Kissing the Highlander

by Terry Spear

  Sleat frowned, his face darkening. "What is this? Are you refusing?"

  "Aye. I don't wish to marry you."

  "That whoreson Elrick lied to me," Sleat said, then shrugged. "Marriage is not necessary for what I want anyway." He moved toward her.

  "Nay." She backed toward the window, trying to think of a solution… or what she could use as a weapon. The stoneware jug was on the opposite side of the bed. "Stay away from me!"

  "I've been watching you, lass, and I want you under me at least once." He crept forward, a malicious grin on his face. "Aye, 'twill be a great pleasure to plow your meadow, even if I'm not the first. You little whore."

  Her sgian dubh! It was strapped to her ankle. She would stab the bastard.

  Pretending to cower, she crouched in the darkness behind her bed, reached down to her ankle and slid the small knife from the scabbard.

  When he bent down, grasped her shoulders in his large, strong hands and lifted her, she stabbed the blade up into his gut. He growled like an enraged monster, shook her and threw her onto the bed. As he was grabbing for her weapon, something cracked and he fell on her like a massive sack of grain.

  She glanced up to see Anora holding an iron fire poker over her head, her terrified eyes wide.

  Maili shoved the dead weight of Sleat off her and scrambled from the bed. "Oh thank you, Anora! You knocked him out cold." She embraced her trembling maid. "I'm proud of you. You are truly a female warrior."

  Anora dropped the poker and sobbed against Maili's shoulder. "M'lady. I couldn't let him do that to you."

  "I thank you. You saved my life." Maili didn't think Sleat would've let her live after raping her. He would've pretended one of the invading MacKenzies did the evil deed, or one of Elrick's boorish guards. Obviously, Sleat had only been marrying her so he could drag her to his bed, whether she wished it or not.

  "Come, let's quit this place afore he awakes." Maili urged Anora out of the room and locked the door.

  They raced down the stairs as the first of dawn's light gleamed in the east. Though she was fortunate to have escaped a horrible fate, her heart was heavy with dread about what she would find below in the great hall and the courtyard.

  When she reached the bottom of the steps, a dark-haired stranger turned, then strode across the great hall toward her, his hand on his sheathed sword hilt. Spattered and smeared blood covered him. A MacKenzie. She froze, but as he came closer she saw his resemblance to Shamus, though his eyes were lighter in color.

  He glanced down at her clothing. "Are you Lady Maili?"

  "Aye."

  "Shamus is asking for you."

  Concerned, she glanced about the hall, seeing several people, but not Shamus. "Where is he? Is he well?"

  "Nay, he was badly injured in the fighting."

  Icy fear drove through her. "Nay," she whispered in denial. "I must see him."

  The man nodded. "I'm Dermott. Shamus is my brother. I'll take you to him. He has called out your name several times."

  "Saints." Tears pricking her eyes, she quickened her steps. "Is the healer with him?"

  "Aye. The MacKenzie healer." As they crossed the hall, Dermott asked, "Did someone hit you?"

  His question startled her, for she could think of naught but Shamus. "What?"

  "A large bruise covers your cheek and jaw."

  "Oh, aye." She stroked her fingers over the sore spot the size of Elrick's fist. "But I'll be fine. 'Tis Shamus I'm most concerned about."

  "I thank you for taking him food while your brother had him imprisoned."

  She nodded, knowing she could've done naught else.

  She entered the guest chamber where Shamus lay. Strangers, whom she assumed were his clansmen, stood along the walls. Another man was sewing up a bleeding cut on Shamus' abdomen. Was he the MacKenzie healer?

  When she looked at Shamus' face, a fresh wave of cold fear washed over her. "Saints, he is so pale," Maili whispered.

  "He lost a lot of blood," Dermott said behind her.

  A melee of confused thoughts and sharp emotions spun within her. Could she use her "sight" to see if he would heal? Should she pray? Uncertain, she sat in the wooden chair by the bed and took his hand. "Shamus?" Her voice caught on his name and she leaned toward him. "'Tis me."

  "Maili," he whispered, his hand tightening around hers. "Hurt?"

  "Nay. I am well." She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "But you are hurt badly."

  "'Tis naught," he whispered, then took a shallow breath.

  "Are you in a lot of pain?"

  He remained silent, seeming to have fallen asleep. His breathing grew deep and even and she prayed he was truly resting so that he might heal. One of her clansmen, 'haps even her own brother, had done him grievous harm. Another bloody bandage was wrapped around his muscular upper arm. A multitude of blue and purple bruises covered most of his chest, ribs, and abdomen. Dear heavens! That was where her brother and his men had beaten him the night before.

  "Is that her?" a deep voice asked behind her.

  Maili turned to see a large, commanding warrior with midnight hair and dark brown eyes. A far more frightening version of Shamus.

  "Aye, this is Lady Maili." Dermott motioned toward her.

  "M'lady." The man gave a brief bow. "I am Cyrus, the MacKenzie chief." His voice seemed too loud for this small room.

  Of course. How could he be anyone else? He had the same dangerous presence she had sensed in her visions.

  Releasing Shamus' hand, she arose from the chair and curtseyed. "M'laird."

  He eyed her curiously. "I've been told you helped my brother."

  "Aye."

  "You brought him food and helped him escape," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  She nodded, feeling the urge to lower her gaze from his intimidating one, but she did not.

  "I thank you," he said. "I owe you a debt of gratitude."

  Behind her, Shamus uttered words and she turned to him. "What did you say?" She leaned down toward him and stroked his beard-roughened cheek.

  He fell silent, appearing to be sleeping.

  She sat on the chair again and held his hand. Please, God, help him to heal and recover. I have not known him long but I know he is a good man. The only man for me.

  Moments later, someone tugged gently on her sleeve. "Pray pardon," Lettie, one of the maids whispered. "M'lady, the clan elders wish to speak to you."

  Annoyed that someone would ask her to leave Shamus' side, she frowned. "Now?"

  "Aye, they told me to find you and bring you to the solar. 'Tis urgent."

  Though she didn't wish to be away from Shamus even for a minute, she knew she had to help her clan. "I will return soon, Shamus," she whispered and kissed his forehead. Reluctantly, she let go of his hand, praying he would be improved by the time she returned. "I'll be in the solar for a few minutes. If anything should change, please send someone to get me right away," she told Dermott.

  He nodded.

  Why did the elders wish to speak to her so soon? She did not even know how many of her clan were dead or injured yet.

  In the solar, she closed the door behind her, then sat down at the table, surrounded by six clan elders, all men. Their long, bearded faces and reddened eyes showed the utter grief they felt at the loss of so many clan and family members.

  "The MacKenzie's have near destroyed the whole of our clan, lass," the ancient warrior, Hugh, growled. His gnarled hand clenched into a fist upon the table. "I do not ken whether we can survive this."

  "How many died?" she asked.

  "Five and twenty, our chief among them. With three more gravely injured."

  Good Lord. So many? How could their clan endure such a great defeat? Her throat tightened, and tears burned her eyes.

  "But 'twas no more than Elrick asked for when he took the MacKenzie lad hostage," her great uncle Bhatar said, his voice rough and raspy.

  "I agree," Maili said, forcing her emotions aside, "and I saw this devastation in my visions.
I warned Elrick but he would not listen to me."

  The men nodded. "He refused to heed our council as well."

  "We have sent three men after Neacal," Bhatar said. "We pray he is still living in the crofter's cottage on Eilean Fraoch Dubh."

  Indeed, she hoped so, too.

  Hugh frowned, his bushy white brows forming a V. "I told them not to send for him. He'll make a terrible chief. He's half mad. He could lose his sanity and kill the rest of the clan."

  The other men grumbled their disagreement.

  Maili's heart ached for her tormented brother. "Neacal has never killed anyone outside of battle."

  "But you must admit, lass, that he is half mad."

  Truly not believing he was, she shook her head. "The men have said he was tortured. 'Twas almost more than his mind could withstand. Any of us might end up the same way if we were tortured."

  Three of them nodded.

  Hugh remained unmoved. "Still, I'm nay certain he will be the best leader for the clan."

  "Who else then?" she asked.

  "Three good candidates were killed in the siege," Kendrew said, his long white beard swaying as he looked back and forth at his comrades.

  "Neacal has a different nature than Elrick," she said, hoping and praying her brother was able to be chief.

  They all nodded.

  "He has a good heart and he is intelligent."

  "What if he doesn't wish to be chief?" Uncle Bhatar asked.

  "Then I suppose he'll not return with the men you sent." If that was the case, what would happen to her clan?

  Chapter 11

  When Chief MacDonald of Sleat was found around noon, locked in Maili's bedchamber with a large knot on his head and a stab wound to his abdomen, he made up a story about being knocked on the head during battle, stabbed, and then dragged to her chamber. He claimed to hardly remember it. She would've had him removed earlier, but with everything that was going on, she'd forgotten about him.

  Dermott stopped her in a corner of the great hall. "Is what Sleat said true?"

  "Nay. He tried to force himself on me, and I defended myself," she whispered, not wanting to mention Anora for fear a maid might get into trouble for bashing the head of a chief. Maili did not know why but she felt more comfortable telling Dermott than anyone else, since Shamus was so ill. He then relayed the information to the others.

  Cyrus MacKenzie consulted with the MacDonald clan elders, then told Sleat and his men to leave and never return. The chief was lucky to escape with only two minor injuries.

  The next three days were a dark, exhausting blur for Maili. Her emotions were in turmoil. Not only was Shamus horribly injured and unresponsive much of the time because of blood loss, but the clan also held funerals for the twenty-five men who were killed during the battle, her brother's being the most elaborate. Her heart ached with the loss of so many of her fellow clansmen's brothers, fathers and sons in the battle. Their clan was forever changed and nearly decimated because of her daft brother's greed. Her emotions switched from sadness to anger so quickly she was shocked at herself. She would strangle Elrick if he wasn't already dead.

  The MacKenzies had lost four men in the battle. After the clan held brief funerals for them, Cyrus sent a galley crew to take their bodies home to their families.

  Tensions between the MacKenzies and MacDonalds were high but, to her relief, no fights broke out. Most of the MacKenzies' large force of soldiers camped on the hill above the castle, but Shamus' brothers and their personal guards remained inside the castle. She did not fear them and they treated her with what seemed to be genuine kindness. Many in her clan wished to kill the MacKenzies, but made no move to do so. They well knew they were outnumbered. Besides, the MacKenzies had disarmed them and imprisoned the most militant in the dungeon. She thought this was wise, because most of the men were Elrick's closest personal guard and they held the same mindset that Elrick had.

  Late at night, Maili sat by Shamus' bedside holding his hand and willing him to awaken. Everyone else had retired to their beds. She hated the dark, dismal feeling that closed in around her. She had lost so many in her family and clan. She could not lose Shamus, too. Her second sight was proving no help to her now. She couldn't even get a glimmer of the future.

  "Please, God, allow him to be by my side for a while longer, for a lifetime if it be your will," she whispered barely louder than a breath." I haven't known him long, but I love him and I know our souls are bound."

  Tears streamed down her face and blurred her vision, almost causing her to miss the movement of his head.

  He inhaled a deep, audible breath. "Maili?"

  Gasping, she wiped her tears away. "I am here." She leaned toward him.

  He opened his eyes a crack and focused on her in the candlelight. "How many days have I lain abed?"

  "Three. How do you feel?" She stroked a hand along his dark-whiskered jaw.

  He frowned. "What the devil happened to your face? You have an enormous bruise. Were you injured in the battle?"

  "Nay." She touched her fingertips to the tender skin of her cheek where she knew the bruise was turning from purple to disgusting shades of green and yellow. "Elrick struck me with his fist after the garrison brought us back that day."

  "That whoreson," Shamus said through clenched teeth. "I'm not sorry I killed him now."

  Maili was surprised, but not angered or hurt by his admission. "Oh. You… were the one who killed him?"

  "Aye, in the skirmish. He fought hard, but I finally managed to gain the upper hand."

  "Was he the one who gave you these sword wounds?" she asked.

  "Nay, 'twas another of your clansmen. In truth, I'm sorry if the loss of your brother pains you, but he got no more than he deserved."

  She nodded, saddened that her brother had not been a better person. "I agree. He was too brutal and callous."

  Shamus gazed at her solemnly and she squeezed his hand. "How do you feel?" she asked.

  "Not as bad as before." His expression lightened and a wee smile lifted one corner of his lips.

  She smiled back, wishing she could kiss him. "Thanks be to God. I have some broth for you." She retrieved the wooden bowl from the hearth where it had been kept warm.

  "Nay, I cannot stomach it," he grumbled.

  "You must eat to regain your strength."

  "Och. Very well. One sip."

  Using the wooden spoon, she eased the broth into his mouth.

  After he swallowed, he said, "I must speak to you about something important."

  "Aye, what is it?" She placed the bowl on the table, sat by his side again and grasped his hand.

  "If I survive this… will you marry me?"

  Joy burst through her and tears of happiness pricked her eyes. "Of course, I will. And you will survive."

  "I believe you," he said, studying her intently, "for you have the sight, do you not?"

  Sudden fear crushed her happiness and seized her breath. If he knew the truth, would he withdraw his proposal?

  "Why do you not want me to know about your gift?" he asked gently.

  "I fear… that you will not want me if you think me a witch."

  "Nonsense, mo graibh. Second sight is not the same as witchcraft." He gazed at her with such affection it near broke her heart. "I love you, Maili. No matter what."

  Her throat tightened and tears of gratitude and happiness flowed from her eyes. "And I love you."

  "Shh, don't cry. I vow to make you happy." He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "Are you certain your clan will allow us to marry?"

  She dried her eyes. "Aye, I believe they will." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "After all, you have compromised me."

  He sent her a broad grin. "Aye, and I cannot wait to do that again, m'lady."

  Her face heated. "Then you must eat and grow strong."

  "Aye, I believe I'll have another sip of that broth now." After he had drunk a bit more, he grew serious again. "Who will lead your clan now?"

&nb
sp; "Some of my clansmen have taken a galley out to the isle to find my other brother. We're praying he will want to be chief."

  ***

  Four days later, Shamus had improved enough to join everyone in the great hall for supper. She had helped him bathe, shave and put on clean clothing. The food had just been served at the high table when the entry door burst open. Her brother Neacal strode in, followed by his wolfhound and the three clansmen who had gone to get him.

  She had not seen him in several months, since their father's funeral. His windblown dark hair had grown long, past his shoulders, and he had not shaved in a great while. His wild blue eyes, the same color as her own, scanned those in the great hall, slashing sharply over the MacKenzies.

  She arose and strode across the large room toward him. She had not remembered the pink scar on his handsome face being so pronounced. Knowing the pain and torture he must have suffered, her heart broke yet again. "Neacal, I'm so glad you've come."

  "I need to speak with you in private," he murmured.

  "Of course. Are you hungry?"

  "Nay."

  Although she suspected he was lying, for he was much leaner than the last time she'd seen him, she proceeded to the library and he followed with his dog, then closed the door.

  "What the devil happened here?" he demanded. "The MacKenzies killed Elrick and half our clan, and now they feast in our great hall?"

  She held up her hand. "After a galley wreck, Shamus MacKenzie washed up on shore nearby. Elrick and his men beat him severely, then threw him in the dungeon. Our brother believed he could get a great deal of money from the MacKenzie chief. Instead of bringing ransom, he laid siege to the place. You would've done the same if your brother had been taken hostage."

  "Whose side are you on?" His piercing blue eyes burned into her.

  "Do you wish the truth?"

  "Aye. Never lie to me, sister."

  She took a deep breath. "The truth is… I love Shamus MacKenzie and I intend to marry him."

  Neacal's eyes widened and he cursed. "Are you mad?"

  "Nay. He is a good man. He did naught wrong. Elrick and his men beat him black and blue twice. If not for me taking him food, Elrick would've let him starve in the dungeon."