At the Highlander's Mercy (2 page)

Dougal studied him and then nodded. ‘I will see what I can do.’

Rob smacked his shoulder. ‘I will be in your debt.’

Dougal strode off, leaving Rob behind to deal with the other matters that faced a clan chief and laird every day. Complaints from villagers. Requests from the clan. Demands from the elders that he marry his betrothed—Symon’s sister—as his bride sooner to unite the two fighting factions. And on and on each day.

When he had been fostered by Connor, he’d never dreamt of being in this position—chief of his family and in charge of their holdings. The laird, his natural father, was hardy and young enough to produce a male heir in addition to the lasses he’d had with several wives. With his new wife heavily pregnant, the expectation was that a son would be born. A direct, legitimate heir.

As son of the laird’s older sister, Symon should have had no expectations other than being counsellor to the next laird, or to serve him in some capacity. As the laird’s bastard, Rob’s expectations were lower still. Now, his father and his wife were dead in an accident and Rob, illegitimate or not, had been chosen to lead the clan.

And his cousin Symon, legitimate or not, was not.

As Rob watched Dougal make his way out of the hall, he knew Dougal would find out the truth. In the meantime, Rob needed to gather those loyal to him and be ready to head off this foolish attempt—both to usurp his position, a position he’d discovered he truly did want, and to throw the existing treaties with the MacLeries and the MacKenzies into disarray.

He prayed only that there was time before the disaster he could feel in his bones arrived on his doorstep.

L
ilidh turned to the right, trying to decide if she truly was seeing someone moving along their path in the shadows or if it was a trick of the light and the leaves. She peered into the darkness of the forest and watched more carefully for a few moments. Not certain, she rode on, never mentioning it to either of her companions or their guards. Then, just as they followed the turn in the road that would take them south to Lairig Dubh, the attack came.

One moment they were riding quietly along and in the next, the men descended from the hills around them and, though Lilidh was a good rider, she found herself unhorsed and standing encircled by five armed warriors. She gazed at them as she drew her dagger. She
would fight them if only her leg would remain strong.

And she did, turning the handle of her blade in her palm for a better grip and swiping it around her to keep them from getting too close too quickly. Glancing around to see how the others fared, Lilidh realised only she remained standing while the rest lay scattered around the area either dead or unconscious. She took a deep breath and tried to run, but someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her up against their large, muscular body. Like being thrown against a rock wall, it forced the air from her body. A beefy hand entangled in her loosened hair and her head was dragged back. With her neck exposed so, she knew it was only a matter of moments before she died. Offering up a silent prayer asking for forgiveness of her sins, she waited for the death-blow to strike.

‘Who is she?’ a gruff voice demanded from beside her. The one holding her turned their bodies as one until she could see her maid across the clearing. Or at least her lifeless body as one of the other men touched her with his foot.

Isla made no sound and did not move. Lilidh drew in a ragged breath at the possibility that the older woman who had helped raise her was
dead. Her eyes burned with tears, but then her anger rose at such a thought. The woman was there to see to her comfort and now lay dead because … Because of what? Of whom? The daughter of the Beast of the Highlands felt his pride rise in her blood.

‘Who are you to attack those travelling under the MacLerie banner?’ she asked, struggling to pull free. ‘What do you want?’

One of the men broke away from the others and strode towards her. The expression in his dark gaze made her take a step back, but the taller man behind her was like a wall that kept her in place. ‘You are the MacLerie’s girl.’

It wasn’t a question so Lilidh did not answer. Her chin lifted. Her pride would not allow her to slink away or hide her heritage. Still, she would know who dared to attack them.

‘And who are you? Why do you need to kill an innocent woman?’ she said, refusing to cry out as the man holding her prisoner wrenched her head back with a rough tug.

The dark-eyed man nodded to the one holding her and the other one nearer to Isla. She opened her mouth to demand her freedom when the blow hit her from behind and her world went black.

Each of the next several days went from bad to something that resembled his idea of hell. Rob managed to calm one faction of his family only to have another rise up in complaint. He wondered many times through those last days how Connor MacLerie made it look so easy. Peering over the rim of his goblet as yet another storm brewed in his hall, Rob realised that the one thing that Connor had to help him was his terrible reputation, one not completely undeserved, as the murderous Beast of the Highlands. As he glanced from one squawking Matheson to another, he considered murdering them all and gaining himself a similar reputation.

Symon had been quieter than usual, but that only worried Rob more. At least when he was making noise or complaining, he knew what Symon was up to. His cousin had been absent from the keep and village without word. A worrying thing, that.

He was about to summon Dougal when the doors to the hall were thrown open and a large group of warriors, under Symon’s control and with him in the lead, came crashing in, yelling and calling out to each other as though celebrating some great victory. Rob nodded to the
man he’d appointed as his commander and by the time his cousin and the others reached the front of the hall, additional soldiers had entered and taken positions around the chamber. If Symon noticed, he did not say, but his swagger and manners spoke of trouble walking towards him.

‘Rob,’ Dougal said as he approached from the other side. He took his place behind his laird as Symon reached the dais. ‘He is up to nothing good.’ Rob only nodded, never taking his gaze off the seething group of men, and waited. The attack was not long in coming.

‘You have dragged your heels long enough,
Laird
,’ Symon began, using his title as a curse. ‘The Mathesons will not serve a leader who will not lead them.’

Shouts both for and against him rippled through the men gathered there and they gained the attention of anyone who might have otherwise passed on through, carrying out their duties. Soon an even larger audience listened to Symon’s threats to his position as chief. Symon waited and then waved them quiet.

‘It matters not now, for I have done what you could not and would not do.’

After making that challenge to his leadership, Symon walked forwards and climbed the
first step. Rob blocked him from moving forwards. Every man in the hall tensed and the air seethed with discontent and hostility. Dougal’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword, but Rob shook his head, holding him from taking that step.

‘I care not for your words, Symon,’ Rob said, stepping down and forcing Symon to move back. He did. ‘I am chief and will make decisions for this clan.’

Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched Symon’s expression as all those loyal to him lined up behind Rob. All the elders save one, Murtagh, gathered with him, but Murtagh’s move was not a surprise to Rob. The old man had supported Symon’s claim throughout the time of uncertainty and did not yield now.

‘You refuse to take action against the MacLeries, though we want it,’ Symon said. Rob’s gut seized, warning of something bad coming. The next words confirmed it. ‘Lachlan, come,’ he called.

Symon motioned with his hand and his men separated. One of the men strode forwards from the back of the hall while Symon’s gaze never left his. Lachlan carried a bundle over his shoulder and Rob could not guess what it contained. Then he saw the bundle move, much
as a body would if carried in that manner, and he drew a breath through his clenched teeth.

‘Symon,’ he whispered, ‘what have you done?’

He turned from the self-satisfied smirk of his cousin and towards the man and the bundle. Taking no care, Lachlan dropped it on the rush-covered floor just in front of them and stepped back. This was not going to end well, for neither him nor the person they’d kidnapped.

‘You have orchestrated this. Carry on, Symon, and let us see who lies within,’ he said. Better to see what challenge he faced then drag this out, he thought.

Symon, not a small man, though not as large as Lachlan, walked to the bundle, untied the ropes encircling it and tugged an end free. With a grip on that and one good flick, the bundle unrolled and unrolled until a woman was freed and left lying at their feet.

A woman who had ropes around her wrists and ankles and a sack over her head. A woman who did not move now, in spite of Symon’s prodding foot. A woman who had suffocated to death from their harsh treatment?

‘What the hell did you do, Symon?’ he shouted as he bent over the woman. Tugging the sack off her head and then removing
the gag he found there, he summoned one of the women over to see to her as he stood and dragged Symon aside. ‘Who is this and why did you kidnap her?’

‘We did not kidnap her, Rob. She is a prisoner of war,’ he said.

‘We are not at war,’ Rob said as one possibility began to tease his thoughts. Even Symon would not be so bold and brash as to … Nay! It could not be. Was it truly Lilidh MacLerie?

Rob had turned back to look at the woman who lay unconscious on his floor. The servant had pushed her hair from her face and was dabbing at her dirt-covered face with a wet cloth. He took in the costliness of her clothing and the jewelled rings on her hand, not missing the gold band that spoke of her married state.

Then he noticed the gently arching brows, the curve of her neck and the full lips that had enticed him even in his youth and yet haunted his dreams—and he knew it was her.

‘You kidnapped the MacLerie’s daughter? She is wed to Iain MacGregor.’

He swore under his breath now as the implications hit him. This was an act of war against two powerful clans. Worse, this was not simply taking their cattle or burning a few farms, which would be insult enough. This was a personal
attack as well on both clans and their chiefs. Holy Christ, what had Symon got them into now?

‘Dougal, check the guards. Brodie,’ he called to the steward, ‘get the outlying families into the village and gather the stores.’

He pushed Symon aside and walked over to take a closer look at Lilidh. As he could have predicted, she’d fought against them when they took her—the bruises on her face and her torn fingernails showed that much. The markings of a man’s fingers on her neck made his own clench in response. What else had they done to her?

‘How did you find her?’ he asked, as he strode towards Symon. Nothing, nothing would give him greater pleasure now than pounding his face into the floor and breaking a few of his bones. Grabbing Symon by the neck, he forced him back several steps until his back met the wall behind him. ‘Where are the others?’

Symon’s gaze moved to something or someone over Rob’s shoulder and Rob knew Lachlan approached. With a nod of his head, his men took care of that threat. ‘Where are they?’ he asked again, squeezing hard until Symon choked for breath.

‘She was returning to Lairig Dubh. We took
her on the road just after the river as she left the MacGregors’ lands,’ he forced out.

‘And her guards? Her servants?’ No daughter of the MacLerie and wife of the MacGregor would travel alone.

‘A few of the guards are dead. We left the rest of them and took their horses.’

‘Did they see you?’ he asked, but he knew the answer. They made sure they could be identified as Mathesons. Symon wanted the MacLeries and MacGregors to know who’d taken Lilidh. They wanted to force his hand into war.

He tossed Symon to the ground and turned back to the servant at Lilidh’s side. ‘Find a chamber for her.’

‘She is my prisoner, Rob. I want her held in the aerie.’

‘You think she is that dangerous?’ he asked, pointing to the unconscious woman on the floor.

The aerie was in one of the oldest parts of the keep and sat open to the winds. Lightning had struck the roof and blown it away and no one had ever repaired it. Though mostly unused, it had been used as a cell for prisoners in the past … the far, far past. Rob turned back to argue with Symon and to assert his control over any prisoner of the clan when she moved.

Within a few moments, she’d seized a dagger from one of his men and held the servant woman hostage. The wild expression in her eyes spoke of her confusion, but warned him of her uncertain behaviour. Spreading his hands out to show he was unarmed, he began to walk towards her slowly and evenly.

‘Here now, lass,’ Rob said softly. ‘Let Edith go and all will be well.’

His words might have worked until Symon began jeering at her and his men added their taunts. Overwhelmed and injured, she glanced left and right, estimating her escape routes, he was sure. She dragged Edith with her, using her as a shield as she moved. When Lilidh blinked several times and stumbled, Rob suspected a head injury. He tried to follow her moves, staying the same distance from her and speaking quietly to her, but his voice was drowned out by Symon’s men.

‘Silence!’ he yelled, trying to regain control over a dangerous situation.

Well, he did manage to get the men under control but it gave Lilidh the moment she was watching and waiting for and she pushed Edith at him and ran for the door. He passed Edith off once she regained her balance and ran to catch up with her before she got to the door or
before Symon reached her. Symon was faster and he got between her and the door, forcing her to stop. He wondered how she could move so quickly on her leg.

‘Come now,’ Symon urged her towards him. ‘Do you want to try me again?’ he goaded.

Rob swore he would kill Symon for this, but first he must stop Lilidh before she was seriously hurt. He doubted that Lilidh knew where she was or even who he was. No glimmer of recognition filled her eyes when their gazes met, but years had passed since she’d seen him last and he’d done the usual growing up that young men did. No matter the manner of their parting, he would never forget what she looked like. Turning his attentions back to her, he decided that he would need to gain her trust.

‘Lilidh MacLerie,’ he called out to her. ‘Do you remember me?’ he asked while waving Symon off. When his men positioned themselves to intervene, Symon finally backed off, though the expression in his eyes promised it was not the end of his challenge to Rob’s leadership. ‘Lilidh?’

Her hand, holding the dagger out before her, began to shake badly and she lost her balance once more. Just when he thought she would tumble to the floor, she righted herself and
pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to focus on him.

‘Who are you? Why have you done this?’ she said as she looked from one man to another and to the next. ‘Does my father know about this?’ Rob waited for her to bring her gaze back to him and then he smiled at her.

A silent moment passed and then another and another before the light of recognition flared in her forest-green eyes. Then she shook her head, though whether in disbelief or confusion he knew not. Lilidh opened her mouth several times, but no words escaped. The distraction was all he needed to gain control of her without hurting her more so he crossed the empty space between them in a few paces, grabbed her wrist and squeezed until she dropped the dagger. Kicking it aside, he still held on to her. As she probably had when Symon took her, she did not allow his hold to remain there. She began backing away, pulling and tugging, trying to free herself.