Return of the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  “Nay, lass,” he replied. “I was going to use it to gain entry, to poke around and see what the English are up to.”

  “I wouldn’t have let you,” she argued, still fighting with her bonds. “I would have exposed you for what you are. A traitor and a cheat, a man who would assault a woman, strike down his own brother and leave him for dead.”

  “Darach’s not dead,” Logan argued, “and I’m not daft. I wasn’t going to bring you to the castle with me. I would have done something with you by then. Kept you for assurance somehow—so that I’d have something to negotiate in case things went sour.”

  “What things?” Larena growled, fighting harder against her bonds and wishing she had her bow so she could shoot Logan straight through the heart.

  “You must give me your word,” Darach said to him, “that you will let this go. There is no future for us at Leathan. We cannot change the past. Gather up your things now, ride back to Kinloch, and we won’t say another word about it.”

  Logan shook his head. “I cannot let it go.”

  Darach lowered the pistol to aim it at Logan’s knees. “Go now or I will shoot you in the leg.”

  Larena rolled out of the way.

  “You won’t do that,” Logan said. “I’m your baby brother, the one you saved.”

  “Aye, but you’ve lost sight of your honor, Logan. I cannot stand by and let you break your oath to your laird and do as you please. You’ll get yourself killed. It’s time to gather up your things and leave.”

  “You dare to speak to me of honor? You?” Logan spit on the ground between them.

  For a long moment they stared at each other in the gloom of the moonlight while Larena lay absolutely still, praying that Logan would submit.

  But even if he did, would she be any safer in Darach’s hands? She had no idea what was really going on here. And could Logan be trusted to return to Kinloch? What if he came after them?

  Suddenly, in a flash of movement, Logan lunged at Darach. The gun went off in a deafening blast that rang in Larena’s ears, but the ball only grazed Logan’s leg and embedded itself in a tree.

  As soon as the noise faded to silence, Logan threw his whole weight at Darach. They landed in a heap on the forest floor, grunting and shouting like savages. Logan punched Darach in the face, but Darach rolled him onto his back. He struck Logan three times in the jaw until Logan’s arms fell listlessly to his sides and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  Darach rose to his feet and staggered backwards, wiping his forearm across his bloody mouth. All the while, he kept his eyes on Logan, as if he fully expected him to rise up again and resume the fight.

  Larena tugged desperately at her bonds until her wrists were numb from the chafing. At last she freed herself and began to unwrap her legs.

  Logan recuperated suddenly. He clambered to his feet, drew his knife, and lunged at Darach.

  Darach grabbed hold of his brother’s wrist, head-butted him, and pushed him backwards into the steep rock face, where he pounded Logan’s hand repeatedly up against the stone. At last the knife fell from Logan’s grasp.

  In a shrewd maneuver, Darach bent and snapped Logan’s arm with a gruesome-sounding crack!

  Logan bellowed in pain and dropped to his knees, clutching his arm to his abdomen.

  “Your fighting arm is broken,” Darach informed him, “but you should be able to ride with the other. I’ll set the bone in place and you may remain here until morning, but then you must return to Kinloch. Tell Angus you were thrown from your horse and I will put this behind us, Logan. Do otherwise, and I promise you will answer to him.”

  Logan picked up his knife, sheathed it in his boot, and rose unsteadily to his feet. Still cradling his broken arm, he said nothing as he limped past the fire to his horse and awkwardly mounted him bareback.

  “Wait,” Darach said, following. “Let me set the bone in place first.”

  “Go to hell,” Logan replied and urged his horse into a trot. “I’m done with you.”

  Larena stepped out of his way, but he stopped in front of her. His horse stomped around skittishly.

  “We’re not who you think we are, lass,” he said. “And you deserve to know the truth.”

  Darach stepped forward. “Logan, no….”

  He tossed his head in Darach’s direction. “This Highlander who thinks he’s full of principle and honor is a bloody liar. His name is Darach Campbell and I am Logan Campbell. We were born at Leathan Castle and our father was Ronald Campbell. Your former chief.”

  Larena’s body stiffened in shock. “You are sons of Ronald Campbell?”

  Logan nodded.

  She shook her head in disbelief. “But you’re MacDonalds. You told me you lost your family at Sheriffmuir.”

  She was overcome by confusion and dismay, for she remembered Ronald Campbell. He had survived the battle at Sheriffmuir, remained chief for more than a decade afterward, but had suffered a tragic death two years ago when he was thrown from his horse during a hunt.

  These were his sons? She’d been under the impression all his sons had fallen on that bloody battlefield fifteen years ago and he had no heirs. That is why her father had been chosen to take his place as chief two years ago.

  Logan had nothing more to say on the matter. He rode past her and was swallowed up by the darkness of the forest.

  Stunned and shaken, Larena stared after him for a long moment. Then she turned to face Darach. Her stomach lurched, for he was glaring at her with intense, murderous eyes. His lip was split open and starting to swell.

  He spit blood onto the ground, then thrust Logan’s heavy claymore into the dirt and sheathed the knife in his boot.

  With menacing purpose, he strode toward Larena. Terror exploded in her belly and she wondered if she should leap onto her horse and bolt as fast as she could in the other direction, for she hadn’t the slightest notion who or what she was dealing with.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Why did you go off with him like that?” Darach asked with seething fury. “I told you not to trust anyone.”

  “I believed I had no choice,” she replied. “He said you planned to destroy the King’s pardon and take vengeance on my clan. Based on your behavior since we left Kinloch, I was inclined to believe him over you. Can you blame me?”

  Darach stared at her with a frown. “A costly lapse in judgment on your part, because he was lying to you the entire time.”

  “You were lying to me, too.”

  He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky for a few tense seconds. “We need to go.”

  “Why?” Larena asked as he moved quickly to the fire to collect her saddle. “Will Logan return?”

  “He’s fit to be tied,” Darach explained, picking up the saddle. “His arm will slow him down, but there’s no guarantee he won’t try and finish what he started. He’s stubborn that way.” Darach carried the saddle to where Rupert was nibbling at some low lying ferns. He quickly set about readying him for the road. “Where is the King’s pardon? You should give it to me for safekeeping.” Darach bent forward to fasten the cinches.

  A spark of uncertainty flared through Larena’s blood. She hesitated before answering.

  Darach stopped what he was doing and straightened. “What’s the matter, lass? You don’t trust me?”

  Larena stared at him in shock. “After everything that’s happened—after you lectured me tirelessly about not trusting anyone—you’re asking me that?”

  His eyes narrowed and he inclined his head at her.

  “Oh,” she said. “You’re having me on.”

  He continued to study her face for what seemed an eternity, then slowly he approached. Her mouth went bone dry as he closed the distance between them.

  “Stop worrying so much,” he said in a low voice. “All I want to do is fulfill my duty to my chief. You can keep the pardon if you want. But I see that you’ve hurt yourself.”

  He pointed at the abrasions on her wrists. Cautiously, keeping his eyes f
ixed on hers the entire time, Darach reached down to take hold of her hand and inspect the damage. She wondered briefly if the display of compassion was just a clever distraction to make her forget what was happening here—that he was a Campbell. Son of her former chief. And she had no idea what his intentions were.

  “This looks painful,” he said, eyes lifting.

  “It’s nothing.”

  His touch was gentle as he ran a finger across her open palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach you sooner. What else did my brother do to you? Nothing worse, I hope.”

  Feeling as if she were falling into an exhausted trance, Larena shook her head. “He was fine all day long, until I tried to sneak away. Obviously that was a mistake.”

  “What happened?”

  Larena breathed deeply as she recalled her less than brilliant departure plan. “I waited until he was asleep, then I snuck away from the fire. I was just about to ride off when he must have heard me. He tried to stop me, but I punched him in the nose.”

  Darach seemed unsurprised.

  “I managed to mount Rupert,” she continued, “but Logan pulled me off and I fell to the ground. Then he tied me up, and that’s when you arrived. It’s difficult to say what might have occurred otherwise. I might have been disgraced in the worst possible way.”

  The thought of it caused a sickening knot of dread to form in her belly.

  “My brother may be many things,” Darach said, “but he’s no rapist.”

  “Am I to trust your word on that as well when you still haven’t explained yourself? Why do you pretend to be a MacDonald if you are a Campbell?”

  He let go of her hand and backed away. “I’ll explain everything as soon as we leave here. Let’s get moving.”

  While she set about gathering up her bedroll, she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in Darach’s mind. He’d just broken his brother’s arm to protect her and save her father, while he’d openly professed to hate all Campbells—even though he was one himself.

  And still the question remained: Why were they raised as MacDonalds? What terrible thing had they done to be expelled from their own clan?

  * * *

  “I beg of you, lass,” Darach said as he strapped the last few packs and blankets onto the back of his horse. “Do not try to sneak away from me, because if I am to fulfill my duty, I must see you safely delivered through the gates of Leathan Castle with the King’s pardon in hand.”

  “I will stay put as long as you don’t threaten to tie me up,” she replied, “and as long as you promise to tell me what’s been going on here.”

  He tilted his head and spoke with a note of warning. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

  “And you’re not in a position to pass through the gates of Leathan Castle as an imposter. I hope you don’t expect me to keep your secret.”

  “I expect nothing from you, lass. And we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, just get on your horse.”

  “Fine.” She strode with purpose toward Rupert.

  A short while later, they were riding at a brisk pace, side by side along a grassy river bank where the water flowed deep and smooth in the silvery moonlight. At that point, she could take it no longer. She had to know the truth.

  “Why were you raised as MacDonalds?” she boldly asked, slowing Rupert to a walk. “After Sheriffmuir, your father believed all his sons were dead. What in the world happened? Were you and Logan deserters?”

  “Aye, we were,” he replied. “We fled like cowards before the battle even began.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together with dismay. “But everything you just said to Logan about honor…about the importance of keeping your oath to Angus…”

  He thought about that for a moment. “I suppose that is the only way I can atone for what I did back then, because it weighs heavily on me.”

  “But why did you do it?” she asked. “You don’t strike me as the cowardly type. Not in the slightest.”

  His broad shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “I was young. Impulsive. I could see what was coming on that battlefield,” he explained. “I saw the Redcoats and I knew we were no match for them—at least not me and my brother, for we were just lads. After we fled, I watched it from a distance and I saw all the killing and carnage. It was exactly as I knew it would be, but when it was over, a Campbell clansman spotted us and promised he would see us hanged for our dishonor, and I believe he would have followed through on that threat if he had survived, but he was run through by a Redcoat moments later. Still, we knew our father would be ashamed of us. We knew we couldn’t return home. We thought it would be better if we were presumed dead.”

  He paused and shook his head with regret.

  “I was only fourteen—too young to recognize the enormity of the decision I was making. I couldn’t see very far beyond that day.”

  “What happened next?”

  “We waited until it was safe,” he continued, “and returned to the outskirts of the battlefield where we found two fallen MacDonald warriors. We removed their tartans and passed ourselves off as members of one of the northern clans. We ended up at Kinloch, vowing to each other that we would never tell anyone the truth about who we really were. Then we just kept digging ourselves in deeper and deeper. There was no way out after that. Not that we could see, because if the laird of Kinloch found out, God knows what he would have done to us. And if we returned home, we would have been disgraced or maybe hanged.”

  Larena considered the tale he’d spun and grew curious about something. “That doesn’t explain why you and Logan hate my father so much. What did Logan mean when he said he wanted justice?”

  Darach let out a deep breath. “That’s another matter entirely. For years we kept to ourselves at Kinloch where we became absorbed into the MacDonald clan, but always, Logan wanted to return home. He was ashamed of what we’d done, but he still dreamed that one day, he’d be able to prove himself somehow and our father would welcome us back. But two years ago, when we learned he was dead…Logan took it hard.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s never easy to lose a parent.”

  Darach eyed her intently. “Especially when there are rumors that it was murder.”

  “What rumors?” Larena asked with a frown.

  “You didn’t hear the gossip? That your father murdered ours so that he could take his place as chief?

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Is it? They said your father had a lust for power and the Jacobite cause. Logan and I may have been young when we fled from Leathan, but even then, we knew well enough that our father had always quarreled openly with yours about politics and clan management, women, and everything else under the sun. They were enemies, lass—but you must know that, since you lived there the whole time.”

  Larena blinked at him with uncertainty, for this was an awkward conversation, deeply personal on so many levels. “Of course I knew it,” she admitted. “Everyone knew it. But your father’s death was accidental. He fell off his horse during a hunt. The rumors are false.”

  “You’re sure about that?” He slid her a mistrustful look which helped her to understand why he had disliked her so much from the outset.

  “Of course I am sure,” she firmly replied. “And how can you presume to judge anything when your father’s dead and you haven’t spoken to him in fifteen years? For that matter, how could you leave your clan and let your family believe you were dead? They would have mourned for you, Darach. Thank God your mother was already in her grave by then, or she would have died of heartbreak regardless, believing she’d lost all her sons on the same day.”

  With a touch of displeasure, Darach looked away. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

  Feeling a pang of regret for being judgmental, Larena let out a sigh. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. You were just a boy—and poor Logan, on the battlefield at the age of eleven.”

  “Wild horses couldn’t have kept him from it,” Darach told her
. “He’s a born warrior. He lives to fight. Our father commanded him to stay behind, but he snuck out and followed.”

  “And yet he ran away before the battle even began.”

  Darach’s silence sent a shiver down her spine and caused everything to suddenly become clear. She regarded him with understanding.

  “Ah. I see now… It was you. You must have dragged Logan away. That’s why you deserted—to protect him. That’s why there is tension between you.”

  “Aye,” Darach replied. “He fought me tooth and nail, shouting like a bandit until I knocked him out cold. Bloody well thought I’d killed him. I had to toss him over my shoulder like a sack of grain. The poor lad didn’t come to until it was all over, and he’s always blamed me for how our lives turned out.”

  Darach pointed at a bend in the river just ahead. “We’ll cross up there where it’s shallow and walk the horses in the riverbed for a mile or so to cover our tracks. Beyond that, I know a good place to stop for the rest of the night.”

  His broad shoulders rose and fell as he inhaled the cool night air. Larena watched his profile in the moon shadows and noted that his brow was creased with concern.

  “Are you worried about how Logan is faring?” she asked.

  “I think of nothing else.” He squinted across the river, always keeping an eye out for something.

  “It’s obvious that you care for him,” Larena said. “Even though you don’t agree with his choices, he’s still your brother. You want to keep him safe.”

  The penetrating expression in Darach’s eyes answered her question with a clear yes, though he never actually spoke the word.

  In the seconds that followed, Larena couldn’t seem to pull her eyes away from the dark, elusive beauty of his face—the heavy lashes and arched brows, the exquisite sculpted jawline. Now that she knew the whole story about this rugged and reticent Highlander, she couldn’t deny that he stirred all the quiet places in her soul. The truth, at last, had aroused a feeling of compassion in her, mixed with fascination and admiration.