Bhaltair's Pledge: Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book Two

by Knight, Stella

  Bhaltair's Pledge

  Highlander Fate, Lairds of the Isles Book Two

  Stella Knight

  Copyright © 2020 by Stella Knight

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  stellaknightbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Cover Design by Kim Killion

  Pronunciation Guide

  Bhaltair - BALT-ehR

  Lioslaith - Liy-AASLEY-th

  Odhran - o-RIN

  Cadha - KAY-da

  Hamish - HAY-mish

  Daileas - DAYL-iy-us

  Fenella - FUH-nel-uh

  Cormag - KO-ruh-muk

  Seamus - SHAY-mus

  Glaisne - GLASH-ni

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Glossary

  Stay in touch!

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  1395

  Arran Isle, Scotland

  Cold droplets of rain pummeled Bhaltair’s skin and clothing as he made his way up the muddy mountainside of Caisteal Abhail, one of the largest of the mountains on Arran Isle. He had to grit his teeth in concentration to avoid slipping, focusing on the cave that was nestled yards away.

  Irritation skittered through him at having to make this journey, but this was the only place where the stiuireadh, the druid witch, would meet him. A portion of this mountain was called Ceum na Caillich, witch’s step, and an actual witch did dwell here. He didn’t know why the young witch had made her home in such a treacherous place, but he had no choice in seeking her out; the safety of his niece depended on it.

  An image of his niece’s innocent face flickered in his mind, and his determination increased. He picked up his pace, the muscles in his legs straining as he continued up the mountainside toward the cave. Bhaltair was grateful for his strength, honed by years of both hunting and training for battle under his father and older brother’s watchful eyes, otherwise such a trek would have been even more difficult.

  He soon arrived at the cave’s entrance and peered inside. It was lit by several large fires that would have alarmed him had he not known a witch controlled them.

  Bhaltair entered, his eyes sweeping the cave, and a petite lass soon emerge from its depths.

  He blinked in surprise at the sight of her. He’d not met this young witch, Lioslaith, before, and he was surprised at how young she looked, like a lass barely out of girlhood. His steward, Hamish, who’d directed him to her, hadn’t described Lioslaith, but he’d expected a far older lass. She was wee, barely reaching the center of his chest, with ash-blonde hair and amber eyes that studied him with a quiet intensity.

  “Are ye Lioslaith?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she responded. Her voice was light and melodic, reminding him of the music the castle’s harp players strummed, yet it was clear even over the sound of howling wind and rain outside the cave. “Laird Bhaltair MacAidh.”

  He gave her a jerky nod, trying not to react to the title of “laird.” Laird had been his brother Boyd’s title, a title he had worn well. Bhaltair wasn’t used to the title; he still had to resist the urge to correct anyone who referred to him as such.

  "I'm only laird in my brother's place for now. I intend tae leave the castle—and the clan—in my cousin Odhran’s hands. I’m here because I need yer help.”

  Her serene expression didn’t change; she kept those unsettling golden eyes trained on him.

  "Yer niece, Cadha, aye? She’s in danger,” she said.

  A chill wound itself around him; he’d not mentioned his niece’s name, and as far as he knew, Hamish hadn’t either. She’s a witch, he reminded himself. She likely has the gift of Sight.

  "Aye," he said. "The last time I saw my brother before he died, he made me pledge tae watch over his daughter should anything happen tae him. He believed she was a target—she's the heiress to fertile lands, lands our clan have fought for over generations. If it was merely another clan targeting her, I could rely on my men. But my spies have informed me that Clan Roideach is working with one of yer kind. An evil one of yer kind.”

  Dread twisted in his belly at the thought. Clans Roideach and MacAidh had peace between them for several generations now, but the two clans had once fought bitterly over the sparse lands the isle offered.

  Two nights prior, one of his trusted spies informed him that he’d seen the chief of Clan Roideach, Cormag, with a stiuireadh; they were scoping his lands. Fear had seized him at this news; Bhaltair could battle men, not magic. Hamish had calmed him and sent him to find Lioslaith.

  "I need the help of another stiuireadh,” Bhaltair continued. “I ken of the old Pact, binding the lairds of the isles tae help the stiuireadh. But I need yer help tae keep my niece safe."

  He and his brother had been lads when their father had sat them down and told them of the old Pact, when the lairds of the Scottish Isles vowed to assist the stiuireadh for generations to come in exchange for their help in warding off invasions from the Norse.

  But he might as well have said nothing; Lioslaith remained stoic, looking at him with that serene expression, as if he’d come to discuss the weather or how his lands were faring. He scowled, on the verge of demanding her help in a less polite manner, when she stepped forward to take his hands. He had to resist the urge to jerk away; despite the warmth of the cave, her skin was ice cold.

  "Ye need nae fret," she said, giving him a reassuring smile. "I ken who can help ye; I’ve already seen her. She’s from another time, but she’s nae far. I'll bring her tae ye. Wait for me at yer castle; I will come tae ye.”

  He opened his mouth to question her; he’d assumed she was the one who would help him. Yet before he could utter a word, she vanished right before his eyes.

  He stumbled back, both horror and amazement sweeping over him. He'd never witnessed magic firsthand—he’d certainly never witnessed anyone disappear before.

  He raked his hand through his damp hair, taking a shuddering breath. She’d vowed to come to the castle with someone who could help; he’d done all he could do for now. He prayed that she came to him soon.

  By the time he made it back down Caisteal Abhail to his waiting horse that he’d secured to a tree, the rain had lessened to a more tolerable drizzle. He still had to guide his horse carefully on the muddy path away from the mountain and in the direction of his family's castle.

  While he believed Lioslaith, as odd as she was, would come to him with the witch who would help him, dread still held him in its icy grip. Boyd had died months ago, along with his wife Milread, drowning at sea
while traveling to visit her family on the mainland.

  Bhaltair had always been a loner, choosing to live in one of his family's homes on the edge of their lands, dutifully attending clan gatherings and Yule feasts, but he’d enjoyed his freedom and solitude. He’d even been free of having to marry; Boyd was firstborn and had taken on that mantle.

  His hands tightened on the reins of his horse as he thought of his brother. Boyd had been a well-liked and kind laird, even more so than their father. When Boyd confessed to him the year before that he feared he and his family were in danger, Bhaltair had reacted with skepticism. When he'd made the pledge to watch over Boyd’s daughter should anything happen to him, he thought he was just placating his brother’s unjustified worry.

  Now he knew his brother had been right. Regret swirled through his veins; he should have believed Boyd. Perhaps then he’d still be alive.

  The muddy ground beneath his horse's hooves grew steadier, and he gently urged the beast to ride faster as he forced aside his guilt.

  By the time he made it back to Dunadh Castle, the rain had dissipated. The stable boys hurried forward to take his horse as he entered the courtyard, and he made his way inside the castle.

  He'd always found Dunadh Castle too large and imposing, even though it had served as the MacAidh’s family home for generations. He preferred the smaller but still spacious manor he’d lived in prior to Boyd’s death, one that had once belonged to one of his uncles. A castle came with servants, the lairdship, responsibility: everything Boyd had been groomed for. Everything that Bhaltair was not prepared for and still found overwhelming.

  Some instinct made him want to check on Cadha, but when he went to her chamber, he found it empty. He froze at the sight, his heart in his throat. Had Cadha been kidnapped from her own chamber? He strode down the corridor, grabbing the arm of a passing servant.

  “My niece, Lady Cadha,” he bit out. "Where is she?"

  "In—in the rear courtyard with her nurse, my laird," the servant replied, wincing at Bhaltair’s tight grip.

  Bhaltair released him and hurried out to the rear courtyard, calming only when he saw young Cadha with his own eyes, playing in the courtyard with several other bairns. Her nurse Fyfa turned, going still when she saw the look of lingering panic in his eyes. She hurried toward him, giving him a respectful nod.

  "I hope I didnae cause ye tae worry, m’laird. The wee lass wanted tae get some air once the rain—”

  “There’s no need tae apologize,” he assured her, giving Fyfa a warm smile.

  His gaze flitted to his niece, who giggled as she chased several of the other bairns around the courtyard. She was the spitting image of Boyd, with his brother’s dark hair and her mother’s warm brown eyes. He could still remember the tears in Boyd’s eyes as he’d held his newborn daughter in his arms. Now I truly have something tae live for, he’d murmured, leaning down to kiss the newborn Cadha on her forehead.

  Bhaltair had never had someone to care for, someone to protect. He'd never cared for bairns, and he took precautions with the lasses he took to his bed to make certain they didn't bear him any. He didn't want the responsibility of having a bairn of his own. But now as he looked at Cadha, an emotion he was unfamiliar with swelled in his heart: a fierce protectiveness.

  "I saw that same look on your brother's face many a time," Fyfa said with a low chuckle. "That look of fear paired with love. Ye’re already developing the tendencies of a father."

  He wanted to correct Fyfa, to tell her that he just intended to protect his niece, that his cousin Odhran and his wife Erskina would raise her, along with caring nurses like herself. His niece deserved someone who could devote his entirety to raising her; not her gruff, loner of an uncle.

  Fyfa had already left his side and returned to tending to his niece and the other bairns. He gave Cadha one last look, as if to assure himself that she was safe, before making certain that the two guards he'd put on her were nearby. Only then did he retreat inside the castle, making his way to his brother’s—to his—study.

  He entered, looking at the stack of parchments on his table. The lairdship also came with reviewing records, rent, land deeds, and settling disputes between tenants. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He looked forward to handing off the burden of the lairdship to Odhran once he dealt with Clan Roideach and this witch they were working with.

  Bhaltair moved to the window where he could see Cadha playing with the other bairns. A bairn slipped and fell, and Cadha immediately went to his aid, helping him to his feet with a kind smile.

  His heart clenched with both pride and sadness at the sight. His brother and sister-in-law should be here, looking down at their daughter with pride.

  For his brother, he would honor his pledge and keep his niece safe.

  And then he would return to his solitude.

  Chapter 2

  Two Days Later

  Outskirts of Dunadh Castle

  Avery landed in a crumpled heap on the ground. She looked up, drawing in shaky breaths, uncertain of what year she was in, or where she was.

  It was the dead of night, and she lay on the edge of a sprawling glen blanketed in fog; she could dimly make out a castle in the near distance.

  Shaking, she stumbled to her feet, glaring at the petite witch who’d done this to her. The witch stood several feet away, giving her a serene smile, as if they'd just taken a casual stroll.

  "What the hell was that?" Avery sputtered.

  Moments ago, she’d been at her new brother-in-law Gawen’s castle on the Isle of Skye for his and her sister Lila’s wedding. On the evening of their wedding, the strange witch who stood before her had appeared to Avery on the outskirts of the castle, murmuring vague words about some laird needing her help. Before Avery could react, the witch had used a Transport spell on her—and here she was.

  "Well?" Avery demanded, trying not to let her rising fear show. The witch seemed harmless, but what if she was some dark witch—an aingidh—using Avery to retaliate against Lila?

  Avery and her sister Lila were both stiuireadh, witches who possessed the magical ability of time travel, passed on to them from their druid ancestors. Lila had come to this time to rid a dark witch from the Isle of Skye, falling in love with Gawen in the process.

  The medieval age was Avery’s least favorite time period to travel to, with rampant disease, warfare, and limited women’s rights. She had only come here for Lila’s wedding and had no intention of staying longer than necessary. But now, thanks to the petite slip of a witch who stood before her, she had no idea when—or where—she was.

  “I’m called Lioslaith,” Lioslaith said calmly, unaffected by Lila's distress as she gestured to the castle that loomed in the near distance. “I should have introduced myself before. We’re here.”

  "Here—where?" Avery pressed. "Look, I don't know what this is all about, but I need to get back. My parents and my sisters will be worried if—”

  "I'll talk tae yer parents and yer sister, they'll ken ye're safe," Lioslaith said, as if her virtual kidnapping of Avery was no big deal.

  "That's not the—”

  "The laird of this castle, Bhaltair MacAidh, needs yer help. There's a dark witch and a rival clan after his niece. Ye're the one the threads of time wants tae help him. I've foreseen it; I'm a fiosaiche."

  Avery stilled. A fiosaiche was a Seer, a witch with the ability to see past the limits of time. They were often heads of covens and the most powerful of the stiuireadh.

  Avery swallowed hard, shaking her head. Denial coursed through her; Lioslaith was wrong. She had nothing to do with this.

  “I—I just traveled to this time to see my sister. I’m only here for a week or two. I'm sorry for this man's niece, but I don't understand how I’m supposed to help. What—what do you mean, the threads of time wants me to help?"

  "Ye will one day understand. Come," Lioslaith said, turning to head in the direction of the castle.

  Avery's irritation flared into anger. Not only h
ad Lioslaith kidnapped her, she’d given her a crappy excuse for doing so. She wasn’t going to listen to her nonsense for a moment longer.

  She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, murmuring the words of a Transport spell that would return her to Skye. But nothing happened. When she uttered a spell, its effect usually took hold immediately, a sensation of electricity snaking beneath her skin.

  Avery frowned; she'd never had a spell not work before. A chill spread through her as she opened her eyes, meeting Lioslaith’s calm gaze.

  "What did you do?" Avery demanded. "What did you do to my magic?"

  "A simple Binding spell tae keep ye here for now," Lioslaith said.

  Avery stumbled back, her unease spiking. This petite girl was far, far more powerful than she looked. To perform a Binding spell that could prevent another witch's magic from working required an immense amount of power. She'd never known a witch capable of such a thing. Cold fear coiled around her spine.

  "I willnae harm ye, Avery," Lioslaith reassured her, seeming to sense her growing fear. "I want ye tae at least meet the laird and speak with him. And then if ye still donnae want tae help, I will release ye from the Binding spell, and ye can return tae Skye—then tae yer own time."

  "Why can't you help him?"

  "Because 'tis nae my path," Lioslaith returned. “All I ask is that ye speak tae the laird.”

  Avery glared at Lioslaith, giving her an abrupt nod. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice anyway.