If ye give yer heart to a woman, she will wield it like a weapon. She will use it against ye and beat ye to death with it … do no’ e’er trust a woman, Alec. They all lie and cheat to get what they want. And what do they want? Yer bloody ballocks in a sack they can wear around their waists. They all be the same. Ye can no’ trust a one of them.
’Twas a staggering piece of news.
In a daze, he walked around the gathering room for a time, his mind battling with his heart on what he should or should not do, or say, or feel. Confounded — and perturbed for reasons he could not grasp — he found himself in his study, pacing back and forth.
Just because she loves ye, does no’ mean ye have to give her yer heart, he told himself.
His father’s voice kept ringing in his mind, like the clanging of a church bell. Fool. Fool. Fool.
The walls seemed to close in around him. Suddenly, he felt confined, restricted. If he stayed much longer, he thought he might suffocate.
He all but ran out of the keep. While the cool afternoon breeze felt good against his skin, he still felt much confined.
I need to ride, to be away from these walls. I need space to think.
A heartbeat later, he was heading around the keep and storming toward the stables. “Seamus!” he called out for his stable master. “Seamus!”
The man came rushing out of the stables with a look of concern etched across his brow. “M’laird?” he asked, wiping his hands on an oily cloth.
Alec thundered past him. “I need to ride.” Alec ground out as he headed toward his horse’s stable. Ares nickered and snorted, undoubtedly sensing his master’s mood.
As Alec brought the horse out into the shed-way, Seamus was bringing his saddle. “What be the matter, m’laird?” Seamus asked with much concern.
Alec ignored him as he hooked Ares to the cross-ties. With his anger quite apparent, Seamus decided it might be best to give his chief and laird a wide berth. He tossed the saddle onto Ares’s back and stepped away.
Alec’s shouting had apparently drawn the attention of Derrick, for he soon appeared in the stables, with three other men.
“Alec?” Derrick called out as he entered. He glanced at Seamus, who offered him nothing more than a shrug and confounded expression. “Alec, what be the matter?” Derrick asked as he approached with a good deal of caution.
“There be nothin’ the matter!” Alec bit out. “I simply want to ride.”
Derrick had known Alec all of his life. He knew him well enough to deduce two things: one) his laird was upset about something. And two) inquiring as to what that something was would undoubtedly leave him with a black eye or a broken neck.
Whispering to his men, Derrick said, “James, ye and Robert go back and let Gylys and Kyth ken that the laird and I be goin’ fer a wee ride. Fergus, ye come with me.”
Alec made no attempt to argue that Derrick’s presence was not needed this day. He was too consumed with raw emotions, emotions he couldn’t quite understand, to care if his men followed or not.
As soon as the gates were opened at his command, he thundered over the drawbridge and down the lane. Veering to the west, he kicked his steed into a full run as soon as he was past the cottages.
The cool air whipped and stung against his sweat covered skin. With his heart pounding mercilessly against his chest, he rode hard and fast, trying to outrun his father’s voice. Fool. Fool. Fool.
Through glens, across the wide stream, over hills, he rode as fast and as hard as Ares could go. His men kept up the grueling pace, but kept a fair distance.
Does it truly matter that she loves ye? What does that knowledge change? What does it matter? Leona loving ye, does no’ make ye weak.
There was nothing to be done about his wife’s feelings, no matter how misguided they might be. As he did his best to persuade his heart that it meant nothing, his heart begged to differ.
Ye ignored her. Ye ignored all the signs that she was workin’ too hard. Ye refused to give her help when she needed it, until it was almost too late. She could have been killed when she fell from the ladder that day. She could have died when she was locked away in the north tower.
And still, she loves ye.
’Twas then that a voice, a long dead voice, tickled at the back of his mind. ’Twas his mother’s voice.
He slowed his horse to a trot, doubt and uncertainty crashing into his mind. Alec, I have loved yer da for a long while, he could hear his mother speaking just as clearly as if she rode with him now. ’Tis truly painful to love a man who can no’ or will no’ love ye back. He has made me life a livin’ hell on earth. And all because I loved him.
He was transported back in time, to his youth, to when he was a little boy of six, standing as witness to one of the many horrible arguments betwixt his parents.
“All I ever wanted was to give ye a happy home!” his mother would cry.
“And ye have failed at every turn! ’Tis hell on earth to be married to such a demandin’, cold woman!” his father would reply.
“Why do ye hate me so?” she wept.
“Yer tears be no’ real, ye she-devil!”
That was not the life he wanted. Hell on earth.
Not for himself or any children he and Leona might be blessed with. Never would he wish that life upon a child. To be confused and afraid, wondering who he should listen to.
Wondering which of his parents he should love more.
An hour into his journey across his lands, they came upon a deep, dense forest. The line of trees acted as a border betwixt his lands and the MacLeods. ’Twas considered a bit of neutral territory as both clans would often hunt there with never an issue.
He veered west, walking slowly betwixt the glen and tree line. The sun was making its afternoon descent, the air crisp and cool. His heartbeat slowed to a more tolerable pace.
If I give Leona me heart, it will weaken me. Will I become the same as me father? Will our children suffer for it? Did my parents ever truly love one another?
Back and forth, a battle betwixt heart and mind. More than an hour had passed since they’d left the keep and he was no closer to enlightenment than when he’d left.
He realized then, he would find no answers in his past. Mayhap instead of looking to his parents, he should start looking elsewhere.
Never a praying man, he suddenly felt the urge to turn to God for advice. No one, least of all his father, would ever know he had turned to a force, a power, far stronger than himself.
Alec pulled his horse to a stop and craned his head to look skyward. “Lord,” he whispered. “Please, tell me what I should do.”
He heard nothing but the Highland wind, birds twittering in the trees, and the sound of his own heartbeat.
Undeterred, he asked. “Could ye no even see to it to give me a wee bit of a sign?”
’Twas then that something seemed to have spooked the birds, for they left the trees and took to the sky in great haste. Ares was similarly startled as he nickered twice, then stomped his foot.
Chuckling at his own folly, he looked to the heavens one more time. “’Tis no’ much of a sign—”
Before he could finish speaking, he heard Derrick calling out to him.
“Alec! Look out!”
Had Derrick not called out when he had, Alec would not have turned at the right time, and the arrow would have pierced his heart.
Taken by surprise, he was frozen in place, but only for the briefest of moments. More arrows began flying through the air, coming from the treeline.
Quickly, Alec unsheathed his sword and returned his men’s war cries with one of his own. Ares whinnied and reared, the highly trained animal eager and ready to help his master battle whatever enemy lay hidden amongst the trees.
Instead of turning and running away, Alec kicked his horse and tore across the glen to his men.
“Did ye see anyone?” Alec yelled as the arrows continued to fly.
With the horses screaming, pounding at the earth, the men
had their swords drawn as they tried to determine what the bloody hell was going on. “Nay!” Derrick ground out.
“Do we take to the forest?,” Fergus asked.
“Nay!” Alec and Derrick shouted in unison.
“Retreat!” Alec called out as he kicked his horse to a full run.
Derrick and Fergus pulled their horses beside his own, heading back the way they’d come.
“Be it the MacLeods?” Fergus asked nervously.
Before anyone could answer, an assault from ahead ensued. Arrows ripped through the air. One made its way into Derrick’s left shoulder. “Bloody hell. The bastards shot me!”
There was no time to stop to tend to his wound. They were forced to head west, away from their attackers, and away from the keep.
They pounded across the glen, kicking up dirt, tearing through the tall late summer grass. In the open, they were at a distinct disadvantage. Alec surmised there had to be at least ten of them, because of the number of arrows.
Moments later, they could hear the sound of thunder coming from behind. Alec dared take a quick glance over his shoulder. He was off in his estimation by five. There were at least fifteen masked men chasing after them.
Out-numbered and out-weaponed, he could only pray they weren’t outwitted. They did the only thing they could do: veer west and north, toward Kinbrea. But even at their current breakneck speed, ‘twould be hours before they could reach the village. If they survived.
Leona was never one to worry, at least not without good reason. The noonin’ hour had come and gone without a word from her husband. Thus far, her only visitor had been Patches, whom she’d sent back to Seamus more than an hour before.
Wrapping a fur around her shoulders — because Alec still had not returned her clothes — she opened the door in hopes of asking Gylys or Kyth about her husband.
The landing was empty. Oh, she truly did not wish to go wandering about the keep in nothing but her nightdress, but she was growing hungry. And a little concerned.
Tiptoeing to the edge of the landing, she peered down and was relieved to find Kyth sitting at the table, partaking of fresh bread, dried beef, and an apple. “Kyth!” she called out to him. “Have ye seen Alec?”
He looked up and smiled at her. “No’ fer some time, mistress.”
Well that was no help and it made no sense. “We were to have lunch together,” she informed him.
Kyth stood up and leaned back to look at her. “He might have been distracted. I shall ask Adhaira to bring ye a tray.”
“Thank ye. And if it would not be too much trouble, could ye at least bring me my robe? I ken verra well ye ken where Alec put my things. I be cold today. Ye would no’ want me to catch my death, would ye?”
He smiled up at her, apparently unbothered by her complaint of cold. “I shall see ye are fed, mistress.”
Bah! “And would ye please find me husband? I need to speak with him.”
Kyth inclined his head. “I can no’ do that until Gylys returns,” he said. He raised a hand to stop her protest. “But I promise, we will find Alec fer ye. Do no’ fash yourself over it.”
Who is fashin’ themselves over anythin’? She thought bitterly. With a snort of derision, she turned on her heals and went back to her room.
Had she not been confined to her room, she would be below stairs right now, heading to her kitchen in order to begin preparing the evening meal. But much to her vexation, she was confined. And growing more confused as the afternoon wore on. Where on earth was Alec?
Her frustration grew with each moment that passed. She had not seen him since morning. There was nothing unusual about that. What was unusual was that he had specifically told her he would return at noon time, and he would take her for a walk out of doors. Noontime was five hours ago, and thus far, no one would tell her where he was. Her stomach warned that something was wrong. Alec was a man of his word. If something had happened whereby he could not keep his promise, he would have sent word.
Having had enough of pacing around her room, she stormed out, and went to the banister that overlooked the gathering room. She didn’t bother with grabbing a fur to cover herself.
“Gylys! Kyth!” she called down, angrily.
Both men were standing in the middle of the gathering room, talking to a young man Leona did not know. All three turned in surprise to look up at her.
“Have you received word of me husband yet?”
She caught the conspiratorial glances they shared betwixt one another before Gylys answered. “Nay, mistress, we have not. But we are certain all is well. Ye should return to yer room.”
They failed miserably in their attempts to placate her. Instinctively she knew there was something they were not telling her. But what?
’Twas doubtful any of them would tell her the truth. ’Twas also likely none of them would bring her clothes to her. Frustrated, and with her worry building, she called down to them. “Send Adhaira to me at once. And see if ye can no’ find Patrice as well.”
Quickly, she returned to her room and her pacing.
Where is Alec?
The plan had been for Alec and his men to spread out in the attempt to outrun their faceless attackers. Alec continued west, while Derrick and Fergus were to split off and try to get back to their keep for reinforcements.
In a perfect world, it would have worked.
But they were outnumbered.
Alec could only watch in stunned horror as an arrow found its way through Fergus’ neck. The man fell forward, slumped over the neck of his mount. An arrow hit the flank of the horse, which caused him to rear and toss Fergus to the ground.
Alec cursed under his breath, his heart pounding with dread and fear. “Bloody hell!” he shouted.
Were they to have fought one on one, instead of acting like cowards and ambushing them, Alec had no doubt he and his men could have defended themselves.
They were on their own land, for the sake of Christ! Should not a man be able to ride through his own lands without worry of attack?
Attacking unawares was something his people would have done in the not so distant past. Now that he had a taste of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such treachery, he didn’t like it. Bile rose in his throat as he continued pounding across the wide open glen.
A hill came into view. Derrick was still riding right beside him. “Go back!” Alec called out. “Go back and get help!”
Derrick spat at the ground. “The bloody hell I will!” he said. “And leave ye to these sons of whores?”
Mayhap if he had listened to his chief, the arrow would not have torn through his back, nor pierced his heart. But he hadn’t listened and now, an arrow was thoroughly lodged inside his chest.
Blood began to ooze from betwixt his lips. His skin turned a deathly pale. Alec wanted to cry out, to curse and then kill the bastard who had just felled one of his oldest friends. With the impact of the arrow, Derrick let loose the reins and the horse began to slow.
Alec could not look back. There was nothing to be done for either Derrick or Fergus. And if he wasn’t careful, there would be nothing to be done for him.
Ares was beginning to tire. He’d already been ridden hard before the attack had occurred. Who knew how well rested his pursuers horses were.
The ground was turning from wide open glens to a much hillier landscape. With each upward ascent, the horse grew more and more tired. Lord, Alec hated having to push the animal, but push he must if he were to have any hope of escape.
Alec had no idea how long they’d been riding; he could only estimate it had been at least an hour, with the way the sun was hanging low in the western sky. He prayed the attackers would soon give up their pursuit.
Over another hill the landscape turned hopeful. Ahead lay a forest in which he hoped he could hide.
“Come on Ares!” he all but begged his horse. The animal was covered in froth and foam, his breathing labored. Although he struggled, he still pushed forward at Alec’s command.
>
A wide meandering stream ran through the middle of the forest. Ares pushed up and down the embankment. The icy cold water was deeper than Alec had anticipated. But Ares did not let him down. They made their way through the stream, splashing water all around them. Alec’s trews were soaked to his knees by the time they made their way across.
Ares struggled to climb up the next embankment. For a moment, Alec thought his trusty steed was going to fall down and die.
Once they were up the other side, Alec took to the dense trees. Quickly, he scanned the area for a place he could hide. Ahead, the forest thickened across uneven, jagged spaces. Felled trees, wet grass, black earth, gnarled and uneven and broken land.
He could push Ares no farther, not across this terrain. Quickly, he slid from his back, grabbed his reins and led him down a narrow crevice. Kneeling down, he waited, straining his ears to listen for any signs of his attackers. ’Twas difficult to hear anything over his own jagged breaths and the blood rushing in his ears.
Time passed by, agonizingly slowly. Overhead, what he could make out in the little breaks in the green canopy, the skies darkened, signaling that rain was on its way. He might be able to use the weather to his advantage.
As he waited and listened, his mind raced for an explanation. Who were these men? What the bloody hell did they want? Why had they attacked? He could only hope he lived long enough to find the answers.
His breathing finally slowed, his heart not beating quite as profoundly as before. The sounds of the forest were all around him. Birds chirping, cawing, squirrels squeaking as they raced through the trees. Still, he heard nothing that said his attackers were near.
Alec knew ’twas too soon to leave his hiding place. The aggressors had already proven they were determined. Doggedly pursuing him across countless miles. But for what purpose?
Ares’s own breathing had begun to slow along with Alec’s. The well-trained steed did not so much as snicker or paw at the earth. He remained as still and as quiet as a churchmouse.
Derrick and Fergus. He could not help but think of the loyal men who had risked their own lives to save his. There was no time to mourn the loss of the two brave men, men he had known for most of his life.
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 31