Brenda Joyce, Terri Brisbin, Michelle Willingham

by Highlanders - The Warriorand the Rose; The Forbidden Highlander; Rescued by the Highland Warrior

  He had been impossible to forget.

  “I know we are already at war with the MacDonalds,” she finally said, “but I feel as if I have just started another war.”

  “You did not start anything,” Mary flashed. “He attacked us.”

  Juliana decided not to point out that their brother had sent the bishop to spy upon them, and in a way, he had triggered the attack. She still did not know which man she should be angrier with—her brother or MacDonald.

  “I am glad you are still here,” she said impulsively. Because William remained loyally at their brother’s side, Mary had decided to stay at Coeffin Castle with her. Once the battle was finished, she and her husband would adjourn to her lands at Loch Fyne, and then travel on to Castle Bain, William’s stronghold that he inherited from his father. Mary intended to give birth there.

  “We will have news soon,” Mary assured her. “Ardtornish is but hours away.”

  That evening a second messenger came. Juliana and Mary were having dinner when he arrived. Both women leapt up as the young, freckled Highland lad hurried breathlessly into the room. It was snowing outside, and he left clumps of melting snow on the floor as he stomped it off his boots and shook out his plaid.

  Juliana handed him a mug of wine. “What word?”

  He took a gulp. “Alasdair Og was at Ardtornish when we attacked. He held us off, lady, for two entire days.”

  The boy was shivering, and Mary took his cloak from him, handing it to a maid to lay it before the fire.

  Juliana was in disbelief. “But surely, my brother will prevail?”

  The boy grimaced. “My lady, Alexander has taken his men and is returning to Dunstaffnage as ye speak. And he has ordered ye to join him there, as soon as ye can go.”

  Her astonishment increased. Alexander’s attack had failed—Alasdair Og had triumphed again! Was there no justice to be had?

  And why was her brother ordering her to his seat? Did he fear for her safety at Lismore?

  The young Highlander now turned to Mary, handing her a rolled-up parchment. “From yer husband, my lady,” he said.

  Juliana walked over to Mary. “What does William say?”

  Mary looked up, unsmiling. “The Earl of Buchan has summoned him directly to a war council in Lochaber. Alexander is going, as well. William wants me to go immediately to Dunstaffnage—there will be more fighting soon, to stop Bruce’s rebellion.”

  Juliana rubbed her forehead, which suddenly ached. “More fighting, where? Is Lismore in danger?”

  “William did not say.” She stared at Juliana with trepidation. Then she clasped her small belly.

  Juliana knew she dreaded the outcome of this war—that she still feared for her husband’s life. “William is a warrior, Mary. He cannot sit out this fight.”

  “I know that.” Mary glanced at the messenger, who was no more than fifteen or sixteen. “Come sit down and sup,” she said.

  When the boy was seated and feasting on venison, Juliana and Mary walked over to the hearth and stared at it. Mary spoke first. “We should prepare to leave.”

  “Yes, we should.” Juliana sighed. She did not want to leave Lismore, but she could not disobey her brother. And there was no hardship, truly, in residing at Dunstaffnage. It was a strong fortress and a magnificent estate. “Alexander must be worried, to order me from my home.”

  Mary gazed back at her. “Yes, he must be worried, but is he concerned about the war with Bruce, or about reprisals from Alasdair Og?”

  Both women fell silent then, lost in their own thoughts.

  Mary finally said, “I will need a day to ready all of our belongings.” Because of her three children, she traveled with a large entourage.

  “We can have our trunks sent to us and leave at first light,” Juliana said. She was beginning to feel some anxiety that their brother indeed feared reprisals from Alasdair Og. She had only met him once, but she felt certain he would be thirsting for revenge, after the attack on his new stronghold.

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t think lingering a single day will matter; neither Alexander nor William said we must rush. And you do not know when you will return. You must prepare the keep for your absence.”

  “You’re right,” Juliana said, deciding she was foolish to suddenly become nervous. “I am going to find a pallet for the boy, and retire early. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING DAWN both women were up, each involved in the vast preparations necessary for their departure. Juliana took her steward, Walter, aside to go over her many lists. Winter was a quiet time, and she hoped to be back in the spring, when the usual repairs would have to be made to her castle and her galleys, when the cellars, depleted during the winter, would have to be filled, and when cattle and sheep began birthing, and when she would be needed for dozens of baptisms—there were so many children born in the spring.

  “Lady!” One of her Highland soldiers rushed into the great room. “Two dozen ships are approaching.”

  Juliana leapt to her feet with her steward. “Fergus—is it my brother?”

  “They are too far to remark, but they come from the west.”

  Juliana froze. Ardtornish Castle was to the west.

  As she stood there, her heart racing, Mary hurried into the hall. “What is it?” she cried. “I heard that a fleet approaches us!”

  Juliana did not answer. She rushed past Mary, going up to the tower, Fergus, the steward, and Mary behind her.

  The watch was outside the tower, on the ramparts, both men peering out to sea. A number of her archers had gathered, as had women and children. Juliana rushed through the tower and outside.

  It was a gray wintry day, with poor visibility, the sky and the sound very much the same dreary color. Shadows were slowly, inexorably approaching, their shapes distinct enough to know she was watching a fleet of galleys.

  And then the fog suddenly shifted, a part of it lifting, a ray of sun pouring through the clouds. The fleet was suddenly illuminated.

  More than two dozen ships approached. And then she saw the huge blue-and-red flags of Clan Donald blazing like fire into the gray skies.

  Alasdair Og was bent on reprisal—and he meant to attack her.

  “Ring the bells,” Mary ordered. One of the men rushed inside to obey, and instantly, the bells began to toll.

  “Can we defend ourselves?” Juliana heard herself ask. Her heart slammed as she watched the fleet, sailing ever closer.

  “We will defend ye, Lady Juliana, I vow it,” Fergus cried.

  Mary confronted the soldier. “That is not what she has asked. Can we thwart Alasdair Og and his army? Do we have enough men, enough arms, enough munitions?”

  Fergus flushed. “The truth, lady?”

  “Yes, of course we want the truth!” Mary cried.

  “We can defend Coeffin Castle, I think, but not Coeffin Castle and Achanduin at once!”

  Achanduin Castle had been the seat of Bishop Alan. Juliana must decide between defending her home, or that of the now deceased bishop. But if that were the case, there was no choice to make. She looked at her pale sister. “Maybe he does not want Achanduin Castle.”

  “If he is here to strike at us, we will soon know it, and we must prepare.”

  Juliana nodded. “Fergus, if he attacks Achanduin Castle, we will let it fall. But we cannot allow Coeffin Castle to fall.” She could barely breathe.

  “Summon every archer to the ramparts,” Mary said. “Make sure our catapults are ready, and we must start fires. We must also send word to Alexander.”

  “I am prepared to defend the castle, Lady Mary,” Fergus said. He signaled to several men and hurried away.

  Juliana inhaled. Her sister had endured several sieges in her life. Fergus was an experienced soldier—one of her best men. But, dear God, she had lost her five best soldiers already. What if they could not defend themselves?

  Alexander would come, even if he had already left for Lochaber, but what if he was too late?


  What did Alasdair Og intend? To seize her home—or to destroy it?

  Juliana was frightened. He had murdered Bishop Alan without remorse, as if he did not have a conscience. But surely, she and her sister were not in danger—they were noblewomen.

  “There is no point in standing here, freezing,” Mary said. She took Juliana’s arm and they hurried back inside.

  In the hall, Juliana grabbed her hand. “You should disguise the boys—dress them as village children—and warn them not to tell anyone who they are.”

  Mary turned white. “You think he will take my sons hostage?”

  “I don’t know what to think!” Juliana cried. “But we should prepare for even the worst possibility.”

  Mary nodded and ran off. Juliana blinked back tears. If there was one thing she must do, she thought, it was protect her sister and her children.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AS NIGHT FELL, THE castle was prepared for an attack. Fire burned atop the ramparts so boiling oil could be thrown on any invaders, Piles of rock and stone sat beside the catapults, and archers and soldiers stood upon the walls. The sisters waited as the moon rose, but no attack came.

  In the great hall, Juliana stood up. “He isn’t coming.”

  “No,” Mary said, “not tonight.”

  Juliana wondered as her sister did—had he taken Achanduin Castle? She imagined Alasdair there, his men celebrating the easy victory in the great hall, mugs raised in laughter, in triumph.

  Would he come tomorrow? Or would Achanduin Castle be enough?

  Mary stood. “I am going to get some rest. You should, too.”

  Juliana somehow smiled. She would never sleep that night, not when she was afraid of what the dawn would bring.

  But Mary paused. “There is one thing I cannot comprehend. It was our brother who attacked Ardtornish Castle. Not you. So why is he here?”

  Juliana stiffened. “I don’t know.”

  Mary gave her an odd look and left.

  Juliana sank back down onto the bench, staring across the great room, where many of her soldiers slept upon pallets. A huge hearth was on the opposite wall, and a fire raged there.

  I am sorry ye were here.

  She suddenly recalled Alasdair’s parting words, and felt frozen. She did not even want to try to comprehend what he had meant, or if he had been truly remorseful.

  She laid her cheek on her arms on the table. He was at Lismore not because of Alexander, but because of her—she somehow sensed it.

  Tears burned her closed eyelids. She wished she had never asked her brother for an army, she wished she had never dreamed of revenge!

  But mostly, she wished that she and her sister had left for Dunstaffnage that morning—that she had insisted they depart immediately. For then Mary and her three children would be safe.

  And to make matters worse, Mary was five months pregnant. If something happened to the babe—or any of the children—Juliana would never forgive herself.

  Juliana started awake. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But she saw now that the fire in the hearth was burning, having been stoked by the maids. The light outside the windows was pale from the dawn.

  She leapt up from the bench and ran into the corridor and up the narrow stairwell. The two men in the tower turned as she ran past them.

  The dawn was gray, snow falling. The barest light stained the day, with no sign of the sun. And there were no ships on the horizon.

  She was in disbelief. Was he gone?

  “Lady Juliana, ye must come to the entry tower.”

  Juliana whirled around to face the watchtower, away from the east ramparts and the sound. She took one look at Fergus’s pale, grim expression, and knew Alasdair Og had come.

  She inhaled, praying for strength and courage. Then she nodded and followed him inside, downstairs, and across the castle. Mary appeared and fell into step beside her as they went outside.

  It was snowing more heavily now. A light dusting covered the courtyard. Ahead was the entry tower, the drawbridge below closed. All of her archers and soldiers were on the ramparts on each side of the castle gates.

  Juliana went up the exterior stairs with Fergus and Mary and pushed inside the tower. She went to the window and gripped its ledge.

  Perhaps a hundred mounted warriors, fur-clad Highlanders and mail-clad knights, formed a line between the western hills and the castle, like a barricade, facing her.

  Juliana felt sick. She could not see behind the front lines, but she knew hundreds of archers and foot soldiers armed with swords and spears were there. Three blue MacDonald banners sporting sinister red dragons waved above the army.

  “What are we going to do?” Mary whispered.

  Juliana could not speak. She watched one rider on a gray warhorse separate himself from the army, slowly coming forward. She felt so much tension, it was choking her.

  “It is Alasdair Og,” Mary said tersely.

  He halted his mount at some distance from the entry tower. He was too far away for his features to be visible, but he clearly stared at the tower—Juliana knew he stared at her.

  “If ye can lure him closer, our archers can murder him,” Fergus said thickly.

  “No. Do not shoot at him,” Juliana said, so vehemently, Mary and Fergus looked askance at her. “We are not murdering him in cold blood.”

  “Then he will murder us,” Fergus said flatly.

  Mary stared at her, and Juliana knew her thoughts—he had certainly murdered Bishop Alan in cold blood. But, oddly, she did not believe that Alasdair Og would murder her or her sister. But he was bent upon revenge. She knew that. And suddenly there was no choice. She knew what she must do to protect her sister and her nephews.

  As if he could fathom her silent thoughts, he suddenly rode closer. She could make out his long dark hair, tangled about his shoulders as he stared up at her. Their gazes met.

  It was time, she thought. Juliana asked Fergus for his dagger. In surprise, he handed it to her. She instantly reached down beneath her blue surcote and sliced off a strip from her linen cote. Mary gasped as Juliana handed the dagger back, realizing now what she intended.

  Juliana turned and walked out onto the ramparts, Mary and Fergus behind her, their expressions grim. As she started towards the crenellations, a group of archers surrounded her. “Stand back,” she ordered.

  “Lady Juliana, ye cannot put yer life in jeopardy,” Fergus protested.

  “He will not hurt me.” She pressed against the edge of the wall, knowing she believed this.

  Looking down at him, she raised her hand and dropped the linen flag of surrender over the wall. They both watched it float toward him, very much like the falling snow.

  * * *

  JULIANA STOOD BEFORE the hearth in the great hall, her hands firmly clasped before her, stiff with tension. It was unbearable.

  She knew that Alasdair would walk into her hall at any moment, claiming it as his own.

  She glanced at the stairwell. Mary had gone to check on her children, who were dressed as common Scottish children. Elasaid was going to claim that they were hers.

  Children were used as hostages all the time.

  She heard heavy booted steps, followed by deep, masculine tones. Her heart lurched. Someone laughed. The same voice said, “Mayhap this bodes well, eh, Alasdair? Mayhap our next fight will be as easy and as bloodless. Mayhap all our enemies will turn tail when we next approach!”

  Juliana trembled. She was frightened, but she was also furious. She was being accused of cowardice.

  Alasdair stepped through her door and his gaze founds hers. “I dinna think Lady Juliana has ever turned tail, Neil.”

  Juliana simply stared.

  He strode towards her, a towering Highlander. His blue-and-red plaid was thrown back, the skirts of his leine swirling about his bare thighs, his swords bumping there with his every stride. His blue gaze was piercing as he halted before her. “Was the choice to surrender yers?”

  It was hard to speak
. “Yes.”

  He softened. “So quickly, ye become wise.”

  She felt like striking him. “What do you want with me? Why did you come back?”

  His smile vanished. “Yer brother attacked my castle, Lady Juliana, no doubt with yer blessing.”

  “He attacked, not I.” She felt her temper rising, was aware that she should fight it, but did not even try. “It would not be as easy to attack my brother. That would take courage. I am an easier opponent. Attacking a woman is a laughing matter.”

  He darkened and seemed incapable of speech. Behind him, his men seemed astonished and uncomfortable. “‘tis no laughing matter, I assure ye. Lady—do ye accuse me of cowardice?”

  She began to shake. “I was just accused of cowardice.”

  His mouth curled, but without mirth. “I dinna think ye cowardly, I think ye far too brave and bold fer yer own good.”

  “Do you flatter me now?” she cried. “Or do you insult me? It is cowardly to attack a woman!” And the moment she had cried out, she wished she had not done so.

  He stared in disbelief. A shocked silence fell. And Mary came into the hall, her face ashen.

  She looked back and forth between them, several times. Then she hurried over to Juliana. “My sister is distressed,” she said tersely. “She doesn’t mean to insult you.”

  “She means it,” he said flatly. “I attacked ye, Lady Juliana, because ye have a great value to me.”

  What did he mean? She glanced at her sister, certain her consternation was shared. Mary looked as distraught as she felt.

  Alasdair turned to Neil, the tall, blond Highlander at his side. “Search the keep. Account fer everyone. Make sure no weapons are hidden.” He faced the women. “Ye will feed my men. We will depart tomorrow on the first tide.” His expression cool, he walked past them both, taking a seat at the table. The castle maids rushed to serve him.

  Juliana cringed as his men rushed upstairs, others going down into the cellars. She and Mary exchanged more worried glances and Mary seized her wrist. Fear was reflected in her eyes.

  Juliana knew she was frightened because the children would soon be discovered. But she had one more pressing matter. She hurried over to the table, taking a deep breath for courage.