The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  “Aye, ye’re a vision,” Michael said dryly. “Come on. Even though ye may not look or sound like Lady MacKenzie, Lady MacKenzie is needed just the same.”

  Chapter Four

  Alex walked into the kitchens and collapsed in a chair in the corner.

  “Don’t get too comfy there, Alex. My own legs are about to give way.”

  Alex smiled at Jean, Luthmore’s cook, who bustled about the room, wiping counters and issuing orders to servants hastening to and fro, her legs looking nothing like limbs about to give way. Closing her eyes, Alex released a slow breath and rested her head against the cold stone wall behind her.

  “Aw, pet.”

  Surprised by the sudden closeness of Jean’s voice, Alex opened her eyes and looked up into the cook’s soft brown eyes framed by her plump cherub face.

  She gently cupped Alex’s cheek with her dimpled hand. “I can tell ye’ve had a long day. Why don’t ye take yerself to bed?”

  Alex smiled and rolled forward, resting her head in her hands. Then she sat up straight and inhaled deeply. Blowing out her breath, willing her fatigue to follow the same course, she lunged to her feet. “There’s no peace for the wicked,” she said, stretching her arms above her head.

  Jean chuckled. “Ye’re about as wicked as a newborn puppy.”

  Alex smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ye only believe that because ye don’t know about my secret life, smuggling coin and riding alongside outlaws.”

  Jean’s laughter rang out. “Och, but ye’re incorrigible. Can ye imagine what stuffy ol’ Michael would say if he heard the jests ye make. He’s angry enough with ye going around barefoot like ye do. Secret life,” she said, shaking her head and hooting with laughter. “Smuggling coin, riding alongside outlaws. Aye, that would set him on his ear right enough.”

  Jean wiped her eyes and took hold of Alex’s hand. “No one has ever made me laugh harder than ye, pet.” An instant later her smile vanished. “Mind ye don’t tell Michael that I don’t chastise ye more. I’d never hear the end of his complaints. Always telling me to not encourage yer common ways, he is. ‘She’s the lady of Clan MacKenzie’” Jean said, imitating Michael’s disapproving tones.

  Alex clasped her hands together, feigning a look of contrition. “We’ve likely risked Michael’s anger enough with all this impious laughter.” She stood up and hooked arms with Jean. “Let us play the role of dutiful lady and cook. We must inspect the stores and plan the menu for Lammas before I go to the chapel for my evening prayers. I’ve tarried too long as it is.”

  Jean pressed her hand to her bosom. “Why are ye so anxious to pray? Is something amiss?”

  Alex pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. Jean had a tendency to panic at the slightest hint of trouble.

  “Calm yerself,” Alex said while gently leading the older woman toward the kitchen stores. “Naught is amiss. I simply do not wish to retire too late to visit my father. I have not seen him since my return.”

  After carefully inspecting the inventory, they decided on venison stew to finish off the meat from the most recent hunt and fried herring with creamed chestnuts. Then she made a pass through the buttery. When she was satisfied with the barrel count, Alex left the kitchens through the servant’s entrance and made her way to the castle chapel. Situated separately from the keep, yet still enclosed within the courtyard, the small kirk was Alex’s haven. Upon entering, the coolness and quiet of the chapel soothed her soul, and she felt the harried pace of the day slip away as peace enveloped her.

  It was her mother who had instilled in her the need to pray in the evenings before bed. Alana had stressed the importance, not only to show gratitude for the clan’s blessings and to pray for their continued wellbeing, but also for the benefit and health of Alex herself. She closed her eyes, and for a moment she was a child again, her small hand safely nestled inside her mother’s while they knelt together in front of the altar.

  “Mama, ‘tis so dark.” Alex’s gaze flitted over the walls, which were alive with dancing shadows from the flickering candlelight. She thought of the ghost stories her friend, Helen, had told her and Mary in the village earlier that day.

  Her mother’s violet gaze locked with hers. “Candlelight is peaceful, Alex, and peace is why we are here. Listen closely to what I say, for yer life will be forever one of service to yer people. As lady of the keep, the welfare of the clan is yer responsibility, a responsibility that will be more taxing with each passing year. Someday, ye may resent the sacrifice, which will lead ye down a selfish road—one where ye may come to believe the people are here to serve ye. To protect yer people from yerself, ye must come to the chapel every night and give yer worries up to God.”

  Then Alana handed Alex a chain, from which hung a silver trinity knot. “Wear this always. It was my mother’s and now I give it to ye. It symbolizes the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit but also the Maid, the Mother, and the Crone, and ye, Alex—yer mind, yer body, and yer spirit. Keep yer faith in God. Hold close the council of women, and never lose faith in yerself. Remember my words, and ye’ll honor this one truth—the wellbeing of the people comes first, always.”

  Alex pressed her eyes shut and smiled, hearing her mother’s voice in her mind and remembering the feel of her touch. With Alana close in her heart, she knelt in the dimly lit kirk and closed her eyes. With each breath she inhaled, she invited acceptance into her heart to calm her restless soul, and with every exhale, she expelled fear and doubt.

  Feeling refreshed, she left her haven and made her way to her father’s solar. The one candle she carried provided the only light when she entered the spacious circular room. “Da, ‘tis so dark in here.”

  “I like the dark,” a low, quiet voice said in answer.

  “Nonsense,” Alex scolded as she crossed the large room to her father’s bedside and lit the candles on his nightstand.

  “It suits me in my crippled state,” he said.

  “All the more reason to keep yer curtains open in the day and candles lit at night. It will improve yer spirits, Da. Trust me.”

  With the room properly illuminated, Alex turned and sat down beside her father, taking his hand in hers.

  “Ah, sweetling,” he said, but then his brow suddenly furrowed. “Why is it that I feel I’ve not seen ye for an age?”

  She pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “I’ve not been gone an age, but ye’re right, I have been away this last month.”

  “Oh,” he said. “And where did ye go?”

  Alex pressed her lips together to push down the ache that threatened to grip her heart. No matter how much time passed, she would never grow accustomed to her father’s limitations. On the eve before she left, she had told him about her journey to Haddington. On the day she left, she had said goodbye. She knew every night in her absence, Mary would have sat with her father in her stead and told him that Alex had gone to visit the abbot, and still he had no recollection of her journey. Breathing deeply, she rejected the anxiety that threatened to build within her. She would hold fast to her peace and give her worry for her father up to God.

  Smiling, she said, “I’ve just returned from visiting Abbot Matthew.”

  A slow smile lit his drawn features. “How is the abbot?”

  “He is well. It was a quiet, uneventful visit.” She fought the need to make the sign of the cross. Lying to her father made her feel wretched, but regretfully it could not be helped. If he knew that she had smuggled a small fortune sewn into her dress over several leagues…alone…meeting with strange men in the woods…alone, he would never allow her to leave her chambers again. He might even suddenly regain the strength to walk just so that he could march her to her rooms and lock her away. Of course, come tomorrow, he would completely forget her confession.

  “Ye’re such a good lass.”

  She groaned inwardly as she recalled how she had asked a Scottish rebel to undress her while another man looked on. Then she sat straighter, pushing aside her guilt. After all,
how else was she going to remove her surcote? Reckless acts were committed every day in the name of Scottish independence. And although she was a woman, like so many brave Scotsmen, she had heard the call. More than that, because of her aid, Abbot Matthew had the coin to start rebuilding the Scottish cavalry. She may have behaved scandalously, but it was all for King and country. Then a flash of sky blue eyes and full lips passed before her mind’s eye, and she remembered boldly grabbing Rory’s tunic and pressing her lips hard and wantonly against his. All right—so she had to concede that some of her scandalous behavior was not for Scotland, but how was she to resist those lips?

  “I’m sorry, Father,” she blurted.

  “What for?” he said, looking bemused.

  She hesitated and then simply smiled, brushing his hair away from his brow. “For always fussing so much.”

  “I don’t remember complaining. I like when ye fuss over me. Yer mother used to fuss whenever I got the slightest bit ill. I admit it always pleased me. Anyway, ye digress. What of the abbot?”

  Alex smiled. “He is well and vows to journey here to Luthmore before the year’s end.”

  Rare laughter escaped her father’s lips, the sound quiet but unmistakably full of mirth. “What mischief Matthew and I got up to as lads.” He looked at Alex. “Would ye believe it if I told ye he’d bested me with the sword time and again?”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. “Ye never told me that. I can hardly imagine the good abbot wielding a sword.”

  She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. The cool temperature pleased her. So often fevers laid claim to his weakened body, each time stealing away a little more of his dwindling vitality. He reached up with his frail hand and grazed her cheek.

  “I love ye, Da,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. Then she sat back, but her mother’s necklace had laced around his fingers and snapped when she pulled away.

  “Oh dear,” he said, realizing what had occurred.

  Her heart ached at the sight of the broken chain, but she masked her feelings to protect her father.

  “Do not fash yerself, Da. ‘Twas an accident. I can fix it.” She eased back in her chair, rubbing the trinity knot between her fingers. Then she motioned to the untouched piece of bread and full bowl of broth on the other nightstand. “Did ye eat at all today?”

  “Aye, feasts and feasts. Jean can hardly keep up with me.”

  “Liar,” she shot back. Taking the bread, and dipping it in the broth, she held it up to his lips. “Come on, Da, one bite?”

  He shook his head, grimacing. “Nay, lass. My stomach pains me.” He closed his eyes, his voice strained. “And I’m tired, so tired.”

  “Then sleep, Da,” she said, standing. “We’ll break our fast together in the morning.”

  But he reached out and grabbed her hand. “Nay, lass. My own, sweet lass. Stay with me a while.”

  “Nay, Da. Ye must rest.”

  “Alex,” he said, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips. “Just sit with me and keep talking.”

  She slowly sat back down. “What would ye like to talk about?”

  He held her hand in his cold one. “I just want to hear yer voice. Tell me anything. Just…just keep talking.”

  “All right, Da. I’ll stay a while.” She climbed into bed beside him and rested her head on his shoulder like she had when she was child, and told her da about the new slippers she had bought at market for Mary and how beautiful the countryside looked on her return journey north, and how the heather had at last bloomed. It was not long until he had drifted off to sleep. She held him a while, remembering earlier days when his body had been strong and his mind sharp. She remembered the security she had once felt when both her parents had been alive. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she rose from the bed and moved to stand beside the casement. She pulled back the tapestry and looked out over the moors, painted violet by twilight’s brush. She saw the outline of cottages and the expanse of the MacKenzie village, and the cliffs of Torna Doon in the distance. Then she strained to see what was beyond, to the numerous families who lived scattered along the vast MacKenzie territory. So many people relied on her. As her mother forewarned, the weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders. If she allowed it to weigh her down, she would taste resentment. But she thrust her shoulders back and bravely raised her chin. She would carry on as the true acting chieftain of the MacKenzie, even if none of the world knew.

  ~ * ~

  In the morning, she awoke and remembered her promise to her father to break their fast together. Alex hurried to the kitchen and helped Jean assemble a tray with fresh baked bread, a bowl of hot broth and a vase of his favorite flowers, mountain Avens, whose white petals curved like small bowls with yellow centers.

  She balanced the tray with one hand and opened the door to her father’s solar with the other. The tapestries hanging over the windows blotted out the cheer of summer’s morning. She set the tray down on his nightstand and crossed to the windows. “Since ye cannot walk outside, let me bring the outside to ye,” she said, sweeping the tapestries aside.

  Smiling, she returned to his bedside and reached for one of the white flowers, bringing the petals to his nose. “These were picked just this morning.”

  Donnan remained asleep.

  She returned the flower to its vase and started to butter a piece of the bread for him. “Wake up, Da. Ye won’t believe the gossip I overheard from the servants in the kitchen.” She paused to reach for a small bowl. “Do ye want some stewed baeberries on yer bread?”

  She waited, but her father didn’t answer. “Come on, Da. ‘Tis time to wake.”

  Still he did not answer.

  “Da?” She leaned closer and saw that his lips were curved in the slightest smile.

  “Very funny, Da.” She cupped his cheek and gasped. His skin was cold to her touch. Her eyes widened. She lunged forward, pulling away the bedclothes. “Da,” she shouted, shaking him, trying to wake him.

  “Da!”

  Then the truth slowly seeped into her unwilling mind.

  Donnan, Laird of the MacKenzie, was dead.

  She climbed into bed beside him just as she had done the night before and wept with her head resting on his shoulder.

  Chapter Five

  Alex planted her feet firmly on the cold, stone floor of the great hall, despite the throbbing ache drumming at her toes and heels. Refusing to yield to her fatigue and the weight of her grief, she stood, receiving her kinsmen one by one.

  Corc, stooped with age, slowly climbed the steps to the high dais and eased stiffly down on one knee in front her. With his head bowed, she strained to hear the words that rasped from his tremulous lips.

  “My lady, with gratitude I served yer father, yer father’s father, and I can even recall the days of yer great grandfather’s chiefdom. Happy and blessed are we who have basked beneath the kind justice of their light.”

  Alex squatted down and gently clasped the old man’s hands. Imbuing her gaze with a warmth her grieving heart could not feel, she smiled and whispered their clan motto. “Luceo non uro.” I shine not burn.

  Corc looked up then and met her gaze. His red-rimmed, faded-blue eyes brimmed with tears. “No light has ever shined brighter than ye, Alex,” he said, his chin quivering.

  Alex gently squeezed his hands. “Ye’re too good to me by far, Corc. May all the angels and all the saints bless yer sweet heart.” Helping him stand, she pressed a kiss to his wrinkled cheek before handing him off to Michael, who helped him shuffle back down the stairs.

  She turned once more to face the line of kinfolk just as a mop of red hair raced at her. Before she could draw her next breath, Cassie’s slim, wee arms encircled her waist in a clinging embrace. Alex’s heart broke a little more when she looked down into the child’s big, tearful eyes.

  “Oh, sweetling! Don’t cry, dear lass,” Alex crooned, swiping Cassie’s cheeks, her own heartache momentarily forgotten in the presence of Cassie’s innocent pain.


  Helen came forward then, her nose red, tears freely streaming down her cheeks. “I tried to keep her at home. But when she found out that yer da died, the poor dear has not stopped sobbing.”

  Swallowing the fresh knot of tears pushing up her throat, Alex looked back down at Cassie. “Ye and me both,” she whispered.

  “I’m so sorry, Alex,” Helen said. Then she shifted her gaze to Mary who stood at Alex’s side. “I hope he did not suffer.”

  “We do not think he did,” Mary said, her voice thick with tears.

  Alex drew a deep breath, fighting to remain composed. “He passed in his sleep.” Her voice broke, releasing a well of tears beyond the barriers of her control.

  Helen pulled both Alex and Mary into a crushing embrace.

  “There, there,” Helen crooned softly. “Ye both cry all ye want. There’s no finer man than Donnan; a sea of tears would not be too many to spend on the likes of him.”

  “Helen,” Michael said, also drawing Alex’s gaze. “Perhaps ye can convince Alexandria to rest for a spell.”

  Mary wiped her tears and nodded. “Please, Alex. If not rest, then at least some food and drink.” Then Mary turned to Helen. “She hasn’t eaten all day, nor has she sat, not once.”

  Helen cupped Alex’s cheeks. “The line of mourners yet extends beyond the courtyard gates. Ye’re no good to anyone if ye faint from hunger.”

  “Where’s William?” Alex asked Michael.

  “He’s gone riding with Gavin to race off some of his grief.”

  Alex’s gaze shifted to Mary. Her cousin’s face was a composition of worry and pain. Slowly, Alex nodded. “I will not sit, but I will have some broth.”

  Michael disappeared and reappeared in a flash with a bowl in hand, along with a hearty crust of bread. He motioned to her father’s imposing high-backed chair. “Sit just while ye eat, my lady.”

  She shook her head, planting her feet wider with new resolve. “That chair will stay empty until it is rightfully filled.”