The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  Last time, he had left her, thinking that would keep her safe. He wouldn’t risk being parted from her again. Whatever happened today, they would face it together.

  As soon as Shaggy’s boats rounded the bay and were out of sight, Ian and Sìleas galloped over the drawbridge. The sun was a lighter circle of gray in the heavy clouds ahead. It was raining between here and Dunscaith Castle, which meant there was a reasonable chance Hugh would not see the smoke from Knock Castle and learn that his plans had gone afoul.

  Ian was counting on it. To have any hope of success, he needed surprise on his side.

  CHAPTER 41

  “Ye look as poor an excuse for a man as I’ve ever seen,” Ian said, leaning over the bed to squeeze Connor’s good shoulder. “But ye never looked better to me.”

  Connor was weak and battered, but he was alert.

  “He’s no fit to go anywhere yet,” Ilysa said, her brows pinched together. “And poor Duncan is as weak as a kitten.”

  Despite the direness of their situation, he and the other men exchanged amused glances. Even badly injured, no one but Duncan’s sister would compare him to a kitten.

  “And Alex’s leg wound frets me something fierce,” Ilysa said, pointing an accusing finger at the offending patient.

  “Ach, we’ll all be fine,” Duncan said, though he was so pale that the freckles stood out on his face.

  “Do ye think ye can travel?” Ian asked Connor. “The gathering is starting.”

  Wee thing that she was, Ilysa stood between him and Connor and put her hands on her hips. “Ye can’t mean to get him out of this bed, Ian MacDonald.”

  “I can make it to the gathering,” Connor said between his teeth, as he tried to sit up.

  Duncan caught his sister’s arm as Ian went to help Connor. “Connor has to go,” Duncan said. “We all do.”

  The effort to sit up had cost Connor; he was breathing hard and sweat beaded on his brow.

  “We must go, but the question is how,” Alex said from his stool across the tiny room. “I hate to admit it, lads, but we won’t strike fear in the hearts of our enemies in our present condition.”

  Ian looked them over. Duncan and Alex had two good legs between them and one good sword arm, and it was doubtful Connor could stand at all.

  “Alex is right. If Hugh sees ye coming looking like this, he’ll finish ye off before we make it into the castle,” Ian said. “We need to get the three of ye inside without anyone seeing ye.

  “We have two things in our favor,” he continued. “First, Hugh isn’t expecting ye because he thinks you’re dead.”

  “And the second,” Sìleas said, “is that it’s the eve of Samhain, so we can dress ye in disguises.”

  Half the clan would be wearing costumes—whether to imitate the dead or ward them off, Ian was never sure.

  “We can paint our faces black,” Duncan suggested. “A lot of the young men do that.”

  “If I arrive with three men of your size and hair color—especially yours, Duncan—I fear blackened faces won’t be enough to prevent someone from guessing who ye are.”

  Teàrlag, who had been bent over something boiling in the iron pot over her fire, turned and spoke for the first time. “Ilysa, I haven’t yet given away the clothes of the last person we helped lay out. They should do, aye?”

  “My braw brother won’t like it,” Ilysa said, a slow smile spreading over her face. “But I believe we’ll get ye into the castle without anyone recognizing ye.”

  Ian steered Shaggy’s fine little galley around the point. Luckily, there was a stiff breeze so he didn’t have to row.

  “Ye look fetching,” Alex said, choking back a laugh as Duncan held his bonnet against the wind. “I fear it will be hard keeping the men at a distance.”

  Duncan was wearing the clothes of a well-known gossip who had died a few weeks earlier and who, fortunately, had been enormous. Duncan and Alex had drawn straws for the privilege.

  “Any man that touches me will find himself on his arse,” Duncan said with a sour look.

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I think ye will be safe from untoward advances,” Ian said. “But just in case, I hope ye have a dirk hidden beneath your skirts.”

  “Hmmph.” Duncan snorted and glared at the castle.

  Alex put on one of the masks Teàrlag had fashioned from scrap cloth to cover Connor’s and Alex’s bruised faces. “I hate to hide my pretty face, when all the lasses of the clan will be at the gathering.”

  Connor was lying in the bottom of the boat, fast asleep. Even though Ian had carried him most of the way, the trip down to the boat from the cottage had sapped what little strength he had.

  “Best get him up now,” Ian said.

  Duncan and Alex helped Connor sit up, and Sìleas put on his mask for him.

  Ian didn’t need to hide his own identity, since people would expect him to be at the gathering. All the same, he kept his cap low over his eyes as he guided the boat up to the castle’s sea entrance. Earlier, there would have been a line of boats waiting, but the afternoon light was gone, and evening had settled in. The torches inside the sea gate shone on the boat ahead of them, the only other latecomer.

  Ilysa had returned to the castle earlier by the road, since it might raise alarms if she was missing when it was time to set out the food for the gathering.

  The water sloshed between the boat and the sea steps as one of the guards grabbed the coiled rope from the front of their boat and tied it to an iron peg. This was the most dangerous moment. Ian was prepared to reach for his claymore and cut the guards down if he had to.

  The other guard was a small wiry fellow, who gamely offered his hand to Duncan. “Big lass, aren’t ye now?”

  Duncan looked as if he was going to squeeze the life out of the guard rather than take his hand. Ach, this was going to be trouble. Ian tensed as the guard turned his head, letting his gaze rove over each of them in turn. When his eyes met Ian’s, his face broke into a wide grin that showed several missing teeth.

  “It’s me, Tait,” the man said in a low voice. “Ilysa sent me down to help at the sea gate.”

  In the light from the torches behind the guard, Ian could just make out the features of Tait, the man who hated Hugh for violating his sister.

  “I can handle this last boat and lock the sea gate,” Tait called to the other guard. “Ye don’t want to miss the bonfire, now do ye?”

  This time when Tait offered his hand, Duncan took it. The boat dipped as Duncan stepped on the side of the boat then rose again when he stepped off.

  “Glad to see ye here, lads,” Tait said as soon as the other guard disappeared up the stairs. “That damned Hugh Dubh has been parading around the castle all day like a damned rooster.”

  Tait climbed into the boat to help him with Connor. As they half-carried Connor between them, Ian looked over his shoulder to see Sìleas helping Alex.

  “By now, everyone will be outside in the yard for the bonfire,” Tait said.

  Ian looked up the long flight of steps, lit by torches that lined the walls on either side. Unfortunately, they would have to go up through the keep to get to the bailey yard. All that was on the dank sea level of the castle was the dungeon—a place Ian hoped they wouldn’t see the inside of tonight.

  Alex went first, managing well enough on his own. Duncan was next, dragging his leg, with Sìleas hovering beside him.

  “I think I can go up myself,” Connor said in a tight voice, but a groan escaped him as Ian and Tait helped him up the first step.

  “Save your strength,” Ian said. “You’ll be needing it soon.”

  “Word is that Hugh has his men watching for ye, Ian,” Tait said, as they inched their way up the steps behind the others.

  It was taking an eternity to get the men up the damned stairs.

  “He’s heard that some of the men intend to put your name forward to be chieftain, now that they think Connor is dead—even though ye aren’t of the chieftain’s blood,�
� Tait said.

  “Why do ye suppose I went to such trouble to get Connor here tonight?” Ian joked.

  Connor stopped where he was and turned. “Maybe ye should take it, Ian. I’m in no shape to lead the clan.”

  “No, ye will not be giving me the miserable task of leading this stubborn rabble,” Ian said, pulling Connor up the next step. “You’re the right man for it. The only one.”

  The Samhain bonfire raged in the middle of the castle’s bailey yard, just as it had every year of Sìleas’s life. It seemed odd, when so much else had changed.

  No one gave them a second look as they merged into the shadows at the back of the circle gathered around the fire. Many in the crowd wore garish costumes or carried lanterns made of hollowed-out turnips with carved faces to ward off evil spirits.

  A few women were throwing bones or roasting nuts to divine whom they would marry, for Samhain was a time for divination. Many a lass told her young man aye or nay following Samhain, depending on what the signs revealed this night.

  The children were enjoying themselves as they usually did, but Sìleas sensed the tension behind the adults’ revelry. Hugh had made it known he would call on every man to make a pledge of loyalty to him before the night was over.

  “When we go inside for the ceremony, I want ye to find Ilysa and stand with her,” Ian said to her in a low voice. “She’ll know how to get ye out if things should turn violent.”

  “I will.” She understood it would help him not to have to worry about her when the time came.

  At the sound of pipes and drums, the crowd turned their attention to Hugh, who stood facing the crowd with the great fire behind him.

  “Samhain is a time when we come together to celebrate the final harvest of the year and remember our dead,” Hugh said, holding his arms out.

  “I am grateful for the long stories that so many of you have shared in remembrance of my dear, departed brother,” he said, emphasizing the long and the many, with a glance toward a group of older men that included Ian’s father. “But Samhain is also when we mark the beginning of our New Year. And on this Samhain, we also celebrate the beginning of a new era for the MacDonalds of Sleat.”

  Sìleas tapped her foot. Hugh was in fine form tonight.

  “I’ve laid a place at the head table for my dead brother and my nephew Ragnall, as is our tradition, so their spirits can join us for this special Samhain night.”

  Sìleas thought calling on the memory of their former chieftain was bold on Hugh’s part, for most members of the clan knew Hugh had resented his brother from the day he was born. Still, blood ties were respected in the Highlands.

  Hugh put his hand over his heart. “I know my brother would be pleased to see me take his place as chieftain.”

  Alex and Duncan both made choking noises. Hugh glared in their direction, but they were safe from discovery here in the shadows.

  “It is time now for all of us to set aside our sorrow, hard as it may be,” Hugh said, “and to swear fealty to your new chieftain.”

  “Does he think he can avoid taking a vote altogether?” she whispered to Ian.

  “Aye, but the men don’t like it.”

  From the low grumbling around them, it was clear Ian was right.

  “We’ll have our feast as soon as the oaths are taken,” Hugh said. “To the hall!”

  “Move about among the men and be ready,” Ian said to Tait. Then he turned to Connor and the others. “Don’t let anyone see ye until I signal.”

  “Grá mo chroí,” Ian said to Sìleas, and squeezed her hand before disappearing into the crowd. Love of my heart.

  Sìleas waited with the three men until most of the crowd was inside. The rumble of voices was loud in the hall as they moved inside and found a place to stand against the back wall.

  She leaned forward to look at the three of them. They appeared to be an odd but unremarkable, drunken threesome—two men in Samhain masks and an enormous woman in a large bonnet—leaning against the wall and holding on to each other for support.

  Connor lifted his mask and leaned over to speak in her ear. “Ye shouldn’t be near us now, when things are coming to a head.”

  His voice sounded stronger than before, and he was staying upright. That much was good. She squeezed his arm and went to join Ilysa and Beitris, who were standing with the other women.

  She had a good view of Hugh, who sat in the chieftain’s chair on a raised platform at one end of the hall. She didn’t know the rough-looking men who stood on either side of him, but assumed they were companions from his pirating days. They glared at the crowd, looking as if they were eager to force the oath from any man who didn’t give it freely.

  “Who wants the honor of being first?” Hugh called out.

  The hall grew quiet as everyone waited to see who would be the first to come forward. There was an audible intake of breath from the crowd as Ian stepped into the space that had been left in front of Hugh and the guards flanking him.

  “Well, ye have more sense than I gave ye credit for, Ian Aluinn,” Hugh said, using the nickname the women had given Ian years ago in an attempt to ridicule him. “I thought my men would have to ‘persuade’ ye to do what ye must.”

  Instead of bending his knee to take his oath, Ian turned to face the crowd. There was fire in his eyes, and he stood with his legs apart as if he was ready to fight half a dozen men at once—which he probably was. Ach, her husband was breathtaking.

  “It is our tradition to allow men to speak before the selection of a new chieftain,” Ian said in a voice that reached every corner of the hall. “I intend to speak.”

  A loud murmur of agreement rose from the crowd.

  Hugh drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, as if he were itching to give the order to cut Ian down. But Hugh was no fool. It was clear from the reaction to Ian’s statement that the clan expected him to follow the traditions, even if they believed the outcome was certain.

  “Speak if ye must,” Hugh said with an impatient wave of his hand. “But as I am the only man here of chieftain’s blood, I see little point in it.”

  Ian turned to look over his shoulder at Hugh. “Can ye be so sure my uncle did not leave another son or two that ye don’t know about?”

  There were barks of male laughter around the room, for everyone knew their chieftain, like his father before him, had bedded countless women over the years.

  “But no, I’ve not disrupted the evening to tell ye about a new claimant to the chieftainship.” Ian raised his fist in the air. “I’ve here to tell ye I’ve taken Knock Castle back from the MacKinnons!”

  The hall erupted as men waved their claymores, and the crowd roared their approval. Hugh stood and raised his hands for quiet, but it was some time before he could be heard.

  After the cheering died down, Hugh said, “Just saying ye took the castle doesn’t make it so.”

  Sìleas was startled to see Gòrdan emerge from the crowd to stand beside Ian at the front. His clothes were streaked with soot, and he looked as if he had ridden hard to get here.

  “Most of ye know I’ve had my differences with Ian,” Gòrdan said. “So ye can trust my word when I say he did take Knock Castle yesterday.”

  A few men shouted, but Gòrdan put his hand up to signal he wasn’t finished. “Shaggy Maclean is plying the waters nearby, so I hope some of ye will join me at Knock Castle in the morning. We don’t want to lose it to the Macleans after we’ve just taken it back from the MacKinnons.”

  The hall again was filled with whoops and swords raised high. His speech done, Gòrdan gave a stiff nod and moved back into the crowd.

  “This is a proud day, indeed, for the MacDonalds of Sleat.” Hugh spoke as if he were responsible for the victory, though everyone knew he had stood by while the MacKinnons held Knock Castle.

  All eyes, however, were on Ian, who had won the crowd’s goodwill. He walked the few feet to the high table, where the two places had been set for the dead.

  “Before we cho
ose a new chieftain,” Ian said, in a slow deliberate voice, “we must settle the matter of the death of our last chieftain—and of his son, Ragnall.”

  A chill went through the room at his mention of the dead, for the veil was thin between the dead and the living on Samhain. Sìleas could almost see the chieftain and Ragnall—big, muscular, fair-haired men with grim faces—standing on either side of Ian.

  “Those of us who were at Flodden know what happened,” Hugh said, his hard, gray eyes sweeping the crowd. “While Ian here was drinking fine wines and dallying with the ladies in France, we were being slaughtered by the English!”

  Ian waited for the murmur that followed to grow quiet. Then, in a voice choked with rage, he said, “Our chieftain and his son were not slaughtered by the English.”

  The blood drained from Hugh’s face, and he stared at Ian openmouthed, before he caught himself and snapped his mouth shut. The crowd was stunned into silence.

  Ian stretched out his arm, pointing at Hugh, and shouted in a voice that reverberated through the hall. “I accuse you, Hugh Dubh MacDonald, of murdering our chieftain and his son at Flodden!”

  The crowd was in an uproar.

  Hugh tried to speak several times before he could be heard. “I fought at Flodden,” he said, clenching his fists and fixing murderous eyes on Ian. “How dare ye accuse me of the vilest crime, when I sank in Scots’ blood to my ankles, fighting, while you deserted the clan in our hour of need.”

  Hugh turned and shouted to his guard, “Seize him!”

  Sìleas gasped and started forward, but Beitris and Ilysa held her.

  Then Tait’s voice came from the other side of the hall. “Let’s hear what Ian has to say!”

  Several others followed, shouting, “Aye! Let him speak! Let him speak!”

  Hugh put his hand up as if to stop his guards, though they had been slow to follow his order.

  “ ’Tis easy to make accusations,” Hugh said to Ian, “with nothing to back them up.”

  “But I do have proof.” Ian paused, giving everyone time to take in his words, before he said, “I ask my father, Payton MacDonald, to come forward.”