How to Marry a Highlander

by Michele Sinclair

  Chapter Five

  “So tell me what happened next,” Adanel asked, looking at Nigel expectantly. “I want to hear everything. Every detail, every word spoken, every vow. I need to know all that you can tell me about Kara’s wedding.”

  Nigel threw his hands in the air. “I told you everything I know. She was pretty. Fearan seemed more nervous than she was. She missed you being there, of course. The food was good. People clapped, and everyone seemed happy. That’s about it.”

  Adanel threw a pillow at him. “Some brother you are. No details at all.”

  She had known Nigel since they were children, and he felt more of a younger brother to her than Eògan did. Nigel had brown hair that was neither dark nor light and usually hung down to his shoulders, and even when it was clean, it was stringy. Because he was so tall and thin, his clothes were baggy and hid the true nature of his form. And while a lack of muscular bulk usually meant lack of strength, Nigel was the opposite of frail. If one paused and truly studied his forearms and calves with an unbiased eye, they would see both were well developed, hinting at the fact that Nigel was far stronger than he initially appeared.

  He was also smarter, funnier, and far kinder than one would guess. Where her own brother, Eògan, was cruel, Nigel had an instinctive protective streak. Being only a year younger than her and Kara, the three of them had been very close growing up, and their bond had only gotten stronger after the passing of their parents.

  Nigel threw the pillow back. “I am a perfect brother. And if you want girly details, then you will have to talk to Kara.” Realizing what he had just said, Nigel’s eyes went wide with guilt. “Oh, God, Adanel, I’m so sorry. You will get out of here soon and see Kara again. You will.”

  Adanel shook her head, fighting back tears. “You and I both know that is not going to happen. And if I do somehow get out, I’ll have to disappear. I would never see you nor anyone from here ever again. And that includes Kara. That is the way it needs to be if she is to remain safe.”

  “You will get out. We have a plan, and it’s a good one. We only need to be patient just a little while longer and wait for the right time. But it’s going to be soon. Real soon. I promise.”

  Adanel nodded. They actually did have a plan—one to which she had only recently agreed. But after her father had told her about Conan’s refusal to marry her and that he had no care for the babe she carried, she had finally succumbed to Nigel’s insane idea of an escape. It was risky and posed a high chance of her dying, but that was better than her other choice. Adanel was not going to marry Daeron MacCoinnich. Ever. Something she had tried to explain to her father months ago.

  “You need to eat,” Nigel said, and pointed to the food he had brought.

  For months, he had been sneaking in food Kara had prepared. How Adanel missed talking with her best friend. If only she and Kara had had their last conversation a week earlier.

  The same day Kara had pressed her to tell her McTiernay soldier the truth the next time they met, her life had come to a complete halt. She had been summoned to prepare for a special dinner with the MacCoinniches only to discover that what made it so special was the announcement that she and Daeron were betrothed.

  Adanel had been eight years old when her mother died, and her father had actually threatened to kill her as well, stating Adanel’s independent spirit made her more trouble than she was worth. But before he had done so, her father had remembered just how useful marriage alliances could be. He had married a MacLeod and that had kept that powerful clan away. If Adanel were to marry Laird MacCoinnich’s newly born son, Daeron, it could prove to be mutually beneficial. MacCoinnich would have guaranteed access to a port and the western seas—very important to a landlocked clan—and it would give her father a powerful ally to crush any enemy.

  The deal had been struck. The plan had worked for years with only a few minor obstacles, one of which had nearly been a disaster. Adanel had almost run off to marry some lovesick merchant, which would have not only ended her father’s ability to influence one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands, but it would most likely have gotten him killed. To ensure Adanel never even considered another man again, her father had slaughtered her betrothed right in front of her, promising to do the same to any man who came near her.

  It had worked. Time passed, and when Daeron had turned eighteen, he had come to claim his bride. Adanel, however, wanted nothing to do with the young man.

  Daeron was not bad-looking for someone so young—in fact just the opposite. He was exceedingly brilliant, with the ability to recall anything she or anyone else had ever said. But that ability also made him frightening for he never forgot anything. Not any mistake, not any promise, not any slight—nothing. There was no flexibility with him, and he resented any compromise he had to make. Her father was cruel, but at least he ignored her. Life with Daeron would be the opposite. He would rule her completely, and eventual death would be her only escape.

  So Adanel had done the only thing she could think of to give her McTiernay soldier time to find and save her. She told her father that night that she could not marry Daeron. She was pregnant with a McTiernay babe. Adanel knew she had been taking a chance, but she had faith that whoever her McTiernay soldier was, he loved her as deeply as she loved him. When she did not come to the loch, he would come looking for her. Eventually, his search would bring him here, and she would be rescued. She just needed to give him time.

  Her father had exploded, demanding to know the McTiernay’s name. Adanel feared he wanted to kill him and was glad she could tell him nothing. He had then looked to Faden for answers, and when her uncle could not offer any, her father had imprisoned him in the dungeons of the Fortress, the most secure of the three towers. She had not seen her uncle since.

  The only thing that had saved Adanel from a forced abortion had been the death of her mother. She had died trying to abort her third child. Both her children looked like her, but only Adanel had gotten her kind heart. Eògan was like his father in nature, which his father had honed from his birth to continue his legacy.

  Adanel’s mother had never intended to die, but she could not conceive of bringing another son into the world only to grow up under the cruel direction of their father. Juniper berries were known to end pregnancies, and while they rarely killed, they had caused her mother to start bleeding when she miscarried. The blood had not stopped flowing until her heart had stopped beating.

  If not for her mother and how she died, Adanel had no doubt that her father would have forced an abortion on her. But he had been afraid to risk it. Adanel was only useful to him alive. So, her father had decreed her to be sequestered away in her room until the babe was born and told the MacCoinniches some story about Adanel wanting a spring wedding and needing the winter to prepare. Adanel could only imagine how unhappy they were, but they had left.

  Her father, however, had only just begun.

  He wanted to find the McTiernay who impregnated her and kill him. He had questioned everyone who had ever seen her ride and finally learned about her and Faden’s weekly route to the small loch. Faden had told someone of their weekly escapes a year before she had ever met the McTiernay, never dreaming that such information would someday need to remain a secret. And so, her father had sent Eògan and one of his meanest mercenaries to discover her McTiernay lover’s identity and to kill him.

  Eògan had failed, but swore it was because he had learned she had not just been sleeping with any McTiernay, but one of the McTiernays. There were seven brothers, and Adanel had been with Conan, known to be extremely smart, arrogant, and incredibly good looking.

  Adanel had been shocked. She knew very little of the McTiernay brothers, but news that she had fallen for one of them had renewed her hope. The McTiernays were powerful and smart, and when her Conan finally learned of her situation, she was positive he would find a way to rescue her.

  That hope died the day her father had told her about her brother’s attempt to forge an alliance using he
r pregnancy as insurance. It had failed. Conan had flat out refused to marry her. He denied even knowing her, let alone admitting the possibility the babe she was carrying was his. Adanel had almost given up hope then and would have lost the will to live if not for her two guards—Nigel and Brùid.

  Brùid was bald, had deep-set green eyes, and wore a perpetual solemn expression. But people rarely saw those characteristics. All they could see was his size for he was a giant among even very large men. His enormous height and girth made him an oddity and feared by most clansmen. Treated as an outcast for most of his life, Brùid had lived in the forest a few miles north of the port away from the jeers and false accusations that he was robbing others of their share of the food. As a result, he was used to being alone and rarely spoke. Many mistakenly misinterpreted that to mean Brùid was dumb, her father included, but Adanel had instinctively known they could not be more wrong the first time she saw him.

  The night her engagement was to be announced, her father had ordered for Brùid to be found and brought forward to be used as entertainment. Unable to watch what her father had planned, Adanel had intervened. Guarding her was supposed to be a punishment, and it would have been for anyone else standing alone with only her to see and talk to day after day, but Brùid was not any man, and over the months, the two of them had formed a tight bond. Adanel trusted him so much that he was the one person to whom she had told everything. Nigel and Kara knew the facts, but it was Brùid to whom she had confided her pain.

  Brùid had vowed to get her out of there before the spring when she was due to give birth. It had taken time, but he, Nigel, and Kara had finally come up with a way to make that happen. Their plan was dangerous. It needed perfect timing. But when everything was in place, Adanel would go into labor, and if it all worked out the way it should, she would die.

  “I need to get out of here, Nigel,” Adanel whispered, looking out her window. “I’m not sure I can wait much longer before having this baby,” she said, waving a hand at her large stomach.

  Thankfully, her father had sequestered her to her chambers in Baile Tùr. He thought it to be torture keeping her in the Village Tower where she could see people and her friends but never interact with them. Only her guards and recently a midwife were allowed to see or speak to her.

  “We are just waiting on the Destiny’s Fortune. We will leave the night it arrives,” Nigel stated, keeping his voice low just in case someone was lurking outside the door.

  “I know,” Adanel stated softly.

  Both stiffened when the door opened, but relaxed upon seeing Brùid. Then the tension grew to exponential levels when her father stepped into the room, barely able to remain upright. His stringy brown hair looked greasy, and his brown eyes looked both gleeful and manic. It scared her when he was in this much of a drunken state for he was capable of anything.

  Adanel instinctively grabbed her stomach. She knew her pregnancy was the only thing keeping her safe and prayed nothing had changed.

  Laird Mackbaythe waved his finger at her. “That bastard will soon be born, and you will finally be useful. But just in case you’ve kept hope that your McTiernay might change his mind, I thought I’d tell you that he just got married. Supposedly found the love of his life,” he slurred.

  Adanel had not thought any more news of Conan could hurt her further, but she had been wrong. Whatever they had shared last spring and summer had not been love. It could not have been. Such feelings did not fade away only to be replaced so quickly. Her hopes and dreams had been a foolish fantasy.

  “And,” her father continued with a hiccup, “he is now dead.” He smiled a sick grin of triumph. “I sent your brother Eògan to kill him on his wedding night. I thought it only fitting. If he isn’t to marry you, my daughter, pregnant with his child, then he shouldn’t be able to marry anyone. We just received news. A McTiernay was stabbed and left in the arms of his wailing wife. Your Conan is dead.” His face was pinched as he sputtered the last words with a sneer. Then, not giving her a chance to say anything or ask questions, her father spun around and left her to her pain, cackling as he went down the stairwell.

  Adanel lost the ability to stand and dropped to her bed. She found it hard to breathe. She should have known her father would have figured out a way to have his revenge. Part of her wanted to cry out in denial, the other part of her was numb.

  For the second time, her father had killed the man she loved. This time, however, she was not sure she would recover.

  * * *

  “This is your fault!” Eògan screeched at Dugan as urine trickled down his leg.

  He was once again tied to a tree, but after rubbing his back raw, he had wiggled his way to a standing position. He had been demanding for the past hour to be freed so he could relieve himself, but Dugan had not felt inclined.

  Dugan looked at him just long enough to see the front of Eògan’s plaid grow dark and wet. Dugan shrugged and returned his attention to the fire. It had rained most of yesterday, making it cold and miserable until the clouds finally parted sometime during the night. He glanced up and sniffed the morning air. The humidity had dropped, and based on the near cloudless sky, it was going to stay dry for a while.

  Fat from a small rabbit dripped onto the flames and sizzled. Dugan took in another deep breath. He was hungry and wanted to eat well as he was not sure what the rest of the day would bring. Last night’s meal had been dried beef due to the rain, and he had given none to Eògan. The man had whined as expected and made more threats, but Dugan had pretended to ignore him.

  “You will pay for this!”

  It had been hard to not gag him. Fear, cold, and hunger had worn away at Eògan, and all night he had been spouting nonsense. But periodically, he rambled on about something that was potentially useful.

  Dugan had been right about Mackbaythe’s ties with the MacCoinniches; however, Laird Mackbaythe was not at all close with his wife’s family, the MacLeods. Mackbaythe only had about a hundred men, which could be less if Eògan was exaggerating. Laird Mackbaythe’s army was full of untrained clansmen, but supplemented by mercenaries, who were loyal to the Mackbaythe purse. That bit was not exactly new information, but it proved that Eògan’s ramblings were at least partially honest.

  Dugan pulled the rabbit off the stick and took a bite, savoring the meat.

  “What about me?” Eògan yelped, no longer snubbing any food that came his way.

  Dugan continued to ignore him, making it clear he was still not inclined to share.

  Eògan took a deep breath, licked his lips, and decided to try another tactic as ranting was working to his disadvantage. “So, um, how much longer are we going to stay here?”

  Dugan grunted. He had made camp just on the McTiernay side of their bordering lands almost two days ago. Bad weather had rolled in, and he had wanted to be sure enough time had passed for Laird Mackbaythe to learn of Conor’s death. He wanted the man to have no doubt as to why his son’s body was being returned to him.

  “We leave today.”

  Eògan jerked up with new life and eagerness, believing his captivity would soon end. “My father has lots of money. More than anyone knows. He skims it from both the MacLeods and the MacCoinniches. I know where he hides it. I could get it. You could use it to bribe my father or do and go wherever you want.”

  “Don’t want your coin,” Dugan said between bites. “Don’t want to bribe your father.”

  “Then what do you want?” Eògan wailed, desperation mixed with fear in his tone.

  “Nothing. You’ve told me all I wanted to know.”

  “Then why not untie me and let me go?”

  Dugan put down the rabbit, turned to look at Eògan, and smiled. “I need you to deliver a message.”

  “I can do that,” Eògan said, nodding. “Just give me some food, and I’ll tell my father whatever you want me to say.”

  Dugan’s smile grew. He had no doubt that Eògan would relay everything said and done over the past few days if given the chance.
“It’s not that kind of message.”

  Eògan blinked. “You think to use me as bait? To draw my father away from the protection of his guard and into a trap? It won’t work. I won’t cooperate.”

  Dugan shrugged. “Dead men rarely do.”

  Blood drained from Eògan’s face, and he began to shake his head vigorously back and forth in denial. “If . . . if you were going to kill me, you would have done it days ago.”

  “Dead men smell and attract flies.”

  Eògan stood still as comprehension dawned on him. His days had been numbered from the moment he had stabbed the man he had thought was Conan McTiernay. “So who did I kill?”

  Dugan’s blue eyes bored into Eògan’s brown ones. “Conor, chief of the McTiernays.”

  Eògan’s legs gave out, and he slumped to the earth, uncaring of the excrement he sat in. “Then I truly am a dead man,” he whispered.

  “Aye.”

  Dugan kicked dirt onto the fire, dousing the flames. He then got his plaid, which he had laid in the sun to dry, and shook it out. He had had some protection from the rain under a makeshift shelter he had built, but the plaid had gotten soaked. It was finally dry enough to use under the saddle.

  Dugan had just finished tightening the cinch strap when he saw that Eògan had once again gotten to his feet. The man looked and smelled awful. Maybe it had not been such a good idea to force the man to relieve himself where he was tied.

  A crazed look overtook Eògan, and Dugan prepped himself for one last rant. “You think by killing me you will have revenge?”

  Dugan crossed his arms and tried to look bored. “If I thought that, then your guts would have already seen the end of a McTiernay sword. You are to deliver a message.”

  Eògan cackled, the idea of his imminent death causing him to become unhinged. “Well, my body will be a message that my father will respond to in kind. For if you kill me, my father won’t give the McTiernay babe Adanel carries away. He’ll slice its head off the moment it’s born. Tell Conan his son is going to die before he takes his first breath.”