The Niece of His Highland Enemy by Alisa Adams
18
The guards stood, uncertain, poised to attack. From the look in their eyes, each was clearly attempting to calculate whether he might be able to somehow dispatch Fergus—and perhaps even Moire, who still held the whip and had the frenzied look of a madwoman—without unduly risking the life of their laird.
But the way their weapons trembled in their hands, it seemed that none of them could imagine such an outcome.
Then, suddenly, a voice spoke up from the corridor behind the guards: “Let me through, lads, else we shall be here all night and well into the morning.”
The legion of armed men parted, allowing a short, stocky man to enter the room. He was built like a barrel of ale himself, with broad arms and legs and jet-black hair with a bushy beard to match. His nose was as round, red, and pitted as a strawberry. There was a wide gap between his front teeth, which were small, square, yellowed, and set into livid and swollen gums. His eyes were as black as a raven’s and every bit as sharp and suspicious.
“My name is Sawney Buchanan,” he said, folding his stubby arms over his chest and jutting his chin defiantly. “I am the most prominent landowner of this clan, second only to Ronald himself there. Surely, the pair of you must understand that you have no hope of escaping this place alive if you butcher Laird Campbell in front of several dozen witnesses?”
“That may be so,” Fergus acknowledged. “However, my kinsmen have been issued orders to sail from the Isle of Skye. Doubtless, they are already on their way. What they choose to do when they arrive here will depend upon my orders. Or, if I am not in a position to give any, that will inform their chosen course of action as well. War between our people will be brutal and costly, Buchanan. Is it truly worth the risk to you? Especially when your ‘laird’ has no true claim to the title?”
Sawney’s hatefully beady and inscrutable black orbs settled upon Ronald for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was silky and eerily measured, every word dripping with sardonic intent. “I have known Laird Ronald for quite a long time. I ken full well that he is adept at working his will in ways which many may consider morally ambiguous. The same can be said of many victors throughout history. That does not make me inclined to cede the advantage to either of you in this moment.”
“I say nothing of his character,” Moire retorted, “though I could say plenty with regard to what is absent from it in terms of honor and morality. No, it is the very legitimacy of his rule that we speak of. Moments ago, he confessed to murdering my father and mother in order to wrongfully seize power. This means that he is not the clan’s rightful laird. He is a liar, a coward, a fraud, and an assassin. And what is more, he announced it so loudly that I’d wager many among these guards heard those very words escape his lips.”
The expressions on the faces of the guards were torn. Yes, clearly, several of them had heard the words, but what did they make of them?
How could they accept that their laird had killed his brother to lead the clan himself?
Sawney was clearly doing his best to appear stoic, but a muscle in his prodigious jaw began to twitch, betraying him. He continued to glare at Ronald.
“My old friend,” he said, “I have forgiven you for your foolishness, for your tyrannies, for your never-ending grasps for power. I was willing to overlook the rumors of your involvement in the death of your brother and his wife, despite the fact that you were sloppy enough to let those tales circulate in the villages and townships. But now, you have committed that most cardinal of sins: You have allowed your nefarious deeds to be discovered. Now, your carelessness has left me with no choice but to withdraw my support from you.”
“Ronald must be transported in irons to the Isle of Skye,” Fergus spoke up. “There, he may face our justice. And if we decree his life is forfeit, then forfeit it shall be.”
“Aye,” Sawney replied. “That suits me right enough, so long as me and mine are allowed to maintain our holdings during the transfer of lairdship.”
“You disloyal ass!” Ronald screeched at him. “You imbecile! You faithless, brainless, soulless dog! How could you turn on me like this?!”
“As I said,” the man answered, “because you got caught. Now, Laird Fergus, if you would be so kind as to take our erstwhile laird and leave the premises at once? You may stop by the stables to select steeds for your journey to the shore if you like. Consider them a gift to smooth the path to a new alliance between our clans.”
Sawney gestured to the guards, and they parted once more, like the waves of the Red Sea before Moses himself. Fergus and Moire warily made their way through, escorting Ronald with the glass shard still set into the soft flesh of his neck. Just a bit more pressure and it would surely draw blood.
Though it seemed it would not come to that.
“Oh, and one last thing,” Sawney called out after them. “You have no need to worry about the well-being of your sister Freya. She will be kept safe and happy here until you return to collect her. You have my solemn word on that.”
“Will she be spared from working in the fields?” Moire asked.
The man nodded. “Aye. Now that Ronald is no longer laird, I imagine a great many people will be excused from such labors from now on. In fact, I daresay that will be one of several changes made around here.”
“Then once again, good sir, I am most grateful to you,” she replied sincerely.
Moire and Fergus marched Ronald down the stone steps to the courtyard, and he sputtered and protested and threatened the entire time, but he did not dare struggle, for what was the point? His own people had turned on him, and his home was no longer his own. All he had left to hope for was a slim chance that he might survive until his own trial and somehow not be put to death after it had concluded.
They led the dishonored laird to the stables, where they chose mounts for each of them—two Moire and Fergus would ride, and a third they would lead behind them with Ronald bound and slung across its back.
Thus equipped, they started riding away from the castle. After a short distance, Ronald’s cursing turned into mewling and pleading, and they paused long enough to gag him as well.
Having done so, Fergus was set to mount his steed once more, but before he could, he felt Moire’s hands upon him, holding him back. He turned and found her smiling, her emerald eyes twinkling with delight despite the wounds on her back, which still bled through her dress. Fergus forced himself to remember those injuries when he embraced her so that he would not accidentally aggravate them.
“We did it, Fergus,” she breathed, her face inches away from his. “We managed to best that ogre and escape his cruelty, against all odds.”
Before he could answer, she leaned in and kissed him.
Her lips were soft and sweet against his own, and it felt as though she was sharing her very soul with him in that moment. Her essence filled his chest, making his heart beat stronger and faster than it ever had before. Indeed, his entire body seemed to fill with new hope and vigor, as if all of his doubts and imperfections had been stripped away, and he was now a man reborn as his best possible self. He basked in the glow of her, silently wishing for a hundred more kisses such as that one, a thousand—a lifetime’s worth and then twice that again.
And when she released him, he fervently wished she had not.
Still, he understood that they could hardly stand out there on the hillside kissing to their hearts’ content. Putting aside the fact that Ronald was an unwelcome spectator to their affections, they had other matters at hand.
“The Sinclairs still have my other sister and brother,” Moire said.
“Aye,” Fergus conceded, “but not for long if I have anything to say about it. I was being truthful when I told that Sawney fellow my forces are even now sailing toward us. If we go to the shore to meet them, they will follow us to the lair of the Sinclairs. And without the Campbells filling out their ranks, I imagine a battle against those blackguards will end quite differently this time.”
So they continued to ride until the grass beneath their horses’ hooves gave way to sand and surf, and there they waited until daybreak when the first rays of sunlight illuminated the sails and banners of the approaching vessels. Moire and Fergus waved to them, and sure enough, the ships hove toward their position and dropped their anchors a short distance away.
Ramps were dropped and extended from the holds of the vessels, discharging what appeared to be roughly a hundred armored men on horseback. Edmund was among them, and when he saw Fergus, he dismounted and embraced his friend warmly.
“When we received your message, we feared the worst,” he told Fergus. “I am relieved to see that you are alive and not languishing in the dungeons of the Campbells. What has transpired here?”
Fergus recited all of the events as briefly yet comprehensively as possible. When he was finished, Edmund let out a low whistle.
“That is quite a tale indeed,” he said. “Thank the heavens that you were able to achieve peace with the Campbells, even if you did so in a rather roundabout fashion compared to your initial scheme. Are we to return now to our own lands?”
“Not quite,” Fergus corrected him. “The Sinclairs remain our enemies, and now they are not advantaged with the support of the Campbells. More to the point, they continue to hold two of the Campbell children hostage. We cannot allow that to continue. We must ride to their rescue and defeat the Sinclairs at once. Clearly, you have brought enough men to do so, and they seem prepared to achieve such a victory.”
Edmund looked at the men’s faces dubiously. None of them seemed particularly pleased to be there or eager for another skirmish in the Highlands, given the way the previous one had gone.
Fergus supposed he could not blame them. He had certainly led them astray the last time.
Still, he required their loyalty and strength now, and he was determined to have it no matter what.
“Men of the Brodie clan!” he addressed them sharply. “From your expressions and the hesitation in your bearing, I can see that being here has brought you memories of our previous venture… that you are, all of you, mentally tallying the comrades who were butchered before your very eyes just a handful of days ago. I say to you: Good. You should dwell on such things. You should be haunted and horrified by them. But more than that, my brothers in arms, you should be enraged by them…so much so that you burn with the desire for vengeance against those who cut down your kinsmen!”
There were grunts and murmurs of agreement among the ranks of the assembled soldiers. Fergus definitely had their attention.
“I stand before you today offering the very satisfaction which you seek!” he went on. “The Sinclairs are no longer allied with the Campbells! We can lay waste to them, honor our fallen brethren, and bring victory to our clan! Who is with me?!”
A roar of assent rose from the Brodie army, and Fergus nodded, pleased. Ever since their previous loss at the hands of the Sinclairs and the Campbells, he had fretted that he might never regain the faith and support of his own clan.
Now he had it.
All that remained was for him to keep it.
He commanded a crewman from one of the ships to bring Ronald aboard and keep a close watch over him. No doubt the bastard would do his level best to escape justice, and Fergus had no intention of allowing him even the briefest opportunity to do so.
“You must remain here as well, Moire,” he told her.
“I shall do no such thing!” she balked.
“We are riding into grave danger…perhaps into outright war,” he explained patiently. “You are a brave woman indeed and a strong one. But you are neither swordsman nor soldier, and you will not be safe if things turn violent.”
“Safe?” she repeated incredulously. “When have I been safe this past week? When have I been safe these past years, ever since I was taken in by my ghastly uncle? But as you see, I have endured!”
“Aye, partly from the sheer luck of not having drowned to death,” he pointed out, “and partly due to my own intervention on your behalf. I may not be able to protect you amid the chaos and carnage of a conflict such as this…and I would not be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to you.”
“I do not ask you to look after me in the event of violence,” Moire insisted, “nor do I ask you to blame yourself if tragedy befalls me. I will only tell you that I have every intention of seeing this story through to the end and of embracing my brother and sister immediately upon their release from the clutches of the Sinclairs.”
“I cannot let it happen.” His voice sounded oddly apologetic. “You make a compelling argument indeed, but there is nothing you can say that will make me take you along on such a perilous errand as this.”
“Then I shall convince one of the other Brodie men to let me ride behind him on his horse,” she countered, putting her hands on her hips obstinately. “And if that does not work, I shall knock the man out, dress myself in his tartan and armor, and take his horse for myself. So you may as well save us all the time and trouble and simply allow me to accompany you.”
He looked at her for a long moment, gobsmacked, then threw his head back and laughed. “You never cease to surprise me, for good or ill, do you? Very well, you may take your own horse and ride alongside me. Are you able to swing a sword, or shall we fetch you a whip instead?”
Moire raised an eyebrow sardonically. “A short sword will suit me fine, thank you. And if you have a breastplate which might fit me, I would be grateful for it.”
He ordered for a weapon and cuirass to be fetched from the armory of one of the ships, and she accepted them with a wry curtsy.
Then the Brodies rode to the dilapidated fishing village of the Sinclairs once more, fueled by the hellfires of bloody revenge.
The townsfolk and fishmongers scattered, alarmed when the Brodies rode through. From the look of it, many of them were scrambling to their homes to retrieve their own mounts and weapons. Many of them barely made it out of the way of the Brodies’ horses before being trampled.
The “stronghold” of the Sinclairs could not quite be described as a castle. It was a simple rectangular fort of black stone, squat and ugly, filthy and in disrepair like so many of the structures which blighted their hardscrabble lands.
The Brodies rode to the front of it and found Tremaine Sinclair, the clan’s laird, waiting for them. He was a lanky and sour-looking man, with wisps of gray hair barely covering his scaly and scabrous scalp. His skin was sallow and mottled, and the whites of his eyes were yellowed from too much drink. He was flanked by his soldiers. They looked mean and dangerous, but they would clearly not stand for long against the superior numbers and seasoned warriors of the Brodies.
“Well, now!” Tremaine sneered. “Returned for more punishment, have ye? Have ye forgotten what transpired the last time ye ventured into our lands wi’ yer swords drawn? For if so, a reminder can easily be arranged!”
“I doubt that very much,” Fergus replied evenly. “Word of the previous night’s events has clearly not reached you yet, so I shall illuminate you accordingly: The Campbells are now allied with our clan. Ronald Campbell has been deposed as laird and shall doubtless bare his neck to the headsman for the cold murder of his brother and his sister-in-law.”
“I see,” Tremaine grumbled. “Then you have come here to engage in wholesale slaughter, is that it? To take our lands for your own?”
Fergus surveyed the village haughtily. “Your lands are poor and poxy, and I assure you, I have no desire to gain ownership over them. If you simply vow to release the territories you’ve seized and take up arms against is no more and return the Campbell children Ronald placed in your custody, no more blood needs to be spilled this day or any other.”
Tremaine folded his arms stubbornly. “We have no ‘children’ in this place except those who answer to the surname ‘Sinclair.’”
“You are a contemptible liar!” Moire challenged. “Aodh and Sorcha are within, and you shall bring them out at once and release them, else you will feel a wrath of fury and vengeance greater than any visited upon sinners by the Lord of the Old Testament!”
“D’ye hear that, lads?” Tremaine snickered to his soldiers. “We had best do as she asks and produce a pair of helpless waifs from our arses, or from thin air itself, lest we endure the same fate as those at Sodom and Gomorrah!” He spat upon the ground contemptuously. “Away wi’ ye, ye pack of fools!”
Just then, hoofbeats drummed upon the stones and soil behind the Brodies. When Fergus and the others turned to look, they saw a small army of Sinclairs advancing upon them. They were a motley and ragtag bunch, their armor rusted and hanging off, their blades crooked and crusted with the blood of animals and men.
But what they lacked in finesse, they appeared to make up for in sheer ferocity and malice. They were filthy, and they reeked. Their eyes bulged and rolled with the madness of inbreeding.
And they howled for blood.
