Every Heart Has Its Day (8 page)

As she dipped wicks into melted tallow, she thought about the people she knew. All, save Evonne, had deserted her. Her mother had died. Her laird, who had on occasion tolerated her, now treated her as a slave. The king had done naught but send an emissary once every season.

Each man commented on her disheveled appearance before inquiring about her well-being. Some had lamented their lack of authority to remove her. Of the eight visitations since her departure from Inverness, Broderick had made none. From his look of horror before warriors removed him and the king’s guard from the keep, she expected the king to hang Laird Cameron. Broderick must have forsaken her mother’s memory, too.

Gone, too, was the goodwill she once shared with her clansmen. Though none voiced accusations, most blamed her for their lady’s death. Even those who did not hold her responsible would not risk the consequences kindness wrought.

She hung the last taper to harden. Though her eyelids felt heavy, her thoughts would keep sleep at bay. She wished Evonne would come to talk, but she did not expect her.

Only one other could ease her troubled mind.

The sliver of the moon offered little light, but Kasey could walk the path stone blind. She eased open the warped door, stepped over the stablemaster and around the ale cask, then sneaked to the last stall.

“My apologies. I dinna bring ye an apple.” Each night she brushed the mare, she confided her hopes and her worries. The horse did not understand her words, but the sympathetic look in the animal’s eyes comforted her.

After tending the mare, Kasey spent a few precious moments cleaning the day’s grime and sweat from her body, then crawled over to the corner by the hearth. She wrapped herself in a plaid and prayed for peaceful rest.

****

Connor “Hunter” Mackintosh arose before the sun crested the castle. He dressed, donned his sword, and sought out his commander. He found Tavish Shaw laying kindling on the fire behind the quarters. That could mean but one thing. Gruel again. He had eaten more of the tasteless porridge in the last two years than he had as a toothless babe.

“How fare thee this morn, Connor?”

Connor grinned. He had not made a sound, yet without turning his way, Shaw knew of his approach.

Since he had bathed the night before, the man could not smell him. “Someday ye must tell me how ye do it.”

“It be simple. Every group of trainees has one who rises earlier and works harder than the others.” He smiled. “I must admit two summers ago I did not expect ye to be the one.”

Connor raised a brow.

“I remember the look upon yer face when ye first entered yer quarters.”

He glanced at the small wooden building that had become his home. “Two and ten pallets, two and ten wee chests. No chairs. No tapestries. The Mackintosh dungeon offers more comfort.”

“These quarters provide some men with more than they ever had. But being a man of station—” Shaw hesitated. “I expected ye to decry such primitive conditions.”

“Battlefields offer far less.”

“True, but I dinna ken ye fought with yer clan. I wonder how ye survived.”

Two years ago Connor would have punched the man for insulting his skill, but now he had to agree. “Do yer doubts persist?”

“No one leaves my ranks unable to defend himself.” Shaw placed the kettle on the fire. “My experience with men of privilege left a sour taste in my mouth. Yet no matter how difficult I made things for ye, ye never failed to meet the challenge.”

“I had thought ye addled.”

“Most do.” Shaw cracked a rare grin. “Few ken wielding weapons takes more than guidance. Yer body must be strong, yer head clear, and yer heart devoted.”

“Some days I dinna think I would survive. My muscles burned from the menial tasks.”

“Ye had grown soft.” Shaw, who fancied himself a cook, stirred the gruel. “Pain goes hand in hand with battle. Might ye admit that since those early days, ye can bear more without notice?”

“Aye.”

“The trees?”

Connor nodded. He and his fellow men-at-arms had spent the first month chopping down a legion of trees and stripping them of branches. Then they moved the pile of trunks from one spot to another. Sometimes Shaw had ordered them to throw the boles at a target. Other days they held the trunks overhead as they ran from pile to pile. “I had thought ye more indecisive than a woman.”

“What of building the wall?” Shaw asked.

As the farmers harvested the last of their crops, Connor and the men cleared boulders from the forest and unplowed fields surrounding Inverness. They carried the stones to heighten the furthermost section.

“I dinna understand why we placed the stones from the northern fields in the southern wall.”

“The distance made ye stronger.”

“I hated the moat the most.” They celebrated their first New Year at Inverness damming the stream that fed the moat. With naught but buckets, the men deepened the ditch. “I often wondered whether my fingers or toes would freeze first.”

Shaw’s mouth opened as if to reply until Connor put up his hand.

“No need to say it. We canna know when we will be called to arms. The work taught us to ignore bitter cold and blowing snow.” Connor remembered his frustration. “Ye could have explained yer reasons.”

“Do ye ken why I dinna?”

“Warriors must follow their commander’s orders without question.”

“I be impressed, Connor.”

“Ye can thank Broderick.”

“He explained it?”

“He dinna say a word.”

“Ye confuse me.”

“The trees budded afore ye gave us a day’s break. The men had sat in the quarters complaining. Nigh on six months had passed, and we had yet to touch a weapon. Their whining increased my own vexation, so I went for a walk. Broderick happened to pass by. I admit I gave him an earful.”

“What did he do?”

“He told me to get Gavin and bring our weapons to the training field. He greeted me by swinging his fist toward my face, but I ducked the blow. Our brawl lasted until Gavin pried us apart.” Connor grinned. “The old man be quick.”

Shaw nodded. “He be a legend. What happened next?”

“He picked up my bow, shot an arrow at a distant tree, and challenged Gavin and me to do the same.” Connor did not admit the challenge had worried him. He had always been accurate, but only at shorter distances.

“Broderick snickered when Gavin’s first shot flew past the tree. I thought he would split his trews when my shot went wild.”

“Did he explain what went wrong?”

“Nay, he just handed us more arrows. Gavin’s second attempt embedded just above Broderick’s.” Connor paused.

“And yers?”

“I realized the labor had made me stronger and adjusted my aim.” He smiled. “My arrow split Broderick’s.”

Shaw clapped him on the back and nodded. “I ken the way the old man works. Did he pull his sword on ye next?”

“Nay, though in truth, I wish he had. I believe he could teach me things even ye have yet to learn. Instead, he settled back and watched as Gavin and I wielded our swords. The sun had reached its peak afore he called an end and walked away.”

“He dinna say aught?”

“Not one word. He had shown us the answers.”

“And ye shared with the men, dinna ye? I noticed the change.” Shaw nodded. “Ye spent the first year posing as a man. I be pleased a born leader like ye has now chosen to live like one.”

“I shall forever be in yer debt.”

“Nay, Connor. The honor belongs to ye alone.” He stirred the pot. “Speaking of honor, ye have earned two. Our king be pleased with ye and has invited ye to join the Royal Guard.”

He shook his head. Though the recommendation was the highest tribute, his heart would wait no longer.

“Consider the offer well afore ye make a decision.”

“And the other?”

“Go rouse the others. After we break the fast, we will enjoy a diversion.”

“Another bard?” Connor sighed. He had no use for the romantic ballads or the fops who spouted them.

Shaw chuckled. “Nay. At the end of each training session, each division chooses a warrior to fight a man from the other. Yer men have chosen ye.”

“And my opponent?” He held his breath.

“Randall of the Clan Cameron.”

He hid the smile that tugged at his lips. “I shall win for all of us.”

“If ye dinna let anger cloud yer senses.”

Connor wolfed down his gruel. Life could get no better. He had but two days left to serve, and in another sennight Kasey would be his bride.

Better still, his fellows have given him the chance to avenge Randall’s wrongs. He would make the snake pay for his sins. Aye, life had never tasted sweeter.

Shaw gave him final instructions on the way to the field. “This be not a game. Ye will use swords, dirks, clubs, fists, but no leather armor. Ye get an aide, but if he enters the ring, ye forfeit the match. Who do ye choose?”

“Gavin.”

Shaw nodded. “Once a weapon be dropped or knocked from hand, ye canna use it agin. Any questions?”

Connor shook his head as the other contingent came down the hill. He scowled at Randall’s swagger and the unruly crowd following him.

He crossed his arms and braced his feet apart. He had no intention of letting this opportunity slip through his hands.

Randall entered the ring, his sword drawn. Connor unsheathed his and moved within a blade’s length. Randall raised his weapon and slashed. Sparks flew as Connor’s blade stopped the other. They circled, parried, thrust, and lunged. Randall had gained strength.

Connor tired of playing. He locked the hilt of his sword against the hilt of his opponent’s and twisted his wrists. Randall’s sword fell from his grasp. For fairness’s sake, Connor dropped his blade behind him.

Randall dove for the weapon.

With his shoulder, Connor butted him away. Randall landed hard on his side. Connor threw both swords from the ring.

After gulping in some air, Randall unsheathed the dagger hanging from his waist. Connor’s dirk stuck in its sheath. Randall sprang to his feet and slashed. The blade gashed Connor’s chin.

“Ye bleed again, Mackintosh.” Randall thrust the blade toward Connor’s chest.

Connor grabbed his wrist. “Ye be but a thistle.” He twisted the joint until Randall dropped the blade.

As Connor kicked it away, the snake’s aide threw a mace. Randall caught it and swung. The blow to Connor’s upper arm knocked him onto his side. The Cameron warrior aimed for Connor’s head. Connor kicked out at Randall’s legs, then grabbed the weapon’s handle as Randall fell. They wrestled for control. A spike pierced Connor’s forearm. His strength and determination surged. He struck Randall’s temple with the haft, then snatched the weapon from his adversary’s slackened grasp. Connor threw the mace to Gavin and regained his feet.

“Stay down and live.”

“’Tis ye who will die.” Randall staggered to his feet and collected his wits.

Though Randall had used his last weapon, Connor could not risk a blood-slicked grip. He tore a strip from his tunic and wrapped his wound.

The warriors circled, face to face in a deadly dance.

Cameron kicked Connor’s midsection. Connor doubled over as the air rushed from his lungs. Randall punched Connor’s head. Mackintosh landed hard on his buttocks. Gasping, he rolled over onto his hands and knees. Randall untied his leather belt and wrapped it around Connor’s neck. He leaned down to Connor’s ear and whispered, “I shall tell the lady ye loved her.”

Connor reached back, grabbed Randall’s head, and flipped him over his shoulders. “I shall tell her myself.” He gathered his strength and clouted Randall’s jaw. Exhausted and bloodied, Connor crawled to his feet and stepped around the crumpled Cameron.

After Shaw declared Connor the winner, Broderick called to the Mackintoshes. The brothers pushed through the crowd and met the emissary halfway up the hill.

“The king wishes to see ye in the throne room posthaste.”

Chapter Eight

The creases in the king’s forehead raised the hair on Connor’s neck. He bowed. “Ye summoned us, my liege?”

“Yer laird has taken ill. I had hoped to make ye a commander in my guard, but I canna risk discord amongst the clans.” The king stood. “I hereby declare yer sentence complete. Hie thee home and give my friend my regards.”

Before taking his leave, Connor begged the king’s indulgence. “In the matter of my previous petition, I ask ye to reconsider.”

“Does yer request rest solely on honor?”

“Nay, sire.”

The king nodded. “Granted, but—”

Connor rubbed his beard as he awaited the king’s conditions.

“Ye must return to yer holding and gain control of those affairs. I shall have an emissary collect and deliver her as soon as possible.”

Connor clenched his jaw. He had envisioned claiming his bride himself, but he had no choice. He bowed and followed Gavin to their quarters all the while praying the king did not dally. If Randall returned to the holding before Kasey’s departure... He would kill the bastard if he touched so little as a hair on her head.

They threw their belongings onto plaids and rolled them. The summons from home meant one of two things. His father laid awaiting death, or he wanted his sons home sooner. Though he prayed the latter held true, he doubted his father would deceive the king.

He reached behind his neck and removed the thong binding his hair. Certain he had left naught behind, he tied the plaid, then slung it over his shoulder.

At the stables, the somber faces and lack of greeting from their clansmen heightened his concern. “Be ye ready?”

Gavin nodded. “We should reach the manor by sundown.”

Connor mounted his stallion. “I pray our laird awaits us.” He pushed the thought from his mind as he raised his arm and dropped it in the direction of the gate. His clansmen pulled their horses behind his.

As soon as the Mackintosh warriors cleared the gate, Gavin urged his horse into the lead. Connor kneed his mount ahead. Gavin sighed as he again passed him. Ingram moved to Connor’s left, Robert to his right, boxing him in. Eight and ten warriors formed a human shield about Connor.

He stiffened. As the eldest son, leading the group belonged to him. Unless... Dread knotted his stomach. He turned to Robert. “How fares our laird?”

“He still breathed when we left, but we canna take any chances.”

“We ride straight to Mackintosh land. Do ye think this caution necessary?”

Robert shrugged. “Some no longer be happy with the king’s reign. They lack the resources to challenge his guard but not to ambush his staunchest supporter.”

Though he loathed giving up the lead, Connor could not argue the decision. Neither the king nor the clan would tolerate a breach in the Mackintosh bloodline.

He had always hoped his father would relegate his duty by stepping down. Caedmon had dedicated his every waking moment to safeguarding both Clan Mackintosh and Clan Chattan. The man deserved the chance to enjoy a carefree life.

“Has yer prized stallion grown feeble, Gavin?” Connor called.

His brother looked back and smiled, then kneed his horse into a full gallop.

Connor and the others prodded their mounts to keep pace. He could do naught more than stay on his guard and pray the ground beneath them surged as fast as water over the falls.

They did not slow their mounts until they reached the edge of the Mackintosh holding. In the valley below, farmers harvested their fields, people attended their chores, and mothers laughed while their children played. The gray stone keep atop the opposing rise appeared as foreboding as a distant thunderhead, but no black streamers adorned the turrets.

Connor’s fears fled. However, if his father had executed a ruse to gain early release, he would choke the old man.

The ride toward the stables calmed him. God, it was good to be home again. After he dismounted, Connor ruffled the stable boy’s hair and handed him the reins. “Give Angus extra oats. I rode him hard.”

“Aye, milord. It be good to see ye again.”

Connor nodded at the lad, then strode into the keep where Cleary, the steward, awaited him. “How fares the laird?”

“He awaits ye in his chambers, Connor.”

“He be bedfast?” Cleary’s shrug heightened his suspicions. He took the steps three at a time and entered his father’s chamber without knocking. Caedmon sat slumped in a chair by the window, red-faced from coughing.

Connor’s heart twisted. For a moment his father’s dark hair turned as red as a robin’s breast, his form shrank to a woman’s. The last time he had seen his mother alive, she had been sitting much the same as his father did now.

Time changed naught. He still felt powerless and wished Kasey already stood by his side. He poured his father a drink and offered it to him. “Has Annie seen ye?”

Caedmon sipped the ale. “Yer sister has more important duties as Lady MacPherson.”

“Ye allowed her to marry Euan?”

Caedmon coughed as he nodded. “Her dowry convinced Euan not to challenge ye for the captaincy of Clan Chattan.”

“And ye believe him?”

“In yer absence, I took the time to get to know him. Now that ye have returned, ye should do the same.”

“He canna be much of a man if he refuses to let yer daughter see to yer health.”

His father narrowed his eyes. “I be disappointed in ye, Connor. By now, ye should have learned not to judge afore ye have all the facts. I have naught more than a cough. No fever, no pains, just a cough. It sounds worse because a piece of my scone went down the wrong side.”

Connor kept his voice low, but hard. “The king believes ye lie on yer deathbed.”

Laird Mackintosh slapped his knee. “I knew our liege would think the worst.” He coughed once, then continued, “My missive stated the clan’s succession required yer immediate return.”

Connor crossed his arms to keep his hands from his father’s neck. “Go on.”

“If ye leave on the morrow, ye will be a full day ahead of...” Caedmon tapped a finger to his temple. “I seem to have forgotten his name. Randall, mayhap?”

The urge to strangle his father heightened. “We both ken ye never forget a name, so ye can quit this game. Did ye, perchance, consider the king’s concern for not only ye, but the clan’s welfare, too?”

Connor dropped his arms and strode toward the door. “Yer ruse has earned me an early release as well as denied my chance to recover what be mine. The king will send an emissary in my stead whilst I take the Mackintosh reins.”

Caedmon’s jaw dropped. “He never trifles with petty matters.”

Connor leaned against the doorframe. “Had ye taken the time to gather the facts, ye may have learned our liege holds Lady Cameron dear to his heart.”

“The king be a man of his word. Be patient, Connor.”

“The king will attempt peaceful measures, but we both ken Laird Cameron’s submission will require force.”

“I shall ask ye but once. Be she worth bloodshed?”

“Aye, milord, but the Mackintoshes will shed none.”

****

Horses approached. The Royal Guard’s banner could mean only one thing—Hunter, under the king’s protection, had finally come for her.

Kasey hastened to the kitchens and deposited her armful of kindling into the box. After she brushed the wood chips and soil from her kirtle, she ran her hands over her hair. She wished she had time to bathe and change her gown.

Her heart sank when Randall strutted into the great hall. Men clamored to clap him on the back. Women threw themselves into his arms and bathed his face with kisses.

Behind the crowd, Broderick leaned against the wall. Disgust deepened the creases in his face.

Kasey considered edging her way through the thong to gain his side, but discounted the plan for fear Randall would see her.

Laird Cameron walked to the head table and called for silence. “On the morrow we celebrate the return of our favored son.”

Cheers echoed throughout the hall.

Laird Cameron raised his hand and then beckoned Randall to his side. “Have ye aught to say to our people?”

“Mayhap later, milord. Right now I wish only to see Lady Kasey.”

Broderick shoved through the crowd. “I, too, wish to see the lady. Laird, ye will order her possessions packed so that she may return to Inverness posthaste.”

Douglas Cameron glared at the emissary. “I see no reason for her to return. Her wedding to Randall can be held here.”

“Ye have assumed much, milord. The king’s missive revealed not the identity of Lady Cameron’s betrothed.” Broderick turned to Randall. “This man failed to earn the honor.”

Kasey’s breath caught when Randall reached for his sword. She released it after five royal guardsmen surrounded Broderick before Randall could unsheathe his weapon.

“I order ye to see the lady and her maid readied.”

Laird Cameron notched up his chin. “I presume ye have a missive commanding me to relinquish the lasses to yer custody.”

“I need no such order, the initial directive implied as much.”

The laird smiled at the emissary. “If implications suffice, then I shall call the priest to marry Randall and Kasey.”

“Ye dare to risk the king’s wrath?” Broderick glared at the laird. “Need I remind ye of yer pending murder charges?”

“Two years past.”

“Afore a reliable witness.”

“I shall not dispute the king’s missive failed to name Kasey’s betrothed. However, I will remain her guardian until I see a written order from our king relieving me of that burden.” He turned to Randall, “See Broderick to the gate.”

“With pleasure, Milord.” Randall grabbed the emissary’s elbow.

Broderick jerked free. “I shall return.”

Tears flowed down Kasey’s face as the emissary quit the hall. Dazed, she returned to the kitchen to scrub the floor.

She had almost finished the chore when hands grabbed her hips and pulled her against flesh.

“Yer Mackintosh be not here to protect ye now.”

Fear clawed at her belly. She could neither run nor fight. “What do ye want, Randall?”

One hand mauled her breast as his other shoved between her legs. He ground his hardness against her buttocks and bit her neck. “I want a baseborn child to validate the rightful heir.”

She swallowed hard. “Ye speak in riddles.”

“I would bed ye now, but never agin will a Cameron heir need to fight for his due. As soon as I convince our spineless laird to do right by me, I will take ye as my wife.”

He spun her, then tugged down on her braid. After she gave in to the pain and raised her face, he assaulted her lips.

Kasey shoved his chest and gained enough space to turn her head and vomit.

Randall pushed her aside to avoid the splatter. “If ye wish to live after birthing my two sons, ye will never do that agin.”

She slumped to her knees as Randall stormed out.

What did he mean by a baseborn child to validate the rightful heir? Laird Cameron had no sons. Or did he? Even when Brietta lived, Agatha had often shared her laird’s bed. Randall resembled their laird somewhat. Yet if he proclaimed himself the rightful heir, she would be the child born out of wedlock.

Birthright mattered not. Her laird, who cared little for the king’s authority, could force her to marry Randall. Clan Cameron would sink. His evil, his greed far exceeded the present laird’s. Working the fields and producing more ale for barter would take too much time. Randall would choose, instead, to steal what he wanted. But the nearby clans had more and better-trained warriors. Cameron blood would drench the soil.

She grabbed a bucket and some rags to clean up her mess. After she finished, she sat by the hearth. The roaring blaze did naught to warm her chills. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms about them, and rocked.

The fire had reduced to embers when arms enfolded her.

“Have faith, milady.”

“I fear our lives will further rot, Evonne.”

“Whatever lies ahead, I shall always be here for ye.”

Kasey decided against telling Evonne of their pain-ridden futures. Let her have her faith.

“When he comes for ye, will ye take me, too?” Evonne asked.

“Who?”

“Hunter. Ye canna believe he has forsaken ye.”

“Randall’s return means their service has ended. If he comes not soon, I shall have to believe his word false.”

“Did ye not hear Broderick’s claim? Hunter’s intent remains unchanged.”

“Have a care, lest ye be branded a traitor, too.”

“They can do naught worse than what has already been done.” Evonne lowered her eyes. “Do ye remember the story of the lazy black dog?”

“What has that to do with us?”

“The slothful pet ate much, but would not hunt or herd. The laird refused his clansmen’s pleas to destroy the animal because the dog’s day had not yet come. On a hunt, ogres killed all the sleeping clansmen save the laird, whom the dog protected.” Evonne ended her recitation with, “Thig latha choindui fhathast.”