A Dark Highland Magic: Hot Highlands Romance Book 4 Page 13

  Murrough nodded.

  James was silent. Finally, he spoke. “Aye, find this witch hunter Laise of the Marked Face and bring him to me. It could not hurt the throne to bring the arrogant, independent Macleans to heel. We must use any means at our disposal to weaken the Lord of the Isles and the Highland clans and have them finally swear allegiance to the Scottish crown. Perhaps if we capture this powerful man Malcolm Maclean and make a spectacle of him, the Highland clans would think twice before opposing the King of Scotland.”

  Murrough tried not to stare at the spreading blotch of blood now seeping through James’ thick robes. “If ye deem the man Laise responsible and trustworthy, my king, we can task him with bringing the Maclean here. Possibly his son Conall too, who is rumored to have the Sight. If the man cannot find the means to bring the Macleans here to Edinburgh, if it is too dangerous, I would be so bold as to suggest we commission a justiciary and give the witch hunter and any associates of his the powers of a judge to convene a court and try the Macleans for witchcraft and crimes against the crown, where they choose, and where they deem it to be necessary.”

  Murrough knew men had to cling to James’ skirts to pull him back from war and battle. He had the courage and strength of youth. But he had something more, something that inspired men to follow him. He had seen to it that leaders of Reivers, thieves of cattle who took women by violent ways during their raids, were hung by the neck. He was shrewd and had begun to build a picture of himself as a chivalrous, justice-dispensing king.

  Murrough thought bringing the MacDonalds and Macleans, who ruled the seaways of the Hebrides, to heel would add to James’ accomplishments in uniting all of Scotland. Most people who did not know the Highlanders thought they were savages, untamed and independent, rude in dress and manners, as civil and sweet-smelling as horses’ turds. But Murrough knew they were cunning, fierce, and determined to hold on to their lands and traditions, even if a king wanted to take them away.

  The King would not be able to take the Highlands by sea, for he did not possess a great fleet of long ships and galleys, though he talked of trying to raise such. ‘Twould be better to meet them on land. To use any and all means necessary to subdue them.

  Indeed, the king who could destroy the Lord of the Isles, who could finally break apart the Highlanders’ barbaric independence, would be a great king indeed.

  “When and if this witch hunter ever convenes such a trial,” James said, “I must be there. He cannot kill the Maclean himself.” James scratched his chin. “The Macleans are a vera powerful force in the west. When I defeat the Lord of the Isles and annex the Highlands to the Crown, I may need the Macleans. I may need to grant them charters. So if this thing be done, I will judge Malcolm Maclean myself. It must be handled with care, and not with fear, as my father handled things. My father was led by fear. Me? I think there is more to this story. Men simply do not survive a burning to reappear later.”

  Murrough nodded and finished his wine. He was much older than James and found it hard to keep up with a king who travelled his country more than most kings had. James could ride from Stirling to Aberdeen and on to Elgin in one day. He often visited villages and slept in simple places. He usually spent Lent in Stirling, at the convent of the Observatine Friars, where he donned the sober brown robes of the Order and took part in their vigils and prayers. He delighted the friars by bringing them philosophical and theological books.

  Murrough felt a new confidence, one he hadn’t felt in years, while serving under James the Third. He bowed to his king and took his leave. He would find Laise of the Marked Face.

  Chapter 21

  Kat stood by Lorcan’s bed, overjoyed he was alive, and watched him sleep.

  Ragnar had been the boisterous jokester. Lorcan studied things and thought about them before speaking. He often used his eyes to say things. The brothers had been very close, protecting each other in battle and protecting Kat against the threats and beatings of their own clan leader Angus.

  Lorcan opened his eyes. He had a gash in his leg and had lost blood but already his color was returning. Kat sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand and smiled. “I am so glad of this miracle brother, finding ye alive. I feel my heart will burst. We’re not alone in the world, Lorcan. We have each other.”

  “Aye, I’m alive,” he said. “And curiously, not in a dungeon but in a bedchamber with a crackling fire in the hearth.”

  “Have ye been hiding out in the hills all this time?” Kat asked.

  “Aye,” Lorcan said. “I kent they’d taken a prisoner from the battle. My plan was to waltz in and demand his release. Where is he? Rotting away in the dungeons? And I find ye here too, and wife to the beastly Maclean!”

  “’Tis true, I am wife to Conall Maclean. Ye swore loyalty to the Maclean. And here we sit, by a warm fire with shelter and food. I could never have imagined this.”

  Lorcan looked at her with another question in his eyes.

  “Conall did not hurt me,” she said. “The marriage is…official.”

  Lorcan frowned.

  “It was not forced. Conall is not the man we’ve heard about in the tales. He has…compassion.”

  “We shall see,” Lorcan said. “At any rate, I am happy he isna drinking my blood from my hollowed out skull. How did ye end up here, Kat?”

  “Ye did not seek me here?” she asked.

  “I hid out after the battle. I saw the Macleans take a hooded lad prisoner. I had it in my mind to rescue him.”

  Kat laughed again. “I did a vera good job of fooling everyone, even ye brother!”

  Lorcan still looked confused. Kat got up and poured whisky into a goblet and handed it to him. He took a gulp.

  “I was the lad they took prisoner,” she said.

  He spit out his whisky. “What?”

  “Ye ken how much I enjoy sword fighting and how skilled I am at it. I disguised myself as a lad and charged into the battle, wanting to prove myself.”

  “God’s Teeth, Kat!”

  “The first man who turned around and saw me on the battlefield was Conall Maclean himself. Lorcan, I am ashamed to admit, I froze in fear. Then I tried to slash his face but only got his side. Fortunately for me, he slipped in the mud and I thumped him on his head. Then I ran to hide in the brush.”

  “And later he married ye? Och, but I am confused! And besides that, sister, ye could have been killed, and no one would’ve kent it was ye under those lad’s rags!”

  “I ken now it was vera foolish. Nor is battle what I imagined it to be. Neither is Conall the man we’ve heard him to be. He is not a brute, Lorcan. Once he realized it was no lad he held in his dungeons but a lass, he treated me with unexpected kindness. He gave me food, warmth, and clothing. He could have killed me had he so desired. I told him about Angus’ wrath. I asked him to take me back to the battlefield, to find my brothers and give them a proper burial. We only found Ragnar. I was distraught for I didn’t ken yer fate.

  “Conall obliged. Ragnar is buried in the village. When yer strong enough, I will take ye to the cemetery.”

  “Ragnar buried on Maclean land! ‘Tis an incredible tale ye tell!”

  “’Tis better than being buried in a ditch in a battlefield with no one to mourn ye.” Kat then related how Martainn had helped her escape, how she’d driven a wedge between Conall and Martainn, and how Conall, Conall’s father Malcolm, Martainn, and a priest had come after her. She told him how she’d killed a man defending herself and had nearly fallen off a cliff. She described the ruins of the chapel where she’d had no choice but to marry Conall.

  “My head spins and ‘tis not from the whisky. But why?”

  “I told him I would ne’er return to Angus. I thought ye dead as well. I had no reason to return to our clan. Conall felt marrying me was the only way to protect me from both clans.”

  “Vera odd behavior, marrying yer prisoner. Perhaps the man is smitten with ye, Kat. I wouldna blame him. Yer a feisty lass, always turning heads.”

&nb
sp; Kat met her brother’s blue eyes. “Angus the hog head. May he die a horrible death.” They laughed as they had when they were bairns at the name they’d come up with for Angus. Then they sat in silence for a while. Finally, Kat leaned over to kiss Lorcan’s forehead but he backed away.

  “What is it, Lorcan?”

  “Ye married a Maclean! He killed Ragnar!”

  Kat felt a rush of hurt. “He did not!”

  “How do ye ken it was not his sword?”

  Kat was silent.

  “They killed our brother Ragnar! ‘Twas a Maclean sword that took his life.”

  Kat had no words. Lorcan closed his eyes. “I’d like to be alone for a while.”

  “Ye need yer rest,” she said and left him, holding back her tears.

  Chapter 22

  Conall and a party of men had gone on an errand two days ago. Kat wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so she decided to sweep out the rushes in front of the great hearth. She’d offered to help with other tasks, but the servants were self-sufficient and didn’t want her help.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to find Andrina standing there. Shyly, Andrina took Kat’s hand. “Follow me,” she said.

  Kat followed Andrina down the steps to the kitchens, where meat roasted on spits in a cavernous hearth and broths bubbled in pots. Maids beat dough on a wide tabletop with their fists and a cook rushed around, red-faced with exertion, bellowing orders. As they made their way to the courtyard, Kat and Andrina darted out of the way of servants fetching water from the well to fill dozens of pots for heating bathwater. They shooed chickens from their path. The blacksmith was busy at his anvil and didn’t raise his head, even when a squawking chicken got too close to his big feet.

  The courtyard was relatively empty. Kat realized belatedly she still held a broom. Andrina took it. “Show me more, like a sword.”

  “Ye wish to learn how to wield a sword?” Kat said.

  Andrina nodded.

  Kat smiled. “Of course, but we will need real swords. A broom won’t do. Ye’d never rush into a battle with a broom or defend a castle with one.”

  Andrina pointed. Men and lads often trained in the courtyard and several swords of varying sizes were propped against a stone wall near the stables. Soon Kat and Andrina each held one in their hands.

  “Och, ‘tis heavy,” Andrina said.

  “Aye. But ye can learn to direct it.” Kat smiled. “I trained at first with ash-sticks and I remember the first time I held cold steel in my hands.” Kat told her about the sword dance she’d won as a wee lass, about always respecting the sword, about how men always underestimated a lass. “We can use that to our advantage. After all, no man ever expects a woman to charge him with a sword or a dirk.” Kat paused. “Why do ye wish to learn, Andrina? And why do ye let me teach ye?”

  “Everyone kens ye rushed into a man’s battle with a sword. I kent ye could teach me. I never kent a woman so brave.” She chewed her bottom lip in thought. “I think if I kent how to use this, I wouldna be as afraid if we are attacked again when the men are away.”

  Kat nodded. “I’m not sure I was brave to rush into battle. Mayhap more foolish than brave. But ‘tis prudent to ken how to defend yerself.”

  Andrina studied the sword she held. “The day I was…attacked was the longest of my life. When the men were through with me, one of them heated a sword in a fire and as I lay on the ground, placed it on my face and stepped on it. ‘Tis how I got this mark on my face. If I ever see him again…I dunna want to be afraid.”

  Kat thoroughly enjoyed the exertion of teaching Andrina about the use of a sword. She showed Andrina the vulnerable spots on a man, and not just between his legs—his neck and his underarm, for example. Andrina didn’t say much, but each day she spoke a little more.

  “Why do ye speak with me but no one else, Andrina?”

  “For many months, I couldna speak. I couldna find the words. ‘Twas like they were stuck inside me. I was afraid. I still am. Yer the first person who does not look at me with pity. I ken ye have suffered too.”

  “I have felt the fists of a man and been kicked and beaten, but ye have suffered far more than I.”

  “Aye, the cruelty of Angus MacDonald is well kent throughout the Highlands.”

  Three more days passed and Andrina progressed nicely. Once, because of her bad leg, she had fallen. But she got up and they talked about how she could compensate for her leg and still do the movements. It was good to know how to fall as well. In the evenings, Kat would sometimes spy Andrina by the great hearth with her broom, waving it in the air like it was a sword. It made her smile.

  Martainn returned first. The tall, blonde giant of a man strode into the great hall and sought Kat out.

  “Is Conall alright?” Kat asked.

  “Aye. Never tell me yer concerned for his safety. He’ll return on the morrow. Meanwhile, I hear ye’ve been giving Andrina sword lessons?”

  Kat crossed her arms over her chest and thrust her chin out. “What of it? There’s no harm in it. In fact, it can only benefit her. I see no reason why she cannot learn and besides….”

  “Easy lass. God’s Teeth but yer the boldest, most stubborn lass! Let me finish. I hear Andrina speaks.”

  “Aye, she does.”

  “How did ye….”

  “She came to me.”

  “I canna reason why.”

  “Martainn, ye were right about something. She doesna need any reminders of what she suffered.”

  She sighed because he still did not understand. “Martainn, she speaks to me because, though I am a MacDonald by birth, I see more than a tragedy when I look at her. She doesna see pity in my eyes. Every day she sees pity from others when they look at her. She shields herself from it. It causes her to withdraw. And though yer an arrogant, boil-brained boar-pig, I understand yer pain. I ken ye love her greatly. Ye dunna want my advice, yet will I give it.”

  He frowned through the golden beard sprouting on his chin. “Och, I guess I deserved that.”

  “Try to look at her as the woman ye love. She is more than the tragedy that befell her. And stop scowling like a scullery maid! ‘Tis most unbecoming!”

  “Thank ye for teaching her to use a sword.”

  “Dunna thank me, Martainn. I do not do it for ye. I do it for Andrina.”

  Kat turned to walk away and stopped, looking over her shoulder. “Beslumbering, foot-licking hedge-pig.”

  Martainn laughed and she smiled as she walked to the gardens, though her thoughts were a jumble. She could not stop thinking about Conall. Indeed, she was concerned for his safety. But something else also troubled her. She had to face it—she cared for him. She’d even found some logic in what he’d done, making her his wife. He’d given her his protection and his home when he could’ve had her tortured or even killed, which is no doubt what Angus would have done to her. And still she found trust a hard thing to give.

  When she came to the stone wall overlooking the sea, she found Sorcha sitting on the stone bench.

  “I miss him too,” Sorcha said.

  “I dunna miss him….”

  Sorcha laughed and patted the bench. “Ye do. Now sit with me a while.”

  Kat joined her on the bench.

  “I was vera much like ye once,” Sorcha said. “A Douglas, betrothed from childhood to my mortal Maclean enemy.” She searched Kat’s face. “Yer surprised.”

  “Aye.”

  “My marriage was arranged by a king when I was but a wee lass. When I first met Malcolm, I was determined to hate him. When he first came to the keep to collect me as his bride, I tried to trick him into thinking I was a servant while my lady maid pretended to be me. I told her to act as bold and rude as possible and to drive him away from the castle with the thought of annulling the marriage with haste. She belched and wiped her hands on his sleeves and said obnoxious things, all to no avail. It did no good. A more stubborn man I never met. And our union was, after all, decreed by a king.”

&nb
sp; “So he found out ye deceived him. What happened?”

  “He was angry. But we both soon realized our anger at being forced to marry was, fortunately, a passion and a love we couldna deny. Not everyone is so lucky.”

  They stared at the sea for a while. It was unusually calm, with ripples of turquoise.

  “Ye teach Andrina to wield a sword.”

  “Ye dunna approve, Lady Maclean?”

  “Call me Sorcha. I heartily approve. Ye’ve worked miracles with her. Already I see the woman she once was beginning to emerge. A woman who can defend herself is a stronger woman indeed, not one who will find herself at the mercies of soulless cruel pigs ever again.” Sorcha pushed a tendril of auburn hair threaded with grey behind her ear. Her green eyes were stunning and not unkind. “I was and still am a vera good marksman with bow and arrow. In fact, before I married Malcolm, I challenged him to a contest of flyting and bow and arrow. I won both, for I am skilled at the old art of flyting, or hurling insults, but even more skilled at hitting a target with my arrows. Over the years I remind him of it, at appropriate moments.”

  Kat laughed and Sorcha stood, pulling her plaid more closely about her shoulders. “I ken why ye lied before and why ye tried to escape this keep. But now yer Conall’s wife. No one in the Maclean clan will harm ye. While ye didna marry for love, Conall is my son, and I think he has grown to care for ye. Dunna break his heart.”