The Highlander’s Demand

by Wine, Mary

  She had only her own resources to draw upon. Lessons learned through her childhood were going to be put to the test, her mettle proven. She drew in a breath and looked at the fortress growing larger with every step of her horse.

  Well, if she was alone, then she would simply have to measure up to the challenge her life had become.

  She was still her father’s daughter, after all.

  *

  First light came early.

  Colum Lindsey was already in the yard by the time the birds started singing.

  “Laird…”

  Colum turned on his captain. “Do nae lecture me! I am no’ some woman to be sent back to her bed. Me daughter has been taken, I have me honor to reclaim.”

  Rory shut his mouth and ran a hand down his beard. The man was clearly contemplating his next argument.

  “How can I rest when me daughter is in the hands of Buchanan Mackenzie?” Colum reached for the saddle sitting over the rail between stalls.

  But another man lifted it up. “Ye can rest, because I will see to the matter.”

  Colum stood in silence as he watched the other man place the saddle on the back of a horse. His hands were skilled as they secured it and soothed the stallion. Colum had thought there wasn’t a man alive who might have convinced him to forgo riding out after Rhedyn.

  God had a twisted sense of humor at times, for standing there in the Lindsey stable was a young man Colum had spent countless nights praying to catch a glimpse of. He’d begged on his knees for the Almighty to grant him the opportunity to speak with the man.

  “So,” Colum began but stopped because he needed to swallow the lump in his throat. “It seems ye have finally decided to come and listen to me side of the tale at last.”

  Vychan’s hands stilled on the horse. Colum drank in his wide shoulders and height. Vychan turned and offered Colum a look which reminded him of himself thirty years before. But Vychan stared at him with a pair of green eyes, the same eyes Colum had fallen in love with so long ago. Tears prickled his eyes.

  “Yer father,” Vychan began roughly, “forbid ye to wed me mother. What more is there to say?”

  Memories rushed back to Colum; it seemed the years had done little to dull the edges of his emotions. He recognized the same flare of youth in Vychan’s eyes which Colum hadn’t felt stir in himself in a decade. He swallowed his anger and drew on his experience to temper his mood. He’d been yearning for a chance to tell his only son his side of the story.

  He didn’t need to bungle it. The righteousness in Vychan’s expression betrayed how much the younger man wanted to be done with the matter altogether. One good bout of temper, and Colum would never see his son again.

  “Me father,” Colum began, “had my respect as the scripters say is me duty, but he was no’ long for the world when I met your mother.”

  “Ye put a babe in her belly.” Vychan skipped to the thing most important to him. “Yer actions condemned her to birthing a bastard.”

  “Yer mother and I…” His son’s jaw tightened. “Yer mother and I were both made fools of by love. Me father was a callous man who never valued such tender emotions. Yer mother showed me they were worth risking everything for. And I was set to leave with her, until I suddenly realized I had to find a way to provide for ye both. Suffering me father’s bitterness for his remaining days became a price I could pay if it meant a warm home for ye during the winter instead of an uncertain fate against the elements. I knew at that moment the folly of me youth. The lesson landed hard on me. Yer mother wouldn’t see it. The moment my father was gone, I would have afforded her every bit of respect due me wife. The rest of the Lindsey clan was no’ harsh with her, for they knew I planned to wed her. Me father was dying. What sort of a son would I have been to leave him alone in the last months of his life?”

  Colum suddenly felt every one of his years. His knees ached, and his back felt like it was impossible to straighten. He looked at his son and let out a soft grunt.

  “Yer mother placed her hand on the altar and swore she’d never wed me because I wouldn’t disrespect me father’s will and run away with her that spring.” Colum lowered himself onto a bench. “Those words gutted me, for I loved her, son. I still do.”

  Vychan wanted to argue. Colum could see the anger in his eyes. But there was something else there—maturity.

  “My mother had a temper as red as her hair,” Vychan admitted.

  Colum felt the tightness in his chest easing as his son’s lips twitched into a grin.

  “But I did no’ wed that Grant lass me father had me contracted to,” Colum said. “I wrote to yer mother more than once after me father passed away. I laid me heart open to her, and she never replied. Ye were still on her breast when me father died. Ye would never have known ye were born a bastard, for I would have wed her. As laird, no man would have dared talked about the timing of it all. But yer mother was true to her word and kept ye from me.”

  Vychan looked down. He drew in a deep breath and reached into his jerkin. He pulled out a leather pouch.

  “I did nae find these until after me mother died. She did receive yer letters.”

  Vychan unfolded the pouch so weathered parchment could be seen inside.

  Colum flinched. “So ye know I waited for her, waited for her heart to overrule her wounded pride. Son, she was as drawn to me as I was to her. But I’m no making excuses. Being a man means thinking about the consequences of yer actions. Still, if I say to ye I regret giving into passion, then I am saying I wish ye were no’ born, and that would be a lie.”

  “Aye.” Vychan laid the pouch of letters down on the bench beside Colum. For a moment, he clasped his wide belt and stared at Colum. “It’s the truth that I’ve cursed yer name more than once. But…” Vychan held up a finger to keep Colum from speaking. “But I realize now, me mother made her choices, and it’s a solid fact that ye did no’ wed until a full five years after yer father’s death.”

  “I was waiting,” Colum declared. “Waiting for her.”

  Vychan nodded. “I see the truth of it. So, I am here. That’s my choice, to see ye and ask ye man to man about the matter.” Vychan was still for a long moment. “I have no quarrel with ye.”

  Colum stood up, feeling stronger and taller than he had in years. His bones no longer ached. He placed his hand on Vychan’s shoulder.

  “This is me son!” Colum announced. Men who had been lingering nearby in case the laird needed protection, emerged from the shadows. Colum patted Vychan on the shoulder, grinning at the solid feeling beneath his palm. “Me wife is dead, and yer mother never wed,” Colum said. “Follow me to the church, lad, I’m going to wed yer mother at long last and see ye legitimized.”

  If anyone thought the idea of wedding a dead woman was odd, none of them opened their mouths to voice concern. Instead, the crowd of people grew until the Lindsey castle was empty. They gathered around the church as the priest came forward to perform the ceremony.

  Was it strange? The man of God might have thought so, but he began the blessing anyway. Life had far too many moments of disappointment and death, so it was important to celebrate the rare opportunities for them all to be happy. A clan without a clear successor was one headed for a bloody fight when Colum died.

  One strange wedding seemed little cost to prevent so many deaths.

  Chapter Two

  Buchanan’s stronghold was everything Rhedyn expected of a clan as powerful as the Mackenzies. It was a full castle. As they came around another endless bend in the road, the first of seven towers came into view. The horses picked up their pace, sensing an end to the journey. They’d traveled the entire night and on into the middle of the day. Ahead of them, the chimneys were letting out tapers of smoke, promising a hot meal.

  Her mouth should have watered but instead, horror chilled her blood.

  Thick walls ran between the towers. The entire structure was built up against a huge outcropping of solid stone. It looked a bit like the castle had grown from the s
tone itself. Escaping it would be impossible.

  She shook her head. She had plenty of misfortune without allowing her mind to take flight. Tales of dragons and warriors needed to stay behind her in the winter evenings, where such stories belonged. She had enough trouble with the Mackenzies surrounding her without allowing herself to believe they were too powerful. They were strong; she knew that truth. But she wouldn’t abandon hope.

  Buchanan had to manage the same things any laird did.

  Opinion.

  She took hope from that idea. The Mackenzie laird had brought her home, but he really couldn’t keep her too long.

  He can and ye know it has happened before…

  Rhedyn chided herself for thinking such a dreary thought. Since she’d always known she would marry with an alliance in mind, traveling to a strange place had also always been in her fate. She blinked and looked at the Makenzie stronghold again, this time making herself consider it through the eyes of a bride arriving.

  Buchanan wasn’t her groom.

  At least he wasn’t planning to bed her.

  Rhedyn discovered herself recalling the way he’d recoiled from being labeled a villain. A trait worthy of respect.

  You might just be desperate…

  Rhedyn didn’t bother to deny the charge. Did she dare to hope he might only hold her as his revenge? If so, she’d be grateful to him. Immeasurably so, for the men he rode with cast her looks which made it plain they cared not if she called them the blackest-hearted spawns of hell itself.

  Where there was life, there was hope. Even Highland tempers cooled with time.

  The bells set along the walls to help warn of impending attack started ringing. By the time they rode through the open front gates, the Mackenzies had gathered to celebrate the arrival of their laird and his men.

  But they weren’t cheerful. No, they’d known the reason their laird had ridden out. At first, the women counted the Retainers as they rode into the inner courtyard. Relief appeared on their faces after the last man arrived.

  Which left only Rhedyn for them to shift their attention to. They aimed angry looks toward her and the strip of Lindsey plaid attached to her right shoulder and trailing down her back. Her airsaid was a practical garment because it might be used to cover her head when the chill of evening came. It also made clear what blood ran through her veins.

  The Mackenzies snarled as she got close. More than one man made a point of spitting in her path once she was off the horse and being pushed toward the stairs of the largest keep. Women leaned their heads together to whisper around her, while Graham finished his duties by releasing her at the top of the steps in front of the double doors which opened to show her a huge great hall.

  “Laird Lindsey’s daughter, by Christ.”

  “No’ fit to scrub the steps Iain pissed on.”

  “Spilling her blood will be a pleasure…”

  Buchanan wasn’t deaf. He’d stopped to talk with a captain who had ventured out into the yard. The Mackenzie laird looked up, catching sight of her on the steps. His eyes narrowed before he was striding toward her. His gaze was filled with annoyance as he passed her.

  “Follow me.”

  Assisting with her own abduction wasn’t precisely what Rhedyn would have preferred to do.

  But remaining among the Mackenzies and their growing outrage seemed far worse. She continued forward and heard several snickers behind her.

  “I’ll find ye, Lindsey bitch…” someone called after her. “Sleep light…”

  At least the effort of keeping pace with Buchanan gave her little energy for thinking about the threat which rang in her ears.

  “Tyree!” Buchanan called out as he strode across the great hall.

  It was a grand place. Long trestle tables with benches were set out for the noon meal. The scent of roasting meat was thick in the air, making her mouth water. If there had been any food on the ride into Buchanan’s territory, no one had bothered to share any with her.

  Not that she had noticed her empty belly with all the tension around her.

  Buchanan passed through the hall to the back of the keep where stone steps were. A huge man emerged from the passageway which would lead to the kitchens. He had too many scars on his face to count. His bonnet was pulled over his bald head. A huge set of keys dangled from the worn, leather belt he wore. Big ones and small alike, the Butler of the Mackenzie kitchen looked more than able to defend whatever stock was locked away to keep it from being pilfered.

  “Keys,” Buchanan demanded with his hand outstretched.

  The Butler pulled the ring loose and handed it over. He eyed Rhedyn as his laird took the ring of keys with a jingle and mounted the stairs.

  “Best ye get going lass,” Tyree muttered as Rhedyn locked gazes with him.

  “Ye’ll follow or I’ll leave ye to those waiting on the steps,” Buchanan said from above her.

  Her temper heated as she climbed up several flights of stairs, hiking her skirts so she might catch up to Buchanan. The great hall was left far below them as Buchanan kept going. At last he stopped and flipped through the keys. He fit one of them into a lock which was holding two ends of a chain together through a pair of wooden slats. One slat was on the wall, the other on a door. When the chain was free, it clattered as the end through the slat on the door was pulled free.

  “Inside with ye,” Buchanan ordered her gruffly.

  No matter how ominous the sneers and threats below had been, Rhedyn still found her feet unwilling to move. Opening the door released air that was stale from how long the room had been closed. It was murky, as only fingers of sunlight made it through the edges of the window shutters. Those rays of light illuminated dust swirling up into the air.

  No one visited this room.

  And once locked inside, she would be easily forgotten.

  Buchanan grunted and caught her upper arm. A moment later, she was skidding across the inside of the chamber, stirring up more dust. She turned toward the door, unable to quell the urge to look for a way to escape.

  Buchanan blocked the only exit.

  “Ye are going to be a bloody lot of trouble, mistress,” Buchanan accused.

  He’d braced himself in the doorway, his arms across his chest and his feet shoulder-width apart, a combative stance.

  “You don’t want me,” she said. “Ye hate my blood.”

  Buchanan’s lips twitched. It was the unkindest grin she had ever seen.

  “Me kin hate ye at this moment,” Buchanan confirmed. “There is no honor in striking down an old man. I will have ye here to torment him.”

  His eyes narrowed, his expression bitter as though being too close to her turned his stomach. “Kill yerself, and I will return for yer sister.”

  Rhedyn gasped. “Bree is too young! Ye must not touch her.”

  Buchanan lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I will see yer father bleed. He will know he could not protect his own daughter.”

  He cast a final look of loathing toward her before he was turning to give her his back. The longer pleats of his kilt swung out behind him as he sent the door shut. The chain made a chilling sound as it was looped back through the slats on the outside. It was a good thing no one had fed her, because her belly heaved as she heard the lock grinding.

  Her sister’s face rose from her memories, sweet and innocent, so oblivious to the hate filling so much of the world.

  Rhedyn’s stomach heaved again at the idea of Bree being where Buchanan might scare her.

  Or worse…

  The words cast her way from the Mackenzies made it clear their laird was hardly the worst of her concerns. Her true fears would become reality when she was without Buchanan’s protection.

  So, she would simply have to find the strength to endure. Lifting her arm, Rhedyn drew her sleeve across her face, wiping her tears away.

  She would never cry again.

  Not about Buchanan.

  He wasn’t worthy of her tears.

  *

  B
uchanan was disgusted with himself. But Tyree was waiting just below the landing where the storeroom door was located. Several of his Retainers had followed them into the kitchen and stood waiting to hear what had been done with their captive. Iain was blood. Makenzie blood. And other men of the clan had been at his back when he’d died. The lust for revenge wouldn’t burn out quickly or easily.

  “No one,” Buchanan stressed his order, “is to unlock that door without me telling them to.”

  Tyree nodded as he caught the ring of keys. Buchanan heard them jingle when the Butler attached them to his belt once more.

  It was the best he might do…

  That, though, further disgusted Buchanan as he climbed two floors to where his chamber was. The door was open as his Head-of-House directed a stream of lads inside with yokes over their shoulders. The sound of water being poured filled the chamber.

  “Welcome home, Laird,” Fenella greeted him. She was his Head-of-House, another ring of keys attached to her belt.

  “I’ve told ye before,” Buchanan admonished her softly, “Ye do nae need to prepare a bath in me chamber. I can use the bathhouse.”

  “It wouldn’t be fitting now that ye are laird.”

  Fenella knew her art well. A maid was making sure a fire was crackling so that the length of linen she’d placed in front of it would be warm once Buchanan finished in the large tub. There was a splash as two more buckets of water were poured into it. The boy hauling the water reached up and tugged on the corner of his cap as he passed Buchanan on the way to the door. The maid used a handful of her skirt to grip the handle of a pot that was hanging over the fire. Steam rose from the water as she carried it to the tub and dumped it.

  Fenella dipped her fingers into the tub to test the temperature. “Do ye care to have Innis remain to scrub yer back?”

  The maid was waiting, but she wasn’t looking at the floor submissively. Instead, she aimed a knowing look toward Buchanan, one which made it clear she was hoping to do more than wash his back. She leaned just a bit forward so her cleavage was in his view.