To Wed A Highlander (12 page)

“I don’t think it was intentional, milady. He needed to see the men. Tell them personally what was happening and give them assurance about leading the Dunstans.”

Makenna bit the inside of her cheek. She really must learn not to voice her thoughts out loud. She reached out and seized Gorten’s arm. “Of course, you are right. But I cannot just stay in my room all day. I
have
to be active. You can understand that, can you not?”

Brodie saw Gorten fight his reaction to her touch and quickly answered for his friend. “We do, but until the laird says otherwise, you must stay here. As soon as he returns, one of us will fetch him.”

Makenna’s shoulders slumped in resignation. Even if she did escape, she had no idea what she would do. Ula and Rona would order her about, and in truth, she had no desire to prepare her father’s funeral. She needed to remember him the way he was the last time she saw him. At her wedding reception, happy and at peace.

Silently, she turned and reentered her chambers. The only way she could help her clan and Colin was to remain out of the way. But just as she pushed the door closed, a thought occurred to her. There
was
something she could do for her clan as well as Colin. And it could be done in the secrecy of her chambers.

She swung the door open and grabbed Brodie’s hand in hers, gaining Gorten’s attention as well.

As soon as they saw her emerald pools beseeching their help, they knew they were doomed for a lifetime of night watches. For whatever Makenna was about to ask for, they were going to go through heaven and hell to ensure that she received it.

“Please, if you would do me one favor, I will stay in my chambers until my father’s funeral without trickery.”

Gorten and Brodie looked at each other and then back at her. “What is it, milady?”

“I want to prepare my father’s sword personally. I will be the one to polish it and wrap it in a Dunstan plaid and place it in his coffin. All I ask is for you to fetch it for me
and
stop anyone who might try and reclaim it before I am done. Will you?”

“Colin has ordered several guards to protect Alexander until he is laid in the ground. It might be difficult…” Gorten began. The truth was Colin put several men around Alexander’s chamber to protect the
sword
that so many were clambering to possess.

Brodie cleared his throat. “I will bring you the sword, milady. However, it might be best to tell no one of its whereabouts except Colin.”

“If you think that best, Brodie, then I will agree and hide it when anyone comes to call. But I need that sword. It will be my way of saying good-bye. Colin will understand.”

Gorten nodded in agreement. Colin would do anything for his new wife. He knew that after this morning. If retrieving the sword would make Makenna happy, then it would be hers. He didn’t know how Brodie planned to do it, but Makenna would hold her father’s sword by nightfall.

For two days, Makenna remained in her room working vigilantly on the most precious of Dunstan symbols. Once done, she polished the blade until it glittered without a single blight to hamper its reflection. Carefully she wrapped the hilt in a strip of Dunstan plaid.

Soon it would be time. Father Lanaghly was even now praying over the body of her father. Each time she had looked out the window, she could see activity in preparation for the feast to follow. If she had not been so focused on getting the sword done in time, she would have gone mad needing to go down and help. Each time she felt the urge to escape, she reminded herself that despite her desire to be otherwise, she would just be in the way. She knew nothing about preparing for such events.

Makenna smoothed back her rich velvet green bliaut and checked the
Luckenbooth
pin securing the pleats of her plaid. Both were symbols of her marriage to a McTiernay. Her clan would probably be upset by the gesture, but she knew her father would be proud of the support she was showing for her husband. The Dunstan plaid would be displayed with the sword.

She moved toward the window and looked outside hoping to see Colin come for her. She had not seen him once these past two days, but knew that he visited her in the early morning hours before anyone was awake. It was only when he left her side that she awakened, each time to a feeling of something missing.

Many times, Makenna had wanted to ask Brodie or Gorten to go and fetch him, to bring him to her if only for a few minutes, but she always refrained. Colin was busy. There was much to be done with so many at the castle, and this was not the time to indulge in personal, unnecessary wishes.

Colin leaped off his mount and gave the reins to the stable master. He had been gone longer than anticipated. With all his commanders assigned to more pressing tasks, Colin had left two promising junior commanders in charge of the training fields. Until this morning, they had maintained order. Then a talented but very young soldier decided a new recruit was being instructed incorrectly. The junior commander’s pride kicked in and soon complete mayhem erupted as men took sides as to how their laird would have trained the newcomer.

As soon as Colin arrived at the scene, he quickly deduced the true cause behind the havoc. The men’s nerves had been so taut with tension, the fight had been inevitable. He had seen similar outbreaks happen before a long-awaited battle. If men didn’t discharge their pent-up energy in a controlled manner, it exploded in unexpected and often unruly ways.

“Battle drills. Two hours on. Quarter hour off. From now until dark. Again tomorrow and the next day,” Colin ordered.

Drake’s eyes popped open. That was a physical challenge most of the men might not be able to meet. “For whom?” Drake inquired, hoping that Colin just meant the few men at the core of the disturbance.

“Every last soldier in my regiment. Including those in the hills. Drake, you take command now. Dunlop, it will be your turn tomorrow. I want you both practicing with the men.”

Drake knew better than to protest. Colin had been in a silent, hard mood for the past two days. Talks with the local lairds had stalled. MacCuaig had demanded promises limiting Colin’s ability to lead and protect the clan. While the other lairds understood Colin’s quiet refusal, they could not comprehend why he did not call the young laird out on any of his many attempts to insult him. The lack of response was akin to cowardice, and many had said so. Colin simply shrugged at such remarks and asked, “How many battles have you fought the past five years?”

They answered with silence. All knew Colin had fought and led more battles than practically all of them together. In addition, William Wallace had considered him a friend and Robert the Bruce publicly called him an ally. It was hard to blend the calm man who casually dismissed insults with the fierce warrior his reputation alleged him to be.

On his ride back to Lochlen, Colin considered having Brodie or Gorten escort Makenna to the burial site. It had been hell not seeing her these past few days. An unanticipated hell. Not once during his marriage to Deirdre had he yearned for her like he was craving Makenna. It made no sense. The woman had plagued him for two years, but in just the span of a few days had turned his world inside and out. Control that had come so easily to him was now harder and harder to find. If she had come near him even once, he would have caved to his burning need for her. He would not have been able to stop with one kiss. No one was going to take advantage of her weakened emotional state, including himself. Consequently, all he allowed himself were those few brief moments early in the morning watching her sleep.

Today, however, Colin needed Makenna beside him. He did not think he could take another round of accusations without her by his side. He would need her presence to control the rage these men had no idea he was capable of.

Makenna was still staring out the window when she heard a single knock followed by the sound of the door opening. There was only one person who would enter without her permission. Colin.

Makenna spun around. She watched the play of emotions on his face. He was studying her, unsure of what he might find. Makenna couldn’t believe that at one time she found him impossible to read. Camus had been right. He did need her.

Colin drank her in. She was wearing his colors. Instead of the usual single braid down her back, she had let her hair remain loose. Dunlop was right. Makenna had always been beautiful; he had just been too blind to see it.

Makenna dashed across the floor and threw herself into his arms, gathering him close. All her fears vanished. He held her tight, not ever wanting to let her go.

For several minutes, they clung to each other, drinking in each other’s presence as if the other were the only possible food for their starving souls. Finally, Colin kissed her hair and gradually released his hold.

Makenna eased her grasp but refused to let go completely. She placed her cheek on his chest, relishing the steady rhythm of his heart. For the first time in days, she felt safe, and secure, and not alone.

“I’m glad I make you feel that way,” Colin replied in a low voice, soft and clear.

Makenna squeezed her eyes shut. Once again, she had expressed her private thoughts. “I meant…”

Colin raised her chin and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I know what you said, and I know what you meant. And in return for your confession, I will give you one of my own. I, too, have felt very alone these past few days.”

“Oh, Colin, I have heard about the talks.” She saw his head swivel to look at the closed door. “No, not Brodie or Gorten, they would plunge a knife into their chests before betraying you. It was one of the servants bringing my meals. They told me a great deal, so much of it I wanted not to believe.”

He let her go and walked over to the poster bed and stood in the same place he watched her each morning. He stared at the pillow. “Are you also ashamed that I have not called out MacCuaig or any of the others?” he asked quietly without inflection.

She moved beside him and placed a hand on his arm. “Nay, it is not shame I feel. It’s pride. Pride in a man who only pulls arms against his fellow Scots when needed, not when goaded. Give them time, Colin. They will understand what you bring.”

“And what do I bring, Makenna?”

“Honor. Guidance. Security. You bring the chance that our children will grow up not knowing strife. You bring the knowledge that if battle was to come, our men will be skilled and able to return safe. They don’t understand your ways, but they will.”

“If you agree with my ways so much, why did you fight me so hard for two years?”

She smiled at his lighthearted tease and replied, “Oh, I have always thought you to be a fine leader of men, I just thought you a terrible brother-in-law.”

“And what about husband?” he asked, his voice full of entreaty.

Makenna intuitively knew her answer was very important. She looked at his chest and played with the string on his leine. “I am just beginning to learn what he is like. So far, he is the most kind, generous, and understanding man I have ever met. I only hope to someday be as good of a wife my sister was to him.”

“Makenna, never doubt your worth to me. I loved Deirdre, but she is gone now. I am with you now, and you will never know how grateful I am that you married me.”

Then, powered by a need to prove his sincerity, Colin caught Makenna’s face between his hands and brought his mouth down to meet hers. He let his tongue probe her passionate and welcoming warmth as he slid his hands slowly up her spine. He felt her arms stole softly around his neck as she kissed him back with a low, inviting fervor that took his breath away.

A knock came at the door, followed by another. Colin knew he should break off the kiss. Yet each time he tried, there was an even greater urge to brush his mouth lightly, possessively across hers one more time.

The knocks became louder and of greater numbers. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the female voices of Ula and Rona ordering Brodie and Gorten to open the door. When he finally released her, Makenna’s vivid eyes were luminous with promise.

Tonight he would not sleep alone.

Makenna sat in front of the hall’s hearth and soaked up the heat from the fire and the hot wine. She stared at the hypnotic flames lapping up the stone wall, barely aware of the conversations taking place around her. The weather seemed to know a great man had been buried earlier that day. The light drizzle had been accompanied by a cool breeze, making it feel more like late fall than midsummer. Normally, Makenna enjoyed the brisk warning of the imminent change in seasons. Today, it had chilled her to the bone.

She had believed herself to be ready to see her father and say good-bye. But when she laid his bound sword next to his side, it took all her strength not to crumple on the ground. As if knowing the exact time she most needed his strength, Colin had reached out and held her hand tightly in his own.

Makenna took another sip of wine and glanced around for Colin. He was still seated at the main table located at the end of the hall. He was in deep discussion with many of the same men she had seen the night of her wedding. Several lairds, however, had elected to congregate at a different table. They were the same ones who had vehemently objected to Colin’s insistence that Alexander be buried with the Highlander rite, “earth laid upon a corpse.” They believed her father should have been buried only with the Dunstan sword.

Keeping with tradition, Colin held a wooden plate and placed dirt and salt in its center. The soil represented the body becoming one with the earth, while the salt represented Alexander’s soul, which would never decay. Makenna thought the symbol fitting, but when Colin proceeded to the grave and placed the plate on her father’s chest, inappropriate objections rang out from the crowd. All knew they originated with MacCuaig.

Makenna sensed the tension rise in Colin and knew he was near the end of his tolerance. Startling all those present, she moved to stand alongside Colin and proclaimed loudly, “Alexander Dunstan was my father. He chose Colin McTiernay to be my husband and your laird. My father will have his sword.” She paused, lifting the sword high for all to see before placing it alongside the still body empty of life.
“And
he will be buried with the Highland rite of respect. He loved Colin like a son, and I know he would have appreciated the honor.”

Her words silenced the crowd. Immediately those who objected to the custom yielded, allowing Colin to finish without further interruption. They might have acquiesced to her request, but anger and resentment still stirred in their hearts.

Makenna resumed her concentration on the flickering flames. They seemed to dance in time to “Ex Te Lux Oritur,” one of her father’s favorite
clarsach
tunes. The sounds of the lone harp echoing in the valley repeated in her head as did the images of her father being lowered into his grave.

Makenna was about to retire, when a loud bellow came from across the room. Immediately all eyes swiveled to its source. Leon MacCuaig.

“And
if
the English return, will the Dunstan clan continue to cower, refusing once again to fight?”

Makenna jumped to her feet and marched to the center of the room. The challenge issued was not a mere slight, but a huge insult, not only to Colin but also to every Dunstan present. More than that, it was unfair.

Under Alexander’s rule, the Dunstan clan had been loyal followers of William Wallace. When Wallace had defeated the English army at Stirling Bridge in 1297, almost every able-bodied Dunstan left to fight alongside him. Many of the men died at Falkirk, and those who didn’t, did so later in the continuous hit-and-run raids against Edward’s men. The few who had survived, including Dunlop and Drake, returned home only after Wallace’s capture and execution in 1305. In the following two years, Robert the Bruce began his rally for freedom. Alexander Dunstan had less than a handful of men left to protect his keep and was unable to send any to support Bruce’s campaign.

Everyone knew all that had been left of the Dunstan army were young men naïve to the horrors of battle, or worse, untrained farmers who had fought with Wallace and barely escaped with their lives. Colin had been working hard to rebuild the Dunstan army. Those who had spied on the training camps knew their numbers were now close to a hundred strong. Their force would continue to grow as more and more men flocked to Colin’s training and leadership.

Colin’s eyes locked on to hers. They gleamed the darkest of blues, and Makenna knew his anger had been ignited. He didn’t say a word, but she knew he wanted her to remain silent.

Earlier that day, the proud hellion of the Dunstan clan had managed to shake his core. During her father’s funeral, she again made her loyalty clear. Deirdre had refused to be confrontational with anyone. He had accepted her choice, not realizing how much he longed for the woman he loved to stand alongside him, openly declaring her devotion. Twice Makenna had risen to support him publicly. Tonight, he would stand up for her and her people.

Severing the brief connection with Makenna, Colin turned his attention to MacCuaig.
“When
the English return, the Dunstan clan will be ready. You have a McTiernay’s word on it.”

Colin’s cool, penetrating words sliced through the room. No one said a word. The time for discussions was over. These men either believed he was capable of his claim, or they didn’t.

Everyone watched in silence as Colin and MacCuaig remained standing. Minutes passed. To Makenna, Colin seemed to be growing larger, even more commanding, while Leon was beginning to sweat profusely.

Then the scraping of a chair filled the room. It came from Laird Boyd. “My father, Duncan Boyd, died fighting for Robert. And your brother, Conor, saved my life at the Loudoun Hill. The Boyds will stand behind the Dunstan clan as long as a
McTiernay
leads them.”

A second later, a wide, muscular laird stood. “As will the Crawfords. The English ready themselves even now to attack again.” He paused and then shouted with force,
“Tutum te robore reddam!”
Then, with deliberate calculation, he forcefully smacked his quaich down so that its contents sloshed onto the wooden table. “I will give you safety by strength,” he said, repeating his clan’s motto.
“If
McTiernay remains the Dunstan laird,” he added forcefully.

Crawford’s echoes were still bouncing off the walls when Laird Moncreiffe stood and added his vow of solidarity. One by one the men of the lead table pledged their support, each making it clear he supported Colin, not the Dunstans.

The few Dunstans present listened as each laird stood and spoke of the English’s impending retaliation against Robert, the new Scottish king. They needed protection. And for the first time, many realized that whether they liked the Highlander or not—they needed him and his allies.

MacCuaig stared at Makenna still standing in the middle of the room. Tonight had not gone according to plan, but then again, it had not been entirely unsuccessful. Several clans might have pledged their support to the new Highland laird, but many did not. Feeling the unstated backing of those seated around him, MacCuaig felt a sudden surge of power. Makenna might be married, but she was not forever lost to him.

“Can you all be so blind? You”—MacCuaig pointed at those around Colin—“so easily forget the old alliances, the long-standing promises. Makenna was
supposed to be mine.
The MacCuaigs will never support this
Highlander,
despite who is allied to him.”

Makenna watched as Leon turned to address the room with a semicrazed expression. “Did you not witness how he flouted our traditions with the burying of your laird? Today he pollutes our most sacred of rituals. What will he corrupt next? I tell you we can protect our own without the Highlander.”

Hearing enough, Dunlop interjected, “We stand behind our new laird. Don’t we, men?” Sounds from falling chairs and benches erupted and filled the hall as every Dunstan soldier present jumped to his feet. A deafening “Aye” was shouted from the crowd as each man leveled his attention upon the Lowlander who dared to insult their chief.

Makenna stood speechless, frozen as MacCuaig dissolved under their stares. Spinning around, he faced Colin and whispered something she could not hear. When done he headed toward the door, but stopped when he got to her side. His eyes slid down her thin frame. Then, loud enough for the room to hear, he said, “Take care, Makenna. The MacCuaigs will not help your clan in their hour of need.” He pointed across the room, but his eyes never left her. “Crawford, Moncreiffe, Boyd, and the others may back your husband, but their support is many days’ ride away. Only I will be able to save you.”

Colin saw red as sheer fury poured through him. “Leave now, MacCuaig, while you still can. One more word and I will consider it a challenge to be met here and now.”

For the first time since his arrival, MacCuaig felt satisfaction. Nothing had worked. He had challenged McTiernay’s honor, his clan, his Highlands. Makenna was his weakness. Ah, the joy he would get when he stripped her from Colin’s grasp and made Makenna his own.

Unfortunately, now was not the time. The Highlander was more skilled than most with a sword and currently surrounded by his newly established allies. Leon needed an edge, one that he didn’t have now. Soon, though, he would have everything owed to him. He just needed to be patient.

Makenna stared in shocked silence as MacCuaig bowed his head toward her and then to his table of potential comrades. She held her breath as he stormed out of the hall and ordered his men to prepare for immediate departure.

Exhaling, she felt relieved, but the sensation only lasted for a moment. Her eyes searched for Colin and widened the moment they locked with his. His gaze was blazing with fury and anger, and it was aimed not at the departed Leon MacCuaig, but at her.

Makenna had thought she had witnessed Colin’s anger many times since his arrival at Lochlen. She had been wrong. Never had she seen Colin truly mad.

Immediately following MacCuaig’s departure, Colin had ordered Brodie and Gorten to escort her to the Black Tower and wait for him in his chambers. Makenna had presumed Colin intended to make her stew for hours, but no more than ten minutes had passed when he charged through the door.

Makenna usually could disregard Colin’s imposing stature, but the raw fury roaring through him made her wish she were anything but its target.

She felt herself swallow heavily and shrink in fear. But just as she was about to retreat a few steps away from the path of his furious pacing, her inner voice called her a coward. “I have no reason to cower to you, Colin McTiernay. I have done nothing wrong,” she said to herself, this time making sure her mouth was closed.

Donning a mask of calm indifference, Makenna sauntered over to the basin and splashed some water on her face. The action was a deliberate show of ease, that she was not one of the Lowland lairds easily intimidated by his commanding presence. She patted her face dry and then faced him, arching a single brow.

Colin watched with incredulity as Makenna straightened her back, briefly assessed him, and then marched to the table acting as if he were not even there, let alone furious. He had no doubt that she was fully aware he was seething. Still, she offered no apologies, no requests for leniency, and no entreaties for forgiveness. The woman practically challenged his right to be angry.

“When were you going to tell me?” he roared.

“Colin, stop yelling at me.”

“I am not yelling. Whenever I do yell, there will be no mistaking it.” He had lowered his voice by several decibels, but it was definitely still loud.

Makenna watched as Colin resumed his pacing in front of the cold hearth. She had been about to light a fire when she had heard him order Brodie and Gorten and everyone else out of the tower just before he had stormed through the door.

Over the past few years, she had witnessed him in several moods, but never one like this. And all because of MacCuaig’s distorted sense of their relationship. Makenna decided to treat this argument with the level of intensity it deserved. None.

She leaned casually against the table and gripped the sides loosely. “Fine, then stop growling. It is most upsetting.”

Her relaxed demeanor both floored and inflamed him. “Your indifference to my anger shows that you have no regard to how I felt when MacCuaig told me of your trysts in the woods. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“So that’s what he whispered to you,” Makenna mused aloud. Hearing Colin grunt, she crossed her arms and shrugged nonchalantly. “Honestly? I don’t think I ever was going to mention it. It meant nothing. Those meetings, if you can even call them that, occurred long ago, well before you came to Lochlen. Leon didn’t care that I wasn’t like all the other girls. Every once in a while, he would be in the woods at the same time as I and join me in my hunts. He would praise my skills. It was very flattering, but I never thought his proposal of marriage was serious. Then or now. I remember him laughing when I turned him down.”

Colin stopped his pacing and stood between two of the hearth chairs. He clenched the back of each chair and leaned forward. “Trust me, Makenna. Leon MacCuaig was not laughing. Then or now.”

Makenna quashed a shiver caused by the dangerous softness in his voice. Rallying, she replied, “See, I knew you would not understand. It was just a few innocent kisses. Flirtations to pass the time.”

“That man was at our wedding!”

Colin could still remember seeing the tense look in MacCuaig’s eyes when Makenna entered the chapel. At the time, he had dismissed it, deciding instead to focus on the vision coming to accept his hand. He should have confronted MacCuaig that very night, at the celebration when the man openly displayed his jealousy and lust. Instead, he had fought his instincts to call the man out, thinking that he was being irrational, seeing something where there was nothing.

But his instincts had been completely accurate. Makenna and MacCuaig did have a past, and it was enough of one to make Leon believe that she somehow belonged to him. The idea of Makenna with another man shot through Colin’s mind, and he felt a new bout of possessive fury building within him.