Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

A gasp shuddered from him as Brochain plunged his blade into the swollen wound, letting it bleed out the yellowish pus that was festering inside. Then his brother packed the wound with healing herbs their sister had prepared. Finian didn’t know if he passed out or not, but the next thing he was aware of was Brochain using the flat of the blade to cauterise the injury.

  A cry tore from his mouth as the blistering pain ripped through him. And when it was done, Brochain passed him an animal skin of ale.

  ‘This isn’t strong enough,’ he told Brochain, drinking heavily.

  ‘You’ll live,’ his brother pronounced.

  Finian lifted the animal skin again, wishing to God that it were possible to get drunk faster. His face tightened as he eyed the remains of their land. Although the homes were untouched, there were so few MacLachors left alive that it might as well have been abandoned.

  ‘What are you going to do about Iliana?’ Brochain asked.

  Finian stared into the fire, knowing that there was little hope for his daughter. His attempts to attack both Lord Harkirk and the MacKinlochs had met with failure. The Feast of Saint Agatha was rapidly approaching and he doubted if he’d meet with any success.

  ‘Gather some of the men. We’ll try for a MacKinloch hostage one last time. Take anyone you can find.’

  ‘Even the children?’ Brochain sent him a dark look. It wasn’t at all what Finian wanted. But what choice did he have?

  He drained the rest of the ale. ‘Even the children.’

  At dusk, Alex spied Laren walking towards him. She’d kept her promise over the last few days, leaving Ramsay to work on the fires while she returned at sunset. The first outer wall was now finished and the second nearly so. Alex leaned up against the inner wall, waiting for his wife. Against the descending sun, her hair gleamed like fire.

  Even after five years of marriage, she was as beautiful to him now as she’d been the first day he’d met her. But she appeared tired, her face wan. In her hands, she carried a leather-wrapped bundle and he wondered what it was.

  When she reached his side, he greeted her with a kiss. Although she was shy to show him affection in front of the others, gradually she’d become used to it.

  ‘What did you bring back?’ he asked. ‘Something for the girls?’

  She glanced around, as if looking to see who was watching. ‘And for you. But we should go to a place where the others won’t see.’

  It was glass, then. He’d suspected as much. ‘I’ll bring Mairin and Adaira to the edge of the loch. Will that be secret enough?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll wait for you there.’

  Before she could go back, he caught her hand. ‘We can only stay for a short time, Laren. Tonight we’re going to have a competition among the men. Both of us should be there.’ If all went according to plan, they would have walls up around the keep later tonight. Alex had ordered the men to cut large pieces of wood for the framing, and it was piled up in readiness. ‘We’ll feast with the others later.’

  After she left his side, he went to fetch his daughters. Mairin and Adaira were hungry, but when he told them that their mother had a surprise for them, their curiosity overcame their whining.

  ‘What is it, Mama?’ Mairin demanded, racing towards the edge of the loch where Laren was waiting. ‘What did you bring us?’

  ‘Cake?’ Adaira suggested. ‘For me?’

  ‘No, not cake,’ Laren said. She unwrapped the leather bundle and Alex spied a row of twisted pieces of glass. One end was a solid teardrop, while a wisp of melted glass spiraled upwards like a swirl of honey.

  ‘What are they?’

  Laren took one and passed it to him. ‘Drop it hard against the stone and watch.’

  He took the soft end and eyed her. There was mischief brewing in her eyes and, from the way she pulled the girls behind her, he suspected that she was playing a trick upon him.

  Gingerly, he let go of the bit of glass. As soon as it struck the stone, it exploded with a loud crack. He jerked back from instinct and unsheathed his dirk.

  Laren started laughing at him. ‘Were you trying to kill it?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘By God, woman, what was that?’

  Mairin burst forwards. ‘I want one! Let me try!’ Laren gave her a twist of glass and her daughter happily smashed it against the rock, giggling when it exploded in a shower of dust.

  ‘When you drop hot glass into cold water, it makes these sometimes.’ She reached into a fold of her cloak and showed him droplets of colored glass. ‘Like the ones you gave me.’

  She’d kept them. He didn’t know why, but knowing it brought a warmth inside of him. While his daughters smashed more of the glass droplets, Laren joined them in laughing. Her face was flushed and the bright smile on her face caught him like a kick to the lungs. He hadn’t seen her so relaxed in a long time.

  When they’d finished smashing the glass, Laren took the girls in each hand and Alex took Adaira’s other palm. He eyed Laren and together they lifted Adaira up by her palms, swinging her forwards until she squealed.

  When they reached the fortress again, he saw that Nairna was lighting the torches.

  The aroma of roasting meat filled the air and his girls sniffed appreciatively, reminding him of how hungry they were. As soon as she saw all the people waiting, he saw the happiness freeze up on Laren’s face. She held on to the girls’ hands as if they were a shield.

  Alex saw the look of fear upon her face, but a moment later she released the children, murmuring for them to go and sit with Vanora. He saw her approach Nairna and the woman sent Laren a grateful smile. ‘I’ll need ten women to help me pass around the food,’ she predicted. ‘Could you gather them and ask for their help?’

  Laren nodded and seemed to steel herself for the task. One by one, she went to several women, asking them for help. Before long they had passed out wooden platters containing slices of roasted pork, paired with carrots, turnips and nuts. Two barrels of ale were opened and the atmosphere transformed into one of celebration.

  When Laren joined him again, she didn’t look well. Alex made her sit down and eat something, but she picked at her food. ‘Are you all right?’

  His wife nodded and, when she met his gaze, admitted, ‘You asked me to try harder. To be the wife you need.’

  He understood that she was trying to behave like the Lady of Glen Arrin. He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘If you can find a bit more courage, we’re not done yet.’ It was time to begin the competition and choose teams.

  He led Laren forwards, bringing her to the centre of the fortress. The clansmen set aside their food and Alex waited until he had their attention. ‘We wanted to host this celebration tonight in thanks for all that you’ve given to rebuild Glen Arrin. It’s time to begin framing the keep and I wanted to offer a competition to anyone who wishes to join in.’ He pointed towards the new foundation, that had been laid in stone.

  ‘A prize of three cows and two sheep will be awarded to the winning team of men who can construct their side the fastest. My brothers and I will form one team, while we need three more teams to complete the remaining sides.’ He continued explaining the rules, before the men began dividing up into groups.

  Several of the women went to wish their husbands luck and Alex saw Bram pull his wife into a deep kiss. The two of them were so wrapped up in each other, he doubted if they’d notice if the walls came crashing down.

  But Laren had already retreated from his side, back to their daughters. He didn’t miss the looks of reproach on the faces of many women. There was a coolness there and his wife kept her gaze downcast.

  He’d never really noticed the way they treated her like an outsider. It bothered him to see her in that way. Had it always been like this? He tried to remember if she’d had close friends when they were first married and he wasn’t chief of the clan. He didn’t know.

  She sat with Adaira on her lap, Mairin snuggled close, but there were no women joining Laren to talk.

  When he gave the
signal, Alex worked alongside his brothers, building the framework while the teams on the other sides raced to build up their wall faster. As the hours passed, the lower walls of the castle keep began to take shape.

  His arms were aching from holding the beams in place while Dougal climbed a ladder to hammer in the pegs. From behind him, he caught a slight motion. And then one of the beams slipped.

  Alex threw himself at Bram, knocking his brother to the side as the wood struck the place where he’d been standing. Thank God, no one was hurt.

  But when he got back to his feet, he saw that Laren had rushed forwards. ‘What happened?’ Her face was tight with worry and he pulled her against him, offering her comfort.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he told her. ‘The beam slipped.’ Her hands came up to touch his back, but the embrace was tentative, as if she suddenly realised that others were watching them.

  When he released her, she let out a shaky breath. ‘How much more is left to finish?’

  ‘A few hours more and we’ll have the four walls framed. After that, we’ll choose our winning team and end the work for the night.’ He took her hands, adding, ‘You look tired. If you want to take the girls back to Ross’s, you needn’t wait on me.’

  She studied him for a long moment. Then she said, ‘I’ll put the girls to sleep. And then I’ll wait.’

  Laren had made it halfway across the fortress when Alex’s mother Grizel crossed the space to speak with her. ‘You should know better than to go near the men when they’re building. You might have been killed just now.’

  ‘The beam had already fallen,’ she pointed out.

  Her mother-in-law let out a sigh. ‘Your judgment seems to be lacking at times. And it’s clear that you have no inkling of the responsibilities of a chief’s wife.’

  The woman’s criticisms were like dull razors, cutting into her confidence. Though Laren tried to ignore Grizel, the longer she remained silent, the more her mother-in-law found fault with other things.

  ‘You should have organised the feast tonight,’ Grizel continued. ‘I don’t know what it is you spend your time doing…sleeping, I suppose. Like your father always did.’

  ‘I’m not my father,’ she shot back. Inwardly she cursed herself for rising to Grizel’s bait.

  A light entered Grizel’s eyes at the prospect of an argument. ‘No, but you’ve the same blood. Why you ever thought you’d be a good wife to Alex is beyond my ken.’

  ‘I loved him,’ she whispered. ‘And he loved me.’

  ‘Love has nothing to do with a strong marriage. If you were a better wife to him, you’d lead at his side. Though I imagine you think it’s best to keep bearing children. Why, if your son had lived—’

  ‘Don’t speak of him.’ Laren turned on Grizel, tightening her grip on Adaira. ‘Don’t ever speak of him.’

  When the older woman’s lip started to move, Laren cut her off. ‘Save your words. You’ve said enough this night.’

  She increased her stride, forcing Mairin to walk faster. Angry tears welled up inside. Worse, she couldn’t even have a moment alone, for the woman was staying with them. The walls of the keep couldn’t go up fast enough as far as she was concerned. She tucked the girls in, wishing she could crawl under the coverlet and ignore Grizel for the rest of the night.

  But voices rose from outside, breaking through the stillness. ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked Grizel, listening hard.

  ‘It’s nothing. Just the men working,’ the woman responded. ‘Now, as I was telling you—’

  ‘Stay with the girls,’ Laren ordered. She knew she’d heard something. Though she hoped that she was being fearful over nothing, she still moved to take one of Ross’s dirks. The blade was heavy in her hand and she wished the men would return.

  ‘There’s nothing there,’ Grizel insisted. ‘Now put that down and—’

  Laren stepped outside, clenching the weapon in her hands. When she heard nothing but the sigh of the wind, she wondered if perhaps Alex’s mother was right.

  And then she heard rustling sounds. Movement, coming from outside the fortress.

  With her heart pounding, she ran back to Alex, where four walls of the keep stood in various stages of completion. Ignoring the celebration, Laren found her husband, just as he was announcing the winning team.

  ‘I heard movement coming from the trees,’ she warned him. ‘I don’t know if it’s a raid, but they’re near the loch.’

  Alex alerted the others and the men grabbed weapons, just as a group of a dozen men emerged through the gates, their shouts resounding in the darkness.

  Two of them moved towards the livestock, while others went after the grain. The sounds of fighting tore through the celebration, iron blades clashing together as the MacKinlochs defended their home.

  ‘MacLachors,’ she heard Ross say.

  ‘I thought they were our allies.’ Laren didn’t understand it. If they’d needed grain and supplies, they’d only had to ask. Alex would have welcomed their labour in return for food.

  ‘They’ve a new chief, so I’ve heard.’ the older man replied. ‘Likely a young man causing trouble.’

  Laren stayed clear of the fighting, but in the distance, she spied two of the men moving towards the hut where her girls were sleeping.

  No. She ran hard, fury rising from the pit of her stomach as she went after them. Her lungs burned, the fear snaking into her gut. If they dared to harm one of her daughters, she’d hunt them down.

  Alex came running behind her, his claymore drawn with both hands. ‘Stay back,’ he warned, but Laren ignored him. When a raider moved towards her, she swung the dirk. He dodged her slash and, with his spear shaft, struck a blow to her hands. The weapon dropped away and she had no choice but to retreat.

  ‘Get inside, Laren,’ Alex warned. He swung the claymore, the long blade slicing towards the man’s head. ‘If you lay a finger upon my wife, you’ll find it on the ground, along with your severed hand.’

  Laren moved behind him, holding her torch aloft, in case the man broke free. Alex held the claymore in both hands before he charged at the man, swinging with precision. ‘Why did you come, MacLachor?’

  ‘For the bounty on your heads.’ He held the spear up, blocking Alex’s blow, but when the claymore cut into the wood, Alex couldn’t free his weapon. Instead, he twisted the blade, disarming his enemy.

  He threw himself atop the man and caught him by the throat. ‘What bounty?’

  ‘The one offered by Harkirk.’ The MacLachor man fought to free himself, his fingers digging against Alex’s palm.

  Laren grew cold at the thought. If what he said was true, then they were in more danger than they’d believed.

  ‘How much did he offer for me?’ Alex jerked the man to his feet, tightening his grip. When there came no answer, he unsheathed the dirk at his waist. ‘Tell me, damn you.’

  His enemy’s gaze went blank, in anticipation of death. ‘Our chief’s daughter is Harkirk’s hostage,’ he admitted. ‘The Baron says he’ll take your life for hers.’

  Instinctively, Laren glanced behind at the shelter where her girls were sleeping. Harkirk had the MacLachor chief’s daughter in his keeping?

  Now it was clear. The man who’d attacked before must have been a MacLachor, trying to lure Alex. And tonight, they’d struck with the last of their men, in a desperate act.

  She saw her husband’s attention flicker for just a moment, then he dived to the ground. An arrow lay embedded in the wood just where his head had been. The MacLachor used his chance to escape; within seconds, he’d disappeared into the darkness of the trees.

  ‘Get inside,’ Alex ordered, opening the door for her. From the torn look upon his face, she knew that he had to go with his men, to pursue the remaining MacLachors.

  ‘I’ll keep you safe,’ he swore. There was a look of hesitation on his face, before he returned to the centre of the fortress. Laren stood at the entrance to the hut, watching as he went off to fight.

  When Alex was go
ne, she knelt down to touch the arrow. It might have killed him just now. Her hand shook as she ripped it free of the wood, staring at the pointed tip. If he hadn’t moved in time, she might be sitting here with him dying in her arms. She shivered, wishing her husband hadn’t left her. Waiting was nearly as bad as watching him fight.

  She forced herself to go back inside, where she found Grizel standing in front of the girls, her face pale. In her hands, the older woman held a spear she’d snatched from Ross’s belongings.

  ‘Are they all right?’ Laren whispered.

  Grizel nodded. ‘They slept through the raid.’

  Laren’s knees were shaking and she went to stand near the hearth. Despite the heat of the fire, she couldn’t stop shivering. Then she looked over at Grizel, who was setting the spear aside. ‘Thank you for watching over them.’

  The older woman turned away in silence, staring at the flames. Her mood had shifted into a solemn regret and Laren wondered if Grizel was remembering how her husband Tavin had been killed in battle.

  ‘You should be glad to have daughters,’ the old woman said. ‘At least they won’t grow up to fight in raids. Or be taken as slaves.’

  ‘I hope not.’ Her thoughts lingered upon the MacLachor’s claim that Harkirk had taken their chief’s daughter captive. And she wondered what would happen now.

  ‘You don’t look well,’ her mother-in-law remarked. ‘Did you remember to eat?’

  She nodded, but her thoughts returned to Grizel’s comment about being glad to have girls. She did love her daughters, but sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder what their son David would have been like. He’d have been three years old, had he lived.

  She clenched her gloved hands, trying to blot out the memories. But her mind persisted in the painful visions.

  Would David have dragged a wooden sword around, pretending to be like his father? Would he have laughed and held on to her hip when he needed her? She vividly remembered the warmth of his small body nestled against her breast when he’d been born.

  Until the terrible morning when his body was cold and lifeless upon hers. She’d never known what had caused him to die, and it hurt so much to remember it.