[Highlander Fate 01.0] Eadan's Vow

by Stella Knight

  Eadan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, willing himself to focus, to not let Dughall’s threats about Fiona sway him. He had to make the next swing of his sword count.

  “Or perhaps I’ll take her in each room of the castle before my men take her. Perhaps I willnae have her hanged. I’ll keep her as Clan Acheson’s own personal whore.”

  As soon as Dughall spoke, two things happened. The nobles Ronan sent for burst into the hall, descending on Dughall’s men and taking out their swords. And the rage that filled Eadan at Dughall’s words spurred him toward Dughall—he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Eadan lunged forward with his sword, moving faster than he ever had during a fight. Dughall may have been an excellent fighter, but Eadan had an advantage—his relative youth.

  Dughall’s eyes widened as Eadan’s blade made contact with the flesh of his abdomen. Eadan pierced Dughall with his sword, knocking Dughall’s sword out of his hands as he sank to the floor.

  When Dughall was on his back, Eadan stepped forward, pressing his blade to Dughall’s chest.

  “Do ye surrender, Dughall?” he growled, struggling to restrain himself from killing the man. “’Tis the right of Clan Macleay tae bring ye tae justice.”

  Dughall glared at him, and despite his pain, the hatred remained in his eyes.

  “Never,” Dughall spat, clutching at his bleeding abdomen. “Clan Macleay doesnae deserve its lands nor its property, and ye doonae deserve tae be laird.”

  Eadan clenched his teeth, pressing his blade harder to Dughall’s chest. The threats Dughall had made toward Fiona swirled through his mind, and he fantasized about spearing Dughall straight through with his sword, letting him bleed slowly and painfully to death.

  But when he looked up, he saw that much of the fighting had ceased. The nobles who’d come to their aid had helped wound or slaughter Dughall’s men.

  He looked down at Dughall, clenching his fist. The fight was over. And as much as he wanted to kill the old man, he was laird and soon-to-be chief of the clan. There was a process the clan underwent for bringing men to justice, one that he would follow.

  Eadan stepped back, tearing his gaze away from Dughall as Ronan approached.

  “Imprison Dughall and his surviving men in the tower,” he said. “Have a healer tend tae the injured.”

  But as Ronan nodded, turning to Eadan’s men and gesturing for help, Dughall reached for his discarded sword in a surprisingly quick move for an injured man. He weakly lurched to his feet, still clutching his bleeding abdomen, and slashed out with his sword, aiming for Eadan’s heart—

  Ronan turned, letting out a horrified shout, but Eadan dodged Dughall’s attack. Before he could swing again, Eadan lunged forward, sinking his sword into Dughall’s chest.

  Dughall stumbled to his knees as Eadan pulled out the sword. He wheezed, fighting to breathe, before falling to the floor on his side, his eyes wide and unseeing.

  “Damned fool,” Eadan snarled.

  “’Tis for the best,” Ronan muttered, as he reached Eadan’s side, his breathing still ragged with tension. “When we imprisoned him, the bastard would’ve kept plotting yer demise from his cell.”

  Eadan nodded; Ronan was right. Dughall’s hatred ran deeper than he’d thought.

  As his men rounded up Dughall’s surviving men, Eadan hurried to the pantry adjoining the great hall, searching for Fiona. But when he didn’t find her inside, panic swept over him.

  He stepped out into the corridor, on the verge of ordering his men to search the castle grounds for Fiona, when he heard a pained scream.

  He froze, icy dread clawing through his chest. It was Fiona’s voice.

  Whirling, he raced down the corridor in the direction of the scream, tearing up the winding staircase. When he reached the top, he found Fiona and Magaidh at the far end of the narrow corridor, right by the window, slashing at each other with their daggers. Magaidh attacked Fiona with the ferocity of a feral cat, while Fiona’s moves were more defensive; she was trying to ward her off.

  Eadan charged toward them and Magaidh turned, her eyes widening at the sight of him. She grabbed Fiona from behind with surprising strength, dragging her toward the window at the end of the corridor.

  “Magaidh—no!” he cried, his panic swelling as he scrambled to them.

  “Ye just should’ve wed me, Eadan!” Magaidh cried. He’d never seen her so unhinged; her green eyes feral, her breathing coming in frantic gasps. “Ye—ye should have loved me, not this whore!”

  “Stop this, Magaidh!” he pleaded, as Magaidh reached the window, still clutching Fiona, who struggled to release herself from Magaidh’s grip. “All will be forgiven. Just—let her go.”

  “Ye’ll have me imprisoned—or send me off tae a nunnery!” Magaidh spat. “Things were well before she showed up here. She needs tae die.”

  “No, Magaidh,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

  Fiona met his eyes, and he saw something in them that gave him pause. Though she looked terrified, there was also a determination lurking in their depths.

  He realized that her struggles were just a show. She was using her free hand to slowly move her dagger toward Magaidh’s leg. Keep her talking, her eyes said.

  “’Tis my fault. I—I should have told ye my doubts about the betrothal,” he said, returning his focus to Magaidh, his heart hammering frantically against his chest. “Don’t blame this on Fiona.”

  “Ye never—” Magaidh began, but in a quick move, Fiona slashed at Magaidh’s leg. Magaidh howled in pain, releasing her grip on Fiona.

  But before Fiona could dart out of her reach, Magaidh again grabbed for her, and shoved her out of the open window.

  Fiona let out a startled, terrified cry, reaching out to Magaidh to break her fall, and they both tumbled out of the window.

  No, Eadan thought, horror roiling through him. Fiona wouldn’t survive such a fall. Please, God. No.

  But just before he reached the window, Fiona shakily pulled herself up over the ledge, and he almost stumbled to his knees in relief.

  She turned, reaching her hands out the window, and he realized she was helping Magaidh get back inside.

  He joined her, finding Magaidh clutching onto the ledge. As he and Fiona reached for Magaidh, she let out an enraged snarl, reaching up with one hand to attempt to pull Fiona out the window. But she lost her grip, slipping from the ledge and tumbling to the ground below with a scream.

  Fiona stumbled back from the window, shaken, and turned, burying herself in his arms. Eadan held her close, his heart still hammering with remnant panic and fear.

  “’Tis over,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “’Tis over, Fiona.”

  She looked up at him, tears and relief filling her eyes.

  “I thought—” she whispered. “I was afraid you wouldn’t survive. And then Magaidh dragged me up here and attacked—”

  “Ye fought well,” he said. “She was determined tae kill ye. And I wanted tae survive—for ye. We still have a life tae share, Fiona.”

  Fiona blinked back her tears and gave him a tremulous smile.

  “I love you, Eadan,” she whispered.

  He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her forehead, her jaw, her lips.

  “And I love ye, my strong, brave Fiona. Always.”

  Chapter 25

  One Month Later

  “Ah, Fiona,” Una breathed, taking her in. “Ye look bonnie.”

  Fiona turned to take in her reflection in the mirror Una had brought in to her chamber. Wearing white for weddings was still centuries away, so she’d chosen a gown made of blue silk that Una had ordered from a seamstress in Edinburgh. At Eadan’s request, she wore her hair loose around her shoulders.

  She smiled at her reflection, a rush of joy filling her chest. Today was the day she officially married Eadan.

  The events of the past month had gone by in a blur. The members of the Acheson clan who’d confessed to taking part in Dughall’s plot had been exiled or imprisoned;
the men who murdered Naoghas were sentenced to death by Eadan and his nobles. The servants who’d served poisoned dishes to Bran—Brice and Parlan—were found in a nearby village; they’d fled out of fear. Eadan pardoned them when they returned to the castle for questioning; they’d acted under duress since Dughall had threatened to kill their families if they didn’t follow his orders.

  Eadan had learned through the various confessions from members of Clan Acheson that his instincts were right; Dughall intended to have Magaidh kill him after they were wed and inherit his lands. Dughall then planned to marry her off to one of his men, essentially giving Clan Acheson dominion over Clan Macleay. Members of the clan who were cleared in involvement for the plot had sworn an oath of fealty to Clan Macleay. Bran had officially stepped down as chief, Eadan was now chief of the clan. Eadan told her he believed that with Dughall gone, the two clans had finally found peace.

  While Eadan was dealing with these clan matters, Fiona had visited Sorcha in the village on a daily basis. Eadan had arranged for a healer to tend to her daily, and she fully recovered from her injuries after two weeks. During Fiona’s last visit, Sorcha told her with happy tears in her eyes that Taran had proposed marriage, and they would wed at month’s end.

  After leaving Sorcha’s cottage, she’d written Isabelle a long letter, one she hoped would reach her in the present. Fiona didn’t want to risk delivering it herself, she was still unsure how time travel worked. She feared that if she went through the portal again, she’d not be able to return to this time—to Eadan. And that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. She planned to leave the letter in the portal, hoping that it would reach Isabelle in the future via the next person who stumbled upon Tairseach. In the letter, she’d told Isabelle not to worry, that she was happy and to not look for her. She purposefully kept it vague; there was no way she could tell Isabelle she was in the fourteenth century without Isabelle assuming she’d lost her mind. She also hoped that Isabelle wouldn’t think it was too odd that her letter was written on parchment. But it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

  Together, Fiona and Eadan had traveled to Tairseach to deliver the letter. As they approached the castle, Fiona had heard the sound of wind—the portal. She made Eadan hold her hand as she made her way to the ruined cellar to drop off the letter, fearful that the portal would pull her through time. But nothing happened, there was no tug on her body like before. Still, she hurried out of the cellar with Eadan, tightly clutching his hand.

  When they returned to Tairseach the next day, the letter had vanished. Relief filled her, and she prayed that it had been sent through time, that some other wandering tourist would find the letter and send it to Isabelle’s Chicago address.

  As she and Eadan left Tairseach for the final time, she thought about that mysterious woman who’d followed her in her own time. She suspected she was indeed a stiuireadh, one of the rumored druid witches Eadan and Una had spoken of. Eadan told her no one knew much detail about their magic, so she could only guess how she’d factored in to Fiona’s arrival here. Maybe she was a guidepost, leading travelers like her to the past. After all, if Fiona hadn’t seen her in the ruins of the castle, she’d never have entered them.

  But that didn’t explain Fiona’s urge to take a right on the forked road that led her to Tairseach in her own time. She’d finally accepted that she’d probably never know how this all worked. Now, she could only feel gratitude; she was right where she belonged.

  Going forward, she would help Eadan run the castle, continue painting, and even train young would-be artists from the village. She looked forward to her life here.

  “I want tae wed ye, formally,” Eadan had told her, when they returned to the castle. “I want everyone in the castle, the village—in Scotland, tae know ye’re my bride.”

  Fiona grinned, joy washing over her at the love in Eadan’s eyes.

  “All right,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him. “I just have one request.”

  He’d thought her request was odd, but he’d granted it. She wanted to marry him in the cellar where she’d first arrived. It was a meaningful location for them—it was where she’d first arrived in this time, where she’d first heard his voice, where she’d taken the first steps toward her fate of being with him. Una and the other servants had spent the past two weeks transforming the cellar into a celebratory space, and she couldn’t wait to see what they’d done with it.

  Now, Una squeezed her hands, pulling her back to the present.

  “Are ye ready, m’lady?” she asked, beaming.

  Giving her a wide smile, Fiona nodded, and she trailed Una down to the cellar.

  As Fiona entered, she gasped. It had been completely transformed. There were no more sacks of barley or jugs of ale and wine. Instead, white flowers decorated several long tables that were set up along the walls. A multitude of candles illuminated the space, giving it a hazy, romantic glow. Bran, Ronan, Sorcha, Taran and a dozen other nobles and servants alike were gathered. Bran gave her a kind smile as she entered, and she returned it. She’d feared that Bran would want a suitable noble Scottish bride for his son, but Bran had told her that all he wanted was Eadan’s happiness—and Fiona made him more joyful than he’d ever seen.

  Fiona’s gaze found Eadan, standing in the center of the cellar next to a priest. Her breath caught in her throat; he looked achingly handsome in his dark tunic and belted plaid kilt. He may have been laird of Macleay Castle, chief of Clan Macleay, but in this moment, he was simply the man she loved. The man she couldn’t wait to start her life with.

  His blue eyes lit up at the sight of her, and everyone else in the room faded away as she approached him. Their eyes remained locked as they spoke their vows, and when the priest announced they were wed, Eadan cupped her face with his hands, his eyes filling with emotion. He leaned forward to claim her mouth with his, sealing their future with a kiss.

  Chapter 26

  Ronan stood at the back of the great hall, watching as Eadan and Fiona danced, their eyes trained only on each other. The guests had moved from the cellar to the great hall for a feast to celebrate Eadan and Fiona’s marriage. He watched Eadan’s broad smile as he swung a laughing Fiona around in his arms. He’d never seen his cousin so happy, Eadan had been too serious and duty bound before Fiona entered his life. He was glad to see Eadan allowing joy into his life, especially after the ordeal with Dughall.

  His gaze slid to Fiona, who blushed as Eadan leaned forward to whisper something in her ear. He could tell the lass was kind and genuine, and he suspected nothing nefarious about her. But he suspected there was more to Fiona than Eadan had told him. Ronan had prodded Eadan to tell him where Fiona had truly come from, but Eadan’s expression shadowed.

  “I’ll tell ye one day,” he’d said, his tone somber. “But I’ll doubt ye’ll believe me.”

  Eadan had changed the subject when Ronan tried to press, and refused to further discuss the matter.

  “He’s happy.”

  Ronan turned to find Bran at his side, leaning on his cane. Ronan straightened, looking around for a chair, but Bran politely waved him off.

  “There’s no need—I’m off tae my chamber. This old man needs his rest. I’ll soon retire tae one of the Macleay manor homes; Eadan and his bonnie bride will have no need of an old man lingering once they start their family.”

  “They love ye, Bran,” Ronan protested. “They’ll not want ye tae go.”

  “’Tis not up tae them,” Bran said, shaking his head. “I’m no longer laird, no longer chief. ’Tis time for me tae retire, tae take in the air and rest. After this mess with Dughall and Clan Acheson…” A look of regret flashed across his eyes. Ronan knew that Bran felt guilty about all that had happened, wishing he’d listened to Eadan’s warnings about Dughall.

  “Ye couldnae have ken,” Ronan said. “I didnae believe Eadan when he told me his suspicions. ’Tis over now. We have peace.”

  “Aye,” Bran said, after a long pause. “I expect ye�
�ll be called upon tae take over some duties for Eadan, now that he has a wife.” Bran turned to study him, his eyes twinkling. “Soon it’ll be time for ye tae find a bride.”

  “’Tis not my nature tae settle for one lass,” Ronan said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve no need of a wife.”

  Ronan had never desired a wife nor permanent mistress before. He’d never felt anything more than a passing fancy for a lass, and that suited him just fine.

  Bran laughed, throwing back his head. He shook his head, mirth shining in his eyes.

  “I once said the same thing before I met Eadan’s mother. And Eadan spoke the same before he met Fiona. I cannae wait ’til ye meet the lass who changes everything for ye.”

  Ronan scowled, but Bran gave him another amused look, patting him on the shoulder before turning to hobble out of the hall.

  Ronan pushed aside Bran’s words, his frown deepening. Bran may have been the closest thing he had to a father, but he didn’t know him at all. Ronan enjoyed his freedom—and he would continue to do so. He scanned the hall, taking in the various lasses. Many of them were bonnie, but none caused a fire in his belly. A surprising pang of envy pierced him as Eadan and Fiona stopped dancing to kiss, ignoring the playful cries and jests from the guests around them. It was as if they were the only two people in the hall.

  “M’laird?”

  Ronan turned, frowning at the sight of one of his servants, Gavin, from his manor house.

  “What is it?” Ronan asked, stiffening with alarm. “Did something happen at the manor?”

  “No,” Gavin said, looking hesitant. “But—the steward spotted a strange lass wandering the grounds.”

  Buy Ronan’s Captive (Highlander Fate Book 2) now. Keep reading for a brief excerpt.

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  As Ronan drew closer to her, his mouth went dry. She was by far the bonniest lass he’d ever seen—hair the color of burnished gold, a heart-shaped face with a generous mouth and eyes a deep green that reminded him of a verdant meadow. She was tall for a lass, her slender curves pronounced beneath the lavender gown she wore. He felt himself harden against his kilt as hot, molten desire filled every part of him.