Dugan stood frozen into place. “Adanel’s pregnant.”
Eògan threw his head back and laughed at the glory of knowing he had one last bargaining chip. If he had only realized it two days ago. “Aye. She’s pregnant with Conan’s bairn. She’s due any day. That’s the reason my father wanted him dead. He tried to get Conan to marry her using the babe as leverage, but the damn McTiernay refused, stating he would never marry anyone regardless of the circumstances. Liar. For just a few months later, we get news that there is going to be a wedding. Conan, famed McTiernay bachelor, has finally found love. My father decided to send him a message. Granted it was a different one than he intended, but I wonder, how will Conan live knowing he is responsible for the death of not only his brother, but his firstborn son?”
Dugan felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. Adanel was pregnant? If she was due any day, it was most likely his. It was possible that he had not been her only lover, but Dugan remembered the first time they were together, and it had been a very long time since she had lain with a man. Though hard to believe, Adanel was almost assuredly carrying his child.
“Why do you think it’s Conan’s?”
“Found him at their meeting spot in the fall.”
Dugan’s jaw tensed at the memory. He had already made the connection, but now he knew why Conan had been attacked. Last October, Conan had been riding north on Father Lanaghly’s behest to help a woman living at a priory—the same priory Dugan had thought to be where Adanel lived. He remembered Conan arriving at Fàire Creachann fuming about two men attacking him. One was a mercenary he had killed and brought back with him, but the other—a tall, skinny redheaded man—had escaped. That man had been Eògan, and he had run home and told all that Conan was the father of Adanel’s child.
It made sense. Murt, even Adanel probably thought Conan was the father for Dugan had never told her his name. Then again, everyone knew McTiernays had dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. His eyes were blue, but had the hue of a sea storm, and his hair was the color of a sandy beach. He could never be mistaken for one of the McTiernay brothers. So, ensnaring a McTiernay commander was not good enough for Adanel, and she had decided to pursue ways to ensnare one of the brothers.
“You may kill me but I have a message for you to deliver to Conan. Adanel is promised to Daeron MacCoinnich.” Dugan’s jaw shifted, but Eògan saw it. “That’s right. He’s the son of Laird MacCoinnich—a man who has no fear of you McTiernays. My father will avenge my death by telling Daeron about what Conan did to his bride. His father will join mine, and then all you McTiernays will pay. We will take your lands. We will take your lives. And that will include yours.”
Dugan twisted and pulled free his sword from its sheath. He then slowly walked up to Eògan. Adanel’s pregnancy meant that some of his plans changed but only in the way that tomorrow morning Laird Mackbaythe would get two messages, not one.
Dugan stood in front of Eògan and gave him a smile that was as cold as his gaze. “Conan was not Adanel’s lover,” he whispered. “She was mine.”
That was the last thing Eògan heard before death claimed him.
Chapter Six
Dugan pulled on his reins and looked back at the horse tethered to his saddle. Eògan’s dead body was still draped across its back. Dugan had thrown the man’s plaid over him to keep the flies away, but the ends had loosened slightly as the body had stiffened in the past few hours.
Dugan slid down and re-secured it around the head and face. Eògan needed to be recognizable. Dugan then tied both horses’ reins to a nearby prickly bush next to a small stream.
Pulling out his sword from where it was hooked to his saddle, Dugan attached it to his belt and began making his way to a small cottage isolated at the edge of Mackbaythe lands. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, indicating that someone was home. Dugan hoped it was the same person he had spied over a year ago when he had ventured this way after a particularly ambitious raid of a McTiernay farm.
He had almost called out then, but at the last second changed his mind. Garrett knew where he was and had never sought him out. It was understandable as he was working as a mercenary for the Mackbaythes, and Dugan was a commander for the McTiernays. No one would believe that they had at one time been very close, but since those days, many years ago, they had forged different lives.
Unfortunately, they had not parted on friendly terms when Garrett had left the small group Dugan had led that had formed initially out of survival. Their numbers had not been many, but they had stayed together out of respect for each other’s fighting skills as well as a sense of loyalty, for they all had saved each other’s lives many times in the course of battle. He and Garrett might have shared harsh words the day Garrett had walked away, but Dugan hoped the respect they had for each other still remained to this day. With Adanel pregnant with his child, he was depending on it.
Garrett was by far the most complex man Dugan had ever met. He was also one of the most cunning, crafty, wily, and unnaturally skillful Lowlanders he had ever seen fight. And there was no one else he trusted more to have his back in battle. Deep down, Dugan knew Cole or any of the other McTiernays would be there for him just as he would for them, but that had never been truly tested in a battle to the death. These past few years, no one had challenged the McTiernay army in such a way that could offer such proof. All McTiernay soldiers were sent off to fight and support King Robert for a few years to ensure they had actual battle experience, but knowing that and actually fighting beside a man were very different things. As such, the things that were said those many years ago mattered not. Dugan knew if a fight were to happen right now, he would defend Garrett until his dying breath and was betting the life of his unborn son that the man would do the same for him.
Garrett had an unusual code of honor. He was a mercenary for whom fighting, blood, and death were as commonplace as taking a bath. He had no qualms about getting paid to kill another man who was stupid enough to raise a sword against him, and yet Garrett could not stand bullies. He’d crush a windpipe of someone carelessly hurting a child—and liars? He really could not abide liars. He would give a scar to a man for nothing but a little, seemingly harmless fib, so it was beyond odd that he had taken up with Mackbaythe as one of his mercenaries. The pay was rumored to be uncommonly good; however, Dugan suspected Garrett stayed for personal reasons. Nothing else made sense. Then again, one of the last things Garrett had said to him was that he was far too naive for his own good. That real life did not cater to the fair just because Dugan wished it to.
Dugan had taken the comment as an insult. He had seen the harshness life had to offer, held men as they died, and as for unfairness, its painful claws had dug into him so deep as a young man that it would always affect him in almost everything he did. He had led men, kept them alive, and refused to let the pressures of survival ruin how he treated people. Garrett had disagreed, and when Dugan had been considered for the lairdship that had eventually gone to Cole, Garrett had told him outright that he was not prepared for such responsibility. To stand by him and support his petition would be akin to lying to all the clansmen who needed a leader, not a friend, to protect and guide them. He would have none of it and had been the first to leave their small band.
It had taken years for Dugan to realize that Garrett had been partially right. He had not been ready to lead a clan, but the man had been holding to a grudge with a fierce grip for as long as Dugan knew him. And if Garrett were a mercenary, that had not changed . . . which right now, worked to Dugan’s advantage.
Garrett’s choice of profession was the key to his plan.
Originally, Dugan had intended to leave Eògan’s body with a provocative message and be long gone before Laird Mackbaythe was notified about his son, but that changed with Eògan’s revelation about Adanel. Her being pregnant changed everything. Dugan had to know if it was his child. If it was, he was going to do everything in his power to protect it from the Mackbaythes—and that included his mother. But
to do either of those things, he had to get close enough to speak to her and then be able to spirit her away. That meant he needed a man on the inside.
If his Garrett was anything like what Dugan remembered, he would offer his help. If not, then his old friend would soon learn that Dugan was not only no longer naive, he was now far deadlier with a sword.
* * *
Garrett spotted Dugan long before he had slid off his horse and started walking toward his home. He had always liked the man, for it was hard not to. Dugan radiated charm, which he had always applied liberally to any decent-looking woman welcoming attention. If rumors were correct, that had not changed. But his respect for Dugan grew after he had decided to accept the decision of Cole’s lairdship as well as agree to becoming his commander. That took a different kind of courage, and it was the kind Garrett respected the most. Dugan was also one of the few men he had come across in his life who was openly honest and judged people for their actions, not their appearance.
Like Dugan, Garrett was a Lowlander by birth. He was neither tall nor short. His girth was that of a muscular man, but not notable enough to stand out or cause questions. His brown hair and hazel eyes were also unexceptional, enabling him to blend in with a crowd rather than stand out. None of these features did he try to change. Instead, Garrett embraced his mundane characteristics and honed them, until they had become a weapon. Men who overlooked him, or worse underestimated him, made a deadly mistake.
Only a few had ever tried to see beyond his seemingly ordinary surface, and even fewer had succeeded. Dugan was the only one who had correctly deciphered his background upon their first meeting.
Garrett acted and spoke like a true Highlander, and almost all who met him assumed he had lived and grown up among Scotland’s wild, ferocious mountains. Never did they guess that he was the banished eldest son of a small Lowland clan from the southwestern area of Scotland where the Stewarts and Fergusons ruled with iron fists. Dugan—though he had never revealed how—had seen through his veneer, but had never questioned him about it.
The man had always known when to push and when to let something be. And for the past few years, Dugan had chosen to leave Garrett alone. But with him marching up to his home with a sword at his side and a dead body lying across one of his horses, it looked like that was about to change.
Garrett opened the door and stood at the entrance with crossed arms. He wondered what Dugan thought about him working for Laird Mackbaythe, a man known to be both corrupt and deceitful. Garrett hated liars. He hated being deceived. But everyone knew exactly the kind of man Laird Mackbaythe was, so one expected him to try and cheat and lie. Anyone who did otherwise was a fool.
Garrett hated dishonesty, but he also hated tyrants, and Mackbaythe hired a lot of them to ensure his lands were protected and nothing untoward happened to any goods making their way to and from MacCoinnich lands and the Mackbaythe port. The mercenaries did as they were paid, but they also would have taken advantage of the local clansmen, knowing their laird would never interfere. Garrett had stealthily gotten himself hired and then used his skills to be placed in charge of all the hired soldiers. He lived out by the border so that he could ignore Mackbaythe’s insanity, which infested the castle. But that insanity seemed to be encroaching farther and farther away from port. Garrett suspected it would soon be time for him to move on.
“Seòlta duine.”
Garrett raised a brow at the old nickname. He had not felt like a clever man for a long time. “McTiernay.”
Dugan’s jaw twitched, but then he held out his arm. Garrett grabbed it and embraced a man he had thought might never speak to him again. He was glad he was wrong.
“Nice bit of land,” Dugan said, looking over his shoulder. The cottage was nestled in a valley, and it was on the direct route to the port. The mountains also protected the area, making it good for grazing cattle and horses as there was a lot of grass. “Never saw you as a farmer.”
“You know what I am,” Garrett replied.
Dugan arched a single brow. “I could have been wrong, but I did hear that Mackbaythe pays well and that he’s paying a lot of men.”
Garrett raised his hand to shelter his eyes from the sun. “He’s a fool. One cannot buy loyalty. But it can be earned from what I hear,” he said, giving a quick glance down to Dugan’s plaid.
“Aye. Things happened the way they should have.”
That simple statement was enough for Garrett to confirm that Dugan was loyal to the McTiernays and not just Cole’s commander because of a lack of options. “I was sorry to hear about Leith.”
Dugan took in a deep breath as the memory of his best friend’s betrayal hit him. It still hurt, though less each time. “Each man makes his own choices. Leith chose the ones that led to his death.”
Garrett placed his fists on his hips, hearing the implication. Dugan was not just talking about Leith, he was talking about him. Whatever made Dugan appear before him today was serious, and he was warning Garrett that he was about to face one of those “life choices.” “Tell me why you are here, and I will make mine.”
“Mackbaythe declared war on the McTiernays earlier this week.”
Surprise forced Garrett to remain completely still. If it were another man bringing this news, he might wonder if there was some exaggeration in the statement, but Dugan knew war. And those who lived with war for as long as they had did not use the term lightly.
“Well, that explains a lot. MacCoinnich arrived yesterday, and his army is camped just in the next valley over. They came supposedly to ensure Mackbaythe doesn’t delay his daughter’s wedding once again to his son Daeron. I’m thinking their presence serves a dual purpose. Mackbaythe wanted protection. So, if you are here to seek his throat, you would die before you even got close. It would take an army and a lot of bloodshed to reach that man.”
Dugan’s lips curved into a sickly smile. “I don’t want to kill him, Garrett. I’m here to return his son.” Using his thumb, Dugan pointed over his shoulder to where he left his horses tethered. “I’m thinking you might know of a man who could serve as a McTiernay messenger.”
Garrett rubbed his face with his hand, and then shook his head. He had no idea what foolish thing Eògan did to earn death by a McTiernay sword, but that he ended up in such a way was no surprise. The worthless gealtaire was always picking battles thinking that being Eòsaph Mackbaythe’s son ensured he would win. His baseless arrogance only ensured his having a short life.
Garrett took a couple steps outside and squatted down. Using a stick, he began to draw a map in the dirt. “I suggest Alwyn. He’s a farmer and lives over the next ridge. He hates Mackbaythe enough to deliver the body but is smart enough to disappear before orders are given to kill the messenger.” He drew an X. “Leave the body there after sunset.”
Dugan nodded. “That’s not the only thing I came for.”
Garrett stood back up, brushing the dirt off his hands, and then sighed, realizing that whatever Eògan had done was serious enough to not end with his death. McTiernays were waging war and, like good strategists, they wanted to wage it where it was advantageous to them. “Mackbaythe will retaliate, but I doubt there is much you can do to influence when that will happen. He’s . . . too busy appeasing the MacCoinniches right now. Eventually he’ll avenge Eògan’s death, but the man’s smart enough to wait. He won’t come until he believes he is at his strongest, and the McTiernays are at their weakest.”
“He won’t wait if I have Adanel.”
A puzzled look overcame Garrett’s expression. He had never spoken to Mackbaythe’s daughter and had only seen her a few times. She was undeniably beautiful, and rumors were that she was kind and completely unlike her father. “I have not seen Lady Adanel in months. She took it very hard when her father locked up her uncle for supposedly failing as her guard. Since then, she has kept to herself in her tower in preparation for her wedding.”
Dugan’s fingers flexed before tightly gripping the handle of his sword. “There
will be no wedding,” he declared, his tone allowing no room for misinterpretation, argument, or debate.
Garrett’s brows shot up. “You intend to forcibly take Adanel back with you?”
Dugan gave a single sharp nod.
The anger rolling off Dugan was almost palpable. What possibly could Lady Adanel have done? Garrett slowly inhaled and then blew out the breath. Whatever it was, the situation was far more complicated than he had assumed. “And just why do you want Adanel?”
Dugan stared at him for a long moment, clearly unused to having to explain himself. He was no longer the young man Garrett had known. The days of him being eager to please and make all those around him feel in accord were gone. He was now a very angry, very determined McTiernay commander. “She’s pregnant with my child, but she’s claiming it to be Conan McTiernay’s.”
Garrett’s jaw dropped, understanding what that meant. If what Dugan said was true, there was no talking him out of getting her. There would be no compromise, discussion, or delay. Dugan was going after the woman. The question in front of Garrett now was that of his involvement.
Garrett rocked back on his heels as he thought about the multiple implications of Dugan’s declaration. “If what you are saying is true, then Adanel has not spent all this time in her room out of choice. She’s being held there by her father . . . which does explain why no one has seen her. The woman rode all the time and then just, well, stopped.”
It also explained why the young man who was reportedly very close friends with her had suddenly stopped coming to him for training after he had been reassigned to guard duty. Someone had told them that Adanel allowed only two guards, her childhood friend and some Goliath of which everyone was afraid.
“With Eògan’s death and Adanel gone, Mackbaythe would definitely follow. But so would MacCoinnich as his son thinks Adanel is going to be marrying him any day. Though I’m not sure how that is to work with her being pregnant.”
How to Marry a Highlander Page 11
