Highland Retribution

by Keira Montclair

  “Nay,” Roddy said. “The Lamonts are there, two brothers, Greer and Blair. We spoke to them directly, and they both have an attitude I didn’t like. They didn’t allow us inside, but they claimed to have found the castle empty about four years ago. Said they had naught to do with killing the Muirs. Didn’t realize it was Muir Castle, or so they claim.”

  Brodie Grant, Braden’s sire, looked at him and said, “Something in your face tells me ‘tis a lie. What does your sense say?”

  Braden was not going to hold back. “I met Cairstine, daughter of the Muir. She said she was taken captive by the Lamonts several years ago.”

  “And did she confirm the Lamonts had killed her parents?” Uncle Alex asked, no expression at all on his face.

  “Nay, not directly. We were interrupted when her son came out calling for her along with Greer Lamont. I was alone just outside the curtain wall, while she returned to the keep. I didn’t get the chance to ask her everything I would have liked, but there’s no doubt she is who she claims to be and does not wish to be held by the Lamonts. I promised her I would come back for her and take her away, but she’s afraid the bastard will hunt her down and kill her and hurt her son if she left.”

  Uncle Alex sighed. “She’s married to one of the brothers, then?”

  “Nay, she says ‘tis not so. She was taken captive, and, well, you can guess the rest. She was probably raped by the bastards, one or both of them, and now she stays on because of her son.”

  Uncle Alex paused to consider this while Roddy added, “We counted about fifty guards around the property. Not many. It would be easy to overtake them.”

  “We should slaughter them the same way they did the Muirs,” Braden suggested, cracking his knuckles. He savored the thought. “But I also worry about the lad. We’d have to get inside to protect the two of them before forging an attack. But there’s more that Cairstine led on to.”

  Roddy and Connor both gave quick nods at this revelation, and Braden had everyone’s attention. “She said Lamont threatened that if she ran away again, he’d try to sell her son across the water.”

  Uncle Robbie repeated Braden’s words, rubbing his hands together. “Across the water. Hellfire, but I hate bastards who take their anger out on bairns. Do you suppose that could mean they have a connection to the Channel of Dubh?”

  Brodie said, “Or they know of it. Either way, I think we need to find out. Killing them is not the answer yet. We need more information. Much as I’d like to slaughter the bastards, that act would be counterproductive. They’re supporting themselves in some elusive undertaking, if they’ve not made use of the land at all. It is certainly possible they could be part of the Channel of Dubh.”

  “Until we know for certain they were responsible for the Muirs’ deaths, we’ll not do any slaughtering. It seems likely, aye, but we’ve no solid evidence.” Uncle Alex leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. The man always gave careful consideration to every option before making a decision. While he was still the clan’s chieftain, he’d given over many of his responsibilities to his two eldest lads, Jake and Jamie, after he suffered a wound in battle. The two were still on another mission or else would have been right at their sire’s side.

  “How are we going to determine that? If there were any witnesses left beyond the lass, we would have heard already,” Uncle Robbie said.

  Uncle Alex said, “Braden will have to get inside to speak with Muir’s daughter again. If she’s willing to claim the Lamont brothers killed her family and her sire’s men, I’ll have no trouble explaining to our king why we took action against the bastards. But she needs to have witnessed their actual deaths, not just assumed. Now, I’m sure these Lamonts are on high alert and will be for a few more days. Braden, you can make your move after that. I’m going to send a missive to Logan Ramsay, requesting Maggie and Will’s expertise. I’d like them involved if this ambush could lead to any information about the Channel of Dubh. If you determine you need extra help, they’ll be certain to assist you. They’ve broken out of the royal castle, and if they can get past the king’s protective forces, they can certainly get past the Lamonts.”

  “That may be the best idea, Alex,” his father said. “Braden struggles to control his anger when there’s been a miscarriage of justice.”

  “I can if I need to, Papa,” Braden retorted. “I’m not a bairn anymore.” He had the sudden urge to bolt out of his chair and pace, but surely that wouldn’t convince them of his self-control. “You’ll never believe that I’ve conquered that fault, will you?”

  His sire tilted his head. “I will when I’ve seen evidence of it. I’ve yet to.” His words were harsh, but his tone was less so. “We can’t afford to take any chances, is all. The fate of an innocent woman and child—and possibly many children—rests on the success of this mission.”

  Connor said, “He was extremely calm when he told us about what he’d learned on the journey back. I kept waiting for him to break out in his usual rant, but I never saw it.”

  Roddy added, “Me, either. Why is that, Braden?” he added with a smirk.

  “I’ve told you. This is different. She’s different. I’ll not walk away from her or the promise I made.”

  Uncle Alex quirked his brow at Braden.

  “I promised to get her and her son away from the Lamonts,” he explained, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded on his lap. “She was too frightened to leave with me, but I will go back. You can count on it.”

  “I’ll send that missive to Logan,” Uncle Alex said. “Ask him what Maggie and Will are doing. I would like to wait a couple of days, catch the Lamonts off guard. If they arrive before then, they’ll accompany you all. For now, I’d like to speak with Braden privately.”

  Braden waited to see if his sire would object, but he didn’t. The four stood and left the solar without question. What had he done now?

  Once the door closed, Braden waited for his uncle to speak. He had so much respect for Uncle Alex that he would wait patiently, even if it nearly killed him.

  “I wanted to ask you about something that’s been brought to my attention by several of your clanmates.” His gaze stayed on Braden, that piercing look that could have made him pish down his leg when he was younger. Uncle Alex’s expression could be intimidating enough to make you fear he was furious about something, but Braden couldn’t recall ever seeing his uncle lose control. No doubt it would be a fearsome sight. The man was as large as a tree. In fact, he used to pretend he was a tree in the loch for Braden and his cousins, holding his arms out and swaying them so the lads crashed and fell into the water in fits of giggles. But Uncle Alex had never yelled, even when all the cousins had begun to bicker over who had hung on the longest.

  Braden swallowed and waited.

  “It’s about Ronan. I know this is a painful subject, and I know you and Ronan have been loyal to each other since you were lads, but I need to be sure of something. Did you have an argument with Ronan the day before he died?”

  If a faint breeze had passed him from the uncovered window, he’d have fallen off his chair. “An argument? With Ronan? Nay.” He thought for a moment, trying to recall every event that had happened before his friend’s death. Nothing came to mind.

  Suddenly, he recalled a small battle they’d had in the lists. “We had a tussle, but it had been at least a sennight before his death. It wasn’t an argument, just…” His memory filled in the pieces as he gave it more consideration. Ronan had taunted him about Roddy being a better swordsman than Braden. At first, they’d both laughed about it, but Ronan hadn’t relented. Braden had allowed his temper to affect him, suddenly swinging his sword in a manner that revealed his mood and proved his point.

  Ronan’s response had been to drop his own weapon. That was what had brought attention to their wee tussle. Ronan had said, “Teasing, Grant. Just trying to push you to be your best, but instead you let your temper in. You’ll never keep your head with all that rage coursing through you. When will
you learn to control your moods enough to hide them from your enemy? Someday you’ll regret it.”

  Braden hadn’t taken that comment well, instead moving over to grab him by his tunic. “I don’t like your teasing. You worry about you, and I’ll worry about me.” Then he’d stalked off the practice field. His friend had called after him, “Control it, Grant.”

  Braden hung his head. True, he’d learned to control his temper around strangers or his elders, but could he do it in the heat of the moment? He had nearly forgotten the incident—it wasn’t unusual enough to have made an impression, probably because it hadn’t been unusual for him to lose his temper.

  He needed to change that.

  Uncle Alex asked, “Something come to mind? More than one person saw the two of you in the lists.”

  Braden reluctantly admitted, “We did argue about his habit of teasing me, and I didn’t react well. But it was just healthy competitive banter between friends, Uncle, nothing more. And it was not the day before, but more than a sennight before.”

  “Did you threaten to kill him?”

  “Nay!” he cried out in shock. “Kill my friend over something as immaterial as that? Never. Who told you…”

  Uncle Alex held his hand up to indicate he wasn’t going to share names. “You know I’ll not reveal that, but one lad said you made a threat. I honestly couldn’t believe you would do something like that. I’ve observed you often, Braden, but while you don’t control your temper verra well, you’ve never intentionally hurt anyone to my knowledge. I don’t believe you could have done aught to Ronan.”

  Braden whispered, “I did not push him over the cliff, Uncle Alex. I swear. I never would have hurt him. If anything, I would have jumped down to save him with half a thought to my own self.” How he prayed his uncle believed him. The thought that anyone in his clan could believe him to be that shallow, that criminal, caused his palms to break out in sweat and his heartbeat to speed up.

  Braden stared at the floor for a few moments, wondering if he could summon the courage to ask his uncle a question.

  As if reading his mind, Uncle Alex asked, “What is it you wish to ask me? I’ll answer if I can.”

  Braden thought for a moment, then said, “How do you do it? I’ve heard tales of your battle with the men who mistreated Aunt Maddie. You had a temper when you were younger, but I’ve never seen evidence of it. What do you do to keep it under control? I try, but ‘tis still a struggle.”

  “When you allow your emotions into any battle, you’ll harm your chance of winning. I learned that from a wise man, your grandfather, who you were not fortunate enough to know.” He smiled and stared at a tapestry on the wall. “My sire had a wicked temper, and he paid a steep price because of it. One day in battle, he heard someone taunting him and took his eyes off his opponent, searching out the person who’d dared to speak to him so disrespectfully. He took a blade to his sword arm that rendered it useless for the rest of his days. He was past forty summers when it happened, so he didn’t need to use it often, but he learned a powerful lesson that day. That the only man who stood in his way was himself.

  “Every day after that, my sire said the same thing to me and my brothers each night. ‘Control your temper or it will control you someday.’”

  Uncle Alex was quiet for a long moment, allowing Braden the time to consider his words.

  “Actually, ‘twas your aunt Maddie who finally taught me to control my temper. I had a similar problem. Your sire and especially Uncle Robbie knew how to taunt me in the lists.” He leaned back in his chair, a small smile curling his lips. “Aunt Maddie jumped every time I yelled. I wanted to court the lass, but my temper scared her away. That was when I finally learned to curtail my anger. Mayhap this lass will affect you the same.”

  Braden thought about that for a moment then said, “I can’t imagine you yelling enough to frighten Aunt Maddie away.”

  “Ask her sometime. You’re a good lad, nephew, but I see my sire’s temper in you, and my own. Fight for the lass, but never fight for the sake of fighting. Purpose will see you through.”

  “You will help me fight for her, Uncle Alex?” He held his breath as he awaited an answer.

  “Aye, we’ll get her and her son away from the Lamonts. I’m tempted to send you back today and not subject her to another second of brutality, but we would do much better to wait and take them when they least expect it. They aren’t leaving as I’m sure they’ve no place to go, and especially not if Muir Castle is a stronghold for the Channel of Dubh. The lass has survived her plight for nearly six years. Another sennight will not affect the ending.”

  A bundle of relief took over. “Many thanks, Uncle.” He couldn’t argue with his uncle’s reasoning. Cairstine and her lad had survived, a testament to their strength. It made sense to wait if it improved their chances of success.

  “You have an unusual interest in the lass, do you not?” Uncle Alex asked.

  Braden didn’t try to contain his surprise. “I suppose. Something about her is different. How could you tell?”

  “I’ve seen that same look in my son’s eyes. This is not just about righting a wrong for you. Still, the lass has been wronged without a doubt, and I won’t do aught to try to stop you from becoming her champion. She deserves someone like you.”

  Braden whispered, “My thanks, Uncle Alex. I would like to get to know her better, but I also fear I’ll never see her again.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cairstine opened her eyes, but the plethora of tears she’d shed overnight must have been enough to cause them to stick together. When she sat up, she searched the chamber for water, surprised to see a jug of it on a small table near the door. There was a chunk of bread and a goblet of mead next to it, too. Since she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday morn, she devoured the dark bread in three bites, washing it down with the mead.

  She rinsed her mouth with the water from the jug, just then noticing the linen square resting beside it. She scrubbed her face, finishing with a sigh just as the sound of running feet reached her ears.

  “Mama!” The rusty latch jostled, probably from Steenie doing his best to open it. She moved over to the window and peered down at him.

  “Steenie, Mama’s fine. Do not worry yourself.” She arched her back, trying to get the aches out from sleeping on a wooden pallet with only one plaid on it.

  “But Hilda said I could visit you. Corc promised he’d keep his eye on you, too,” he added in a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone.” His sad eyes nearly broke her heart, but she didn’t have much time to think on it since Hilda sauntered down the passageway, her keys jingling.

  “Hilda. Please allow me inside,” he said. “I miss my mama.” Steenie kept his hand on the door handle all the while.

  Hilda was the only nursemaid or healer the Lamonts had in their keep. She’d helped Cairstine throughout her pregnancy and birth, and without her, Cairstine wasn’t at all sure she would have managed to get her son latched on to her breast. At six and ten, she’d known nothing about caring for a bairn. The nursemaid had also tended Steenie’s sore bottom many times, though now that he was older, he was able to tolerate his punishment better.

  Like Cairstine and Steenie, Hilda was not here by choice. The brothers had stolen her away from her home, but she didn’t talk much about her life before. She did as she was told for fear of repercussions, but she’d always shown everyone kindness.

  Hilda’s ample bosom bounced as she made her way toward them. She’d never moved quickly, but she always went wherever she was needed. Her hands pushed the gray strands back into her plait where she could, her calculating gaze checking the interior of the chamber in one sweep. “Hush, lad. Hold your tongue. I’m not able to move at your pace.” Before she put the key in the lock, she peeked through the window at Cairstine with a huge sigh. “What was it this time, lass?”

  Cairstine blinked furiously to stop the tears that threatened to drench her cheeks. “What is it any time, Hilda?”

  “Ma
ma saw a man outside the curtain wall.” He glanced over his shoulder before he continued. “She spoke with a Grant man they said. But I told them she did not do it apurpose. He tried to sneak in through the back wall. I told them you saved us from the man—that he might have killed us all if he got inside, but Papa doesn’t believe me.” His shoulders slumped as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Corc believes me though.” That thought brought a hopeful look on his face.

  God bless Corc and Hilda. Without their bread crusts of kindness, she and her son would starve.

  “Steenie, Mama is just fine,” she whispered at the same time Hilda jiggled the lock enough to open the door.

  Hilda held the door while Steenie shoved past her and threw himself at Cairstine. Hilda said, “You have half an hour, then you must go, lad.”

  “You may stay and chat with us, Hilda,” Cairstine offered.

  The woman’s face changed to a look of sadness and she shook her head. “I have work to do. You know it falls on my shoulders, so I cannot stray for long.” She shuffled back down the passageway, leaving Cairstine to wonder what assignment had taken away Hilda’s natural smile.

  She wasn’t allowed to consider her quandary for long.

  “Mama, why must you stay down here? How long must you stay?” He hadn’t let go of her waist yet, still clinging to the one safe constant in his life.

  “I’m not sure, but don’t worry about me. Hilda brought me food and water. I’m sure Papa will allow me out later today.”

  Steenie’s tears started anew, and he buried his face in her waist as his hitching sobs continued.

  “Why do you cry, laddie?”

  “Because I don’t like it in the hall without you. Papa and Uncle Blair tease me always.” He turned his head to the side once his sobs subsided, but he didn’t let go of her waist.

  She sat down and fussed with his hair, running her fingers through the strands in an effort to straighten them. “What was it this time, lad?”

  “Papa says I’m not tall enough. He said I have to eat more, but I don’t like that stew.”