The Rebel of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  “Anna. Mary. Help me, please. Let us get the lady to her chamber.”

  Just then a warrior wearing Buchan’s colors appeared from the castle. “My lord. We have received word from the border guards that the Kincaids and their army have crossed over into Alwyn territory, but have stopped. They appear to await our response.”

  The women left the men, entering the castle, where Magnus intercepted Tara and drew her back and away, out of hearing of the two maids, into deeper shadows against the stairs.

  He watched over her shoulder for any intrusion, his hand on her arm. “Be ready, for the carriage bearing Buchan’s standard will come for you—”

  She shook her head, her heart seizing in fear because she knew why he insisted on her leaving, on getting to safety. Because he believed there was a chance he wouldn’t come back. “I won’t go. You will triumph. You will come back for me.”

  “Tara, listen to me,” he said, his voice rough—his gaze pleading. “Let the riders take you, as planned, to the priory. It is far away from here. You’ll be safe. Wait for me there, with Elspeth. Do you understand?”

  She finally knew what he was doing, sending her as far away as possible. Because the Kincaids might not triumph. Because he might die.

  She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “I will wait for you there.”

  He kissed her once, hard and passionately—and in the next moment, was gone.

  *

  Magnus returned with the others to the laird’s chamber, in armor, his weapon sheathed at his side. There, the earl and the laird donned their armor, along with his lordship’s sons.

  “There he is.” Buchan raised his hands in greeting. “The future laird of this clan.”

  The Alwyn nodded, seemingly recovered from the shock of his son’s death. “Aye, Magnus will serve the clan well.”

  Magnus flinched inwardly.

  He turned to the Alwyn. “If I am now your heir, then I must understand what I’m fighting for. Why I will confront and kill my good friend, Elspeth MacClaren’s husband.” He held his stance, proud and tall. “I have asked questions, and been denied the answers, time and time again. Like an outsider. But I am an outsider no more. Arm me with the answers. I deserve to know why I am to hate this enemy. We were once allied to the Kincaids. Why did we rise up against the laird and his clan?”

  The laird leaned forward. “Because like the marriage agreement with Mistress Iverach, both of them … it benefitted me and this entire clan, to do so.”

  “I heard he was a traitor. But there were many so-called traitors in that day, who did not agree with King David’s policies with the English. What made this traitor so grievous?”

  “He simply was,” answered the Alwyn darkly.

  Buchan nodded. “Indeed. He simply was.”

  The two men quit the room, one after the other. Frustrated by his failure to extract a true explanation, Magnus looked down at the ground for a moment, but looked up as Duncan passed by, then Robert.

  And yet Robert paused, his eyes reflecting deep inner torment. “Welcome to my world. You’re son enough to do his bidding. To kill and betray as he commands, in the name of blood and loyalty. But what loyalty is shown to me? To you? As you said, the Kincaid was no more a traitor than any other highlander.”

  “What was it about?” asked Magnus, his blood throbbing in his veins, feeling he might be close to the answer.

  “What’s it always about?” Robert teased, his tone and manner elusive.

  “Land. Power. Influence.”

  Robert wrinkled his nose, and squinted. “All the boring old answers. They apply, of course, but here … here there was something else.”

  “You tell me,” said Magnus.

  “Hate,” he answered bluntly. A smile turned the corner of his lip. “Envy.”

  “Envy.” Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “Over what?”

  “What else?” Robert chuckled. “My father’s greatest weakness. It was over a woman.”

  Magnus blinked, startled. It wasn’t the answer he’d expected to hear.

  Robert muttered, walking further into the corridor, but turning to speak as he continued to back away. “Supposedly, the only woman my father ever truly loved.” He stopped. “Only if you know my father, and his way with women … many women, you’ll conclude, as I have, that he only loved her—” He spoke these words with obvious sarcasm. “—because he couldn’t have her. But what does it matter now? The Lady Kincaid is dead.”

  *

  An hour later, Lady Alwyn lay on her bed, staring out at nothing. Tara held her hand, feeling only sympathy for her now.

  In the next room, Robert Stewart stood at the window, from which he observed the gathering forces in the distance, his expression sullen and mutinous. Despite his objections, he had been left by his father to oversee the defense of the castle. She feared that any escape now would be impossible, with him as her keeper.

  “I will go to the kitchen and bring you some broth,” Tara said. “Mary says you haven’t eaten for days.”

  “I don’t want broth,” the lady responded, listlessly. “I don’t want anything.”

  “Don’t say that. I know you are grieving, but there are many who care about you. You know that, don’t you? You must keep your health.”

  “My health,” she said in a resigned voice. “It means nothing to me. I do not deserve to live.”

  “Because your son killed my sister? Don’t say such things.”

  The woman pressed a hand against her heart, and closed her eyes. “Hugh … did not kill your sister. No, my son paid the price for my sin.”

  Tara started with surprise. “What do you mean, he did not?”

  The lady gaze fixed directly on hers. “I … killed Arabel.”

  Tara stared at her, slowly removing her hand. A coldness spread through limbs.

  “You?”

  “It was … an accident, but I killed her just the same, in anger. They were on the cliffs.… just as you were with Hugh today. I came upon them, and he was … trying to woo her, but she refused his efforts. She avoided him … his embrace, and when he asked what he could do to make her happy, she told him nothing. Because she was in love with someone else … and that she carried that man’s child.”

  Hearing it again made Tara want to weep for her sister. Tears filled her eyes.

  “What did Hugh do?” she asked.

  “Hugh said he would tell Buchan, and end the betrothal, but the girl told him Buchan already knew.”

  Tara’s heartbeat thundered inside her chest, making it difficult to breathe. “And then…”

  The lady’s eyes widened in horror at the memory.

  “Hugh was very angry. Hurt. Betrayed. As was I. She was to be my son’s bride, and for her to be sent here by Buchan in such a condition, with child, with the expectation that we would simply accept her, just because of who he was, just as we have always done his bidding…”

  “Tell me what happened then,” Tara insisted softly.

  “He … stormed away, but I did not. I … decided to confront her. I … grabbed her arm but I surprised her—and she pulled away…”

  “She fell,” said Tara, tears spilling down her cheek.

  The lady nodded. “She stumbled. She fell. Trying to get away from me.” The woman gasped, and covered her hands with her face. “Oh, I still remember the look on her face. Just as I will always remember Hugh’s. It will torment me until I die. We could not even get her body back.”

  Tara closed her eyes, horrified by the idea of her sister’s body laying broken at the bottom of the cliffs, until the rising tide carried her away. Just as Hugh’s would be. And as much as she despised this place, and its secrets, she could not bring herself to hate the Lady Alwyn, who was clearly tormented by the guilt she still carried, and grief for her son.

  Lady Alwyn let out another small sob. “Now that Hugh is gone, I intend to leave this place, once and for all, and commit myself to a convent, to spend the rest of my days seeking penance in peace.
Perhaps I shall even go to the cloisture from which you came. If you can see it in your heart to forgive me, come with me.” She reached for Tara’s hand, seizing it. “Don’t stay here. Your mother and father would not have wanted this for you.”

  Once, all she’d wanted was to leave this place. But now … she only wanted Magnus. Her heart beat louder with each moment that passed, knowing she might never see him again.

  “Don’t think of me now,” she answered softly, pulling her hand away. “Try to sleep.”

  Tara sat beside the bed, her back rigid, her chest tight with anxiety and fear for Magnus and Niall, and all the other Kincaids. It wasn’t long until the lady slept.

  Suddenly, Robert appeared in the doorway. “I’ve received word that a carriage has arrived for you, sent by my father.” He held a missive in his hand.

  “Oh?” she replied, avoiding his gaze.

  “Yes … instructing that you be sent to be placed under his protection, at the encampment at Rackamoor. Come, gather your things. Quickly now. I’ll escort you down.”

  Her pulse racing, she gathered only a few items that she could carry. Her cloak. Her sister’s jewelry box. She already wore her mother’s necklace.

  In silence, she followed Robert downstairs, and out of the tower, and down the front steps of the castle, where a carriage waited, a rider positioned off to the side, holding the standard of the Earl of Buchan. Robert brushed aside the efforts of an old warrior to open the carriage door, and offering his hand, assisted her up himself.

  And yet instead of saying good-bye and closing the door, he looked inward, staring at her in silence.

  “What is it?” she asked, anxiety pooling in her stomach. What if he realized the ruse … what if he did not allow her to leave?

  He held up the missive, crumpled in his hand. “I know this did not come from my father. And I know this carriage will not take you to him. But I loved Arabel, and I failed her unforgivably. You are her sister. Flee far, Tara Iverach, and live free.”

  Chapter 16

  As war-captain, Magnus chose the men of the Pit to ride with him into battle. If he were to turn sides, he wished for them to be closest to him, and bear the clearest witness. These men, his friends for so long, provided an impressive escort to him, along with Buchan and the Alwyn.

  Though Hugh had counted few true friends among the warriors of the clan, word of his shocking death had spread through the ranks, and hung like a cloud above the men. It wasn’t that they grieved for him, but at a time of conflict, the perceived instability of leadership could cause cracks in any army’s foundation—their unity—which was not a bad thing, considering Magnus intended to shatter it all to hell.

  They rode to the forefront of the Alwyn forces, which were thickly flanked on either side by Buchan’s men. They presented a fearsome sight, but across the field, a solid line of warriors, no less formidable, faced them.

  Line upon line of Kincaid clansmen and mercenaries alike gripped weapons, and at their forefront sat Niall atop his dark horse. Magnus’s brother and his kin. His pulse swelled with a pride such as he had never felt in all his life, and he knew if he died here today, it would be well with his soul as long as the Kincaids prevailed. His only regret would be leaving Tara, and the life they could have lived, and knowing the children they could have had. But he was willing to sacrifice himself for her too.

  Several men accompanied the Kincaid laird, also on horses—among them his tattooed captain, Deargh. Magnus also saw Elspeth’s father, the MacClaren. Though gaunt-faced and diminished from his previous stature because of his recent illness, Elspeth’s father—the laird Niall had defeated only a fortnight before—had summoned enough strength to ride and face the man who had once been his co-conspirator against the Kincaids. No doubt he fought to clear his conscience.

  Magnus knew, without a doubt, the Alwyn himself would never seek that sort of redemption.

  His heart beating like a war drum, Magnus watched as the Alwyn rode forward, alone, setting himself forth as leader of the Alwyn’s gathered force.

  The laird shouted, so that all could hear. “I will not address you as the Kincaid, because I don’t believe that’s who you are. But know this … when you are defeated … when you are run out of this place—or slain—you, and the MacClaren coward there at your side, will relinquish your lands to me.”

  Only the sound of wind sweeping across the plain, joined his voice. All else was silent.

  He continued, bellowing. “The Earl of Buchan himself”—he pointed his gloved hand toward the earl—“is here to bear witness to my claim, and to support me in defending what is mine. What has always been mine. Know that you can’t win.”

  His horse snorted, and shifted. “But I am not an unreasonable man, imposter. Save your life. The lives of your men. Your women and children. Surrender now. You’ll be taken prisoner, peacefully, and the king will decide your fate.”

  Across the line, Niall stared at the Alwyn. “I imagine that you told our father something very much like that, on the night you betrayed him. No, thank you. We decline. I and my brother, and all these men.”

  A cheer rose up from the men behind him.

  With their voices, Magnus’s Kincaid blood warmed in his veins … thundered in his heart. He sat taller and ready in his saddle, his hand on the pommel of his sword, and exhaled through his nose.

  The Alwyn shouted. “Your … brother?”

  Magnus kicked his heels into his mount’s side, and rode forward.

  The sound of his horse’s hooves upon the earth drew the Alwyn’s notice, and his head snapped to the side. Magnus’s gaze locked onto his.

  Their gazes held as Magnus crossed the unseen line dividing their two clans.

  A low murmuring moved through the Alwyn ranks, men’s voices speaking in low tones, broken by more than one exclamation of shock.

  He turned round to face the Alwyn, and all the men who stood behind him. Buchan and his men. His companions from the Pit. And all the rest.

  “My brother speaks of me,” he thundered, wanting all to hear. “I am Faelan Braewick, son of the murdered Kincaid. Avenger … of my father’s wrongful and murderous death.”

  The Alwyn’s face turned white … his eyes flashed with rage. Silence held the meadow, and all seemed frozen in place.

  Until … movement drew his eye, on the Alwyn side, among the men on horseback. His muscles, already tense, tightened in response, and he gripped his sword … ready to meet an attack—

  But it was Chissolm. He rode forward, circling round, and stopping his mount behind him.

  “I stand with you,” he said. “I am an Alwyn warrior to my bones … and in this, I stand with the Kincaids.”

  Another long moment of silence passed. Then … Adam and Quentin did the same, followed by all the others of the Pit. They rode forward, and turned their mounts in a line behind him.

  “We stand with you,” said Quentin, in a calm, loud voice. “We, as Alwyn warriors, stand with the Kincaids.”

  Heat rose up through Magnus’s chest. Satisfaction and pride, such as he had never known, warmed him against the cold, and gave him strength.

  And yet in the next moment … other warriors followed, on horseback and on foot—a steady flow of Alwyn men—crossing over the same invisible line he had crossed, to stand with the Kincaids. Even some mercenaries from the earl’s army.

  “We stand with the Kincaids,” many shouted as they crossed, repeating the same words.

  Magnus heard the distant sound of hooves, thudding over the earth. It was then he saw a rider approaching at some speed. Voices murmured all around, and the metallic sound of swords being unsheathed filled the air.

  He saw the carriage then, in the far distance, passing quickly along the outer edges of the gathered forces. An outrider carried Buchan’s banner, but as the carriage crossed over, passing behind the Kincaid lines, the man threw down the standard—and circled round to trample his horse over it.

  Magnus looked at the Alwyn the
n … and grinned. “What do y’ say ta that?”

  “Who is that in the carriage?” his foe demanded of the men seated on horseback behind him. “Who just passed through the lines?”

  “The former Mistress Iverach,” Magnus announced.

  The Alwyn’s head snapped back to him.

  “Former?” he growled.

  “Aye, we were wed two nights ago. She is my wife.”

  The Alwyn, his face now red with rage, opened his mouth, but it was Buchan who rode forward and spoke.

  “All of this is … very impressive,” said Buchan, with a wave of his hand. But condescension underscored his tone. “But no matter. You dig your own graves. All that matters is my decision. It is I, as Justiciar of the North, who speak for the king.”

  “Nay, brother,” answered a loud voice. A hooded rider rode forward from the line behind Magnus, to stop at his side. His gloved hand came up, to push back his helmet.

  “It is I, John, Earl of Carrick, who speaks for the ruling council.”

  Magnus started in surprise. The Earl of Carrick. The king’s eldest son.

  “Brother. Truly?” Buchan answered in a chiding tone. “You hold no authority here, in the North. Nor do you hold authority over me.”

  “I do hold authority over you,” Carrick replied in a clear voice. “It is I who holds the title of Guardian of the Realm, and in that capacity, I command you to come with me now to Edinburgh, to answer to the Council not only for your actions here at Burnbryde and Inverhaven, but elsewhere.”

  “You intend to take me prisoner?” Buchan exclaimed, his brows raised in disbelief.

  “Aye, brother. You and that man there at your side, who has done your unlawful bidding.”

  “My lord,” Magnus said, raised a gloved hand.

  “Yes?” Carrick said, turning his head to look at him.

  “I’d much prefer to fight him.”

  “I’m sorry to deny you, but I can’t allow it. Not today at least. Not while my father lives. In this, you must accept my judgment.”

  “Yes, my lord,” answered Magnus, his chest weighted by disappointment—but exhilaration, all the same. For the Kincaids had prevailed.