“A fair bit of those particular townsfolk have left,” Hugh said, then paused to take a sip of his drink. He frowned down at it as though pondering the flavor. “Sutherland banished them, and Alexander supported the decision. The rebel Neals have all gone to join with Angus, Dougal, and Murray.”
Gretna turned to Ian. “Did ye not tell them those three are dead?”
“Let the man finish,” Ian said with a smug look.
“The banished Neals willna be allowed back on MacCoinnich land,” Hugh said. “And the Campbells have gone back on their alliance, leaving the traitors to defend themselves with what little they have. Another leader will have to pull together their new clan they wanted so badly.” He shrugged. “The chieftain has a copy of the signed agreement granting them land and horses.” He grinned and lifted his tankard in silent toast. “And he’s already stationed guards along our new borders to ensure there’ll be no more rieving or pillaging—not that the Neals have anyone capable of doing it. Trust me when I say most who betrayed ye are gone.”
“Most.” Gretna shook her head, torn between returning to the only home she’d ever known or some unknown world across the sea.
Hugh gave her a kindly smile as he rose from his seat. “There will always be someone in this life who doesna like ye for whatever reason. Ye canna change people nor control their actions. But ye can control how ye react to whatever they do. I’ve endured narrow-minded, heartless fools all my life, and I’m certain I’ll have to deal with more.” He patted his chest. “But it is their loss when they ridicule me and judge me by my appearance.” He tilted his head, hooked his thumb in his watch pocket, and meandered about the room. “I’ve been beaten, threatened, and nearly drowned once because they thought for sure I was some sort of demon because of my size.” He stopped pacing and stared at her. “But I’ll be damned straight to hell before I’ll spend my life running from the bastards ever again.” He winked. “I’ve learned how to deal with such folk in ways they’d never expect.” He pointed at her. “Ye could do the same.”
“And the chieftain has sworn to protect ye,” Flora added. “Him, Lady Catriona, Master Graham, and Lady Mercy…all of them came up with and put a new clan law in place to handle witch accusations and rumors. A sound law, fair and good.” After a curt dip of her chin, Flora continued, “Anyone in Clan MacCoinnich falsely accusing anyone of witchery or caught sending for the witch hunters shall spend at least a year in the dungeon—maybe longer depending on the circumstances.” She gave another firm bob of her head. “The MacCoinnich had it all wrote up by the solicitor. Signed it in front of witnesses and had the crier read it to the clan and post it. Anyone disagreeing with the law was told to leave and never return.”
“He gave those disagreeing with the edict the opportunity of joining the Neals to the south,” Hugh added as he refilled his tankard, then returned to his seat.
Gretna massaged her temples. Her pounding headache had returned. She sagged back into the cushions, pulling in slow, deep breaths.
“Is the sickness coming back, love?” Ian scooted closer and rested a hand on her arm. “Usually, ye’re better by this time of day. I fear something else is wrong. Shall I carry ye back to yer bed?”
“Nay,” she whispered. “What I need ye to do is tell me what all this means. Are we returning to Tor Ruadh or sailing off for God knows where?”
“It is entirely up to yerself, m’love,” Ian whispered. “Breadalbane hasna retaliated, and Alexander’s at the ready if and when he does.” He laughed as he gently brushed a stray curl from her face. “Our chieftain’s missive was quite convincing and verra adamant that we return to Tor Ruadh rather than cross the sea.” Contentment seemed to surround Ian. It reached out and touched her. His assured air eased her mind even more as he continued, “More of the clan remained and claimed fealty to the MacCoinnichs than left to become southern Neals. They know Alexander to be a fair chieftain. We’ve a safe home there if we wish it. Colin Neal wouldna dare step foot on MacCoinnich land ever again.”
“Please stay,” Flora pleaded.
“Aye, mistress. Dinna let the fools rob ye of yer joy.” Hugh smiled. “The greatest revenge would be returning to Ruadh, adding a fine healthy bairn to yer family, and living out yer days in happiness.” He took hold of Flora’s hand and kissed it. “That is why we came here. To convince ye to return. Both Flora and I understand how folk can be when they think ye’re different, but ye canna let them steal yer life by robbing ye of yer joy. Dinna give them that power over ye.” He winked. “And besides—ye’d nay wish to miss our wedding, now would ye?”
“Of course not.” She shifted on the pillows and touched Ian’s cheek. “Ye’re certain ye’d be safe if we stayed in Scotland? The English wouldna come to fetch ye for injuring Breadalbane or killing the Neals?”
Ian covered her hand with his, then kissed her palm. “The English dinna give a rat’s arse when a Scot kills another Scot. Look what happened at Glencoe, and not a one was ever brought to justice.”
“Then I dinna wish to leave Scotland,” she whispered. “Can we go home?”
“Aye, love.” He kissed her as though no one else was in the room. “We shall go to our home and never leave it again.”
Chapter Nineteen
“When next my brother meets here with the Mackenzie, give him this note, and he’ll see to yer payment.” Ian held out a folded parchment. His brother, Alasdair, was the Mackenzie’s solicitor. Alasdair and Chieftain Mackenzie often met at the White Lion for business. “I’ve sent word to him of all ye’ve done for us. He’s promised to reimburse ye well for yer generosity in our time of need. Stabling our horses. Food and housing for six of us for well over a fortnight—closer to a month, really. I canna thank ye enough, Mistress Mackenzie. I dinna ken what we would have done without yer kindness.”
Morna Mackenzie, tall and foreboding in her black garb, gave a lofty sniff and pushed the note away. “Nay. ’Twas my Christian duty. After all, we are somewhat kin.” She cocked a brow and primly clasped her hands in front of her. “Barely, but kin is kin since ye be cousin to my niece’s husband.”
The stubborn woman needed to take the promissory note. He always paid his way. Ian stepped closer and lifted the paper higher. “I insist, mistress. ’Tis a far sight too much to ask of anyone and a strain on the best of businesses.”
“Ha!” Mistress Mackenzie peered at him with a look that made her resemble an insulted owl. “Ye insist nothing with a Mackenzie, Master Cameron. Especially not myself. Ye’d do well to remember that.” She shifted in the doorway and nodded toward the old inn that had proven quite the sanctuary at exactly the perfect time. “Besides, my maids tell me ye’ve left the place in a great deal better condition than ye found it. They tell me it’s ready for business. All we need do is hang the signage over the door and open it.” She waved toward the street. “Now, be gone wi’ ye. I’ve business to attend to, ye ken?” Without another word, she stepped inside the White Lion and closed the door in his face.
“Well, I will be damned.” Ian stared at the door. He did not take charity. Movement to the right caught his eye. The lad who worked at the stable was sweeping out the front entrance. “Boy! Come here.”
With a swipe of his arm under his runny nose, the lad leaned his broom against the wall and came running. “Aye, sir?”
Ian fished a coin out of his pocket and handed it and the note to the young man. “Deliver this to Mistress Mackenzie after ye see me and my wagons have crossed over yon bridge, aye?”
“After,” the boy repeated as he smiled at the money.
“Aye, after.” Ian hurried down the steps and mounted his horse.
“It’ll be done, sir!” the boy called out, stuffing the coin in his pocket.
Taking the lead, Ian waved for the others to follow. They made up quite the caravan. Two wagons. One driven by Hugh, carrying Gretna, Flora, Teasag, and Beitris. The other wagon was filled with enough supplies from Mistress Mackenzie to last them a month even thoug
h the trip to Ben Nevis was but a day and a half. The second wagon was driven by Tom, his horse tied to the back of it. Riding his mount, Sawny guarded the rear of the group. Even with the reports that the witch hunters were gone, Ian wouldn’t let down his guard. Not until they reached MacCoinnich land. Thank goodness Inverness was northeast of Ben Nevis. They wouldn’t be passing close to the traitorous Neals, whose new lands were farther south.
Ian lifted his face to the warm rays of the sun, thankful for the fair weather. Scotland could be fickle in making up its mind whether to rain, sleet, snow, or shine when it came to late spring and early summer. But the day was fine, Gretna hadn’t heaved a single time, and they were finally on their way home.
Home. He’d never thought of Tor Ruadh as home before. In fact, he’d never thought of any place as home. His only stable place had always been his saddle. He glanced back. Gretna waved, smiling as the wind tugged at her hair. Then he realized it with a certainty that had always been there. It had just taken him a while to admit it. Gretna was his home. Wherever she was, that’s where he belonged.
They traveled for hours. The road changed from cobblestones to packed earth riddled with ruts and holes, then it became a pair of narrow lanes through rolling glens, the sedge and bracken cut away by the wagons’ wheels. As they came upon a gurgling burn, its crystal waters abundant, Ian held up his hand to stop. Surely, the women were ready for some relief from the rough ride.
“This looks to be a good place for a wee stretch of our legs. We’ll rest a bit, then ride a few more hours before we set up camp for the night.” He dismounted and helped Gretna down from the wagon.
She hurriedly brushed aside his arms and rushed to join the other women headed for the privacy of a cluster of bushes. With an apologetic glance back at him, she said, “Embraces in a bit, aye? I’m about to burst.”
“Aye, m’love,” he reassured, waving her onward. Happiness and contentment filled him. How had he ever doubted he needed this woman?
“Shall we water all the horses?” Tom asked. “Will we be here that long?”
The animals did look in need of rest after the hours of nonstop travel. Ian nodded. “Aye. We’ll stay here a few hours and give the beasts their rest. We’ve made good time. In fact, I believe we’re on MacCoinnich land now, are we not? I dinna wish to camp here, but even if we tarry longer and camp later, we can still reach Tor Ruadh by midday tomorrow.”
Sawny shaded his eyes with one hand and studied the landscape. “Aye. This is just inside our northern border. We’ve a watchtower hereabouts somewhere. Graham threatened to stick me in it if I failed to improve my aim.”
Ian laughed. “So, I take it ye’re a fine shot with both bow and pistol since ye’re not a tower guard?”
Sawny winked. “Aye, I never miss.” He took hold of both his and Ian’s horse and headed toward the water.
Ian turned to help Hugh unhook his team, but was surprised to discover his help wasn’t needed. The man already had his horses free of the wagon and halfway to the stream. Ian was amazed. How could a man challenged with such short stature, manage the task with such speed?
Catching Ian’s shocked look, Hugh smiled. “A need or problem encourages a man to find his own solutions.”
Ian studied the hardware on Hugh’s wagon, then joined the man at the edge of the burn. “Where did ye get those things attached to the rigging? Those odd iron fasteners.”
Hugh shrugged. “I drew up the design and worked with the smithy. After a few tests and changes, these clips ended up being the most useful and reliable for me when I need my wagon readied for travel.”
“They look bloody brilliant to me,” Ian said, deciding the invention could be adapted for numerous usages. “Ye must show them to Alexander.”
“Ian!”
Gretna’s shrill cry turned his blood colder than any Highland stream. Pistol in one hand, sword in the other, he charged in that direction. Over the slight hilltop and past the bushes, Ian halted, his blood no longer cold but boiling with rage.
Colin Neal held Gretna prisoner. With one hand knotted in her hair and the other holding a short sword to her throat, he walked her forward with a rude shove of her head. “Thought me gone, did ye?” With a crazed look, Colin panted out a strained laugh. “Thought them damn Mackenzies and lying Campbells had finished me off?” He coughed and stumbled a step, yanking Gretna sideways with him. “As ye can see, I’m harder to kill than a cat.”
“I’m glad ye still live,” Ian said, striding forward. “Gives me the chance to finish ye off myself.” He dare not shoot the fool now for fear of hitting Gretna. But if he could get closer, he’d slice the bastard in two with his sword.
Colin stopped him by jabbing the blade hard enough into Gretna’s side to make her cry out. “Come any closer, and I’ll kill her and the bairn. I’ll cut yer bastard right out of her.” He sneered at Gretna and shook her. “I see it didna take ye long to seed the little whore.” He jerked her by the head again, then smiled. “She always was a fertile little bitch. Worse than a rat.” He nodded at Ian. “Ye should thank me for relieving ye of her. She’d birth ye a bairn every year. Ye’d never be able to feed them all.”
Ian noticed the front of Colin’s kilt was blood-soaked. It dripped with a regular rhythm on his boot. His wound had to be mortal. If he kept the bastard talking long enough, the blood loss would take him down. Ian could tell by Gretna’s stoic calm that she knew it, too.
Colin blinked hard. His head bobbed, and he leaned against Gretna to steady himself. “Appears those Mackenzie devils might ha’ wounded me worse than I first thought. Or maybe ’twas the Campbells.” He shook his head. “It nay matters. I’ve still enough strength to get my revenge afore I die. That damned Angus was too big a fool to help me, and all Breadalbane cared about was the debt I owed him.” He bared his teeth and drew back his weapon for the killing slash.
“No!” Ian roared, launching forward.
Colin’s eyes bugged wide, and his mouth opened with a gasping groan as his blade fell from his hand. He released Gretna and sagged to his knees, staring down at the point of Sawny’s sword emerging from his belly.
Ian finished the job by relieving Colin of his head.
Sawny yanked his sword out of the man’s back and cleaned the blood from it with Colin’s kilt. “’Tis a dead warrior indeed who doesna watch his rear and his flanks during an attack.”
“Indeed,” Ian observed, then dropped his weapons and ran to Gretna. He clutched her close, then held her at arm’s length, framing her face with his hands. “Did the bastard hurt ye?”
Laughing, tears streamed down her face. “Nay. He didna hurt me. Just startled me a wee bit when he crept up behind us and took me by surprise.”
“He wasna long for this world,” Teasag said, pointing to a trail of dark splotches. “Look at all the blood. How did he know we’d travel this way? How did he know to wait for us here?”
“Maybe he’s the witch ’stead of Gretna,” Beitris said with a convincing nod. “That’s why he helped the witch hunters catch her.”
“He was probably trying to make his way to Tor Ruadh or maybe even farther south,” Ian said, releasing Gretna to nudge Colin’s body over to examine all his wounds. “Mistress Mackenzie must’ve mentioned the man’s deed to the Mackenzie guards before they rousted the witch hunters from Inverness. I’d lay odds she sent them for him personally.”
“Shall we bury him here or bring his body back to Tor Ruadh?” Tom asked. “I dinna ken if any of his closest kin are still there. Most probably left Clan MacCoinnich.”
A cold hardness settled over Ian. “Leave him where he lies. I’ve never been a forgiving man, and I’m not about to start now.” He returned to Gretna, wrapping an arm around her as he led her back to the wagons. “Are ye certain ye’re all right?”
“I swear, I’m fine.” She breathed in a deep breath and blew it out. “I’ll have to seek out Father William for confession though.” She shrugged and leaned forward, whispering,
“I’m glad Colin’s dead.”
“As am I.” Ian kissed her forehead, allowing himself to relax as he breathed in the scent of her. “Ye always smell of heather. Ye’ve the power to drive me mad, while at the same time, calm my soul.”
Gretna wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, resting her cheek against his chest. “Good. I intend to drive ye mad until ye’ve grown old and gray.” She gave a great sigh as she looked up at him. “I’ve but one regret.”
Ian frowned. “A regret? Ye regret loving me? From the way she pressed her body against him, her actions belied her words.
“Nay, m’love.” Gretna smiled with a suggestive wiggle. “I’ll never be sorry for loving ye with all my heart and soul. My one regret is that Catriona and Mercy were right.” She made a face. “Ye know what that means, aye?”
“What?” Ian asked, finding it increasingly difficult to pay attention to what Gretna was saying rather than how she was rubbing him in all the right places. Before they continued the trip homeward, a bit of privacy was most definitely in order. He filled both hands with her fine round arse and pressed her closer as he cleared his throat and struggled to concentrate. “Ye regret Catriona and Mercy being right, ye said. Why?”
“Because we’ll be listening to them chant ‘I told ye so’ for the rest of our days.”
“I dinna care,” Ian said as he scooped her up into his arms and scanned their surroundings. Aye. That hill over yonder would do quite nicely. “Sawny!” he shouted as he started off in that direction.
“Aye?” Sawny called out from the other side of the burn.
“Man the camp, and keep all in this area until my wife and I return.” Ian smiled down at Gretna, pleased to see wanting burning just as hot in her gaze.
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