Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Our clan lands were raided often,” Ceana’s voice broke through the mock tranquility of the woodlands.

  “Gruamach Keep?”

  “Aye. ’Tis a powerful stronghold—but we are isolated. Built on an island, there are only two ways off—the bridge and by galleon. Used to be that our enemies would block our path from the bridge, but we had enough resources to wait them out. Now, we either starve, fight or surrender.”

  “I take it, you chose to fight?”

  “My people are already starving. I just pray they have not suffered while I’ve been away.”

  “And when you win?”

  “I will have enough resources to rebuild our clan, to replenish our reserves. We will be strong once more. And then no one can starve us out, or raid us.” Conviction punctuated every word. She may not have been laird long, but already she’d embodied that responsibility and he was proud of her for it.

  “Your people are lucky to have a leader as selfless as you.”

  Ceana let out a short laugh. “I’ve not been their leader long. Nigh on a month, ’tis all.”

  “Aye, I heard what you said about your brother when we left the healing tent. My sympathies for your loss.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” She drew in a breath and he thought she would speak again, but several breaths passed before she did. “He was a great leader. Kept us as protected as he could. We use to have great farming land. My mother was in charge of the planting and harvesting. But when she was taken from us, our enemies raided our crops. Took them all, burned the land. After that, it was never the same again.” She let out a deep sigh. “Dougal was killed in an ambush while we were hunting. I killed the man who executed him, but that didn’t give my brother breath. I had to return to the clan to let them know that he was gone. That I not only had no food for their starving bellies, but that our laird was dead and the enemy was afoot—minus the one. ’Twas not long after that I boarded a galleon and entered the games.”

  “You’re very brave.”

  “What about you? Your stepmother entered you, hoping you’d die. And now she’s here to make that happen.”

  “Aye.” The reality of it left a bitter coating on his tongue. “She’s hated me since the day I first drew breath.”

  “And your father? How does he feel?”

  Macrath stiffened a moment, never having spoken to another soul about his familial situation, or his feelings for that matter. He was a warrior. Warriors repressed all emotion, and yet, when he was with Ceana, he was starting to feel things differently. Wanted to open up and share with her the deeper, darker, hidden parts of himself. What was more, he believed she’d accept him for who he was. He trusted her.

  When he’d first saved her in the woods from the wolves during the initial game, and he’d kissed her, wondering if she would think he was good enough, he’d never expected to have… What? Fallen for her?

  Was it love that had drawn him in?

  Macrath shook his head.

  He couldn’t afford to love. Couldn’t let such emotion block the way to victory, or soften him to the games. Fierceness, ruthlessness, that was what would help him win.

  So, he kept his heart shielded. His emotions well hidden in the locked trunk encased within his ribs.

  He cleared his throat, as if that simple action would solve all his problems. “I know not what my father feels. Nor do I care to ponder on it.”

  *

  Ceana knew the precise moment Macrath blocked her out.

  She’d shared with him her troubles, her brother’s death, and yet, when she’d asked for a piece of himself, he’d worked triple-time to build up the stone wall that had come tumbling down at some point since they’d first met.

  She wanted to be upset about it. To be angry that he didn’t want to share.

  But she wasn’t.

  How could she be? The man had been abhorred by his family what seemed like his entire life. His own stepmother sending him to his death. She couldn’t imagine the heinous things done to him as he grew from an infant to a man. And she wouldn’t force him to relive them only so she could be informed.

  Ceana understood the need for walls. The need to protect one’s self. Hell, they were battling every day to protect their bodies. It was a wonder any of them had thoughts at all to anything other than: eat, sleep, survive, repeat.

  She tucked his arm closer, pretending to limp a little more, just so she could feel the heat of him beside her.

  Macrath may not know it yet, but he needed her as much as she needed him. And not in just the physical sense. When she was with him, she felt something. Was it wholeness? He filled all the voids and mended her soul together. Aye, she thought she could say it was wholeness. He made her feel complete.

  She cast her eyes up at the trees, seeing breaks in the branches of the firs and nearly bare oaks, ash and birch. Most of the woodland animals kept hidden, away from the human foot traffic and the nightmarish sounds that their battle had rent in the air.

  “There is this place atop Creag na Faol near my family’s lands. I’d sneak up there when we were at peace. Just sit and think. No one bothered me there. I think they knew where I was. I’m certain my brother had me followed at least once.” Ceana smiled at the memory. “I had the best vantage point there. I could see the island our castle sat upon, the loch, the forest, and the road. There is something to be said about having a place you can go that is only for you. A place where you feel safe. I’ve found myself thinking about Creag na Faol often. Ironically, it’s named because it used to be the home of wolves. But they are no longer there. Legend at Gruamach is that a wolf hunter lives in the caves and hunts them at night.” She licked her lips. They were cracked, tasted metallic. “I don’t know whether or not the lone hunter exists, but what I do believe is that sometimes, there is someone there to fight our demons for us, and other times, we have to forge ahead alone.”

  They came to the edge of the woods. Across the moors, the castle lights sparkled like stars had landed on the stones. Shadowed black figures glided over the heath as the entrants made their way back to Sìtheil. Apparitions, nay, but just as connected with the afterlife as those who’d met their demise in the first three games and the years they’d left behind.

  “I’m here to forge ahead with you, Macrath, whenever you’re ready to let me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ceana woke with the dawn. Watched her tent go from a balmy gray to a dusky white. Around her, the world seemed to be moving at a slow and staggered pace. A shuffle of feet. A cough. Grouses and finches called out good morning, and a woodpecker hammered somewhere close by.

  She blinked the sleep away from her eyes, rolled onto her back and stretched. As it was every morning, her limbs were sore, muscles ached when forced to lengthen. Her toes, ankles and fingers all crackled awake. Her eyes felt heavy, swollen. She sat up to examine her wounds. They’d been cleaned, a salved rubbed over them and the bandages had been replaced upon returning from the middle of the night game. ’Twas a blessing that her wounds had finally chosen to heal.

  Peeling back the white linen layers on her hand, she flexed her fingers and then made a fist. The slice over her knuckles strained against its new skin, but did not break open. Even still, she rewrapped it, then looked at the stitches on her arm and leg. Bruises marred the skin around her wounds. The black crisscross of threads was crude, but done well. She’d broken the one in her leg open, but the poultice they put on it last night seemed to have aided in ceasing the bleeding and rejuvenating her skin.

  Ceana stood slowly, wrapping her plaid around her shoulders, and stepped out into the morning. With the council giving them the day off, many were still abed, and she wished she was one of them.

  But sleep had been something she’d not done well for years. Even when she finally did fall into a deep sleep, she was pulled out of it. Would lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. Thoughts racing.

  With the coming of Samhain, autumn seemed to have disappea
red overnight and brought with it an early winter’s chill. She shivered, curling her toes in her boots. The sky was slowly turning blue, a yellowish-pink stripe on the horizon.

  Ceana ducked back into her tent and made use of the chamber pot, then took it to dump by the moat near the front entrance as they’d been instructed to do. There were no guards awake at this early hour. No one about that she felt compelled to be weary of. She didn’t know if that was more alarming or not. She felt awkward and unsteady without fear biting at her heels.

  The scent of the moat was not as overpowering as it had been on her first day of arrival, perhaps due to the quickly dropping temperatures. She ducked beneath the entrance gate and took the stone stairs on the left to the small grassy and rocky patches along the shore of the slop-filled trench. Above her, the bridge was empty. Being alone left an eerie feeling crawling over her limbs, as though she were the only one left in this desolate land. She hurried back up the stairs and beneath the gate to the inner courtyard.

  Back within the castle walls, and most still abed, she returned the chamber pot to her tent and took a moment to analyze the massive stronghold. Soon to be her own. She wandered away from the occupied areas and through a gate where a kitchen garden had been mostly picked clean of its contents.

  Only two more games she had to live through before it was indeed hers.

  And, with hope, Macrath’s.

  “Good morning, lass.” The gate squeaked behind her.

  Ceana whirled to see Macrath standing there. Every time she looked at him she was stunned by her own reaction. Dark hair hung loose around his stubbled jaw. Blue eyes staring at her with an intensity that set her heart to a rapid pace. A grin that promised so many things. Despite the lack of cleaning accouterments, his shirt looked as though it had been washed, and his plaid was neatly pleated around his narrow hips.

  “Good morning.” She couldn’t help the smile of joy from coming to her. Seeing him was only a reminder that they’d overcome the odds so far.

  Up to now, the gods had indeed been in their favor.

  “ ’Tis probably dangerous for you to be wandering about without a proper escort,” he said, low and smooth.

  She nodded. “But there was no one about.”

  He flicked his gaze behind him over the wall. “Starting to rise now.”

  Ceana grinned. “And now you’re here to keep me safe.”

  Macrath approached her, and she was again stunned by his sheer strength and beauty. How could a man be made so rugged, and yet boast eyes that sparkled a beautiful blue, and dark hair that glossed sleek and feather soft?

  He leaned down and captured her in a deep and tender kiss. She sank against him, warmth filling her all the way down to her numb toes.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked, his gaze roving over the dirt patches at their feet where some remnants of herbs still clung.

  She shrugged, pretending she’d not just been greedily eyeing him. “Nothing really. Looks to have been picked quite clean.”

  “Could you not sleep?” he asked.

  She shook her head, already wishing they were kissing once more as the heat of their passion was overtaken by the chill of the coming winter. “Seemed a waste to spend the morning lying in my empty tent when I could be exploring the grounds.”

  She shivered and tucked her fingers tighter into the folds of her plaid arisaid, glad it had not been yet ruined. She’d chosen not to wear it during the games as the extra fabric only seemed to make her clumsy. As little as she was, she needed all the dexterity she could get from light clothes. But the night, it had simply been too frigid to go without it.

  Macrath stepped beside her and tucked her against his side. “Your lips are turning blue.”

  “ ’Tis a little cold,” she conceded.

  “Shall we go to the tents and see if they’ve managed to give us a warm breakfast?”

  Ceana laughed. “I doubt very much we’ll find that.”

  Though, even as she said it, the scent of bread baking wafted on the next chill breeze.

  Macrath raised a brow. “We may both be surprised.”

  “Nay, we’ll both be disappointed. My guess is the council is going to have a mighty fine morning meal. Maybe even the guards. But not us. We are mostly doomed to death. Not worth the waste of a good loaf.”

  Ceana giggled at Macrath’s wounded expression.

  “But what of good whisky? Will they think us unworthy of it? Because after the past several days, I could use a good nip.”

  Ceana leaned her head against his solid shoulder. “I could use a wee nip myself.” And she normally didn’t have a taste for the peaty, potent drink. Wine and ale, not a problem. But whisky? It burned a path to her stomach and took all sense from her mind.

  She closed her eyes, breathed in Macrath’s comforting, male scent. Bagpipes sounded on the wind. An enchanting melody that sank deep into the bones. With it, came the distinct blow of the horn.

  They were being summoned.

  A shiver of fear volleyed up her spine, and made her stomach drop at the same moment. Had they lied about it being a day of rest? Did they mean to take the exhausted survivors of games one, two and three and push them right into game four?

  Ceana swallowed, trying to push air past her lips and failing. Forcing her tongue to work, she whispered, “What do you suppose that means?”

  Macrath looked down at her, his expression blank. But in his eyes… She could see everything—he feared much the same.

  “I cannot even guess.” Macrath raked a hand through his hair.

  “ ’Haps they merely want to wish us peace for the day?”

  Macrath’s jaw tightened. “Whatever they throw at us, we can dodge it.”

  “Or catch it.”

  “Aye. We’ll be ready.”

  Together, they left the garden and walked around the inner courtyard, the sounds of the piper growing louder until they reached the tent field. Standing in the center upon a raised wooden dais was the piper, and behind him, stood the five council members, clean and freshly pleated.

  About half the entrants had already lined up. Others were still stumbling bleary-eyed from their tents, wiping sleep from their faces and wrapping plaids around their frigid shoulders.

  “Do not trust what they say,” Ceana whispered. In the game of war, the rules were constantly changing. She felt naïve for believing they’d be given a reprieve.

  Macrath gave a slight nod. “Aye.” They moved closer to the lines, Beatrice’s angry gaze on them both.

  “She has taken a disliking to you,” Ceana said.

  Macrath grunted. “She dislikes all things human.”

  She glanced up at him wearily, remembering every plane and angle of his chiseled features. “We must part here.”

  Turning to face her, he leaned close and she was afraid for a moment he would kiss her in front of everyone. “Only in body. In spirit, I hold you here.” He touched his chest, his eyes serious.

  “We shan’t part.” Ceana walked away then, as quick as she could, afraid she’d not be able to let go of his arm, which would only give the guards cause to cut them apart.

  They rejoiced in blood and it wouldn’t do to give them a reason to shed it.

  She took her place in the back of the line of women. Across the path, Macrath kept his gaze rooted on her. His face was grim as the piper finished his song. Aaron stood not too far from Macrath, and he, too, regarded her. But unlike with Macrath, where she felt soothed by his constant stare, she was starting to feel uncomfortable by Aaron’s attentions.

  When she’d left Gruamach, he’d not been her first choice of guard. Boarg MacRae had. He was a cousin of her mother, gray streaking his hair with age, but still a fierce warrior. She trusted Boarg, and had asked him to choose another warrior to join them. When Aaron volunteered, she’d not wanted him to come because he’d been so close with her brother. But the man had broken down, feeling guilty that he’d not been there for her and Dougal when they’d gone on the
hunt. Stated that he felt partly responsible and wanted to at least do right by her and her brother’s memory by making sure she arrived at Sìtheil unscathed.

  But there was something off about him now. As though a part of himself that he’d kept hidden was banging on the barrier he’d created to hide it. Shaking herself out of her own pensive state, she realized she’d been staring at Aaron this entire time and felt awkward.

  What exactly was Aaron’s purpose in escorting her? Why had he so readily joined the war games when the game steward had demanded a MacRae warrior enlist or else she’d forfeit her place?

  “How’s your head?” Judith murmured beside her.

  Ceana glanced sideways at the mountain-sized woman. Her hair was pulled back in a wet plait down her back, and she stood at attention as she always did, even in a more casual situation.

  “If you’re referring to when you hit me with your cudgel, I am completely recovered.”

  “And if I’m not?” Judith raised her brows in question.

  Ceana gave a grim smile. “Then I seem to be falling into a pit of darkness.”

  “Darkness?”

  Ceana nodded, chewed her lip. “What do I have to be happy for today, when tomorrow another person will die?”

  “Life.” Judith shrugged, sounded so nonchalant about it, as though it were the most simple answer of all.

  Life. It almost seemed absurd.

  The simple reality of it struck her hard, leaching the breath from her lungs. “I am happy to be alive,” she said, as though trying to convince herself, then a little louder, “I am alive.”

  “Then you should not let yourself fall into the blackness of evil’s hands.”

  Judith was right. Ceana shifted her gaze to the council who stood behind the piper. All of them stared straight ahead, not one even bothering to look at the entrants. But she was particularly interested in Lady Beatrice. The woman stood tall, lines creased her brow. And though she stared into the distance, her displeasure was evident. This woman had let evil take her in its grasp. She lived in the murkiness of her own life’s discontent. She may have won her place on the seat of Sìtheil, but she’d lost everything that made up her humanity.