Winning the Highlander's Heart

by Terry Spear

  “But ye said you wished to locate Laird MacNeill first, milady.” He sounded hopeful Anice would go along with her earlier plan. In fact, she assumed it was the reason he agreed.

  “Aye, that was before I realized where MacKnight would be hiding and it takes us east instead of north where Laird MacNeill was headed.”

  “Will ye return with an escort, milady? We will go to the village and arrest MacKnight.” ‘Twas not a question, but more of a command.

  “Nay, your numbers would be reduced. Lead the way, sir.”

  He shook his head. “I was rather fond of Laird MacNeill. He will now have my head over this.”

  “I will speak on your behalf, MacTavish. I have His Lairdship’s ear.”

  For a second, MacTavish stared at Anice, then he barked out a laugh. “Ye have much more than that, milady.” He kicked his horse to a canter and spoke to his men.

  Anice’s body heated with chagrin. Took a man to see something sexual in a lady’s comment when there was none intended.

  “Did ye see MacKnight in a…a vision, milady,” Morrigan asked, her words hushed, her eyes big.

  “Think you I have visions?” Anice had no idea anyone other than Mai was aware of it. She hoped her ladies didn’t think her a witch.

  Morrigan’s gaze did not shift. “Aye, milady.”

  “Who else thinks such a thing?”

  “Nola, milady. Mary. Well, and Venetia. We suspect Mai does but she wouldna say.”

  “You have discussed this behind my back?” Anice raised a brow, annoyed.

  Morrigan nodded. “Beg pardon, but Mai said we should never bring this up if we knew what was good for us. So can you? See the future?”

  “Sometimes,” Anice admitted, hoping her ladies would understand and judge her not harshly. “But not everything.” Not everything, but she could see a battle in the village and there was no stopping it from happening.

  But worse, Laird Robertson was there with some of his men. If he caught sight of her, he’d kill her to avenge his brother’s death.

  * * *

  Malcolm and his men searched the village but found nothing amiss.

  “Think you the marshal’s daughter had the wrong place?” Dougald asked, joining him after searching a croft.

  “Methinks the wench might have been protecting MacKnight.”

  Angus grunted. “How many more are traitors at Brecken?”

  “Milaird!” Kemp shouted, galloping into the village, sending the dust flying, his small size dwarfed by the horse he’d commandeered.

  Malcolm started to spit out, “What are ye—”

  “’Tis Lady Anice.”

  “What has happened?” Malcolm said through clenched teeth, his heart thundering against his ribs.

  “She has led a party to the village Carr—”

  “What?” he bit out.

  “I followed and heard the men talking. Ye have to protect her, milaird. They say MacKnight and more of his men are there.”

  Malcolm and his men were already mounting their horses. They headed out at a gallop, and Malcolm turned to Kemp. “How does she know MacKnight is at this village?” Had she had one of her uncanny premonitions? ‘Twas the only reason he assumed she’d have left the safety of Brecken Castle. The next time he gave an order, he would have the lady locked in the tower to ensure she didn’t talk her people into allowing her to do whatever she had a mind to do. Willful lass.

  He and his men headed across Glen Affric, hoping they would reach the village in time to protect Anice and the men she rode with. That sent a new plague of concern washing over him.

  “How many were with her?”

  “The Mistress Morrigan.”

  “And?”

  “Oh, aye, I get your meaning. Fifteen like ye have here.”

  Dougald gave a shake of his head. “Did we no’ tell ye, Malcolm?”

  “Say naught a word, brother, as I am sorely vexed with the lass.”

  The only sense of relief he had in the matter was that she said Henry would have his physician examine her, and if she knew this for certain, she had to live.

  But when they arrived at the village, his heart sank. Anice’s men were fighting hand to hand in the village square against armed men, and some of the farmers were aiding the lady’s men, swinging pitchforks and scythes.

  Malcolm and his men charged into the fray, but he saw no sign of Anice. Seeing MacTavish, he headed in his direction, slashing at MacKnight’s men as he made his way.

  “MacTavish! Where is Lady Anice?”

  “Milaird!” MacTavish motioned with his sword toward the tavern. “Safely inside.”

  “Which of these men is MacKnight?”

  “I havena seen him, milaird. Armed men attacked us when we arrived. I recognize three of the baron’s men we freed last eve. Laird Robertson is here and has threatened to avenge his brother’s death.”

  Malcolm cursed, his cut arm throbbing as he slew another of MacKnight’s men. They were outnumbered two to one, yet Malcolm and his men were quickly evening up the odds, fighting skills he and his brothers learned in the Crusades.

  He’d no more than sliced a man’s chest with his claymore when he heard Anice scream and saw her run into the square with her bow and arrow readied.

  Dodging men to get to her, his blood rushed in his ears. “Anice!”

  But she didn’t hear him above the noise of angry Gaelic shouts and clashing swords.

  She let her arrow fly, just as he reached her. Grabbing her up, he ran her back inside the tavern.

  “Malcolm, Kemp! A man nearly killed him!”

  “Damn, woman, stay here. I’ll get the lad safely to ye.”

  She nodded emphatically, tears streaking her cheeks, washing away the dust in rivulets.

  His heart in his throat, he gave her a quick hug, then dashed outside and ran for Kemp, who wielded a sword too heavy for him. Probably found one lying about, the owner no longer needing it.

  “Kemp!” Malcolm shouted. “Get yourself to the tavern and protect the women!”

  “Aye,” the lad shouted back, his youthful voice tugging at Malcolm’s heart. No lad should be as young as he, fighting his first battle. Though he recalled Angus doing the very same thing at his age in a skirmish with the Campbells.

  Malcolm fought the men around Kemp, clearing a path for the lad to retreat to the tavern.

  A man raised a sword to strike the lad, but an arrow hit the man in the neck, killing him instantly.

  Morrigan and Anice notched arrows from the doorway of the tavern.

  More men poured into the square, and Malcolm dodged the sword’s sharp blade of one of the baron’s men.

  “Where is your laird, mon?” Malcolm taunted, the blood coursing hot in his veins. “Where is Fontenot? Left ye to fend for yourselves?”

  The Norman swung his sword, cutting Malcolm’s tunic.

  Malcolm heard a lady’s scream. Anice? Morrigan?

  With a sharp decisive thrust, Malcolm stabbed the baron’s man, then swung around.

  Morrigan lay in front of the tavern still as death. Anice was nowhere in sight.

  His heart couldn’t beat any harder. “Anice!” Considering the swarm of new men, Malcolm feared he and his brothers would not survive this battle. Then Anice’s words came to mind. The king would want his head. He would survive.

  Fighting his way back to the tavern, he saw Fontenot thrusting his sword at Angus.

  His brother’s sword arm dripped with blood, and he struggled against Fontenot’s blows, no doubt because the coward had waited until Malcolm’s men were half worn out. Malcolm barreled through the men and slashed at Fontenot’s flank.

  Startled to see Malcolm, Fontenot jumped back, but not before Malcolm’s blade cut Fontenot’s shoulder. “All of ye will die at Robert Curthose’s hand,” Fontenot said. “Except ye will be mine.”

  Angus struck at Fontenot, the baron’s eyes sparked with fury, but he deflected Angus’s sword with a clank. Another of his men threatened Angus
, and Malcolm again took the lead against the baron.

  Thinking to unsettle the baron, Malcolm gave him a thin smile and goaded, “Ye wondered if Lady Anice and I were wed before or after the incident at the croft.”

  As he assumed, Fontenot swung blindly out of rage, but Malcolm easily outmaneuvered him, sweeping aside Fontenot’s ineffectual thrusts. Fontenot struck again, this time Malcolm forcing his sword down. Malcolm lunged in attack; Fontenot countered but fell back. Malcolm swung, slicing through Fontenot’s sleeve, the baron lumbering backwards, attempting to regain his footing. Malcolm directed the battle, and all Fontenot could do was block and retreat, losing ground again and again.

  “Ye were not man and wife,” Fontenot accused, his words full of hate, the sweat pouring from his brow. He bumped into another man fighting with Dougald, then quickly gave them space.

  Malcolm thrust his sword at Fontenot, who fell, landing square on his back with an oof, the hard packed earth knocking the breath from him. Malcolm slammed his boot on his chest and held his sword tip at his breast. “The lady was sick with the cold, and ye would have tossed her from the bedding with nay concern to her well-being. Or ye had it in mind to bed the lass had I no’ kept my sword readied to gut you if you had tried, ye whoreson. Give me a reason I should let ye live.”

  Fontenot’s chest heaved, his eyes narrowed. “I am the king’s choice for the lady, and he will have your head for taking her innocence.”

  “Ye are a traitor to the king and have stolen away the life of the lady’s beloved uncle.” Malcolm plunged his sword into the baron’s heart, for Anice, for her uncle, for the others the baron had ordered murdered.

  Fontenot cried out, his eyes glazed over, and he grunted, “Ye were not married.”

  Thinking of what Anice so oft said, Malcolm replied with a sneer, “’Tis no concern of yours, Fontenot. ‘Tis no’ your concern.”

  Fontenot’s eyes held death, no longer blinking; the baron no longer a threat to Malcolm’s beloved lass. Malcolm swung around, seeing Angus managing to fend off the hoard and his brother fighting as if he were a Viking berserker possessed. But he couldn’t believe his eyes when he spied Gunnolf, the blond bearded Norseman who served as his bodyguard, swinging his ax at the enemy. When had he arrived and what had become of Mai?

  Malcolm bolted for the tavern, and when he reached Morrigan, he touched her moon-pale cheek, then felt her neck, finding a feint pulse. Blood pooled on her temple from where someone had struck her. He shoved his sword in its scabbard and grabbed the lady up. Carrying her into the tavern, he knew it to be safer than were she’d lain in the square, but his mind focused on Anice and what had happened to the lass.

  Upon entering the tavern, he saw her tied to a chair in the corner of the room, her mouth gagged, and her eyes wild with fear. His heart nearly stopped. Kemp lay on the floor near her feet, his eyes closed, a knot as big as his fist on the side of the lad’s temple.

  On the other side of the tavern, a redheaded man waved a sword in the air and shouted in Gaelic, “Ye will grant me safe passage or the lady dies.” He worked his way back toward Anice maneuvering around tables, as Malcolm lay Morrigan on a table.

  “Ye be MacKnight?” Malcolm asked, advancing on the man and withdrew his sword from its scabbard. “Ye be the one who killed the lady’s uncle?”

  MacKnight tried to move toward Anice, his sword hand shaking, his cheeks blazing red, his green eyes fearful.

  Not about to let the brigand get any closer to his wife, Malcolm lunged forward like a lion intent on killing the threat. The dull ache in his arm dissipated, the weariness he’d felt from battling faded until all he saw was a man who would die before he murdered another soul.

  MacKnight tried to run for Anice, but Malcolm jumped into his path, his unbound hair bristling with tension, anger filling every pore. “Ye had your wife poisoned? And Laird Dunstan as well? A woman’s way, ye cowardly son of a whore. And Thompson, did ye cut him down in a fair fight or have your men take care of him, too? Ye are nothing but a coward.”

  Rattled, MacKnight slashed at Malcolm.

  “Been the steward of the castle too long? Havena fought enough of your own battles, mon?” Malcolm knocked MacKnight’s sword aside. “As the new laird of Brecken Castle, I condemn ye for the death of Laird Dunstan.” With a violent thrust, Malcolm pinned MacKnight to the wooden wall, then yanked his sword out and wiped the blood off on MacKnight’s tunic.

  The laird collapsed to the floor, dead.

  “Malcolm!” Dougald hollered, running into the tavern, only pausing to see Morrigan unconscious and Anice bound to the chair.

  “What news?” Malcolm knew if Dougald was no longer fighting, the battle had to have ceased. Though how they could have come out on top was a mystery. He cut Anice’s ropes.

  “Ye will never believe who came to our aid.”

  Malcolm pulled the dirty rag from Anice’s mouth and she cried out, “Henry is here!”

  Malcolm stared at her, then looked out to the square. “Think you he knows I have wed ye, Anice?” Without a second guess, he gathered her into his arms, squeezing her against his chest, grateful she was unharmed. He would not give her up to any man.

  She returned a loving embrace, but then hurriedly pulled away to check on Kemp. With the lad’s head cradled in her lap, tears filled her eyes. “He is alive, and Morrigan?”

  “She is stirring, milady,” Dougald said, wrapping a cloth around Morrigan’s wound. “As for King Henry, he is verra angry. I wouldna be wanting to be his new relation by marriage who hadna permission to wed his ward.” He gave Malcolm a meaningful look.

  Malcolm straightened. He would not be intimidated by the king or anyone. He would not give up Anice.

  * * *

  Once the wounded men were taken care of, and Morrigan and Kemp were resting comfortably back at Brecken Castle, Anice changed her dirty gowns for clean ones, and hurried to make King Henry welcome. Malcolm intercepted her with a grim look before she entered the hall.

  “What is wrong, Malcolm?” Anice asked, her heart already pounding with fresh anxiety.

  He took her hand and kissed it, then pulled out a missive tucked in his belt. “My brother, James, needs our help. Trouble with another clan at his border.”

  Anice’s throat constricted, her heart sinking. “You…you are leaving?”

  “Nay, love. King Henry says he learned Laird Robertson was gathering troops for Robert Curthose, but was unable to apprehend him in the village this morn. Since Robertson is still a threat in the area, I wouldna leave ye to your own defenses.”

  She raised a brow, wondering if he did not think she could defend her castle.

  Smiling, he kissed her cheek. “No’ that you would not do a fine job, lass, but I would be useless to my brother when my thoughts would be about ye.”

  “Aye, I understand your meaning, and I am thankful ye will not be going, but your brothers—”

  “Dougald, aye, but Angus’s wounds need mending. Gunnolf will accompany Dougald and I will send thirty men, if you approve.”

  Anice sighed deeply. ‘Twas Malcolm’s call to do as he pleased now that he was laird of the castle, but she appreciated that he wished her approval. “Aye, and thank ye for asking me, Malcolm, but the lasses will surely miss your brother.”

  “Aye, lass.” He winked, then motioned to the hall. “The king awaits us.”

  With dreaded expectancy, she rested her hand on Malcolm’s sleeve, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart and her trembling legs when she and Malcolm joined the king in the hall.

  He spoke not a word to them until they sat down to the meal. Henry raised a tankard of wine, took a healthy swig, then set it down. “My advisor tells me Baron Fontenot sided with Robert Curthose.”

  “Aye, Your Grace,” Malcolm said, steadily watching the king.

  Henry looked at Anice, his countenance grim. She quickly nodded, more concerned about how he felt about her marriage to Malcolm, then the fact Malcolm had slain the man Henry
wanted Anice to wed.

  “My advisor also tells me Lord MacKnight was the one who killed your uncle, Lady Anice, and had several others murdered, including his own wife.”

  “Aye, Your Grace,” Malcolm answered for Anice, which was fine with her. She couldn’t find her tongue, afraid Henry would force Malcolm to give her up. Tension crackled in the air, while her people ate in morbid silence.

  Buttering a piece of bread, Henry continued, “He said Baron Fontenot was the one behind Lord MacKnight’s despicable acts.”

  “Aye, Your Grace.”

  “This is all very well indeed, and you and your brothers are to be commended for a job well done. What I do not understand is the part about your marriage to Lady Anice.”

  “I had to wed her to protect her from Baron Fontenot,” Malcolm hastily said.

  “Then the marriage can be annulled at once since ye no longer need to protect her. I will have another Norman lord sent to court the lady.” Henry lifted a black brow.

  “Nay!” Malcolm quickly added, “Your Grace. I love the lady, and she me. We wish nay annulment. I intend to protect her forever.”

  Henry’s face remained hard, and Anice knew what the king had on his mind, though she prayed he would not mention it at the meal.

  “Has this marriage been consummated?” Henry gave Anice a sly glance.

  She swore everyone in the castle heard the king’s question. She quit breathing, and every inch of her melted under the pressure.

  Malcolm reached under the table and squeezed her hand. “Aye, Your Grace.”

  Henry ground his teeth, then looked at Anice. “Queen Matilda asked that I allow ye this transgression. But I will not, if ye have not consummated the marriage. My physician will see to ye after the meal. And Lord MacNeill, when ye ask me if ye can court one of my wards, ye are to give me time to say aye or nay, not take it upon yourself to do as you please.”

  “Aye, Your Grace,” Malcolm said, this time with a definite lift to his voice.

  Anice still wasn’t happy. Malcolm wasn’t going to be the one examined by the king’s physician to prove she and Malcolm were telling the truth. On the other hand, unless the king’s physician lied about Anice’s condition, it verra much sounded like Henry would permit her marriage to Malcolm after all.