Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (25 page)

“Aye, you are clear. Now, it is my turn,” Ronan said. For effect, he stood. “When we win, we will pledge our fealty to you as befitting your position as our king. We will come to your aid as needed, but we will not do so at the risk or peril of our own clans and tenants. Our ladies shall remain in their own homes and shall never be asked to serve upon anyone other than their husbands. Am I being clear enough, sire, in what we shall have when we are victorious?”

The king’s face grew red; his fists curled into balls. Ronan had crossed several lines with his statement of intent, however, the king had wanted a plain statement of fact and so there it was.

When the king stood, so did MacIntosh, Beaufort, Fergus, and the MacKenzies. All of them stared one another down for what seemed like an age. Would the king agree to their terms? Christ, he hoped so or else there would be a bloody battle ahead of them instead of a mock one.

To his surprise, Freya pushed her chair back and stood. All eyes fell to her as she rounded the table. She paused to kiss Ronan’s cheek and then moved to stand before King James.

“My king, as your loyal servant, if you win tomorrow I will go with you to Linlithgow Palace and tend to your queen.”

“No!” Ronan and Fergus said together.

Freya looked at them both and shook her head.

“But if you do not win tomorrow, as my loyal servant, you will concede to my husband’s terms and ask nothing of them that will put the people entrusting them with their lives and livelihood in peril.”

The king studied her face. Freya’s back was to Ronan, but her rigid stance told him she was hanging onto her courage by a thread. By God, she was as fearsome as her brother and as calculating as MacIntosh.

Ronan watched the king’s expressions. The man waged a battle from within, and Ronan wondered if he had ever had to concede to anyone since returning to Scotland from England naught but eight years prior. Still, he needed to learn the lesson that he could not expect his tyrannical methods to stand. The chiefs and nobles had been protecting their own for centuries up here, and none of them could see a logical way in which centralized authority could work for them.

The king bent low and whispered something in Freya’s ear. Ronan stiffened, ready to reach out and pull her back from the man’s proximity.

Freya’s laughter broke the spell.

“Aye, my King. You speak true.”

With that, the king turned back to the men and let his gaze drift across them until it settled back to Ronan.

“I agree to your terms, my Lady Sutherland.”

Ronan’s surprise could not have been greater. Just like that? His little spitfire of a wife may have just saved them all from a certain bloodbath, and he could not wait to find out what the king had whispered in her ear.

“Then enough of this chatter,” Ronan said. “Let us drink to your health, sire.”

The king grabbed his goblet and raised it toward Freya. “And to bonnie lassies with pure hearts and fierce courage.”

Freya laughed again, the sound tickled the back of Ronan’s neck as though she had touched him.

“I shall happily drink to that, sire.”

Before long, the music started, the ale flowed, and Ronan sat back to enjoy a much lighter mood than the one from earlier. He stole glances at Freya to see if she would give anything away, but she kept her gaze on the king. Oh, aye, he would learn of her secret before the evening was out.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Angus MacDonald threw open the armoury door and stalked to his wall of blades. By Christ, he was in a rage over the meeting with Sutherland and the other cowards who did not understand the importance of striking the king where it would hurt him the most.

Well, no matter. He would carry out his plan all on his own if that is what it took. He scanned the wall until he found what he was looking for—the broadsword that had been given to him by his father upon his coming of age. It seemed like aeons ago since he had become a man and had to live up to the demands of his position. His father had always held onto the title ‘Lord of the Isles’ with grace, eliciting devotion from those he lived to serve and protect.

Since the constant conflicts began a few years back because of the damned Stewart who returned to claim the throne, they had not had a moment’s peace. The man was bent on turning everything upside down that was logical and made any sense to their way of life. Now, with his father imprisoned yet again at Edinburgh castle, Angus was determined to end this once and for all—no matter what the cost.

“The prodigal son returns,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. “Have the affairs of the nation all sorted now, do you?”

Angus turned and grinned as his oldest and most trusted friend moved forward to embrace him.

“Graham! Good to see you. What news from Edinburgh?”

“No news. The king is in the north as you know and your father does not fare any differently.”

“Well, that is something to be contented with.”

“Aye. Tell me about your meeting with the lairds of the north.”

“There is not much to tell, only that Mackay, MacKenzie, Sutherland, and MacIntosh plan to
talk
the king into letting them keep their authority.” He shook his head. “I honestly do not know where their heads are. Do they truly think the man will listen to reason? After all that has passed?”

“I do not know where their heads are, my friend, but I do wish to know where yours is. Do you still plan to attack Edinburgh Castle?”

“Aye. I do. And soon. I amass an army as we speak and will be ready to march in the coming weeks. The Stewart will not have time to retaliate effectively. Nor will he have the numbers in his support. I plan to remove my father from the castle and take anything from the Stewart I can this time. No more games.”

Graham smiled. “I think you have the right idea, Angus. Your father has been wrong to still your efforts from his cell.”

“That he has. Once inside, we can retrieve my father
and
raid the king’s treasury too. I have plans for the castle from a very good source, and have already plotted to leave the Stewart holding his cock.”

Graham laughed, slapping Angus on the shoulder. “Oh, you are a formidable foe. Remind me never to vex you.”

“You should not need reminding. Just do not do it.”

Together they left the armoury and returned to the castle’s great hall to meet with the other clansmen and go over the plan once more. It could work—it had to. Angus was tired of the Stewart’s version of ruling the country and attempting to claim that which his clan had worked hard to procure.

Well, by God, no more. He would take it all back and more. He would not be satisfied until the man was on his knees and begging for his sorry excuse for a life.

Just as he entered the great hall, he encountered the one person he would rather avoid. Rhona was a lovely woman, but he was not interested. She needed to get it through her head that he was not about to make an offer of marriage to her today, or any other day.

“’Tis a very fine day, my lord.” Rhona drew in a deep breath which enhanced her more than ample breasts. She smiled sweetly and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Aye, it is Rhona.”

Angus nodded his head to her and moved to brush past, but she stepped in front of him instead. “Would you like to spend some of it with me?”

The question took him by surprise. She had been eyeing him for ages, but had never been so bold before. This was an all-out invitation to bed her, he was sure of it. He looked past her to where Graham had moved on ahead and now turned back to him, grinning.

“Does your father know you are here today?”

Her smile disappeared and her cheeks pinked. Dammit, he had not intended to embarrass her, he just needed her to leave him alone.

“He asked me to come to the castle to deliver our produce. I just thought—”

Angus knew he should take pity on the lass, but if he was going to get it through to her he knew he had to be direct.

“Perhaps you should make your delivery and return to your family, Rhona. I am not the man to spend the day with you.”

Her face fell and her eyes went wide. Christ, he did not need to see her disappointment. Hopefully, she would not shed any tears—that would be the worst possible thing right now.

To her credit, she quickly masked her expression, but not before narrowing her eyes at him.

“I apologize for taking up your time, my lord. I assure you it will not happen again.” She turned on her heel and practically ran from the great hall.

Angus shook his head and turned to Graham who was now wearing a concerned expression.

“What did you say to her?”

“Something she needed to hear.”

“Meaning?”

“That I told her I was not interested.”

“You are a brute, Angus.”

“Do not jest. The lass has been following me around for an age. I am not interested and I told her so.”

“She looked like you broke her heart.”

“Graham, I have no time or patience for young women right now. There is too much at stake, and I have no intention of getting entangled with a lass and then tied to her in a very permanent way. That one would have me shackled before the next full moon.”

“You are wound too tight,” Graham said, slapping Angus on the shoulder. “Perhaps you need a good unshackling to improve your mood.”

“You have no need to worry on that account. I have plenty experienced women to choose from when the need arises. Now, before we grow into old men, can we please review the plan once more?”

Graham tilted his head back and laughed. “Aye, my lord. We can and shall review your plan and see to it your revenge is carried out to the letter.”

“Good. Let us get to work, shall we.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Facing the king’s guard on the battlefield was as exciting as it was daunting. They had met early and were about ready to start. Hundreds of Scots and hundreds of Highlanders were ready for battle to determine the victor of the ultimate prize—the right to decide their own priorities. Had such a challenge ever been decided in this manner before? Ronan did not think so.

The air was still and quiet as he nodded to his flagman. Moments later, the two armies tore across the field toward one another. Near the middle, swords clanged and men roared. While there was an understanding to not inflict mortal damage, accidents were bound to happen. Someone would likely be hurt before it was all over.

Ronan slashed and pounded his way toward the king. He wanted to be the one to bring the man down, or at the very least, be there when their warriors claimed the battle.

Finally, the man came into view through the tangle of arms and legs and grunting men. He wore his crest on his breastplate which made Ronan smile. No one on their side wore armour—a testament to their confidence in their ability to avoid getting hurt.

The king’s gaze locked with Ronan’s as they move toward one another. As they approached, they circled one another. Ronan raised his sword and the king followed suit. With as much strength as he could, he brought his sword forward to meet his king’s. The explosive metal sound brought focus and clarity to Ronan’s mind, and he was able to drown out all other sounds around him.

Again and again, the king sliced his blade through the air, only to be blocked by Ronan’s swift moves. Somewhere along the way, he noticed all others around them had ceased fighting and watched. The king came at him with a ferocity that seemed like he was really fighting. If that was how he wanted to play, then Ronan was ready, willing, and able. All he had to do was let the king wear himself out and then he could go on the offensive and bring him to his knees.

A very short time later, that was exactly what happened. Ronan found his opportunity and kicked the king’s legs out from underneath him. In the next moment, the man was on his back and panting with a wide look of shock spread across his features.

Ronan pointed the tip of his blade at the man’s neck and waited. When he said nothing, Ronan grinned.

“Do you concede the battle?”

The king bared his teeth and for a moment, Ronan thought he would not.

Finally, his features smoothed and he nodded. “I concede the battle.”

Ronan sheathed his blade and reached out his arm to assist the king to his feet. Once he was standing, the king surprised him again when he placed his arm cross ways over his chest.

“The battle goes to the Highlanders!”

Cheers erupted around them. All was well—for the time being.

* * *

Freya gazed out over the sea, watching the rising swell with a smile on her face. Strong hands slipped around her waist and settled on her belly. The hard body pressing against her back soothed and excited her. Her thin shift was the only thing separating her naked flesh from his.

“What did the king say to you?”

She grinned, knowing this question would be posed at some point. “It is of no matter now, my love. You have triumphed.”

Ronan pulled her body tighter against his and growled low in her ear. “You will tell your husband what the king said to you or else you will suffer my wrath.”

“By wrath, you mean hours of delicious torture?” she asked, if his hard erection pressing against her backside was any indication. Perhaps she should hold off telling him that the king had guessed she would move mountains to see her husband protected.

“Freya.” The hint of warning in his voice amused her.

“I believe a wife should have some secrets, should she not?”

“No, Freya. A wife should tell her husband everything. She should never hold back from him—ever.”

Freya smiled. She would hold onto her secret but would divulge her bigger one.

“I do have a secret, husband.” She turned in his arms and looked into his handsome face. His dark eyes were so captivating and his sensual mouth so irresistible; he sometimes robbed her breath.

Ronan cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

She drew a shaky breath. She had waited for this moment for so long she feared giving voice to it would make it disappear.

“I carry our child,” she whispered.

Ronan seemed suddenly dumbfounded.

He looked down upon her face with reverence. “Are you certain?”

She smiled. “Aye, I am certain. The bairn will be here in spring.”

Freya watched as moisture pooled in the corners of his eyes. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, his gaze dropping to her belly. He then knelt before her, sliding his fingers down her waist to her hips. He pressed light kisses just below her navel, then for a long moment, rested his cheek upon her. His body trembled slight when she wove her fingers through his hair.

Suddenly, Ronan leapt to his feet, grabbed her around the middle and swung her around and around.

“By God, you have made me the happiest man in the world, lass. Do you know how much of a gift you are to me?” He planted her feet on the floor and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her chin—all over her face. “From the first moment I saw you in the wood, I knew then you were mine. You’ve always been mine. I just wish—”

She did know it then, and had always known it. They had been through hellfire and back and it finally appeared they would find the peace they had always longed for.

“Aye, I am yours, Ronan.” She caught his face with her hands. “Our children will know none of the horrors you did. That part of your life is gone forever now. You will be a wonderful father to all our bairns.”

He smiled and her heart squeezed. “All? How many do you wish to have, Freya?”

“At least ten.”

“Ten!” He shook his head. “I think we need a bigger castle.”

Ronan swept her up in his arms then and carried her to their bed. She was where she belonged and nothing could ever come between them again.