“Da,” Sebastian hoped the endearment might soften the chieftain’s certain displeasure, for Rose’s sake.
“It won’t work,” Donald replied in a flat voice, “if ye mean to lighten the issue that ye bring to our table.”
Sebastian smiled faintly. “I meant only to draw yer attention, sir.” Bastian caught the faint hint of a smile that curved Donald’s lips before they drew once again into a tight line of disapproval. He straightened slowly from the mantle and adjusted the brooch holding his plaid to his chest. He looked from Sebastian to Rose, noting certainly the clasped hands, as well as Rose’s unconscious step back. Donald rested a hand on his sword and bowed before her.
“Welcome to Varrich, lass.”
Rose released Sebastian’s hand but wearing breeches seemed to confuse what she should do so she simply bowed her head and then straightened. “I am glad to be here, my lord.”
“I can well imagine the circumstances as to why ye are here,” the chieftain began in a dry voice, “but not so much the attire ye’ve taken on to wear.”
Rose looked down and then at Sebastian, her lips twitching. Sebastian grinned and laid his arm over her shoulders. “It was a good way to hide, when a man’s expecting to see a woman and not a slim boy.”
“From a very great distance,” Donald added wryly. He moved away from the fire to stand in front of Bastian. Moving his son aside, he then proceeded to walk around Rose, his gaze traveling over her, one hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I have no energy to deal with yer indiscretions, lad.”
Sebastian stiffened and stepped forward only to be halted by Donald’s hand on his chest. “I’ve not harmed the lass in any way. She has her virtue fully intact.”
“What there is of it,” Donald agreed and smiled when Sebastian sucked in a deep breath.
“If ye were any other man, I’d kill ye for saying such a thing.”
Donald dragged Sebastian close, his fingers tight into Bastian’s tunic. “And if I had less things on my mind, lad, I would flay yer hide for bringing a Macleod into Varrich.” He threw Sebastian back a step with a frown, yet when he turned to Rose she stood defiantly without fear.
“Ye’ve got courage lass, I can see that.”
“I ask only for shelter, my lord. As soon as I can manage it I will leave to find my kin in Ireland.”
Donald held up his hand when Sebastian began to speak.
“Not necessary when it is clear my son’s intent. That is not to say I am happy or that I approve, but until I find time to investigate this situation further, I offer ye Mackay protection. Ye do have need of this protection, do ye not?”
Rose touched her eye and then nodded faintly. “I would be honored, sir.”
Donald touched her chin and looked at her closely. “I’ve never been one to agree with Torquil’s tactics, nor his way of behaving. This only reminds me of why. This is more than a few days old, where have ye hidden then in the meantime?”
“In a hut near the border.”
Donald glanced at Sebastian and then dropped his hand to move past Rose back to the fire. “And the dog ye brought with you ?”
Rose blinked and then gasped. “Bain!”
Sebastian grinned and shifted as the dog leaped up from where he’d collapsed by the door. “In all the furor and quick departure, I thought ye’d given no mind to the dog. He followed well enough, but is a bit winded for all that.”
Rose sank down next to Bain to press her face into his fur. Sebastian turned to look at his father and their eyes met. Understanding passed between them and Sebastian bowed with a touch to his brow.
“Ye can give her the guest room now that the women have sorted things out,” Donald said. “She will stay here with Fiona and Ann when we go to retrieve Mary. I can only hope we do not have to parlay with any Macleods before dealing with Sutherland.”
Rose looked up from beside Bain. “Oh, I don’t think he knows where I am.”
Donald laughed sourly and poured a drink from the whisky Ann set on the table.
“Oh, he’s a good mind to where ye are at, lass. Trust me, Torquil chooses his battles carefully.” He drank the small dram and then held out the glass toward Ann.
“My wife, Lady Ann Mackay, and an adopted daughter, Fiona. She is married to Mary’s brother Rory. Ye know of Mary, I take it, at yer expression.” Donald poured another drink and then with a deep sigh, sat down next to Ann.
“Aye,” Rose replied after glancing at Sebastian. “She is Nicholas’s new wife.”
“Aye, indeed,” Donald muttered, “a comely lass if a bit impulsive.” He looked at Rose with a sudden smile. “Ye shall fit in well, I think, once matters are done.” He waved them away with his hand.
Sebastian left his father in front of the fire with Anna and Fiona, drawing Rose to her feet and then up the stairs to the last room off the hall. Pulling Rose inside he shut the door and then grinned widely. “Not eaten at all lass, just a minor skirmish.”
Rose shivered and pulled out of Sebastian’s arms to study the room. “Is this yer room?”
Sebastian settled against the door and folded his arms over his chest. “Nay, I’ve given mine to Rory and Fiona.”
“Ah,” Rose said briefly. She moved to the far wall to a small window. She peered outside and then turned to look at Sebastian. “Yer father has a good amount of patience. Not such a dragon after all, but I do not doubt should he decide I cannot stay that ye will abide by his wishes.”
Sebastian pushed off the door and stalked across the room until Rose was once more in his arms, his fingers tight on her shoulders, his head lowered until he had but to lean forward to kiss her. “I would do whatever I must to keep ye, even if it means leaving Varrich.”
Rose stared into the depths of his gaze, the deep shadows beneath his lashes, the world that lay just out of her reach. “I’d not ask that of ye, Mackay.”
“I’d do it, but I don’t think it will come to that even so.” He pressed his lips against hers, his mouth hard with hunger. Rose sighed when he finally let her go, her blood rushing hotly. His smile made her heart thump painfully in her chest but he only pressed another kiss to her brow. “Rest, I cannot stay further or Da will be here to complain. I must respect his wishes, but that is not to say I won’t come back, later.”
Rose could say little more as he bent his head to trail a kiss down her jaw to her neck, a burning swath that left her suddenly breathless. She pushed him away before they both forgot themselves. She pressed a hand to her chest to calm her heart.
“Go on, Mackay. I am here at Varrich now; it is time to focus on yer brother.”
Sebastian nodded and then smiled. “I will see ye later.
Chapter 24
The day of Samhain arrived cold and chill as if reflecting the mood of the four Mackay men waiting impatiently to leave. Dressed in assorted versions of highland dress, they all had chosen the dark blue woven into most of their plaids as a unifying color. Nicholas wore a white linen tunic under a heavy leather doublet, along with breeches and his boots. He looked more like one of the Hospitalier knights he once accompanied than a Scottish Highlander, but for the navy plaid tossed across his chest and then pinned to his shoulder. He carried his sword strapped behind his back and a long dirk in his boot.
Donald descended the steps of the keep dressed once more in a saffron colored shirt and breeches, a dark blue plaid pinned by a heavy brooch to his shoulder with the remaining lengths draped behind his back like a cloak. Straps buckled over his arms at the elbows to contain the wide sleeves of his tunic, while more wrapped his legs below the knee. He tucked a wicked looking blade into a sheath on his belt and then stopped in front of the door while he finished tying the laces on the leather bracer on his wrist.
Rory stood in the way, arms folded over his chest. “Ye mean business,” he said.
Donald nodded. “We will fight for what is ours, land or otherwise.”
Rory nodded. “Aye, as do we all. I will ride with ye.”
> “No.” Donald pressed a hand to Rory’s shoulder. “Ye have been like a brother to Nicholas. I know that ye would stand at his side, death take ye, to aid him. But this is not yer fight, ye great hulking Scot.” When Rory opened his mouth to complain, Donald waved a hand. “Nay, we are set on this decision, but I would ask ye a favor just as important.”
***
The Mackays did not hurry, but rode sedately, silent within their own thoughts. Nicholas inhaled deeply to clear his mind and closed his eyes. The wind brought the smell of the hills, the fading grass, and the salt from the sea. Face grim, he kept his thoughts at bay, focusing only on the movement of his horse, the breeze that touched his skin like a caress. It did not help much; his chest ached from the tension of the past few days, his breath once again labored as he tried to breathe deeply. Had he the choice, he would have painted his skin grey as the Picts of old would have, to declare his intent -- a warning of little mercy to come.
The road led to the east, guided by sharp bands of sunlight from the rising sun, the sky mottled in pink and grey, the clouds massed heavy beyond the horizon. The clouds allowed only a few rays to breach the wall of grey that promised more rain. It was a fitting mood, somber and grave as Nicholas plodded along, wanting nothing more than to spur his horse into a lathering gallop toward Mary. But he kept the pace without complaint, using the time to narrow his focus and intent, eyes pinned to the road ahead as if his gaze alone could pierce Sutherland’s heart.
Sebastian rode beside him, dressed also in blue but only by a thick band tied around his waist. He’d pulled on a linen tunic with wide sleeves tucked into leather vambraces on each wrist. Inside each Nicholas knew, would be a tiny sgian dubh made just for that purpose. Older only by a few years, his brother sat regally in the saddle, a fine heir to the clan should Donald fall. Nicholas smiled faintly, remembering his return last evening only to find Bastian pacing like a caged animal in the hall.
“Is she here?” Nicholas leaned his sword against the wall when Bastian sent him a grimace.
“Aye.”
Rory dropped heavily to a bench to rub his hands through his hair sending icy drops of rain flying. “So why so glum, man. Nicholas says she’s a bonny wench.”
“She is, but Da’s set a guard to her door. He’s taking this protection thing far too seriously.”
Nicholas lifted a brow and tried not to grin. “Ye did offer her our protection.”
“Aye, I did, mine, not some Mackay clansman unwilling to let me pass.”
Rory snorted faintly, his eyes brimming with amusement. “It seems Donald Mackay knows exactly just who she needs protection from.”
Bastian scowled fiercely.
Nicholas drew his brother to a bench and shoved him down. “Sit. It is for the best, for this is no night to find pleasure so great as to possibly miss tomorrow.”
Sebastian looked at Nicholas curiously. “Or more importantly, we should find our pleasure when we may not get more tomorrow or ever after.”
Rory stared ruefully down at the puddle forming around his feet. “We’ve handled things badly to give ye cause to do the same. Take her as protocol demands -- after ye’ve wed her. ‘Twill make things easier, trust me on that.”
The silence greeting his statement lengthened until Nicholas emitted a rude snort and the two Mackays began to laugh until they were leaning against each other and wiping their eyes.
Rory only stared at them, his mouth a flat line. “And what did I say that was so funny?”
Nicholas chuckled again at the memory, knowing Rory’s intention all along had been to ease Sebastian’s frustrations. It had helped, with the three of them spending much of the night at the fire boasting of things done and battles won. It had helped pass the time.
Time however, now lagged on, the steps measured as he traveled further east. They had passed the village of Tongue and then turned south to where the Naver ran clear and cold. The grass shivered in the wind, the seed heads sparkling when touched by the sun, then the glitter would fade as the clouds moved in, leaving the fronds nearly desolate in the gloom.
Donald urged his horse in front to arrive first at the festival, leading his sons in a small deadly procession that quickly drew attention. He wore his hair pulled back, proud in his plaid, one ear glinting with a gold earring. Bearing sword and a dagger at his hip, he looked like the fierce chieftain he was.
Bastian rode second, his long hair free and ruffling in the wind. Two knives and a sword lashed to his horse, as well as the grave expression on his face sent the people staring at them moving back warily.
Hugh brought up the rear, alone, behind Nicholas. He wore blue as well, a long wool cloth draped over his chest to trail over the back of his horse. Leather breeches and a saffron shirt, along with a two-handed claymore strapped to his back completed his attire.
They had allowed no others to accompany them. If they were to fall, it would be together.
Nicholas pulled his gaze from his brother, nodding at Hugh. The Samhain festival was in full swing, set in a small meadow sheltered from the buffeting wind. The booths lined up along the main path to sell various wares were crowded with men and women alike, benches and tables allowed the Highlanders to gather and drink, but everything seemed to stop when the Mackays rode past.
The time it took to travel through the field gave Sutherland plenty of notice of their arrival. People began to whisper. Men gripped their weapons. Celebrations such as this brought all the clans, no matter their feuding.
Nicholas noted a few Macleods, Mackenzies, Ross, as well as some MacDonalds of the Isles and further south, plus a Frasier or two. He did not miss the number of Sutherlands, but this was as close to their land as it was Mackay. It was common to find them at the festival.
A pavilion had been set up in the field.
The Mackays stopped in front of the platform, side by side.
The Earl of Sutherland appeared from inside the tent and folded his arms over his chest. He waited for someone to speak.
Donald nodded stiffly in greeting. “Sutherland.”
“Mackay.”
“It ye touched my wife in any way…” Donald began, leaving the rest to trail off.
The Earl of Sutherland smiled. “Did she tell you otherwise?”
“Nay,” Donald admitted.
“Then believe her. I did nothing but hold her in high regard. Ann is a calm woman, regal even. She does you proud Donald.”
Donald glanced toward Nicholas. “Ye still have something of ours.”
Nicholas remained on his horse, his fingers gripping the reins, jaw set to control the flooding rage inside him. It took all he could do to remain seated, to not draw his sword and leap down to carve Sutherland’s heart from his chest.
Sutherland grinned maliciously, looking up at Nicholas, clearly aware of his struggle to hold his temper. “Indeed I do. You’ve come to kill, have you, Nicholas?”
Nicholas touched his brow. “I might.”
The Earl nodded. “You know, I was surprised to see you in the Highlands,” he remarked conversationally. “I thought you long dead these past years. I’ve since heard rumors and even spoken with the Bruce. Nicholas Mackay has quite a reputation, my boy.”
“It matters not,” Nicholas replied in a flat voice.
“Aye well, to some it does.” Sutherland moved a bit to the side and another man stepped up to the platform from behind it.
Donald dismounted immediately, as did his sons, to kneel in front of the pavilion.
Robert the Bruce looked at the Mackay men in front of him sternly. Tall with dark hair to his shoulders, graced with a stubborn chin nearly hidden by his beard, Nicholas noted he viewed them with an intuitive gaze. He wore a hip length tunic of deep red with a darker woven checkered plaid draped over his shoulder and stood considering them until at last, rings glinting on his hand, he waved at them to stand. “Well, a fine showing of highland righteousness if I ever saw one.”
He clasped Donald’s hand firmly. “I have heard many things about the Mackay and their chieftain,” Robert said, “not all of them good. I have yet to decide if I believe them or not.” He clapped Bastian on the shoulder and grinned at him, then stood in front of Nicholas.
“I thought you lost at Bannockburn. Angus told me he’d seen you alive and that Mary Drummond had taken you under her wing.”
Nicholas curled his lip. “She might have done something like that.” He met the King’s gaze without reservation, his intent not diminished by the royal presence. Robert’s eyes held a sense of age, as if he’d seen far more than most men, knew things Nicholas would never understand. Nicholas dropped his gaze.
Robert’s voice dropped low, as if he spoke only to Nicholas. “I hear you repaid her by stealing her away?”
The answer had many consequences. Nicholas lifted his chin to meet the King’s gaze without regret. “I did.”
Robert pursed his lips, his brown eyes twinkling. He leaned closer to Nicholas, his hand resting casually on the sword at his hip. “It seems that Maelcolm Beg was told in no uncertain terms that the man for his daughter was one Nicholas Mackay, however she had to have him.”
Nicholas blinked in surprise.
Robert chuckled and stepped back. He glanced at the crowd watching breathlessly and raised his voice for all to hear. “You have one hell of a friend to persuade his father to allow a kidnapping with hardly a blow back for revenge. You would be wise to follow suit.”
“My lord…” Nicholas began. Should he attempt to explain? Robert did not give him an opportunity to do so as he held up his hand.
“Times are difficult now as you well know,” the King announced, facing Nicholas, his gaze stern once again.
“Aye,” Nicholas agreed stiffly.
“I will need all hands to continue to fight the English. I’ve no time for clan feuds or disputes. Scotland itself is far more important, do you not agree, Mackay?” The King paused to appraise Nicholas, brow lifted.
“Indeed, my liege.” Nicholas sighed inwardly and lowered his gaze slightly to watch Robert resume his pacing.
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 26