The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  Sìleas hugged her knees to her chest as she watched and prayed.

  Ian looked glorious, with his dark hair flying, and his blue eyes as piercing as a hawk dropping from the sky for a kill. The muscles of his body clenched and released as he swung the heavy two-handed sword in deadly, rhythmic arcs.

  Behind the controlled violence, she felt Ian’s pulsing rage. Time and again, he attacked, his blade slicing through the air with lethal force. Another slash and blood ran from the top of Murdoc’s thigh, near his groin. Another, and his shoulder bled. Yet Murdoc fought his way back each time. He was a strong man and an experienced warrior, and he was fighting for his life. The men grunted with the effort of their swings.

  Blood sprayed the bed as the fight moved closer. When Murdoc fell backward against the bed, she scrambled to get out of his way. But Murdoc’s arm shot out, and she shrieked as he caught her ankle in an iron grip.

  “Arrgh!” Murdoc screamed as Ian’s sword went through his belly, pinning him to the bed. In quick successive moves, Ian grabbed Murdoc by the hair, drew his dirk across Murdoc’s throat, and pulled his sword from Murdoc’s gut with a great sucking sound.

  Ian stepped over Murdoc’s body and lifted Sìleas off the bed into his arms. She held onto him with all her strength.

  “Hush, hush. I’m here now.” He soothed her with soft murmurs as he rubbed her back and kissed her hair. “I’ll keep ye safe.”

  “Ian! We must go.”

  At the sound of a man’s deep voice, she turned and saw Father Brian in the doorway. Smoke was billowing out of the stairwell behind him.

  “Hurry,” the priest shouted. “The castle is burning.”

  Ian lifted her in his arms. As he carried her out, she looked over his shoulder at the bedchamber that had been the place of so much of her mother’s suffering. Smoke was filling the room so rapidly she could barely make out Murdoc’s body on the floor. The last thing she saw gliding through swells of gray was the flash of a pale green gown.

  The smoke was so thick in the stairwell that she could not see Father Brian ahead of them, but she heard him coughing. Her eyes watered and her throat burned. When they reached the bottom, Niall and Payton were waiting for them just inside the hall.

  The two were surrounded by the bodies of dead men.

  As soon as Ian set her on her feet, the four of them ran along the wall toward the front door of the keep. The smoke was not as thick in the hall, because the fire was hot here. Everything that could burn—rushes, tables, overturned benches—was ablaze. As she watched, flames shot up from the high table and ignited the wooden ceiling.

  She prayed that Dina had escaped, for there was no one else in the hall but the dead.

  “I’ll go first. They may have men just outside, ready to cut us down as we come out,” Ian warned before he opened the door.

  That was what he would have done, but when he stepped outside, it appeared that the MacKinnons had abandoned the castle altogether. The bailey yard was empty save for Dina, a goat, and a few squawking chickens.

  “Ye should have seen Niall,” his father said, as he came down the steps of the keep one at a time. He was covered in blood and leaning on Niall for support, but he was grinning as if he’d never been happier. “We stood together, with him covering my weak side, and cut down every MacKinnon who dared come near the stairs.”

  Ian tightened his arm around Sìleas. He couldn’t join in their good humor over their success. The vision of his wife held down on a bed with a man standing between her legs was still with him—and would likely haunt his dreams for a long, long time to come.

  “Father Brian was a sight to behold,” Niall said, laughing. “He didn’t want to use a sword or dirk, so he went ’round hitting MacKinnons on the head with a silver candlestick holder.”

  “There was little fight left in them by then,” Father Brian said. “Between retching and the fire, they fled like rabbits.”

  “Dina and I poisoned their ale,” Sìleas said in a quiet voice.

  “Clever lasses,” his father said, beaming at her.

  While the others continued sharing stories, Ian pulled Sìleas against his chest and closed his eyes. Praise be to God he had found her.

  His eyes flew open at the sound of boots on the wooden planks of the drawbridge. He pushed Sìleas behind him and drew his claymore just before a dozen men poured through the gate.

  “It’s Gòrdan,” Sìleas said.

  Ian relaxed his stance when he saw that it was, indeed, Gòrdan, and he was leading a group of MacDonald men.

  “We’ve taken Knock Castle!” his father greeted them, raising his sword to the sky.

  The men took in the smoldering keep and the bailey yard empty of MacKinnons and lowered their weapons. To a man, they looked disappointed.

  “I could only gather a dozen men quickly,” Gòrdan said, as he approached them.

  “I’m grateful to ye for coming,” Ian said and saw the pain in Gòrdan’s eyes when they flicked to Sìleas.

  Gòrdan turned away and fixed his gaze on the smoke billowing out of the open doors of the keep. “I thought ye would need help, but I can see ye didn’t.”

  “I do need your help,” Ian said.

  Gòrdan turned back. “Good. What would ye have me do?”

  “It’s near dark, so we’ll have to stay here overnight,” Ian said. “But in the morning, I must see my family home and get Connor to the gathering. Can ye hold the castle for me for a time?”

  “Aye. The guardhouse hasn’t been touched by the fire, so we can sleep there,” Gòrdan said. “I’ll send one man to the gathering tomorrow night to speak for all the men here.” His gaze roved over the smoldering keep again. “With so much stone, the keep won’t burn long. We’ll save what we can, but I suspect there won’t be much.”

  Ian thought of all the bad memories Sìleas had of this castle, which was to be their home. He didn’t want to keep a single stick of furniture, sheet, or floorboard.

  “Let the men have anything they can salvage,” he said. “Sìleas and I will start anew.”

  From the way Sìleas squeezed his hand, he knew he had made the right decision.

  “Are ye all right, lass?” his father asked her.

  While Sìleas talked with his father and Niall, Ian drew Gòrdan away for a private word.

  “There’s another favor I’d ask of ye,” he said in a low voice.

  Gòrdan looked at the ground and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Ye know I owe ye after what my mother did.”

  “Can ye take care of Dina after we leave in the morning?” When Gòrdan’s head snapped up, Ian added, “Just until I can find someone else to take her in.”

  “Is she your mistress?” Gòrdan hissed, his nostrils flaring. “I said I owe ye, but I’ll no help ye deceive Sìleas.”

  “Ye misunderstand me,” Ian said, putting a hand up. “There will never be another woman for me but Sìleas.”

  Gòrdan’s lips were pressed into a hard line, but he was listening.

  “I doubt we would have all gotten out alive without Dina’s help,” Ian said. “I don’t like leaving her unprotected. Will ye watch over her and see that’s she’s safe?”

  Gòrdan looked over at Dina, who was standing alone, hugging herself against the fine mist that had begun to fall.

  “She’s made mistakes,” Ian said. “But we all deserve a chance to redeem ourselves.”

  “Aye, we do,” Gòrdan said with a tight nod. “I’ll see her safe.”

  CHAPTER 40

  It was damp and cold in the gatehouse, but they didn’t go hungry that night. Gòrdan had brought dried fish, oatcakes, and cheese, and Father Brian—bless him—had the presence of mind to wheel the wine barrel out of the keep when he was escaping the fire.

  After their cold supper, Father Brian led them in prayer. They bowed their heads to pray for the lives of Connor, Alex, and Duncan, and for the survival of their clan.

  While the others dropped off to sleep or spoke
in low voices, Ian huddled against the wall with Sìleas, where he could watch the door. He couldn’t be certain the MacKinnons would not return. Although he’d barred the gate and left a few men out on the wall in the rain to keep watch, he wouldn’t rest easy tonight. He didn’t have enough men to hold the castle against a full attack.

  He wrapped his plaid tighter around Sìleas and kissed her hair as she rested against his chest. Every time he thought of how close he had come to losing her, he felt as if a great fist squeezed his heart.

  “There is something I need to tell ye,” Sìleas said in a low voice.

  Blood pounded in Ian’s ears as he braced himself to hear what he knew would be past bearing. But he must bear it and be strong for her.

  “Was it Angus or Murdoc?” he asked in a choked voice. For as long as he lived, he would never forgive himself for being too late to save her from being taken in violence.

  Sìleas touched her fingers to his face. “No. That didn’t happen.”

  Would she lie to spare him? He didn’t want to press her now. When he had her safe, with hours before them to talk, he would find out all that had happened in the castle.

  “I speak the truth,” she said. “I wasn’t certain ye would find me before one of them raped me, but ye did.”

  Relief flooded through him. Men had their hands on her and frightened her, but at least she had not suffered the worst violation.

  “I never doubted ye would rescue me in the end,” she said. “Ye always have.”

  Her faith in him overwhelmed him. Ian lifted her hand and kissed her fingers.

  “And tomorrow, ye will make certain Hugh Dubh does not become our chieftain,” she said in a determined voice. “Ye will do it for the clan, for Connor, and for all the others. And ye will do it for me.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “What I wanted to tell ye is that Murdoc admitted he had an agreement with Hugh,” Sìleas said. “Hugh let him have Knock Castle—and me—in exchange for murdering Connor.”

  “I knew it,” Ian said, pounding his fist on the dirt floor. “I promise ye, I will not let Hugh become chieftain.”

  He’d murder Hugh before he let that happen.

  She let her head drop against his chest again. “I want to stay awake just to feel your arms around me,” she said in a soft voice. “But I’m so tired, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  “Shhh. Sleep, mo chroí,” he murmured, as she fell asleep in his arms.

  Ian roused the men at first light. He was anxious to get his wife to a safer place and to see how Connor and the others fared. And there was no time to spare. The dark days of November were almost upon them; the celebration of Samhain would begin at sunset.

  “Ian,” Niall called from the gate. “Come see this.”

  Ian heard the urgency in his brother’s voice and ran to join him on the drawbridge.

  “There,” Niall said, pointing out to sea, where three war galleys were sailing toward shore.

  Damn, damn, damn. Ian squinted through the rain, trying to see who they were. God’s blood, the man standing in the prow of the front ship was none other than his former jailor, Shaggy Lachlan Cattanach Maclean.

  Why would Shaggy be coming here? With three galleys loaded with clansmen, it did not appear to be a friendly visit.

  “Christ above,” Ian said, “I don’t have time to deal with a pack of murdering Macleans this morning.”

  Ian turned as Father Brian joined them on the drawbridge.

  “I’m sure ye meant to call on the Lord’s help, rather than take His name in vain,” the priest said. “Because we’ll be needing divine intervention, that’s for certain.”

  Indeed they would, for the Macleans were landing.

  “Quick, I need every man up on the wall!” Ian shouted, as he ran inside. “Each of ye take a dead man’s shield with ye. The Macleans are coming, and we must make them believe there are more of us than there are.”

  He didn’t object when Sìleas and Dina followed Gòrdan up a ladder carrying shields. If Shaggy’s men did break through, they would be safer up on the wall.

  “I’m going down there,” Ian called out to the others.

  The rain and extra shields would only fool Shaggy from a distance, which meant he needed to keep Shaggy on the beach.

  Shaggy was the sort who could smell weakness, so Ian made a point of walking as if he had all the time in the world as he made his way down to where Shaggy and his men had landed their boats.

  “A bit far from home, aren’t ye, Shaggy?” he said when he reached them.

  He was glad to see that the younger man beside Shaggy was Hector, Shaggy’s eldest son. Hector had a reputation for being both more sensible and more trustworthy than his father.

  “What kind of fool faces three war galleys full of men alone?” Shaggy said, glaring at him from under his black eyebrows. “But then, I heard that the Douglas says ye are fearless to the point of foolishness.”

  Sometimes news traveled faster than men in the Highlands.

  Ian shrugged. “I’m just curious about why ye are sailing these waters.”

  “I’m searching for that sweet little galley ye stole from me,” Shaggy said. “I didn’t see it when I sailed by your house, so I’m still looking.”

  Ian had the answer to one question. It must have been the sight of Shaggy’s three war galleys off shore that had sent the MacKinnons running after they attacked Connor and the others. He didn’t believe, however, that Shaggy had come just for his missing boat.

  “I can’t offer ye the kind of hospitality I’d like to,” Ian said. “We had to burn the keep in the process of taking the castle, so the dungeon is in verra poor shape.”

  Shaggy started toward him, but his son grabbed his arm.

  “I’ve a proposition for ye,” Ian said. “And if ye aren’t as mad as they say, you’ll take it.”

  Hector held his father back a second time. “Let’s hear it first, da.”

  “You’ve backed the wrong man in helping Hugh take the chieftainship from Connor. We escaped your dungeon, and now we’ve taken Knock Castle.” Ian paused to let Shaggy consider this, before he said, “I suggest ye change sides while ye still can.”

  Shaggy growled, which Ian took as sufficient encouragement to continue.

  “Hugh sat by while the MacKinnons took Knock Castle, which is why you were thinking you could come and take it yourself,” Ian said. “If we have a chieftain who will not protect our lands, then the MacKinnons and the MacLeods will overrun us—and that will be the end of the MacDonalds on Skye.”

  Ian paused for a long moment. “Have ye thought about what the MacKinnons and their more powerful brothers, the MacLeods, would do if they had all of Skye?”

  “What do I care what the damned MacLeods do?” Shaggy said.

  Ian spread his hands. “If they don’t have to worry about the MacDonalds on their doorstep, they’ll be looking south to your lands on the Isle of Mull.”

  From the sideways glance Hector gave his father, Ian suspected Hector had given Shaggy precisely the same warning. Any man with sense knew maintaining a balance was important, with friends as well as enemies. In the Highlands, one often became the other.

  “But that won’t happen, because Connor will be chieftain.” Ian folded his arms as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Connor is not a man ye want as your enemy. So if ye have any notion of attempting to take Knock Castle, you’d best reconsider.”

  Shaggy exchanged glances with his son.

  “Hugh says he’ll join the rebellion against the Crown,” Shaggy said. “Would Connor?”

  “Ye can’t believe a word Hugh tells ye.” Ian shrugged. “I can’t speak for Connor, but he’ll do whatever is best for our clan.”

  Shaggy fixed his eyes on Ian as he scratched his face through his beard. Despite the rain and cold wind blowing off the sea, sweat trickled down Ian’s back. Time was growing short. He was anxious to have the Macleans gone so he could be on his way to get Connor. />
  All the same, he tilted his head back as if he were considering the weather until, at last, Shaggy spoke.

  “Connor hasn’t taken a wife yet, has he?”

  Ian was so surprised by the question that he nearly laughed. Still, it wasn’t hard to guess why Shaggy asked it. With the number of wives Shaggy had wed and then put aside over the years, he probably had an abundance of daughters to marry off.

  “Connor isn’t married… yet,” Ian said, rocking back on his heels, and wishing the man would take his damned boats and leave.

  “If Connor were to wed one of my daughters—assuming he does become your chieftain,” Shaggy said, “I could be persuaded to let him keep that galley as a wedding present.”

  “That galley is a fine, fast boat,” Ian said. “I’ll speak to Connor about your daughters.”

  “Tell him he can use the galley when he comes to fetch one of them.” Shaggy’s crooked teeth showed in the midst of his bushy beard, in what Ian took for a smile.

  “When Connor comes for the wedding,” Shaggy called back as he headed to his boat, “we’ll discuss his position on the rebellion.”

  Poor Connor. He would have his hands full when he became chieftain.

  If he still lived.

  As soon as Ian was back inside the gate, he got his horse.

  “I may not make it to Dunscaith Castle before the gathering begins,” he said to his father, as he mounted. “Can ye delay the ceremony to choose the chieftain until I can get there with Connor?”

  “The seannachie will tell stories of the clan from ancient times to the present,” his father said. “When he comes to Connor’s da, I’ll add my own tales to honor my old friend, and I’ll encourage the other older men to do so as well. It will be awkward for Hugh to cut us off. All the same, ye’d best have the wind at your back.”

  “I’m going with ye,” Sìleas said, reaching her hand up to him.

  “Good. I want ye with me.” He helped her up onto his horse.