The Niece of His Highland Enemy by Alisa Adams

9

The ship came to shore, the walkways came down in the muddy surf, and Fergus and Moire led their horses onto the beach.

“Are ye sure ye mean tae go forward on yer own, Laird?” one of the sailors asked. He was a scarred and leathery old salt, with a wiry gray beard and a missing eye. “I could come along an’ look after ye, right enough. I may be old, but I’ve plenty of fight left in me an’ that’s the truth.”

“You’re a brave sort of cove, aren’t you?” Fergus observed with a smile. “What is your name, sir?”

The sailor gave him a lopsided grin, revealing several broken teeth. “Tavish, Laird, if’n it please ye. I remained behind wi’ the ship durin’ yer previous skirmish, an’ I’d welcome the chance tae right that wrong today.”

“Many would say you were fortunate to have missed it,” the young laird observed.

“Not I! Me duty is tae me clan in victory an’ in defeat!”

Fergus clasped the man’s hand. “If you truly wish to serve our clan, Tavish, then you must stay with the ship once more. You may be called upon to defend it against raiders, Sinclairs, or even Campbells if we fail in our mission. More than that, it will fall to you to return safely to our lands and alert our forces. I can think of no more crucial task than that.”

Tavish nodded. “If this service ye require of me, Laird, then this service I shall deliver. Just as I served yer father until his dying day.”

The mention of his father gave Fergus a pang of unexpected grief, and he patted the man’s shoulder, turning to Moire. “Shall we proceed, then?”

“Yes, I suppose we should, at that,” Moire agreed, following him up the beach.

With every step the horses took, Fergus became increasingly agitated, feeling as though he was walking into a nest of serpents unguarded like some sort of fool. The sword hanging at his side felt like a silly prop; it would do nothing to protect him once he was in a castle surrounded by hundreds of his enemies.

What was he trying to prove, then, by doing something so suicidally stupid?!

He recalled the words of old Tavish and realized that he was embarking on this mission to prove his worth to his clan, to men like Tavish, who had served his father faithfully. To Edmund, who could not help but observe and point out the flaws in Fergus’s plans. To Arnott and Mungo and the rest, who doubted him and sneered behind his back.

Or they did so right to his face, for that matter. To allay the guilt he felt every time he sat in the chair that had once been occupied by his father—the nagging suspicion that his was a legacy Fergus could never hope to live up to, no matter how hard he tried.

Then he glanced at Moire and knew that part of him was also doing it because he was so enamored of her. He hated the idea that she had awakened in an unfamiliar place after having been traumatized by the men who’d seized and drowned her. She had been through more than any girl her age should have to bear, and he was determined to see her returned to her home safely, even if her uncle was his enemy… and even if it meant he might never see her again.

Granted, he had promised that he would assist her in finding her siblings—with the approval of her uncle. But the more he learned about her situation, the more he found himself wondering about Ronald Campbell’s place in it all.

“Moire,” he ventured carefully, “have you ever suspected that your uncle might have had something to do with the fate which befell your parents and the sudden silence of your younger brothers and sisters?”

Moire’s eyes widened. “How could you even suggest such a thing? He is my father’s brother, my own blood relation! The idea that he would betray his own family in such a manner is beyond belief!”

“Then you vouch for his character that much?”

She rolled her eyes. “I keep telling you, my uncle will not harm you! You may cease interrogating me with regard to his ‘character!’”

“I am concerned with far more than my immediate safety,” Fergus retorted defensively. He hated that she thought he was in fear for his own life. He was no coward and did not want her to believe that he was. “I need to know that he is a man who can be reasoned with so that we may reach an accord. Do you have any knowledge of how he handles his affairs in situations such as these?”

“No, I do not,” she conceded. “He does not involve me in the running of the clan’s business. His people prosper under his leadership, and that is all I know. Every Campbell toils together toward the common good. This has ever been the cornerstone of our way of living, and we are fiercely proud of it.”

“That is promising news indeed, in terms of my dealings with him. So, if you trust your uncle so implicitly, who do you believe is behind all of your misfortune? Who was responsible for sending those men to attack you?”

Another dodge, another abrupt change of subject. He wondered if she was beginning to notice this tactic. She was a bright and observant girl, after all, with a sharp wit.

But if she did notice, she gave no sign. “I do not know. If only Dand would return, he might be able to provide some answers.” She sighed hopelessly. “Then again, for all I know, he’s long since fallen victim to the same men who made the attempt on my life.”

Aye, or perhaps he was in league with them, Fergus thought. I do not know much about the workings of the Campbell clan yet, but what I do know based on what the girl has already told me is cloaked in mystery. It seems as though some strange plot may have claimed her parents’ lives, and it’s surely no coincidence that her siblings have all gone missing since.

His fear of reaching the castle began to increase once more as he realized that Moire’s assurances of his safety might amount to very little once they actually arrived. There were clearly machinations going on that she was unaware of, and he was in no hurry to be ensnared by them.

However, it was much too late to turn back now. He had promised to reunite her with her uncle, and he had told his people that he would use this opportunity to regain what had been stolen from them.

Even so, his thoughts grew darker with every step they took toward their destination.

Another hour passed, and the sun began to sink in the west, staining the clouds pink and purple. Their horses trotted along the grassy hills and valleys until, at last, Moire pointed at the distance, exclaiming: “There!”

Sure enough, the Campbell castle loomed ahead of them. Fergus saw that its gray ramparts and towers were indeed in disrepair—they were jagged and crumbling, making the structure seem somehow sinister and haunting, as though only ghosts and demons would inhabit such a bleak place.

If I am to die, Fergus thought, I would just as soon not spend my final hours in such a dismal castle as that one.

Not that it seemed as though he would have much choice.