The Highlander's Iron Will: A Highland Defender Novella

by Amy Jarecki

  Kier’s hands slid down and gripped her buttocks. Lord Almighty, the pressure rose. Skye moved with his friction. His hands were magical, every touch bringing a new sensation. His lips trailed down to her bodice as he released the tie and exposed her stays. Dipping his finger below the boning, Skye cried out when he brushed her nipple. And then his lips were on her with such passion, all she could think about was shamelessly exposing her breasts to him.

  “What is happening to me?” she asked.

  “Don’t think, just feel.”

  Chapter Eight

  Last eve, it had taken Kier more self-control than he’d ever exerted in his life to stop kissing Skye and walk her home. On the following morn, Captain Glenlyon had sent Kier on an errand to take the rope ferry across the wintry swells of Loch Leven and deliver a missive to Major Duncanson’s headquarters in North Ballachulish. Now on his return journey, he planned to intercept Skye on her way home from the weaver’s shop and apologize for taking liberties, but the blasted captain saw him first.

  “Nephew!” Glenlyon hollered, cantering his enormous black Norfolk Trotter across the courtyard whilst holding his in place to combat the icy sideways wind. “Did the major send his reply with you?”

  Kier reined his garron pony to a stop. “Unfortunately no, sir.”

  “Blast. I fear we’ll be stuck in this abominable hell hole for the rest of our days.” He signaled with a flick of his fingers. “Come, you shall dine with me at Brody MacDonald’s house in Inverrigan this eve, then we’ll have a game of cards with the Old Fox’s sons, the bastards.”

  “Beg your pardon, sir, but if you abhor them so much then why are you playacting at being so amenable?” Kier took a forlorn look at the weaver’s shop as they rode past. Snow had started to fall and marred his vision. Nonetheless, Skye was nowhere near either window.

  “Colonel Hill’s directive was to be neighborly whilst I analyze as to whether Alasdair will stand beside his oath of fealty to King William.”

  “And your opinion?” asked Kier.

  “Does a man change his ways after sixty years of reiving just because he signs his name to a piece of parchment?”

  “I think he can if given the right motivation.”

  “Are you referring to the money promised by the Earl of Breadalbane?”

  Kier nodded. “Mostly.”

  “You ken as well as I, William’s coffers have been bled by the war in Flanders. There’s not a Highland chief who’ll see a farthing, including me or your da.”

  “Aye, but Uncle Breadalbane wasn’t daft enough to make empty promises to the likes of us.”

  By the time they arrived at Brody MacDonald’s house, the weather had grown worse and an inch of snow had fallen.

  Kier pulled the collar of his mantle closed tight. “I’ll stable the horses.”

  “My thanks. I’ll be in my chamber above stairs dressing for dinner.”

  Kier took the reins and headed for the stable. At least the captain had a chamber of his own. Privacy was the one thing the lieutenant missed the most from home.

  After a meal of roast pheasant with their host, a couple of Glenlyon’s officers and Sandy MacIain, Hugh arrived with his brother, Og.

  Already liquored up and red in the nose, Glenlyon himself answered the door. A gust of wind blew in a flurry of snow. “Gentlemen, the cards are waiting.”

  Stepping inside, Hugh raised a flagon of whisky. “From my still in the hills. The spring water there adds flavor that cannot be surpassed. The spirit slides over the tongue like nectar.”

  Glenlyon took the bottle and slapped the MacIain heir on the back. “You’re a man of good taste.”

  Sitting beside Cuthbert Hunter, Sandy waved from the table. “Brothers, come and save me from this shark—he’s winning already.”

  “What? You didn’t wait for us?” asked Og.

  “Just a wee wager,” Glenlyon said, handing the whisky bottle to Brody. “Drams all round, if you please.”

  Hugh pulled up a seat. “Better you than I, little brother.”

  Glenlyon shuffled the deck with his long, gnarled fingers. “Shall we play All Fours?”

  “Very well.” Hugh arched his brow at Og. “Why not make three teams of pairs to mix it up a bit?”

  The captain grinned. “I’m not overly fond of splitting my winnings.”

  “Who says you’ll win?” grumbled Og. Of all the MacIains, Kier trusted the middle son the least. Og was the only one of Alasdair’s sons who’d made it clear the presence of the regiment was unwelcomed. And his steely-eyed glare sweeping across the faces confirmed the man’s slant.

  “Come, Uncle.” Sandy raised his cup. “Side with me and we’ll show this lot of rabble how skilled we are.”

  Glenlyon lowered his gaze to his hands as he shuffled the deck one more time. “Three pairs it is. I’ll play with Sandy—Hunter and Hugh—Brody and Og. Kier, you’re the arbitrator. Let no man accuse the other of foul play.” He threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “I’m feeling lucky this eve.”

  Kier leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. It was always a relief not to have to gamble against his uncle. Especially when Glenlyon lost. The man would give away his youngest daughter if it meant he’d take home the kitty.

  Hugh reached in his sporran and pulled out a handful of coins, slapping them onto the table. “Then let’s have at it. When this pile is gone, I’m heading to my bed. There’s a storm brewing and I’d prefer not to sleep under Brody’s table.”

  “Me as well,” said Og. “In the past fortnight I’ve had enough to drink to keep my head swimming until spring.”

  Cuthbert snorted. “I’ve never seen anyone match the captain like you MacIain lads.”

  Og raised his cup. “Had a good teacher.”

  “Och aye,” agreed Glenlyon. “Your da can put it away for certain. I’ll be dining with him in the manse again on the morrow.”

  Hugh took a sip of whisky. “You wouldn’t want to miss any table prepared by Ma. She’s even pulled the rhubarb from the cellar for a tart.”

  Glenlyon rubbed his belly. “I’ll look forward to such a feast with great anticipation.” He sipped his whisky, then his rheumy eyes popped. “Mm. You distilled this yourself?”

  Hugh nodded. “Aye. A man needs a great many talents to survive in these times.”

  The captain dealt the first round. “Many talents, indeed.”

  Kier nursed his whisky while he watched one team to the next deal the cards. Not surprisingly, Hugh was lucky. Glenlyon and Sandy were not. All the while, the captain’s nose grew redder while his eyes drooped further. Until Brody answered a demanding knock at the door.

  “Captain Drummond with a missive for Captain Campbell.”

  The Captain delivering the missive? Must be important for certain.

  Kier glanced around the host and regarded Drummond, Major Duncanson’s officer. Bloody hell, if the major had a reply so soon, why hadn’t he retained Kier in Ballachulish? Typical of the army. “They sent you out in this weather?”

  Moving inside, Drummond shot Kier a leer as he handed the missive to Glenlyon.

  Across the table, Hugh brushed his fingers over the hilt of his dirk. Og ground his fist into his palm. Sandy set his cards down and slipped his hand into his sleeve.

  The hair on the back of Kier’s neck stood on end as his every muscle tensed. Holding his breath, he sat forward and watched while the captain slid his finger under the red wax seal and read. Brody stood beside Drummond without offering the officer a seat or a tot of whisky.

  Glenlyon arched a single eyebrow as he folded the missive and stashed it in his waistcoat. Looking up, he grinned. “At long last my orders have arrived.” He looked to Brody and stood. “The burden we’ve put on Clan Iain Abrach has been lifted, but I’ve much to attend to afore the sun rises on the morrow.”

  Every man stood and Hugh extended his hand. “It has been our pleasure to receive you and your men as guests.”
<
br />   “Aye,” the captain said sounding completely in his cups. Glenlyon shook Hugh’s hand, though his gaze wandered sideways. “Thank you for your generous hospitality. My only regret is I haven’t relieved you of that pile of coin yet this eve.”

  After the MacIain men took their leave, the captain sobered as if the closing of the door brought an elixir of sobriety. “Gather the troops, men. We’ve much to plan afore daybreak.”

  ***

  Assembled in Brody MacDonald’s barn, Kier stood at the front of the regiment in complete and utter disbelief at the orders he’d just heard. Dear God, he was a soldier of the crown, but never in his life had he wanted to mutiny as much as he did right now.

  His chest tightened while his hands shook.

  Put all to the sword under seventy? Take special care that the Old Fox and his sons do not survive? Secure all avenues to ensure no man survives?

  Jesus Christ, King William was asking them to commit genocide.

  Glenlyon folded his orders and stuffed them into his coat as he started back to the house.

  “Captain, sir.” Kier hastened after him with Lindsay and Cuthbert in his wake. “May I please see the order?”

  Glenlyon stopped and narrowed his gaze. “You question my authority?”

  “Not at all, sir.” Kier clenched his fists behind his back, determined to stop this madness. “It’s hard to believe. I’m nothing short of shocked and merely ask to see it for myself.”

  “Will that change anything? Our orders have come. We have a grave task to perform come five o’clock, and I suggest you ready your weapons.”

  Kier blocked his uncle’s path and stood firm. “This is an abomination and you ken it. You ken it in your very beard!”

  Glenlyon sauntered forward, shoving his finger into Kier’s chest. “How dare you question the motives of the king, you sniveling whelp? You are but a lowly lieutenant, paid to serve and carry out His Majesty’s bidding even if you are my nephew.”

  Kier wasn’t about to back down. “But we’ve accepted the MacIain’s hospitality. Turning around and murdering them in cold blood goes against the very fiber of Highland values that has been passed down from our forefathers and those who came afore them!”

  Glenlyon sniffed with an ugly scowl. “Are you telling me you’re not man enough to follow through with your sworn duty? This is not a gathering. This is bloody war.”

  Kier stretched to his full height, making the captain crane his neck. “This is the mass extermination of a clan and you ken it. You ken right down to your gambling, debauching heart.”

  “I am a soldier and I will do my king’s bidding.” With a thrust of his hand, Glenlyon motioned to Lindsay. “Seize him!”

  A moment too late to flee, Kier bucked as Lindsay and Hunter clamped their fingers tight around his arms. “Seize me for speaking with a modicum of sanity?”

  Hemp rope bit as it wound around his wrists.

  “I kent you were smitten with that songbird as soon as she opened her mouth last eve. And then Lindsay confirmed it. He reported that he saw you taking the lass into the weaver’s shop. Did you think for one moment why I sent you on an errand this day? What would it have done to my plans if the lassie’s father had riled the Old Fox? The bastards could have taken up arms.”

  Kier twisted and fought his captors. “You kent about this all along? Good God, you’re a cold-blooded murderer!”

  “MacIain’s time has come and I’m the deliverer of his salvation. I’ll dirk every bloody savage myself if I have to, including your bonny wench.” Glenlyon slapped his hand through the air. “Take this this yellow turncoat from my sight and throw him in the woodshed. Let it be known if any dragoon tries to foil our plans, I shall personally preside over his hanging!”

  Chapter Nine

  Shivering in the bitter cold, Kier’s wrists rubbed raw as he fought to twist from his bindings. He’d put up a fight when Lindsay and Cuthbert tried to haul him away and it had taken six dragoons to hogtie him. They gave him a half-dozen kicks to the ribs for good measure as well. His own damned men, for God’s sakes.

  Now he lay face down with his wrists bound to his ankles with but a foot of rope between them. His arms cramped, his back felt like he’d been stabbed and breathing caused shooting pains to his ribs. He’d hollered until his throat was sore. No one was coming. The lot of them were either mindless sheep or completely mad.

  Frantic to free himself, Kier arched up, bearing his cramping muscles, stretching to reach the rope around his ankles. His trembling fingers brushed the knots as he searched an end piece. Damnation, the bastards hadn’t given him a chance. What in God’s name were they thinking? And one of them had been Nicoll—his most trusted sentinel. Didn’t anyone see the madness of their orders? Didn’t anyone give a rat’s arse about the clansmen who’d taken them into their homes and fed them for a fortnight?

  Footsteps crunched the snow outside.

  “You there,” Kier yelled. “Help!”

  A wee lad about Tommy’s age stepped into the woodshed holding a lantern. “Lieutenant Campbell?”

  “One and the same, lad. Haste. Cut these binds. A great calamity is about to unfold.”

  The boy set the lantern on the ground. “What kind of calamity?”

  “Cut this rope and I’ll tell you all.”

  “Who did this?”

  “Glenlyon.”

  The boy stood near the door, wringing his hands as if Kier might spring up and attack. “What did you do?”

  “For the love of God, untie me!”

  “Och, you do not have to yell.” The lad knelt and pulled his eating knife from his hose.

  Kier breathed a sigh of relief when he started sawing. “What is your name?”

  “Malcolm.”

  “Thank you, son. I’m in your debt.” The rope began to ease and Kier pulled against it. “Tell me, what are you doing up at this hour?”

  “’Tis my job to see to it the master’s fire is lit afore daybreak.”

  “Is that Brody MacDonald?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Pray, what is the hour?”

  “Near enough to five, sir.”

  “Jesus Christ.” The rope snapped. Kier rolled to his arse and shoved the bindings from his hands and ankles. Then he grasped the lad by the shoulders. “Glenlyon’s orders are to massacre the entire clan—put all under seventy to fire and sword. Run now and sound the alarm. Tell them…tell them to haste south. That’s the only pass not guarded by troops.”

  “But—”

  Musket shots boomed from across the river.

  Kier gave Malcolm a shove. “Haste ye as fast as your legs can run—and stay away from the soldiers lest you end up with a musket ball in your heart!”

  The lad kicked the lantern as he ran from the shed. Fire whisked up the wood in a blink of an eye. Running for his horse, Kier didn’t stop to give the flames a second look.

  One thing consumed his mind.

  Find Skye before some bastard took a dirk to her throat.

  Chapter Ten

  The sudden crack from a musket ripped Skye from deep sleep. Her heart flew to her throat with the next volley of gunfire. Beyond the cottage shouting rose across the Coe. Women shrieked and pleaded for mercy.

  Sitting up, Skye clutched the bedclothes under her chin, praying the terror was a nightmare. But the ice coursing through her blood told her the terror was all too real. A raid had begun and soldiers were closing in. More shots rang in her ears.

  “Burn them out!” a man yelled while horses whinnied.

  Something thudded on the roof.

  “Fire!” Tommy screamed.

  Da burst from his box bed, dirk in hand. “I kent those backstabbers were turncoats. I read it in their eyes from the first instant they arrived.”

  Skye hurried down from her bed, coughing as smoke oozed from above. “What are we to do?”

  Ma pulled blankets from the beds. “Haste! Put these around your shoulders.” She shoved a plaid into Skye�
�s arms. “Jimmy, you must carry our son.”

  The door burst open with a blast of icy air. Kier’s fierce gaze swept past Skye’s as he dashed to Tommy’s pallet while clumps of snow showered in his wake. “Glenlyon’s been ordered to put all under seventy under the knife. MacIain is dead. The bastards are burning you out!”

  Da lunged with his dagger. “You’re the cause of this, Campbell! I’ll dirk you in the back—”

  Whipping around, Kier caught Da’s wrist, stopping the knife before it plunged into his flesh. “Jesus Christ, man. Can you not see I’m trying to help? I’ve a horse outside and I’ve just killed two of my men to save the likes of you!”

  He shoved Da to the ground, the old man’s expression contorted by disbelief and utter terror.

  Ma pushed her feet into her boots. “Where are we to go?” she asked, her voice shrill.

  Kier hoisted Tommy over his shoulder, blankets and all. “The southern pass is the only outlet not blocked by the army.”

  More musket fire blasted from outside. Shrieks and screams turned Skye’s stomach.

  “How do we escape?” she asked, following her mother’s example and coughing while the smoke stung her eyes. “There’s a foot or more of snow. They’re murdering women. ’Tis a massacre!”

  Kier stopped at the door, his expression dark. “It is. We keep off the trail. Tommy and Mistress Sineag can ride my horse. The two dragoons sent to burn you out are dead, but there’ll be more. Anyone who stays in the Coe will be mercilessly cut down.” He cracked open the door and peeked outside. “We stay together. Follow me.”

  “I cannot believe I’m trusting a bloody Campbell,” Da grumbled under his breath.

  “Merciful Father,” Skye whispered, tiptoeing on Kier’s heels into the darkness lit by the blaze on the cottage roof. If there were time, she’d tell her father exactly how daft he sounded. But right now each and every one of them had to stay alive.

  Kier hoisted Tommy to the saddle and handed up his musket, powder horn and a pouch of lead balls. “I taught you how to use this lad. Load it now. If a redcoat steps in your path, shoot him afore he kills you.”