want to.”

  “It would be in yer best interest to do so,” she declared coldly.

  He wasn’t deterred. “Clan politics aside, Rose, admit you like me.”

  “How can I like ye, I know you not.”

  “Oh, but we’ve connected, ye can’t argue that.”

  “Spending the night in the rain has addled yer brain,” Rose remarked. “Stand over there and I’ll leave you as I said.”

  “But I don’t want ye to go as yet,” Sebastian complained.

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Am I to be concerned, Mackay?”

  Sebastian had only one thing in mind. “Oh, aye, ye should be,” he agreed. He moved a step closer and Rose backed up two. “I mean ye no harm, though, lass.”

  “I think ye do,” Rose disagreed, her face pale.

  “Nay,” Sebastian insisted. “A man sometimes finds there is only one thing he wants and when he realizes it; neither hell nor high water will keep him from it.”

  “Or clan hatreds?” Rose added, backing up two more steps.

  “Do ye hate me, Rose?”

  She frowned lifting her hands when he stepped closer, palms out to keep him at bay. “Nay, I do not hate ye, Mackay. But leave it at that.”

  “I can’t. You will be mine, Rose Macleod.”

  She gasped eyes wide. “It is treason to yer clan you speak!”

  “No, it’s not. I simply want a woman and don’t care what her name is.”

  “Foolish man,” Rose insisted, looking behind her for escape. “There is no way it could be done. Macleod would never allow it.”

  “But ye are a widow, with some rights.”

  “I am a Macleod,” she persisted.

  Sebastian grinned, stalking nearer. “I’ll find a way, Rose, trust me.” He reached for her, ducking the swing of her arm to pull her against his chest. “And I’ll have what I want now, lass. A wee kiss, that’s all, a man can’t live without a kiss or two.” He held her tightly as she fought him, fists pounding on his shoulders, back arched to keep her distance, but Bastian would not have it. He dragged her against his hips with his arm and wrapped the other behind her, holding her fast by the back of her neck. He kissed her. Squirming as she was, she incited much more than the simple desire he’d had for the embrace. He deepened the kiss, savoring the freshness of her mouth, her inhale as he thrust his tongue against hers. His mind clouded with desire, he lifted her off her feet to shift her more intimately against him, aware distantly that her hands had gripped his shoulders.

  The reason returned to them both and she shoved him back, stumbling on her bad ankle while Bastian staggered to the side. Head spinning he looked at her in concern but she waved him off, breathing rapidly.

  “Nay, touch me not again, Mackay,” Rose spat. She wiped her lips with a trembling hand.

  Sebastian smiled faintly. “Admit ye liked it, Rose.”

  She lifted her chin haughtily. “I’ll admit nothing of the sort. Now, I am going home and you will not follow me.”

  He nodded. “Go on then, but keep the dog with ye.”

  She stood up and moved away a few steps.

  “Although I probably won’t sleep at all tonight with worrying that ye’d not made it home,” Bastian declared.

  Rose stiffened and turned around. “My ankle is sore, aye, but I’ll live. Ye will be dead if ye step one foot on Macleod land.”

  “Well, remember my name if you return to ours, Rose. Only I can keep ye safe if you return to Mackay country.”

  She glared at him, lips tight. “A threat, Mackay?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “The truth, threat for threat, Macleod.”

  Rose smiled suddenly and then turned away.

  “Rose,” Sebastian added.

  She looked back over her shoulder, pausing, but did not turn around.

  “Where is yer uncle?”

  She shivered visibly. “On a mission, Sebastian Mackay, a very important mission.”

  Sebastian stared at her for a long moment and then cursed, turning back toward home.

  ***

  Rose slowed her pace once out of sight of Sebastian Mackay, looking back once over her shoulder to be sure he wasn’t following. The man would not be if he’d understood her warning. She wasn’t sure why she had said anything, to have done so might have serious consequences should anyone find out.

  The Mackays had been enemies for ages. Warfare was common between many clans in the Highlands, a sometimes violent and brutal affair and at others quite amicable while stealing cattle back and forth. It was a good day if none were found dead on the moors. The Macleod’s personal hatred for Nicholas Mackay was not so longstanding, but instead brought on by the death of Rose’s cousin Aodh, the chieftain’s youngest son. Finding Nicholas Mackay home had stirred the fires of vengeance and Macleod had acted swiftly.

  Although Rose did not live within the Macleod compound, but rather in a small crofter’s hut a few leagues south of the Mackay border, she had heard both of Nicholas’s return and of her uncle’s vow to avenge his son’s death. Her husband Johnnie, had he been alive, would have understood the hatred intimately.


  Their marriage, an arranged one between Macleod and her father, had lasted less than fifteen years. To her great relief, no children had come from the union. Johnnie, like many of her family, had a temper that often seemed to play itself out on Rose. She had refused to bring children into that kind of life and had taken precautions to prevent it. Had Johnnie known, he probably would have killed her for it. As it was, he died fighting the English. Although glad to have him gone, she’d mourned his death at the hands of the Scottish enemy.

  Sebastian Mackay, however, was a completely different man.

  Rose called to the dog. The wolfhound bounded over to her, tongue hanging out. She bent down to pet him. “Ye did something foolish, did you not, Bain. Ye knew I was feeling blue and ye brought me to the Mackay.” She knelt down to rest her ankle for it throbbed painfully. She would have never told Sebastian however, resistant to his arrogance that he could and would take care of her.

  Stubborn as she was, she could admit now that Sebastian Mackay had set her heart to racing. His appearance in the rain had shocked her, his humor and the look in his eyes as he watched her made her breathless. Johnnie Macleod had never made her breathless in his best efforts. Sebastian Mackay could do it with one sultry look from those grey Mackay eyes.

  But thinking of him was madness. No matter that he had gallantly pulled her free of the stream, or that he had accepted her cruel conditions and had slept out in the rain with Bain the whole night. She’d woke the next morning shocked to find he hadn’t come to her bed.

  No, Sebastian Mackay was unlike any highland man she knew. Confident, patient as a man could be to declare her his when both family and reason said otherwise.

  Rose grinned and kissed Bain on the head. “Yer a wonderful dog, Bain. Now I know where you were all those times ye disappeared. you went to him, did ye not?”

  Bain wagged his tail, his eyes bright.

  Rose pushed herself to her feet, wincing at the pain in her ankle. It was a good walk yet, limping, she wouldn’t get home until dark, not that the night lasted long in the Highlands in summer. Once home though, she would have some explaining to do to Johnnie’s father. He would know she was gone, and being close to her uncle, would expect a very good excuse for her absence.

  Chapter 16

  The days passed quietly for Nicholas. Mary seemed to settle into Varrich. Even Branwen was reluctantly civil. The time allowed him to grow complacent, to forget the battles, and to forget for a time even the differences between clans.

  It didn’t last long though. As the weather continued to stay warm during the harvesting, his life changed once again.

  The horse knew the way and picked the trail carefully amid the rocks and heather. Mary clung to Nicholas’s back, riding behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Nicholas felt content and Mary seemed happy to be away from Varrich.

  “Where are we going,” she asked. Her fingers were teasing, tight on his hips and then sometimes roving into places they shouldn’t.

  “I thought we would visit some of the crofter huts you were so insistent on living in.”

  “Ah, I see.” Mary laughed, hugging him tightly. “I would have done so, ye know.”

  Nicholas smiled at the thought. “For one night and then would have ordered me back to Varrich.”

  “Nay, they are not all bad. Look there is one.”

  He guided the horse around the bend toward where Mary pointed. It was the home of one of the herdsmen, Ben. The man came out of the house when they reached it, a pipe in one hand, and the other out in welcome.

  “By God, it is you . Damn we heard ye’d come back, Nicholas, but I didn’t want to believe it until I saw ye.”

  Nicholas dismounted to grip the man’s hand, and then pulled Mary down beside him. “I am back, Ben. This is Mary, my wife.”

  Ben stuck the pipe between his teeth, merry blue eyes, so familiar in the Highlands, twinkling. “Aye, was said she was a bonny lass, pretty enough to snare a man set on being a bachelor all his life. How’d ye do it?”

  Mary smiled. “Ye should be asking Nicholas how it all came about.”

  Ben arched a brow at Nicholas. “Ah, I see, but things have turned out well?”

  Nicholas grinned. “Aye, well enough.”

  “Ye plan on going up to the point?”

  Nicholas glanced warily at Mary. “Aye, I might.”

  “Tis a nice view from up there at sunset,” a woman declared, coming out from the cottage. She smiled at Nicholas, a hand braced on her back, arched in the way women did when near full term. Her other hand rested on her belly just beneath her breasts. “I know it is one of my favorites.”

  Mary gave Nicholas a speculative glance. “How long before the babe arrives?”

  Ben grinned proudly. “Ah, not long, a few days we think, a week at most. Branwen was here a while ago and left Peg some herbs to aid the birthing.”

  Peg gasped and then rubbed her stomach. “Aye, won’t be long now. Come have some tea will you Nicholas, Mary?”

  Mary caught Peg’s arm and pushed her to a bench beside the door. “Let me get it, Peg. I can find things.”

  Peg sighed and waved her inside. “All right, my lady, I won’t argue. The tea is in a small pot near the fire, on the shelf, I’ve a few seed cakes…”

  Mary didn’t hear as she’d gone inside. When she came back, Nicholas had pulled up another bench and the two men sat on logs from the woodpile. They spoke of little things and then when Peg arched back at another pain, Mary leaned forward to touch her arm. “Is it bad?”

  “Ach no, just a wee tremor is all. I’ve been having them for nigh a week now. Won’t be long though.”

  “Have you a midwife nearby?”

  Peg smiled in amusement. “No, no, but Branwen is close and I have her herbs for the pain. We’ll do fine, don’t worry.”

  “I would have ye send for me if ye need help,” Mary offered. “Or better yet, ask for Lady Fiona. She is my sister and is very good at healing.”

  Peg nodded. She placed her hand low on her belly. “I will be fine, but I can send for ye if ye like, or Lady Fiona, but I don’t think we will have need.” She sighed. “God will take care of us, to be sure.”

  ***

  An hour later, Nicholas and Mary were riding once again, picking their way carefully amid the rocky terrain. The mountains cradled them, their peaks green and brown, drawing Mary’s eye to their heights, intrigued to know how things looked from there.

  Nicholas guided the horse at times, at others allowed the animal to choose its path.

  The quiet was companionable, as if both of them drank in the scenery and felt its serenity.

  “Where do we go now?” Mary asked, reluctant to break the mood.

  Nicholas shifted to glance at her from over his shoulder. “I’d like to check on Wesley. Bastian said he was doing fairly, which means the man has not been taking care. Wesley lost his wife just before I left and was nearly inconsolable. Bastian says he has never taken another. The man has talent, a woodsman of keen skill. He has made much of the furniture at Varrich. We’d hate to lose him.”

  “Is he the one who broke his leg?”

  “Aye. I am curious as to how; the man does not generally roam far from his cottage.”

  Mary tightened her grip on Nicholas’ waist as the horse lunged up a steep part of the path. “And after that?”

  Nicholas grinned back at her. “We will see.”

  She grunted in response, but then smiled against his back.

  The cottage, so called, was nothing remarkable, a grey turf building with a shabby thatched roof needing repair, while the man they sought sat outside on a bench. Wesley squinted up at them when Nicholas stopped, one hand shading his eyes.

  “Damnation!”

  “Don’t swear in front of the lady,” Nicholas said sternly as he helped Mary down once again.

  Wesley struggled to get up, his leg spliced into a wooden splint. He was filthy, his
chin rough with beard, his hair long past his shoulders. “Nicholas Mackay, god’s blood man, I thought ye dead!”

  Nicholas gripped the man’s hand and pushed him back to the bench. “As many seem to do. How are you, Wesley?”

  “Fine, my lord, just fine. And this is yer new wife, eh?” Wesley peered at her from beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows. The man needed some serious cleaning up Mary decided.

  “Aye, this is my Mary,” Nicholas said in introduction. He gestured faintly at the cottage and Mary, sniffing, went inside to find things for tea again.

  She regretted it as soon as she was inside for the cottage reeked. Holding her breath she went back to the door and flung it open, ignoring the startled glances of the two men outside. The light from the doorway revealed the cottage in worse repair than she thought. She turned to survey the mess with her hands on her hips. Nicholas stuck his head inside the door and then frowned.

  “Bachelor,”

  “Lazy get,” Mary disagreed sternly.

  “Ah, give the man a chance, Mary. He’s a good man.”

  She sniffed again.

  “I’ve brought him some of Rory’s whisky.”

  She glared at Nicholas. “If ye drink like ye did…”

  He waved his hand with a grin. “Nay, I’m leaving it for Wesley, but must take a dram or two for politeness.”

  Mary snorted but knew it would take some time for her to clean up, something she was determined to do. “Go on then, be yer loss if I find you snoring outside.”

  Nicholas lifted a brow his grin suddenly wicked. “Is that a promise, lass?”

  She turned her back on her husband to survey the room again. Nicholas chuckled and shut the door.

  Mary rolled her eyes and opened it again, scowling at Nicholas for good measure. She went back inside and stood surveying the mess. She cleaned what she could. Dragging the linens, what little there were of them, she dumped them outside the door. Nicholas looked up from beside Wesley, who stared at Mary in horror.

  “What are ye doing, lass?” Wesley croaked, the flask tucked suddenly into his shirt.