A fire burned in the huge hearth nearest a long trestle table, and five men stood with bent heads, studying a map laid out before them. He recognized Connor immediately, and relief surged through him.
“Da!” Sky cried out.
A large man, broad-shouldered and fit, his hair streaked with silver, raised his head and let out a cry. He strode across the hall and had his daughter in a bear hug in an instant. “Och, my wee lass. We feared we’d ne’er lay eyes upon ye again.”
Two younger men joined them, forming a huddle around her, shutting Struan out. They must be her twin brothers. What had she said their names were?
“Connor McGladrey!” Robley shouted. “’Tis good to see you again, my friend, and you as well, Dylan. How is it you’re here, cousin?”
Connor and Robley embraced, slapping each other’s backs vigorously, and then Rob did the same with the man he’d called Dylan . . . the man whose resemblance to Struan’s da was so strong, it was like looking at his sire’s ghost. Struan remained an outsider to yet another joyous reunion between Sky and her kin. His heart hammering inside his chest, his clothing dripping onto the rushes beneath his feet, he watched as tears of joy streamed down Sky’s face.
He couldn’t compete—not with this.
“Owain, lad,” the earl rasped out, his own tears plain to see. “Fetch your ma.” His eyes lit on Struan. He straightened, keeping Sky tucked against his side. “You must be Sir Struan. I’m the earl of Fife and laird to clan MacKintosh. Connor has had much to say about you, lad. We owe you a great debt of gratitude. You’ve protected Sky since the hour she entered your era, and now you’ve managed to see her safely home.” His voice broke at that last part.
A strangled laugh burst out of Struan before he could contain it. “I’m also the reason you have Erskines squatting in your village right now, with a cannon aimed at your island.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone ash dry.
“Aye, and they’re demanding we turn you over, since ’twas you who slayed the earl’s heir.” Malcolm clapped Struan’s back a few times. “Dinna worry, lad. Connor also told us of the Erskines’ plot. You’re safe with us.”
Struan nodded, too relieved to speak.
“By the saints,” Dylan said, coming to stand beside the earl. “Connor did no’ lie. You and I . . . ’tis bloody uncanny. Who are you to the Sutherlands? He also told us you fought at Halidon Hill against the English. My great-grandsire died at that battle. Did you fight under his command? Did you ken the earl of Sutherland? His given name was—”
“Kenneth Alexander.” Struan raked his fingers through his dripping hair. “Aye, I kent him well enough. I fought by his side.” A lump rose in his throat. “Your great-grandsire died in my arms.”
Surveying the curious gazes riveted on him, he risked a glance at Sky. She’d been so honest and brave. Since the day she’d landed in the dirt in front of him, she’d been nothing but forthright, sharing things about herself she believed would put her at risk. And how had he repaid her? Time to come clean. He owed her his honesty. “The fourth earl of Sutherland was my sire.”
“Why . . . that makes you my uncle. But . . .” Dylan’s brow furrowed. “I dinna recall any mention of a Struan in our patents or in the family Bible. Were you kent by another name mayhap?”
“You won’t find me on any of your official records.” Struan shook his head. “I’m the earl’s bastard.”
Sky moved away from her sire, her eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. “Struan—”
“Sky Elizabeth,” a woman called from the top of the stairs. “Oh, my dearest . . .” A petite woman hurried down the steps. Her hair was a darker shade of the same chestnut as Sky’s, only with silver streaking her temples. No doubt this was Sky’s mother, Lady True. The two were the same in height and build. Two younger women followed, their joyful squeals piercing his poor ears.
“Ma, Helen, Sarah!” Sky ran to meet them.
Once again the woman he loved was surrounded by her kin in a huddle of happiness—a huddle that excluded him.
Connor came to stand by Struan’s side. He clasped Struan’s shoulder for an instant. “I’m sorry. Katherine and I ended up at DúnConnell, and that left you alone to defend your lady. We did what we could by gathering forces and informing Hunter and the Sutherlands of what Sky had learned before she came to our century.” He swept the hall with his gaze. “We all thought it prudent to prepare for the worst, whilst praying you and Sky would somehow make it to Moigh Hall.” He squeezed Struan’s shoulder. “You did well, Struan.”
“Thanks.” Struan couldn’t tear his eyes from Sky. If only he were an accepted and welcome part of the reunion. More than anything, he longed to take her into his arms, hear her assurances his origins meant nothing to her. Ah, but he’d seen the hurt and betrayal in her eyes.
His jaw tightened. The earl was not likely to allow him to get close enough to Sky to have a meaningful conversation with her. He might not get the chance to beg for her forgiveness.
“Come. Stand by the fire before you catch a chill, lad.” Dylan gestured toward the hearth. “You and I have much to discuss.”
“Do we?” Struan glanced askance at the older man.
“Och, aye. We’re kin, and you were at Halidon Hill. I wish to hear all about that day, and I’d very much like to hear about my great-grandsire.”
“Though your great-grandsire was my sire, you’d be the first of his line—his legitimate line—to lower himself to engage in discourse with me. The countess and her brood were never civil where I was concerned.” Why did it still sting? He was a grown man, with a life, family and friends of his own. Why did his childhood longing for acceptance and affection within his sire’s household still haunt him?
Dylan’s stare drove into him like a ploughshare. “I dinna hold you responsible for my ancestors’ behavior, nor for the circumstance of your birth. Do you mean to hold me responsible for the actions of my predecessors? Ancestors, I might add, that I and my siblings never met?”
“Humph.” Struan turned away, needing time to process. Dylan’s reaction stunned him. All this time he’d feared returning to the past with Sky, feared revealing the circumstances of his birth . . . “Should I be surprised that all of you take the whole time travel thing so well?”
“We’ve had time to adjust.” Dylan shrugged. “With so many of my kin touched by these strange circumstances, we’ve had little choice but to accept.”
Dylan threw his arm around Struan’s shoulders and turned him toward the table. “Come, lad . . . er . . . uncle,” he said with a huff of irony. “Warm yourself by the fire, have an ale and fill your belly. The MacKintosh and Sutherlands have a battle to fight on the morrow, and this might our only chance to have speech with one another.”
Struan cast a look over his shoulder in time to see the women hustle Sky up the stairs and out of his reach. Resigned, he allowed Dylan to lead him to the blazing heat of the hearth.
“I’m Owain, and this is my twin, David,” the young man said, handing Struan a mug of thick, dark ale. “We’re Sky’s brothers.”
“Glad to meet you.” Seeing the two youths brought an ache to his heart. “I’ve a younger brother around the same age as you two. His name is Michael.” His heart wrenched. “He’s . . . my adoptive family is in the twenty-first century.”
Malcolm approached, his expression intimidating. “Come, we’ve plans to discuss before we go to our rest.”
Owain’s eyes lit with excitement. “Will you join us on the morrow, Sir Struan?”
“Aye. I’d be more than happy to help you dispose of the refuse littering your shores.” Struan studied the map spread out on the trestle table as Rob, Connor and Dylan joined them.
“Nay, lad,” Sky’s father said. “I think it best you leave for the western shore under cover of darkness yet this night. I’ll send two of the baron DúnConnell’s men with you.” Laird MacKintosh stared at him, his expression hard. “From there, you will travel to my foster son’s keep. The
re you will remain until Connor joins you. ’Tis my hope that Madame Giselle can be prevailed upon to aid you, Connor and Katherine in returning to your homes.”
“Nope.” Struan’s heart pounded, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. He wasn’t ready to leave Sky. Did the earl think he’d sneak away in the dark of night without even a word with her? “Not going to happen.” He stared back, just as hard. Their gazes locked. Struan wasn’t about to back down. “The Erskine heir meant to murder Sky, and I’ve no doubt Oliver’s grandsire approved of his plan. I made a vow to protect your daughter, and I’m fighting tomorrow. Sky’s enemies are my enemies.”
“Let him fight, Malcolm.” Robley placed his hand on the earl’s shoulder. “According to Sky, he’s earned the right.”
“Humph.” The earl turned his attention to the map and pointed. “Here is where Hunter and the earl of Sutherland’s men are camped. At dawn, they’ll move here.” He slid his finger to the place where he and Robley had spied upon the Erskines from the top of the hill.
Struan nodded. “High ground. Always a good position to hold.”
“Our cousin Murray’s soldiers are already on the south side.” The earl pointed again. “Just before daybreak, we’ll land on the north shore, and at the signal, we’ll converge upon the Erskines from all sides.” He eyed Struan. “Do ye wish to borrow what armor we may find that suits you?”
“Nay. I prefer my brigandine. I can move more freely.”
“Hmm, but you’re also more vulnerable to the bite of blades and arrows.” Malcolm sent him a pointed look.
For the next half hour, the seven of them debated the merits of armor versus hauberks and brigandines. That segued into a discussion of various weapons of war, and the cannon the Erskines had aimed toward the island.
Struan straightened where he sat. “I can attest to the fact that in this century, cannons are untrustworthy and prone to cause as much damage to those who fire them as to the target they’re aimed upon. It’ll be a few hundred years yet before the bugs are worked out.”
Dylan frowned. “Bugs?”
“Flaws,” Struan amended.
“Och, well, I’m off to bed.” Owain yawned. “We’ll be up before dawn, aye?”
“Aye.” Rob nodded. “Struan, you’re welcome to share my chamber. I’ll have a pallet sent up anon.”
“My thanks,” Struan said, pushing himself from the table.
“Before you’re off to your rest, I’d like a word, Sir Struan.” Malcolm stood with his back to the hearth, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest, and his stance wide.
Rob’s brow rose, and he caught Struan’s eye, giving him a slight nod. “I trust you’ll show the lad to my chamber once you’ve finished expressing the fullness of your gratitude, Malcolm.”
The earl grunted by way of a response, and once again Struan’s mouth went dry, as one by one the rest of their party wandered above stairs to their various chambers. Struan sat back down on the bench and faced the hearth with his back resting against the trestle table. He needed the support.
“I am indeed grateful to you and to the Gordons,” the earl began. “’Tis my understanding that our daughter spent almost three months in your company.” The earl’s jaw muscle twitched. “The past handful of days the two of you have traveled the countryside . . . alone.” His brow lowered in a most fierce fatherlike manner. “Now I must ask, what are you to Sky, and what is she to you?”
His ears rang with the rushing of his blood. Struan swallowed a few times, attempting to gather his wits. No use in lying. “I love your daughter, Laird, and I believe she loves me.”
Malcolm’s scowl deepened. “Be that as it may—”
“I’ve asked her to return to Gordon Hollow with me. I hope to marry her in a year or two, once she’s—”
“That I will no’ permit. Sky has a responsibility and an obligation to our clan. She is of noble—”
“So that’s where she gets that asinine refrain she’s forever spouting.” He shot up. “It’s just that kind of bullshit thinking that almost got her killed.”
“Asinine refrain?” Malcolm took a step closer. “She is our daughter. Her mother and I love her more than you can imagine. We wish to see her well settled, happy . . . somewhere nearby—no’ in the distant future.”
“Is that why you traded her off to that scum, Oliver?” The earl hadn’t said the words, but the implication was crystal clear. Being wed to a bastard and well settled were not a word match. His muscles tensed. “Sky told me the story about you and your Lady True. What’s with the double standard? It was all right for you to marry a woman from the future, but—”
“The difference being, I was the heir to an earldom. Our clan did no’ need a dowry, and she brought with her gifts enough that all kent she was worth more than gold. You, on the other hand—”
“I am a landowner with a thriving business. I can well support a wife and family.” He wasn’t about to touch the issue of his illegitimacy. “It may surprise you to know Sky has no intentions of allowing herself to be bartered off in marriage again. She won’t sacrifice herself for the sake of the clan, so you can forget about handing her off to some stranger in exchange for thirty pieces of silver, a handful of dirt or an alliance that will be broken at the slightest provocation.”
“You’ve . . . lain with her, haven’t you?”
“That, my lord, is none of your business.”
Several seconds of uncomfortable glaring ensued. Struan fisted his hands, ready to defend himself should the earl decide to attempt murder.
“Malcolm,” a soft feminine voice called from the stairs. “Come to bed, mo céile. You know I can’t sleep unless you’re beside me.” Lady True cast Struan a sympathetic look. “You’ve harassed the lad enough for one night. Let him go to his rest.”
Malcolm cast his lady wife a tender look before turning back to glare at Struan. “Tomorrow we fight the Erskines. For this night, we’ll set aside our . . . discussion, but rest assured—I am no’ finished with you yet, and I willna grant you my permission to wed my daughter.”
“’Course not,” Struan muttered. “Didn’t expect you would.”
Malcolm turned on his heel and strode to the stairs. “Follow me. I’ll show you where you are to sleep.”
His heart heavy, Struan followed Malcolm up the narrow stairs. If he couldn’t get close enough to Sky to talk to her, and with her da dead set against him, what hope did he have of convincing her to return home with him?
Responsibility and obligation. If there was one thing he knew about his lady, it was that honor and obligation to her clan were deeply engrained in her soul. Sky was loyal to a fault. What were the odds that she’d turn her back on all that obligation and duty business for his sake? Bone weary, he trod upon the corridor’s medieval floorboards.
Malcolm stopped and nodded toward a door. “Here,” he said, continuing on without another word.
Struan opened the heavy wooden door. A fire in the small hearth cast warm tendrils of dancing light around the chamber. Robley was already in bed, and a pallet and blanket had been laid out against the wall. Struan removed his clothing, hanging them on pegs in the wall. Hopefully they’d dry by morning. He settled himself upon the pallet and stared at the beamed ceiling.
“Dinna give up, lad,” Rob said. “Erin and I faced much worse, and everything sorted itself out in the end.”
“Malcolm is not about to give his daughter to the bastard son of a long-dead earl,” he huffed out. “I have nothing to offer here but my sword.”
“Och, but Sky comes with a nice bit of land and a tidy fortune.” Robley grunted. “My cousin is motivated more by fear that you’ll take Sky away from him than he is by the unfortunate circumstances of your birth. If she means that much to you, you might consider staying here.”
“The twenty-first century has a lot more to offer, as you know. Besides, I already own a nice bit of land. I have a business, a nice savings account and a wonderful adoptive family.”
Struan continued to stare at the ceiling. Would he meet his end upon the battlefield tomorrow? Perhaps everything up to this point had been leading to yet another field and another fight, and this time he wouldn’t be so lucky. Rest? Not bloody likely. His gut knotted, and his mind went round and round on the hamster wheel to nowhere inside his head.
He’d live or die; Sky would return to Gordon Hollow with him or she wouldn’t. Everything could change in a heartbeat, and somehow he knew tomorrow would be the day that fate would reveal whether or not it was for or against him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sky awoke to the sound of booted feet traipsing down the passageway outside her door, along with muffled male voices. She slipped out of bed, snatched up a gown and pulled it on over her night rail. Running out of her chamber in her bare feet, she caught a glimpse of Struan just as he reached the top of the stairs. “Hold, Struan, we must speak,” she said, careful to keep her voice low.
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable in the predawn dimness. So much needed to be said, but she had no notion where to start. She hurried to catch up with him. “Do you mean to fight with my kinsmen this day?”
“I do, and don’t try to argue me out of it.” His expression was closed, but she felt his resolve as if it were a stone wall between them. “And don’t worry about me,” he added.
“I ken better than to try to talk sense into you, and I will worry whether you wish me to or no’.” Oh, how she wished she could find a reason to keep him inside Moigh Hall and away from the danger awaiting him. “You’ve already done more than I have asked of you. ’Tis no’ your fight. You need no’ risk your life for—”
“Didn’t you just say you wouldn’t try to talk sense into me?” One side of his mouth turned up for an instant, and then the smile was gone. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) Page 24
