Highland Redemption (Highland Pride)

by Bailey, Lori Ann

  Struggling for the dominant position, he faltered as Neil’s elbow connected with his side. Despite his pain, Brodie was faster and more agile, punching forward into the man’s gut. He was rewarded when the bastard folded at the spot of impact and buckled at the knees, falling to the ground.

  He kicked at Neil and scored a shot to the man’s ribs. Rolling over, the arse writhed on the ground and cradled the spot where the boot had connected.

  “Look out,” came a shout from Skye. The bandit charged with the dirk in his hand.

  Brodie was too slow, and the knife pierced his side. Blinding pain seared through him. The man pulled the dirk back and plunged toward him again, but this time, Brodie caught the bandit’s hand and twisted until the knife fell from his opponent’s grasp.

  Punching with his other hand, his fist collided with the man’s scrawny face, and the bandit crumbled to the ground. While stooping to pick up the dirk, Brodie heard the angry grunt of a threat headed his way.

  Neil was on him again. Just as the traitor reached him, Brodie sank the blade of the dirk into soft flesh of his opponent, and Neil stilled. Twisting the blade, he pushed deeper. Blood bubbled from the man’s mouth before he went limp and slumped onto Brodie’s shoulder.

  Pushing the body off, he kept his grip on the knife as the man crumpled lifeless to the ground. The bandit still writhed on the ground. Brodie held his hand pressed to his side and sighed with relief when he saw Alan standing over the man, an angry glare in his eyes.

  Neither man would threaten Skye again.

  Excruciating pain radiated from his wound and blood oozed from the sliced skin. Swaying, he dropped to his knees then fell back on his ass. He blinked a couple of times, then gentle hands pulled at his plaid to get at the injury.

  “Sit back. Let me look at the damage.” Skye was leaning over him.

  “Let the healers deal with him.” The MacDonald’s voice permeated the fog.

  “Nae, he needs me.”

  Aye, she was right, he needed her. Clarity took hold, and he knew he couldn’t go back to a life without her. He could no longer be the Raven. If he had to, he’d take her somewhere far away where they could be safe, but they would be together.

  “This is nae place for a lass. I have to get ye out of here now,” the stern laird argued.

  If he lived through this mess, he would find a way to prove to that arse he was worthy of her. He would dig himself out of the tangled world of deceit and danger that his life had become.

  Skye was the only thing that mattered.

  “Nae, Uncle, I love him. I’m staying with him until we can get him to Maggie.”

  “Nae, Skye. Yer uncle is right. Let him protect ye,” he huffed out before darkness enveloped him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Slumping sideways on the bench at a corner table, Brodie swirled a caramel colored ale around his cup and studiously avoided the gazes of the other tavern patrons. The brew smelled of malted yeast and earth. It appeared surprising smooth, with a pleasant scent, but he didn’t lift the glass to his mouth.

  Skye was gone.

  He’d not been able to see her before she had left Kentillie, and he could only just now sit astride his horse without the wound in his side knifing him with pain.

  Several lasses in the tavern attempted to catch his eye, but he glanced away every time they approached. He even had to give some a gentle nudge from his table. He didn’t want company, and if all went according to plan, he was about to break free from the facade he’d kept up for years, anyway.

  The last time Skye had left, he’d drowned himself in ale and lasses. It had never helped, and this time he didn’t even want to try. The feel of her skin on his was still too fresh to let it go. Her lavender scent clung to blankets, the furniture, and every crevice of the house. He needed the memories because it meant she had been his again.

  The day after the altercation, he’d woken in the room where Maggie treated the ill, then developed a fever and hadn’t been coherent or capable of moving from the bed for another three days. By the time he was lucid, the MacDonald and Skye were gone. Maggie had kept his movements so restricted he’d not even been able to warn the arse that the betrothal to Collin he’d made for Skye put her life in jeopardy.

  Robbie appeared once his fever had broken. The lad had been so secretive and apprehensive since his arrival at Kentillie that they had barely spoken. He went straight into his reason for the visit. “I was in the village getting herbs for Maggie when I overheard Neil MacLean tell that Covenanter he kenned where the girl was. I rushed to tell Lachlan. I’m sorry I didn’t know where you lived, or I would have gone to you first.”

  He nodded, giving the boy a smile. “Och, ’tis all right. Ye did what ye could.”

  Robbie thrummed his finger back and forth over what looked like a cross he kept hidden beneath his shirt. Sighing, the lad raised his blue gaze to meet Brodie’s. “There is more.”

  “Just tell me.” Placing his hand over his side, he straightened and attempted to sit up on the bed, the wound pulling and making him wince.

  “I heard the MacLean man tell the Covenanter that you were the Raven.”

  Oh, hell. “Did he tell anyone else?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but he seemed quite friendly with some other men in the village I didn’t recognize.”

  “Thanks for letting me ken,” he said as the boy turned to go without another word.

  Despite Brodie knowing he could never be with Skye and keep her safe, thoughts of her with Collin MacPherson ate at him. They had lost so much, but he could no longer sit back. It was time to fight for the life—and the woman—he’d always wanted.

  Meeting with Lachlan, Malcolm, and Alan behind closed doors, he told them of the plan he’d devised while recovering. His laird gave him the title of Ambassador of the Cameron Clan, affording him a secure position with little risk. Better yet, when he needed to make occasional trips, he could take Skye with him, or she could stay at the castle so she wasn’t alone.

  They agreed with his scheme, Lachlan saying, “’Tis time ye had yer life back,” and he could have sworn even Alan approved.

  Now, he was playing his part one last time and hoping to shed his roguish image before the day was done. Alexander Gordon was the key—if he were to make a clean break, he would need the rebel leader’s assistance.

  The chair behind him scraped across the floor, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Alex Gordon’s dark, amused eyes. “Ye dinnae look so good.”

  “I feel even better.” He would have laughed, but it hurt too much. “I need a favor.”

  “Well, what is it?” The man sat and Brodie feigned attention to the brew in his hand.

  “I’m getting out.” He was met with silence. “There is a body near the tall oak by the well on the other end of the village.”

  “Why should I care?” Alex’s deep voice held a hint of interest.

  “I need yer help.”

  Silence again.

  “I need ye to turn it over to Argyll’s men and claim it’s the Raven. The man was at many of the taverns when I stole secrets. ’Twill be believable. Take the reward. Do what ye want with it, but I need ye to forget who I am.” He hoped the man had some compassion and would help him out of a life that would get them killed.

  “Why should I?”

  “It will steer suspicion away from ye. How could they think ye a Royalist sympathizer when you’ve delivered one of their most wanted?”

  “I’ll do it. What’s his name?”

  “Neil MacLean.” His shoulders relaxed and released the tension that had been coiling in his chest.

  “Ye are sure this is what ye want?”

  There was no doubt in his mind this was what he had to do. “Aye. I’ve been given a second chance.”

  “Well, take it, and we’ll never meet like this again.” It almost sounded like admiration in Alex’s deep unyielding tone.

  “Thank ye,” he would miss these clandestine meetin
gs, but he had better plans for the rest of his life, if it was not too late to stop a wedding. “And, one last thing. Get Isobel out. Someone kens who she is. She needs an alibi and to be far from yer group next time there is an attack.”

  “Ye ken how stubborn she is, but I’ll try.”

  “Stay safe.” He pushed his chair back, knocked over his ale one more time for posterity, and stumbled out of his life as the Raven.

  …

  Brodie had just finished packing supplies for the journey to the MacDonald stronghold when a fist hammered on his door.

  Ross stormed in. “I’m going with ye.”

  “I kenned ye would. ’Tis why I told ye to meet me here.” Reaching into the bag he’d found hidden in his stables upon returning from his sick bed at Kentillie, he pulled out what he wanted Ross to see and tossed it on the table for his inspection.

  “’Twas the bandit’s. He survived and admitted this bag was his.”

  “’Tis the MacDonald flag.” Ross shrugged and let the flag fall back to the table.

  “He said they’d been exiled by the Earl of Argyll and told if they could start a feud between some of the Royalist clans, he would welcome them back to the Campbell clan. They were trying to start a feud between the MacDonalds, the Camerons, and the MacLeans.”

  “Why?” Curiosity piqued, hope burned in Ross’s eyes. It was a feeling Brodie knew all too well at the moment.

  “They have been raiding our land and cattle, burning our farmers’ homes, killing families, and raping our women.” The conversation he’d overheard outside the door at the inn where he and Skye had stayed came back to him.

  Stuffing the flag back in the bag, he drew out another. Holding it up, he displayed a Cameron flag, then he did the same with a MacLean flag.

  “They framed yer father.” The attacks on the Cameron land were the reason Brodie had sought out Ross and followed him to Stirling to begin with. It appeared Argyll and his bandits were behind it all.

  Ross let out a long breath. “Does the MacDonald ken?”

  “Nae. We didnae find it all until after he’d left.”

  “If he sees this, he may let my father go before my clan gets there.”

  “What are ye talking about?”

  “My brothers. They are gathering an army to invade the Isle of Skye as we speak, but we can beat them if we hurry.”

  “Aye, I just left Kentillie and told Lachlan we were going. I’m leaving now.” He looked at Ross. “Are ye ready?” The man nodded.

  “I’m sorry about Neil. I didnae ken he would do something like that. Seems that bandit met him in the bar the night ye hit him with the tree branch. He was looking for revenge against ye, and for the money.”

  “’Tis done. Let’s go while we have light.”

  Skye was worth it, worth fighting for. Steeling himself for the journey to that damned island to retrieve her, he knew this time he wouldn’t beg, he would fight. And he wouldn’t leave until he had her in his arms or he was dead.

  …

  Skye studied the boats gliding across the calm waters below her window as the sun’s midday reflection shone back up at her. She’d been back at Cairntay for days now, a painfully torturous counting of minutes as she waited for her uncle to return. Tapping her foot, she tried to be patient until the vessels sailed close enough for her to run down and catch him.

  Giving her no chance to explain back at Kentillie, he’d taken her in a fierce embrace and then promptly sent her ahead with some of his men while he stayed behind to consult with Lachlan. As soon as she’d been off Cameron lands, she’d wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back, but her uncle’s men had orders to get her to Skye safely and, despite her pleading, wouldn’t take her back.

  After stopping at an inn the first night, she’d spent the whole time crying and feeling sorry for herself, and for Brodie, because she’d not even had the chance to say good-bye. Her heart ached at leaving him wounded after he’d tried to save her from the bandit and Neil. She had no idea if he’d lived or died.

  The second night, at another inn, she’d been so lonely and despairing, she’d slunk down to the common room and ordered whisky, despite disapproving glares from the MacDonald men. If she’d stayed up in that cold, empty room alone she’d have gone mad.

  As she drank, the room started to blur, and a comfortable numbness washed over her. She understood why Brodie had turned to drink when she’d left without explanation, why he had sought solace in taverns and then the life of a spy. And she’d left him again.

  She beckoned to her soon-to-be betrothed, who had been traveling with them and sat a few tables away. He had kept a respectable distance from her, possibly under her uncle’s orders. At her invitation, Collin MacPherson rose, swaggered forward, and eased into the chair across from her.

  “’Tis glad I am to see ye happier, lass. Those bonny green eyes shouldnae ken sadness, but drinking it away willnae help.”

  “What will?” She honestly wanted to know what could make the pain go away.

  “Facing yer troubles.”

  “Huh.” She was already facing one of them. “Do ye really wish to marry me?”

  “I wanted to court ye to see how we would do together.”

  Comprehension dawned. He wanted more from a wife than a woman to warm his bed—he was looking for love. In Stirling, he had been giving her a way out of the arrangement if they did not find each other mutually agreeable.

  “I have already given my heart to another.” Burying her head in her hands, her eyes stung as the despair returned.

  “Brodie Cameron.”

  She peeked up at the mention of his name.

  “Aye.” Her gaze drifted to the ring she still wore on her finger. Reverently, she touched it to her lips.

  “He is a lucky man.”

  “’Tis the other way around.”

  “From what I have heard, the man isnae worthy of yer affections.” Collin’s voice had an edge to it.

  “’Tis all my fault.”

  “Nae, lass.” Collin said gently. “I release ye from the arrangement.”

  Panic set in. What would happen to the alliance with her uncle’s clan? She just shook her head.

  The fear must have been evident on her face because he continued, “I will tell my father that ’tis my doing. Our alliance will be safe.”

  Hope bloomed in her chest. “Ye are certain?”

  “Aye. After yer uncle returns and we are able to discuss it, I plan to go back to meet with the Cameron laird.” Collin rubbed the back of his neck.

  Suddenly feeling exhausted, she yawned. “’Tis time I retire.” She banged her thigh and rattled the table in her haste to retreat.

  “Good night, Skye,” he called. She could feel his eyes boring into her back as she fled up the stairs.

  Not even knowing if Brodie lived, she cursed herself for the millionth time for not forcing the subject with her uncle so she could stay in Kentillie. She prayed he would honor her wishes, and it wouldn’t be too late to get back.

  Not caring if Brodie lived as a spy, or about the danger it put her in, she needed to be with him. It would probably mean many nights of loneliness waiting for him to come home, but he was worth it. She could handle the nights alone if she knew he wouldn’t desert her.

  Last time, she’d sat back and waited for Brodie to come get her, but now she was willing to fight for him. Her home was with Brodie in the little cottage where she’d grown up. Of course, the hard part would be convincing him to let her stay.

  Upon her arrival at Cairntay, she’d walked into the kitchens and had seen Murdina’s sullen face. Scattered bits of memories dislodged and fell into place like the stars lighting up the heavens.

  The words etched in the shore by Murdina’s husband were like the ones spelled out by the murdered MacLeans, just enough to incriminate other clans. Then, she remembered where she’d seen the knife with the amber hilt the leader of the bandits had held—it had belonged to Niven, Murdina’s husband. />
  The MacLean laird had done nothing wrong. Her uncle had put Ross’s father in the dungeon for another man’s crime.

  Skye paced as she waited for her uncle’s boat to get closer. A smaller boat she could barely see had pushed off after them, but she concentrated on the larger one. When it reached the halfway mark, she rushed from her room.

  As she reached the shoreline, her uncle disembarked. Pulling to a stop in front of him, she rested to catch her breath. She almost coughed as a cool breeze laced with the scent of mist and fresh water filled her lungs.

  “Is Brodie all right?”

  “He lives. Ye have some explaining to do, lass.”

  Relief flooded through her. Ignoring his words, she continued, “The MacLean laird is innocent.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “What do ye ken of the MacLean?”

  “He didnae kill Murdina’s husband. The bandits Brodie fought did it.”

  “Nae. Niven wrote the laird’s name before he died.”

  “Ye are wrong, Uncle. The bandit wrote it after Murdina’s husband was dead. He had Niven’s knife. I kenned the first time I saw it something was wrong, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it. Niven had often helped Murdina in the kitchens, and I remembered the amber jewel in the hilt. There is no’ another like it.”

  “’Tis no’ enough to say he didnae do it.”

  “I have to go back.” She grabbed onto his arms and pleaded.

  “Back where?”

  “To Kentillie. To Brodie.”

  “Ye just got home.” Her uncle’s gaze sharpened, and he studied her intently, as if some epiphany had been revealed and snapped into place. She could have sworn he was smiling with approval, but his lips didn’t turn up. Had something changed his opinion of Brodie?

  “I need to see Brodie. I have to tell him.”

  Shouts rang out.

  The little boat had just made it to the shore and two men disembarked. A familiar figure strode purposely toward her uncle and her. Relief washed over her as her eyes took in the healthy glow of his skin. Brodie was all right.