Highland Thief by Alyson McLayne

Two

Laird Kerr MacAlister squeezed his stallion’s reins and bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling at the men on horses and on foot around him to pick up the pace. A pack of bloody turtles!

’Twas a possibility he might grind his teeth to nothing by the time he and his foster family arrived at Gavin’s castle later on this afternoon. War was a long and bloody business, and he’d been chafing to return to Isobel ever since the battles at Clan MacIntyre and Clan MacColl had ended.

Fortunately, they’d overcome Castle MacIntyre without too much trouble because so many MacIntyre warriors had been killed during the botched attack against Gavin’s clan earlier in the year. And when Kerr and his allies—six strong lairds and fifteen hundred men—arrived at the MacColl castle, the clan pleaded mercy before the first arrow had loosed. The only death had been the execution of Laird Boyd MacColl—Deirdre’s brother—and not because he was their enemy, but because he was the worst kind of degenerate who preyed on defenseless girls.

He’d been hanged by his brother-in-law, who was now laird, before they’d even arrived. His clan did not mourn his passing.

Kerr’s only consolation was that Gavin was anxious to get back to Deirdre, and he didn’t hide his frustration one bit. Nay, his foster brother had groused about their slow progress almost the entire time, which, of course, had made his other foster brothers, Darach, Lachlan, and Callum—all lairds of their own clans—go even slower. Or maybe it only seemed that way because Kerr itched to race back to Isobel’s side.

Winter would be upon them soon, and unless something changed, he would be back with Clan MacAlister in his castle while Isobel stayed at hers. It would be five months before he would see her again. Five months of her possibly meeting someone else and maybe even falling in love.

It was a risk he took every time he left her alone, but he knew Isobel wasn’t ready for him yet—or maybe he wasn’t ready for her.

A year and a half ago he would have laughed at that idea, but after seeing the way his brothers had had to grow and change to be the men their wives deserved, he’d begun to doubt himself.

What could he offer Isobel MacKinnon—the Beauty of the Highlands, the bright star at the center of her clan, the most captivating woman he’d ever known—that she didn’t have already?

Surely she could find a better man than him—a better family to marry into. His father had been a monster. His uncles had been monsters. And their blood pumped through his veins.

Abuse of all kinds had been an everyday occurrence within Kerr’s clan. His own mother had been denied happiness, liberty, and eventually her life by her husband.

She’d been murdered as payback for Kerr daring to thrive in his foster father’s home. No one had stopped Madadh MacAlister from gutting his wife, or even condemned him for it. No one had been strong enough or brave enough.

Except a son who’d come home to find his mother dead on the floor of the great hall and left for the dogs to chew.

He’d been barely seventeen when he killed his father, and several of his uncles and cousins too—a feat everyone had thought impossible.

Kerr had been the one expected to die that day.

Then had come the job of digging out the rest of the rot in his clan.

Maybe it would be best if Isobeldid fall for someone else.

He reined in his black beast of a stallion, Diabhla, and stopped abruptly beside a grove of Scots pine. The early morning sun cast long shadows on the ground as men continued to march by.

Nay, losing Isobel wasn’t an option. He knew, as surely as his foster brothers had known with their wives, that she was meant to be his. But what kind of a family would he be asking her to join?

He rubbed his hand over his jaw, digging his fingers into his skin.

“Are you well, lad?” a voice asked beside him.

He looked up to see Gregor MacLeod sitting astride his horse, staring at him with concern. Lines etched his cheeks and around his eyes, and slashes of gray marked his ginger-colored hair and beard. Even so, he still looked as strong as an ox and as clear-eyed as any of Kerr’s foster brothers.

This was his real father. A man who had taken him into his home and under his wing at ten years old, even though Kerr’s devil of a sire had tried to murder him and everyone he held dear.

Gregor had trained Kerr to kill his father before the lad had even known a woman. Not to end a rival, but because he knew Madadh MacAlister would one day turn on his son.

And he had.

“Aye. I’m as well as can be expected, having to travel with a bunch of nattering old fools,” Kerr said.

“Usually you’re right there in the thick of it, nattering back at us—the loudest one of all. Doona think you can pull the wool over my eyes.”

Kerr shrugged and then rubbed his hand over his jaw again. He scratched down hard in his frustration, and Gregor frowned.

Shite. Nothing got past the old badger.

“You wouldnae be thinking about Isobel, would you?” Gregor asked.

He sighed. “Maybe.”

“And are you thinking about how you should have married her by now? That winter will be upon us soon and you’ve let one more year slip by?”

He clenched his jaw and stared hard at the top of Diabhla’s head. Was it wrong to want to punch his beloved foster father in the face? “’Tis possible I may be thinking that, aye.”

“Well, doona. She’s not ready. And neither are you.”

He jerked his head up to meet Gregor’s gaze. “What do you mean by that?” he asked. Never mind he’d been thinking it himself.

“The two of you like your wee dance. The back and forth, the annoyances and retaliations. The verbal sparring. You’re both still trying to win. Marriage isna about that—although that interaction with your spouse can be rousing. Kellie and I argued regularly, and we often ended up in our bedchamber afterward.”

Gregor grinned at Kerr, but it was tinged with an underlying sadness that was always there when he talked about his wife.

Kellie MacLeod. The woman who had inspired Gregor to be a better man and bring peace to the Highlands—and who had died in childbirth before she could see all the good her husband had done.

Gregor had never stopped loving her.

“What are you two reprobates gossiping about?” Laird Darach MacKenzie asked as he steered his horse to the side and joined them. His men marched on behind him. He’d been the first to fall for his wife, Caitlin, and they were expecting their first child soon. Kerr couldn’t wait to see Darach besieged by daughters—all as lovely and prone to trouble as Caitlin. She had turned Darach’s ordered world upside down last year, and now he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kerr sighed and rolled his eyes. “Nothing!” he said.

“Isobel!” Gregor said at the same time.

“What about Isobel?” Darach asked. “Are you finally going to quit dancing around and decide to marry her?”

“I havenae been dancing,” Kerr protested. “But when I do dance, you’ll know it. I’m dazzling.”

Laird Lachlan MacKay, possibly Kerr’s most annoying foster brother, appeared from behind a tree on his brute of a stallion. “Aye, you do dazzle when you dance. Watching you is like staring into the noonday sun on the hottest summer day. It burns your eyes, and you have to look away. But still you canna get the blinding image out of your mind.”

“What are you doing, lurking back there like a giant rat?” Kerr asked, as Darach and Gregor chuckled. Lachlan had fallen for his wife, Amber, next, and watching him spin in circles trying to pin her down had been payback for all the pranks he’d pulled on his foster brothers over the years.

“I’m surprising you. See?” He pointed to Kerr’s face. “You’re surprised!”

“’Tis not surprise on my face you’re looking at. ’Tis irritation, and a wish to be anywhere but here with you scoundrels.” He glowered at them, as darkly and menacingly as he could.

“He’s mooning over Isobel,” Darach told Lachlan.

“Nay. I’m contemplating murder and how to get away with it. Three murders to be exact.”

“Make that five,” Gregor said and pointed to Callum and Gavin, the last two foster brothers, who were weaving toward them through the marching men.

Kerr groaned. He’d never hear the end of it now. But maybe he could rile up Gavin and set him on the others to break up this impromptu meeting—with him at the center. “Gavin!” he yelled. “Your new bride is waiting at home, wondering where you are, while these lazy sons-of-donkeys are sitting by, idly chatting. They’re a bunch of uncaring bastards.”

Gavin looked at him before scrutinizing the faces of Gregor and the other men. “You better have a damned good reason for stopping. Is this about Kerr and Isobel? He wouldnae be trying to throw you to the wolves, otherwise.”

“I was doing no such thing!” Kerr protested, his voice rising in false innocence. They didn’t believe him. They never did.

“Aye, you were. You’re as subtle as a rampaging boar,” Callum said as he and Gavin reined in beside the others. Callum was their mother hen—if a mother hen could kill you in the blink of an eye and know what the enemy was thinking before they did. His wife, Maggie—a warrior woman who was the best shot in the Highlands—was with bairn too, and she’d taken to climbing out of windows, no matter how high, to get away from his coddling.

The five of them faced Kerr in a semicircle, like members of the Inquisition. “Is this where I confess to being a witch and you all drag me to a wood pile and burn me at the stake?” he asked.

“Doona jest about that,” Lachlan said with a shudder. “I still have nightmares about that happening to Amber.”

Amber was a healer and had encouraged the rumors that she was a witch in order to stay safe from her previous laird, whom Lachlan had killed.

Kerr grimaced. “Sorry, Brother. I forgot about Amber’s deception. I should ne’er have made light of such cruelty.”

“We’re not interrogating you, Son,” Gregor said. “We only want what’s best for you. And Isobel.”

“Isobel will decide what’s best for her—who’s best for her,” Gavin said. “My mother made sure of that before she died. But even if she hadn’t insisted that Isobel be allowed to choose her own husband, I wouldnae have it any other way. Nor would you,” he said, pointing at Kerr.

Kerr shrugged and tried to look unperturbed, even though he growled inside. His brothers forgot that on most days, he only pretended to be a civilized man. He was more a dark, wild Celt at heart than a Scot.

Aye, he supported Isobel choosing her husband. As long as she chooses me.

He sighed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, trying to put into words the doubt and turmoil that raged in his heart. How could he tell his beloved foster brothers and father that he wasn’t the man they thought he was?

Even knowing the foul blood that ran through his veins, he couldn’t imagine letting Isobel go. “I doona know how to… That is to say… I doona think…”

“That’s not news to us, Brother. We all know you doona think,” Lachlan said, his voice matter-of-fact but his eyes glinting with amusement.

In less than a heartbeat, Kerr retrieved a rock that he kept tucked in the folds of his plaid—for moments like this—and flicked it at Lachlan’s head. His foster brother ducked just in time with a whoop of laughter.

But when he straightened, Callum, Darach, and Gavin all pinged him with pebbles—thrown just hard enough to sting, making Kerr smile.

“Settle down,” his foster father commanded. His tone took Kerr back to his youth, usually when Gregor caught the boys roughhousing and in danger of breaking something or setting the castle on fire. Kerr often wondered if Gregor had had any idea what he was getting himself into when he decided to foster five rambunctious lads.

“How did you manage it?” Kerr asked.

Gregor’s brow creased in confusion. “Manage what?”

“The five of us. ’Tis not like you handed us over to someone for training and ne’er saw us again. You were right there with us in the thick of it.”

“Aye, I’ve wondered that myself,” Darach said. “Especially now I’m about to have my own bairn. I canna fathom what I’ll do when there’s five of them.”

Gavin laughed. “And knowing Caitlin, they’ll all be girls—as sweet and kind as her with a faithful hound on their heels named Trouble.”

Darach shook his head, looking a wee bit fearful. “Nay, our first bairn will be a lad who’ll grow big and strong and keep his sisters safe and out of mischief. Besides, I’ve forbidden Caitlin to have girls.” He said the last with a smile.

“Send them to Maggie,” Callum said. “She’ll teach them to wield a dagger.”

“Or Amber,” Lachlan added. “All women should know how to defend themselves.” He pointed at Kerr. “Starting with Isobel, if she’s going to take on you as a husband. You’ll smother her with your first kiss.”

Kerr knew his brother jested, but he couldn’t help thinking of his mother. Would she have survived his father if she’d known how to protect herself? Probably not. Where would she have gone? Kerr hadn’t met his mother’s family, but he didn’t remember her ever talking about them. Like his cousin Deirdre, she’d been married off and never thought of again.

He frowned at Lachlan. “And you doona jest about that, Brother. Have you forgotten my mother’s fate?”

Lachlan’s smile turned down. “Och, I’m sorry. Forgive me, Kerr. I spoke without thinking.”

“As did I.” Kerr leaned forward over his horse and reached out his arm. Lachlan also leaned forward, and they clasped hands to elbows.

“’Tis a good thing you doubt yourself,” Gregor said. “It shows you want the best for Isobel. You’re a good man, despite who your father was. You would ne’er allow anything to harm her—even yourself.” He leaned back and appraised Kerr with knowing eyes. “If you’re beginning to question what sort of husband you’d be and if you’d be able to make Isobel happy, maybe you are ready for marriage.”

“Is that what this is about?” Gavin asked. “You doona think you’re good enough for my sister? Is that why you’re still waiting?”

“I’m still waiting because I havenae had the opportunity. We’ve been attacked four times in the last year and a half, gone to war twice, and before all that, Ewan was taken. Not to mention trying to unravel the conspiracy against us. ’Tis not written in the stars, yet, to woo my reluctant bride.”

“Aye, it’s been a difficult few years,” Gregor said. “And we still doona know who’s leading the conspiracy against us.”

Kerr scowled along with several of his foster brothers. “I canna help but think my clan will be attacked next.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Callum shifted on his horse, tapping his fingers against his leg, something he did when he was thinking. “I doubt Fraser kidnapping Caitlin was part of the master plan, else we would have met with a heavier force against us at Fraser’s castle. Same with Lachlan’s attack on Machar Murray and the MacPherson clan. We took both those clans out of play before our enemy could set them against us. And we took out Maggie’s cousin too—and therefore her clan—when we came to her rescue, although she’s adamant she didn’t need my help.”

The men laughed. “Knowing Maggie, she could have survived and thrived without you,” Gavin said.

“Survived, aye, but not thrived. My warrior wife loves me despite my nagging her to stay off her feet and put her daggers down. I’m sure she’s been climbing out of windows to amuse herself since I’ve been gone.”

“And what of your clan?” Lachlan asked Callum. “It seems you scuttled the plan against them too.”

Callum nodded. “We surprised the enemy by coming o’er the mountains. It would have been much worse had we travelled the low road where they waited.”

“Which doesn’t mean their armies willna strike again—at any one of us. We must stay vigilant,” Gregor said quietly.

“Aye,” they all agreed.

“When your fathers attacked me so many years ago, they only did so because Kerr’s father had bribed, threatened, or curried favor with them,” Gregor continued. “He was a master at manipulating people and events—the same as the leader of this conspiracy. Kidnapping Gavin’s son to control him sounds like something Madadh MacAlister would have done.”

“Are you saying my father has come back from the dead?” Kerr asked. “I wouldnae doubt he would be well-favored by his demon masters.”

“I’m saying ’tis worth noting the similarities.”

“Your uncle maybe?” Gavin asked. “He’s the only one left alive. Or any cousins? Other than my wife, of course.”

They all chuckled softly. When the moment passed, Kerr considered the possibility. “Nay, I doona think my uncle has it in him. He was broken by my father as a lad. He’s still broken. He just wants to be left alone with his art. I have well-placed spies within my uncle’s home in Edinburgh, and I’ve heard naught from them about suspicious behavior.”

“What of your father’s bastards?” Lachlan asked Kerr. “Are there any others besides Andy and Aulay?”

“Possibly. My father had no qualms about forcing himself on women. But even if there are others, where are they getting the men? And the access and legitimacy to influence the other clans? Someone must be backing them, like the Campbells or the MacDonalds.”

“Aye,” everyone agreed again.

Then Gavin suddenly punched Kerr on the shoulder. “You’re naught like your father in any way. I would ne’er let you near Isobel if I didn’t think you could make her happy.”

Kerr’s brow rose as he rubbed his arm. “How can you say that? All we do is fight.”

“Aye, that’s the point. You fight endlessly, but you ne’er try to change her or think that she should hold her tongue. I doona know many men who would be strong enough to let Isobel be Isobel and not feel diminished by her.”

“Or try to control her,” Callum added. “She’s smart, and she understands people. She’ll be an asset to you, if you let her—once she stops creating mischief, that is.”

“You doona have to tell me that,” Kerr growled, irritated that they thought he didn’t know how smart Isobel was. And he liked the mischief she created.

“Didn’t she try to run you through a prickle bush one time? And dump sour milk on your head?” Darach asked.

He grinned proudly. “And she almost succeeded. Both times!”

“She has my vote,” Lachlan said.

Another round of “ayes” filled the air.

“Have you seen how the clan looks to her to right a wrong?” Kerr asked. “It may be too small an offense to warrant their laird’s intervention, but they hope it has caught their lady’s eye. And ’tis why she’ll have a trap waiting for Gavin when we get home. Maybe two in case the first one fails. He may have married my cousin, but he did her wrong at the start.”

Gavin’s face fell, and a sick look entered his eyes. Not for himself, Kerr knew, but at the reminder that he’d treated his wife poorly when they first met.

Gregor reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “No one likes to get on your sister’s bad side. But we’ll be there to help you wash up afterward.”

“Bah,” Kerr grumbled as the others snorted. “Isobel doesn’t have a bad side. Or a good side for that matter. She’s not a bloody rectangle.”

“Technically, a rectangle has four sides,” Callum added.

“A line, maybe?” Darach asked.

“Not a line. A plane,” Lachlan said.

Gavin shook his head. “My wife, the mathematician, would tell you you’re all wrong. My sister isna any of those things. She’s a stone wall. On one side is—”

“Shut it, ya wee ablachs. Or I’ll tell Isobel everything you said, and you’ll all be on her bad side—whate’er shape that is!” He steered Diabhla sideways and urged him into a swift canter. He was done ambling along. He whistled sharply to get the men to pick up the pace.

“Move your arses, lads! Half a day’s march to the MacKinnon castle and the loveliest lasses in all of Scotland. They’ll cheer your arrival and swoon from the sight of sweat-slicked, brawny muscles. Show them you’re Highland warriors and not a bunch of sluggish Englishmen!”

The warriors cheered and whistled and did exactly as Kerr asked—hastening to reach Castle MacKinnon and Isobel.