Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay

by Return to the Highlands

She held her breath, winding her fingers into his tunic. Nicholas slid his hand behind her neck. “Never. You will agree to this now.”

  “But Nicholas…” Mary began.

  Nicholas tightened his grip on her shoulder and cleared his throat of the anger that simmered still beneath his breast. “Never,” he demanded. “Ye didn’t know of the story until Macleod spoke of it, of why we feud. It doesn’t matter why we fight.” He took a moment to control his voice, surprised to find himself lapsing back into the old speech. “You are my wife and your actions dishonored me, my authority and my clan.”

  Mary nodded. “I know, I am sorry, Nicholas, I just…”

  “No, do not explain why.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, ignoring the curious glances sent their way. “I would not have killed him, Mary. Macleod does not entertain any story but the one he believes to be true. But because he does not know the truth, I would not have killed him over false pretenses. Wounded him, aye, that I would have, enough to punish him for even the thought of touching you, but I would not have killed him.”

  “Ye did not have to explain,” Mary whispered into his chest.

  “No, but I am.” Nicholas sighed and then placed his hands on her cheeks to make her look at him. “I will say this now, in front of the clans, Mary, that I love you. I will defend you with my life if need be. But you must trust me and my judgment. You are a Mackay and loyalty to me and mine must be placed before questions. Do you understand? It is the way it must be. I cannot worry that you will interfere again.”

  Rory appeared beside them, detaching himself from the numerous bouts of arm wrestling nearby. Fiona looked at them from beside the large Scot, clearly concerned.

  “Agree,” Nicholas whispered.

  Mary’s eyes glimmered. “I agree, Highlander.”

  Relief made his hands tremble. He glanced at Rory. “Had enough of proving yourself the stronger?”

  Rory chuckled and dropped a heavy arm to Nicholas’s shoulders. “Ach, nay, man, but I felt a keen sense of unease coming from the men surrounding ye.” He waved away a few who continued to stare at Nicholas. “They’re thinking ye might harm the lass in front of God and the Bruce.”

  “Never,” Nicholas declared stonily.

  “Good man, as I know ye to be. And, ye agree, eh Mary?”

  Mary shivered, but then smiled at her brother. “Aye, he is a good man, Rory. Thank you for what ye have done.”

  Rory ruffled Nicholas’s hair, earning an elbow in the ribs. “He was always the man for ye, Mary,” Rory grunted. “I just had to find a way to get ye together.” He laughed and pulled Fiona into his arms. “But ye did that on yer own, so perhaps Fate intended it all along.” Rory drew Fiona away to join the dancers.

  Nicholas stepped back and bowed. “A dance, wife?” He held out his hand, eyes suddenly challenging her to refuse.

  Mary gripped his fingers firmly. “Aye, my lord. A dance with ye would be lovely.” She gasped when he caught her in his arms to lift her over his head, spinning to join the line circling them. Mary laughed, her eyes bright.

  Nicholas knew his heart would never be the same.

  ***

  Mary pulled Nicholas from the dancers. Although he had not shown the effects of his injuries much in the previous days, tonight he had begun to cough once again. It made her nervous and besides, she’d had enough of dancing, wanted more to simply be alone with him.

  If one could be alone amid the wild, hooting crowd of drunken Highlanders, men and women alike.

  She drew him away from the fire, laughing as he complained, stepping backwards while he followed, fingers intertwined, eyes focused on each other. Or should have been, rather, had her plan worked, but someone intervened, someone who could disperse the hungry look in Nicholas’s gaze, replacing it with a deadly glint that made Mary turn around.

  Torquil Macleod stood behind her, arms folded as he smirked. “I see the lass still pulls ye about, Mackay. Led by the aprons strings still and hiding behind a woman fits the like of a Mackay.”

  Nicholas pulled Mary behind him, his body stiff, fingers hurting in his haste. She did not argue, but ducked behind Nicholas’s back.

  “Intent on making trouble again? The festival is neutral ground, Macleod, or have you forgotten that? Or the fact that the Bruce reclines a short distance away.”

  Macleod stepped closer to Nicholas. He was not as tall, but still had the wide shoulders and bulk to match the Highlander. “I haven’t forgotten, Mackay. Just come to remind ye that we are not yet done.”

  “I have no doubt of that, Macleod. One more word against Mary and you will find my sword in your heart.”

  Mary shivered at the deadly tone in Nicholas’s voice, his threat given without emotion.

  Macleod spat at Nicholas’s feet. “Ye ain’t no better than any of us. Filthy Mackays should be wiped clean of the land, even those married into the clan.”

  Nicholas inhaled, his body poised to react to the slur when a hand dropped to his shoulder to hold him back.

  “Macleod is it?” Rory’s fingers were nearly white with the effort to hold Nicholas at bay.

  “Aye, Drummond. Ye are a fool to have joined forces with any Mackay.”

  Rory sniffed in disdain. “Samhain is nay place to be trying tempers.”

  Macleod stepped back. “Perhaps not, besides, I’ve made my point.” He spun on his heel and strode into the shadows, followed by the clansmen with him.

  Rory growled faintly under his breath. “He’s a nasty one. What the hell did ye do to him, lad?”

  Nicholas tucked Mary’s hand under his arm, the muscles still tense. Anger radiated from him like heat, yet he spoke calmly. “He believes I killed his son Aodh.”

  “And did you?”

  Nicholas smiled faintly with a wry glance at Rory. “No. But Macleod found me holding Aodh with my dagger in his chest.”

  Rory stopped to stare. He scratched at his hair curiously. “‘Tis pretty damning evidence, Nicky.”

  “Aye, with none to refute what happened but for one Macleod clansman, who to this day will swear that I did it.”

  “Of course, he’s not stupid,” Rory agreed.

  Nicholas shook his head. “An unsolvable mystery, one where Torquil will continue to believe I killed Aodh.”

  They resumed walking. Mary had to hurry to keep up, both men so intent on their thoughts they had no mind to Mary’s shorter pace. She knew Rory, knew her brother well enough to see he was plotting. “Ye’ll leave it go, Rory.”

  Her brother smiled and then slowed his pace. “Would ye have Nicky here at odds with Macleod, so that anytime either of ye are out ye must be wary?”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Rory, we are in the Highlands,” she reminded him.

  Rory stopped again, earning a quick smile from Nicholas. “Aye, in that I suppose ye are right. Will ye go on to find Fiona, love?”

  Mary pulled free of Nicholas’s arm to argue but one look at the Highlander made her hold her tongue. “Aye, if that is what ye wish, Nicholas.”

  He nodded. Her heart sinking, Mary hurried away knowing no good would come of the men’s conversation.

  ***

  Nicholas found a bench where they could sit, while Rory pulled out his flask from beneath his shirt. “Tis not much left, Nicky lad, sad to see it gone, eh?” He held it out to Nicholas.

  He waved away the flask. “Mary’s right. You should leave it alone. Macleod will not change his mind.”

  “So ye believe. Tell me what happened.”

  Nicholas took the flask from Rory with a sigh. He sipped the brew tentatively, remembering just how potent Rory’s poteen was. Wiping his mouth, he handed it back to the Scot. “We were caught up in a raid, on Macleod land. We’ve battled the Macleods for generations, some very bad blood there.”

  “Nay doubt,” Rory agreed.

  “We were stealing cattle,” Nicholas admitted. “I was seventeen, but had attended raids like this since
I was ten.” He smiled briefly as Rory nodded. “We had them rounded up, just six or so, but prime animals, some of the best of Macleod’s lot sent up to pasture on high ground for the summer. Hugh was fourteen and put on guard near the road. Bastian and I had the cows, with a dozen of our men with us. We were within sight of Mackay land when the Macleods caught up.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, I am sure the Macleods did much the same to ye before.”

  “Aye, a number of times,” Nicholas chuckled. “This time however was different. I slipped off with one of the cows, while Bastian and the other men herded off the rest. Aodh followed me, along with one other Macleod.”

  Rory leaned forward. “Two Macleods?”

  Nicholas smiled grimly. “Aye, but not together. From what I can gather there was a bit of an argument over a woman between the two.”

  “A woman?” Rory sat up. He frowned at the flask. “It wasn’t Branwen was it?”

  Nicholas laughed. “No, Rory, Hugh was only fourteen.”

  “Thank god,” Rory declared.

  “Aye, at any rate, the two Macleods were not together. Aodh caught up with me. We fought, not surprisingly. I knew who he was and he knew who I was. I didn’t want to kill him.” Nicholas rubbed a hand over his brow as he remembered. “I told him I’d leave the cow. We had made a sort of agreement to back off, with neither of us really wanting to die, both young, with none the wiser should we part amicably.”

  “Except for the other,” Rory surmised. He handed the flask to Nicholas. “Drink, ye’ll need it.”

  Nicholas swallowed the draught, shuddering as the fire raced deep into his belly. He coughed, irritated to find his breath shortened once again. “Aye, thanks. The Macleod man, Ewan, raced up as we parted. He shoved me away from Macleod. I thought he was trying to protect Aodh, but then he picked up my knife from the ground.” Nicholas rubbed his temple. “He stabbed him, mumbling something about the woman. Aodh was shocked. I don’t think she mattered to him, not like that. I rushed over to Aodh, picked him up, thought maybe, insanely, there was something I could do.”

  “Then Torquil Macleod arrived.” Rory stood up and kicked the bench, his hands on his hips. “And the Macleod man claimed ye did it.”

  “Aye.”

  “Fucking traitor.”

  Nicholas sighed. “It is my word against Ewan Macleod’s. Who would your father listen to?”

  Rory turned to look over his shoulder. “So it means we have to get Ewan to confess.”

  Nicholas laughed. “Ewan Macleod does not leave the lands of the Macleod. He stays firmly entrenched with the safe confines of their protection.”

  “Perhaps,” Rory decided. “We need to get inside then.”

  “You are mad. There is no way we could infiltrate the Macleod compound.”

  Rory tapped his lips, thinking for a moment. Nicholas did not like the man’s expression. “Perhaps, but the Macleods do not know Malcolm, or William.”

  Nicholas stared at Rory. “I do not wish to involve them in something like this.”

  Rory flashed a wicked grin. “But they would. We are tied now, lad. For Mary’s sake, they will race to the Highlands to do such mischief, trust me.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Nay, I will not allow it.”

  “Well, lad, ye don’t have a choice, do ye.”

  Nicholas groaned and swallowed the remains of Rory’s poteen.

  ***

  The next few days swept by as peacefully as the Highland life could be. The Mackays returned from the festival in good spirits, although Nicholas seemed distant, his mind far from Mary and his family.

  Rory was bent on some trouble; she could see it in his eyes and the frequent glances at Nicholas.

  “What are they planning?” Mary asked Fiona as they washed clothes, hanging them to dry. Rose knelt beside Mary, her head down yet Mary knew she listened closely, her days with the Mackays still too few for her to feel comfortable speaking her mind. Hanging sheets on the line, Mary tried not to remember the heated moment between her and Nicholas, but the flapping fabric only reminded her of just how intense her husband could be. She shivered at the thought and glanced wistfully at the grey skies overhead. “It looks like more rain, Fiona. What say you Rose, ye have lived here the longest.”

  Rose eyed the clouds and then shrugged, her hands buried the water in front of her to her elbows. She rubbed her nose with her arm, sniffing, her nose red. “Aye, a storm most like but not till late. The clouds will gather and mutter, and only loose their fury once the sun sets. It’ll be a harsh one though, ye’ll be glad not to be on the moors tonight.”

  Fiona squeezed out the water from a shirt and then shook it out. “Bonny weather this land bears,” she said sarcastically. “I thought it bad in Drymen. My toes haven’t been warm since I burned the tips of my shoes last week.”

  Mary grinned. She had a few scorched slippers as well, hunkering down as they often did near the fire to sew. Rose only chuckled and stuffed her hands back into the water. Steam rose around her face, her hair tucked loosely behind her head. Long eyelashes swept her cheeks, hiding the bright blue of her eyes, but Mary had seem them light on Sebastian more than once with an interest returned in kind. Only Donald’s continued surveillance kept them apart.

  Fiona rose to her feet and arched her back. “I don’t know what is going on, but the men are all in a dither, but do ye think they’d confide in me? I have no idea except that it involves Nicholas, which is not surprising. Everything revolves around yer man, Mary, and until he has things sorted out, neither you nor I or even poor Rose here, will get anywhere in this house.” She smiled faintly and pulled Rose to her feet. “I fear Bastian is at his wits end with just what to do about you, Donald still refuses to discuss what he’ll do.”

  Rose hauled Mary to her feet and picked up the empty basket to rest it on her hip. “’Tis all fine with me,” she said sagely. “Perhaps a bit of time thinking and not doing will make him understand taking me in will have dire consequences for clan Mackay. I also heard him mention Nicholas, however, and something about Malcolm and William as well. Aren’t they yer brothers, Mary?”

  Mary paused in surprise. “What?”

  Fiona nodded in agreement. “Aye, Rory sent off a missive the night we came home from Samhain. Must have been fairly urgent, I heard him tell the man not to stop if he didn’t have to.”

  “What is he planning?” Mary demanded, staring up at the keep. She pressed her fingers against her heart, pushing against the lump lodged in her chest. “Dear God, please don’t let them plan anything wicked.” Mary shook her head, knowing her brother too well. Whatever it was, calling for her brothers meant serious and dangerous business. She knew as well that she could not interfere, could not destroy the delicate truce that was now in place with Nicholas.

  Hugh strode out of the keep, smiling as he hurried down the steps. “Have ye taken over yet another task? At this rate we won’t be able to let any of ye go.”

  Mary glanced at the other two women and then hurried to catch up with Hugh, touching his arm to draw his attention. “Have ye talked to Nicholas in the past few days?”

  Hugh’s gaze narrowed, his expression suddenly bland. “Certainly, lass, we speak quite often.”

  “Ye know what I mean,” Mary declared in a low voice.

  Hugh covered her fingers “I do, Mary. Do not ask questions I cannot answer, nor would I.”

  “I cannot voice my opinion? My worry?”

  Hugh arched a brow. “Have ye said as much to Nicholas?”

  “No,” Mary whispered.

  “Because it would do no good,” Hugh agreed. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “He’ll be well enough. But things must be done that must be done,” Hugh said in answer that was not an answer. He smiled and clipped her chin with his fist. “Have faith in yer man, lass.”

  Mary watched him walk away, her heart in her throat.

  Chapter 25

  Rose left t
he women and made her way into Varrich. The hall was empty at this time of day, the long windows shuttered against the wind from the Kyle to leave the room full of shadows. A fire crackled at the far end, but offered little warmth in the chill of late November. Donald sat near the fire immersed deeply into his accounts and so Rose moved quietly toward the stairs as not to disturb him. She had placed a foot on the first step when Donald spoke.

  “A moment, Rose.”

  She hesitated and then turned toward the Mackay chieftain. “Aye, my lord?”

  Donald glanced at up from behind his book, eyes narrowed, whether from trying to read the scrawled penmanship of his steward or something else. Either way the glance sent a chill down Rose’s spine.

  She had no call to be afraid of this man for from the first he had been extremely cordial and polite, if still stern with his wayward son regarding Rose being a Macleod. Whether they had come to any agreement over her she could not say for both men were tight lipped on the subject. She had remained at the keep without further idea of what they would decide.

  It seemed the accounting of it had finally come to pass. Rose moved across the room and then sat when he waved her to the bench beside him.

  “Can ye read, lass?”

  Rose nodded, peering curiously at the pages on his lap. “A fine hand yer steward has,” she remarked over the neat entries listed.

  Donald smiled faintly, a bare hint to the thin lips. He shifted the book toward her. “Can ye cipher as well?”

  She lowered her gaze for a moment, debating on telling the truth. Most men, or women especially, had little learning in that day, few could read or write, unlike Nicholas and Hugh. Ann had explained Donald had felt it necessary to help them understand the world around them. Nicholas had advanced to speak several languages as well she had said, learned more from his travels than by any tutor as a boy. Those, Ann had laughed, including a nod at Sebastian, had found the Mackay boys both stubbornly defiant, yet all three had caught on quickly to their letters.

  She nodded faintly when Donald leaned closer. “Aye, I can cipher, my lord.”