Highlander's Wicked Game: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Novel

by Fiona Faris

  “Nae!” Duncan roared, swinging the stool forcefully through the air in an attempt to unarm his opponent. “Ye will no’ harm a scarlet hair on her bonnie head! I will kill ye with my own two hands!”

  Lachlan laughed. “With that wee chair in yer hands? I think ye will no’.” He advanced, using his hand to grab the edge of the stool and bringing the hilt of his sword up to bash Duncan upon the head.

  When the metal hilt made contact with Duncan’s skull, it felt as if his entire head exploded in on itself. The pain was agonizing, and his vision went black, making it impossible to defend himself. He dropped to his knees plummeting downward. The last thing he knew was his face hitting the cold hard floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Marra awoke and sat up, hearing the sounds of fighting in the corridor outside of the library door. Rushing to her feet, she raced to the door and opened it a crack to see what was going on. “Bar the door, lass, and dinnae open it for anyone!” Ewen commanded as he fought off two of his fellow clansmen. Marra immediately obeyed and barred the door from the inside. She moved furniture over in front of the door as Diana looked on in terror.

  “I cannae go through this again,” she whispered, shaking her head as if her refusal to take part in what was happening would instantly make it disappear. “I barely survived the last time.” She clutched her head in pain as the sounds of the battle grew louder. It sounded as if there were now men fighting on all sides of them.

  Marra moved to Diana’s side and took her into her arms, attempting to block some of the sound. “I am so verra sorry, Diana. I should have had us leave here as soon as I kenned it was Lachlan who attacked us. This is all my fault.”

  “Nae, it is no’ yer fault. Ye wish tae see the best in people. It is what makes ye who ye are, and I would no’ wish tae change that for anythin’. Ye cannae blame yerself for this. What were ye tae do? Pledge allegiance tae the Laird o’ Skye? That is no’ an answer that any o’ us were goin’ tae accept.”

  Marra was grateful to Diana for her words of encouragement. She marveled that even in the maid’s complete and utter state of fear, she could still be a comfort to others. “We must find a way tae get free o’ this room. We are trapped in here as we are.”

  “Perhaps that is best considerin’ what rages just outside these doors,” Diana fretted. “Would it no’ be best tae wait for the laird’s son tae come for ye? Surely he would no’ leave ye tae suffer.”

  “Aye, Duncan would no’ leave us tae the hands o’ his enemies if he had any say in the matter, but what if he is killed? What would we do then? Would we no’ regret stayin’ put?”

  “I dinnae believe that we have a choice.”

  Duncan awoke to the feel of warm liquid creeping along his skin. He opened his eyes to find his hand lying in a pool of his father’s blood. He jerked it free of the crimson stain. The swift motion caused a sharp pain to course through his skull, and he reached up to grasp his head, only to pull it away again quickly when he felt the blood upon his forehead. A deep and abiding sorrow rose up within him with such intensity he roared in rage. Spying his father’s sword upon the floor under the bed, he grabbed the hilt and stood. He wobbled a bit at first as the room swirled around him, but he closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his head to adjust. His head wound throbbed with every beat of his heart. When he felt the world grow still once more, he moved with determined purpose for the door.

  I will kill Lachlan for this!

  Duncan stumbled through the door, clutching his father’s sword at the ready. The sounds of battle rang through the corridor, metal against metal, grunts and groans of fighting men blending into a single cry of rage and pain. He looked back through the doorway at his father’s body upon the bed, the laird’s last moment of agony frozen upon his face. Duncan’s heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest. He gripped the sword harder, pouring all of his fury into the blade. Moving down the length of the hallway, he searched for his cousin.

  As he approaches the library he found Ewen fighting for his life. Marra! Duncan rushed forward in defense of his friend. Together they beat back the traitors, but Duncan felt no satisfaction in having to kill his own clansmen. Necessity of life and limb required that he do so, but he felt the sorrow of it to his very marrow. “The laird is dead,” he informed Ewen, his teeth clenched in anger at having to utter such horrific words. “Lachlan killed him.”

  “The bloody bassa! I’ll skin him alive for that, I will,” Ewen growled in anger.

  “No’ afore I do,” Duncan promised.

  “We need more men,” Ewen remarked, eyeing the melee below stairs. “Ye dinnae think that the MacDonalds would lend a hand do ye. It is in their best interest tae aid us in defeatin’ Lachlan, or they will all be dead afore the morn.”

  “Aye, I will speak with Marra. Ye stand guard and dinnae let anyone pass nae matter who they may be. We dinnae ken who is on our side and who is no’.” Ewen nodded his head in agreement as Duncan attempted to open the door. It was stuck. “Marra!” Duncan called through the wood surface.

  “Duncan!” Marra’s voice replied from the other side as the sound of moving furniture hit his ear. When the scraping noise stopped, the door swung open. “Oh, Duncan!” she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms in relief.

  “’Tis no’ o’er yet, lass. Ye were right about Lachlan. He killed my faither.”

  “Duncan, I am so verra sorry.”

  “Do I have the Clan MacDonald’s support?” he asked looking down into her eyes. “I ken that there are few enough o’ ye as there is after all that has happened tae ye, but if we dinnae win this battle there will be nae o’ ye left.”

  “Aye, ye have our support. I will write ye a missive tae take tae Ian in the village. He will ken who is left tae aid ye in yer fight.” Marra turned and grabbed a quill from the desk and wrote out her instructions in swift sure motions. Moments later Duncan was leaving the library, letter in hand. “Remain here barricaded behind this door. Ewen will no’ allow any harm tae befall ye. Dinnae open it for anyone unless it is he or I. There is nae surety that I will make it out o’ the castle tae Ian, but if I am able, I will return tae ye once the battle is o’er.”

  “We will wait for ye. I swear it,” Marra came forward and placed a kiss upon his lips before closing the door after him. He waited until he heard the scratch of furniture being moved in front of the door before he moved on.

  “Guard her with yer life,” he instructed Ewen, even though he knew the man would have done so without being told.

  “Aye, upon that ye can depend,” Ewen nodded his head in one fierce jerk of determination. “Ye just make it back alive.”

  “Aye,” Duncan nodded in return then took off toward the back stairs that led into the kitchens below. His fingers itched to enter the fray and seek revenge for his father, but the laird had entrusted the welfare of the clan to him and that would only be assured if he were able to gather the men from the village. Lachlan’s men were some of the strongest fighters in the entire clan. It would take more than a thirst for vengeance to see them defeated. He needed men and fast. He prayed that the dispirited men of the Isle of Jura would be enough to turn the tides, if for no other reason than to ensure their own survival.

  He reached the kitchen and found it to be empty. Grateful for his good fortune, he moved over to the back garden door. He stopped to listen, pressing his ear to the rough wooden surface, but could not make anything out over the din in the adjacent room. He eased the door open a crack and peered out into the garden. Seeing nothing, he opened the door and prepared to step out into the night when a voice from behind, accompanied by the cold touch of a blade to his throat, stopped him in his tracks.

  “’Twould appear Lachlan is right about ye, pup. Fleein’ the castle and leavin’ yer men tae fight yer battles for ye. ‘Tis a coward’s way out.” Duncan recognized the voice as that of Calum MacGregor. Calum had hated Duncan from the moment they had met, and he knew that the man would have no qualms abou
t slitting his throat.

  “Ye caught me, Calum,” Duncan falsely admitted. He was not about to tell the man of his plan to go and get help from the village.

  “Aye, I did at that. Lachlan will be well pleased. When it comes time for him tae pick his most trusted man to serve as his second in command, it will be I that is chosen.”

  “So it is power that ye seek?” Duncan attempted to pull Calum into conversation in an attempt to stall him. “I could use a ruthless warrior like ye among my men,” he lied hoping to lower his assailant’s guard.

  Calum snorted. “As if I would agree tae serve a jobbie like ye, ne’er havin’ seen battle afore, and then I find ye runnin’ off tae save yer own sorry hide. ‘Tis an unlikely thing that would be, me servin’ the likes o’ ye.”

  The distraction worked and Calum’s grip relaxed just enough that the blade was no longer pressed to Duncan’s skin. It was not enough for him to slip free, but it was a start. “And ye think that Lachlan cares one jot about his cowardly cousin do ye?” Calum had never been the smartest of men, and Duncan could almost hear him thinking about it. “Do ye truly believe that killin’ me is goin’ tae bring ye the power that ye seek?”

  “’Tis worth the risk if ye ask me,” Calum growled.

  “What if he wishes tae kill me himself and ye deprive him o’ that honor? Would he no’ be tempted tae kill ye in my stead?”

  “I had no’ thought o’ that…” the warrior’s words faded off as he considered this new possibility. “Were I Lachlan, I must admit that I would wish tae be killin’ ye myself.” Calum’s arm relaxed, causing the blade to sink lower toward Duncan’s chest. It was exactly what he needed to make his move.

  Duncan brought his head back full force into Calum’s nose. The sickening crunch of bone breaking against bone echoed through the room. The smell of copper filled the air. “Hey!” Calum cried out as Duncan knocked the blade from his hand and whirled around to land another blow, this time with the hilt of his father’s sword. The big highlander dropped like a rock to his knees and then crumpled over onto his side losing consciousness.

  Not willing to waste another moment, Duncan slipped out of the backdoor and down into the village. He ran as fast as he was able to Ian’s croft and pounded on the door to be granted entry. Ian came to the door grumbling, disheveled from sleep. “What is it? Is it Diana?”

  “The castle is under attack,” Duncan informed him, shoving Marra’s letter into his hands. “I need yer help tae save us all.”

  Ian read the letter, his face first turning pale out of fear, and then red from rage. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Gather the men o’ the village both MacDonald and my own kinsmen. We will need everyone if we are tae defeat Lachlan’s men. I entrust this task tae ye, Ian.” He quickly laid out the plan of attack using the back garden door to enter the castle undetected. From there they would catch Lachlan and his men by surprise. “I must return tae the castle. I cannae leave the men who have remained loyal tae me without a leader. Our fate lies in yer hands, Ian MacDonald.” Duncan left the croft and returned to the castle. He prayed that his trust was not misplaced.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When Duncan reentered the castle he headed straight for the great hall. He had done his duty by the clan to recruit more men, now he could seek out his vengeance with a clear conscience. Duncan entered the hall and scanned the room of fighting men. As they were all members of the Clan MacGregor, it was hard to divide the loyal from the traitors, but he assumed that the men who had returned wounded with Lachlan were on his cousin’s side. Growling low in his throat, he pushed back the heartache of such a betrayal by his own people and continued to search for their treacherous leader. He found Lachlan at the center of it all, bellowing out orders as if he were the general of a great army instead of a motley crew of skilled warriors. Duncan entered the fray, fighting his way man by man toward the center of the room, never taking his eyes from his cousin’s face. The image of the laird’s lifeless form fresh in his mind.

  As he fought his way through the melee, he was able to tell who had remained faithful to his father by the way they moved out of his way, while Lachlan’s men attempted to cut him down. He fought hard for every step. Each slice of his blade that slayed a fellow kinsmen pierced his own heart. The pain of what was happening all around him was overwhelming in every extreme. Men he had hunted with, shared food and ale with, joked with, lived an entire lifetime beside, now sought to take his life. He in turn was forced to take theirs. Bile rose up in his throat, threatening to choke him as yet another clansman’s blood spattered across his face, the hot liquid dripping down his chin and spattering the floor beneath his feet.

  The floor ran red with MacGregor blood from both sides. The flames hissed in the large fireplace as the warrior’s crimson life force splashed into the otherwise cheery blaze in arches of spray from the ever moving dirks and broadswords. The horror of kinsman against kinsman surrounded him on all sides. How has it come tae this, brother against brother, cousin against cousin? This cannae be so! His heart cried out for the violence to cease. Lachlan’s men appeared to be winning the battle and a circle of men loyal to his father began to form around Duncan, attempting to fight back the traitorous forces that pressed in upon them. Where is Ian with the men? He began to fear that help was not coming. He eyed the kitchen door as if willing it to burst open with the battle cry of the MacDonalds.

  His attention was drawn back to the battle when one of Lachlan’s men broke through the handful of faithful who remained. He fended off the attack and filled the gap of the man he had cut down. Shoulder to shoulder, back to back, Duncan and his men fought bravely each knowing that any moment might be their last. Duncan caught a glimpse of Lachlan moving his direction and prepared to face his father’s murderer. The glint of victory shone in his cousin’s eyes, but Duncan refused to accept such a fate. Lachlan would pay for killing the laird even if it was the last thing that Duncan ever did.

  “Did I no’ kill ye already?” Lachlan mocked Duncan as he came to stand in front of him. “How kind o’ ye tae allow me such a pleasure twice in one night.”

  “By this night’s end it will be ye that lays silent at the end o’ my blade, cousin,” Duncan warned.

  Lachlan laughed. “My victory this night will be sung about in all the halls o’ Scotland. This is the night when the Clan MacGregor returns tae the light o’ day and reclaims its former glory. I will be heralded as a hero.”

  “Ye will be cursed a traitor tae walk the vale e’er reviled as the scourge o’ the highlands and islands. Yer memory will ne’er be praised. No’ a single moment o’ yer miserable life upon this earth will be remembered with any fondness. What do ye believe yer maither will say once she discovers that ye have killed her only brother and betrayed the clan o’ her birth?”

  “She has kenned my plan all along. She has been forced tae hide who she is her entire life, e’en lyin’ tae my own faither about who she truly was. Yer faither was a fool cowering under the skirts o’ the Clan Campbell. King’s edict o’ death or no’, a MacGregor should ne’er stoop tae takin’ the name o’ their enemies just tae survive. ‘Tis better tae fall nobly in battle then tae die in yer enemy’s bed drownin’ in yer own blood. ‘Tis bad enough that he fought for the Jacobite cause when it was King James himself who banished our name from Scotland, but tae welcome our enemies in tae the verra walls o’ this castle was beyond bearable. I had hoped that ye would see reason and join me in my cause, but ye are as addle minded as the auld man, and ye will die much the same as he on the end o’ my blade.” Lachlan lashed out with his sword, and Duncan just barely managed to sidestep the blow before it cleaved his head in two.

  The cousins fought toe to toe, matching each other blow for blow. Lachlan was the better warrior by far, but Duncan fought for more than himself. He fought for his father. He fought for his clan. He fought for Marra. A man fell behind him, and Lachlan used it to his advantage by pushing him over the prone c
orpse, causing him to lose his footing. Duncan crashed onto the floor, falling under the tangle of feet. Lachlan advanced, about to drive his sword through Duncan’s chest, when he was brought up short by a most unearthly cry.

  ‘Tis Ian and the men from the village! Duncan’s heart rejoiced at the sound. He used the distraction to lash out at Lachlan’s legs with his feet, bringing his cousin down to the floor alongside him. Unable to maneuver a broadsword in such close quarters, Duncan took the dirk from the corpse beneath him and brought it around with the intent of plunging it into Lachlan’s throat, but Lachlan blocked the blow with his arm, causing only minor damage to the flesh on his forearm.

  “Ye will have tae do better than that, dear cousin,” Lachlan mocked once more, his eyes rabid with bloodlust.

  The cousin that Duncan had once known and loved was gone. In his place lay a man Duncan did not recognize, a man made of greed and hatred. Lachlan took an unholy delight in his kills, and that delight gleamed in his eyes now. “I will indeed,” Duncan gritted out in reply, taking the sgian dubh from his belt and stabbing it into his cousin’s side.