Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay

by Return to the Highlands

  “No, this is not how it’s to be done!” she gasped, shoving off from him to land on her back in the leaves.

  Nicholas sat up, chuckling as he leaned on one arm, their gazes locked for a long moment as she glared at him. “Is that so?” Nicholas sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps not, Mary. But I've done it and you can do nothing more than accept it and not fight me.”

  She jerked a twig from her hair and pointed it at him angrily. “I'll never give in, Highlander. Ye won't have me so easily!”

  He didn't answer, his expression suddenly intent, eyes shifted to the trees around them. Nicholas rose abruptly to his feet. He reached down and caught her arm to pull her up. “Go back to the horse, Mary.”

  She blinked at him. “I have no idea where ye've left Nim!”

  He sighed loudly and pointed behind her. “He is that way. Either find him or stay here, but remain hidden.” He stalked off before she could argue, leaving her with a clear way to escape. Only Mary didn’t move, lifting her hand to her throat as the sound of horses nearby finally reached her ears.

  Nicholas had heard them long before she did.

  Chapter 7

  Nicholas strode rapidly out of the trees, leaving Mary alone and hopefully safer within the wood. Their flight through the forest had put them back near the main road and stepping into the narrow but well traveled path reminded him that he had some ways to go before reaching Perth. He moved back into the shadows of the gorse lining the way, curious to the travelers this late at night, hoping it was not the Drummonds so quickly. The horses came into view from the opposite direction, far enough down the road that he could have hidden, but the shock at seeing just who rode toward him held Nicholas in place until it was too late to flee.

  Donald Mackay was a tall man as much as his sons were, but thin, his dark hair long enough to queue behind his head, balding in the front and top. He was clean-shaven as he always was, dressed in a wool cloth pinned over one shoulder over a tunic to his knees. Even in the moonlight, even at a distance, Nicholas knew his father, every bit the chieftain of clan Mackay. Nicholas’s brother Sebastian rode next to him, and behind, a full array of Mackay clansmen.

  Nicholas waited on the path, arms folded across his chest.

  Donald stopped a few feet from him without a touch of surprise. Sebastian grinned and dismounted, leaping forward just as Mary emerged from the trees.

  “Ah, look what we have, Da, a fine piece of a lass and my rebellious brother.” Mary struggled in his grasp until Bastian tucked her under his arm, holding her fast.

  Nicholas frowned at his brother, reminded that Donald had offered the Drummonds a chance to marry Sebastian to Mary. Annoyed even more at the thought, he looked back at his father.

  Donald eyed the woman with a calculated look. He turned toward Nicholas with a wicked smile. “I was told ye were wounded,” the Mackay Chieftain noted dryly.

  “I was.” Nicholas's chest tightened with the struggle to breathe as much as with the queer sense of terror he’d held as a child when facing his father. He shook off the feeling, lifting his chin to stare blandly at the Mackay.

  “Who is she?” The question, put lightly, seemed innocent, yet Nicholas knew the machinations behind the inquiry.

  “No one you need to know,” Nicholas began until Mary, still squirming against Bastian’s hold, shrieked her name.

  “I am Mary Drummond, sir and ye will release me!” She pounded on Bastian ineffectively while his brother lifted a brow at her efforts.

  “She’s a wild cat, lad. Have we interrupted something?” Sebastian waved a hand at Mary's dress, his gaze amused.

  Nicholas knew it didn’t look very good. “Not at all. Let her go.”

  Sebastian shook his head. He would do whatever Mackay ordered and nothing more. Nicholas clenched his jaw, feeling a muscle tick near his lip at the effort.

  Donald lifted a brow, the moonlight illuminating him in both shadow and light. “I expected a different story, but no matter. Are there others with ye?”

  Another loaded question Nicholas was reluctant to answer. He heard death knells in his head. “Nay,” he said stiffly.

  Donald smiled again. “Indeed?”

  Nicholas grimaced and dropped his hands. Without his sword he felt naked, unsettled by a man he hadn’t seen in fifteen years.

  Mary bit Bastian’s arm and he cursed, letting her go. She stumbled forward, but his brother caught her again before she could get far. He held up her wrists, still tied securely. “She seems to be a mite constricted, Nicky.”

  Nicholas refused to look at her, to draw more of his father’s attentions to the woman. “How did you get here so fast?”

  Donald chuckled in amusement. “Ah, well, we were on the road to Bannockburn when we happened on a young man bound for the north, Varrich Castle to be exact. Knowing the place, we extracted his message and sent him on his way back with a far less journey to travel. Fate would have it that we were a lot closer than ye clearly like.”

  Nicholas wanted to snarl with frustration, but only smiled stiffly. “It seems as much.”

  “Ye can’t be running again, lad,” his father complained.

  “I’m not marrying the wench.”

  Donald looked curiously at Mary. “That one?”

  Nicholas did snarl this time. “No, the chieftain’s daughter, whatever her name was.”

  Laughter echoed through the trees until Donald Mackay wiped his eyes. “Ye still think ye are tied to that, lad? By god, the woman was snatched up a month after ye ran off by William Ross, and died nigh a month later, leaving him with all her wealth and lands.” Donald did not look happy at the result.

  Nicholas lifted his chin. “He must have poisoned her. She should have lived far longer than he.”

  Donald shrugged. “However it was done. I would have sent word, boy, if I knew where ye’d run off to, but the gods only knew where ye went. Thought we’d caught up to ye near Paris, but ye’d already left.” He sat back on his horse impatiently. “I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass by, and now, fate has put ye within my grasp again.” He looked at Mary and then down at Nicholas. “This time lad, however, ye’ve chosen yer own destiny.”

  One of the men behind them stepped forward, leading his horse. “Riders coming, Laird, both fore and aft.”

  Nicholas sighed as Mary kicked Sebastian’s shin. “It’s my brothers,” she declared. “Let me go now.”

  ***

  Mary could see where Nicholas inherited his eyes for the Mackay’s gaze was like a winter storm, the same eyes in intensity. She knew as soon as she saw him who the man had to be. The battle of wills clearly defined between them, Nicholas stood before his father, fists clenched at his side.

  The man holding her arm was tall and broad shouldered, much like Nicholas, with a grip of iron. He smiled at her, but even so, the smile did not reach his eyes. She didn’t like the fact he could fold her under his arm like a bag of grain, or the fact that Nicholas had gone quite pale at the news of more men on the way.

  Mary had the insane impulse to save the Highlander once again.

  The riders were indeed her brothers: William and Malcolm rode into view along with a number of guardsmen. They halted in surprise at the sight of the Highlanders, and then seeing Mary, dismounted in a flurry of drawn swords.

  Nicholas turned to face them, accepting the sword the Mackay Chieftain tossed down to him without a word.

  Mary had known her brothers would be furious. It frightened her, nonetheless, to see William so composed as he met Nicholas in the center of the road. It meant something, she knew, that coolness meant something terrible.

  Donald Mackay drew his horse back out of the way.

  The man who held Mary’s arm cut her bonds and then stepped past her. Nicholas held out a hand. “Not your fight, Sebastian.”

  “I’d fight for my brother,” Sebastian retorted but retreated behind Mary again.

  William lifted his sw
ord to point it at Nicholas’s throat. “Ye have a lot of nerve to take the lass after all we’ve done for ye.”

  “I told you I’d be on my way,” Nicholas replied, moving out of reach of the blade. He held his sword loosely. “I just happened to acquire some baggage as well.”

  Mary gasped, annoyed at the comment, but found Sebastian’s fingers on her arm again, his voice a low murmur in her ear. “He is trying to make him angry, lass.”

  William flicked his sword toward Nicholas and he batted it away easily. Skilled as Nicholas might be, bearing the effects of his injuries, he was no match for Mary's brother. She bit her lip, torn between wanting revenge and fearing for Nicholas’s life.

  William smiled grimly. “I can see by her state of dress just how well ye treated her.”

  Mary stared at her clothes in dismay. Nicholas glanced at her briefly. “I’ll admit it looks bad.”

  Malcolm snorted rudely from the side. “I’ll take whatever is left,” he promised. “Won’t be much when we’re through.”

  Rory had remained on his horse. He leaned forward, amusement curving his lips. “I'm a bit put out, Highlander, that ye took my horse.”

  Nicholas did not answer, his gaze remaining on William as they moved slowly around each other. William leaped forward and sliced at Nicholas’s shoulder. The blow left a bright red gash along his bicep. Nicholas covered the wound with his hand, wincing as he moved again out of reach.

  “I didn’t hurt her.”

  William only growled and leaped again, missing Nicholas by a hair as the Highlander danced sideways. “Hate to undo all that I’ve done, lad, but ye give me no choice.”

  “Aye, I kind of liked ye,” Malcolm agreed. He folded his arms over his chest with a murderous look at Nicholas.

  Mary glared at Donald Mackay. The Chieftain watched calmly, one arm draped over a knee. “Aren’t ye going to stop this? Will ye watch yer son die?”

  Donald’s horse pranced a few steps as he urged it out of the way of the two men. He smiled down at Mary, closing her in between his horse and Sebastian. Leaning down, he gestured at his son. “I know Nicholas well, he is a Mackay.”

  Mary rolled her eyes as if the comment answered everything. Mackay or not, Nicholas was not up to full strength, while her brothers had anger to fuel their offense. The Mackay Chieftain, however, did not seemed concerned as he watched Nicholas spring toward William. The two swords connected with a harsh echo of steel. They both fought with skill, but Mary knew Nicholas could not outlast William in endurance. He was already breathless, living through the countless blows by simple dexterity and a determination she could only admire.

  When the men paused for a brief moment to separate, Mary rushed forward putting her body between them, forcing them both to take a step back.

  “Stop this! Nicholas did not force me to go with him,” Mary lied, keeping her gaze from the Highlander as she turned toward William. “Sheath yer sword.”

  “Nay, it doesn’t matter,” William argued. His blond hair gleamed in the moonlight, the dark red of his plaid a bloody stain across his chest. “The damage is done. What were ye thinking?”

  She didn’t have an answer for that and turned again to Donald Mackay. “Ye can’t let him kill yer son.” Your son! Mary pressed her fingers against her temple as if to send the thought to the Mackay. You came for him after all this time; you cannot let him die now!

  Nicholas’s father shrugged. Mary eyed the two men waiting expectantly for her to move away. She refused to do so, sending them both such black looks they both grimaced.

  Rory finally spoke, his voice drawing the attention of all. “I don’t expect Nicholas will die today, unless yer answer to my next question does not sit well with yer kin.” He spread a hand toward her to encompass the state of her dress. “Did he touch ye?” Rory looked at Mary pointedly.

  Mary smoothed the fabric of her skirt back over her thigh, drawing the torn edges together. Nicholas had crouched in the road to lean on his sword to take advantage of the brief respite, his expression unreadable. William’s attention remained focused on her answer, his lips tight. “Not in that way,” she replied carefully, shifting her gaze to Donald Mackay.

  “No?” Mackay questioned. “He didn’t even kiss ye?” The Highlander sounded disappointed and sent a questioning look to his son.

  Nicholas growled softly and stood up. She knew she couldn’t argue that question, the men could simply see it in her expression. “I told you, she’s unharmed,” Nicholas protested. He turned toward William but did not lift his sword as her brother grabbed Nicholas’s tunic to drag him nose to nose.

  The Mackay Chieftain grinned. “Doesn’t matter when things look as they do. There is only one clear answer on what to do.”

  Nicholas shoved William backwards and threw his sword down on the ground. “Very well,” he said. ‘I’ll marry the lass, no matter what you think happened.”

  Malcolm stalked to Mary, catching her arm. “Sure ye will, but only if the lass agrees.”

  At that moment, a second set of riders arrived from the road to Perth, drawing to a halt at the obstacles in their path.

  Nicholas turned to face them with a hiss of displeasure. “Fucking party is it?”

  Maelcolm Beg of Drymen surveyed the crowd blocking his path with a discerning eye, settling the gaze finally on Mary. He took in her state of dress, shifted his gaze to the Mackay, and then finally to Nicholas standing with William in the road. He scowled at them all. “It’s like that, is it?”

  Mary felt the blood drain from her face. It was one thing to have to deal with Nicholas’s family, but quite another to face her father.

  Donald Mackay urged his horse forward, motioning for his men to move off the road. “Aye, Drummond. I believe there’s a wedding to be had.”

  Maelcolm Beg wearily studied the Mackay Chieftain. “I’ve already had one child defy me, what is another?” Rory grinned and touched his brow. Maelcolm Beg glanced irritably at Rory and then heaved a deep sigh. “The week has been full of surprises. But I’ve a say in this matter as yet.” He dismounted fluidly from his horse, a small wiry man dwarfed by his sons as they stepped back out of the way. Mary swallowed as he passed her, ignoring her completely to stand in front of Nicholas.

  “So, it seems after all my hospitality you have dishonored me by taking my daughter.” It was a statement of hostile and impotent fury. Mary winced as Nicholas lifted his chin defiantly The Drummond Chieftain waved a hand around him. “It does not take much to ascertain what has happened, nor that there is one of my own involved.” He sniffed as his gaze touched on Mary. “It looks like ye did not treat her so kindly, lad.”

  Nicholas stared obstinately at her father without reservation. “Seems as much,” he replied.

  Maelcolm Beg’s fist connected sharply with Nicholas’ jaw and the other his ribs, sending the Highlander to his knees. Nicholas slid forward onto his hands and gasped for air. Her father circled Nicholas, fury turning his face red. “Get up and fight, boy! I ought to hang ye for taking my girl. Think ye are deserving of a lass like Mary?” He kicked the Highlander again in the ribs, glowering when the Highlander did not rise from where he fell.

  Nicholas grunted at the pain and shook his head, refusing to get up. Mary would have run forward but Sebastian held her firmly. Rory dismounted quickly for a man so large, and stepped forward, crutch lifted to hold his father from kicking Nicholas again. “Da, a Mackay is far better any day. The Bruce likes Nicky, it will do us all good to have the man like that attached to Mary.”

  Maelcolm Beg turned to face Rory and jerked his son forward by his tunic. “I dislike being manipulated, boy.”

  Rory shrugged, unfazed by his father’s fury. “Aye well, kill the man and yer daughter will be a widow before she’s wed. At least give them the chance to consummate the deal and then ye can kill him.” He grinned cheerfully at Donald Mackay who only smiled back.

  Nicholas groaned, and after attempting t
o rise once more, collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter 8

  They returned to Perth, the closer of the two Drummond strongholds, by the next day. Nicholas rode with his family, ignoring the dark looks sent by William and Malcolm. Donald Mackay quietly studied his son, while Maelcolm Beg glared heatedly at Mary.

  “How could ye?” Maelcolm hissed once as they rode beneath a canopy of hickory trees, a tunnel of dark green. “How could ye be so thoughtless? Have ye no pride, lass?”

  Mary sat behind her brother Malcolm, arms tight around his waist, and turned to look at her father. “I could ask the same, Da!”

  Malcolm grunted faintly in agreement.

  “So you think ye deserve better than the man I intended? God’s blood, woman, between you and Rory I’m nigh to having a heart attack.”

  The man was healthy as a horse, if smaller than one.

  Maelcolm Beg sighed and shook his head in despair. “And a Highlander to boot, lass?”

  Mary pressed her cheek against her brother’s sturdy back, taking comfort in his strength. “He’s not as bad as some,” she declared stiffly. “Unlike the man you decided on.”

  “He’s a bloody Highlander!” Maelcolm Beg insisted, ignoring the last part of her statement. “Ye know how they are!”

  “Aye,” Mary sneered. “Not like my father who’d kick a man when he’s already down.”

  “A low blow, Mary,” her brother chuckled.

  Maelcolm Beg did not seem to mind the barb. “I was a bit angry at the sight of ye. Where’d you find that dress anyways? It looks like a rag.”