by Lynda Lukow
After gulping in some air, Randall unsheathed the dagger hanging from his waist. Connor’s dirk stuck in its sheath. Randall sprang to his feet and slashed. The blade gashed Connor’s chin.
“Ye bleed again, Mackintosh.” Randall thrust the blade toward Connor’s chest.
Connor grabbed his wrist. “Ye be but a thistle.” He twisted the joint until Randall dropped the blade.
As Connor kicked it away, the snake’s aide threw a mace. Randall caught it and swung. The blow to Connor’s upper arm knocked him onto his side. The Cameron warrior aimed for Connor’s head. Connor kicked out at Randall’s legs, then grabbed the weapon’s handle as Randall fell. They wrestled for control. A spike pierced Connor’s forearm. His strength and determination surged. He struck Randall’s temple with the haft, then snatched the weapon from his adversary’s slackened grasp. Connor threw the mace to Gavin and regained his feet.
“Stay down and live.”
“’Tis ye who will die.” Randall staggered to his feet and collected his wits.
Though Randall had used his last weapon, Connor could not risk a blood-slicked grip. He tore a strip from his tunic and wrapped his wound.
The warriors circled, face to face in a deadly dance.
Cameron kicked Connor’s midsection. Connor doubled over as the air rushed from his lungs. Randall punched Connor’s head. Mackintosh landed hard on his buttocks. Gasping, he rolled over onto his hands and knees. Randall untied his leather belt and wrapped it around Connor’s neck. He leaned down to Connor’s ear and whispered, “I shall tell the lady ye loved her.”
Connor reached back, grabbed Randall’s head, and flipped him over his shoulders. “I shall tell her myself.” He gathered his strength and clouted Randall’s jaw. Exhausted and bloodied, Connor crawled to his feet and stepped around the crumpled Cameron.
After Shaw declared Connor the winner, Broderick called to the Mackintoshes. The brothers pushed through the crowd and met the emissary halfway up the hill.
“The king wishes to see ye in the throne room posthaste.”
Chapter Eight
The creases in the king’s forehead raised the hair on Connor’s neck. He bowed. “Ye summoned us, my liege?”
“Yer laird has taken ill. I had hoped to make ye a commander in my guard, but I canna risk discord amongst the clans.” The king stood. “I hereby declare yer sentence complete. Hie thee home and give my friend my regards.”
Before taking his leave, Connor begged the king’s indulgence. “In the matter of my previous petition, I ask ye to reconsider.”
“Does yer request rest solely on honor?”
“Nay, sire.”
The king nodded. “Granted, but—”
Connor rubbed his beard as he awaited the king’s conditions.
“Ye must return to yer holding and gain control of those affairs. I shall have an emissary collect and deliver her as soon as possible.”
Connor clenched his jaw. He had envisioned claiming his bride himself, but he had no choice. He bowed and followed Gavin to their quarters all the while praying the king did not dally. If Randall returned to the holding before Kasey’s departure… He would kill the bastard if he touched so little as a hair on her head.
They threw their belongings onto plaids and rolled them. The summons from home meant one of two things. His father laid awaiting death, or he wanted his sons home sooner. Though he prayed the latter held true, he doubted his father would deceive the king.
He reached behind his neck and removed the thong binding his hair. Certain he had left naught behind, he tied the plaid, then slung it over his shoulder.
At the stables, the somber faces and lack of greeting from their clansmen heightened his concern. “Be ye ready?”
Gavin nodded. “We should reach the manor by sundown.”
Connor mounted his stallion. “I pray our laird awaits us.” He pushed the thought from his mind as he raised his arm and dropped it in the direction of the gate. His clansmen pulled their horses behind his.
As soon as the Mackintosh warriors cleared the gate, Gavin urged his horse into the lead. Connor kneed his mount ahead. Gavin sighed as he again passed him. Ingram moved to Connor’s left, Robert to his right, boxing him in. Eight and ten warriors formed a human shield about Connor.
He stiffened. As the eldest son, leading the group belonged to him. Unless… Dread knotted his stomach. He turned to Robert. “How fares our laird?”
“He still breathed when we left, but we canna take any chances.”
“We ride straight to Mackintosh land. Do ye think this caution necessary?”
Robert shrugged. “Some no longer be happy with the king’s reign. They lack the resources to challenge his guard but not to ambush his staunchest supporter.”
Though he loathed giving up the lead, Connor could not argue the decision. Neither the king nor the clan would tolerate a breach in the Mackintosh bloodline.
He had always hoped his father would relegate his duty by stepping down. Caedmon had dedicated his every waking moment to safeguarding both Clan Mackintosh and Clan Chattan. The man deserved the chance to enjoy a carefree life.
“Has yer prized stallion grown feeble, Gavin?” Connor called.
His brother looked back and smiled, then kneed his horse into a full gallop.
Connor and the others prodded their mounts to keep pace. He could do naught more than stay on his guard and pray the ground beneath them surged as fast as water over the falls.
They did not slow their mounts until they reached the edge of the Mackintosh holding. In the valley below, farmers harvested their fields, people attended their chores, and mothers laughed while their children played. The gray stone keep atop the opposing rise appeared as foreboding as a distant thunderhead, but no black streamers adorned the turrets.
Connor’s fears fled. However, if his father had executed a ruse to gain early release, he would choke the old man.
The ride toward the stables calmed him. God, it was good to be home again. After he dismounted, Connor ruffled the stable boy’s hair and handed him the reins. “Give Angus extra oats. I rode him hard.”
“Aye, milord. It be good to see ye again.”
Connor nodded at the lad, then strode into the keep where Cleary, the steward, awaited him. “How fares the laird?”
“He awaits ye in his chambers, Connor.”
“He be bedfast?” Cleary’s shrug heightened his suspicions. He took the steps three at a time and entered his father’s chamber without knocking. Caedmon sat slumped in a chair by the window, red-faced from coughing.
Connor’s heart twisted. For a moment his father’s dark hair turned as red as a robin’s breast, his form shrank to a woman’s. The last time he had seen his mother alive, she had been sitting much the same as his father did now.
Time changed naught. He still felt powerless and wished Kasey already stood by his side. He poured his father a drink and offered it to him. “Has Annie seen ye?”
Caedmon sipped the ale. “Yer sister has more important duties as Lady MacPherson.”
“Ye allowed her to marry Euan?”
Caedmon coughed as he nodded. “Her dowry convinced Euan not to challenge ye for the captaincy of Clan Chattan.”
“And ye believe him?”
“In yer absence, I took the time to get to know him. Now that ye have returned, ye should do the same.”
“He canna be much of a man if he refuses to let yer daughter see to yer health.”
His father narrowed his eyes. “I be disappointed in ye, Connor. By now, ye should have learned not to judge afore ye have all the facts. I have naught more than a cough. No fever, no pains, just a cough. It sounds worse because a piece of my scone went down the wrong side.”
Connor kept his voice low, but hard. “The king believes ye lie on yer deathbed.”
Laird Mackintosh slapped his knee. “I knew our liege would think the worst.” He coughed once, then continued, “My missive stated the clan’s succession
required yer immediate return.”
Connor crossed his arms to keep his hands from his father’s neck. “Go on.”
“If ye leave on the morrow, ye will be a full day ahead of…” Caedmon tapped a finger to his temple. “I seem to have forgotten his name. Randall, mayhap?”
The urge to strangle his father heightened. “We both ken ye never forget a name, so ye can quit this game. Did ye, perchance, consider the king’s concern for not only ye, but the clan’s welfare, too?”
Connor dropped his arms and strode toward the door. “Yer ruse has earned me an early release as well as denied my chance to recover what be mine. The king will send an emissary in my stead whilst I take the Mackintosh reins.”
Caedmon’s jaw dropped. “He never trifles with petty matters.”
Connor leaned against the doorframe. “Had ye taken the time to gather the facts, ye may have learned our liege holds Lady Cameron dear to his heart.”
“The king be a man of his word. Be patient, Connor.”
“The king will attempt peaceful measures, but we both ken Laird Cameron’s submission will require force.”
“I shall ask ye but once. Be she worth bloodshed?”
“Aye, milord, but the Mackintoshes will shed none.”
****
Horses approached. The Royal Guard’s banner could mean only one thing—Hunter, under the king’s protection, had finally come for her.
Kasey hastened to the kitchens and deposited her armful of kindling into the box. After she brushed the wood chips and soil from her kirtle, she ran her hands over her hair. She wished she had time to bathe and change her gown.
Her heart sank when Randall strutted into the great hall. Men clamored to clap him on the back. Women threw themselves into his arms and bathed his face with kisses.
Behind the crowd, Broderick leaned against the wall. Disgust deepened the creases in his face.
Kasey considered edging her way through the thong to gain his side, but discounted the plan for fear Randall would see her.
Laird Cameron walked to the head table and called for silence. “On the morrow we celebrate the return of our favored son.”
Cheers echoed throughout the hall.
Laird Cameron raised his hand and then beckoned Randall to his side. “Have ye aught to say to our people?”
“Mayhap later, milord. Right now I wish only to see Lady Kasey.”
Broderick shoved through the crowd. “I, too, wish to see the lady. Laird, ye will order her possessions packed so that she may return to Inverness posthaste.”
Douglas Cameron glared at the emissary. “I see no reason for her to return. Her wedding to Randall can be held here.”
“Ye have assumed much, milord. The king’s missive revealed not the identity of Lady Cameron’s betrothed.” Broderick turned to Randall. “This man failed to earn the honor.”
Kasey’s breath caught when Randall reached for his sword. She released it after five royal guardsmen surrounded Broderick before Randall could unsheathe his weapon.
“I order ye to see the lady and her maid readied.”
Laird Cameron notched up his chin. “I presume ye have a missive commanding me to relinquish the lasses to yer custody.”
“I need no such order, the initial directive implied as much.”
The laird smiled at the emissary. “If implications suffice, then I shall call the priest to marry Randall and Kasey.”
“Ye dare to risk the king’s wrath?” Broderick glared at the laird. “Need I remind ye of yer pending murder charges?”
“Two years past.”
“Afore a reliable witness.”
“I shall not dispute the king’s missive failed to name Kasey’s betrothed. However, I will remain her guardian until I see a written order from our king relieving me of that burden.” He turned to Randall, “See Broderick to the gate.”
“With pleasure, Milord.” Randall grabbed the emissary’s elbow.
Broderick jerked free. “I shall return.”
Tears flowed down Kasey’s face as the emissary quit the hall. Dazed, she returned to the kitchen to scrub the floor.
She had almost finished the chore when hands grabbed her hips and pulled her against flesh.
“Yer Mackintosh be not here to protect ye now.”
Fear clawed at her belly. She could neither run nor fight. “What do ye want, Randall?”
One hand mauled her breast as his other shoved between her legs. He ground his hardness against her buttocks and bit her neck. “I want a baseborn child to validate the rightful heir.”
She swallowed hard. “Ye speak in riddles.”
“I would bed ye now, but never agin will a Cameron heir need to fight for his due. As soon as I convince our spineless laird to do right by me, I will take ye as my wife.”
He spun her, then tugged down on her braid. After she gave in to the pain and raised her face, he assaulted her lips.
Kasey shoved his chest and gained enough space to turn her head and vomit.
Randall pushed her aside to avoid the splatter. “If ye wish to live after birthing my two sons, ye will never do that agin.”
She slumped to her knees as Randall stormed out.
What did he mean by a baseborn child to validate the rightful heir? Laird Cameron had no sons. Or did he? Even when Brietta lived, Agatha had often shared her laird’s bed. Randall resembled their laird somewhat. Yet if he proclaimed himself the rightful heir, she would be the child born out of wedlock.
Birthright mattered not. Her laird, who cared little for the king’s authority, could force her to marry Randall. Clan Cameron would sink. His evil, his greed far exceeded the present laird’s. Working the fields and producing more ale for barter would take too much time. Randall would choose, instead, to steal what he wanted. But the nearby clans had more and better-trained warriors. Cameron blood would drench the soil.
She grabbed a bucket and some rags to clean up her mess. After she finished, she sat by the hearth. The roaring blaze did naught to warm her chills. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms about them, and rocked.
The fire had reduced to embers when arms enfolded her.
“Have faith, milady.”
“I fear our lives will further rot, Evonne.”
“Whatever lies ahead, I shall always be here for ye.”
Kasey decided against telling Evonne of their pain-ridden futures. Let her have her faith.
“When he comes for ye, will ye take me, too?” Evonne asked.
“Who?”
“Hunter. Ye canna believe he has forsaken ye.”
“Randall’s return means their service has ended. If he comes not soon, I shall have to believe his word false.”
“Did ye not hear Broderick’s claim? Hunter’s intent remains unchanged.”
“Have a care, lest ye be branded a traitor, too.”
“They can do naught worse than what has already been done.” Evonne lowered her eyes. “Do ye remember the story of the lazy black dog?”
“What has that to do with us?”
“The slothful pet ate much, but would not hunt or herd. The laird refused his clansmen’s pleas to destroy the animal because the dog’s day had not yet come. On a hunt, ogres killed all the sleeping clansmen save the laird, whom the dog protected.” Evonne ended her recitation with, “Thig latha choindui fhathast.”
Kasey shook her head. “I ask agin, what has ‘Every black dog shall have its day’ to do with us?”
“That dog suffered scorn and ridicule, as do we. With time and patience, he learned his true purpose in life, and so shall we.”
A little while later Evonne crept away. As Kasey drifted to sleep, a black storm cloud surrounded her. Lightning bolts flashed over the falls of Inverness.
“Use its beauty and strength to see ye through.”
Her mother’s whisper. Kasey wrapped a plaid about her shoulders and vowed she would never give in.
****
Despite every vile
attempt to break her body and spirit, Kasey had weakened little. Thus far.
A fortnight after Randall’s return another emissary arrived. Kasey did not know the details, but she could not deny the anger his missive wrought. As soon as the emissary left, Randall dragged Kasey to the stable, where he forced her to watch the stable master flog the beautiful white mare.
Then, laughing all the way, he dragged her to the great hall.
Numbed by the sight of the horse’s red-striped hide and exhausted from pleading for its mercy, Kasey offered no resistance.
“It appears ye have stolen aught from Inverness. As a result, the king has imposed a levy on our clan.”
Her chest tightened at the anger in her laird’s eyes. “Milord, I swear I stole naught.”
“No thief or liar will look me in the eyes.”
His open hand lashed out, but fear held her fast. Lightning flashed before her eyes. The force of the blow knocked her to her hands and knees. A swarm of bees stung her face.
“When the next emissary comes, ye will return the bounty or suffer the consequences.”
She raised her head far enough to see her laird’s feet stride out the door. She glanced around and found the crowd that followed her from the stables had vacated the hall. Unable to contain herself any longer, she melted into a puddle of tears. Where be ye, Hunter?
****
The morning after the next full moon, an unfamiliar voice echoed from the great hall. Kasey peered around the doorway at a stranger clad in a purple tabard.
Her thundering heart drowned their words, but the emissary’s animated gestures and her laird’s mottled face did not bode well.
She wanted to run away, but her absence would be discovered before she gained much distance on foot. If she stole a mount, her back would be filled with arrows before she crossed the border. Even if she somehow escaped, to where would she run? If these visitations demonstrated the king’s idea of protection, she feared what he would do if she showed up at his door.
The neighboring clans would kill a Cameron on sight. If only the Mackintoshes were closer. Nay, she would not have the courage to confront Hunter. Mayhap his laird, despite his gratitude, had denied Hunter’s request to travel so far, to risk war, for a woman.