The Devil in Plaid

by Lily Baldwin

  In a flash, MacKenzie warriors positioned on the outer wall turned and aimed their crossbows into the baily and fired on his men. Warriors, wearing his crest, crumpled to the ground. And then a rush of MacKenzie warriors surged from the stable and attacked his men at the gate.

  “What are they doing!” he cried, shoving Fiona aside. Then he turned to Kenric. “Get down there. Kill the rebels. Kill them all!”

  Ranulf stared in horror as more of his men fell. And then the grating of the gate wheel blasted his ears. “Stop them,” he shouted to Gregor who was now fighting his own kin, MacKenzie fighting MacKenzie. Ranulf leaned over the wall. “They are lowering the gate,” he screamed.

  “Ye there,” he shouted to a cluster of farmers pressing against the wall to keep away from the fray. “Pick up a bloody pitchfork and kill those men.”

  The farmers looked at each other, and then they sprang into action. But they did not heed Ranulf’s order. Some of the them rushed to the wheel to help open the gate while others did, indeed, take up pitchforks and sickles, but they trained their weapons only at the men wearing black, leather jerkins.

  “Fergus, ye bastard, what is happening?” Ranulf shouted. His son’s eyes were wide. His hands gripped his hair.

  “I do not know, father,” he cried.

  “Stop it,” he shouted down at a dozen or more cottars who had Gregor surrounded. “Nay,” Ranulf shouted as the mob cut Gregor down.

  Ranulf’s heart pounded. He spied Kenric swinging his sword, cutting down the treacherous farmers and MacKenzie warriors who dared defy him. “Get them, Kenric!”

  The drawbridge touched down. A surge of MacLeod and MacDonnell warriors thundered into the baily with a massive swordsman in the lead.

  “Jamie!” Lady Fiona cried out beside him.

  “Shut up,” he snarled and brought the back of his hand against her cheek. She stumbled back, falling on her side.

  He looked back to the battle below, grinning when he saw that Kenric was even larger than the infamous Laird MacLeod. With greedy eyes, he relished each blow of Kenric’s sword as he forced Jamie to retreat.

  He reached down and yanked the lady to her feet. “Watch while yer beloved falls beneath the might of a true swordfighter.” Then he shouted. “Give no quarter. Take no prisoners!”

  Kenric swung his sword. Ranulf held his breath, but the MacLeod ducked. Again, Kenric lashed out, his blade glinting in the sun. This time Jamie blocked the blow. Still, Kenric trudged forward, using his greater strength to push his opponent back. Jamie’s feet slipped. He fell forward, but rolled quickly, avoiding Kenric’s sword that plunged down, driving into the earth rather than the MacLeod’s body. Jamie spun, swinging his blade. Kenric yanked at his sword, freeing it from the ground just as Jamie’s sword sliced through his neck.

  “Nay!” Ranulf shouted as Kenric’s head fell to the ground, his body crumpling moments after.

  Ranulf whirled around. “Ye,” he snarled at the lady.

  Her eyes glinted, and a smile curved her lips.

  “What have ye done?” he gritted, his fingers biting into her shoulders.

  “Ye’ve lost,” she said, her voice deadly soft.

  He growled, hearing the thunder of footsteps charging through the keep. He swung her back around, dragged her into the solar, then flung her to the ground. She struggled to sit up. Her hair fell in messy waves, obscuring her face. But she flung her head back, her hair cascading behind her, her chin raised with defiance.

  “The people have taken their clan back,” she declared.

  Rage coursed through him. “Shut up,” he shouted as he grabbed her. Lifting her feet off the ground, he threw her back, slamming her against the hearth. She cried out in pain. For a moment, she lay unmoving. Anger pulsed through him. He glowered at her and unsheathed the blade strapped to his back. She lifted her head. Her eyes widened. A thrill of desire shot through him. He wanted her blood. She fought to sit up, to scramble away, but her hands were tied. She no longer smiled at him. The arrogant glint in her eyes had vanished. Blood trickled down her temple, and she stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

  “Aye, that’s right. Be afraid,” he said. He slowly raised his blade above his head. Her weakened body squirmed. “If I lose, then so do ye,” he cried, swinging his sword, but the clash of metal rang out. He jerked his head around to see who parried his blow.

  “Fergus,” he snarled.

  “She is an unarmed woman,” his son gasped.

  Ranulf sneered. “Give no quarter. Take no prisoners. Remember, ye bastard.”

  Fergus lowered his blade. “We’ve lost, father. ‘Tis not she who must now ask for mercy. ‘Tis ye.”

  Ranulf seethed, but he lowered his blade and offered his son his hand. Fergus eyed him for a moment, then tentatively reached out, accepting his father’s hand.

  “Ye’re right, son,” Ranulf said. “’Tis not Lady Fiona who must beg for mercy.” He thrust his sword, catching Fergus beneath his ribs. “’Tis ye,” he growled.

  “Nay!” Fiona screamed.

  Fergus’s eyes widened. He sputtered, pressing his hands to his wound. “Father,” he gasped before he fell forward, his body sprawled on the floor.

  “Ye always were weak,” Ranulf growled. “Now, ye’re dead.”

  Turning back to take care of the MacLeod wench, he growled. She was gone. He turned about, not knowing by which door she had left. He charged for the closest door and threw it open just as a throng of servants, armed with pitchforks and spades, came rushing down the hall at him. He scurried back and slammed the door before scrambling across the room to the next door, which he swung wide. Lady Fiona held a sword at the ready. Behind her a dozen warriors bared their teeth at him.

  She glared at him. “Ye’re finished, Ranulf.”

  Ringing filled his ears. His heart pounded as he stumbled back. Climbing to his feet, he charged for the final door, but it swung wide before he could reach it. Jamie MacLeod filled the doorframe and took aim at Ranulf with a crossbow. Before Ranulf could duck, an arrow lodged in his shoulder. He turned away from the fierce Highland chieftain right into Fiona’s blade. Turning back around, he growled at Jamie. “Aren’t ye going to finish me?”

  ~ * ~

  Jamie reloaded his weapon, wanting nothing more than to put an arrow through Ranulf’s skull.

  “Are ye too soft?” Ranulf taunted, his eyes wild and desperate. “What if I told ye, I took her over that table.” He cupped his manhood. “I rode her good and hard.” He smelled his fingers. “I still have her juices on my hands.”

  Fury ripped through Jamie. He raised the crossbow.

  “He’s lying,” Fiona shouted.

  “Finish me,” Ranulf snarled. “Give no quarter. Take no prisoners!”

  Jamie stormed toward the villain and pressed the crossbow into his skull. He wanted to end him, then and there. He wanted the satisfaction of being the one to send Ranulf MacKenzie back toHell.

  His hands shook with rage. He slowly lowered his weapon. “Ye do not deserve a quick death,” he spat. Jamie backed away, fighting every instinct in his body, which longed to spill the enemy’s blood. He took a deep breath. “Take him,” he told Alasdair who seized Ranulf’s arms from behind, placing him in shackles.

  “Ye will stand before the council of the Clan MacKenzie.” Jamie circled around, meeting the gaze of every MacKenzie farmer and warrior filling the room. “These people, who ye have robbed of their laird and his heir, they will be yer judge.” Then he turned back and locked eyes with Ranulf. “Ye’ve lost, but do not worry—I am certain yer kin will show ye the same courtesy ye’ve shown them.”

  “No quarter,” Ranulf cried, his eyes wide and ablaze with desperate fury. “No quarter!” Alasdair dragged Ranulf from the room, his screams of rage fading down the hallway.

  Jamie turned away, locking eyes with Fiona. She rushed into his arms. He crushed her against himself, savoring the feel of her soft curves and the smell of her hair. A knot gripped his throat. He ha
d kept his fear at bay, giving himself over to the battle, knowing only victory could save the woman he loved.

  And how he loved her.

  He drew back to see her face. He cupped her cheeks. “Are ye all right?”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “I’m in heaven.” She held him close. After a few minutes, she pulled away and met his gaze, her eyes bright with excitement. “It worked,” she cried. “Our plan worked!”

  He looked at her sternly. “Aye, it did, although ye surrendering yerself as a guarantee was not a part of our plan.”

  “I had to, Jamie. Captain Tormod thought we had attacked him. He thought we were the enemy. He never would have trusted us had I not offered myself as collateral.”

  He cupped her cheeks. “Never again. Ye must promise that ye will never sacrifice yerself again—no matter the cause.”

  “But Jamie, I am lady to our people—I must do what is right to care for them.”

  “Nay, ye must listen to yer husband—ye owe me yer allegiance and yer obedience.” He pulled her close. “Please,” he whispered in her ear. “I thought I had lost ye, and it near killed me.” He drew back and cupped her cheek. “Have faith that I will always find another way. I need ye to be safe, Fiona. Promise me.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I promise that I will never offer myself as collateral to another clan again.” She kissed him hard on the lips. “And I promise to love ye and never stop as long as my body draws breath.”

  “Breathe always.” He kissed her cheek. “Love me always.” His lips grazed her forehead. “And know I will always love ye.” Then his lips claimed hers, and he kissed her with all his love. He scooped her into his arms and carried her from the room. He had no intention of putting her down until he could lay her on his bed and show her how much his soul burned for hers.

  Epilogue

  Fiona sat near the hearth with only the demons to keep her company. She held up a long piece of gauzy lace, which lay across her lap and puddled at her feet. She was stitching small, yellow flowers around the top edge that were sure to bring out the brightness of Esme’s flaxen hair.

  “Ye ken Esme and Sebastian’s wedding is still weeks away,” Jamie said, coming up behind her.

  Fiona smiled at him. “Ye’re back!”

  She set her wedding present to Esme aside and stood, throwing herself into his arms. His lips descended, stealing her breath with the passion of his kiss.

  “I missed ye,” he breathed.

  “I missed ye with my whole heart,” she beamed.

  He sat down and pulled her onto his lap.

  “How was Tormod?” she asked.

  “His wounds are healing. He is moving around now, although it will be some time before he can ride and take on his usual duties, or, rather I should say, his new duties.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Ye mean the MacKenzie council voted?”

  He smiled. “Aye, they did.”

  “And Tormod is their new laird?”

  “Aye, he is!”

  She squealed with delight and threw her arms around his neck. “’Tis happening, Jamie. Peace has come to us, just as we dreamed.”

  “Hard lessons had to be learned, but I think ye’re right. Speaking of hard lessons, how does Abby fare?”

  Fiona’s chest tightened, thinking about her dear maid. “’Tis hard. Every day is a struggle. But I tell her not to give up hope. Thomas is young and strong. I believe he will yet recover from his wounds.”

  Jamie nodded. “I pray that he does.”

  She raised a brow at him. “Does that mean ye’ve forgiven him.”

  “Nay, but I pray to God for help on that matter as well.”

  “He saved my life, Jamie,” she said pointedly.

  “Aye, I ken, but he’s also the reason ye were in danger to begin with.”

  She clasped his hands. “I feel in my heart that his soul is good.”

  He smiled sadly. “I ken, but I don’t know if I will ever be able to trust him as I once did.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Trust is earned. Ye just need to open yer heart to the possibility.”

  He gazed into her eyes. “Ye walk through life with love in yer heart, Fiona MacLeod. It radiates from ye.” He chuckled. “’Tis contagious, I swear.”

  She laughed. “Next ye’re going to claim that I’ve made ye love sick, and that’s why ye can’t keep yer hands off me.”

  He stood up, cradling her in his arms. “I definitely feel like I’m coming down with a fever.”

  She kissed his lips. “Aye, are ye feeling warm?”

  “Hot.” He laid her on the bed, covering her with his hard, strong body. “I’m burning up.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Lucky for ye, I am a very talented…healer.”

  He threw his head back, laughing. “Fiona MacLeod, ye’re the love of my life. My own bright star. I pray yer light never fades.”

  She cupped his cheek. “Love me and it never will.”

  Can’t get enough braw Highlanders? Meet Lily Baldwin’s Scottish Outlaws. Jack, Quinn, Rory, Alec, and Rose. They are outlaws to the crown but heroes to the Scottish People. Here is a taste of Jack:

  Isabella stepped out into the courtyard just as a coach bearing the Trevelyan coat of arms clattered through the gate.

  “Damn,” she muttered under her breath before forcing a smile to her lips.

  Her betrothed, Lord Hugh Trevelyan smiled when he saw her. “Dearest Isabella.” He brushed his lips against her gloved hand. His light brown hair grazed his shoulders, and his fine, blue eyes shone bright.

  She dipped in a low curtsy. “You have come to see me off?”

  He smiled. “Of course, dear friend. I only wish I could accompany you, but responsibilities hold me in town for the next fortnight. Are you quite certain your journey cannot wait?”

  She smiled but shook her head. “I am anxious to see my sister and meet my new nephew.”

  His lips parted slightly as if he wished to ask her again, but then he pressed them closed and for a moment cast his gaze to the ground. “I am happy for you,” he said, still keeping his eyes averted.

  Her own stomach fluttered with excitement. “I cannot believe I am to be reunited with Catarina. It feels like a dream.”

  He smiled and stepped closer, taking her hands in his. “I think this trip will be good for you. You will see how content your sister is now that she has wed and started a family.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “Indeed, I hope to find her very happy.”

  “When we are wed, you will be equally as content. Love will grow, Bella. Are not friendship and respect the strongest foundations for any marriage?”

  She nodded, pressing her lips together to fight back her tears. She had heard his defense of their forthcoming nuptials time and again.

  But I do not love you, her heart screamed.

  A rumbling announced the arrival of her carriage. “Thank you for coming, but I must go now.” She turned away and allowed the footman to help her into the carriage.

  Hugh peered at her through the window. “I know I can make you happy, Bella.”

  She looked into his warm blue eyes and saw the boy she once knew. There had been a time when she had thought of him as her brother. “I miss the way we were,” she said. Then she leaned her head back against the smooth, velvet cushion. “I miss the way everything was.” Regret gripped her heart as her carriage rolled forward through the gate and into the city.

  After King Edward had sacked Berwick, his first command was the construction of a massive outer wall. For five years, Isabella had watched the walls climb higher and higher. They blocked the view of the sea and countryside, confining the city. But even as she left the city limits behind, she knew men would continue to erect her king’s dream—just one more cage for her soul to silently rage against.

  However, the further from Berwick and Hugh she rode, the easier it became to forget. Rolling hills invited her gaze with a feast of sunshine
and flowers. Leaning out the window, she shifted in her seat so that she could turn her face to the sun. She slid her finger along the rim of her fitted wimple, which entrapped her hair and neck, letting the sun touch only her cheeks. Still, golden heat eased her spirit. She inhaled the fragrant scent of blue bells. A smile suddenly stretched her lips wide. It grew wider still, until her cheeks ached with delight. The rich scent of flowers and earth combined with the brightness of light so that she felt as if she were seeing these things for the very first time. And, in a way, she was. She had not left Berwick in five years, and the Bella who had journeyed from home before was not the same Bella now riding through the countryside. The other Bella had a mother. The other Bella could never have guessed at the cruelties one man could inflict upon thousands of others.

  Shadow fell as the road snaked through a thick wood. Still leaning out the window, she marveled at the lush green underbrush that shivered with foraging creatures. Then she jerked back in her seat. She heard thunderous snaps, fast and furious, coming from up ahead, followed by a thud that shook the ground like a giant’s footfall the instant before an explosive crack shuddered through the carriage, bringing it to a halt. She slammed forward, then pitched back. Wincing, she righted herself in her seat. The clang of swords stung her ears and the cries of men, her heart. The iron scent of blood filled the air. Her chest heaved as she fought to breathe. Swords and twisted faces flashed past her windows. Trapped. She had to get away. The door jerked open, a leering face. She kicked. The grappling hand retreated. She scurried back. The door she leaned upon burst open. She fell. The hard ground stole her breath. Then men descended upon her.

  ~ * ~

  Jack charged through the woods with his four brothers trailing just behind. They had been tracking the Redesdale coach for nearly three miles, waiting for the flat landscape to give way to a hill from which they could descend upon their prize. Having at last reached a wooded slope, Jack galloped to the top and signaled for them to don their masks. They had moved ahead of the coach, but it was almost upon them. He leaned low in his saddle. The thrill of the catch set his heart to race. Moisture beaded against the fabric of his mask as his breath quickened. He raised his fist in the air, preparing his brothers to attack. Once his fist swung down, they would be unleashed like a furious black storm upon the unsuspecting nobles. Almost there. Just a few yards to go. His breath hitched as a great crack rent the air. He jerked upright and stared with wide eyes at a tree on the other side of the road plunging in front of the coach. The driver pulled hard on the reins, but it was too late. The wheels thundered into the tree, splintering to pieces. Before Jack could draw his next breath, men, dressed in peasant’s attire, sprung out from the woods with swords raised high and attacked his prize. He threw up his hands and let loose a string of curses.