Mary felt cold. The fire was out, blackened coals that shed no heat. She pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her. Leaving the room, she walked down the narrow steps into the main hall. A few Mackays were sprawled on pallets on the floor, snoring. One of the dogs bounded up from near the fire, tail wagging in greeting but Mary only paused to pat his head and then headed toward the door.
The hinges creaked in complaint as she opened it. She glanced back to see if anyone had woke from the sound, but the men remained as they were. Closing it gently, she hurried down the wooden stair to the ground, and then walked across the snowy yard to the gate near the garden. The Mackay guard shook his head when he saw her, but then opened it enough so she could get out.
“Don’t go far, Mary,” he said. “We must be able to see ye.”
She nodded and continued outside. The road beckoned her, nearly hidden from view by the thick covering of white. She turned instead to climb around the outer buildings, heading up the hill. She stopped above the castle, obeying the guard not to continue out of sight. The wind ruffled the blanket around her feet, lifted her hair from her shoulders. She drew the covering closer, gripping the edges tightly in front of her.
“Come back to me Nicholas,” Mary told the wind. “The Highlands have no place for me without ye.” She sank down to the ground, weeping, until Fiona found her later.
***
The plan was simple. They sent Malcolm and William into Macleod territory with Hugh. Nicholas and Rory followed at a distance, the remaining Mackay clansmen a distance further for back up. The Drummonds were the screen, drawing attention with a Mackay in their midst.
The Macleods could very well kill and ask questions later. But Nicholas gambled they would not. Hugh was the bait, the Drummonds the only protection against certain death.
They watched the three men head through a narrow trail between two hills. They didn’t get far. Four Macleods stepped out in front of them, swords drawn, one held a bow knocked and ready. Nicholas held his breath, watching from where he and Rory had stopped.
William gestured and then pulled out a flask, whisky this time, a fine offering of peace. One of the Macleods kicked it from his hand. Hugh stepped back, his hand to his sword but he did not draw it. Rory gripped Nicholas’s shoulder when he stiffened, a silent measure of comfort. Malcolm stepped in front of Hugh, words were spoken but were too far away to hear distinctly.
Nicholas smiled grimly when the Macleods forced Hugh and the Drummonds up the path toward Castle Leod.
Rory and Nicholas followed discreetly.
The Macleods did not stop, but pushed the men most of the day, strides long and easy even with the newly fallen snow. Nicholas and Rory followed at a distance, using whatever they could to shield themselves. It did not seem necessary for the Macleods focused only on Hugh and the Drummonds and did not look back.
They reached Castle Leod by nightfall. The tower a dark stain against the sky, the Macleod stronghold loomed above them on a rocky hill. Nicholas crouched down on his heels to stare up at the keep. Legend said it was built upon the very fires of hell and that an old Macleod had offered his daughter to the devil in exchange for power. The woman had thrown herself from the heights to avoid her fate. Looking at it now, he could well believe the tale, shivering faintly at the desolate air the castle evoked.
The Macleod men shoved the Drummonds and Hugh to their knees on the road.
Torquil Macleod marched out from the gates of the castle, sword in hand. Ewan Macleod followed behind him, along with several more clansmen.
“Are ye still sure that it was wise to leave yer men behind?” Rory whispered.
Nicholas blew out a deep breath, his fingers gripped tight to the sword at his side. He'd drawn it long ago, and had yet to use it. “Aye.”
He could have killed Macleod, even from this distance, so unaware were the men of Nicholas and Rory. The dagger in his boot called to him, his fingers itched to end it all but he ignored the urge, crawling closer amid the rocks toward Macleod.
Torvil Macleod leaned over Hugh. “Have ye forgotten just where ye were lad?”
Hugh lifted his chin to meet the man’s gaze. “I meant no harm to any Macleod. We were following a stag.”
Macleod hit Hugh with his fist, dropping the young Mackay to the ground.
The Drummonds both growled, a sound Nicholas heard clearly. Only the swords pointed at them held the two men back, clearly infuriated by Macleod’s temper. Nicholas smiled when the other Macleods stepped back a pace, muttering with unease.
Hugh pushed himself back to his knees. He glanced at the chieftain warily, touching his lip to note the blood on his fingers. “I can see why Nicky hates ye so.” He frowned at Macleod. “But ye can be the better man here. Let us free, we meant no trespass. Do this and things will cool between us.”
Macleod snorted rudely and drew his knife. Hugh sucked in a breath and caught the man’s wrist, but Macleod was a wily creature and twisted out of Hugh’s grip. He thrust the dagger at Hugh's neck, but held back just as it touched Hugh's skin. “I should slit yer throat and be done with it.”
Hugh swallowed, but did not drop his gaze from Macleod's. “A pity ye cannot see beyond yer fury, Macleod, or ye’d have remembered a Mackay rarely hunts alone.”
Torquil blinked and then stepped back to look around suspiciously, wielding the knife as he turned to survey the rocky ground around him. “Ye cannot be so foolish as to come to me, Nicholas Mackay! I’ll kill the boy if ye don’t show yerself.”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Nicholas said as he moved out from behind some rocks. He stepped into the road, sword in hand. The Macleods nearest him moved toward him, but then halted at a signal from their chieftain.
“Bait.” Macleod spat. He shoved Hugh from him and waved off the men holding the Drummonds. “Ye’d risk the life of yer brother in such a way?”
“I still believe you have some scruples, Macleod,” Nicholas waved the Drummonds back another step with his sword, moving protectively in front of Hugh. “I wanted to see what you ’d do.”
“I might have killed him,” Macleod said. “And yer kin as well. Ye trespass on Macleod land; it is within my right to deal with ye as I will.”
“But the fight is not between clans is it?” Nicholas reminded him.
“Aye, it’s between you and me, Mackay. I’ll give ye that.”
“No,” Nicholas corrected grimly. He pointed his sword at Ewan. “It’s between Ewan and you, and your son Aodh. How many women did you fight over, Ewan? Were you angry the lass coveted the son of your chieftain more than you?”
Ewan stared at Nicholas. “Bloody hell, Mackay, are ye trying to blame me now for killing a Macleod?”
“Aye, when it’s the truth.”
Ewan snarled and drew his sword, stepping forward but Torquil gripped his tunic to hold him still. He looked at Ewan and then at Nicholas. “Lies, no doubt. Ye’ve placed yerself in my hands, Mackay, as well as that of yer friends.”
“Kill off a few Drummonds and you’ll have the Bruce to answer to,” Nicholas declared.
“So ye think they’d be a bit of protection, eh?” Torquil laughed. “I admire yer courage lad, but I know the truth? And I know who will pay for Aodh’s death.”
Nicholas looked up at the high walls of Leod, grimacing at the black stone. The man was a devil, but human, affected by grief and loyalty to clan. He shifted as Torquil stepped closer, holding the man off with his sword. “I came to prove to you that I didn’t kill your son, Torquil. Ask your man again why his hands are red with Macleod blood. You have a traitor in your midst, one you’ve harbored for years, a man who is the true murderer of your son.”
Ewan pushed the chieftain aside and leaped at Nicholas. “I’ll slit yer throat, Mackay!” Steel clashed as Nicholas met Ewan Macleod’s affront, the men circling in the center of the road. Hugh rushed forward to block Torquil from moving toward Nicholas while more Macleods poured from t
he castle. The Drummonds separated quickly, knocking several men flat while Rory stormed into the fray with a wild cry.
It was chaos as the clansmen fought. Two Macleods went down beneath Rory’s blade. William staggered to the side holding his arm. Hugh ducked past Nicholas, keeping Torquil at bay, while Ewan and Nicholas continued to battle.
“You lied to your laird,” Nicholas hissed. “You disgrace all that it means to be a Highlander!”
Ewan slammed his elbow against Nicholas’s chest, shoving him backwards. “Lies!” Ewan cried. “I seen ye stab Aodh, yer dagger in his chest. Macleod saw it, he was there, man, ye forget that.”Nicholas rushed forward, burrowing into Ewan to force him back against the rocks. He slammed the hilt of his sword across Ewan’s nose and it spurted blood. Ewan staggered to the side, coughing, but then twisted toward Nicholas to plunge a small blade into Nicholas’s hip. Nicholas gasped at the pain but managed to punch his fist across Ewan’s chin, knocking the man backwards. Unable to stand, Nicholas dropped to one knee with a groan. Ewan rolled to his feet and wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Fury darkened the man’s gaze, anger controlled his movements.
Nicholas ducked the keening slash of the Highlander’s claymore and rolled into Ewan’s knees to bring him down. He pushed himself to his feet, limping over to Ewan. Hauling the man back to his feet by his tunic, Nicholas punched again hard with his fist. “Bastard, admit you killed him.”
Ewan laughed, wheezing, backing away hunched over his stomach. In his anger, he focused only on Nicholas, unaware of the pause behind him. “Aodh was always after the women. She was mine, you see. Mine! And the fucking brat took her.”
Nicholas blocked Ewan’s next blow. Their blades connected, screeching as they drew back apart. Ewan swung again, but high. Nicholas drew a dagger from his boot. Flipping the dagger in his hand, Nicholas struck, ducking under Ewan’s suddenly weak swing. He jerked the clansman toward him, his blade buried deep in Ewan’s ribs. “Dishonor to you, even as a Macleod.”
Nicholas shoved Ewan away and the man staggered, blood dripping from his lips to collapse on the ground. A shout of warning made Nicholas shift back but was too late to avoid the ax swung at his chest. It connected hard, if relatively harmlessly with the back of the blade, hurled by one of the Macleods, to knock Nicholas off his feet. He landed on his back, stunned and unable to breath. Rolling to his knees, he gasped for air as he reached for his sword. Torquil struck first, his gaze dark with hatred and fury. Nicholas tried to avoid the blow, twisting at the last moment, but not quickly enough as the chieftain's blade slid painfully across his ribs, draining Nicholas of any remaining strength. He clutched at his side, eyes wide with shock. Then he knew nothing more as he collapsed to the ground.
***
Mary stood at the edge of the hill overlooking the winding lane below her. The only way to reach Varrich, it wound around the hillside and then disappeared into the thick forest known as Varrich Wood that bordered the kyle,. She shaded her eyes in a futile effort to see men striding up the hill. Nicholas’ disappearance for nearly a week, accompanied by her brothers Malcolm and William, and of course Rory, had left her numb, her worry a deep ache beneath her heart. How long did it take men to cross the Highlands? How far had they gone and to where? She had no doubt it was for reasons she simply did not want to know about.
Would he come back? Would she be a widow, cursed to live with only memories of a man who’d found his way deep into her heart?
She looked heavenward, closing her eyes to the brilliant blue of the sky. Would he answer her prayers? A hand on her shoulder pulled her away from the road, Fiona’s eyes full of concern. Rose stood beside her, both of their cloaks drawn close because of the wind.
“He’ll come back, lass, ye must have faith,” Fiona murmured.
“The man needs ye more than he will admit,” Rose agreed. “He’ll be back, love.”
“Aye, I know,” Mary agreed, looking back once more over her shoulder. “But just how is what worries me.”
Fiona only smiled and tucked her arm beneath Mary’s. Rose took the other side and the three of them began to walk back toward Varrich. “No matter how, it’s the important thing to remember is that he will have come back,” Rose declared firmly.
“Nicholas is too bloody stubborn to die ye ken,” Fiona laughed ruefully. “Trampled, stabbed, ill as a man can get and still he lives.”
Mary sighed knowing it was true. Still the waiting was hard, the worry a never-ending ache in her chest. She glanced at the door of Varrich, at the imposing grey stone that now was her home. She’d wept for Nicholas and then had realized it did little good. Nicholas needed her to be strong, to hold to the faith he would return. The door opened as Donald stepped outside. His hand pressed briefly to her shoulder when he passed her, a silent offer of comfort. The Highlander crossed the courtyard, whistling, seemingly unconcerned by his son’s absence.
Ann, however, looked up with a worried frown when the women walked in. “It’s all of us waiting,” she said, her lap buried beneath a new tapestry. “No sign of him still?” Mary shook her head and Ann sighed. “I watched Donald wait for years with the same fear in his eyes as ye have there, Mary. Aye, but the fact is he came home, lass. Ye are a good luck charm, I think.” Ann waved them to sit beside her. “Did I tell ye how I met the Donald? And so soon with Nicholas’s wee mam just recently gone in his birthing?”
Mary settled beside Ann, picking up another bit of sewing to be done. There was always work, food to be prepared, stores to gather for winter. She needed only to keep busy, Mary decided, and time would pass.
Ann smiled and waved them closer. “I was only seventeen when Donald brought me to Varrich. His wife dead only a few days, he had a new bairn to care for, and another son, Sebastian, who was only three at the time, and him without a clue what to do.” She laughed softly at the memory. “I have never seen a man at a loss as he was, heartbroken, aye, but determined to keep his sons healthy and strong, even without the woman who gave them birth. I came to take care of them, days after Nicholas was born. We were able to get him a wet nurse and between us, kept the lad alive and hale.” Ann paused in her sewing and studied Mary. “He was a bright lad, even as a child, preoccupied with nigh most anything that could be torn apart. And fight, ah, between him and Sebastian I swear Bridgett and I would die of heart failure as they tried to kill each other.”
Mary remembered her brothers in much the same way. “How long was it before you and Donald were married?”
“Ah, not long enough in most eyes,” she replied. “It took only a month before I could not bear to see him leave, and looked for his return each night even though we had hardly touched and even spent time alone. It seems it was much the same for Donald although he felt tortured for it for some years afterwards. He told people it was for Nicholas that he remarried so quickly, and aye, it was done a time or two, especially with a wee babe involved. I fear I was terribly lucky to have him at all, and thank God to this day that I still do.”
Mary leaned forward to press her fingers against Ann’s arm. “Ye love him well; I can see it even now.”
“Aye,” Ann agreed, almost sheepishly. “I care for him more each day, even as we grow old and grey. I will’na live long if I lose him, I warrant that. But I feel so much better these days, I think we will have a fine time of it for some time yet.”
Mary could only imagine, grinning at Ann. “So, how was Nicholas then, as a boy?”
“Ach, stubborn as a goat, he was,” Ann responded with a laugh. “Rebellious from age of two, never wantin’ to do what his Da demanded, and getting into so much trouble for denying him. I some days wondered if he’d live to have children of his own, but alas, Nicholas is also very lucky when it comes to death. He has more lives than a cat, I swear,” Ann declared, crossing herself hurriedly. “One time when he was thirteen, he followed a stray cow and got caught up in a bit of mischief against the Sutherlands. We have another castle we
often use to raid from, and he went there against his father’s wishes, using the cow as an excuse, ye see.”
Mary could, shaking her head.
Ann continued, her hands folded over the tapestry, eyes distant. “Aye, he just a lad, sneaking up on his cousins as they waited in ambush for the Sutherlands. The group attacked the other on a bit of beach along the water, a fury it was, blood and all, for highland men have little mercy on those they feud with, with wee Nicky in the midst of it all.”
“Was he armed?”
Ann sighed dramatically. “Aye, with a tiny wee scian dubh his grandfather gave him, the pitiful thing could not have hurt at’all, when he used it. The Sutherlands, however, were overcome, until the last fought nearly hip deep in the oncoming tide.”
Mary held her breath, picturing the fighting, with Nicholas stubbornly in the center of it all.
“Aye, and there, they say, stood Nicholas, tiny dagger in hand, on a rock to be as tall as one of the Sutherland, slashing and stabbing to abandon until a Sutherland took hold of his tunic, lifting him off his feet to laugh at him, thinking him no enemy at all.”
Ann paused for effect, her eyes twinkling.
“He killed him.”
“Aye, he did with the dagger in the man’s eye. Dropped him like a dead weight, he did, into the sea, and Nicholas not knowing how to swim, the boy should have drowned alongside the Sutherland rat, but no, he says he remembered how the dogs had swum in the pond here and so tried to do it like they did. He was able to get to shore and was hoisted up by the Mackays as a fine warrior.”
“Reputation earned I suppose,” Mary murmured, thinking of Nicholas at Bannockburn, how he had been dressed for fighting unlike many of the Highlanders. She stood up and then kissed Ann’s cheek. “I am going to bed early tonight. I’ve slept little these past days worrying. I’ve a few things to set to rights, and when he gets back, Ann, I’ve a little something else to tell him.”
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 31