Highlander’s Forbidden Desire: Wanting her was forbidden, having her was his ruin...

by Kendrick, Kenna

  “In truth, I have fought in few battles, and those I have fought in have been well planned. It was my father who was the warrior, always tellin’ me that I would follow in his footsteps but never showin’ me how to dae so. I know little about warfare, of that I can assure ye,” he replied, button the clasp on his cloak and settling down on the ledge across from her.

  “Ye have been thrust into it now,” she said, and Finlay nodded.

  “There is little choice now. Our clan is plunged into a state of war, and we have little choice but to rise to that which confronts us. But never would I have thought that the enemy would come from within. My uncle has much to answer for,” he said.

  “And how will ye punish him?” Elaine asked, fixing Finlay with a curious look.

  “It depends how willingly he will leave. I wish for nay further bloodshed. I will nae see MacCallums kill MacCallums, but if he gives me nay choice, then I shall nae hold back the sword,” Finlay replied.

  Elaine could not help but admire him. When first she knew him, he had seemed somewhat shy and retiring, a boy hiding in his father’s shadow. But now, it was clear that he had grown and risen to the duty which was now his. She had not imagined him as Laird, but now he had that very demeanor, one which demanded respect and loyalty. She loved him, and that tender moment they had just shared together had only strengthened those feelings.

  “Then we must find the MacDonalds and learn if they will help us or nae,” Elaine said.

  “Aye, but first, we must eat and then rest. Ye must be hungry now,” he said, blushing ever so slightly as he spoke.

  Elaine nodded, stooping down to pick up the bread and cheese from the saddlebag, half of which she passed to Finlay, taking the rest for herself. It was beginning to grow dark now, and the fire was a welcome respite from the chill of the evening. It had stopped raining, the mist clearing from the trees around about and the sound of the waterfall all there was to break the silence of the forest.

  “Dae ye think we shall be safe here tonight?” she asked, unrolling her blankets onto the sandy floor of the cave and preparing to sleep.

  “Aye, but I shall take the watch. I am nae tired just yet,” Finlay replied.

  “I would like it if ye lay down with me,” Elaine said, beckoning him over to her.

  “Just like that first night we spent in the tower of Maggie McClean,” Finlay said, and he came to lie down next to her, placing his arms around her and kissing her gently on the forehead.

  “Though ye were nervous of lyin’ with me then,” she said, and Finlay laughed.

  “I was not sure it was appropriate for a man such as I to lay with a woman such as ye,” he said, kissing her again.

  “A woman such as I? And what dae ye mean by that?” she asked, feeling safe in his arms, as she turned into his embrace and huddled down to sleep.

  “Well, ye came to Kilchurn as my father’s bride, but now it seems the two of us have found the love that was denied to him,” Finlay replied.

  “And dae ye think that is wrong?” Elaine asked, wondering if he regretted what they had just shared together.

  “Nay, lass, I daenae think so. My father would have wished for ye to be taken care of, and if he believed ye were right for our clan, then who am I to say otherwise,” Finlay said.

  The fire was burning low now, spitting and crackling at the entrance to the cave and casting shadows on the walls. Despite the dangers of that day, Elaine felt safe with Finlay, his arms around her, warm and protected behind the waterfall. She drifted into a deep sleep, her arms around Finlay and his around her. How fortunate she was to be at his side, and she knew that whatever happened, so long as they had one another, all would be well.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Finlay awoke early; he had not meant to sleep, but lying next to Elaine and listening to her gentle breathing had led to him closing his eyes, the warmth of the cave, and the exhaustion of the day overcoming him. A dull light was coming from a hole in the roof above, the waterfall gushing over the rocks, and the fire now smoldering at the entrance to the cave.

  Elaine was fast asleep, and Finlay quietly roused himself, careful not to wake her as he did so. He made his way to the entrance of the cave, listening for any signs of their pursuers outside. He was angry with himself for having slept, knowing that an enemy could easily have come upon them in the night.

  But all was quiet in the forest, and he slipped out of the cave to check up on the horse, which was grazing peacefully amidst the gorse bushes, close to the stream. He patted the animal down, leading it back toward the cave and allowing it to drink at the water’s edge. The mist and rain had cleared, and through the forest canopy, Finlay could see the sun breaking through and wispy white clouds in the blue sky above.

  “Finlay?” came a call from the cave entrance, and he looked up to see Elaine standing smiling at him.

  “I am just seein’ to the horse. I will come to eat in a moment,” he said, and she laughed.

  “Eat what? We have nay food, except a little cheese and bread, and that will go little way between us,” she said.

  “There may be some berries to forage, or perhaps I could fish in the stream,” Finlay called back, his stomach beginning to rumble as he spoke.

  “Well, we shall need some food from somewhere by the end of the day,” Elaine said, and she returned inside the cave.

  He patted the horse again, peering down into the deep pool below for signs of any fish swimming there. But Finlay was no fisherman, and, even if he were, he had neither rod nor net to catch them with. He had once watched his father tickling trout in a stream near Kilchurn, but he doubted his own abilities in such a task and began instead to search in the undergrowth for berries or other plants with which they might make a meal.

  He found a bush of blackberries, the fruit still tart and bitter, for it had not yet ripened fully. But it was all they could hope for, and Finlay gathered as many as he could, filling his pockets with the fruit and humming to himself as he worked. The brambles tore at his tunic, and he emerged from the bushes scratched and with his hands bleeding.

  He ate a handful of the blackberries, looking around him for another bush and seeing a thicket of briars off to his right, into which he pushed his way. Trees hung low there, and one was ripe with crab apples, the windfalls scattered across the forest floor. He stooped down and began to gather the fruit, imagining that they might make a good breakfast with them when he returned to the cave.

  So engrossed was he in his task that Finlay did not see the approaching soldiers until it was too late. With a cry, they were upon him, as surprised to see him as he was to see them. They had appeared as if from nowhere, grabbing his tunic and sending the apples and blackberries scattering to the ground. He was pulled roughly down, his cries muffled by a strong hand over his face.

  “Unhand me, villain,” he cried, shaking the man’s hand away, as he struggled in his captor’s tight grip.

  “We the villain? When ye trespass upon our Laird’s lands and steal the fruits from his forest,” one of the men said, raising his hand and striking Finlay across the face.

  There were half a dozen of them, all dressed in thick cloaks with chainmail vests and swords slung at their sides. One of them, a man with a long white beard, looked Finlay up and down, smiling and shaking his head, as though amazed at the prize they had just discovered.

  “Who is yer master? I would have him teach his men some manners when they meet a stranger who means them nay harm,” Finlay replied.

  “And how dae we know ye mean us nay harm? Who are ye, and what is yer business here in the land of the MacDonalds?” the man said.

  At the mention of that name, Finlay let out a sigh of relief, thankful to know that he was at least among those who had once wished his hand in friendship, rather than bandits who might seek to do away with him or hold him at a ransom.

  “My name is Finlay MacCallum, Laird of the clan MacCallum and master of the castle at Kilchurn. I have come in response to yer Laird�
�s message of peace. I have journeyed a great distance to speak with him and faced many dangers, will ye take me to him?” he said, and the men began to laugh.

  “Finlay MacCallum? The Laird, who lost his clan before even he was proclaimed as Laird. So, ye have been hidin’ here have ye this whole time?” he said, and Finlay looked at him in astonishment.

  “What dae ye mean? I am Laird of the MacCallums, whatever else ye might have heard to the contrary,” he said, shaking off the hands of the two men who held him and stepping forward, ready to defend his honor, though with no weapon to do so.

  “It seems ye have been too long lost in the wilderness. We have heard many stories of that which has occurred at the castle of Kilchurn, how yer uncle has taken control of yer clan and made alliances with the likes of Maggie McClean and her band of outlaws,” he said, “ye are left with nothin’ but yer breeches and yer sword, Finlay MacCallum if that is truly who ye are.”

  “Why would I lie as to who I am if my fate has become so very dreadful?” Finlay replied, and the man laughed again.

  “That much is true. But now, ye shall come along with us. I am sure the Laird will be eager to meet ye and have yer side of this story. Come now, bring him,” he said, reaching out and pulling Finlay roughly forward.

  As he did so, Finlay turned, and, to his horror, he saw Elaine at the entrance to the cave, having just emerged with the saddlebag. The noise of the waterfall must have masked the shouts, and she stood there in horror, one of the men spotting her immediately.

  “Elaine, run,” Finlay cried out, but it was no use, and she too was soon a captive, pulled roughly to Finlay’s side.

  “Two birds from the nest, and who might ye be, my pretty lass?” the man asked, bringing his face close to that of Elaine, who turned away and cried out in fear.

  “Leave her alone,” Finlay said, and the man laughed.

  “Tis’ but a simple guess who she is. Elaine McRob, daughter of Bethlick McRob, betrothed in marriage to yer father before his sad demise. We know much about yer clan, Finlay MacCallum, much that is of interest. Ye have lost control, and the wolves are circlin’ and waitin’ to pounce,” he said, pulling Finlay roughly along as Elaine was made to walk behind.

  They were led through the forest, a narrow path following the course of the stream through the trees and out onto a wide plateau where moorland rose into the horizon above. There, a camp had been established, and several horses were tethered to gnarly, weather-beaten trees that stood almost horizontal against the wind, which blew relentlessly across the heathers.

  “Where are ye takin’ us? Elaine has nay part in all this. Let her go,” Finlay said, but the man shook his head and scowled at him.

  “The two of ye are a pretty prize together and make nay mistake. The Laird will be eager to meet ye; the castle is nae far from here. We shall take ye there at once,” he said, calling out orders to his men, as Finlay and Elaine stood helplessly together awaiting their fate.

  “What will happen to us, Finlay?” Elaine whispered.

  “We must hope that the Laird still sees peace as the better course,” Finlay replied, though in his heart he doubted that could be the case.

  It was far more likely that they would be viewed as a triumphant prize, the once-mighty MacCallums reduced to nothing but a Laird without an army, all alone in the world.

  Their own horses had been retrieved from the gorse thicket, and Finlay was made to ride with Elaine clinging behind him, watched closely by the MacDonald men, as threats were issued and promises of violence made lest Finlay try to escape.

  “Dae so, and it will be the worse for ye,” the man who had first interrogated them said, as the party made its way off across the moorlands.

  “I have come to seek peace with yer Laird, that is all,” Finlay replied, as they rode along a track leading over the heathers.

  “It seems ye are in nay position to negotiate. To think that the once-mighty MacCallums are reduced to this, tis’ pitiful, yer father will be turnin’ in his grave to think it,” the man said, shaking his head.

  “At least I still have my honor,” Finlay replied, but the man only laughed and rode on ahead.

  The dawn had fully broken now, the sun climbing high into the sky above and the day growing warm after the rain and mist of the day before. Finlay could recognize nothing of the landscape around them, which seemed to stretch endlessly in one direction across the moorlands and end abruptly on the jagged rocks and cliffs of the seashore to the other.

  “Are these all MacDonald lands?” he asked one of the men, pointing out toward the far-off islands lying out to sea.

  “All that ye can see around ye, aye, and there below is the Laird’s castle,” and he pointed down the track they were riding along.

  There, about two miles further on lay a castle, built as if into the hillside, a towering cliff rising up above and, on one side, the walls as one with the rocks of the seashore. A single tower rose to a great height, and the walls were buttressed, mighty and thick.

  “Tis’ a grim lookin’ fortress,” Finlay said.

  “Tis’ all that has kept this clan from destruction these generations past, but ye shall find the Laird’s hearth a welcomin’ one if his favor rests upon ye. This is the last homely dwellin’ of the north, for beyond it lies only those with little law or civility in their hearts,” he said.

  “The MacDonalds have long kept the northern clans at bay,” Finlay said, turning to Elaine, as they rode down the track toward the castle gates.

  “And dae ye think we shall receive the welcome we hope?” Elaine replied.

  “We are at their mercy; we must hope that the Laird recognizes his own danger if my uncle is allowed to go unchecked. There can be nay good to come from allowin’ chaos and confusion to rule in the southern lands. They are clearly worried, for their intelligence has told them of what has occurred and of the alliance my uncle has struck with that wicked woman,” Finlay said.

  A short while later, they came to the castle, its great gates firmly closed, and sentries posted on the battlements above. The tower rose up above them, waves crashing on the rocks below, and Finlay could not help but be fearful as to what now lay ahead. Would Callum MacDonald look favorably upon them, or would they find themselves at his whim, banished to some lonely dungeon and given up as hostages?

  “Halt, who goes there?” one of the sentries called out.

  “Tis I, Murdoch MacDonald, and I bring something of interest for our Laird, open the gates and allow us inside. My men have ridden hard and deserve victuals and a warm hearth,” he called out.

  A moment later, the gates swung open, and they were bid to enter, riding into a large courtyard where further sentries stood on guard. Finlay and Elaine were quickly surrounded, pulled roughly from the horse’s back, and led up a flight of steps toward the entrance of the tower.

  “What sort of man is the Laird?” Finlay asked Murdoch, the man who had taken him, prisoner, in the woods that morning and who now led them through corridors and dimly lit passageways toward the great hall.

  “Dae ye mean is he fair? Or will he run ye through and set yer head upon a pole over the gate?” Murdoch said, beginning to laugh.

  “It was he who sought me out and sued for peace between our clans,” Finlay replied.

  “Aye, and that is what he wishes for still, but ye shall find that the terms of that peace are his and nae yers now,” the man replied, as they came to a set of great oak doors.

  Elaine had slipped her hand into Finlay’s, and she looked at him with an expression of fear upon her face, as though they were now waiting for some terrible judgment upon them.

  “It will be all right, he may kill me, but he shall nae dare hurt the daughter of Bethlick McRob. Yer father’s name is a powerful one to be feared. Ye are in nay danger,” Finlay said, trying to sound braver than he felt.

  “If only I could believe ye, but if anythin’ is to happen to ye, then it will happen to me too. We have come this far together. I am nae
about to abandon ye now, Finlay, I promise,” she said, squeezing his hand as the doors were pulled open.

  “Ah, Murdoch, I am told ye have a prize for me,” a voice boomed from inside.

  “Aye, Laird, that is right, a prize indeed. During our patrols of the woods, we found a man who claims to be the Laird of the MacCallums, and nae just that, we found a woman with him too, Elaine McRob, daughter of Bethlick, known to ye I believe,” Murdoch replied.

  “Bring them in,” the voice called out, “I am eager to meet one who would make such a bold claim, let us hope for his sake that tis’ the truth.”

  Murdoch turned and ushered Finlay and Elaine into the great hall. It was larger than that at Kilchurn, ancient banners hanging at intervals from the ceiling and a great window at one end, which looked out over the ocean beyond. It was wood-paneled, two long trestle tables running down each side and below the window a dais, raised up and upon which was placed a chair in which sat the Laird.