The Munro Clan Highlander Collection (The Munro Clan Highlander Romances)

by Marilyn Stonecross

  “In the lower kitchen, with Cara.”

  “Good. Katrina, ye stay here. Sabrina…”

  Sabrina hurried away.

  Katrina realized the absence of servants, and indeed of light; only a few torches and candles burned, and all the shutters were drawn, leaving the room in stifling darkness.

  Logan found his way to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Ye’ve shown tremendous strength of will before. Will ye show it now?”

  She nodded, unable to answer him properly.

  “No harm will come to ye.”

  She nodded again, though she did not see how he could hold off an entire army on his own. It seemed a fete even a Highlander could not pull off.

  The knocks that sounded at the door were heavy and unforgiving, and Katrina forced her fear aside. Logan gave her one last searching look, then strode to the door, one hand resting on his dagger.

  “Who be there?” he barked.

  “Seamus Gunn.”

  Logan looked over at Katrina. “Laird Gunn,” he said quietly. Then, louder, “Do I have yer word ye’ll not harm any in this house?”

  “It’s just me, Munro. Ye’ve nothing to fear.”

  Logan pulled the door open, and Seamus Gunn, a hulking giant of a man, strode inside.

  Katrina could hardly take her eyes off him. She’d thought Logan and his brothers were large, but Seamus Gunn was at least three times Logan’s size, and despite the crown of gray atop his head, his arms and chest were still thickly corded with muscle. He looked like one of the strongmen from the bloody carnival.

  Perhaps that would have been a better place for him in this life…

  Logan closed the door behind Gunn and offered him a place at the nearest table. Gunn sat down, his weapons clanking loudly around him. His eyebrows lifted slightly as he took in Katrina. “This is not one of the Munro wenches.”

  “State your terms, Gunn,” Logan said.

  Seamus Gunn rested his bracer-clad wrists on the table with an audible thunk. “Verra well. We know yer alone here with the women, Munro. Ye’ve a handful of soldiers and some frightened women and children.”

  Logan remained impassive. Katrina clasped her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting.

  “We’ve grown as tired of the bloodshed as ye have, Munro. There’s nothin’ we’d like more than to set our differences aside an’ be good neighbors, or at least tolerate one another.”

  “And what must we do to reach such an accord?”

  Logan sounded disaffected, almost bored. If he was nervous, Katrina could not tell.

  Gunn smiled. Katrina twisted her hands.

  “All yer lands south of the forest. Ye can have the keep; it reeks of ye anyway. But all will belong to us.”

  Logan spread his hands. “Alas, I am not in a position to agree or disagree to such terms, as ye must know. My brother Ramsey is the one to cede property and sign documents, not me. But as ye’ve led him on a wild chase…”

  Gunn’s expression hardened. “Nevertheless, it will be ye who makes the choice, Munro. Ye have until evening to decide, and followin’ that, we will attack ye. Perhaps Laird Munro will be more…agreeable…if he learns we have hostages?”

  Logan’s short sword was in his hands before Katrina could blink. “If ye harm a hair on their heads, it will be your blood strewn across the Highlands!”

  Gunn leaped to his feet. “Threatening a man who arrived begging a truce? Ye Munroes are all the same. Make your decision, Logan Munro. Yer all alone out here, without yer great laird brother to save ye. By nightfall, I say. I’ll see meself out.”

  He strode away, his armor and weaponry punctuating every step he made.

  When the door slammed shut behind him, Logan’s sword slipped to the floor. “Bloody hell…”

  Katrina rushed to him, taking his sweaty hands in hers. She was surprised to find him shaking, damp with perspiration—was this why he’d kept the light dim? So they would not see his nerves?

  “Logan,” she whispered.

  “Bloody hell, I’m not cut out for this,” he rasped. “This is not my game, Katrina. This is Ramsey’s and Seamus Gunn’s. I can scarcely speak to him without my voice quaking—I canna cede land t’him, canna let them have what they want—but what choice do I have? What can I—”

  She stood on her toes and silenced him with a kiss.

  She hadn’t meant to do it; she had only sought to calm him, to quiet him before he worked himself into a state he could not undo. But his mouth felt so soft and pliant against hers, and his arms slowly came up to surround her, to pull her closer to him.

  His pounding heart seemed to ease slightly. She knew hers did.

  Someone cleared a throat behind them.

  Katrina turned around guiltily. Sabrina had set the food on the table and had arched one pale eyebrow, though her expression seemed more bemused than angry. “While I’m glad our state has moved you to express your feelings, what are we going to do?”

  “Seamus Gunn wishes us to cede all lands to the south to his clan. If we do not agree to this by sundown, he’ll attack the keep.”

  Sabrina’s lovely face grew hard. “He thinks to take us in our own home? And you’ve not the authority to decide such matters.”

  “So Logan told him.” Katrina was still trying to piece some of the story together; had these two families truly been at war for generations over something as fickle as land?

  Was this how it was with all the great houses?

  Sabrina reached for a cup of wine. “We shall be the victors here,” she said. “Soon enough, Ramsey will realize what has happened and come back. And then Seamus Gunn will be very sorry indeed.”

  “Aye,” Logan said, resting a hand on Katrina’s shoulder. “House Munro has stood against greater foes than he. The fool is in for a bloody long night.”

  ***

  In all, Logan could think of few situations more unfortunate than this one.

  The Gunns would strike—of that he had no doubt. The Munro walls would hold, at least for a few hours; he’d not seen heavy assault equipment amidst the ranks of men, which meant they intended to take the keep with swords and arrows.

  In theory, at least, all he needed to do was keep the doors barred and the windows shuttered until Ramsey and his army returned.

  Granted, Seamus Gunn might well have a trebuchet or two hidden away in the treeline, though Logan could not imagine him using the devices against them. At least, he dearly hoped not.

  Meanwhile, he had the lives of his sisters and nieces and nephews in his hands, and that did make him damnably uneasy.

  Yers is the most important role of all, Alec had said. He had not believed it at the time, but now his spine twitched uneasily, and his mouth had been dry for the better part of the day.

  The three women, dozen servants, and dozen soldiers all looked at him now. Save Katrina, who had a sort of melancholy resignation to her, they all looked just as terrified as he felt.

  And now they expected him to make an inspiring speech.

  “We donna have numbers,” he began. “They have hundreds, perhaps a thousand. But we do have these good walls around us, and this is our home. We will prevail this night.”

  A few heads nodded.

  This is harder than it looks. Ramsey had always been the one to make the speeches.

  “Anyone who has training with a sword will wield one. Daggers for the rest. I want all of the women toward the center of the keep, away from windows and doors.”

  He was tempted to send them off through the tunnels with the children, but he did not know how much the Gunns knew of the keep’s layout. With his luck, he’d send them out to what he thought was freedom, only to have them wind up in the clutches of Seamus’ best men.

  No, it would not do.

  He ran a hand through his hair, staring at all of them again. “I want patrols, starting tonight, of each hallway that has an entrance. Bar everything—everything—and if you hear what sounds like someone in the walls, or ju
st outside, then for God’s sake, alert me.”

  Not that he knew what he’d do if and when such a thing happened, but he could scarcely afford to lose his people to panic.

  He provided weapons from the keep’s armory. The soldiers knew what to do and seemed resolute, if somewhat nervous, but most of the servants had never so much as touched a sword, much less lifted one in anger. “This is your home,” he said to each one as he pressed a hilt into their hands. “Defend it.”

  At last there were only the women.

  “Where are the children?” he asked.

  “With Old Dennis in the lower kitchen,” Cara said. “They were baking a cake.”

  “I’m sure they’ve moved on since then,” Sabrina said. “He’ll keep them occupied.”

  Logan nodded thoughtfully. Old Dennis had been the weapons master for years until arthritis set in; now he cooked up a storm every day. The old man still cut a formidable appearance, though, and Logan had no doubt Dennis could look after the lads and lasses if the occasion called for it. “Good. Leave them with him.”

  He found small, slender swords for them. Sabrina made a face, holding it as she might a dead rodent, but Cara took a few practice swipes. Their attendants, who were doing a passably good job of hiding fear, clutched the hilts with white knuckles.

  Katrina held the sword properly, at least, and jabbed at an invisible foe a time or two. “We had swordsmen,” she explained when she caught Logan looking. “I’ve never used one, but I occasionally stood in.”

  He showed them a few basic moves, then sent Sabrina and Cara back to the kitchens. “Dennis can help you more,” he said.

  That left him with Katrina, whose fearlessness he was beginning to admire.

  “Walk with me,” he said.

  She nodded.

  They prowled the keep in near silence, occasionally passing guards or armed servants. Everything seemed damnably quiet, and why not? People were terrified.

  “I am sorry ye were pulled into this,” he said, feeling he ought to break the silence between them. If others saw them talking, perhaps their fears would ease, as well. “This is an old feud between our families.”

  “Over land,” she said. “All this posturing and threatening and killing over land.”

  “Our land,” he said.

  Katrina chuckled softly, looking down at the floor as they walked. “The carnival travels, never staying in one place for more than a season. Land is everywhere. You could not spare the Gunns some to make them happy?”

  “It doona work that way, lass. If it were not land, they would come after us for something else.”

  She did not seem to believe him. He supposed from her perspective, it must all look very strange.

  “Thank you for not sending me to the kitchens with them,” she said abruptly. It was either a clever change of subject, or one that she felt was necessary. “Cara is not so afraid, or does a better job of hiding it, but Sabrina is terrified. I fear it would make me even more fearful.”

  “Cara…ye’d like Cara, methinks, were ye to spend time together. A stubborn wench to be sure, but she has never been afraid to speak her mind. She runs the McHugh lands; Alec is merely her strong arm.”

  He smirked to think of it. Alec had been quite adamant that women belonged in the home, subservient to men; Cara had somehow twisted his perspective over the years, either through gentle persuasion or more devious means. However she’d done it, it was Cara who ruled the McHugh roost.

  “And Sabrina?” she asked.

  “Ah, the kindest lass I ever knew…but a lass through and through. She’s a lady. She’s happy, methinks, happy with Ramsey and her family, but she is more…genteel? More refined. Battle is not for her. Ramsey will have me hide if anything happens to her.”

  Katrina nodded, and they lapsed into silence for another few minutes.

  Dusk came and went. Seamus Gunn did not return to their doors, but Logan and Katrina stood out on the battlement as the sun went down, watching the campfires spring up around the waiting army.

  “It begins,” Logan murmured.

  He heard a faint bellow from the fields—orders being shouted. A hundred pinpricks of light abruptly went up. Logan squinted, trying to make out just what they were. Torches? Were the fools going to march on the keep?

  The torches sailed heavenward, than arced sharply down toward them.

  “Arrows!” He grabbed Katrina and thrust her back inside, slamming the door behind them. Two arrows made it through the crack before it shut entirely; one spattered out harmlessly against the stone floor, but the other struck her skirt.

  “Bloody hell!” Logan stomped on it. Fabric tore, and the dress nearly split up the side. The flaming bit sputtered, flared briefly, and then burned itself out.

  Katrina stared down at it, astonished. “They want to burn us out?”

  “They’ll have a bloody difficult time of it. This keep is built of stone.” He took a deep breath. “They must have seen us out there.”

  “And now we’re trapped.” Her eyes, so vibrant and green, caught his, and then…

  Whatever it was, they could not stay in here much longer.

  “Are ye all right?” he whispered to Katrina.

  She nodded, and he caught the barest glimpse of a smile. “Aye.”

  They left the room together, returning to the keep and its halls of nervous inhabitants. Katrina excused herself, disappearing into a chamber, and Logan continued on his own to the great hall, where several people were gathered.

  They were clearly listening to the sounds from outside.

  “Friends,” he barked, “do not fear that noise. They are shouting to drive us out, but it’s sound, nothing more.”

  He did not tell them about the flaming arrows. They might do little against stone, but flying fire tended to put a scare into even the bravest of men.

  Supper was sparse, consisting of whatever could be consumed quickly and quietly. No one spoke much; Logan was fairly certain it was for the best. They listened to the noise and were aware of their enemy as it lurked so near.

  Ramsey, Alec, where are you?

  What was Seamus Gunn doing right now? Likely enjoying a roast boar and some of the rotgut wine he so favored. He was probably surrounded by his troops, singing bawdy tavern songs while his other men contributed to the cacophony assaulting the Munro keep.

  Logan found Sabrina, Cara, and their bairns in the lower kitchen with Dennis, who had donned full armor and a helm that might well have been passed down from his grandsire. “All is well?” he asked, careful to keep his voice cheerful.

  The place certainly smelled good. The children had cooked up soft rolls, sweetmeats, cakes, pies, and other delectable treats. Logan’s mouth watered in spite of himself when Jamie offered him a small pie, and he devoured it in two bites. “Ye have a talent for this, children,” he said.

  “They’re fine little cooks,” Sabrina said. She turned her nervous stare to Logan. “How goes it?”

  “They make a great deal of noise, but little else,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. Down here in the kitchens, he could only make out the faintest hint of the sound, and that was for the best. Sabrina did not need any more added to her weakened nerves.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Sabrina did not seem to be put entirely at ease by the gesture, but she smiled at him.

  “Dennis,” he said. “Ye will look after them?”

  “Aye,” Dennis said. “They’re safe with me, young laird.”

  He believed it. Dennis’ family had served the Munroes faithfully for more than a hundred years, and the man’s loyalty could be equaled only by his ferocity.

  Logan returned to the great hall, bringing a basket of sweetmeats. Might as well put the bairns to use.

  Katrina reappeared, her gown hastily patched with a swath of fabric. Her eyes lit up when she saw the sweetmeats, and she helped herself to several.

  “Sit watch with me?” he invited.

  “Of course.”<
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  They sat together into the late hours of the night, taking comfort in each other’s company, listening to the sound of the raging Gunns outside.

  ***

  She awakened to a heavy thud against the door.

  Katrina flung the blanket off her, rolling to her feet in seconds. Logan was already standing up, his claymore held at the ready.

  The keep’s front doors shook again, creaking beneath the weight of something enormous on the other side.