The rushing noise of the water receded, and her heartbeat slowed. She looked straight at the Devil of Dunakin, but she didn’t see him there in the mask. She envisioned Keir’s face, his strong jaw, full cheekbones, sloped nose, and his deep brown eyes.
Rab’s voice rang out. “If she interferes with Mackinnon law, she is also a traitor. I command the Devil of Dunakin to execute the healer, too.”
His words didn’t penetrate Grace at all, sliding away as she murmured the powerful Gaelic word. One more step, then another, and finally… Grace jumped down from the end of the plank, her boots thudding softly on the trampled winter grass.
“I am here to stop the Devil of Dunakin,” she called through the leather, wondering if she should take it off so he could see the determination in her face.
“Kill her first,” Rab demanded.
Lachlan left his seat to join his father at the river’s edge. “Nay, she healed me.”
With a backward swipe, Rab slammed his arm against his young son, sending him sprawling. Gasps rose behind Grace from the crowd on the bank.
“I will not back down, Keir,” Grace said. “Surrender Dara.”
“He isn’t Keir!” Rab yelled. “He is the Devil of Dunakin, protector of the Mackinnon clan and the weapon of the chief. Do your duty, Devil.”
Grace paused, staring at Keir, who stood like black, carved ice. She couldn’t tell anything about his thoughts behind the damn mask. “I know you are Keir behind that mask,” she whispered.
Keir held his sword tip to the night sky. Grace walked around him, and he turned with her. With a flick of his sword, he could disarm her, but what would he do then? Kill her? Knock her down, vault onto the platform, and behead his sister? Grace shook her head. “You have the choice not to do this, Keir,” she said, her voice low, but he remained silent, watching her.
Grace brought the point of her sword to the pebbly ground. With a quick step, she dragged it in a circle around the two of them. “I summon Caim, sanctuary, around the two of us,” she said with all the confidence she could muster.
Keeping her sword tip lowered, Grace grasped the edge of her mask under her chin, yanking it from her face. The hood followed, releasing her long hair. She stepped closer to him and lifted her sword with both hands. Leaning forward she pressed the tip to his bare skin, right over his heart where the intricate crosses lay etched.
Her lips parted, pulling in air, and all else around them seemed to vanish. It was only Grace and Keir in the circle. She swallowed and inhaled. “Keir Mackinnon, is tù gaol mo chridhe.”
Keir’s sword lowered to the side. “Grace, do ye know what ye are saying?”
A smile flitted to her lips at the sound of his voice, the way he said her name. Her heart pounded with relief. There was no Devil here, only Keir. She wet her lips. “I walked all the way across that bloody board,” she said. “Of course, I know what I’m saying. Tha gaol agam ort,” she continued. “I love you, Keir.”
Grace barely heard Rab yell from his spot. Her complete focus was on the man before her. Keir raised his hand to his mask and slowly pulled it off. Arms spread wide, he pressed forward, her blade tip piercing his skin. “Is tù gaol mo chridhe,” he repeated as a drop of blood slid down his bare chest.
“What is happening?” Rab yelled, running over another bridge, spanning the river, to push through the crowd.
Grace could barely draw a breath as she stared into Keir’s intense gaze. His lips parted, his words calling out on the night breeze. “An angel has pierced the Devil of Dunakin’s heart.” His biceps hardened as he threw his mighty claymore away from him. “The Devil is vanquished,” he yelled, his voice resounding across the island.
Grace’s vision swam with tears, and she blinked, throwing her own sword toward his in the grass. A small sound issued from her lips as she rushed forward. Keir grasped her face in his hands, staring down into her eyes. “I love ye, Grace.” A small sob of joy came from her, and he lowered to kiss her.
“Keir!” Brodie yelled from the platform, making Keir whirl to tuck Grace behind him.
Rab had run over the narrow bridge to the island, kicking their swords away while holding his own pointed at Keir’s chest. “Ye are a bastard and a traitor against the Mackinnons,” he said.
Grace slid to the side where she could see Rab’s contorted features. Pinched tight, lips pulled back to show gritted teeth, spittle wetting his mouth. Fury and bitterness had stolen his sense. Could Keir unarm his brother without a weapon? She wasn’t taking a chance.
With subtle movements, Grace slid the sgian dubh from her boot, the same one she’d carried from Aros. Her throw was never perfect, but the thought of losing Keir squashed the embarrassment and fear of failure out of her mind.
“Ye’ve gone mad, Rabbie,” Keir said, holding his arms outward calmly. “Losing Bradana—”
“Shut your bastard mouth!” Rab yelled, lifting his sword as if to swing.
Without the hindrance of skirts, Grace threw her weight into a forceful step like Gavin Maclean had taught her back at Aros. Arm and wrist snapping forward, she released the dagger into the air. End over end, it flew toward Rab.
Crack! The heavy, dull end of the handle hit Rab’s nose. The blade snapped upward, its razor-sharp edge scoring Rab’s forehead before falling to the ground.
“Shite,” he yelled, blood gushing from his nose as his empty hand came up.
Seizing the opportunity, Keir leaped forward to knock the weapon from his brother’s grasp. Grace watched, her palms pressing against her cheeks, as Keir’s leg swung behind Rab. At the same time, Keir shoved him in the chest, sending Rab crashing to the ground. Keir stepped over him, pinning his brother with one solid boot in the middle of his chest.
“This is finished, Rab,” Keir said. Rab turned his head to spit out blood as he held his nose. “From this moment on, the Devil of Dunakin is no more, and ye aren’t the chief of the Mackinnons.” Keir glanced to where Brodie stood, sword drawn, face grim. He turned his focus to the silent, wide-eyed villagers. “Until Lachlan has aged and earned the respect of his clan, Brodie Mackinnon will rule Dunakin as chief.”
Brodie stepped up to him as Keir signaled several of his warriors to come across to take Rab. “Keir,” Brodie said. “Ye should be—”
“I am leaving Dunakin,” Keir said. Grace’s breath caught with a twist of hope. “Ye should lead.” He turned to meet Grace’s gaze. “A sound leader is intelligent and thoughtful, using reasonable judgment, strength, and strategic prowess to earn the respect of his warriors. Not brutality and fear.”
Grace felt the ache of tears as Keir used her own words. She gave a small nod to him, and he turned back to Brodie.
“Ye’ve earned the respect and trust of the clan, Brodie,” Keir continued. “Ye will make a strong chief for the Mackinnons of Dunakin.”
Stepping forward, Brodie extended his arm. Keir grasped it, linking it in solid approval as Brodie accepted. A shiver rose up Grace’s back, as around the island a soft rumble grew among the villagers until the dark glade echoed with cheers of acceptance and something Dunakin had been lacking for many generations. Hope.
Keir turned to Grace, pulling her into his arms. He touched her cheek and looked down into her eyes. “I’m going to teach ye to throw a sgian dubh,” he said, his perfect lips turning up at the corners.
She smiled back and gave him a quick shake of her head. “I hit him exactly how I’d planned.”
He chuckled softly. “Ye are a wise woman, Grace Ellington. And I love ye.” He leaned in to kiss a tear that had escaped her eyes. Pulling her around to face the crowd, Grace saw Fiona. Rab’s grandmother nodded to her. Grace held her hand to her heart and bowed her head to the woman who had helped her, even when it meant removing her grandson from power. Fiona let a sad smile touch her lips and followed behind Rab as he was forcefully led away by Keir’s men.
Keir’s voice rose. “Ye are all witnesses,” he said and turned to stand before Grace. “I pledge my heart
to ye, Grace Ellington. Forever.”
A giddiness bubbled through Grace, a mix of joy, hope, and love. “I, too,” she said, her voice clear in the once again silent, watching night, “pledge my heart to you, Keir Macleod Mackinnon. Forever.”
Keir leaned in, one eyebrow raised. “Ye do know that ye just wed me?”
She tipped her chin higher to give him a mischievous look. “With the night I have planned with you, I certainly hope so.” Keir’s grin grew into a full smile, lighting his face with the same happiness that made Grace laugh. Keir pulled her to him, and Grace reached up on her toes to wrap her hands behind his neck, surrendering to his powerful, oath-sealing kiss.
Epilogue
Grace swayed in the seat of the white mare that Brodie had given her the morning she, Keir, and Dara had departed Dunakin. Ferried over to the mainland, they had ridden to Kilchoan. Grace had been ready to obtain passage to Barra Island to help Mairi, her original course. But once Thomas had regained his head after the fever broke, he’d sent to Aros for help. Macleans and MacDonalds had been searching the countryside around Kilchoan for more than a week.
Grace and Keir decided it best to return to Aros first, after sending a message to Mairi. Another ferry ride brought them and their horses to the Isle of Mull, and they rode across the familiar path toward Aros.
“You can live with us, Dara, in my cottage, until you decide if you’d like to stay at Aros,” Grace said.
“Only if she wants to hear the creative things ye like to yell out at night,” Keir said. Grace wrinkled her nose at him but couldn’t help her grin.
“Ugh,” Dara huffed, a frown souring her pretty face. “I’d rather sleep in a dungeon.”
“I’m sure we can find you a quiet bed somewhere,” Grace said. She tucked one of her loose locks of hair behind her ear and pointed toward the village. “Aros.” Her heart squeezed at the sight of home. “And no heads on spikes surrounding it.”
“It certainly smells better,” Dara murmured.
Grace laughed and leaned into the saddle, the comfortable white leather trousers making it easy to keep her seat as they galloped across the moor, her hair flying out to match her horse’s tail. She looked to the side to see Keir smiling at her from Little Warrior’s back. They slowed as they rode through the winding path of the village and up to the open gate of Aros Castle.
“Halt! Stad!” came the voice of the gatekeeper.
“Hamish Maclean, it is Grace Ellington,” she called.
“Bloody hell,” Hamish said, quickly climbing down the ladder. “Where have ye been? And who are they?” Without waiting for a reply, he pointed at one of the stableboys. “Ye there. Go tell Lady Maclean her sister has returned.”
“Grace?” Gavin Maclean ran over from the other side of the bailey. “Good God, ye’re sound.”
Hands encircled her waist before she could say a word, and Gavin lifted her down. Oh hell. Keir’s large hand landed on Gavin’s shoulder. “Take ye’re hands off my wife.” The intent sat in his tone, but he kept the death threat back.
“Who the hell…?” Gavin’s words trailed off as he turned to see Keir looming over him. Gavin wasn’t a small man, but next to Keir he looked like a scrawny lad.
Grace stepped around him and took Keir’s arm. “I am well, Gavin, and this is Keir Macleod, my husband.” She indicated Dara. “And his sister, Dara.”
“Grace!” Ava waddled down the steps of the keep, still quite pregnant. Grace met her halfway, hugging her. Ava pulled back. “What are you wearing?”
Grace laughed. “Trousers are really much more comfortable than skirts.”
Tor came out behind his wife. “Grace Ellington?” He looked shocked. “Where have ye been?”
“The Isle of Skye,” Grace said. “At Dunakin Castle.”
Tor frowned. “’Tis dangerous there. Did ye run into the Devil of Dunakin?” His eyes shifted to Keir.
“Aye, she did,” Keir said, taking her arm. Grace looked up at him as he spoke, her smile full.
“Goodness,” Ava said, her eyes wide. “What happened?”
Keir’s mouth relaxed into a grin. “She confronted him in battle and destroyed him.”
“Grace Ellington killed the infamous Devil of Dunakin?” Tor asked, his jaw open in disbelief.
“I pierced his heart,” Grace said.
Ava let out a little laugh. “I knew you were courageous, Grace, but I didn’t know you were that courageous.”
Keir pulled her in to his side. “My wife is the bravest person I know.” He bent to kiss her gently. Even brief, the touch caused a warmth to flow into Grace’s middle, anticipation for their first night alone after the journey.
Grace looked up into Keir’s warm brown eyes. “Love grows courage out of fear.”
“This sounds like a wonderful adventure,” Ava said. “Come in and tell us.”
Grace squeezed Keir’s arm as they walked together toward Aros Castle, ready to begin their new life together.
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Acknowledgments
Thank you to all my readers who asked me to write Grace’s story. I must confess that when I started, I was concerned that she didn’t have it in her to be the heroine. But her courage was always there, buried beneath her self-doubt. Love helped her dig her way out, putting everything on the line to save the man she’d grown to love. Grace’s story has reminded me that everyone can be a heroine, we just need love and caim. (And a pair of white leather trousers can always help!)
…
As at the end of each of my books, I please ask that you, my awesome readers, remind yourselves of the whispered symptoms of ovarian cancer. I am now a six-year survivor, one of the lucky ones. Please don’t rely on luck. If you experience any of these symptoms, consistently for three weeks or more, go see your GYN.
Bloating
Eating less and feeling full faster
Abdominal pain
Trouble with your bladder
Other symptoms may include: indigestion, back pain, pain with intercourse, constipation, fatigue, and menstrual irregularities.
About the Author
Heather McCollum is an award-winning historical romance writer. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood of 2009 Golden Heart finalists.
The ancient magic and lush beauty of Great Britain entrances Ms. McCollum’s heart and imagination every time she visits. The country’s history and landscape have been a backdrop for her writing ever since her first journey across the pond.
When she is not creating vibrant characters and magical adventures on the page, she is roaring her own battle cry in the war against ovarian cancer. Ms. McCollum recently slayed the cancer beast and resides with her very own Highland hero, rescued golden retriever, and three kids in the wilds of suburbia on the mid-Atlantic coast. For more information about Ms. McCollum, please visit www.HeatherMcCollum.com.
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Discover the Highland Isle series…
The Beast of Aros Castle
The Rogue of Islay Isle
The Wolf of Kisimul Castle
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Highland Heart
Captured Heart
Tangled Hearts
Untamed Hearts
Crimson Heart
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