Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay

by Return to the Highlands

  The Viking ignored Fiona. He pulled Mary closer by her hair, a slow winding enticing as he wrapped the strands around his fist until she was nearly falling off her horse. “A Mackay? And whose wife shall ye be? Not the Laird for ye are too fine for that, and not of the Highlands I’d wager.”

  She hissed and tried to jerk free but he tightened his grip, dragging her free of the horse with a hand on her cloak. Setting her roughly on her feet, he shifted until they were chest to chest, her chin just a narrow space from his face.

  “Speak or feel the weight of my hand, woman.”

  “I am Nicholas Mackay’s wife.”

  The Viking smiled slowly, a terrible curve of his mouth that promised nothing. “Nicholas? But he has deserted his clan, so it was said, for the life of an assassin.”

  She snorted at the thought of Nicholas, so noble, doing such work. “He has returned and god help ye if ye harm me.”

  Sutherland moved between them, pushing the Viking back a step. “You’ve had a moment to inspect the package. What say you?”

  The Viking turned toward Sutherland, laying a hand on the Earl’s shoulder. “I am interested. Come let us bargain. The women can stay here.”

  Mary breathed a deep sigh of relief as the men shifted, moving back toward the fire, while she and Fiona found a place out of the wind.

  ***

  Nicholas drew his sword as hoofbeats echoed from the rocks around him, easing into a crevice of rock. Rory stood on the other side of the narrow pass, blade held against his chest, lips tight, eyes narrowed against the late afternoon sunlight.

  The riders rode hard down the trail, cloaked in fur and wool plaids, fifteen that Nicholas could count, his eyes widening in astonishment as he recognized the lead rider. Rory leaped out from his hiding place as the first rider approached, dragging the man off the horse in a movement so swift he could not have avoided it. Nicholas rushed forward as the riders suddenly halted, drawing swords, their horses turning in circles as they looked for more men to ambush them.

  Rory knelt on the man’s chest he’d pulled from his horse, blade held at his throat. “Took you long enough.”

  William Drummond grinned up at his brother. “Had a hell of a time convincing some Highlanders there wouldn’t be much blood to spill if we had our way.”

  Nicholas stood in the center of the other men, hands up in surrender. “Oh there’s blood to spill if I have my way.”

  Rory jerked William to his feet. “What news?”

  Nicholas stepped closer with a frown. “How did you find us?”

  William brushed the snow off his cloak. Gripping Rory’s shoulder for a moment, he then turned toward Nicholas. “They found the boy.”

  “Dead?” Nicholas felt a cold horror sweep over him at the thought.

  “Nay, but hurt bad enough it was thought he’d not gain consciousness. But he did, and here we are. T’was Sutherland’s doing as you expected.” William placed a hand on Nicholas’ chest to hold him in place. “Not much to know, for clearly the boy was not part of the plan, but he heard the men who beat him say something about Vikings.”

  Nicholas pushed William out of the way and stared at the path ahead, one that would lead them to the coast. His heart seemed to stop, his breath gone as he closed his eyes. Vikings? Sutherland had at least a day’s measure on them, if not more. There would be no way to catch up to stop him, and once the women were on a ship, there would be no telling where the Vikings would head. No way to trace them once they had left Scottish soil.

  He dropped to his knees in defeat, head down as the horror engulfed him.

  “Ye can’t give up now, lad.” Rory’s voice sounded distant, filled with as much anguish as Nicholas felt.

  “We can’t stop him, Rory. There is no time left.”

  Malcolm crouched down in front of him. “Say you, man. There is still a trail.”

  Nicholas shook his head, eyes still closed as wave after wave of images swept through his mind, things he had pushed away, fears he had kept at bay flooded him. “They will be waiting. An hour’s bargain and they’ll be gone. We won’t even get close.”

  “So we head to the Viking outposts. Someone will know.”

  Nicholas pushed him away, rising to his feet to stagger several steps. “I’ve failed her. God help me, but I’ve destroyed her.” He shook off someone’s hand, leaning against a tree, hand over his eyes. He could feel nothing but horror, pain darkened his gaze until suddenly someone turned him around and shook him soundly.

  “Stop mewling like a child, man.” Rory shouted at him, shaking him as he stared blearily up at the Drummond. “Fiona is with her as well, and your babe. Will ye give up so easily? Damn ye for a son of a goat!” Rory’s fist slammed across Nicholas’ jaw, sending him reeling backwards with a hand to his chin, eyes wide in shock.

  The Drummond came at him like a bull, snorting, angry with all the pent up frustrations held back. Nicholas went flying onto his back, eyes nearly crossed at the blow to his nose. He felt the rush of blood, hot in the cold air as it dripped out of his nose, pain a sharp thrust inside his head.

  Rory’s brothers dragged him off Nicholas, reminding him too clearly of just what he was losing. Nicholas sat up holding his nose. “Ye fuckin’ broke my nose, Rory.”

  The Drummond snorted, scowling at Nicholas. “I’ll break more than that, ye slumbering god shit of a Highlander.”

  Nicholas lifted a brow, fighting a smile, his mind suddenly clear.

  Malcolm gripped Rory’s arm, William held the other. Nicholas waved them off, rising to his feet.

  “I’ve forgotten one thing,” Nicholas said, wiping a hand under his nose and peering at the blood coating his wrist.

  Rory shook off his brothers, brows furrowed darkly. “Aye, and what is that?”

  “Sebastian.”

  The Drummonds looked confused. “Aye, what about yer brother?” Rory complained. “He’s off galavanting around chasing some mysterious thing goin’ on, while we lather about here and our women get dragged out to sea by some bloody filthy Vikings.”

  Nicholas wiped his nose again, spitting out blood. “That mysterious thing has got to be this deal with Sutherland. I know my brother and his intuitions. He’s saved my arse more times than I’d like to note because of his sight.”

  William stepped closer, a hand braced against Rory’s chest. “It’s a long chance.”

  Malcolm bent down to gather the sword Rory had dropped in his charge against Nicholas. “I’d say we’d better get moving. Sun’s going down soon.”

  Nicholas looked at Rory and then held out his hand. “Truce for now. Then when we are done, I’m going to break your nose again.”

  Rory only grinned.

  ***

  It was all Sebastian could do not to step forward with a blade to impale Sutherland in the heart. The sight of Mary and Fiona, thin yet defiant, calmed the fury he’d felt when Sutherland had first rode up. A couple of Viking hands had held him in place, shoved him back where Sutherland did not notice him.

  He could have ended it there, but Olaf’s glance said otherwise. The Viking intended on gaining his money from Sutherland, and more, likely, from the Mackay for his agreement in the bargain.

  Had Nicholas been there, Sebastian knew things would have been far different.

  Sutherland stood a few paces from Olaf, shifting impatiently as Olaf paced, taking his time in their discussion of the women’s worth.

  “I offered you plenty,” Sutherland growled. “You have the women. It’s enough to simply have them to sell. I owe you nothing more.”

  Olaf paused, head turning to stare at the Earl. “You expect me to take two women of questionable worth, feed them, house them, and not expect payment?”

  Sutherland scowled. “It is as much as you’d get raiding a village here.”

  Olaf shook his head, spreading his hands to encompass his men. “But we’d at least have the pleasure of battle and the looting afterward.
” He grinned at the women, who stepped back warily. Sebastian stiffened, but felt the pressure of a blade in his side. The Vikings were taking no chances it seemed.

  “I’ll pay no more,” Sutherland argued, hand gripping his sword. “We made a bargain, it is done. You have the women, and more, a babe on the way. It will be worth far more once it’s known as a Mackay.”

  Silence seemed to surround Olaf as he straightened, his head turning toward Mary, his gaze sharp as he studied the woman. Sebastian held his breath, closing his eyes as he prayed for patience. Sutherland grinned and strode to Mary, jerking her forward, dragging her cloak free. “It won’t be long, and you’ll have a brat to sell. Ransom it, kill it, I don’t care. But I’ve offered you enough. Take it or I’ll simply kill them now and be done with it.” He pulled his dagger and held it at Mary’s throat.

  The Viking leader lifted a hand. “Do not be hasty, Sutherland. I did not say I would refuse your offer.” He smiled, spreading his hands at his sides. “I simply tested your patience, man. A bargain can not be gained without knowing the manner in which it is offered.” He moved another step and then shifted, drawing a blade from the back of his waist, throwing it as Sebastian lunged forward.

  ***

  Mary sensed the Viking’s movement and flung herself at Sutherland, knocking him back a step and then down on his back. She landed with a sharp pain on his chest and then rolled away, gaining her feet in a breathless blur of men fighting around her. Fiona grabbed her hand and jerked her forward as Sutherland heaved himself to his feet.

  She ran without thought, stumbling over the chunks of ice and rocks, past another set of men that surged around the rocky outcrop, only to stop with a gasp as Nicholas appeared in front of her.

  She had no more than a glance then she was shoved down, hands grasping her waist as she screamed.

  She knew nothing more when her head hit the ground.

  ***

  Nicholas swept past Mary, jerking the Sutherland clansman to his feet, a blade in his chest before he gained his balance. He ducked the next swing of a blade, searching for Sutherland. He rushed forward toward the camp, whirling around one man and then another, evading both Sutherland and Viking warrior in his search for the Earl.

  He shoved another man out of his way, dagger buried deep into his kidney and then faced another Viking rushing toward him. He drew his sword and leaped to meet him, but found the man ducking his blow, arms wrapped around his chest to bring him down to the ground with gasp of lost breath.

  Hands clasped his wrist, twisting as Nicholas fought for air and purchase.

  “Stop, ye bloody fool, it’s me, Bastian.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in, to really look at his adversary, only to see that it was Sebastian, dirty and unkempt in Viking furs, his hair braided in a sordid imitation of the nordic warriors.

  “Bloody hell, Sebastian, I almost killed you.”

  Sebastian rolled off of him, jerking Nicholas to his feet. The Vikings stood poised to strike, blades held ready, while most of the Sutherlands lay on the ground. Sebastian shoved Nicholas forward in front of the Viking leader. “You remember Olaf, don’t ye, Nicky? Say ye do.”

  Nicholas shook off the grip Sebastian had on his shoulder, teeth clenched as he glared at the Viking. “Aye I remember you.”

  Olaf stepped forward, blade still in hand. He held it under Nicholas’s chin. “Same whiny brat I remember.”

  Nicholas shoved the sword aside, ignoring the sharp pain as it cut into his fingers. “I was never whiny, it was you that seemed to think better of yourself. I seem to remember you and a lot of mud.”

  The Viking laughed, eyes crinkled with amusement. “You seem very determined to kill me and mine, Highlander.”

  Nicholas wanted nothing more than to turn and look for Mary, but he stared instead at the Viking. “I’ll kill anyone who means my wife harm.”

  “”Tis said the Mackay have Viking blood,” Olaf suggested, shifting his sword to the side. “And I thought we were a blood thirsty lot. You have this passion — for a woman?” He looked back at his men as they laughed in amusement.

  Nicholas stepped forward, chin lifted as he glared at the Viking. “I do, and what of it?”

  Olaf shrugged his shoulders. “I am impressed by her, then, she seemed of little import to me.”

  Nicholas took another step, halted by a hand on his arm, and Sebastian’s hissed warning.

  Olaf grinned. “Your fight is not with me, Mackay. Sutherland runs like a rat, while his men die at your hands. And mine,” he added, looking around. “I did not like the man. He bargains with a false tongue. Had I no sooner taken the women, he would have refused me payment. Instead, I take what he offers and triple it to you if you want them back.”

  Nicholas growled, echoed behind him by both Sebastian and Rory, who was still held by three Vikings. Malcolm was down a short distance away, but grinning, a hand to his chest. Nicholas didn’t dare glance further for William or Mary and Fiona. “Triple? Just try and stop me from taking them.”

  Olaf hooted, dropping his sword as he bent over his knees. “You amuse me, Highlander. It is by my leave that she lives, for Sutherland clearly meant her harm. My bargain kept her alive. You will pay for her release.” The choice otherwise did not bear thinking as Nicholas met Olaf’s suddenly intent gaze.

  Nicholas dropped his sword at the Viking’s feet. “Done.”

  Olaf sheathed his sword, then bent and picked up Nicholas’ blade, handing it to one of his men. He held out a hand. “Shake to our agreement?”

  Nicholas smiled and reached out, clasping the Viking’s wrist. Sebastian stepped forward, his fingers grasping Nicholas’s wrist in a similar fashion, his other hand gripping Olaf’s tunic. “The bargain is met, and sealed.”

  Olaf smiled in amusement, fully aware Nicholas had meant to take him down. “Agreed.”

  Sebastian turned to look at Nicholas, chin lifted as he glared at him. “Agreed.”

  “Agreed,” Nicholas muttered.

  They separated, stepping back at the same time.

  A cry brought Nicholas around, eyes wide as he saw William bend over Mary, lying on the rocky shore.

  ***

  The moonlight glanced off the snow and ice, illuminating the night to nearly day. Nicholas paced, a path formed in the snow beneath his feet, hands tucked under his arms, head down to avoid the amused gazes of the men around him. The Vikings had pulled their ship ashore, dragging the vessel onto the icy sands. A canopy had been erected, and beneath it Mary lay, her screams sending sharp waves of both fear and horror down Nicholas’ spine.

  What had he done to her? He paced as the screams continued, wanting nothing more than to stick his head in the sand to evade the hoarse cries.

  He knew what Mary was going through, had aided Fiona in a birthing not so long ago. The horrors of that moment made him ill, his gaze moving once more to the ship.

  One of the men shoved a cup into his hand, slapping him on the shoulder in comfort.

  Nicholas drank without thought, coughing as the brew flamed down his throat.

  Olaf smiled at him, sitting beside Sebastian near the fire. Nicholas scowled and resumed his pacing. Rory crouched on a rock nearby, his gaze focused on the ship as well. Fiona had hugged him when things had settled down, but now worked with William as Mary struggled with the babe. It was too soon, Nicholas thought in desperation. The child was early, it was not yet time. Had Sutherland beat her, forcing the babe early. Was it already dead? Would Mary survive?

  He drank another draught, handed to him by yet another. He had rushed to her side, lifting Mary’s limp form into his arms, all thought of fighting gone, with only the fear that she’d been killed. William had dragged him away, Fiona had helped, her small form far more insistent that any of the men. What had brought her into labor? Again he shuddered, knowing it was too soon.

  William leaped over the side of the ship, shoving a hand through his hai
r as he walked wearily toward Nicholas. He stopped in front of Nicholas, reaching out to grip his shoulder.

  “She is well,” William began, but cringed when another scream, louder than the rest, echoed in the hills beyond. “Tis almost done.”

  Nicholas couldn’t breathe, staring at the ship as William held him in place. “William…”

  The Drummond chuckled, tightening his grip on Nicholas. “Babies take their own time.”

  “But it’s too early,” Nicholas whispered.

  “Aye, but not too much. He’ll survive, if he’s anything like his Da.”

  Nicholas blinked, shifting a slow moving gaze to William. “He…”

  William grinned. “Aye, a boy, she was nearly done when I left. Fiona sent me off.”

  “But, I hear nothing.”

  “Aye, well there’s a bit to do…” William stopped as another cry rang out, this one different, this one small and angry. The Vikings cheered, lifting their cups as Nicholas staggered back a step. He would have fallen if not for William.

  “It’s done then,” William decided, dragging Nicholas past him. “Go and see your wife, if she still wants ye.”

  Nicholas ran to the ship, nearly falling over the side. He ducked inside the canopy only to stop suddenly, heart slamming painfully in his chest. Fiona looked up from the bundle in her arms and smiled. “He’s tiny, lad, but strong. He was impatient to see his father.”

  Nicholas touched the bundle, but his eyes moved past Fiona to where Mary lay. He could not breathe, she looked so pale.

  “Mary?”

  Fiona nudged him, handing him the child. “She is fine, just very very tired, Nicholas. See your son.”

  Nicholas looked down at the squirming bundle of cloth and then slowly moved aside the covering. Dark eyes stared up at him, a tiny mouth worked to bring forth a cry, hands waving in his hunger.