Highland Thief by Alyson McLayne

Twenty-Four

“Smile, dearling!” Isobel called out to Kerr from the saddle of her horse as they rode toward the village. She twitched those perfect lips at him and flashed her sparkling smile, causing his inner warrior to roar back at her ferociously—Danger!

A trap awaited, and he was headed straight toward it—a deranged grinning woman, a grief-stricken priest, and a past trauma victim who looked ready to bolt into the woods at any moment by his side. He’d placed Malcolm—a capable warrior—on point, but covering his rear and to the sides were craftsmen and theatre folk. One of the Merry Men had given up all pretense of being a guard and had started playing his pipe as he rode, while another was juggling.

But Kerr knew the plan…excite and engage the villagers so they came up to the castle with them for a celebratory wedding feast.

The traitors canna keep all of Clan MacAlister out of my castle!

He cracked his jaw and forced his lips back over his teeth in what he thought would pass for a grin. Then showed it to Isobel.

“Oh, dear God!” she groaned. “You look like every bairn’s, and their parents’, worst nightmare.”

“If anyone hurts any of the bairns or their parents in my clan, I will be a nightmare! These are my people, Isobel. And this man…this murderer—whatever his name is—thinks he can kill me, kill my family, kill my priest and get away with it?”

He roared at the end, and Una let out a frightened squeak while Father Lundie dabbed tears away with his handkerchief.

“Control yourselves,” he said to them firmly. “Una, you chose to come with us. Do your part or you put your sons in danger. And Father Lundie, hold it together, man, so we can see justice done for your friend and brother.”

He whipped his head around, intent on blasting the Merry Men, but two bairns, a lad and a lass around eight years old, Eilidh and Hamish, were following them, giggling quietly as they watched the juggler, who was playing the fool for them.

He turned back and caught Isobel’s eye. “Was this your plan all along?”

She shrugged. “Well, we doona want the people running to the castle in fear, now, do we? The traitors may close and lock the gates on us. And no one will really believe they’re our guards.” She looked back at the musician and the bairns dancing behind the Merry Men. “Who better to entice the people than the Pied Piper?”

“Their laird, perhaps. Or their lady.”

She reached across the distance between them and squeezed his raised hand.

He squeezed back and released a heavy, frustrated sigh. “Who is this man, Isobel? What does he want of me? This is personal. It must be because of my father.”

“The reasons doona matter, Kerr. All that matters is gathering our people safely within the castle walls. We doona want them harmed when a frustrated army comes through, expecting to occupy our home.”

He peered into the woods as if the army would suddenly appear. They were exposed and vulnerable, and he had too little information. How many spies were in the castle? How many of his people had been compromised? When was the enemy expected to arrive today? And how many warriors?

Hopefully, his brothers would be able to cut them off. Or if they couldn’t, they could squeeze the enemy between them and the castle walls—with Kerr’s forces raining arrows down upon them from the battlements.

A woman appeared ahead of them with a lass about Aulay and Andy’s age, pushing a cart full of freshly baked bread. They gazed up at the riders, eyes wide with astonishment.

The lass, in particular, stared at Isobel, who looked resplendent in the midmorning sun despite not having slept more than a few hours last night. They’d been on the road well before dawn, trying to beat the approaching army, and Una had come in early to help with Isobel’s new dress and hair.

She looked as beautiful as he’d ever seen her.

Not only a lady…a queen.

“Laird MacAlister!” the woman cried, her smile creasing her face. “Good day to you, sir.”

“And a good day to you too, Ailsa.” This time, the smile on Kerr’s face was genuine. “Ailsa and Donaldina, may I introduce you to Lady Isobel MacAlister, my wife and your new lady.”

“Oh!” Ailsa exclaimed. “Welcome, my lady! And my heartfelt congratulations on your nuptials.”

The young girl beamed when Isobel smiled at her. “Thank you. Will you come with us to the castle to celebrate? The whole clan will be there.”

“Now?” Ailsa asked, looking astonished.

“Aye, now!” Isobel laughed. She grasped Kerr’s hand again. “’Tis a gathering to celebrate our union and that of our two clans—allies and family.” She waved behind her at Una and the Merry Men. “We have entertainment—the best from Edinburgh—and old friends here to celebrate with us.”

Ailsa looked at Una, and then she gasped. “Una?”

Una nodded, her smile tremulous. An errant tear slid down her face, and she quickly dashed it away. The woman cried out and rushed forward, her face crumpling with emotion. Una slid from her horse, and the two merged into a tight embrace, laughing and crying.

“It’s been so long!” Ailsa said, pulling back and cupping her face. “I canna believe you’re here and looking so well.” Her fingers traced the scar down her cheek. “I’m so sorry I’ve ne’er been out to your farm. It was so awful what happened to you, and then afterward you didn’t want to see anyone.”

“I’m sorry. I couldnae, I just… I couldnae.”

“Nay, doona apologize. And you doona need to explain. You were so hurt by that devil of a man.” Her gaze darted to Kerr, a worried look on her face as if she feared she’d said too much.

He hated that his people had been so beaten down by his father that they were still afraid even after fifteen years. “A devil if ever there was one,” he agreed. “I miss my ma dearly.”

The fear in her face changed to sympathy, and she reached her hand out to him. “As do I, Laird. She was a good woman. She ne’er deserved such a fate.”

“I swear to you, and to all the clan, Ailsa, that while there is still breath in my body, I’ll fight for you and for all our people.”

“I know you will. Just like your ma. Thank you, Laird MacAlister.” And then her face lit up with excitement. “And we would be honored to come to your wedding feast.”

Isobel laughed again. “We want everyone to come. And we’ll take all of your bread if you have enough. Please tell your friends, your family, that today is a day of celebration!”

“I will,” she said. She dropped a curtsy to Isobel, and the shy Donaldina copied her. Isobel dipped her head in acknowledgment and winked at the lass.

“Will you come with us?” Ailsa asked Una. “My ma would love to see you…and my brother too.”

Una looked at Kerr. He nodded. “We’ll make our way to the square, and then leave for the castle after that. Encourage everyone to come!”

“Aye, Laird,” they said, and then hurried off, Donaldina between them.

Isobel released a heavy sigh when they were out of earshot. “It’s begun.”

Kerr nodded. “I doona know how much time we’ll have before the enemy arrives in force.” He signaled to the Merry Men. “Go and do as my wife instructed you to do when I wasn’t there. Be amusing and entertaining. Tell everyone about the feast.”

“Aye, Laird.”

“And you too, Father Lundie. Convince everyone you can to join us on the walk up to the castle.” He looked up at the sky, gauging the time. “I want to leave by noon.”

***

Kerr’s cheeks hurt from smiling, even though every step Diabhla took across the open bluff, from the village to the castle that loomed at the end, felt like a death knell. At the same time, he couldn’t help checking over his shoulder to make sure the enemy army wasn’t coming up behind them.

He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for all of their safety, especially the bairns who were darting excitedly through the crowd, scaring their parents who kept yelling at them to stay away from the cliff!

And no wonder. The drop down to the beach below was not one a child—or anyone—could survive.

The entire village, plus people from outlying farms, had joined them, some riding, some walking, and some traveling in wagons because of injury or age. Several people pushed carts full of food and drink for the feast. Isobel had assured him the kitchens would need it for such a big impromptu celebration.

He just hoped they made it to the celebration part of the day alive.

A few men had been quietly taken captive at the village and restrained in the church—MacAlister warriors who’d appeared alarmed at his presence and had tried to run. They had pleaded with him for mercy and then confirmed what he’d already known—other traitors were at the castle and in the village. Warriors, but also regular folk who had been bribed or blackmailed.

A similar method to the one his father had used all those years ago when he’d convinced the other clans, including Isobel’s father, to attack Gregor MacLeod.

Good had come out of those desperate times, and he prayed good would prevail here too.

“I’ve heard about your castle, of course,” Isobel said from atop her horse, looking up at the soaring stone fortress on the cliff. “But until you see it in person, you canna imagine the true beauty and majesty of it.”

Kerr reached over and grasped her hand. “It’s piles of rocks, Izzy. That’s all. Not until you step inside will it be my home.”

She smiled, a real one this time, and then lifted their clasped hands and kissed his knuckles. “The gates are open. That’s good, aye?”

“Aye. It means the warriors manning the gates—or most of them—are still loyal. The man from the beach, the one who suffocated Father Gregory, doesn’t have enough influence yet, to have taken over all the key positions. They weren’t expecting us.”

“And the ones who aren’t loyal didn’t expect their families and friends to ride up with us,” Isobel added.

“True.”

He studied the battlements and saw warriors lining it. Some of them shouted and waved at them, curious and excited to see all the people heading toward them. Others had started to gather at the gates, and a few were riding or walking toward them.

“Laird MacAlister,” a young woman called up to him from the ground beside Diabhla. She carried a swaddled bairn in her arms, and worry had painted dark shadows and etched lines around her eyes. A tall, lanky lad tugged on her sleeve as if to pull her away.

Kerr leaned down toward her. “Breanag, lass, what’s troubling you?”

“The babe needs medicine, but the steward, Fearchar, wouldnae allow the healer to help us anymore unless Billy agreed to put something in the ale at the castle. He works in the kitchens, Laird, and he’s afraid if he doesn’t do it, our sweet Ollie will die. Please, help us. Ollie is starting to weaken again.”

Kerr’s mouth tightened, and his face heated with fury—not at the young parents but at the depravity of the men who had put such a wee life at risk.

He inhaled deeply and slowly before he spoke. “Billy, you willna add anything to the ale, do you understand? And if anyone approaches you to do such a thing, you will tell me.” Billy nodded jerkily, his eyes wide and a pulse drumming in his neck. “I have already taken care of Fearchar, but you both must stay quiet about it until I say so. Agreed?”

“Aye, Laird,” they said together.

He peered over his shoulder. “Where’s the healer? I doona recall seeing her.”

“She’s at the castle,” Billy said.

“Is someone ill?”

“I-I doona know.”

Kerr blew out a breath. Another person for him to worry about. He reached toward Breanag. “Please, may I hold Ollie?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling shyly.

Warmth filled his chest as he cuddled the tiny bairn close to his heart. Isobel leaned over, peeked at the babe, and then gasped quietly. The lad looked unwell.

“Kerr,” she said urgently, brushing the tips of her fingers over the bairn’s forehead.

“I know.” He kissed the babe’s brow, and then handed him back to his mother. “My foster brother’s wife, Amber MacKay, is the finest healer I’ve e’er met. I’ll speak to Lachlan when he arrives and arrange for you to take Ollie to see her.”

“Laird MacKay is coming?” Billy asked.

“Aye.”

“And the other lairds?”

When Kerr nodded, Billy’s eyes brightened with relief.

“I’ve heard stories of what it was like before you led the clan, Laird MacAlister. Stories I can barely believe, let alone understand. But these last few months, I’ve seen how quickly fear has shaped our lives. How we’re…susceptible to it. I doona want my little lad to grow up feeling that way. I doona want him afraid.”

Kerr clamped his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Neither do I. And I promise I’ll fight so he doesn’t have to.”

“And please know that you can always come to us,” Isobel added. “Let the others know too.”

Billy straightened his shoulders and put a protective arm around his wife. “Aye, Laird,” he said, and then disappeared into the throng.

Kerr whistled for Malcolm, who was guarding their rear, and he rode up beside him. He looked like Kerr felt—grim, worried, like they were heading into a trap.

“Riders approaching,” Kerr said. “Watch their faces. Read their eyes. They should be excited and happy for us, not worried or fearful. If they’re loyal, they’ll want to help us set up the feast, to invite everyone in. If they’re not, they’ll try to dissuade us from coming inside and give excuses as to why we canna have our feast today.”

“And watch whom they look to,” Isobel said. “They’ll want support from their fellow conspirators and will make eye contact.”

“Aye, Izzy. Good point. Their eyes and actions will lead us to the others. Doona kill them unless they attack. It may be they’re like Billy and being forced to make an unbearable choice.”

“We can lock them in the guard house by the gate,” Malcolm said. “We doona want them to our rear.”

Kerr looked behind him and spotted Father Lundie, deep in conversation with a woman who looked upset. Another member of his clan put into an impossible situation?

“I want the portcullis jammed once everyone is in. Under no circumstances do I want it raised for anyone but our allies. I’ll ask Father Lundie to do it.”

“Father Lundie?” Malcolm asked.

“Aye, he’s done it before at Castle MacKinnon.”

“Laird MacAlister!” a rider called out, the voice happy and excited, and one Kerr recognized. He whipped his head around to confirm, and relief flowed through him upon seeing the young blond-headed MacKinnon warrior—a favorite of all the lairds.

“Finnian! What are you doing here?” Finn would protect Isobel if he could not.

“I escorted Father Lundie on his journey. We arrived yester—” His eyes widened. “My lady! Is our laird here too? Are the other lairds?” His brow creased, and he sought Kerr’s gaze.

“They will be. Quickly, Finn. What do you know about the castle? Is anything happening that shouldnae be happening?”

Finn’s brow smoothed out in understanding, and he nodded. “I dropped off the Father at the church and made my way to the castle barracks yesterday evening, but my reception was cool. The commander in charge, an older warrior named Craigh, said I couldnae stay, but then Gillis heard and stepped in. He was irate.”

“Gillis is in charge while I’m gone,” Kerr said. “I appointed him two years ago. He’s not part of my father’s old guard. ’Tis good to know he’s loyal.”

“What’s happening? Is there a plan to overthrow you? Our allies would ne’er stand for it.”

“’Tis why our enemies have tried so hard the past few years to get rid of them. The man in charge is dangerous and desperate. I’m glad to know you’re safe.”

“Only because I didn’t sleep in the barracks last night.”

“Where did you sleep?” Isobel asked. Finn’s cheeks flushed, and Isobel raised her brow. “Oh! Well…how fortunate you have a lass here.”

Finn shifted his attention back to Kerr. “Laird, I doona think Gillis can help you. I looked for him today when I couldnae find Father Lundie. No one has seen him since last night.”

Kerr sighed, knowing more good men would be compromised before the day was out.

They were almost at the portcullis when two other riders approached them. Only one looked happy to see them, and he’d called out to a lass who was walking with the group of villagers. The other rider kept peering back through the gate as if seeking guidance.

Traitor number one.

His laird was right in front of him. That’s who he should be looking to for guidance.

“Follow my lead, Finn. We need to move the villagers in first and then start taking out the conspirators. Oh, and one more thing…”

“Aye, Laird?”

“Isobel isn’t your lady any longer. She’s my wife.”

***

“Laird MacAlister! What’s happening?” a short, sturdy middle-aged warrior asked as Kerr entered underneath the raised portcullis with Malcolm by his side. Isobel rode behind him, guarded by Finn.

“He’s the one who wouldnae let me stay in the barracks,” Finn whispered as they dismounted.

Kerr nodded and turned to the man. “We’re having a feast, Craigh. A celebration of my marriage to Isobel MacKinnon, now MacAlister.” Kerr watched the warriors’ faces who had gathered around him. To his relief, most of them broke out into cheers and excitedly welcomed Isobel—the same as the villagers.

She stayed on her horse—he’d insisted—and waved and smiled from the saddle.

One man’s expression was pure panic, however, and when he darted toward the guard room, Kerr signaled Malcolm to follow him without drawing any attention.

“But, Laird,” the first warrior said. “’Tis not enough time to plan a feast. I’m sure Mistress Cook would agree. Perhaps if we planned it for tomorrow, that would give us all time to prepare.”

“Hmmm, perhaps you’re right,” Kerr said. “Let’s look at the scheduled rotations. I want as many men as possible at the feast. We can thin out the guard a little for one day, aye?” He ushered Craigh in front of him and followed the same path Malcolm had taken. When they approached the closed door, he said loudly, “The feast will raise everyone’s spirits!”

Upon entering the guard house, Craigh came to an abrupt halt, but Kerr pressed him forward, his dagger out, and kicked the door shut.

Malcolm crouched over the other warrior, tying a gag around his mouth. The traitor whirled and gasped, but Kerr gave him no time to yell or draw his weapon before he pressed his dagger to the man’s throat. “How many others?”

“Laird! Surely, I doona know—”

Kerr pressed the blade deeper and a trickle of blood ran down his skin. “Gillis MacAlister is dead. A good man and a good warrior, sworn to keep the clan safe in my absence. Unless you can give me something useful, I will slit your throat as easily as you and the others slit his.” Kerr was guessing as to Gillis’s fate, but the look on Craigh’s face confirmed it.

Fury and regret tore through Kerr. Gillis had two lads, nine and ten, and a five-year-old lass. His wife had died in childbirth. “I want names. Who’s in charge?”

“I doona know all of them. Fearchar was the one with the money. I did as he told me to do.”

“And who paid Fearchar?”

The traitor whimpered. “I’ve only seen him a few times, and I ne’er learned his name, I swear. But Fearchar said once that he was our true laird—the one our old laird wanted to rule after him.”

“So, he’s a MacAlister?”

“I doona know. His hair is as dark as yours, but his eyes are light. The last time I saw him, I barely recognized him—he’d been injured.”

“In the collapse of the MacKinnon cathedral.”

“’Tis what I heard. I doona know any more. Please…Fearchar is in charge.”

Kerr loosed that deep, dark part of him, let the fury rise into his eyes. “Nay, Craigh,” he snarled. “That’s what you doona understand. I am laird here, and I am in charge.”

Then he hit the man hard enough that he crumpled to the ground. “Restrain him.”

***

Isobel sat astride her mare and welcomed everyone who came through the gate—led, of course, by her entertaining band of Merry Men. Dùghlas’s friends crossed to the far end of the bailey, near the keep, and continued with their juggling, music, and other hilarious acts.

The castle folk came out, too, and shouted enquiries to the villagers—What’s going on? What’s happening?

She heard hers and Kerr’s names bandied about several times, as well as that song—that bloody song she hated—being recited by different groups until the Merry Men picked it up and performed a similar version to the one they sang for her last night.

At least their version was amusing.

When the last person came through the gate—a young man pushing a cart with a frail elderly woman in it—Isobel knew that despite the existence of several traitors in the clan, and people willing to hurt newborn bairns, the majority of the MacAlisters were good people.

Now it was up to her and Kerr to dig out the rot.

“That’s the last one, my lady,” Finn said.

Father Lundie stepped out from a shed beside the gate, holding a long sword in his arms. “Do you want me to disable the portcullis now? ’Tis the same mechanism as Castle MacKinnon. I’ll jam the sword into the chain just before the grill hits the ground. It took a day and a half for them to raise it last time.”

“I remember. I was covered in mud from a trap I’d been building, and I couldnae get in. Kerr teased me about it afterward for days. Hmmm. Suddenly I’m feeling the urge to forgo our wedding feast and build another trap.”

“Is that a yes, my lady?” the priest asked with a smile.

“Aye. For all we know, the army could be making their way around the castle as we speak.”

Consternation crossed Father Lundie’s face, and he hurried back into the shed.

Kerr and Malcolm had disappeared again, and when a large warrior appeared and strode toward them, a twinge of unease knotted her belly. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Finnian,” she warned.

“Aye, my lady. Stay behind me.” He urged his horse in front of hers as the warrior, much older and heavier than Finn, drew his sword and darted forward.

Isobel gasped, her heart in her throat, but before the two warriors clashed, the man dropped to his knees and fell forward. Finn’s horse reared, and he backed up, blocking her. “Arrows!”

She peeked around him and saw the shaft and feathers penetrating from the warrior’s back. “’Tis all right. That’s from our side.”

Finn’s brow raised. “We have snipers in place? Of course we do. Who are they?”

“Kerr’s half brothers, Andy and Aulay. And his uncle is here too.” She stared at the body, feeling a little sick as a pool of blood formed under him. She knew what he’d intended for them, and for Father Lundie and Kerr as well, but she couldn’t help thinking that only moments ago he’d been alive.

“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 narrowed, 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.