A Warlord's Prize: A Medieval Highland Romance (Highlander's Honor Book 3)

by Avery Maitland

  A large oak tree with a tangle of roots rose before them and Cat left Morag beside the rough trunk as she scrambled up over the roots. A small stream cut through the soft ground to expose round rocks and gravel and relief flooded through her. She slid back down the roots and put her shoulder under her sister’s arm. “Come along now,” she said cheerfully. “Not far tae go.”

  The tree would shield them for the night, and would hide them from the men who followed behind. Morag’s feet slipped on the roots, but Cat pulled her along and helped her climb over and down the other side. Cat dropped the sack of supplies down onto the gravel and clambered over before reaching up to help Morag down.

  Just as she was about to slide over the edge, Morag froze.

  “What is it?” Cat asked impatiently.

  “Men… there are men comin’.” Her voice was strangled, and Cat could hear fear behind her words. “You canna let them take me back—Manus will—”

  Cat tugged on her sister’s boot. “Come on then. I’ll catch ye.”

  Morag looked over the edge, her eyes wide, and Cat held up her arms. “Morag— Hurry!”

  Morag closed her eyes and pushed herself over the edge. She balanced there for a moment, her chest heaving, and then released her hold on the roots. Cat was not prepared for her sister’s sudden descent, but she threw herself forward and attempted to catch her. Morag landed on top of her, driving them both to the ground where they landed in a tangled heap.

  Cat bit back a groan of pain as she hit the gravel, but she reached for her sister’s hand. “Are y’hurt?” she whispered.

  Morag squeezed her fingers tightly. “No. I’m fine—”

  Cat scrambled to her feet and pulled her sister up. The stream had been high that spring, and the water had carved out a hollow in the bank that was deep enough for them to hide in. Cat pushed Morag back into it, and looked up at the roots that shielded them above. She grabbed for the bag of supplies and darted back beside Morag. Men’s voices echoed through the trees, and Cat held her breath.

  Beside her, Morag covered her mouth with both hands and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. The men were above them, and their voices were loud in Cat’s ears.

  “Did they come this way?”

  “Manus will have your head fer this,” another one snapped. “Why’d ye leave the bitch alone?”

  “It wasnae my fault!”

  Cat smiled thinly as she recognized the voice of the man who had been guarding Morag. He deserved whatever happened to him.

  “Ye’ll be the one tae explain that tae Manus,” another man growled.

  “We should have found them by now—two women cannae get far.”

  “It’s gettin’ dark,” another man said. “I’ll not be gettin lost wi’out a torch. You bastards can keep lookin’ wi’out me.”

  There was more grumbling and complaints, but the voices faded away and Cat allowed herself to release the breath she had been holding.

  She smiled at her sister and Morag slowly relaxed. “I escaped them once before—but they caught me and brought me back. Donnal brought me back. I barely survived it.”

  “They’ll not be catchin’ us,” Cat said firmly. “We’ll stay here until dawn and then keep movin’.”

  “But we have nothin’... No food…”

  Cat brandished the sack. “We’re well supplied. Y’must be starvin’.” She pulled out a package of dried meat and handed it to her sister who took it gratefully. “Will ye be ready to walk again by dawn?”

  Morag smiled and tore off a chunk of meat with her fingers as Cat pulled an apple out of the sack for herself. “With food in my belly and some sleep? Aye, I think I could be.”

  They ate together in silence, huddled together for warmth as the night closed in. Morag’s weight against her back was comforting, but Cat slept sparingly, listening for any sound in the woods, but there was nothing but the cry of night birds and the movements of deer and other small animals.

  When the sky began to lighten, Cat shook her sister awake. “On tae Inveraray,” she said.

  “Aye.”

  Morag seemed stronger, and the knowledge that Donnal was alive seemed to have given her fresh hope. As long as that determination lasted, Cat would push her onward. Inveraray was close, but Manus’ men would hound them at every turn, and the chance of being discovered when they left the forest was a fear that never left the back of her mind. They would have to move quickly and carefully… and hope that luck was on their side.

  Chapter Eight

  Lachlann had been awake before dawn, pacing the courtyard of his mother’s keep. Donnal appeared, limping slightly, but with a determined set to his jaw. Brother Aldus, despite his hard looks, stood aside while Donnal mounted the horse that was brought for him.

  The monk handed Lachlann a folded piece of parchment sealed with a fresh blob of red wax. “I have done what I can, but the stubborn man would not lie still unless I drugged him. And even then it did not last long.” Donnal chuckled and Brother Aldus frowned at him. “If he survives the journey, see that this is given to the apothecary at Inveraray. He will tend to Donnal’s wounds. As much as he can.”

  Lachlann patted the man’s cheek. “Be of good cheer, Monk. I’ll see that the man doesnae come apart at the seams while we ride.”

  Brother Aldus snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “See that you do.”

  “He is in a sour mood this mornin’,” Donnal observed as Lachlann mounted his own horse and pulled up beside him.

  “Aye. Dinnae worry over it. He’ll remember his humor by the time we return with the laird’s blessing and men behind us.”

  Graham Eliott mounted his horse and spurred it forward. “The messengers yer mother sent out have brought men in from the surrounds. We ride with a company. Nathan McArthur will have no choice but to listen tae reason.”

  Lachlann nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Angus Mackenzie should have returned with his wayward wife by now.

  Eliott clapped Lachlann on the back. “Mackenzie will meet us at Inveraray. I cannot see yer wife goin’ quietly.”

  Lachlann chuckled. “She’ll give him trouble, of that I havenae any doubt.”

  His commander grinned. “I hope for his sake that he’s man enough tae handle it.”

  Lachlann tightened his grip on the reins and pressed his heels into his horse’s flanks. As they rode through the gates he looked back to see his mother standing in the courtyard with her hand raised in farewell. They would return soon enough, and with any luck, they would return with the laird’s men behind them.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Despite the messages that Ginny Mackay had sent to Inveraray, the laird was not ready to receive them.

  A stone-faced guard with several men behind him, all heavily armed, met them in the courtyard.

  “We had word of yer comin’,” the man said without ceremony.

  Lachlann dismounted and threw his mount’s reins to one of the stableboys who scurried out from the shadows. “Take us tae the laird.”

  It was not a request, it was a command, and the guards bristled at the tone of his voice. Their leader smiled grimly. “Follow me,” he said briskly, and then his eyes narrowed as he took a quick reckoning of the men who had accompanied Lachlann to Inveraray. “You’ve come well escorted,” he said.

  “Aye, to bolster the laird’s forces,” Lachlann replied. “Take me to him.”

  The guard paused upon the stone stairs, but he finally nodded and led Lachlann and his commanders up into the keep.

  At the doors of the laird’s great hall, the same one that had hosted Lachlann’s wedding feast not so many months past, but the hospitality of the laird’s hall seemed to have dimmed somewhat since his departure for Narris.

  “You may await the laird’s pleasure,” the guard said and Lachlann was not certain that there was not a measure of smugness in the man’s voice. What did he know that they did not?

  “Aye, we’ll wait, but be sure y
’tell Nathan McArthur that the longer he waits, the closer the threat from the north approaches.”

  The guard frowned. “Are ye makin’ threats, Lachlann Mackay?”

  Lachlann smiled. “Oh, no. There’s no time for threats. Manus Camran will make enough of those if ye give him enough time.”

  The guard sneered at him, but did not reply as Lachlann took a seat at one of the long tables. Donnal and Eliott seated themselves just as casually and the guard strode down the corridor, leaving them alone in the great hall.

  They sat in silence for far longer than Lachlann was comfortable with, but he knew that this delay was purposeful. Nathan McArthur never did anything by accident or coincidence. He did not believe in coincidence. He believed in opportunity.

  “I dinnae like this,” Eliott muttered finally.

  “I think that’s the point,” Lachlann said.

  Donnal drummed his fingers on the table and held his ribs as he shifted uncomfortably. “We’re not wanted here.”

  Eliott nodded. “Aye. We should go. I’ll not be kept waiting on a man’s arroga—”

  “But ye’ll wait on yer laird’s pleasure,” a voice said loudly from the corridor. Nathan McArthur strode into the great hall and Lachlann stood up from his seat. Donnal and Graham Eliott did the same, but Donnal braced himself on the table as his knee buckled slightly.

  “My lord,” Lachlann said. “Ye’ve kept us waitin—”

  Nathan McArthur chuckled as he took his seat, and he gestured for one of his men to fill a cup with ale, though Lachlann noted that there was only one cup beside him. Nothing for his guests.

  “Ye come uninvited, Lachlann Mackay,” the laird said.

  “But y’received my mother’s letter,” Lachlann said.

  “Oh, aye.” Nathan McArthur smiled and took a sip of ale. “A letter filled with ramblings and rumors.”

  “They are not rumors,” Lachlann said stiffly. “And I have brought proof.”

  Nathan MacArthur sat up straighter in his seat. “Proof? What proof could ye bring me?”

  Lachlann motioned for Donnal to step forward. “This man was deep in Manus Camran’s counsel. He can tell ye—can confirm Manus’ plans. That he means tae march on Inveraray.”

  Nathan MacArthur shook his head and raised a hand before Donnal could even open his mouth to speak. “I dinnae need tae hear more lies from the Mackay family. Yer mother has seen fit tae make many demands upon Argyll—”

  “And now I hear that y’have lost not one, but two of my daughters?”

  Lachlann turned to see Alistair MacCullach stride through the doors of the great hall. He was not a large man, but Alistair had always inhabited more space than he had any right to.

  “That isnae—” Lachlann began.

  “But that is all anyone can talk of,” he barked. “One daughter, stolen on her wedding night, and the second stolen away before dawn. Perhaps the problem is you Lachlann Mackay, and that’s no business of the lairds.”

  “MacCullach—”

  “No, no,” Nathan MacArthur said with a smile. “He makes a good point. What has been done tae recover the eldest MacCullach girl? Anythin’?”

  “She is the prisoner of Manus Camran,” Donnal said sharply. “He means tae use her as a bargaining tool— She’ll be held fer ransom. Or, he will marry her and demand the right tae her dowry and inheritance. Yer titles and lands upon yer death will pass tae her husband, Alistair MacCullach. Dinnae think that Manus Camran hasnae considered yer part in this.”

  Cat’s father had the presence of mind to consider what Donnal had said, and Lachlann could see some of his bravado fading as the other man’s words sank in.

  Nathan McArthur shifted in his chair and took a thoughtful sip of his ale. “Ye’ve come tae Inveraray with a large cohort, Lachlann Mackay,” he said.

  “Only tae bolster yer own forces,” Lachlann said. He was bewildered at the laird’s combative welcome. He had not expected to be on the defensive, especially in light of the threat on the horizon—a threat that was growing closer with each passing day.

  “What need d’ye have of more men?” the laird snapped. “Ginny Mackay has made it clear tae me that she doesnae need my permission tae raise an army of her own.” He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Lachlann. “Or, perhaps it is your army come tae my doorstep. Y’ve come here tae beg for what? For my support in fighting a force that no one can say for certain even exists? The word I have from my scouts is that Manus Camran is no threat tae Argyll. A petty squabble between family members. Ye’ll have tae do better than this.”

  Lachlann stared in disbelief at the man who was supposed to command not only his respect, but the respect of every man, woman, and child within his domains. “Do better?” he spluttered. “I have brought a man from Manus’ own camp tae tell ye of its dangers.”

  He grabbed Donnal’s arm and pulled him forward.

  The laird snorted. “Y’could have found this man anywhere. From the look of him, he’s a liar and a vagabond in search of glory he doesnae deserve.”

  Donnal stiffened under Lachlann’s hand and he braced himself for what might happen, but Donnal did not make any move to step forward and acknowledge the laird’s challenge. He would have been a fool to do so. Nathan MacArthur’s guards would have cut him down in an instant.

  The laird braced his elbows upon his knees and rested his chin upon his fingertips. “What other news d’ye bring tae me?” His tone was bored and Lachlann felt anger rising in his throat.

  “Only this,” he said through gritted teeth. “Manus Camran is coming tae yer door. He means tae take what he believes is his by force. If ye willnae listen tae reasonable men, ye’ll have a beast at yer gate and no one tae stand at yer side.”

  “Ye’d abandon yer laird in time of need?” Alistair MacCullach had found his tongue again, but Lachlann had lost all patience, along with respect, for his wife’s father.

  “If the laird doesnae believe that there is a danger present, then what need does he have of support?” Lachlann said sharply.

  “The man has made his point,” Nathan McArhur said casually. He was clearly bored by the proceedings, and he was certainly not inclined to listen to what they had to say.

  He turned to Alistair MacCullach. “If ye cared at all for yer daughters,” he said. “Ye’d listen tae me. As long as Manus has Morag in his possession, she is a weapon...”

  Alistair laughed, hard enough to make them all shift uncomfortably on their feet and Lachlann cursed himself inwardly for ever thinking that these men could be reasoned with.

  “Ye’ll not survive this,” he muttered.

  “Was that a threat, Lachlann Mackay?” Nathan McArthur said with interest.

  “An observation, my lord Argyll,” Lachlann replied with a stiff smile. “If ye’ve tired of our conversation, my men and I will take our leave.”

  “Aye,” the laird said casually. “Go back tae yer mother.”

  Graham Eliott looked at him in shock, but Lachlann gritted his teeth and gestured for him to relax. The fact that they were allowed to leave with their lives was proof of the laird’s mercy—and disinterest in what they had to say.

  Lachlann nodded to Donnal, who cast a sidelong glance at Alistair MacCullach. It was clear enough that the man was conflicted, but speaking to the man about his feelings for Morag would help nothing and no one. MacCullach did not care about such things. If he ever had, those days were long past.

  “We’ll take our leave then,” Lachlann said.

  “Aye, do that,” the laird said. “Give my best tae yer mother.”

  Lachlann smiled tightly and bowed before he led Donnal and Eliott from the great hall. The unsmiling guard who had met them in the courtyard waited for them in the corridor, and escorted them down to their horses.

  Lachlann helped Donnal onto his horse. “I’m sorry,” Donnal muttered. “I didnae think—”

  “Nor did I,” Lachlann replied. “This was not the meeting I had expected.”

  �
�No, indeed.”

  Lachlann swung up into his saddle with the knowledge that they were being watched.

  Eliott cleared his throat. “I see Lady Argyll isnae displeased tae see the back of us.”

  Lachlann glanced up at the parapet where the laird’s wife stood with her daughter held tightly against her side.

  “What reason would the laird’s wife have fer dislikin’ ye?” Donnal asked.

  Eliott snorted. “Maili McArthur has never needed a reason tae dislike anyone.”

  Lachlann shook his head and kicked his horse forward. Waiting around for the laird to change his mind about allowing them to leave was not part of his plans.

  With Donnal and Graham Eliott following close behind, they joined the men waiting outside Inveraray’s tall gates.

  “Where’re we goin’?” one of the captains called out.

  “Back the way we came,” Lachlann replied.

  Shouts of confusion and anger met his words, but there was nothing to be done. They were, all of them, at the laird’s command. And if the laird did not command them, they had to return home.

  “This is a mistake,” Eliott said as he rode up beside Lachlann.

  “I know it is,” Lachlann replied. “But we cannae do anythin’ else.”

  “We can ride tae Oban and knock that bastard off his horse and trample him intae the mud,” Eliott snarled.

  Lachlann chuckled in spite of his dark mood. He would have liked nothing better than to do exactly that, but he would not risk the men that rode with them. Manus’ forces far outnumbered his, and he was not prepared to lead those men into a slaughter.

  “What do we do?” Donnal asked.

  “Wait.”

  “Wait for what?” Eliott cried. “For Nathan McArthur tae come crawlin’ tae yer mother’s gates? She’d leave him outside tae starve after she hears what he did tae ye.”

  Eliott was not incorrect in his assumption. Lachlann knew his mother well enough to be certain that she would not look kindly upon the laird and his actions. It did not help matters that Alistair MacCullach had also chosen to take the laird’s side. The man obviously cared nothing for his daughters—he had reaped the rewards of Cat’s marriage into the Mackay clan and basked in the favor of Nathan McArthur. But that comfort and privilege was not something that Manus would honor, and Lachlann half-hoped to see those men brought low by their own arrogance.