The honor he tried so hard to hide would keep him from letting her come to a place where he believed she might be threatened.
He’d rather tear them apart.
Hoping she slept – that she was trapped in a terrible fearing dream – she closed her eyes tightly and then reopened them.
Regrettably, nothing changed.
She still stood in the heart of the dreagan vale, before Slag’s Mound. But unlike the night of the Midsummer Eve revels, the massive cairn now bore an ugly gouge at its middle. The dreagan nest’s carefully laid stones spilled from the cairn’s center, scattered like a skirt of rock across the broken, red-stained ground.
Split as if opened from within, Slag’s Mound could be easily repaired. The tumbled stones washed, perhaps blessed, and reset in their original positions, making the ancient dreagan lair whole again.
The three men who’d died here…
No stone-mason’s skill, or even the world’s strongest magic, could fix them.
Again, Isobel pressed a hand to her lips and tried not to gag. She truly did understood Kendrew’s concern. Why he didn’t want her to look upon the carnage.
The men’s heads were missing.
Their limbs and innards…
A shudder ran through her, hot bile rising in her throat. Her heart raced, blood roaring in her ears. She felt light-headed, more hollowed the longer she stared at the terrible scene before her.
Niall, Kendrew’s second captain of the guards, was easily recognizable by the rich cloak still draped across his shattered ribs. The exceptional quality of the heavy war shield, now cracked in two and lying near his leather-gloved hand, also hinted at his higher status. Even less remained of his two companions.
Blood was everywhere.
And worse things that she didn’t wish to peer at too closely.
Yet…
She had to look, because something bothered her. And whatever it was went deeper than the horror of the scene. A long-ago memory nagged at her, clawing up from the oldest, darkest corner of her soul.
“Kendrew.” She started toward him, ignoring the shakiness of her knees. He stiffened, aware of her approach, but not looking at her. “Something isn’t right here. I know it, but I can’t say-”
“To be sure, something isn’t right.” He whipped around to face her, his expression fierce. “You should be at Haven now. No’ here where hell has wakened to stalk my land and slaughter good men who-”
“There’s a message here, in these deaths.” Isobel’s chin went up. “This was not a chance attack. I can’t say how I know, but I do.”
“Men lose their wits when the battle joy comes over them, my lady. Spears or axes in the hands of such men wield great destruction.” His tone allowed no compromise. “The blood lust is what you’re seeing here.”
“I say fury, too.” Grim joined them, his gray eyes solemn. “Anger born of thwarted greed. Niall and the other two men must’ve been passing by when brigands broke into the stones.” He lifted a hand, rubbed the back of his neck. “They’d surely heard the old tales about hoards of silver and gold buried beneath the cairns. There can be no other explanation. Not for the likes of this.”
“Hell waking.” Kendrew hooked his thumbs beneath his sword belt. “That’s what they stirred when they ripped open Nought’s sacred earth only to find peat and pebbles. Truth is” – he glanced at Grim, then the other guardsmen – “I’ve suspected for long that such cravens have been tracking through the glen. I’ve caught glimpses of them.
“Yet I could ne’er be sure.” His mouth was a hard line again. “Each time I saw them, they were gone in a wink. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me or that I was seeing bog mist.
“Even so” – he looked again at Isobel – “when I thought I spotted mailed spearmen up at the cataracts behind Castle Haven, I told your brother. The fool didn’t believe me, claiming his lookouts would’ve seen them.”
Isobel started to defend James, but just then her ambers turned icy cold.
They’d been on fire, humming, ever since Grim appeared on the ledge at Dreagan Falls.
Now…
She glanced to where the other guardsmen walked about the tumbled stones. They’d removed their plaids, using them to collect the mangled remains of their friends.
When she turned back to Kendrew, Grim had moved away to join the other men in their grisly task. Kendrew looked after him, his entire body tensing when she stepped closer and put a hand on his arm.
Isobel took a breath, knowing so much depended on her words. “Nought isn’t hell waking. Hell has been here. There is a difference.”
“Either way, it changes nothing.” Kendrew set his hands on her shoulders. “I’d know you back to Haven, into the care of your brother. I’ll no’ have you here now.”
“Men did this.” Isobel spoke as firmly as she could, given how fast her heart was beating, and with the bitter heat of bile so thick in her throat. “Men are everywhere, good and bad. I feel safest with you.”
She couldn’t allow Kendrew to send her away.
If he did, she’d never reach him again.
So she kept her chin high, her gaze level on his. “Answer me this: Could a Berserker wreak such devastation? Legends tell of their raging. They are said to possess unnatural strength when fury besets them.”
Kendrew stared at her, his expression darkening. “You think my own men did this?”
“Not your men, no.” Isobel shook her head. Ideas – old memories - began to whirl across her mind, taking shape at last. “But perhaps fiends who wished to make it look as if Nought men did this. Or a dreagan-”
“The only dreagans hereabouts are moldering bones.” Kendrew shot a glance at Grim and the other men. “The cairns are empty and have been so long as I can remember.”
He took Isobel’s arm, leading away from the others, toward one of the nearby outcrops. “Stories of Slag fascinated me as a lad because he was said to be the most terrible of all the dreagans.
“Legend tells that he feared nothing and could turn a man to stone with a single glance.” He paused, pulled a hand down over his chin. “I wanted to see him. One day when my father was away and I still young enough to believe in suchlike, I came here and climbed onto Slag’s Mound. I shifted some of the stones and lowered a torch into the cairn, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sleeping beast.”
“And you saw nothing?”
“Only old stones and dirt. A large empty space, filled with darkness and nothing else.” He sounded disappointed. “I never told anyone, not wanting to spoil Slag’s fame.” He glanced again at his men. “Men stop believing in dreagans about the time they grow beards. But…”
He turned back to her, shaking his head. “They then develop a taste for gold. They crave gold, silver, women, and drinking. Many also live for a good, hard fight, raiding, and any other form of bloodletting.”
“And you think such men did this.” Isobel rubbed her arms, feeling chilled.
“I am sure of it.” There was a flash of distaste in Kendrew’s eyes.
“I still think there is more.” Isobel looked up at the bare pinnacles rising above them. Nought could be the edge of the world with its soaring cliffs and rock-edged ravines. It was a place to be cherished and prized, not dishonored with spilt blood and snuffed lives.
She curled her hands into fists, wishing in that moment that she, too, could swing a huge war ax.
Whoever killed the three guardsmen willfully stained a sacred place as well.
Men capable of such callousness deserved no mercy.
“I have an idea.” She glanced back at Niall’s broken ribcage, the proud blue cloak spreading beneath him. “I agree greed-driven cravens, looking for treasure, could’ve attacked the men. I’d take it further.” She waved off his objection. “Men seeking to scare folk from Nought by making the attack look as if dreagans had wakened and done this. Or” – she tapped her cheek, thinking – “we have men hoping to put blame on Berserkers-”
> “What are you saying?” Kendrew frowned, first reaching to stop her and then striding after her when she went to stand beside Niall’s bloodied cloak.
“Look here.” She waited until joined her, then nudged the edge of the mantel with her foot. “I think if you lift away his cloak, you’ll find the blood-eagle.”
She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.
“The blood-eagle?” Kendrew stared at her. His brows lowered fiercely. “No man today carves one. Only a true Berserker would do such a thing.”
“Indeed.” Isobel glanced again at Niall’s ribs, needing all her strength not to shudder. “And doesn’t everyone in the Highlands know you’re always claiming proud descent from those half-mythic beings?”
“Humph.” Kendrew’s frown deepened. “You think someone wishes to besmirch my family name?”
Isobel flicked a speck of lint off her sleeve. “I’d say it is possible.”
She shivered again for the wind was quickening, the air turning colder.
Her ambers were icy now, each stone feeling frozen to her skin.
And the chillier they grew, the more clear her memory of an old clan tale: a Viking yarn of how the Norsemen sometimes dressed their slain, cutting the dead man’s ribs from his spine and then lifting out his lungs to spread them like wings across the back.
The blood-eagle.
It was a surefire means of striking terror into the hearts of enemies.
Or, in this instance, an excellent way to make their nefarious deeds look as if men from Clan Mackintosh – warriors who prided themselves on their Berserker ancestry - were responsible.
“I dinnae believe it.” Kendrew’s frown turned blacker. But he leaned down and whipped away the cloak, dropping it as quickly when Isobel’s guess proved true.
Niall’s remains did wear the blood-eagle.
Kendrew straightened at once, blanching. “How did you know that?”
“I didn’t – I guessed.” Isobel tossed back her hair, grateful that Kendrew’s broad back spared her the view. “An old clan bard told a terrifying tale of the blood-eagle whenever his stories mentioned my ancestor, Ottar the Fire-worshipper, and another forebear, Lady Scandia, whose mother was a Norsewoman. They lived in Viking days.”
“It makes no sense.” Kendrew’s rubbed his neck. “Why go to the trouble to carve the blood-eagle on Niall’s back and then also gouge a hole in Slag’s Mound?”
Isobel shrugged. “Perhaps they hoped to scare off as many good folk as possible? Those who believe in the like will accept a dreagan escaped and is wreaking havoc in the glen. And” – she reached to straighten Kendrew’s plaid – “those who fear the great name Mackintosh, men of Berserker origin, will run from here. They’ll be fleeing your fury.”
“A threat they underscored with the blood-eagle.” Kendrew nodded, grimly. Then he began to pace. “Those were good men, lady.” He wheeled to face her. “They patrolled only. They were not looking to fight anyone. Their sole task was to keep peace and” – he shoved a hand through his hair – “to watch for stray cattle beasts and guide them back to the herd at the summer grazing.
“Who could do this to such men?” Kendrew rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t know.” Isobel didn’t.
But she did go over to him, gripping his arm when he made no move to stop pacing. “Tonight at Nought we can think about it and then-”
“There will be no ‘tonight at Nought.’” He looked at her, incredulous. “No’ with you, there won’t be. I’ll think on this myself.”
“Then we must do so now.” Isobel stepped back and tightened her cloak against the rising wind. Even more dark clouds were gathering in the west. If she delayed him long enough, a storm would break, giving her time.
He glanced at the sky and then back at her. “I’ll not be tricked, Isobel.” His words proved he’d guessed her plan. “Thon is a grave matter.” He jerked his head towards the damaged cairn and the torn bodies. “This is no place for a-”
“I am not just any lady.” Isobel knew what he was about to say. “I stitched terrible wounds after the battle last autumn. And” – this was important – “I never looked away during the fight. It didn’t please me, none of it did. But I saw everything. I am not one to wilt when dark winds blow through this glen. Nor do I run and hide when blood flows.” She let all the pride of a Highland woman ring in her voice.
“Humph.” Kendrew rubbed his chin and glanced aside, not meeting her gaze.
But a muscle twitched in his jaw, encouraging her.
She was reaching him.
Putting a hand to her brow, she looked around, deliberately avoiding the carnage. “This place is surrounded by rocks, sky, and mountains. A natural fortress as strong as Nought’s own walls, wouldn’t you say?”
He didn’t answer her.
He did wrap his hands around his sword belt, knuckles white.
“Sometimes” – Isobel picked up a small, round stone, rolling it in her palm – “even the mightiest defenses are breached. As far back in time as one looks, dark chapters can be found, staining history and blighting the land we love so dearly. Yet no matter how calamitous the tragedy, our glen lives on to bless us on the morrow.”
“Do you aspire to be a poet, lady?” Kendrew tightened his lips, still not looking at her.
“I speak words you need to hear.” Encouraged because he didn’t storm off, she stepped closer to him, slipping her hand through his arm.
“After every storm, the clouds are swept away, giving us a sky of clear, deep blue.” She spoke easily, believing. “The waters of our shores and lochs sparkle anew, glittering like jewels. And the cliffs rising around us gleam like polished silver in the afternoon light.”
She squeezed Kendrew’s arm, leaning into him. “The jewels we spoke of at Dreagan Falls are here, too. Even now, in such a dark moment. To pretend they aren’t is unfair to every soul who ever loved this land. And” – now she did glance over at the carnage – “to your guardsmen who fell trying to defend their home.”
“You will still be returning to yours.” Kendrew finally looked her.
“I am home.” Isobel stood firm.
“Aye, and you soon will be. You’ll be safe in your linen-dressed bed at Castle Haven, lying back against your finely embroidered cushions and nibbling cream pasties off a silver tray.” He shook free of her grasp, frowning. “That is your future, Isobel.
“You don’t belong here.” He made his tone final.
Isobel squared her shoulders. “I won’t let you bring me meadowsweet, Kendrew.”
His brows shot upward. “Who told you of meadowsweet? Wait, I know who it was.” His gaze shot to Grim, who appeared to be examining tracks leading away from the cairn. “That long-nosed, meddlesome-”
“He is your good and loyal friend.” Isobel defended Grim. “Not the kind who can be bought with a flash of coin or a jug of wine. It is good that he told me what he did.” She didn’t mention Lady Aileen, hoping there would be time later to address that sorrow.
This moment was theirs.
Yet Kendrew looked furious. “I will cut the tongue from that inferring bastard.”
“And I promise you that I will always love Nought, and you.” Isobel refused to be intimidated. “Nothing will ever chase me away.” She set her hands on his shoulders, lifting up on her toes to kiss him. “Not the cold and all the rock. Not hardship, strife, nor any troubles that might befall us.”
She paused, swallowing against the thickness in her throat. “Not even you, my lord.”
“Isobel.” He reached for her, pulling her close. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Three well-armed, battle-hardened warriors have been torn apart. That proves this can be a benighted place, not safe for you. It doesn’t matter how much you love-”
“I am not afraid-”
The sound of approaching riders cut her off. They were coming fast, the thunder of their horses’ hooves loud on the stony ground. Even as Kendrew and Isobel broke apart and turn
ed, a hard-riding party of warriors pounded up to them. Cameron guards, they called a quick greeting as swung down from their saddles, hurrying over to Kendrew.
Isobel recognized one of her brother’s best guardsmen. Named Sorley, he was an older man, incredibly loyal. He came forward with long strides, carrying a bulky, red-stained leather pouch.
“Ill tidings, Mackintosh!” Sorley set the pouch on a large, flat-topped rock. “Like as not to do with this! Brigands were seen on the high moor above Castle Haven and” – he glanced at the sack – “they carried a grisly package.”
Isobel’s stomach dropped. She knew what the bloodied sack held.
“I know what’s in that pouch.” Kendrew gripped Sorley’s arm, his gaze flashing to the sack, then back to the guardsman. “Were the bastards killed? Did you get their names? Why they did this?”
The other Cameron guards exchanged glances. One of them looked again at the slaughter field. Only Sorley met Kendrew’s eye.
“Nae, we didn’t catch them.” Sorley looked uncomfortable. “We tried, scouring the hills for hours. I’m not sure we even saw them. It was the strangest thing.” He ran a hand through his hair, glanced at Isobel. “Tam, our tallow lad at Haven, saw them and told our chief. But by the time we ran out to look for them, they were gone.”
“Yet you have three heads in thon bag.” Kendrew released Sorley’s arm and looked to his own men who’d pressed near. “Where did you get them?”
“That’s what’s so odd.” Sorley shifted, but didn’t look away from Kendrew’s fierce gaze. “We saw a mailed warrior up by the castle falls, the cataracts in the gorge behind Haven. We all saw him – a big, hard-faced man carrying a spear. But his mail shone like the sun and he wore a great plumed helm like men haven’t used in ages.
“He stepped to the edge of an overhang up on the gorge and beckoned to us.” Sorley shook his head, as if disbelieving his own words. “We saw then that he couldn’t have been one of the blood-drenched brigands Tam described. The man’s armor didn’t bear a speck of blood.”
Temptation of a Highland Scoundrel (Highland Warriors Book 2) Page 28
