The Beast of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  “So you have decided to come after all?” Elspeth inquired pleasantly.

  “I have,” Bridget answered. “Your father has insisted upon it. Can you believe he still hopes for a boy, after so many years of disappointment?”

  Derryth snorted. Mairi rolled her eyes.

  Was it any surprise that they galloped off ahead, leaving her behind?

  * * *

  Niall and Deargh had ridden since dawn with Conall and a number of other MacClaren warriors, along the border between the MacClaren and Alwyn lands.

  He had ridden this particular path before, but it had been many years. Although by appearances, he was simply doing the duty of a paid soldier, protecting his lord’s border, he needed to know how the MacClarens and Alwyns had divided up the Kincaid lands, those many years ago. It was important that when the time came that he knew specifically who he was killing over what.

  A sound carried to his ears on the wind. But Conall, beside him, was in the midst of describing a nearby farm, and though he paused his horse to listen, he did not hear it again.

  “Our greatest challenge of late is the Alwyn’s recent claim that this portion of land that we have traveled this morning, to include Inverhaven and the castle, belongs to him based on some interpretation of an old map that no one has ever laid eyes upon.”

  Deargh raised his eyebrows, playing false. “When was this map supposedly created?”

  “Some seventeen winters ago, before the lands were granted to the MacClarens by the crown. He alleges he was promised one thing, for his support of the king in the regional conflict here against the Kincaids, and then given a lesser portion, whether through subterfuge or simple mistake. We do not yet know the extent of his allegation.”

  The sound came again.

  “Do you hear that?” said Niall, interrupting.

  The wind seemed to carry … the sound of voices shouting.

  “It comes from the direction of the farm.” Conall jerked his reins. “This way.”

  He raced down the hillside, and they followed, over a sweeping plain before coming into view of a barn and a thatch-roofed cottage. Five riders on horseback circled round, their horses loaded with sacks of grain and flapping chickens and whatever else they’d taken. A farmer and his wife challenged them on foot, jabbing hoes and hurling rocks but doing little to fend off the attack.

  Niall recognized one of the men, by his pale hair and stature in the saddle, as Magnus.

  Yet the five were outnumbered. As soon as they saw the approaching riders, they threw much of what they carried to the ground and launched their mounts into flight.

  The MacClaren men seemed to see this as a victory, shouting taunts after them, and dismounting to do what they could to assist the farmer and is wife in collecting whatever the raiders had left behind, strewn across the earth.

  It wasn’t enough for Niall. He dug his heels into Fitheach’s side. He raced … thundered … caught up with Magnus, pulling alongside him. Seized him by the shoulders, and wrenched him from his saddle, throwing him to the ground!

  Magnus’s companions galloped on, leaving him behind.

  “Get his horse,” Niall commanded, and Deargh raced past.

  Magnus leapt to his feet, his sleeve torn, and glared.

  “You!” he shouted.

  Closer, he could be seen to be wearing two faded black eyes, a gift from Niall on the night of Elspeth’s abduction. This brought Niall an immeasurable degree of satisfaction.

  “Aye, it is me. Did you not learn your lesson with the cattle?” Niall circled him, turning in the saddle, relishing this moment of dominance over the other man for the simple fact that he had tried to marry Elspeth, which made him a competitor. “Every time you or one of yours takes something that does not belong to you, I will come and take it back, and you will forfeit something equally dear of your own.”

  “Aye, what a fine horse we have now,” boasted Deargh, returning, leading the animal by its reins. “The children of the village shall enjoy riding him, I think.”

  “Who are you?” Magnus strode closer, eyes flashing with challenge. “You fight for the MacClaren? You protect his lands?”

  “As if they were my own,” Niall growled. “And hear this, I’ll come for yours next.”

  Deargh laughed. “That he will. Wait and see.”

  They rode away, pulling Magnus’s animal along behind them.

  Conall met them halfway, delighted at seeing that they returned with a prize. At the barn, the men gathered round.

  When they had dismounted, Deargh gestured to the animal. “Should we give the horse to the farmer, in payment for his trouble?”

  Niall rubbed his hand along the animal’s neck, begrudgingly admiring Magnus’s possession, along with its finely worked saddle. “It is a very good horse.”

  “We shall take it back to the village.” Conall nodded. “It gives Magnus less reason to return here to harry them.”

  Niall agreed. “I would leave several of the men here for the night, perhaps even two. Deargh and I are going to continue on, if that is all right with you.”

  Conall waved them off with a smile. “I will see the two of you at the castle then, before night.” He pointed. “Ride there, along the ridge. It will bring you to the river, which you can follow back to Inverhaven.”

  The farmer’s wife sent them on their way with a bundle of bread and cheese, and a cold jug of ale, which she had drawn up from a large basket in the well.

  Eventually they arrived at a stony riverbank where they had their meal. Afterward, Deargh lay back into a tall bed of grass.

  “All this riding has made me tired. I think I’ll close my eyes for a short bit.”

  Niall stood, not tired, but restless. “I’m going to walk a bit and look about. You never know when one might cross paths with a Kincaid.”

  “I hope you do,” Deargh answered, covering his eyes with his arm. “We’re running out of time.”

  Niall walked upriver, needing time alone to think. To sort his thoughts. Time passed, bringing closer the day when his company of warriors would arrive to support him in reclaiming his birthright—and closer to the day when Elspeth would travel to the Cearcal to choose a husband.

  His heart had not warmed toward the MacClaren or his men. His need for revenge was justified, and he remained resolute about taking back what belonged to him and his clan. If he wanted Elspeth as well … he must move and move quickly, before she was gone, and it was too late.

  He did want her. Fiercely.

  But though the attraction charged between them, hotter than before, she had not returned to his bed and he was left with the problem of how to proceed. To claim her as prize, which he felt must occur before he revealed his true identity, he must either present himself to her father as a clear choice for her hand, which would be a most difficult prospect without a known clan to support him, and no ownership of lands. Aye, he had previously served powerful patrons, and more than one might be willing to voice their support of him, and even gift him with some measure of land. However, such an endeavor, and all of its formalities, would take too much time.

  His only other choice was to plot a more intentional seduction, with the intention of boldly demanding her hand from the MacClaren and the council, once it was done … which would require humiliating Elspeth to a certain degree. He had no wish to subject her to shame, but knew it must be done, not simply to punish her father, but for a greater cause, to more firmly secure his claim.

  He sat on a large stone, watching the river meander by, trying to work out in his mind, how he could betray her, and protect her all at once. His head a snarl of thoughts, he removed his boots and tunic, and naked, eased into the river, allowing the cold water to clear his mind. He swam upstream, pushing against the current, exerting his muscles … a catharsis of sorts … and followed the sound of rippling water.

  He discovered a wide, calm pool and waterfall, which he swam toward, until his feet found purchase on the stones below.


  Though not a large waterfall, the force of the downward flow inflicted sufficient pressure on his muscles so as to be pleasurable. He bent and stretched his neck, moving so that the water struck the center of his back, and thundered in his ears.

  Out of the corner of his eye a movement drew his attention. Riders.

  Muscles clenching, he ducked backward under the curtain of water, and found a place beneath an outcropping of stone. Hidden by water and shadows he peered out as best he could, water streaming over his face and skin.

  He need not have been alarmed. The riders were all women, and there were quite a number of them. No doubt they had come to wash or bathe.

  He had no wish to remain here, unseen and watching. Peering out toward the direction from whence he had come, he estimated the distance across the pool and prepared to swim along the bottom to escape unseen.

  But then Elspeth rode into view, and he decided he might not leave so quickly after all.

  * * *

  It had taken them nearly an hour to arrive at the spring. As her father always did, he had sent a number of the older men of the clan to hold watch. That band of hoary old fellows set up a simple camp a short distance away, chuckling as the women rode past them and calling out bawdy jests.

  “Be sure tae gie yerself wet, heed tae toe!”

  “Come back this way dry, and we willnae let ye pass. Yer guidman wants bairns, and bairns he shall have!”

  Arriving riverside, where a curtain of trees concealed them from outside view, Catrin leapt to the ground and ran to the water, swiping it with her hand.

  “It’s cold!” she cried, spinning around. “We’ll catch our death and die.”

  “Not in this river,” said one of the women with a wise smile.

  “Because it will make us fertile!” shouted Catrin.

  All the ladies laughed. “Aye, child. That is right.”

  Maidservants quickly set up three circular tents, threw blankets about, and started several small fires.

  “In with you all!” shouted Fiona, waving a swath of linen like a flag. “Every one of you.”

  Laughing in rueful tones, the young women of marriageable and childbearing age removed the warmer, outer layer of their garments. Dressed in chemises they ventured in. Soon the air was filled with the sound of screams and shrieks. The older women of the clan stood on the bank, laughing and urging them on.

  “It’s too cold!” cried Mairi.

  “It is miserable,” agreed Derryth, her teeth chattering.

  “It is not so bad,” said Elspeth, laughing. “But you must keep moving.”

  “All the way!” a maid shouted from one of the tents. “Remember, you must dunk your heads! It doesn’t work unless you do.”

  Most remained at the stony edges of the river, gingerly easing themselves further. Bridget ventured in only to her ankles, looking peevish and annoyed.

  A few of them ventured into deeper waters, including Elspeth.

  “Those girls, do you see them,” shouted Fiona, to all the rest. “They shall bear many bairns for sure. Strong, healthy weans.”

  “Aye,” shouted another. “And if you swim all the way across to touch the waterfall, they say you get a handsome husband too.” Behind her hand, she added, “If you’re already married to an ogre, you can hold out hope for your second husband.”

  The air filled with more laughter.

  “That’s unfair!” shouted one young woman, who from the crestfallen look on her face, took the whole thing very seriously. “Some of us can’t swim.”

  As Elspeth neared the waterfall, she felt a surge of colder water, pushing against her. She turned, treading water, her chemise afloat at her waist. She waved to those who remained on shore.

  “I’m here! There shall be a handsome husband for me.”

  She thought of Niall then, and how he had made her feel so beautiful and wanted, and wished for a moment that she could marry him instead of a stranger. That he would remain here forever, and become a part of the MacClaren clan. It was a girl’s fantasy she knew, not one her father would ever share, but she allowed herself to have it. She would be beset by reality soon enough.

  All the women on the shore cheered. The following calm was broken by a water battle, with everyone splashing each other—especially those older women who stood dry and warm on the bank. Many ran from the river, squealing of the cold, disappearing into the tents where they would dry their hair by the fire and drink warm cider.

  At the waterfall, Elspeth sought out the stepping stones she knew were there, and lifted her arms, allowing the water to pour over her … to wash away her fears and cares. It pulled at her chemise, and flattened her hair.

  Large hands touched her waist—

  Seizing her inward. She screamed—

  A hand—and then a mouth covered her lips.

  In the wavering shadows, with water streaming all around, she looked into Niall’s blue eyes—and she laughed. He laughed too, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver of pleasure though her.

  “I was swimming here, and then there you were. How fortuitous for me,” he murmured.

  He held her tight against him, pulling her legs around his waist, and holding her there, his hands beneath her thighs.

  Even chilled as she was, she blushed at his boldness.

  Feeling just as bold, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight as he kissed her again … this time not laughing, his mouth urgent and demanding, taking her breath away. He was warm and strong in her arms, and she never wanted to let him go.

  “I have missed you.”

  “I have missed you too. And I wish I could keep you here with me longer,” he said, moving his face near her ear. He bit her earlobe. “But here they come.”

  Before she could respond, he pushed her away, through the curtain of water and back into the pool. Delighted and thrilled by what had just occurred, Elspeth laughed again.

  Another young woman swam past her, breathing hard as she swam. “Elspeth, you have inspired me to be brave as well. I want a handsome husband too.”

  Elspeth’s eyes widened, and she called out a warning. “Don’t go under as I did. It’s very dark, and frightening. And the stones are sharp. I may have even cut my foot.”

  “I’ll be careful.” She took a breath and ducked under.

  Elspeth covered her mouth, waiting for a scream.

  Yet it was she who let out a sudden shriek—as fingers pinched her bottom under the water.

  Looking down through the clear water, she glimpsed Niall’s tattooed back and his long legs kicking past. Then he was gone.

  A moment later the woman reappeared from out of the waterfall and swam toward her, pushing the water from her face. “That wasn’t so frightening.”

  Together they swam toward the shore. There she accepted a warm blanket from Fiona, and looked down the river. She did not see Niall, but she did not fear for even a moment that he had drowned.

  * * *

  Moments later, downriver, Niall climbed out, water streaming from his body and picked up his tunic from where he’d left it on a stump. His skin was chilled, but he was burning inside … and more determined than ever to have Elspeth, and soon. Despite all his warnings to himself to keep his heart closed to her, he could no longer imagine a future that did not include her. She awakened his desire as no other woman ever had. Every moment he had to wait to make love to her—to fully claim her as his own—only made that desire more powerful, more achingly sweet … because as much as he wished to deny it, there was more than simple desire between them.

  He picked up his boots, carrying them with him, as he proceeded on to the place where Deargh slept.

  Only he did not find Deargh in the grass, where he had been before, although their horses and belongings remained in place. Birds lit in the trees, fluttering overhead, peering down at him.

  He heard voices, and followed them, wary. Coming into a break in the trees, he found Deargh standing with his back to him, facing a score of
fierce-faced bearded men, dressed in leather and fur, and bearing all manner of arms. They all looked at him, scowling and suspicious.

  Turning, Deargh looked at him with an odd look in his eyes. He did not smile.

  “There ye be.”

  “Yes?” His muscles tensed with caution.

  “It looks like we will not have to search for the Kincaids any longer as they have found us.” He turned back to the men, his old hieland brogue rolling off his tongue. “Dae ye see heem? Whit ah say is true. Ah hae brooght the Kincaid’s eldest son haem tae ye.”

  Chapter 16

  Most of the men were younger than Niall. But there were a few older men among them, with wrinkled and scarred faces. One was missing an eye. Another, an arm. From the look of them, and their rough clothing and hard expressions, they had lived difficult lives since losing their homes and taking to the hills. Perhaps, even, the injuries inflicted upon them had been suffered that night, as they stood with his father.

  From out of their midst appeared Murdoch the bard, his hand clenching a long staff, which he used to steady himself.

  “I kent that first night it was him,” he said. “It was his voice. It is the same as the Kincaid’s. Others may not hear it, but withit my sight, I hear things others dinnae.”

  “Hoo can ye remember a voice for ’at long?” said one of the younger warriors, his gaze cool with skepticism. He wore his dark hair pulled back from his face. Tall and broad shouldered, a faded scar ran from the corner of his mouth, upward, to his cheek.

  “He doesnae look a ’hin like the Kincaid,” another man scoffed.

  “The song you yourself sing says all three sons had bàn hair,” said the scarred young man, with an air of importance.

  “Oh, aye, he did,” agreed Deargh brusquely. “But with age, it became dubh. As ye see now.”

  A host of eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  The younger man leaned on his sword. “I hae heard of this man’s fighting skills. But I walnae follow him as my sworn chief because of the soond of his voice.”

  Several of the younger heads nodded in agreement.

  “Noo ’at ah look upon heem longer, he diz look loch the Kincaid,” said an old man, squinting and pointing. “See the shape of his head? His nose. Th’ way hae holds heemself.”