Chapter 23

Rory rode out at first dawn with a small troop of men and extra mounts. He intended to bring in those clansmen who remained in the destroyed village, and any others who farmed or herded on Maclean lands and had not yet come into the keep.

Archibald could have accomplished the task as well, but they both thought some clansmen might be reluctant to leave, even with the possibility of an invading army. Rory, as laird, must be obeyed.

Rory also knew he had to leave the keep, and Felicia. Guilt ate at him for bedding her. Yet he doubted he could resist her if he remained at Inverleith. She was like water to a man thirsting to death.

In the course of three days, they had found twenty-eight clansmen who had been reluctant to leave their crofts. His last stop was at the village destroyed by Campbells. He found Alex and his father and three other men rebuilding. They had already rebuilt two crofts.

“You have to come with us,” he said.

“Why?” Alex’s father asked.

“The danger has increased,” Rory said. “We expect more raiding from the Campbells, perhaps even a siege. We will need every Maclean on the walls.”

The man nodded. It was his duty to come when the laird summoned.

“We found a few cattle,” Alex said.

We will take them with us,” Rory said. “We are bringing them in from other areas as well.” He knew livestock represented a better life. The ground was not good for farming.

The Macleans packed what remained after the raid and followed Rory on foot. It would be a day’s march.

When they arrived at Inverleith, the area around the keep was thick with livestock. Rory worried about how long the land could continue to feed them.

The gates opened for them, and they passed another group of horsemen leaving the keep. He knew that Archibald had continued patrolling all the passes and roads to Inverleith, as well as the coast. Too many Scots had been surprised by raids from the sea. He wished for a moment that he was at Duart, across the Sound of Mull on the Isle of Mull. The sea protected the island from raids, and it was virtually unassailable.

But that was another branch of Macleans.

He rode to the stables, wearily stepped down from the horse, and gave the reins to a stable lad. He took a moment to look in on the new foal. She was nuzzling her mother, obviously in search of food. New life. New beginnings.

“Has Lady … Felicia been here?” He knew everyone should know her true identity by now.

“Every morn’ and eve,” the lad said. “Fer a Campbell, she ain’t so bad,” the lad added, then looked appalled that he would speak so.

“Does everyone else believe that as well?”

“Aye, milord.”

“Do they think we should give her up?”

“Nay. We would be seen as weak then. And she is a real lady, she is.” Pride was in the lad’s voice.

Rory hoped it was the community feeling as well. There had been a woeful lack of pride when he had returned.

Rory meant to restore it to them, one way or another, even as he intended to protect Felicia. If Lachlan and James Campbell failed, or if Campbell betrayed them, he still had the means to spirit her away to safety. He left the stable and went to the armory where Douglas bent over the books.

He looked up as Rory stepped inside.

“’Tis good to have you back. Some villagers brought more cattle.”

“How many are there?”

“We have over five hundred people inside. Of them, two hundred have borne arms. They are training the villagers. We have enough food for a prolonged siege, and our wells should be able to supply enough water, though we will have to ration.”

“We will not ration,” Rory said. “I will challenge Campbell to a personal fight first.”

“You have not trained in years.”

“It is true I have grown rusty. A sailor fights the sea, not usually men. But I plan to start today. First I need some rest.”

Douglas nodded. “You look as if you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t.”

“Should I keep them at watch?”

“It will take at least a month for the Campbells to call in their men and arm them for a siege. But they can send raiding parties our way. I do not want our cattle to disappear. I want every man in training. I want to know who are slackers and who are not.”

“Aye,” Douglas said, then changed the subject. “The lass has been helping in the kitchen as well as with the wounded.”

Rory did not have to ask what lass. He ignored the remark. “I will be back about mid-afternoon.”

“I will have our best fighters available.” Douglas eyed Rory. “You look able. I remember you used to be very good.”

“Ten years ago,” Rory said wryly.

“It is something you do not forget.”

“I pray not.” With those words, Rory went up to his chamber. He was far too exhausted to have more than a yearning to see Felicia. It would grow, he knew, but now all he wanted was a bed and a meal that was not oatmeal. He took off his sweat-stained plaid and shirt and lay naked on the bed. The exhaustion was a blessing. It blocked thinking. Feeling. Wanting.

At least he hoped to hell it would.

Edinburgh

Jamie paid a visit to Morneith’s home in Edinburgh. He discovered the man would not return for eight days.

Eight days was a lifetime. His father had already sent word to William at Dunstaffnage to prepare for a siege of Inverleith.

He left a letter and asked that it be sent to Morneith. Perhaps it would speed his return, or at least make the man worry.

He had thought about the words long and hard.

My dear Morneith. I have news of my cousin Felicia Campbell as well as greetings from the Duke of Buckingham in London. I think we may have many common interests and would like to discuss them with you.

After leaving the note for Morneith, he decided to look for Lachlan.

Lachlan interested him. He appeared to have no ambition to be laird, nor did he seem to have any deep convictions at all. He was obviously well read, but he treated almost everything as mildly amusing, including his current role as traitor. Jamie realized now it was all a facade to keep any more intimate questions from surfacing.

It did not comfort him, though, to depend on a man who was a mystery.

Jamie found Lachlan in the tavern he’d suggested.

Lachlan was strumming a lute, but no one paid attention to him, nor to Jamie. Jamie made his way over to the table and sat across from him.

“You play well,” he said as if he had never heard him before.

“A coin or two would not be remiss,” Lachlan replied.

Jamie took one from a purse he carried and tossed it to him.

Lachlan returned to his lute. He had a fine, deep voice, but no one in the tavern seemed interested. When he finished his song, he asked in a low voice. “Have you talked to your father? Or to the Earl of Morneith?”

“My father, aye. He is doubtful but willing to be proven wrong. As for the earl, he is on a hunting trip with the king. He may not be back for eight days. But I sent a message. I thought it best to let him worry.”

Lachlan strummed the lute. “Bad luck, that. I will be staying next door. I rented a room. ’Tis the second one above the butcher shop. You can find me either there or here. The owner here has employed me. I get food and whatever coins are given me.”

“With what name?”

“Campbell seems to be a popular one in Edinburgh,” Lachlan said with a slightly amused twist of his lips. It was not quite a smile but more a cynical observation.

“With good reason,” Jamie said.

Lachlan shrugged even as he lowered his voice. “Your father? What does he plan to do?”

“March on Inverleith. But you already knew he would.”

“Rory expected it. I’d hoped you had more influence.”

“I am but a stripling in my father’s eyes.”

A customer lurched over and put a coin in front of Lachlan. “More,” he said.

Lachlan started strumming again as Jamie left the tavern, chafing against the delays and hoping his missive to Morneith would end the waiting.

“The laird has returned,” Moira said, a new excitement in her voice.

Felicia had noted a hum of anticipation in the keep. Perhaps it was all the people streaming in.

Everyone had a task. The women who had come for protection had found the conditions not to their liking and had taken it upon themselves to clean the many fireplaces, sweep the floors, and clean the great hall.

Felicia helped as well. She’d never been still. She could not be now. So the hours she did not spend with Alina, she assisted in the kitchen. An early awkwardness faded when she brushed aside protests and carried bowls of stew to families.

He was safe. Thank God for that. Would he seek her out? Her body warmed at the thought of seeing him, at memories of the last time.

She kept hoping he would stop and see her. Or Alina. Her heart pounded faster whenever she heard footsteps or voices. But none belonged to him. She heard gossip, however. First from Moira, then Robina. He had gone immediately to his room. He planned to train with several clansmen later.

Fear ran like a rain-swollen stream through her. She knew single combat was often used to settle disputes. Could he possibly be thinking of challenging a Campbell? Jamie would be the logical one to fight for the Campbells.

She finished serving the loaves of bread and bowls of stew for the midday meal.

No sign of the lord.

She returned to her chamber, then went to Alina’s. Alina’s mother would be down in the kitchen. Baron greeted her by jumping up against her gown and barking a welcome. She leaned down and picked him up, rubbed his ears, and listened to the dog’s small groans of pleasure.

“Do you have an end to my story?” Alina asked.

Felicia did not. She wanted a prince who would fight for her heroine, but she had not yet found him. And Alina was smart enough not to accept a lesser being.

Why could she not be as smart?

She was certainly attracted to Rory Maclean. She would not admit any deeper emotion to herself. But he was certainly not her prince. He did not want her. Not enough to test the feud that had stretched between their families. So why did he remain in her every thought? Why did she look for him in every face she saw and in every figure that prowled the halls of Inverleith?

He was going to train this afternoon. Jamie had always said she was good with the sword. She had not his strength, but she had an agility that helped her nearly defeat him more than once.

“Nay, love,” she answered Alina’s question. “I do not have an end, yet. They are telling their own story in their own time. But I think you might help them if you could but go to the window at night and think about them.”

Alina’s face froze. “I canna walk.”

“Ah but I see a pair of crutches.”

Alina’s face clouded.

“Lachlan made them.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Mither said he is a traitor.”

“I do not believe that,” she said.

“I dinna, either, but mither—”

“I think Lachlan is an honorable man, and he made those crutches just for you.” More honorable than his brother.

Alina looked torn between belief and doubt.

“Things are not always as they seem,” Felicia said. Could that be true now with Lachlan? And why was she the only one to question his desertion? “You know now that I am a Campbell. Does that change the way you feel about me?”

“Oh no, milady.”

“Then should you not hear from Lachlan before judging him?”

Alina considered that and nodded, her eyes clearing.

“Now will you try your crutches?”

As an answer, Alina reached out for the crutches and stood, balancing herself slowly. Her face paled with the strain, but she held on and took several hops to the window. She rested against the edge and looked out.

Felicia joined her. Her gaze went to the men training below.

She directed Alina’s attention toward the sea visible from their room. It looked so inviting to her. She understood Rory’s fascination with it. The sea called to her as well.

Alina shivered. “It looks cold,” she said.

“Ah, but think of all the places it takes you,” Felicia said.

“Where would you go?” Alina said. “If you could go anyplace?”

“I think to India.”

“I want to stay here,” Alina said seriously.

“Why?”

“My mither and brother. And da.”

“That is a very good reason.”

“They came to see me today.”

“They did?”

“Aye. The new laird brought them in,” Alina said happily. “Da is guarding the walls,” she added proudly.

Alina’s father was a farmer and herder. He should not be guarding walls. But pride reflected in Alina’s face. The pride of the Macleans.

Felicia had noted that the sentries had been doubled. “You must be very proud of him,” Felicia said.

Alina nodded. “I am,” she said. “And Alex … and John.” She flushed.

“John?”

He came here a few days ago after I did. He confronted the Campbells when they tried to take our cattle.” Adoration was in her voice.

How had that escaped her? But then she had been preoccupied lately. “Has he been to see you?”

“Aye,” Alina said shyly. Felicia smiled inwardly. She had been besotted with her cousin when she was a child, but then he had become more like a brother. As she had grown older, a deep friendship had replaced any romantic notion.

“What will you do, milady, if your uncle comes?” Alina suddenly asked.

“I have little choice in the matter,” she replied.

“If you did? Would you leave us?”

If she had a choice?

She did not. She had discovered that in the past few weeks. Her uncle had given her no choice. Rory had given her no choice. Even Jamie, whom she had trusted, had given her no choice.

“Would you like to learn to read?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation elsewhere.

“Oh, aye, milady. I have always wanted to learn, but the priest says there is no need to teach girls.” She gazed up, her eyes lighting. “Ye know how?”

“My cousin made sure I learned.”

“Is he—”

“He is the Campbell your laird captured.”

Alina frowned as if uncertain how to respond to that.

Felicia understood. The Campbells had raided her village and killed several people. Felicia’s cousin was the son of Angus Campbell. Alina had been able to exclude her from the taint of Campbell blood, probably because she was aware that women had few choices, but she wasn’t sure that should cover Felicia’s cousin as well.

“He was not among those who raided your village,” Felicia said.

Alina nodded reluctantly. “Ye really will try to teach me to read?”

“We can start right now,” Felicia said, eager to have her mind turned to something, and someone, other than the laird.

“How?”

“Right now you should learn letters. I will say them all, and you say them after me. Then I shall show you how they look.”

Alina rose from the window seat and used the crutches to return to her bed. She sat on the side, her face tipped to one side, her expression full of anticipation.

“First, there is A,” Felicia started.

“A,” echoed Alina.

“Then B and C.”

An hour later, Alina had memorized the first half of the letters. She was quick and eager.

“I will try to find something to write on, and a quill,” Felicia said.

The only person she knew might have the materials was Douglas. She knew from the kitchen gossip that he was spending most of his time in the armory now.

She left Alina repeating the letters and walked quickly down the steps to the armory. As she expected, Douglas was there. As she had not expected, so was Rory.

She stopped in mid-step. She had known he was back, of course, but she had not expected him here. Now she knew that she should have.

“My lord,” she said with a slight curtsy, even as she tried to keep her face straight and her tone impersonal.

He looked magnificent. He was wearing a plaid and white linen shirt and soft leather boots. He also wore chain mail and held a helmet in his hand. A shield lay nearby.

He was every inch a warrior.

“My lady,” he acknowledged. “I hope you are well.”

“As well as a prisoner can be,” she said, bitterly hurt by the coolness of his voice.

“You are our guest.”

“I think not,” she retorted, making an effort to keep her tone as indifferent as his. But her gaze could not leave his.

His eyes darkened, but his facial expression did not change. Then she saw a throbbing of a muscle in his throat. He was not as indifferent as he wanted her to believe.

She forced herself to turn away from him and look at Douglas instead. “I am teaching Alina to read and write. I need paper and a quill and ink.”

Douglas glanced at Rory, who nodded.

“Aye, my lady,” Douglas said. “I will send them to your chamber later. For now, I am due to work with the laird.”

A devil danced in her head. “My thanks,” she said and turned and left.

She went up to her room. She would show him that she could take care of herself, that she was not just a woman to be used, then abandoned.

She still had the lad’s clothes she meant to use to escape. Would Rory remember them? She doubted it. They looked much like the clothes worn by many clansmen, though they were perhaps a bit richer. But then clothes were often handed down to be given by the church. She would try, anyway.

She put the trews on, then the brogans under her dress. The material was long enough to cover them as long as she did not move too quickly. She would have to glide, at least long enough to reach the armory. She stuffed the shirt inside the trews. Several petticoats covered the bulge.

She closed her door and tried to glide down the hall. She nodded at several servants as she passed them, then kept her head down as she passed the great hall.

Hopefully, there would be no one in the armory. If there was, she would have to give up the prospect of challenge. A moment she badly needed.

The armory was empty. She looked around the room. It was filled with helmets and shields, swords, and even mail. Some looked very old.

She closed the door and in minutes transformed herself from a lass into a youthful soldier. Though she was slight in stature, she was not all that different from a young lad. The mail gave her more bulk, and the helmet covered most of her face.

She looked among the swords and found one that balanced nicely in her hands. Though the broad sword looked thick and clumsy, it was remarkably maneuverable, even for someone of her size and weight.

Felicia left the armory and went out to the training area. She watched as Rory battled Douglas.

Douglas was older, but she knew immediately he was skilled. She studied Rory’s movements, just as she had once studied Jamie when he trained.

She had almost bested Jamie only because he had not expected a contest. Rory would not expect a contest either.

Pride drove her now. She was not a possession to be used. She would not sit in a room waiting for men to make decisions for her.

She was only one of a number of clansmen waiting to train. Some held their shields and swords awkwardly. Others plunged against their opponent with more enthusiasm than skill.

Most were watching the duel between their laird and Douglas. Parry and thrust. Plunge forward against a shield, then move backward to avoid a counter blow. Find a weak spot. A moment of carelessness. A vulnerable body part unprotected.

She knew all the tricks. Jamie had been a good teacher.

Douglas found one of those spots, and thrust his sword toward Rory’s shoulder. He spun, but Douglas suddenly changed tactics and hit Rory’s knees, just below the shield. Rory went down.

In training, it was a defeat.

Rory stood and, as was common, invited another challenger.

She stepped forward.

A man laughed behind her.

Rory Maclean did not laugh. She could not see his eyes behind the helmet and knew hers were just as difficult to read. Before he could think, or consider who might be standing in front of him, she struck.

Surprised, he barely had time to lift his shield to counter the blow. But then he stepped backward, taking her off guard, and his sword went against a shield she barely had time to raise.

He advanced, and she was already off balance, but she took a step backward, moving just in time to avoid another blow.

Through the corner of her eye, she saw a crowd watching.

She was not going to lose.

She knew she had one advantage. He had been fighting Douglas. He was far more tired than she.

But then she had not practiced of late, either.

A sudden stroke almost took her to her knees. But she was able to turn and strike at his knees, which Douglas had hit earlier. She was so much shorter than him that it was easy.

But he wasn’t going to go down again. She heard the grunt of pain, but he remained standing.

Then he struck hard against the shield. She felt the jolt through every muscle. Yet she realized it was not as hard as it could have been. If it had been, she would have gone down. He would not hold back in training.

He knew … he’d recognized her.

How?

She struck back with all her strength, hearing the clang of her sword against his shield. It echoed through her being, the power of the thrust placing her at a disadvantage. Her sudden desperation had caused her to make a mistake.

But instead of a blow, he stepped back and kneeled in a sign of respect.

She stood there.

Shouts rang throughout the courtyard. They were for a young lad who had taken on the laird and nearly defeated him.

But she had not!

She had not wanted to be indulged. She wanted to fight a battle. Anger churned inside her. Holding her dignity intact, she turned and went inside the tower, even as she heard the sound of questions: who was the lad?

But Rory Maclean knew. And instead of fighting her, he humiliated her by not doing his best, by holding back, by pretending.

As he had pretended from the beginning.

She went straight to her room, taking the armor, the mail, and sword with her. By all the saints, she would not mind plunging it into some sensitive part of Rory Maclean.