“Ye daenae simply pass through our territory as though this were the open road. The chief will wish to speak to ye,” the man said, and a murmur of agreement went up from the others.
“Who is yer chief?” Finlay said, unwilling to reveal his own identity just yet, lest it be used against him.
“The chief in these parts is Fraser McGuire, and any person who passes this way is obliged to call upon him, tis’ only polite,” the man said, and this time the others began to laugh.
“But we have important business,” Finlay began, but it was clear that the man would allow no excuses, and instead, Finlay found himself dragged along with Elaine at his side.
They had enjoyed only the briefest moments of freedom and gone from one unknown to another. No longer were they subject to the woman’s mysterious intentions but instead to those of a chief who could well turn out to be worse.
“Now what dae we dae?” Elaine asked, and Finlay squeezed her hand.
“We are together; we will bide our time and see if this chief might be more amenable than the woman. We must see,” he said as they were marched onward through the trees.
On either side, the forest stretched out, the trees black and overhanging, the moon barely penetrating through the canopy. The path wound on, steep and rocky, climbing up through the trees until it leveled off over a high gorge, which ran down toward the moorland below. It had been a hard march, for neither Finlay nor Elaine had slept at all that night, and each was tired and underfed.
As they came over the brow, Finlay saw a settlement about a mile further on, built around a stream which flowed down from the mountain rather like the one they had made their camp at earlier on. A large tower, the centerpiece of a fortified farmhouse, rose above a collection of crofts and cottages, a crude wall surrounding them and a gate, either side of which burned torches, guards visible on the wall above.
“What place is this?” Elaine whispered, and Finlay shook his head.
“I daenae know, but I think we are about to find out,” he replied.
“I am sure the chief will be very pleased to greet ye, and if ye can be of service to him, then all the better,” the man who had first addressed them said, pushing them both along the path which led down to the settlement below.
“And where is it that ye presume to take us?” Finlay asked, pointing toward the village.
“To Muirkirk, that is where, and we shall see what kind of welcome ye are to receive,” he replied.
Chapter Thirteen
Elaine kept tight hold of Finlay’s hand as they made their way toward Muirkirk. She felt exhausted but was trying her best not to show weakness. She was proud of herself for surviving the ordeal at the hand of the bandits and for confronting that evil woman, but there was no telling what fate now lay in store for them. Had it not been for Finlay at her side, she would surely have been terrified, but his presence gave her a renewed strength and hope. She knew that so long as they were together, all would be well.
“Tis’ a strange place, I have never heard of it, nor of this chief,” Finlay whispered as they approached the gates of the settlement.
“I have heard of Muirkirk. My father has spoken of it, though to tell ye the truth, I paid little attention to what he said,” Elaine said, wishing she had spent more time listening to her father than idling away her youth.
The affairs of the world outside of Carrick had held little interest to her when she was young. Her horizon had been the loch, and she had rarely ventured further than a few miles east and west. Now, a whole other world had opened up before her, and Elaine could not help but think she preferred the innocence of her youth to the unsettling ways of this new and disturbing life.
“Dae ye remember anythin’ at all? Anythin’ that might help us?” he asked, and Elaine shook her head.
“Only that Muirkirk was a place my father had once visited, a place where he had business with this chief,” Elaine said, shaking her head sadly.
She felt angry with herself for being so useless, and it pained her to think that she could do little more than Finlay and only wait for whatever misfortune might next befall them.
“Then we must hope for some benevolence,” Finlay replied, though the tone of his voice suggested he held little of that hope in his heart.
The soldiers, or mercenaries, or whoever they were, led Elaine and Finlay through the gates and into a large open courtyard lined on both sides with low-level crofts. The hour was late, but there was still much activity going on around them, and it seemed that the whole village was eagerly awaiting the return of the raiding party.
“Where are the others, John?” one man asked, stepping forward from among a group of villagers who had come to meet them.
“Still out on the moorlands, they shall be along soon enough. These two are more interestin’, though. Is the chief still at the table?” the man who had taken them captive asked.
“Aye, he sits at counsel still in the hall,” the man replied, pointing toward the tower behind them.
“Good, we shall take these two there now,” the one called John said, and he beckoned Elaine and Finlay to follow him.
They had little choice but to do so, and soon they found themselves inside the tower where torches burned in brackets on the wall of a long corridor leading to large oak doors at the other end.
“Who is this chief who thinks he can command men to his whim?” Finlay asked, and the man laughed.
“He is the chief, and he commands men because they are his to command. And ye, where was it that they were takin’ ye? Who are ye to be so important as to have such guards and so great a price upon yer heads?” he asked, and Finlay fell silent.
“We offer ye nay explanation. Can ye nae see that we have been through enough?” Elaine said, but the man only laughed and signaled to one of the guards to open the door.
They were led into a great hall, not unlike that at Kilchurn or Carrick. A fire was burning low in the large, open-hearth, and tapestries hung from the walls. The detritus of a meal was spread along a wide trestle table, and at its head, there sat a man surrounded by several others. They were deep in conversation but looked up as Elaine, Finlay, and their captors entered.
The man was elderly, perhaps around the same age as her father. His beard was long and neat, his tunic of the finest material and his eyes narrow and twinkling. He looked at them with interest, clearly not having expected such company to arrive in his midst. He pushed back his chair and smiled, stretching out and yawning before rising to his feet and pacing a few steps toward them.
“Chief, I bring ye two guests, perhaps of some interest. They were fleein’ from the bandits that we ambushed upon the moorland by the ford across the stream. Who they are remains a mystery, though surely, they are of some importance else why would they have been so heavily guarded?” the one called John said, and his other men murmured in agreement.
The chief eyed Elaine and Finlay with interest, though there seemed little of anger or violence in his expression. He seemed more curious, and Elaine felt far less afraid of him than she had thought she might have been. He reminded her of her father, and for that, she was grateful. She wanted to tell him the truth, to explain what had happened and beg for his help, but she knew that Finlay would be angry if she did so, and instead, she bowed her head and avoided the chief’s gaze as he came forward and again and circled them, as though examining prize pieces of cattle.
“So, a mystery, John. Ye say they were fleein’ from these bandits. Was the woman there? I am tired of her ridin’ at will across my lands,” he said, his tone of voice turning suddenly angry.
“I saw nay sign of her, chief. But tis’ certain that they were her men. I recognized some of them myself when we spied upon the camp earlier today,” he said.
“Please, sir,” Elaine said, “the woman ye speak of, I think she was our captor,” and she felt Finlay stiffen at her side.
“Is that so? And dae ye know what became of her?” the chief asked, as Elaine looked
up and met his gaze.
“I … I fought her, sir. She fell into the pool by the bridge, and then we fled upon her horse,” Elaine replied.
At these words, the chief began to laugh. It was a full and hearty laugh, filled with mirthful delight. He turned to the other men who were sat at the head of the table, and these, too, began to laugh.
“A brave lass, ye are, and even though I daenae know yer name, I am bound to toast ye. Bring whiskey for us,” he called out, and a barrel was hastily brought in, along with glasses.
Drams were poured, and the glasses were raised.
“I daenae know if she is dead or nae. I know nothin’ of her,” Elaine said, surprised at the reaction she had caused.
“Dead or nae, ye have done us a service, lass, and for that we thank ye. She will think twice of crossin’ our land with such a memory in her mind. To vanquished enemies,” he said, raising the glass above his head and offering a toast.
“To vanquished enemies,” came the reply, and all toasted the victory.
“And now ye know we mean ye nay harm, will ye let us go?” Finlay asked.
The chief looked at them for a moment, swirling his whiskey in the glass with a smile playing over his face.
“But ye have only just arrived, and I know nothin’ of ye. There is a mystery here, one which needs solvin’ before I can think of allowin’ ye to leave. But come now, tis’ late, and I am sure that ye are tired and in need of rest,” the chief said.
Elaine was tired, and it seemed that for the moment, they were in no serious danger unless the chief was bluffing, which, given their adventures, seemed entirely possible. She turned to Finlay, whose face was set in a grimace.
“We have nae asked ye for hospitality, chief. I salute ye here now, and I ask that we may be sent on our way with the woman’s horse to bear us home,” he said, and the chief began to laugh.
“Home? And where might that be?” he asked.
Finlay remained silent, and Elaine turned her face away, wondering whether now was the time to speak up. Was this man friend or foe? What would he say when he discovered, as surely he somehow would, that they were who they were?
“Please, chief, ye are a noble and honorable man, of that I can see and tis’ nay surprise that ye defend ye lands with such vigor when those like that wicked woman believe it to be their right to ride over them, but we are only two strangers wishin’ to get home,” Elaine said, hoping to appeal to his better nature.
“I see, and ye would let yer woman answer for ye, lad?” the chief said, pointing at Finlay and beginning to laugh.
“I am nay woman to be dismissed in such a way, I am the daughter of a Laird, the Laird of the McRobs,” Elaine cried, no longer able to remain silent.
“Elaine,” Finlay hissed, but it was too late now.
The chief’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at them in amazement, shaking his head and turning toward the others with a startled look upon his face.
“Elaine McRob?” he said, and Elaine nodded.
“I am she,” she replied.
“Why, I have nae seen ye since ye were a child, the apple of yer father’s eye. Bethlick and I fought together on many a campaign when we were young. I have wielded my sword next to him in the heat of battle, and I owe him my life several times over, as he owes me his too,” the chief said, a smile now breaking over his face.
Elaine breathed a sigh of relief, meeting the chief’s eyes and smiling.
“I didnae know if ye were friend or foe,” she replied, and the chief laughed again.
“I was neither until I knew who ye were. I keep my counsel close, but ye have the look of yer father, I see his face in ye,” the chief replied.
“Then ye will help us?” Elaine said, and the chief nodded.
“Aye, as I have already done, it seems by rescuin’ ye from that accursed woman. But first, I must know who yer mysterious friend is? Or yer husband perhaps?” the chief said, and Elaine blushed.
She turned to Finlay, who remained silent for a moment, as though he were considering what would become of them if his identity were revealed to. Did he know more about this chief than he had so far revealed?
“If he is a friend of my father, then he is a friend of mine too,” Elaine said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
They would be placing their trust in a man they did not know, a man who had already proved himself capable of taking them captive and of threatening them by his actions.
“I am nae afraid of ye, chief. Ye have told us nothin’ of yerself nor of yer men here. Tis’ late now, and we would welcome yer hospitality. Ye have already heard who Elaine is,” Finlay replied.
“And I wish to know who ye are too. The hospitality of my hall is nae for strangers,” he said, his tone of voice suddenly changing once again.
“My name is Finlay MacCallum, and I am the rightful Laird of the MacCallums and master of Kilchurn and its lands. Ye will nay doubt have heard that my father was laid to his rest only a few weeks ago and that since then, chaos has come upon our lands. Now, ye may dae as ye please with me, but let Elaine go. Ye know the truth now,” Finlay said, and the chief nodded with a smile upon his face.
“Finlay MacCallum. Aye, I have heard much of ye. Yer father, too, was a good man, and for his tragic loss, I am sorry. So, ye are nay longer strangers to me, and I am right to call ye friends,” he said.
“But are we right to call ye friends? I have never heard of Fraser McGuire nor of yer Muirkirk. Tell us who ye are and what this place is,” Finlay replied.
“Muirkirk has been home to my family for six generations. We are a small family, too small to be called a clan but large enough to defend ourselves and know that we are masters of these lands. We keep ourselves to ourselves in these parts and trouble nay one unless we are troubled. That is why I had to take action against that woman and her bandits, three times of late, they have ridden over our lands, and tonight I have put a stop to it,” the chief replied, and a murmur of agreement went up around him.
“But who is this woman? What is it that she wants?” Finlay asked.
“Her name is Maggie McClean, and she serves nay one but herself. We have long been troubled by her and the men in her pay. She is a sword for hire, that is all, but ruthless in her ways. Ye were lucky to survive yer encounter with her,” the chief replied, shaking his head.
“And she sells her services to the highest bidder?” Finlay asked.
“Aye, which makes me wonder why there is such a price upon yer heads,” the chief said, fixing them with a searching expression.
“I should like to know that myself,” Finlay replied, “but will ye help us? All we ask for is the horse and to be sent upon our way.”
The chief pondered for a moment before nodding and smiling at them.
“Yer ancestry is enough to make me duty-bound to dae so. Come now, tis’ late, and ye must be tired now. Go to yer rest now, ye cannae ride out in the middle of the night. My men will show ye where ye may bed down for the night. We shall talk more in the morning,” he said, beckoning to the guards.
Elaine felt sudden exhaustion coming over her, her whole body aching from the exertions of the previous days. She would be grateful to lay down her head and rest, but she had one further question for the chief, a question that needed answering before she could sleep.
“And if ye had found us to be enemies, what then?” she asked, and the chief laughed.
“I think ye know the answer to that, lass,” he said, and with a wave of his hand, he dismissed them.
The man named John led them up a wide staircase from the great hall, which opened out onto a corridor with doors leading off on either side. A single flaming torch cast its light around them, and they were led to a door at the far end, which was unlocked before they were ushered inside.
“I trust ye shall be comfortable here,” he said, and Finlay nodded.
“After what we have endured these past days, anything is a comfortable respite,” he replied, and the man sm
iled.
“Rest now, the chief will speak with ye again in the mornin’ and decide what is to be done,” he said, and with that, they were left alone.
“He has locked us in,” Elaine said, as the key turned in the lock.
“Would ye nae lock strangers in when they arrive in the dead of night with only a tall story of their ancestry to give ye assurance?” Finlay asked, and Elaine nodded.
A candle burned on a table at the center of the room, and she looked around her, grateful for the sight of a bed in the corner. The room was simply furnished, a long curtain hanging down at the window, and a washstand and jug stood in one corner, a chair in the other close to an empty hearth. Finlay kicked off his boots, and Elaine went to the window, pulling back the curtain to look out.
Highlander’s Forbidden Desire: Wanting her was forbidden, having her was his ruin... Page 15
