“At work makin’ bairns,” Duncan said under his breath with a snorting huff.
Catriona’s cheeks heated as though on fire. She cleared her throat and lifted her head as she walked out the door and pushed her way through the group of men. “We were merely checking the strength of the doors in case of siege.” She looked back at Alexander. “I say the tower room is secure. Aye, husband?”
“Indeed.” Alexander caught up with her, offered his arm, then looked back at the three men still standing beside the opened door. “Good day to ye, lads.”
Chapter 25
Alexander strode to the back of the stable, casting a glance into each of the stalls as he walked past them. The calming fragrance of fresh hay and healthy horses had replaced the earlier dank stench of mustiness and rancid manure. They had mounted additional hooks in the stone walls of the cavern turned stable and each held a lit lantern. The dancing yellow flames beat back the shadows, eliminating places to hide. Good. The space was clean and an enemy would struggle to find cover.
Magnus, Sawny, and Tom followed close behind. Alexander pointed to the opening in the back wall. The same opening they’d used in what now seemed like a lifetime ago when they’d snuck their way back into the keep. “I want this guarded or blocked. Well secured, aye?”
“Aye,” Magnus said, glaring at the rocky portal as though it were a traitor.
“Tom and I checked the caves and the mountain pass. It doesna look as though anyone’s been there but us,” Sawny said.
“Good.” Alexander turned and headed out of the stables, motioning for them to follow. Once past the paddock, he strode across the bailey, scanning the curtain wall to his left. With his attention on the wall, he plowed through a flock of meandering hens scratching and pecking at the ground. The plump birds flapped and fussed, scattering with a cacophony of insulted clucks and ruffled feathers.
The men and two boys reached the side gate and the flashback of their failed escape filled Alexander with a renewed burn of anger. Who had betrayed them that night and revealed their intent to escape? Whoever it was could still be a threat. He squinted up at the levers on top of the outer wall surrounding the keep. The control for the outermost gate was in the wrong position. It appeared to be open. He pointed at the levers. “I want the outer portcullis closed and the inner gate as well. We must take no chances.”
Tom scrambled up the narrow blocks of stone embedded as steps in the skirting wall's side. Once he’d reached the lever that controlled the gates, he released the chains holding the outer portcullis open. The heavy gate, basket-like in its weave of wooden strips reinforced with iron bars and bolts, rattled down and hit the earth with a thud. The inner gate made of thicker planks banded together was already closed.
“Our men?” Alexander asked Magnus.
“Duncan and Sutherland are already in the gallery and placed to guard Lady Catriona as soon as she climbs the stairs and takes her seat. Well-armed with pistols and bows, they are,” Magnus replied. “Graham and Ian have taken their posts in the hall and ensured men we trust guard the doorways.”
“Alasdair?” Alexander asked as they walked through the bailey, circling around to the front of the keep. All had to be perfect before the earl and the Campbell arrived.
“Pacing.” Magnus gave a shrug. “He'll most likely wear the floor of the main hall through.”
Alexander understood. Nerves raw and teeth on edge, he prayed for wisdom. He was a man of the sword—not a man of negotiation.
A shout came from the front wall in the guard house's vicinity. The guard’s bell sounded sending a cold sweat across Alexander’s body. The enemy neared their gates.
“Greet them,” he told Magnus as he strode up the wide slabs of stone steps to the main double doors of the keep. “I’ll be waiting in the hall.” He paused on the landing, one hand resting on the latch. “I trust ye to sound the alarm if ye sense the slightest need.”
Magnus accepted his duties with a nod and pointed Tom and Sawny back toward the stables. “Guard the caves, aye?”
Both boys bolted off in that direction as though the devil himself was chasing them. They only stopped long enough to duck into the smithy and re-emerge with extra swords and several daggers tucked into their belts.
Alexander watched them go then yanked open the heavy door and strode into the hall. A glance upward gave him a glimpse of Catriona’s worried countenance as she stood at the railing surrounding the upper gallery. “Back from the railing, Catriona, until they’re seated with their backs to ye, ye ken? I’ll no' have ye an easy target.”
Catriona nodded but before backing away from the edge, she blew a kiss to him.
Alexander’s heart swelled and the burning need to protect her made him pull in a deep breath. The woman owned him heart and soul and he loved her for it. “Almighty God, please help me save her and her clan,” he prayed under his breath as he hurried to cross himself.
He scanned the hall as he strode down the length of the room. Spotless floors and both hearths swept and scrubbed within an inch of their lives. The smell of beeswax wafted about and the eye-burning scent of lye soap mixed with the smoky scents of roasted meat and herbs filling the air.
Banners hung at the sides of each hearth, both fireplaces crackling and bright with a cheery fire. Tartans of Neal greens, grays, and blues and sashes of MacCoinnich reds, greens, and blacks decorated the columns marching down either side of the hall. The chieftain’s table sat close to the room's center, already laden with the best Clan Neal offered considering that winter had been long. Venison roasts surrounded by platters of carrots, parsnips, and turnips. Baskets of bannocks and loaves of brown bread. Crocks of butter and wedges of cheese. Bottles of port and wine stood at the ready.
The earl and the Campbell would be treated like respected guests and given the opportunity to act as such. Satisfaction filled Alexander. Mrs. Aberfeldy and Cook had done as instructed. His distrust of Mrs. Aberfeldy lessened the slightest bit.
Alasdair gave him an aloof nod from where he waited beside the table, hands clasped in front of him. The man was the picture of a self-assured solicitor. Alexander smiled. Alasdair filled the role well.
He turned and nodded to the men standing guard, then motioned for Ian and Graham to come forward. “I’ll no' bear arms at the table and neither will Alasdair. Ye ken what to do, aye?”
“Aye,” Graham said as both he and Ian nodded.
“We stand ready with pistols loaded should they forget their manners,” Ian remarked with a glance toward the door. “They’re here,” he added in a hushed tone. Ian and Graham returned to their posts. Each widened his stance and settled a hand atop his pistol.
Alexander recognized Lord Crestshire as soon as he set eyes on him. He remembered the staunch man in full British uniform as Edward John Cunningham. But he would no’ admit to such until he saw whether Edward remembered him.
Campbell stalked forward like a great angry bear reared up on its hindquarters spoiling for a fight. “MacCoinnich,” he growled, his great bulbous nose pockmarked and wrinkling as though he smelled a stench. His unkempt mustache and beard twitched and shifted as he scowled and bared his teeth.
Alexander graced him with an imperious tilt of his head. “Campbell.” Then he shifted his focus to Lord Crestshire and gave him a curt nod. “M’lord,” he said, interest piqued to see the earl’s reaction. He didn’t have to wait long.
Lord Crestshire’s mouth twitched at both corners and his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Recognition flashed across his expression then disappeared just as quick as it came. He returned Alexander’s greeting with a graceful dip of his squared chin. “Chieftain MacCoinnich.”
Aye. Ye canny lad. Ye remember well enough. Alexander waved the men toward the table laden with food. “By all means, have a seat and enjoy the fine repast Cook has prepared for us.”
Campbell glared at him, his face growing redder by the minute. “I didna come here to eat. I come to claim what is mine.” He jabbed a
finger toward Alexander. “The woman can go where she will. I’ve no use for a whore what will bed another man while promised to another. But I’ll be taking all the horses and the land promised t’me.”
Rage flaring hot and fast, Alexander shot forward and grabbed Campbell by his thick throat. Campbell struggled and spit to be free, drawing his dagger and raising it. Without easing his crushing grip on Campbell’s windpipe, Alexander clamped his other hand around Campbell’s raised fist and shoved his face within inches of the man’s nose. “Insult my wife again and I’ll send ye back to your clan in a box.”
“I think not,” Campbell hissed, arching his back and jerking against Alexander’s hold. “Ye shall be too busy dancing at the end of the king’s rope!”
“Release him,” Lord Crestshire ordered but in a civil tone that in no way sounded like a command. “Aye?” he added in an almost perfect Scottish accent coupled with a lopsided grin.
“Aye,” Alexander agreed as he gave Campbell a hard shove that sent him tumbling across the floor onto his arse. As Graham and Ian rushed to guard Campbell with pistols drawn, Alexander turned to Lord Crestshire and held out his hand. “So ye remember?”
Lord Crestshire took hold of Alexander’s forearm, squeezing it with heartfelt greeting as he clapped a hand to Alexander’s shoulder. “Forget the man who saved my life then took the beating I deserved?” He gripped Alexander’s arm tighter and shook his head. “I think not. I shall never forget you, old friend.”
“Ye canna take him!” Catriona swept down the gallery stairs, holding a pistol cocked and aimed at Lord Crestshire’s chest. “I shall kill ye, I will. Ye’ll no' take my husband to be hanged.”
“The wily wench slipped past us, Alexander!” Duncan shouted from the gallery where he and Sutherland stood hanging over the banister as though about to jump. “Damned if she’s no' as fast as a canny wee fox.”
“Stand down, woman!” Alexander shouted as he stepped between Lord Crestshire and the gun. “God Almighty, dinna shoot!”
“And the lovely lady’s name?” Lord Crestshire asked, looking as though he was having to hold his breath to keep from laughing.
Brows drawn and lips twitching in the sudden realization that perhaps she had not quite interpreted the scene with accuracy, Catriona lowered the pistol and eased the hammer forward to disarm it. She raised her chin to a defensive tilt and motioned toward Campbell still on the floor, pinned in place by Graham and Ian’s pistols. “What was I supposed to think? Already attacked by a Scot? How was I to know the Sassenach would be a friend rather than a foe?”
Lord Crestshire stepped around Alexander and made a gallant bow. “Edward John Cunningham, Earl of Crestshire, at your service, m’lady.”
Catriona eyed Lord Crestshire as though he were a dog that had just rolled in fresh manure. With a twitch of her shoulders and a defiant upward jerk of her chin, she belatedly remembered her manners and graced him with a half-hearted curtsy. “Catriona MacCoinnich, your lordship.”
When her glare shifted and settled on him, Alexander could’ve sworn that his flesh burned. Lore a’mighty, the woman's protective fierceness flared hot and damned if he didna love her for it.
“'Tis all right, m’love. He remembers me,” he said as he stepped forward and removed the pistol from her hand then passed it over to Graham.
“Obviously,” Catriona said with a low warning hiss that greatly resembled the sound made by a wounded animal about to attack. She jabbed a finger at Jameson Campbell who’d risen to his feet with the rough-handling help of Graham and Ian. “But he still arrived with him.”
“Let me assure you, dear lady, that I travel with my regiment. I am in no way partnered with Jameson Campbell.” Lord Crestshire spared a glance in Campbell’s direction. “The king’s business is my only concern.”
“He’s a feckin' traitor!” Campbell shouted, backing them all up with his disgusting habit of spitting as he spoke. “He and his men. Every last one of’m was at Glencoe. Killing for the MacDonalds. Ask him if ye refuse to take my word for it.”
Alexander clenched his teeth, biting back the words he wished to say. Edward might remember him but that didna mean the man wouldna complete the mission for which they had sent him. He squeezed Catriona’s arm, willing her to do the same.
“I propose we sit and have a bit of food,” Alasdair interrupted from his post beside the table. “Accusations are best handled on a full stomach. Do ye no' agree?”
“Absolutely,” Lord Crestshire said. He gave Campbell a stern scowl. “All weapons. On the floor. Now.”
“Here in the thief’s den? Are ye daft?” Campbell glared at him. “How the hell did the king ever come to pick such a coward to lead his regiment?”
Alexander didn’t attempt to hide the knowing smirk determined to creep across his face. If Edward was the same as he had been as a lad, then Campbell had just made a grievous error.
Lord Crestshire turned to Alexander, jaw working with the grinding of his teeth. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath then released it with a long, slow hiss. “I assume your fine keep has a dungeon or someplace suitable for prisoners?”
“Most certainly,” Alexander replied with a smile he couldn’t contain. Aye, Edward had no' changed a damned bit. Call him a coward and rue the day ye were born.
“Good.” Lord Crestshire made a dismissive wave of a hand toward Jameson Campbell. “Since I didn’t bring my guards, would you be so good as to secure this man until I return to my regiment and send for him?”
"Aye. 'Twould be my honor." Alexander gave Graham and Ian a single dip of his chin. "Ye heard the man."
“Gladly,” Graham said, taking hold of Campbell’s left arm just as Ian took hold of his right.
Graham and Ian escorted Jameson Campbell from the hall spitting and raging like a wild boar being dragged to slaughter.
Duncan and Sutherland exited the hall behind them but turned and headed toward the gatehouse.
“Shall we dine?” Lord Crestshire asked as he pulled out a chair for Catriona.
Alexander came close to laughing out loud as Catriona shot the man a grudging look then lowered herself into the chair and scooted up to the table. Seating himself at the head of the table with Catriona on his right, he motioned to the chair on his left. “Sit, old friend.”
Lord Crestshire took his seat then gave Alasdair a polite nod as he seated himself beside Catriona. “And ye are?”
“Clan Neal’s solicitor.” Alasdair gave a formal dip of his chin. “Alasdair Cameron.”
“It pleases me to inform ye that there are no MacCoinnichs on my list,” Lord Crestshire said with a nod first to Alexander and then to Alasdair. “Nor Camerons,” he added. Then he paused, seeming to struggle with some unknown inner demon. “But I will have you know my regiment is sworn to make King William’s presence not only known but very much felt here in the Highlands. I hope you understand but whether you understand or not…it is my duty.”
Alexander filled Edward’s cup, then Catriona’s and his own before passing the bottle of port to Alasdair. He’d thought it better they dine without the servants hearing every word said. He still felt in his bones there was a traitor in their midst. “My understanding depends on your methods, brother.” He’d used the word ‘brother’ with pointed intent to remind Edward of their childhood.
His wording worked as planned because Edward, Lord Crestshire, pushed up the sleeve of his red uniform and bared his muscular right forearm, revealing a thin white line marring the inner skin of his arm. The old scar gleamed with a silver-white sheen in the hall's lighting. “I still consider you a brother as well, Alexander. But not because of two young boys cutting their arms and swearing a bond with their blood.” He jerked his sleeve back down in place, brushed the wrinkles from it, then took a long sip of his port. “The scars you bear that were meant for me are a great deal more significant.”
“What do you mean?” Catriona asked. Her puzzled look flitted back and forth between Edward and A
lexander.
Alexander remembered that day and would just as soon not revisit it, but he held up a hand just as Edward opened his mouth to speak. If the tale had to be told, he’d rather do the telling.
“Edward fostered with Clan MacCoinnich for a brief time before the damned sickness destroyed us,” Alexander said. “The both of us were only…” he paused, giving a slow shake of his head as he tried to remember. “Twelve or so?”
Edward nodded but remained silent.
Alexander reached out and took Catriona’s hand, willing his wife to behave and play nice. “As I'm sure ye've already realized, Edward and I became fast friends, blood brothers even.”
“Aye,” Catriona said in a soft, patient tone. “Go on.”
Unable to look anywhere other than down at the table, Alexander kept a tight hold on Catriona’s hand as he spoke. “The last winter Edward spent with my clan was bitter cold. The loch had frozen solid, solid enough to slide upon. Or so we thought.”
“He broke through,” Catriona said with a hard squeeze of his hand. “Ye saved him from drowning.”
“I managed to save him,” Alexander said, struggling to keep his tone even and free of emotion. “But I couldna save the chieftain’s daughter. She'd slipped too far under the ice and her skirts pulled her down fast.” He paused and snorted out a disgruntled huff. He gave a sad shake of his head. “She was out of my reach and unable to move through her panic. I feared to swim too far from the hole in the ice. I feared I would become trapped and no' be able to find my way back to the blessed air.”
Catriona sat open-mouthed, her free hand pressed to her chest and her eyes wide.
“Everyone knew I favored the lass, and that she favored me,” Edward said, breaking into the conversation. “The clan blamed me for her death—said if I had truly cared about her I would never have done something so foolhardy as to lead her out onto the ice.” Edward swallowed hard, regret and the darkness of self-imposed guilt etched in the lines of his face. “And maybe they were right.”
The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel Page 25
