Muren recounted everything she knew to Freya, including her visions. At the first mention of a dream, she halted Muren and then sent the servants away.
“We must be careful of that kind of talk.”
Freya had always possessed a keen mind. She and Muren shared a strong bond and, regarding her now, Muren realized just how much she had relied on Freya in the past for her common-sense approach and vast courage.
Muren told her then about the visions, all except the bairn. She was not sure how Freya would handle that information, so left it out.
“You think Rorie is walking into a trap?”
“Aye.”
“And you think you can convince Ronan to stand down now that you are married to Rorie?”
“Aye.”
“Muren, Ronan has been going crazy trying to find you. He was convinced you had come to harm, and that Rorie had lost his wits and was holding you somewhere against your will.”
“That was not true. I went with Rorie willingly.”
“But could you not have sent word somehow to ease our worry?”
She supposed she could have. But that would have run the risk of drawing the king to Eilean Donan, and that would have removed any chance they had of coming out of this without massive casualties on their side. No. Rorie’s calculations had been sound. But he didn’t know about Ronan. She needed to get that information to him immediately unless it was already too late.
Chapter Seventeen
Rorie stood beside Grant, Fraser, and his brother Ewen and watched as the king’s army proceeded up through the glen. It was midday, and a heavy mist hung in the air. With no wind to blow them away, the midges were thick, and Rorie was sure there was a level of hell containing nothing more than those tiny bastards for torment.
A scout in the night had told them that Sutherland’s army marched south. How the hell Ross had missed them, Rorie did not know, but he intended to find out…if he got out of this alive. The two armies combined yielded far higher numbers than he could comfortably defeat. And Fergus was still a day away. He would either have to negotiate terms, delay the battle somehow, or yield.
His men were battle-hungry, as was normal in the circumstances. They had all been affected in one way or another by this king since he’d taken back the crown ten years ago. The man was greedy, and he cared not for the manner in which his politics affected the common folk of this country.
It made Rorie’s guts burn.
“What’s your position, MacKenzie?” Grant asked.
“A good question. If we battle them today, we are outnumbered. Fergus’s army will even the score, but he is a day away. Sutherland managed to skirt around Ross before we asked them for help, but why they did not notice or bother to share with us that his army had already marched past them, is beyond me.”
“Ross cares only about Ross,” Grant said.
“We’ve no time to banter on the motivations of anyone not here,” Fraser said. “We need to make a plan. Now.”
Rorie turned to the other men. “I will not hold it against you if you want to take your men and leave. This is my fight and my burden to bear.”
“Are you daft, man?” Grant said. “We didn’t come to stand up with you only to run when the numbers didn’t sit in our favour. We came here to kill some Scots.”
Rorie noted the wild look in his eye. His blood was up, as it was with many of the other men. They were ready for a fight.
“Some of us came to reclaim our right to govern over our own,” Fraser said.
“Pretty words, from a pretty wee man,” Grant said.
“You’ll see how pretty I am with my blade in your gullet.”
“You wouldn’t get the chance,” Grant said and moved closer to him.
Rorie stepped between them. “There are enough men needing your blade in their gullet crossing the glen. No need to kill each other just yet.”
Grant tipped his head back and laughed. “So, battle it is then?”
“Aye,” Rorie said. “It would appear so.”
Fraser shook his head and looked up to the sky then kissed an amulet around his neck. “I’ll see you soon, love.”
The man’s wife had died the previous year. After that, he’d been given the nickname of Raven. His heart had turned black, people said of him. But Rorie knew better. Grief could cause a man to withdraw, but there was always a balance in life. He’d pined for Muren for months, and now she was his. For how long depended on the outcome of his discussion with the man crossing the glen.
When the king was close to the halfway mark, Rorie rode out to meet him, flanked by Grant and Fraser. For several heartbeats, they simply stared at one another. Ronan flanked the king’s right side, and MacIntosh flanked his other. Rorie was surprised at how fat the king had grown since he’d last seen him. What had once been a lean and muscular man was now plump. Rorie pitied his horse.
“You’ve something of mine in your possession, MacKenzie,” Ronan said.
“Something of yours? I do not see how that’s possible. What I have is my own.”
“That’s not possible unless you’ve taken her against her will and forced her to marry you.”
“I assure you there was no force involved. She was quite willing.”
Ronan was off his horse in an instant and striding toward Rorie, who jumped down to meet him face-to-face. MacIntosh jumped in between them before they even had time to draw their swords.
“Well, this is an interesting development,” the king said, from atop his charger.
“Muren was always mine,” Rorie said. “Our marriage has been blessed and consummated, so there is nothing for you here.”
“I will have retribution for the damage caused to me,” Ronan said.
“Caused to you? You’re the one who broke the betrothal and gave her away to someone else as if she were cattle. If anyone should be furious, ’tis I.”
“You forget whose company you keep,” MacIntosh said. “Your king is the only one who decides in such matters, and his decision was to break the betrothal.”
“You have both broken your oath to me. You agreed to serve me as needed, in exchange for your authority to remain intact. You’ve broken that vow and leave me with no choice.”
Rorie had a sense of what was coming. This would end in bloodshed today; he was not willing to give up his right as chief of his clan, and he was certain Grant, Fraser, MacKay, and even Sutherland would stand up to this tyranny.
“And what is that choice?” Rorie asked.
“I hereby strip you of your titles and claim your lands as my own.”
“You do not have the right,” Rorie said. “I have Fraser, Grant, MacLeod, and MacKay behind me, and we will not stand for it.” He looked at MacIntosh and Sutherland then. “And if you go along with this, there will be a bloody war that will mean losses for all of us.”
“You have no choice. My word is law,” said the king.
“You will have a mutiny on your hands if you force this,” Rorie warned.
“Are you threatening your king?” MacIntosh asked.
“No. I am merely stating a fact. You tried this at Inverness, and look what happened. We bonded together. You cannot take us all on. You do not have the numbers.” Rorie was fed up with the arrogance of the man, king or not. He had interfered in their lives for far too long because of his own greed and lack of understanding of their Highland ways. Well, by God, no more. “If ’tis a war you want, a war you’ll get.”
Rorie turned around and remounted his horse. Without another look back, he kicked the sides of his horse into a gallop. He did not have to look back to know that Fraser and Grant followed. He didn’t know what would happen next, and in truth, he was prepared for the worst. There was no way to reason with the king, and if that meant he had to be driven back to Edinburgh then so be it.
“What now?” Grant asked. “You have now officially started a war that we must all fight.”
“We were never going to avoid that fight,” Rorie said. �
��The Stewart would never be satisfied until he stripped us of everything we had.”
“What about Sutherland?”
Rorie turned around and watched as the king retreated leaving Ronan in the middle of the battlefield alone.
“Come on, man,” Rorie said under his breath. “Do the right thing.”
Rorie blinked and watched as Ronan turned his horse toward Rorie’s side of the glen. A second later, the king turned around and rode hard toward him. Rorie took off toward them and prayed he could reach them in time. Guards of the king surrounded Ronan and the Stewart, but before Ronan had a chance to even draw his sword, the king ran him through.
Ronan fell to the ground. A thunder of hooves sounded behind Rorie as he tore off across the glen. By the time they got to Ronan, he was deathly pale and surrounded in a pool of blood, the king and his guards having retreated to the other side of the glen.
“Jesus, Ronan! No!” Rorie knelt at Ronan’s side.
Ronan’s lifeblood spilled forth from him in great spurts. Rorie pressed hard on the wound trying to slow the blood, but it would not be contained.
“Take care of my family, Rorie,” Ronan whispered.
“You’re not going to die. Do you hear me? You’re going to live, and we’re going to fight the Stewart together.”
“I never should have listened to him. I should have never broken the betrothal. Find her and marry her.”
“I already have Ronan. She is safe.”
Ronan locked gazes with Rorie and smiled. A second later, his body relaxed, and his head fell to the side. Rage and despair flowed through Rorie’s veins as he screamed at the sky. He would make the king pay for this atrocity one way or another.
* * *
Muren held Freya’s hand as her sister-in-law bent forward and drew in deep breaths. The agonizing howl that escaped her lips mirrored the war raging inside Muren, torn between going to warn Ronan and Rorie or staying here where Freya needed her as she brought her new bairn into the world.
“Did you find the midwife?” Muren asked her mother when she entered Freya’s chamber.
“Aye, she is on her way.”
“Thank God. Freya’s racked with pain.”
“Pain is normal, Muren. ’Tis not easy bringing a bairn into the world.”
“She was not like this last time. The wee laddie had already come almost before the midwife could catch him.”
Muren’s mother soaked a cloth in some cool water and brushed it across Freya’s brow. “Hush now, love, we’re here.”
“I want Ronan,” she said when the contraction passed.
“A rider has been sent to him to let him know the bairn comes early.”
“I need him here,” Freya said.
Muren held her hand tighter. “He will be here soon,” she said. It was not customary for a husband to be present at a child’s birth, but in this case, she supposed she could imagine an exception. Ronan had witnessed their wee lassie’s birth the year before.
Freya let out another howl just as the midwife entered the chamber.
“Ooooh now, it sounds like someone is anxious to meet their mama,” the older woman said in a calm, quiet voice that Muren found to be quite soothing. “Let’s get her into bed,” she said to Muren and her mother.
Muren watched as the midwife checked Freya for her progress. Freya seemed like she was lost to the pain, and Muren knew exactly how that felt. In that moment, she had an inkling of what it might be like for Rorie to have to watch her suffer when her pain overtook her.
The midwife stepped back and stared at Freya.
“What is it, Euphima?” Muren’s mother asked.
Wiping her hands on a cloth, she said, “I fear she’s in for a long night. The bairn comes, but has not turned.”
Muren placed her hands on her own belly. There was so much that could go wrong during childbirth, it was a wonder any made it into the world. “What can we do to help?” she asked.
“Just be ready to hold her hand when I tell you.”
Muren sat next to Freya on the bed and held her hand. Her mother passed her a cool cloth, and Muren wiped Freya’s brow. “ ’Twill be well, Freya. Your wee bairn will be here before you know it.”
“I want Ronan,” she said again.
The fear in her words was palpable. Freya was the strongest woman Muren had ever known, save for her mother. Her obvious concern drew images into Muren’s mind of the vision with the bairn. Would it—? No. She would not ask that question. She needed to focus on the here and now and do everything possible to see to Freya’s comfort, including finding a way for her sister-in-law to focus.
Euphima rolled up her sleeves and then nodded to Muren’s mother.
“Here,” Morag said while placing a wooden rod in front of Freya’s mouth, “bite down on this, love. And take my hand.”
Freya did as she was asked, while Euphima lifted the sheet and reached underneath. Whatever she was doing caused Freya’s body to go rigid as a mighty scream erupted from her throat. Muren’s heart pounded in her chest and sweat trickled from her own brow. She and her mother held onto Freya’s hand and helped her lean forward when Euphima said, “Push!”
A few pushes later, a baby’s cry rang out loud and clear. Muren was sure she’d never heard such a glorious sound in all her life. She gently stroked Freya’s hair as Euphima and Muren’s mother cleaned the bairn up and swaddled her.
“Here is your wee lassie,” the midwife said, as she passed her to Freya.
Tears streamed down the exhausted woman’s face. “Your papa will see you soon, love. Hush now.”
“You did well, Freya,” Muren said but got no response. It was like the woman didn’t even register anyone else in the chamber, so intent was she on the bairn. Muren supposed she could understand that. She was about to get another cloth when a loud knock sounded at the door.
Lifting the latch, Muren stepped outside to see who would dare knock on the lady’s door whilst she was in such a way.
“Father Sinclair? What brings you here? The wee lassie was just born, and she and her mother both fare well.”
He shook his head. “I’ve terrible news, Muren. In truth, I do not know how to share it.”
Muren placed her hands over her ears. She did not want to hear whatever it was.
But Father Sinclair was insistent. Taking her hands from her head and holding them tight, he asked, “Where is your mother?”
“Inside, seeing to Freya,”
“She will want to hear this, too.”
With shaking fingers, Muren pushed the door open and beckoned her mother, hoping Freya would not notice her absence.
When her mother was outside, Father Sinclair said, “A terrible thing has happened.”
“To whom?” her mother asked.
“Ronan. Slain, at the hand of the king.”
Muren could not bear it. She’d seen his death but could not get to him in time. That meant the other visions were true as well.
Her mother’s knees buckled, but the priest was quick to help steady her.
Muren’s heart ached so badly she was sure she would not survive this. Tears streamed down her face as a sob escaped her lips. Her mother pulled her into a tight embrace and sobbed on her shoulder as Father Sinclair prayed quietly.
When he was finished praying for Ronan’s soul and for healing strength to be bestowed upon Muren and her mother, he said, “He is being transported here now.”
Muren pulled back from her mother’s embrace. The woman looked years older than she had but days ago. How could she tell her she’d foreseen this? Muren was ashamed of holding the information back now. Mayhap it could have prepared her mother for the worst.
Rorie. Oh God, she needed to get to him now more than ever. But she could not leave her mother or the new bairn. And what about Freya? How could they tell her such news when she was in such a delicate and vulnerable state?
“We must tell Freya,” her mother said through sobs.
“I will help you w
ith that,” Father Sinclair said. “Muren, go inside and make sure she is able to receive me.”
Muren entered the chamber but could not look at Freya. She tried to act normally, but her body would not quit trembling. She tugged on Euphima’s sleeve and beckoned her towards the door. In a low voice, she said, “Father Sinclair is outside and wishes to speak with Freya.”
Euphima looked back at the bed and then back to Muren. “Now?”
Muren made the mistake of glancing at Freya. She was staring hard at her and frowning. “What is it, Muren?”
“Father Sinclair wishes to see you. May I let him enter?”
“ ’Tis Ronan, isn’t it?” Freya asked, and made to move out of the bed.
Euphima moved very quickly for a woman of her age and was by Freya’s side pushing her back into the bed. “You must not get up yet, Freya.”
“Where is Ronan? I want to see him now.”
Muren opened the door as soon as Freya was covered again. Euphima placed the bairn in Muren’s arms, and the moment she did Muren’s tears would not be held back. She sobbed as the beautiful wee lass opened her eyes and blinked at her.
Muren barely registered the door opening and then Freya’s wail as she was given the devastating news.
Flashes of the boy with whom she’d played as a child and the man with whom she’d quarreled, all passed in front of her mind’s eye. She would never get to tell him that she forgave him for his choices, and she would never forgive herself for not warning him in time.
Chapter Eighteen
“Christ’s teeth, this could turn into Inverness all over again,” Fraser said.
“He’d never get away with it now,” Grant said.
Rorie could not speak. In his mind’s eye, he could only see Ronan being carried off the battlefield by his bannermen. The king had forced his army to stay put and was no doubt putting the fear of God into them should they rise against him.
Inverness indeed. Up to now, that had been the worst this king had dared. Peace talks, he’d called it. How could that term be used when a good number of the forty chiefs had ended up imprisoned and three dead?
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