Highland Thief

by Alyson McLayne

  “We need to move the body.” She slid off her horse before he could stop her. She didn’t want one of the twins to shoot Finn by mistake.

  “Isobel!” Kerr said firmly, striding toward them. “Stay there.”

  Behind him, she saw Dùghlas, and relief swept through her. “You’re well?” she asked.

  “Aye, my lady.” He had blood on his plaid and a bruise on his chin.

  Kerr saw the body with the arrow sticking out, and his gaze flew to Isobel.

  “I’m uninjured,” she said. “One of your brothers took him out before he reached us.”

  He nodded. “That would be Aulay. They’ve taken down several others as well. Did anyone else see it happen?”

  She scanned the crowd in the bailey, but they’d moved away from the portcullis, following the Merry Men. “None of the villagers, but whomever we’re fighting must have. They’ll know by now about Andy and Aulay.”

  “Doona worry about them, their positions are safe. I designed the hides for the snipers myself.”

  Suddenly, a loud rattle and then a crash sounded behind them. She jumped and turned to see the portcullis lowered almost all the way to the ground. No one could get in or out. Unfortunately, Isobel’s mare darted forward into the bailey, startled. She called her back, but the mare kept going.

  “She’s all right. She’ll head to the stables.” Kerr crouched in front of the dead man and raised his head. “I doona recognize him. Finn, drag the body to the guardhouse, and then tell Malcolm to use the key I gave him and lock the door.”

  Father Lundie came out of the shed beside the gate, cleaning his hands on a cloth. He had a smudge of oil on his nose. Isobel took the cloth from him and wiped it off.

  “Good work, Father,” Kerr said.

  “Thank you. I pulled the chain, and it’s well and truly stuck. No one will be able to get in or out.”

  “Well, then,” Kerr said. “We’ve successfully completed the first part of Isobel’s plan.”

  “My plan?” she asked, a smile tilting her lips.

  “Aye. And it was a great one. The villagers are safe, the army is locked out, and several traitors are already dead or disarmed. Now what?” he asked her.

  Isobel stared at Kerr, eyes wide in surprise. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She tried to put herself in the minds of the clan. What do they need? Beyond safety, shelter, and food, what are they missing?

  She closed her eyes and waited for an answer. Finally it appeared, crystal clear in her head, and she nodded. “Now we tell them the truth…and ask them to choose.”

  “And what are they choosing?”

  “Their future.”

  ***

  Kerr grasped Isobel’s hand and climbed the stairs that led to the MacAlister keep. He didn’t like being so exposed—or exposing Isobel—but he had to reach out to his people, to talk to them, as Isobel had said, about their future. And in order to do that, he had to be vulnerable, which meant trusting his brothers, his uncle, and the many men and women who were loyal to him, to keep them safe.

  They stopped on the fifth step and faced their people. A cheer burst forth from the crowd. The bailey was half full, and the soldiers on the battlements looked inward, also cheering. He had a moment of annoyance, but he knew no one could get into the castle—or as importantly—get out.

  He may not know the name of the man leading this attack, but he would wager his life he was still within the walls.

  And I will find him.

  “He’s out there,” Isobel said, her thoughts attuned to his.

  The sun beat down on them, and most of the clan had rolled back their sleeves and loosened the ties of their shifts. No one wore a cloak or had their hood pulled up. The traitor would be easy to spot.

  “And if he does escape, where will he go?” she continued. “He’s a marked man with those injuries, and your castle—your beautiful, majestic, impenetrable castle—is built on a cliff. We’ll either run him down, or he’ll jump and die from the fall. From what I could see, the coastline is craggy and dangerous.”

  “Aye, ’tis even worse on the other side—several gorges run deep into the bluff. Defensively, the castle is perfectly positioned.”

  “So he needs someone to let his army in.”

  Kerr nodded.

  “Well, then, his plan is ruined, isna it? He’ll be desperate and furious by now. He’ll show himself soon, he willna be able to stop himself.”

  Kerr lifted their clasped hands and kissed the back of hers. “I love you, Izzy, and I love the way you think. Promise me you willna go on any nighttime jaunts like you did at Clan MacKinnon. ’Tis easy to misstep here and fall to your death.”

  She grinned. “I promise. And I love you too.”

  The crowd whistled and called for their laird and lady to speak.

  “You first,” Kerr said.

  Isobel lifted her chin slightly in that way he loved, and straightened her shoulders. Now she looked like a queen. She raised her voice. “I’ll only speak as long as every one of you promises ne’er to sing that awful song again!” She said it with a grin, and the clan erupted into laughter. “And if you do, be warned that I am a master trickster, and you will find yourself on the receiving end of one of my pranks. In a few months’ time, you’ll be less inclined to call me the Beauty of the Highlands and instead will be moaning to your neighbor that I am, in fact, the Devil of the Highlands!”

  More cackles as well as a few more rounds of the song. She shook her finger at them and then raised her hand for silence.

  “But remember this…I am yours—always—devil or angel. And I am your laird’s—always—devil or angel.”

  “Devil!” Kerr interjected to more hilarity.

  “And I promise to do whate’er I can to help every single one of you—when I’m not plotting a new trick!” She tilted her head back, laughing, and Kerr couldn’t help bestowing a kiss on her lips. His people cheered again.

  “Our alliance, ever strong, is now even stronger!” she continued. “You have seen dark times, and your laird, my husband, fought for you when he was barely a man. He avenged the harm done to his clan.”

  She reached out for Una, who climbed up to the fourth step and took her hand, facing the crowd.

  “He avenged his uncle—not much older than himself—also abused and beaten down.”

  She nodded to Dùghlas, who climbed the stairs to stand below Una.

  “And he avenged his ma…”

  She raised her eyes to the heavens.

  When she looked back again, the crowd had quieted, sensing the change in her tone of voice and her demeanor. “And he still fights for you. Clan MacAlister… You heard the portcullis fall. What you didn’t hear was the jamming of that gate. Danger approaches from outside these walls. But danger also lurks within—within the walls of your castle and the walls of your hearts. We will beat the physical dangers among us, but in order to truly win, the clan must beat the fear ingrained within them from so many years of tyranny. We have a chance to start again—all of us together. Please, let go of that fear, trust your laird and your neighbors, and let’s take that chance together.”

  Frightened murmurs rippled through the crowd. Kerr raised his hand, and they quieted. “An army approaches—the army of a man who believes he has the right to lead this clan, the right to see to the well-being of the land, of you and your friends. For now, we are safe inside our walls, and our allies—the MacLeods, MacKinnons, MacLeans, MacKays, and MacKenzies—are on their way.

  “We have jammed the gate because there are men inside these walls, women too, who would open it and let the invaders enter.”

  Shouts of dismay erupted from the crowd.

  “’Tis true,” Kerr said. “Some would do it because they feel trapped, others for gold. A few because they want things to return to how it was under my father’s rule. We
have captured many of them.” He placed his hand over his heart. “But so many others have been turned against you out of fear—for themselves and for their loved ones.

  “Please, come to us. Tell us what you know, what has been demanded of you. Only by shedding light on the atrocities that are happening can we come together as a clan and support one another.”

  He looked out and saw Billy and Breanag, holding Ollie, in the crowd. “And doona judge others too harshly. Some have had to choose between the lives of their children and doing a deed that helps the enemy. Or perhaps the exposure of a soul-destroying secret.”

  He gritted his teeth, thinking about all the ways his clan could have been compromised.

  “It is something my father would have done, and it has no place in our society. Please come forward so we can catch the blackmailers and banish them from our midst. But mostly so we can help you. And if you’ve already done what they asked, come forward anyway. We need to know the extent of what has been done or more people will be hurt.”

  He patted his fingers over his heart. “Darkness canna thrive in the light. Hate canna continue in the face of love, and fear canna spread when we practice acceptance. Share your troubles, share your burdens, support one another.”

  The door to the keep opened above him, and he glanced up to see Malcolm and Finn appear with Fearchar restrained between them. They walked down the stairs. The clan gasped as they recognized the prisoner.

  Kerr turned back to them. “Fearchar MacAlister has been charged with treason, with bribery, and with the murder of Father Gregory, among others. He’s not the only perpetrator, but he is one of the worst, and he’ll be sentenced for these heinous crimes. If he has hurt or threatened you, speak to me or Isobel about it. Or reacquaint yourself with Dùghlas and talk to him. Or take spiritual counsel with Father Lundie.”

  “Or with me,” Una blurted out. “You can come to me.”

  “Aye,” Isobel said. “Una is a wonderful listener.”

  “Lastly,” Kerr said, “know that there is a man among us—a dangerous man—whom we need to find. But please, if you see him, doona try to apprehend him. Let the warriors of Clan MacAlister, most of them honorable men, do their duty. They want to help.”

  “What does he look like?” someone shouted from the crowd.

  “On a day like today, with the sun warming our skin, he will be covered in his cloak. He led the attack last spring against Clan MacKinnon and was caught under the crush of rock that fell from the cathedral. He is badly scarred and disfigured down the left side of his face and body. He will be driven to cover up those scars.”

  “And he is in the castle with us? Hiding?” someone asked.

  “I believe so.”

  A scuffle broke out at the back and someone yelled, “He’s here! I see him.”

  Kerr could see two warriors dragging a hooded figure through the crowd toward the keep. He released Isobel’s hand and hurried to the bottom of the stairs. The crowd backed up and cleared a path between them.

  He was so focused on the man being restrained by the warriors, he ne’er noticed the flash of steel in one of the warriors hands until it was almost too late. He jumped backward like a cat, landing on the stairs, and the man barely missed slicing through his belly. The man kept coming, his reach long and his dagger sharp, but he collapsed suddenly, and when he fell forward, an arrow stuck out from the back of his neck.

  Kerr drew his sword, berating himself for not having done so earlier. He stepped quickly to block the stairs so the blackhearts couldn’t reach Isobel. But the other two had also fallen. The remaining guard had Malcolm’s dagger protruding from his throat, and the cloaked man in the middle, the man who’d planned the attacks on Kerr, Gregor, and his foster brothers, had fallen to his knees. Dùghlas’s sword, his hand still wrapped around the pommel, was pushed through his stomach.

  His hood had fallen back, and Kerr saw his nemesis clearly for the first time. His dark hair was shoulder length on one side of his head and his eye blue. On the other side, his scalp was bare and scarred and the skin on his face looked like it had been scraped off and healed over. His eye on that side was closed, the eyebrow gone, his nose destroyed, and his mouth twisted.

  If this had been any other man, Kerr would have had great sympathy for him. Blood had started to bubble from his mouth, and his eyes grew dull. He was not long for this world.

  Grasping the sword hilt over Dùghlas’s hand, he pulled it out. His uncle looked at Kerr, stunned, the color blanched from his skin and his eyes glassy. Kerr doubted he’d ever killed anyone before.

  “Sit on the stairs, Uncle,” Kerr said. “Catch your breath.”

  “Nay. ’Tis all right. I just need a moment.”

  He nodded and then looked over as the scarred man fell backward. Kerr cursed. He’d hoped to get some answers, but his enemy had breathed his last breath. His head slumped to the side, the scarred half of it exposed.

  What was his name?

  His clan had pushed forward for a better look, and Kerr cupped his hands over his mouth. “Back up! ’Tis a grisly scene and not suitable for bairns! Be assured that the man we sought has been killed by Dùghlas MacAlister.”

  His clan cheered—bloodthirsty lot—and then did as he asked. He stepped around the bodies, looking at the guards first, but he didn’t recognize them.

  Malcolm hovered behind him. He pointed to the second man, whom he’d killed with his dagger. “He was in Edinburgh. I saw him twice.”

  “And the other?” Kerr asked.

  “I havenae seen him before.”

  They crouched over the body of the scarred man. “’Tis a terrible injury,” Malcolm said.

  “Aye. And a just punishment.” Kerr turned the man’s head so the uninjured side of his face looked upward, his blue eye still open. With the disfigurement on the other side of his face hidden, it was easier to focus on the man’s features.

  Suddenly Kerr’s breath caught, and a band squeezed around his chest.

  “’Tis Branon Campbell!” Malcolm exclaimed.

  “Nay, it’s not possible. I saw Branon Campbell at Castle MacKinnon less than a week ago. I spoke to him. These scars are months old.”

  “Well, maybe there’s two of them, then. I ne’er forget a face,” Malcolm said.

  Kerr closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. “Twins. They run in the family.”

  “Whose family?” Malcolm asked.

  Dùghlas stepped closer. “Ours. Open your eyes, lad. I doona know why I didn’t see it before, but this is how the child in me remembers Madadh MacAlister—cold, lifeless eyes and a dead face.”

  Kerr stared at the body. His brother. Nay, brothers! Twins like he’d been, like Andy and Aulay.

  How might they have turned out if they’d had his mother’s love, Gregor for guidance, and his foster brothers’ support? Or would they always have turned out this way, wanting what was his?

  As if the steward had read his mind, Fearchar shouted out, “’Tis Brian Campbell you’re staring at! Your father’s rightful heir.”

  Kerr straightened and glanced over at Fearchar, who stood at the bottom of the stairs still in restraints and held by Finn. He signaled the MacKinnon warrior to bring him closer.

  “If he’s the rightful heir, why is he named Campbell and not MacAlister? He’s a bastard, aye? And I would have thought Branon Campbell was younger than me when we met.”

  “Our laird planned to marry their mother—a Campbell lass, cousin to Laird Campbell—as soon as he’d rid the clan of you. He wanted Brian to rule…with Branon by his side.”

  Kerr huffed out a humorless laugh and shook his head. “My father would have pitted the two of them against each other at the first opportunity. What’s the real reason, Fearchar? To join the clans? To build an alliance between Clan MacAlister and Clan Campbell?”

  Fearchar’s eyes n
arrowed, and he didn’t respond.

  “Aye, that’s it right there. My father wanted a bigger army to go after Gregor MacLeod.” He spun toward Isobel, feeling gutted to know that his father had ruined two more lives, and for what? A second chance to defeat the man who had defended himself on his own land? The man who had taken in a lad Madadh MacAlister had never cared about and taught him how to be a warrior, a laird, and a good man?

  He searched the stairs, looking for Isobel. He needed her warmth and light right now…but his wife wasn’t there. “Where’s Isobel?” he asked, striding forward. He spun in a circle, searching for her tall, willowy figure, her crown of white-gold hair.

  “Where’s Isobel?” he asked again, yelling this time.

  Everyone was turning around looking for her, but she never came forward. She never slipped her hand into his. Blackness descended upon him.

  “Isobel!” he roared.

  Twenty-Five

  “I have the lad. If you shout out, he’ll die. And then you’ll die. Do you want your husband to see your blood running onto the grass, Lady MacAlister?”

  Isobel froze where she stood at the bottom of the stairs. Kerr and the others had all rushed down in front of her to see the man in the cloak they were dragging through the crowd. Una stood beside her, but her attention was rapt on what was happening—same as everyone else.

  A sharp, pinching pain poked into her back on the left side. She closed her eyes and tried to quell her fear.

  How could he have Andy or Aulay? Kerr had said he’d designed the hides so no one could see them. One on each side of the bailey.

  The knife pushed in farther, and she gasped at the pain. “Please, stop,” she whispered.

  “Then back up slowly.”

  She took a hesitant step to the side of the stairs before doing as he asked. Where were they going? She didn’t know the castle’s lay-out; she’d never even stepped inside her new home.