“Independence I like, except not right now.” He hauled his war coat from his bag, donned it then left his belongings on top of her wooden trunk before bounding downstairs to the great hall, Tavish one step behind him. He’d never allow her to talk to Donnan on her own. Not on his life.
The massive vaulted room held a sweeping crown of rafters rising to an impressive height. Tapestries of hunting and landscape scenes hung with pride around the vast room filled with a boisterous and hungry crowd. He searched the hall teeming with warriors wearing both MacDonald and Matheson plaids, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of the one woman he needed to find. “I don’t see her. Do you, Tavish?”
“I’ve got nothing, and worse, I don’t see Donnan MacDonald either. The man’s over six feet and wearing a great plaid, claymore sheathed in a baldric over his back. Dark brown hair that sits halfway down his back with war braids on each side, plus a scar cutting through his right eyebrow.”
“Damn it.” He couldn’t see anyone of that description about either. He weaved around the perimeter of the hall, in and amongst the mingling warriors. Trestle tables overflowed with platters of bread, meats and cheeses, and other savory dishes. A serving girl with an apron tied around her waist approached with a tray of tankards in hand and he caught her elbow. “I’m looking for Layla, Effie. Have you seen her?”
“Aye, she left to take a walk with her betrothed.” The lass motioned toward the front door. “If you hurry, you’ll catch her.”
He’d do more than catch her. Once he found his mate, he’d tie her to his very side, in every possible way. Completing the bond with her had now become imperative. No more could he wait.
* * * *
Layla climbed the trail leading up into the hills along the same pine-needle covered pathway she’d not long traversed down this morning with Tor, only this time she walked with Donnan at her back. Aye, allowing Tor to speak to Donnan wasn’t a possibility, not when she’d been the one to accept the betrothal and since she’d gotten herself into this mess, she would be the one to get herself out of it, no matter what Tor wished or said.
“We seem to be going for quite the jaunt.” Donnan stepped in beside her as the trail widened and came out at the stream that forked in two different directions. Along the waterway to the west lay the tip of their Matheson land which overlooked the ocean and the Isle of Skye across the sea, while to the east the stream ran through the forest and fields then joined a fast-flowing river which veered off toward the inner channel of Loch Alsh.
“This coming conversation is one I wish to keep between the two of us. I hope you dinnae mind.”
“No’ at all.”
“Then wait right here for just a moment. Go no farther, please.” She walked along the damp, mossy river bank a dozen steps then lifted her skirts and stepped into the stream. Should Tor follow her, then hopefully he’d be led in the opposite direction to where she was truly headed. Water splashed her ankles and calves as she back-tracked within the pebbly stream to Donnan’s side. “Now, step in with me.”
“Lass, do you mind telling me exactly where we’re going?” With his great plaid secured over his broad chest with a silver pin and belted low at his waist with a leather girdle, Donnan appeared every inch the great warrior he was. “You’re clearly wishing to evade someone. ’Tis impossible no’ to notice.”
“I promise to tell you soon.” She would, once she’d gotten them a safer distance away and she had plenty of time to speak with him. Aye, her mate could track with his bear’s senses, and far better than any other warrior could. “I’m going to levitate us both, Donnan. Are you ready?”
“Of course. This will be interesting.”
With only a thought from her mind and a flick of her fingers, she lifted them both up and sent them gliding downstream a foot or two above the water’s rippling surface.
“Your fae skill is incredibly strong.” Donnan eyed his feet, his war braids plaited at each side of his brown head blowing over his shoulders in the wind. “How fast can you move us like this?”
“Around the speed of a horse at full gallop.”
“Marvelous.”
“’Tis also rather helpful, particularly in moments like these.” She continued on, breezing them through the forest until it gave way to the rolling moors, the craggy hills rising higher on their right and the inner channel of Loch Alsh sitting just beyond the wide open field to their left. She left the stream behind and whizzed across the land bobbing with heather and awash with wildflowers. Her heart lifted at being so at one with nature, although her soul heaved at the distance she’d now instilled between her and Tor. He’d never be able to track her, not now. Goodness. He would be furious that she’d left the castle without him, but her decision to do so was a wise one and she was safe in Donnan’s hands. Along with Father, she’d spent a good fortnight on the Isle of Skye at Dunscaith Castle with Donnan and his clan during the time leading up to their betrothal agreement being formalized.
“’Tis almost as if I have wings and can soar like a bird.” Donnan lifted his face to the sky and breathed deep before glancing at her. “I believe we’re getting close to your warrior encampment, where the recent battle with Colin MacKenzie took place. Is that correct?”
“Aye, you’re right. The encampment is very close. I’ll take you there if you wish.” He nodded his agreement and she left the field behind, skimmed around the edge of the woods and breezed alongside the sandy shoreline of the loch. Time passed and the sun slowly lowered, its golden rays rippling across the jewel blues of the water while up ahead, the bay curved and tents dotted the edge of the forest running alongside their mountainous land border between them and clan MacKenzie, their cruelest and bitterest enemy. She gently settled them both back down on the beach, a short walk from the camp. “We’ll walk from here so we might have that opportunity to speak.”
“I can see you’ll be a treasure to have at my side.” Donnan offered her his arm and she slipped her hand through the crook at his elbow. As they wandered along the shoreline, he cleared his throat. “The knowledge of what you and your father can do, will always remain a secret, one my father has kept between him and my clansmen, and one I too shall keep with my men. Is that what you wished to speak to me about?”
“I’m aware you and your father have kept the secret of my father’s ability to yourselves, and mine too since learning of it. ’Tis of another matter altogether that I wish to speak to you about.”
“Then tell me.” His two-handed claymore bobbed in a baldric across his back, the burnished hilt glinting in the waning light. “You can speak freely with me. Never fear that you cannae.”
“My father waited three years after I came of age afore he signed the binding betrothal agreement, his desire to ensure I wasnae soul bound to another, the reason why.” She halted on the beach, let go of him and clasped her hands before her, straightened her shoulders and her never-ending resolve.
“Aye, and glad I am that you’re no’ soul bound to another as many of your fae kind are.” He stopped, towering a good foot over her as he eyed her.
“Ah, well, things have now changed.” She rocked from foot to foot. “My mate, the one my soul is bound to, has now tracked me down and made it very clear he willnae allow me to wed another. I’m so sorry, Donnan, but I cannae marry you, no’ when my mate holds the other half of my soul and I too wish to be with him.”
His gaze narrowed then he snorted and shook his head. “Our betrothal,” he issued between clenched teeth, “cannae be broken. We are already as good as wed and should I lie with you right now, right here on this beach and consummate our agreement, then none would ever gainsay my decision to do so. You would be my wife in truth.”
“Yet should I honor our betrothal agreement and speak vows with you, I would still forever long for him. Is that what you want? A wife who yearns for another?” She had to make him see reason.
“Give me his name and I’ll ensure you cannae yearn for him for long.” He ran one finger alo
ng the length of his jeweled wrist dagger. “I can dispense with him, quickly and assuredly. My sons will hold fae blood. ’Tis my duty to my clan to ensure it and your duty to your clan to honor our agreement. Tell me the man’s name and I’ll deal with the wretch.”
“Nay, you must accept my decision.”
“Speak his name, Layla. I demand that you do.” He thumped his fisted hands against his chest then let out a mighty roar. The thundering rumble echoed along the loch and sent birds nesting in the long grasses squawking and scattering into the sky. “I will have his head, lass, and you willnae stop me.”
* * * *
Tor knelt within the woods and touched the lighter footstep along the stream’s embankment belonging to Layla and the heavier print of Donnan MacDonald’s. He and Tavish had already followed the stream to the end of their Matheson land which overlooked the ocean and the Isle of Skye, but they hadn’t as yet found any further signs of either Layla or Donnan’s tracks reemerging along the entire route. Agitated, he rose to his feet. “She’s clearly used her skill to get away from me.”
“We’ll track her down. It’s impossible for anyone to fully hide from a bear.” Tavish bounded back across the stream in his black pants and tunic then motioned toward the east where the warrior encampment lay at the end of the inner channel of Loch Alsh. “At least we’ve only one more direction to search.”
“Keep a lookout for any trace of movement within the stones along the river base as well.”
“Will do.”
Nose to the air, Tor strode along the side of the stream searching for any lingering scent of his mate while his brother combed the other side. They tramped a good mile before they left the forest behind and followed the stream as it weaved across the rolling moors. It was as if his mate hadn’t passed in this direction either, except his gut told him she had. He scanned the horizon, from the craggy hills rising higher on their right to the inner channel of Loch Alsh sitting just beyond the moors to their left. She couldn’t hide from him forever. He’d never allow it. “Once I find her,” he said through gritted teeth to his brother, “it’ll be a hell of a long time before I ever allow her out of my sight again.”
Never had he felt so lost or so furious. If any harm had come to her because he’d misjudged the strength of her fierce nature and her desperate need to protect him, then he’d never survive it. She was his to care for, his to keep safe from any and all harm.
Marching on, he left the stream behind and gave his bear his head as he stormed across the rolling fields of heather swaying with an array of wildflowers. “We’ll work in a crisscross pattern and head toward the loch,” he called to Tavish. “We’ll be able to call on the aid of the warriors from the encampment if we don’t find her before we reach the camp.”
“Understood.” Tavish picked up his pace, searching the fields with determination, just as he did. They crossed paths as they weaved back and forth across the terrain then his brother lowered to his haunches in the thick grass next to some low brush. “Tor, I’ve found something.”
He jogged across and knelt next to his brother. Snagged within the scrub, a long strand of curly blond hair fluttered in the breeze. He plucked the length of hair free, brought it to his nose and dragged in his mate’s glorious, wild cherry scent. “At least we now know for certain she came through—”
“Tell me his name!” The thunderous roar echoed from up ahead along the shoreline.
“There they are.” Tavish jabbed a finger and Tor found the outline of two people on the beach before the glittering water, one towering menacingly over the other.
He sprinted across the moors, his heartbeat a raging mess. Over the sand dunes, he bounded then with a fierce battle cry and his head down, he rammed into Donnan MacDonald and sent them both skittering across the sand.
Chapter 5
Layla screamed as Tor roared and crashed into Donnan. The two men went flying, sprayed sand as they rolled across the beach then pulled apart and heaved to their feet. Tor swung his sword from his side scabbard and Donnan whipped his claymore from the baldric across his back.
The two came together with a mighty crash of their great blades.
Steel sparked, the brutal force of their strike sending both of them lurching back a step under the jarring impact. “There is naught I like more than an eager opponent,” Donnan snarled.
“I’m beyond eager.” Tor thrust his sword high and blocked Donnan’s next swift blow.
“I take it you’re the man my betrothed is soul bound to?” Donnan’s eyes blazed with hatred, a fierce and fiery look that spoke of intended retribution.
“Aye, the name’s Tor Matheson.” Tor shoved against him. “Layla is my mate and only mine.” He struck hard and fast, landing several hard blows as he fought to push Donnan farther from her and toward the waves lapping into shore.
“You both have to cease this fighting.” She hurried forward but Tavish swept her up from behind and carried her backward to safety. “Let me go, Tavish.”
“This is Tor’s fight, not yours,” Tavish rasped in her ear as he set her down on her feet, gripped her arms from behind. “Let him deal with Donnan. Trust him. My brother won’t fail you.”
“I won’t have my kinsmen go to war against clan MacDonald because of me.” She thrashed against Tavish. “Tor, please, halt this madness.”
Donnan swung and Tor met the staggering blow, although it knocked him to his knees, his blade and Donnan’s crossing a mere inch from his nose. Tor’s arms shook as he gripped his great sword and heaved back to his feet.
“Keep Layla with you and out of this fight,” Tor yelled at Tavish.
“I’ll keep her safe.”
Tor cast her a look. “We’ll be talking, the moment this battle is done.”
“Just keep your eyes on the fight.”
“Aye, you should never lose sight of your opponent.” Donnan shot forward and landed a vicious blow on Tor’s left.
Tor shuddered under the impact and fought back. She wanted to use her skill to tear them both apart, but they moved so brutally fast she’d likely do more harm than good if she tried to separate them.
“Layla will be my wife, and afore this day is out. I’ll ensure it.” Donnan swung, each of his strikes slamming home with deadlier intent.
“Like hell she will.” Tor met each of Donnan’s blows, one after the other. Their weapons clashed, the heavy peal of steel on steel ringing fiercely in her ears. Over and over, they came at each other, Donnan landing several solid blows before Tor did the same with Donnan.
“You clearly favor your right side, Matheson.” Donnan twirled and attacked on Tor’s left, each hit stronger than the last.
“I favor no side.” Tor switched sword hands and fought on. Sweat beaded his brow as he gained back ground and pushed Donnan back. “What of you?”
“I favor a win, however that may be achieved, which means I will have your head. No one steals my betrothed away from me and lives to speak of it.” Donnan swung his claymore and Tor defended then struck himself. They were so evenly matched, in power, height, and skill, neither man prepared to relinquish any hold over the other.
A horn trumpeted from the direction of the encampment and two heavily armed warriors galloped down the beach toward them, their Matheson plaids flapping about their legs. Gerald rode at the head, one of their garrison’s captains and her father’s closest confidant.
“Gerald!” she yelled and waved. “Please, you have to stop this fight.”
Gerald bounded from his war horse and circled the battling men. “What’s the meaning of this, Tor?”
“Don’t come any closer.” Tor rocked on his heels and blocked Donnan’s next fierce strike then dropped low, rolled clear and came up behind him. He swung and Donnan barely caught the staggering blow. Donnan fell to his knees and Tor slid his sword right up against Donnan’s throat. “Concede to your defeat,” he barked. “Layla is my mate, the woman I intend to wed.”
“You’ll never wed her whil
e she’s betrothed to me.” Donnan’s arms shook as he tried to keep Tor’s blade from slicing into him.
“I want your word, spoken right now before these witnesses, that you repudiate your betrothal.” Tor pushed his blade down firmer, right into Donnan’s skin. A drop of blood welled. “I will never allow you near my chosen one again. Do you hear me, MacDonald?”
Donnan glared, his chest rising and falling as he heaved in a breath. Tor needed to shove only a little harder and his blade would slice right through Donnan’s throat. With a venomous glare, Donnan snapped out, “I repudiate my betrothal.” He shot her a fierce look. “You are free to wed your warrior. If. You. Dare.”
Damn it. Now she’d gone and ensured their greatest ally had become their greatest enemy. She couldn’t have botched her talk up with Donnan more than she had. Aye, she’d set both clans against each other and she couldn’t see any possible way to make amends.
“Lower your weapon.” Tor’s blade scraped Donnan’s flesh and another drop of blood oozed out.
“I concede.” Donnan slowly lowered his blade then dropped it.
“Gerald.” Tor gritted his teeth as he grasped Donnan’s weapon and lobbed it to the man. “See our visitor off our land and ensure he never returns. I want you to report back to me once that has happened.”
“Of course.” Gerald gestured to the other Matheson warrior who’d rode with him from the encampment to dismount then offered the spare horse to Donnan who grumbled as he mounted the black steed.
Layla held her breath as Donnan shoved his knees into his horse’s flanks and galloped over the sand dunes and across the moors with Gerald riding at his side. She remained right where she stood until the two riders become naught more than a mere dot on the horizon.
Tor caught her arm, turned her to face him. “We’ll stay at the encampment until Gerald returns with word that Donnan and his men have sailed back to Skye. I don’t want you anywhere near the keep until I’m assured he’s gone.”
Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson Book 2) Page 9
