The Ravenscraig Legacy Collection: A World of Magical Highland Romance

by Allie Mackay

  “You weren’t trying to put me out of my misery, were you?”

  Aidan felt his jaw slip. “I was trying to save you.” He stared down at her, the neck opening of his tunic suddenly so tight he could scarce breathe. “That sword has been in my family for centuries. Some claim it brings us good fortune. I thought its presence might-”

  “Help me?” She pushed up on her elbows, her gaze flitting to the sword again. “Like a good luck talisman or something?”

  Aidan nodded. “Many clans have the like,” he admitted, hoping that would suffice.

  He wasn’t about to tell her how he’d dropped to his knees and raised the sword to the Old Ones, vowing on the blood-red pommel stone that he’d grant Kira any wish if only they’d intervene and spare her life.

  He knew well what her greatest wish might be and even if the Ancients smote him for it, now that she was back amongst the living, he’d prefer not to tempt fate any further.

  It was one thing to hear about Ameri-cains and their flying machines and tour buses, and something else entirely to be surrounded by such impossibilities.

  Pushing them from his mind, he poured her a small bit of water. “Drink this.” He slipped his hand behind her head, steadying her as he held the cup to her lips. “You need to replenish yourself.”

  She took a few sips and fell back against the pillows. “I must’ve been in pretty bad shape if you thought only a magic sword could cure me.”

  “It isn’t a magic sword, but a family sword. In these hills, we see strength in blood ties. The continuity of our clans.” Aidan tossed aside the last of the pea sacks. “I wanted to share that strength with you, that was all.”

  She still looked skeptical. “There isn’t any mumbo-jumbo running down the sword’s blade?” She slanted another glance at it. “Those cryptic letters aren’t a charm or a hex or anything?”

  “Nae, sweet.” Aidan shook his head. “The inscription reads ‘Invincible,’” he told her, speaking true. “It is the blade’s name. Family tradition says it came to us from one of the great Somerled’s sons, though we cannae say which. The red of the gemstone is supposed to be his blood, frozen forever inside the pommel stone. That, however, is questionable.”

  “Who knows….” She trailed off, her attention on the sword.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He reached for her hand, not liking the shadows beneath her eyes. “Only that you are well now.”

  Her gaze returned to his. “How long did I sleep? One night? Two?”

  “Four.” Letting go of her hand, he took a large plaid from the end of the bed and swirled it over her, taking care to smooth it into place. “Tonight would have been the fifth.” He touched her cheek, not wanting to frighten her. “You will be fine, Kee-rah. Dinnae you worry.”

  But she did.

  Especially since learning he’d tried some quirky medieval voo-doo to save her. No matter what he cared to call it, that’s what it had been.

  Frozen ancestral blood, indeed.

  Not that such a notion was any wackier than time travel. Or ghosts. She certainly knew both existed. She also knew someone must’ve tried to poison her.

  Or him.

  She glanced at the water cup, grateful when he picked it up immediately, once more helping her to drink. Before he could take it away, she lifted a shaky hand and grasped his wrist. “The wine I drank,” she began, needed another sip to finish, “it was laced with something, right?”

  He nodded. “It was a careless mistake, Kee-rah.” He was trying to shield her, but the twitch in his jaw gave him away. “Nils mixed a sleeping draught for Kendrew and someone mistook it for simple wine.”

  “You aren’t fooling me.” She struggled to a sitting position, every inch of her screaming protest. Thankfully, determination made her strong. “Someone here tried to kill me. Or you.”

  “It willnae happen again.” He folded his arms, no longer denying it. “I’ll no’ have you worrying.”

  She blew out a breath, puffing her bangs off her forehead. “I’ve been doing that ever since I remembered reading about your cousin locking you in your own dungeon to die.”

  “Lass….” Aidan ached to chase the clouds from her eyes, banish her fears. “You mustn’t fash yourself.”

  In truth, her worries couldn’t compare to the concerns splitting him. The guilt weighting his shoulders, tearing him up inside. No matter how he turned it, he’d failed her. Conan Dearg wallowed in Wrath’s deepest, darkest pit. Every man within Aidan’s own walls feared, respected, and, he hoped, loved him. Yet someone he knew, someone close to him, had tried to take Kira’s life.

  And he’d been unable to prevent it.

  Indeed, while she’d sipped the tainted wine, he’d stood laughing in his hall, looking on as his men gallivanted about, making merry with her pea sacks.

  Thinking all was well with his world.

  It was inexcusable. A mistake he couldn’t allow to happen again.

  He drew a deep breath, hoping to convince her it wouldn’t. “I’ve ordered my cousin placed in a different part of the dungeon. He’s in a larger, more comfortable cell, but there’s an oubliette running through its middle. He-”

  She blinked. “A what?”

  “An oubliette is a bottle dungeon.” Aidan began to pace again. “There’s a narrow crack in the cell floor just wide enough for a man to fall through. When he does, the chute opening expands into a small round space only large enough to crouch in. There’s no escape unless someone is hauled out by a rope.”

  “That doesn’t change the history books.”

  Aidan glanced at her, annoyed that she kept harping on that string, but pleased to hear her voice sounding stronger. He paused at the table to pour himself a measure of ale, downing it in one quick swallow.

  “What it changes is that my cousin may well be tempted to use the oubliette to end his misery. He’s a vain man, fond of his appearance and comforts. He’ll weary of confinement. The lack of baths and a comb for his hair. If he managed to sweet talk his way out of the dungeon to climb up onto the gateway arch the night Kendrew claims to have seen him, or if he persuaded someone to taint your wine, he’ll have no further chances to do so. He-”

  “How do you know?”

  Aidan halted, closing his eyes. “Because I will do all in my power to keep you safe.”

  But as soon as the words left his tongue, his stomach clenched and he fisted his hands.

  Truth was, he didn’t know.

  Not when someone at Wrath conspired with his cousin.

  He could only hope.

  He started pacing again, well aware that Conan Dearg had been known to wriggle through crevices too tight for a mouse. The bastard had more charm than a whore had favors. But no matter what Kira’s history books might say, Aidan wouldn’t allow her to become one of Conan Dearg’s victims.

  Even if keeping her safe meant putting certain plans into action.

  Things he’d discussed earlier with Tavish and hoped would ne’er be necessary.

  He closed his eyes again and ran a hand down over his face, forcing himself not to worry about that road until it loomed up before him, leaving him no choice.

  After a moment, he drew another deep, lung-filling breath and put back his shoulders. Then he schooled his face into his best expression of lairdly confidence before he strode back across the room, ready to ply his lady with sweet words and kisses until Cook finally sent up a kitchen laddie with her long overdue broth.

  But when he reached the bed, he saw that she’d fallen asleep again.

  A restful sleep this time, praise the gods.

  Sweet color tinged her cheeks, and for the first time in days her breathing sounded soft and easy. No longer labored and harsh.

  Leaning down, he smoothed his knuckles along the side of her face. His heart catching, he kissed her brow. He burned to stretch out beside her, gathering her close and holding her against him all the night through. But she deserved her rest and he needed a distraction.

 
Something to take his mind off that road he did not want to journey down.

  It’d been bad enough discussing such eventualities with Tavish.

  Frowning at the memory, he made certain Kira was comfortable, then went straight to the table, meaning to help himself to another generous cup of ale and then settle in his chair for the night.

  He’d spent the last four nights in its cold embrace. One more wouldn’t make that much difference.

  But when he reached for the ale jug, he noticed something amiss. There was a new parchment sheet resting atop Kira’s stack of scribbled notes.

  A parchment he was certain hadn’t been there before.

  Nor were the boldly inked words slashed across it anything like Kira’s.

  They were hateful, fate-changing words.

  Looking at them, his eyes narrowed. He snatched up the parchment and held it closer to the flame of a candle, just to be certain. Unfortunately, he’d not been mistaken. The words didn’t change and the threat remained the same. Next time it would not be monkshood in Kira’s wine but cold steel in her back.

  “Nae, it will be neither.” Aidan stared at the words until his blood iced.

  A surprising calm settling on him, he walked across the room and dropped the parchment into the hearth fire. He looked on as it curled and blackened, disappearing as surely as its meaningless threat. Whoever had penned and delivered it, wouldn’t be able to reach Kira where he meant to take her.

  Perhaps she’d been right all along and they were meant to be together in her time, not his.

  How he fared there, mattered not.

  Only her safekeeping.

  Quickly, before any niggling doubts could assail him, he dusted his hands and settled himself in his chair. There’d be much to do on the morrow and a good night’s sleep would serve him well. With Tavish’s help, the upcoming feast night would likely be their best opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

  His mind set, he curled his fingers around the hilt of his family’s precious sword, wondering if fate had caused him to prop the well-loved brand against his chair. Or if he’d brought them to this pass by vowing on the sword’s ancient, bloodred pommel stone.

  Either way, he wouldn’t fail.

  Not with Kira as the prize.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A full sennight later, seven days and nights unlike any Aidan had ever known, he stood in the shadows of his great hall’s entry arch, oddly detached from the chaotic preparations for the evening’s celebratory feast.

  Everywhere, men bustled about, laughing and jesting. Their arms were laden with long, streaming garlands of autumn leaves and bright-red rowanberries, which they took great pleasure in hanging on the walls and draping wherever they could. Merriment abounded and in a corner, pipers strutted to and fro, practicing for the night’s entertainment. Harried servants ignored the din for they were busy spreading white linen over row upon row of trestle tables. Red-cheeked kitchen laddies trailed after them, looking awed and self-important as they laid out trenchers, ale-and-wine cups and knives. Delicately carved spoons of bone that had been Aidan’s mother’s pride, winked from the high table. Extra torches already blazed along the walls, and a well-doing log fire roared in the hearth.

  Tempting aromas drifted from the kitchens, enhancing the hall’s smoke-hazed air with mouthwatering hints of what was to come: a bountiful parade of roasted meats, simmering stews, and freshly baked breads. Not to be overlooked, at least two silver candelabrums gleamed on every table, each one boasting fine wax candles waiting to be lit the moment Aidan gave his nod. Even the floor rushes had been replaced, the fresh new layer fragrant with sweet-smelling herbs and dried lavender, much to the frustration of the castle dogs, used to scrounging for scraps of food buried in the matted, older rushes.

  Not that the new rushes kept them from searching. They did, capering and getting underfoot, barking wildly each time someone paused in their work to shoo them away. Excited, the dogs wagged tails, ran in circles, and made general mayhem. As did Aidan’s men, their zeal for the day, breaking his heart.

  Steeling himself, he drew a deep breath and released it slowly. Whether it pained him or nae, he remained where he stood.

  This might be the last time he gazed on such a scene. It was wise and good to brand the memories into his soul. With all respect to Kira’s world, he doubted it could be as colorful and joyous as his.

  Despite the dark bits that were driving him away.

  As if to prove it, a great burst of laughter rose from the far side of the hall and he glanced that way, not surprised to see Nils and Mundy holding court with Sinead, Evanna, and Maili. The maids wore rowanberry sprigs in their hair and were dancing gaily around the two men as they balanced on trestle benches, trying in vain to festoon the ceiling rafters with bold swaths of tartan.

  Nearby, at the high table, young Kendrew did his part as well. Sitting quietly, he busied himself folding the linen hand towels that would be offered to each celebrant, along with a bowl of fresh, scented washing water.

  Watching him, Aidan frowned. He’d grown fond of the lad and had plans for him. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his throat thickened. An annoying condition that worsened when the two birthing sisters hobbled past, sprays of ribbon-wrapped heather clutched to their breasts. Adornments he knew they’d made with great care, intending to place them before Kira’s seat at the high table.

  In her honor, too, they’d bathed. More than one soul had commented on such a wonder. He’d noticed now himself, catching a hint of rose-scented soap and fresh, clean linen wafting after them.

  Putting back his shoulders, Aidan swallowed hard and blinked. He was a hardened warrior chieftain, after all. He had no business going soft around the edges just because a young lad he scarce knew sat folding hand towels at his table and two bent old women chose this day to bathe for the first time since he’d known them.

  The stinging heat piercing the backs of his eyes had nothing to do with the like.

  Nothing at all.

  And it especially had nothing to do with how difficult it was to see his people so ready and eager to finally welcome Kira into their hearts. Now, when the time had come for them to leave.

  A cold nose nudged his hand then, and the fool lump in his throat almost burst.

  “Damnation!” Aidan started, reaching to stroke Ferlie’s head when the old dog pressed against him, whimpering. “Ach, Ferlie. Dinnae you go making me feel worse.”

  “You needn’t go anywhere, you know.” A deep, well-loved voice observed behind him.

  “Hold your tongue, man!” Whirling round, Aidan glared at the only soul beside Kira who knew his plans. “Leastways, dinnae speak so loud. No’ of suchlike.”

  “You would say the same, in my place.” Tavish, good and trusted friend, cousin, possible half-brother, and soon to be new laird of Wrath, stood lounging against the wall, his arms folded. His dark eyes glittered challenge.

  “You, of all people, know why I must leave. Why it must be tonight.” Aidan met his gaze, trying not to see the hurt behind his friend’s piercing stare. “No one will miss us if we slip away when the revelries are at their highest, everyone deep in their cups. And” – he glanced out an arrow slit window – “it will be full dark tonight, no moon.”

  “Ach! How could I forget?” Tavish slapped his forehead with the ball of his hand. “The night’s blackness and the mist will shield you from curious eyes when you clamber up onto the gatehouse arch, looking for your time portal.”

  “Sakes, Tavish.” Aidan grabbed his friend’s arm, gripping hard. “Dinnae you start on me too,” he said, keenly aware of Ferlie’s sad, unblinking stare. “We cannae stay. I’ll no’ have Kira’s life threatened.”

  Tavish arched a brow. “Since when has a MacDonald e’er run from a foe?” He flipped back his plaid, patting the hilt of his sword. “Together, we can protect your lady. Here. Where you belong. Both of you.”

  Aidan shook his head. “I am no’ running away. I’m seeing Kee-ra
h back where she belongs and where I know she’ll be safe.” Whipping back his own plaid, he displayed Invincible’s proud hilt, having asked Tavish earlier to give his old sword to Kendrew, once he was gone.

  Curling his fingers around the sword’s ruby-red pommel stone, he willed his friend to understand. “Have you ne’er loved a woman, Tavish?” He spoke as plain as he could. “Loved her so much that you know you’d no’ be able to breathe without her? Enough no’ to care about your pride? So much that you’d do anything to keep her safe? Even if the doing might rip your soul?”

  Tavish just looked at him.

  “That is how I love Kee-rah.” He let his plaid fall back into place, covering the ancient sword. “Too much to trust even a blade as worthy as Invincible. No’ all the might of the great Clan Donald could sway me. No’ when my foe is invisible and dwelling within my own castle walls.”

  Tavish shrugged. “Kill Conan Dearg. Let me have done with him. There has to be a connection. Once he is no more, whoe’er it is will slink into the shadows.”

  Aidan sighed. “You know I cannae do that.”

  Invincible’s weight seemed to increase at his hip as he held his friend’s stare. He was amazed that Tavish could forget how, many years ago when they’d been boys, his father had accidentally slain his own brother, not recognizing him in the fury and bloodlust of a fierce battle melee.

  The tragedy had marked Aidan’s father for life and he’d made both boys kneel with their hands on Invincible’s jeweled pommel, swearing on its sacredness never to take up a sword against a kinsman.

  No matter the reason.

  It was an oath Aidan had broken a time or two, much to his sorrow. But he’d never acted in cold blood, and simply couldn’t. Not when he remembered how haunted his father’s eyes had been all his living days.

  Now he’d made yet another vow on his family’s holiest relic, this time calling on the Ancient Ones to save Kira from death by poisoning.

  A plea they’d answered.

  He couldn’t risk their anger by breaking not one but two such pacts.