by Paula Quinn
“Did ye expect to be welcomed as a long-lost friend?”
Keely stepped back from the table and licked her dry lips. “I dinna know, Father.”
The priest rested his hand on John’s forehead. “I’ve outlived the sire, and now his first-born son. What future awaits this clan?” He whispered a blessing and then invited Keely to follow him to a wooden bench. “Sit,” he said.
She scooted to the far end and folded her hands in her lap.
“I will ask the same question I am sure everyone is thinking when they see ye. Why did ye return?”
She should get up and walk away. Arguing with Alex was one thing, but revealing her deepest secrets to a priest was like playing with fire. There would be no half-truths shared in the presence of God or her dead husband. Today must mark the beginning of her new life. “To seek absolution,” she confessed.
“From who?” He rubbed his chin.
“From John.” She gazed in the direction of the table. “But it seems I am too late.”
“Anyone else?”
“God.”
“A prayer offered from any kirk would have gained the Almighty’s forgiveness.”
“Perhaps,” she said, not completely in agreeance. Her eyes grew hazy again as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Cowards hide from the past. Twas only right to come back here.”
“Ah,” he uttered. “But cowards also run away from their responsibilities.”
She knew what he was implying, and though she didn’t like it, she couldn’t deny his words. “There is no excuse for what I did. But please remember, Father, I was very young. Sixteen.”
“I’ve presided over the marriages of lasses not a day over thirteen.”
Keely knotted the material of her skirt between her hands. “I doona doubt it, Father Michael. But for me, it wasna the right time or with the right man.”
He swallowed, never taking his gaze off her. “I admire yer courage, lass. But the laird is gone. Rest easy, yer past will be buried with him.”
“But not my heart.”
“Nay,” he said. “Ye will have to live with that for a long time.”
Finished with the confession, she stood. “Thank ye for speaking with me.”
“Where will ye go, Keely?”
She shrugged, feeling very much alone. “I canna return to Dunrobin. My association with the Sutherlands is forever severed after what I’ve seen here today.”
“A wise choice.”
“If my sire will take me…”
“Would it help if I sent him a missive explaining how sincere ye’ve been—how sorry ye are for running away?”
“I don’t regret running away, Father. I’m sorry for the way it happened, though. There’s a distinct difference.”
“I’m well aware.” There was an intensity in his gaze she hadn’t noticed before. “Would ye indulge an old man and confide in me why ye dinna stay with John?”
She cleared her throat and tried to find the strength to answer. “B-because I never loved him.”
He nodded in understanding. “Who did ye love, lass?”
“No one.” Had she just lied again? Before a priest and on consecrated ground? “Forgive me, Father Michael. Fear once again overrode my sense of truth. Twas Alexander MacKay I wanted and loved, not John.”
Father Michael patted her hand. “Ye are forgiven. Under the circumstances, the truth matters not, for ye have no place here now. Yer only connection to Clan MacKay will be buried with Laird John tomorrow. Go in peace, Lady Keely. I will pray for a successful reunion with yer sire.”
She curtsied, determined to leave the MacKay stronghold before the sun set.
*
Keely loved me? Alex had never left the sanctuary. Instead, he hid in an alcove and listened to everything she said. Her words did nothing to change his mind about her. In fact, it made him distrust her even more. For if she’d truly loved him, why did she pledge herself to John?
As he strolled away from the kirk, he shook his head. Women were capricious creatures. He’d never let another beautiful face manipulate him. He’d never believe another woman’s sweet lies or open up his heart to one. Plenty of foolish men would, but Alex refused to be counted among them.
Tomorrow he’d bury his brother and oversee the election of a new laird. As long as a MacKay sat upon the chieftain’s chair, he cared little about what happened afterward. He’d already done more than he’d ever planned by staying to defend his clan against the Sutherlands.
His galley awaited his return—as did the princes of the far east. In the land of Mohammed, infidels were free to do as they liked, so long as they didn’t curse the Prophet or Allah. Alex could live with those stipulations more than he could live in this place where too many ghosts haunted him.
“Milord.” Jamie joined him in the courtyard. “Some matters need yer attention in the great hall.”
“I left ye in charge, Jamie. We are kinsmen, and it’s my intention to put yer name before the council to elect ye as the next chieftain.”
Jamie came to a dead stop. “Me? Laird?” He shook his head. “The council convened while ye were out.”
The news pleased Alex. The less they relied on him to solve their problems, the better the chances of this branch of Clan MacKay surviving. “And what did they decide?”
“Tis better for all of the council members to speak for themselves.”
“Every warrior has the right to vote, Jamie.”
“Aye,” he said. “Several names were put before the council.”
“And?”
Alex followed his tight-lipped cousin into the great hall. The only other time he’d seen such a showing of blue and green plaid was on the battlefield. As he approached the high table, the men stood.
“Be seated,” he said. “Formality isna required here. We are all MacKays.”
“But not all of us are lairds,” Craig, one of his brother’s captains, pointed out.
“I’d prefer to wait until John is in the ground before we choose the next chief. But under the dire circumstances, I understand yer need to take a vote.”
“There’s no need, milord,” Craig said.
Alex sat down, looking into the crowd. “Why?”
“We already voted,” Jamie said.
“Without me? I dinna have a chance to vote.”
“Yer choice wouldna matter, Alex,” Craig said. “The decision was unanimous.”
“All right.” Alex would listen to what they had to say. These men would be left to hold together whatever remained of his family, so their opinions mattered more than his.
“Before God and all men representing Clan MacKay, we pledge our lives to our new laird.” Mathe, the eldest and highest ranked captain of the bunch, pushed his chair out and knelt before Alex.
Jesus Christ above… This was the last thing Alex expected or wanted. He wasna meant for the laird’s seat, and dinna deserve it after being gone so long. If these honorable men knew what had taken root in his heart since the night he fled home, they’d surely change their minds about him. There was more to being a laird than just carrying the blood of his sire and brother. It required patience and judiciousness, a healthy fear of the Almighty, and respect for men less fortunate than himself.
All characteristics Alex admired in other men, but was sure he dinna possess himself.
“Stand before me as an equal, Mathe.” Alex gestured with his hand. “Venerate a man worthy of the title.”
The captain did as he asked but looked confused. “Ye are our choice—which makes ye worthy of the honors.”
“Nay,” Alex said firmly. “In order for me to be laird, I must live here. I have no intention of staying in the Highlands.”
A loud murmur rose from the crowd below.
“Tis no coincidence ye showed up when ye did, Laird MacKay,” Mathe continued, talking louder so the rest of the people in the hall could hear everything he said. “Only God can be credited with such timing.”
“Or the
devil,” Alex murmured.
His words caused more unrest.
“Are ye no a Godfearing man?” someone questioned from the crowd.
“Would ye abandon us again?” a woman cried.
“If ye dinna want to stay, why’d ye defend us against the Sutherland dogs?” another man asked.
Alex sighed and crossed his legs under the table. All fair questions. Their fears and uncertainty were justified, for the future of Clan MacKay was at stake. Standing, Alex raised his hands. The least he could do was try to provide some comfort and leadership until the next laird was chosen. “I am not the man ye think I am,” he said. “I’m a sellsword, a bloodthirsty, soulless creature who kills for a living.”
Silence settled over the great hall.
“The blood of other men has paid for the properties I own in Constantinople. I keep six concubines, who I bed without hesitation for the sake of pleasure alone. I no longer pray to God for mercy and understanding. I wake each day wondering who I will be sent to hunt and kill. No one calls me friend, but all seek my approval out of fear that it’s their throats I will cut next. Is this the type of laird ye want?”
“Ye keep slaves?” Jamie asked, looking shocked.
“Aye,” Alex admitted. “And I am a better master than most.”
“Tis an abomination,” Ramsey MacKay, another cousin and a captain in John’s personal guard, commented, his face twisted with disapproval. “But a forgivable one considering where ye’ve been. Living with heathens so long has caused ye to stray from the ways of God. But even the prodigal son was welcomed back home after living a life of sin.”
“I appreciate yer understanding, good cousin—even yer attempt to explain my misdeeds. But I assure ye, I am not easily misled by anything or anyone. I live as I do freely, and without regret.”
“Are the lassies more beautiful than ours? Is that what keeps ye away?” an old woman asked.
The men sitting at the high table laughed.
“If that was the only reason, I’d bring my concubines with me,” Alex assured her.
Just as he was about to continue explaining himself, Keely entered the great hall. Unable to keep his eyes off her, the crowd followed his wandering gaze.
“There’s the reason Alex MacKay willna stay,” the old woman yelled, pointing at Keely. “Keely Oliphant broke his wee heart.”
Several men standing in the back of the room advanced on Keely, cursing her name and presence.
“Cut her throat,” one suggested. “End the laird’s madness…”
Instinctively, Alex unsheathed his curved sword and dashed through the crowd, trying to reach Keely before anyone hurt her. But before he could get to her, someone had already shoved her out the door.
Chapter Five
Three strangers trapped Keely between them and forced her outside. One of the men stopped her, and started to bind her hands with a length of rope he yanked from around his waist.
“Nay!” Keely twisted her hands free. “Let me go!”
But the other two men quickly gripped her upper arms, forcing her hands in front of her again.
The women in the courtyard stopped sorting the fruit and vegetables or washing their clothes, and even the men abandoned their horses and joined her captors, rallying around them, happy to condemn Keely to Hades. With her hands tied together, she couldn’t defend herself against someone who threw a piece of fruit at her. She was hurried to a far corner where a platform stood. She recognized the place from when she used to live here. Whenever the laird wished to publicly punish an offender, he was taken to the stage, tied to the post, and either whipped or executed.
“Climb the stairs,” one of the men holding her commanded, “Or I’ll drag ye up.”
Eyeing the stage, she struggled to get away, but was quickly shoved forward. She stumbled and fell to her knees.
“Try to escape again and I’ll take what dignity ye have left.”
“Do ye know who I am?” she asked the dark-haired man who dared to mishandle her.
“Aye.” He spat on the ground. “Lady Keely Oliphant, the daughter of the laird himself. But yer title makes no difference to us. Ye are the reason Laird John refused to marry, again, or even sire a bastard. And ye’re now the reason Alex MacKay refuses to accept his responsibility as the new laird.”
Lifted to her feet, Keely had no choice but to amble up the wooden stairs. As she turned around to face the growing throng, a rock hit her in the arm, another on the chest. She swallowed the pain down, raising her chin defiantly. She’d not give them the satisfaction of knowing how she really felt—that deep inside she’d known this moment was coming.
Clan MacKay might not be the wealthiest, but their pride and fierce loyalty was known throughout the Highlands, making them a well sought-after ally. That Alex’s people would wish her dead after all these years came as no surprise. Another rock barely missed her face. Her heart skittered. Where were Alex and the captains of the guard? Surely this violence wasn’t sanctioned by the council or anyone else in power. She searched the back of the crowd, hoping to find someone to help her.
“On yer knees, harlot.” The dark-haired man forced her down. “Our laird is dead. Justice is left to us…”
“Whip her good, Angus,” several people howled in unison.
“This woman promised herself to one brother, and then married the other,” Angus continued, only to be drowned out by more angry calls.
“Whore!” a woman spat.
“Sutherland spy!” a group of men called.
“Kill her. Blood for blood!”
Keely bowed her head, fear slowly overwhelming her sense of control. Why had she been so foolish and left the safety of Dunrobin Castle? At least the Earl of Sutherland, his sons, and Helen, the earl’s only daughter, treated her as family. She’d lacked for nothing … except freedom. That thought forced her to look up again, into the faces of the people so quick to punish her.
“Confess yer sins, woman, and I might be convinced to show mercy.”
“What sins?” Keely asked. “Those of a confused, young lass?”
Angus raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. The sting brought tears to Keely’s eyes. “What say ye now?”
“Violence will change nothing,” Keely stated resolutely. Only Father Michael and God had the right to judge her—maybe Alex—for it was his heart she’d broken. But not…
A knife sailed past Keely’s cheek. Thrown from the side of the platform, the weapon landed deep in Angus’s chest. Keely screamed as her captor faltered, blood seeping from the wound.
“The next man or woman to raise a hand against Keely Oliphant will feel the bite of my blade, too.”
It was Alex, in all his rage and glory. He climbed onto the stage, taller and stronger than the other two men who had taken her outside.
“This is the way ye treat the daughter of an old friend—a noblewoman?”
Fear reached the men’s eyes as they dropped to their knees, groveling before Alex—the way they’d expected her to do when threatened with death.
“Forgive us, laird, we were only doing what we thought best for ye and the clan.”
Alex made a scoffing sound, sickened by their excuse. “Jamie. Marcus. Take these men below. Maybe a few nights in a bloody cell will open their eyes.”
“Aye, Alex.” Jamie joined him on the platform, followed by several other guards.
Then Alex turned to the stunned crowd. “I count at least fifty of ye. Fifty heads to decorate the spikes I’ll plant along the southern wall of this keep to warn any would-be rebels of the price they’d pay for hurting a hair upon Lady Keely’s head.”
The throng instantly dispersed, leaving only a handful of guards below, and Alex and Keely on the stage. Unsure what to do, Keely gazed up at him. His shoulder-length, blond hair whipped in the wind. “Thank ye.”
“Doona be too quick to thank me, Lady Keely.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her down the stairs. “Seems I canna let ye go. T
hough our intimate bond is forever severed, I canna risk yer life. Until I can arrange for ye to be safely delivered to yer father’s house, ye will remain here.”
When he kept walking with her in his arms, Keely wiggled uncomfortably. “Put me down.”
He ignored her demand and kept moving.
“Alexander MacKay!”
He didn’t even look at her.
“Laird MacKay, please set me on my feet, I am capable of walking. And if ye would be so kind as to cut my hands free…”
His lips twitched as he finally met her gaze. “Ye’re in no position to make demands, lass.”
She couldn’t believe it. Why would he prefer carrying her over letting her walk? And why wouldn’t he untie her hands?
“If yer wondering why I choose to carry ye inside, tis a show of protection for all to witness. As for the hands, lass, I’ll free ye when I’m convinced ye’ll stay where I tell ye to.”
*
Alex didn’t miss the disapproving looks of his clan as he hurried through the great hall. Apparently, they hadn’t forgiven Keely for what she’d done to him or John. Such shame and humiliation never faded. He knew it all too well, and now that she was in his custody, Alex’s imagination was getting the best of him by formulating a hundred different ways he could make her suffer for wounding him so deeply.
Shuffling up the stairs with her snugly in his arms, he arrived at the bedchamber he’d chosen for her. He set her down, and Keely stared at him, a peculiar look on her face.
“Are ye unwell, lass?” He’d not considered her feelings before, how hopeless she must have felt with Angus.
She shook her head. “Why this bedchamber?”
He opened the door, and she followed him inside. “Tis the most comfortable in the keep, my…”
“Yer mother’s room. I remember. How long did I occupy this chamber?” She wandered to the hearth, running her fingers over the tapestry hanging above it. “The last thing yer mother ever made. Tis beautiful, Alex.” She turned around and offered a sad smile. “It captures the lushness of Clan MacKay lands—the heather-strewn fields, the north wall of the keep, even the loch.”
“Aye,” Alex agreed, leaning against the closed door, his arms folded over his chest. “My ma loved this place.”
