The Guardian

by Margaret Mallory

  Grief and guilt curled together in Ian’s gut. He would never know if he could have saved his father from injury had he been at his side in the battle. But he was as good as any man with a sword, so he might have made a difference.

  “During the time da did not waken,” Niall said, “Sìleas spent hours at his bedside, talking and reading to him as if he could hear every word.”

  It struck Ian as odd that Niall spoke only of Sìleas taking care of their father. “What about mam?”

  “Mam stopped speaking when she thought da was dying. She was like the walking dead herself.” Niall kept his eyes fixed on his hands and spoke in a low, rough voice. “Sìl and I did our best to make her eat, but she grew so weak we feared we would lose her, too.”

  Guilt was bitter in Ian’s throat. Niall was far too young for the burden he’d been carrying—and it was Ian’s burden.

  “Mam’s been much better since da woke up a couple of weeks ago. But da…” Niall turned to gaze out the small window. “Well, it’s been almost worse since he awoke and found his leg was gone.”

  Ian leaned across the table and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. We came as soon as we heard the news of the battle.”

  “Ye should have been here long before then,” Niall said, his voice hard. “For Sìleas, ye should have been here. You’ve shamed her by leaving her for so long.”

  Ian had never considered that his absence might shame her. Until he returned, he had thought of her as an awkward girl not ready for marriage.

  “One way or another, I will make it right,” Ian said. “I am grateful to ye for taking care of the family in my absence.”

  “It’s Sìleas ye should be thanking, not me.” His brother stood abruptly, jostling the table. He was shaking with anger. “Sìleas has worked herself to the bone, keeping the family going these last weeks. Did ye not see the circles under her eyes? I do my best to help her, but it’s no enough.”

  “I’ll see to things now,” Ian said, keeping his voice quiet.

  “Then you’d best convince her to stay,” Niall said, “for we cannot do without her.”

  “Sìleas is not going anywhere soon.” At least not until he made up his mind.

  “ ’Tis a wonder she hasn’t left ye yet,” Niall said, his eyes burning into Ian. “If ye don’t know it, there is a line of men just waiting for her to lose patience with ye.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Ian listened to Alex’s snoring in the next bed and watched the sky grow light through the crack in the shutters of the old cottage as he thought about the day ahead. It was an important day, for him and for the clan. After weighing the advantages and disadvantages over the two days since his return, he had decided to accept Sìleas as his true wife. He would tell her today, after the gathering at the church.

  In the end, it was an easy choice. Sìleas had become the peg that held his family together. After not being here when they needed him, he would not take her away from them now. They were all very fond of her. In fact, he was a trifle concerned Niall’s feelings toward her were not entirely brotherly, but the lad was young and would get over it soon enough.

  For his mother, Sìleas filled the hole in her heart left by the baby daughters she had lost. What surprised him was the closeness between Sìleas and his father. Busy as Sìleas was, Ian found her at his father’s bedside several times a day. Her presence seemed to soothe him. Although his father had never openly mourned the loss of their daughters as his mother had, perhaps he, too, had carried a wound that Sìleas healed.

  If for no other reason, Ian would have kept Sìleas for the sake of his family. Added to that, she was heir to Knock Castle, a good manager, and she made his blood run hot. What more could a man ask for?

  Now that he’d come home to take his place in the clan, he needed a wife. There was no good reason to upset the basket when he already had one that suited. The only objection he could claim was that he hadn’t chosen Sìleas in the first place. It would be just pigheaded to let that stop him when everything else weighed in favor of the marriage.

  Now that he’d made up his mind, it was only a matter of getting Sìleas alone so he could tell her. Saving the clan from Hugh Dubh came first, of course. He would speak to her after the business at the church today.

  Then he could join Sìleas in the bed upstairs.

  He smiled to himself. That particular advantage had weighed heavily in favor of keeping the marriage. No more sleeping in the old cottage with Alex. And once he told Sìleas of his decision, she would stop giving him the sharp edge of her tongue.

  He could think of other uses for that tongue…

  “Are ye going to lie abed all morning?” Alex said, and Ian turned to find his cousin dressed and strapping on his claymore.

  Ian grinned at him, feeling better than he had since returning home. He could hardly wait to see Sìl’s face when he told her. He remembered how she used to look up to him, with that glow in her eyes, as if he was the strongest and bravest person she could ever hope to meet.

  When he told her, she would look at him that way again—but with a woman’s eyes. And a woman’s desire. Then he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her as he’d been wanting to. Ah, it had been years since he’d given a lass her first kiss.

  And then there would be all the other firsts…

  God’s blood, he’d never bedded a virgin before. He had done his best to avoid innocents up until now. It surprised him that he found the prospect of bedding a virgin… exciting. At least, this particular virgin. Sìleas would be his alone, now and forever.

  “Ian,” Alex said, jarring him back to the present.

  As he got out of bed, Ian grabbed his plaid to cover his throbbing erection. God’s beard, he was in pain. Tonight. Tonight, he would get to take Sìleas to bed.

  But first, there was the gathering. Work before pleasure.

  “I see you’re going to church prepared,” Ian said to Alex, as he strapped on his own claymore.

  “I don’t wish to count on Hugh respecting the house of God without encouragement.”

  Word of Ian and Alex’s arrival would have reached Hugh’s ears, and their presence was bound to make Hugh nervous. Hugh was no one’s fool. He’d know that if they were here, Connor and Duncan could not be far behind.

  “How many blades are ye taking?” Ian asked, as he slipped a dirk into the side of his boot.

  “I only have two dirks,” Alex said, pulling a face.

  “Here,” Ian said, tossing him another. “I got extra from the house last night.”

  “You’re a good man,” Alex said, catching it.

  Sìleas wasn’t downstairs when they had their breakfast, but she was waiting at the gate with Ian’s mother when Ian, Alex, and Niall brought the horses to the front of the house.

  “You’re sure you’ll be fine without me?” Sìleas asked his mother.

  “Ye worry too much,” his mother said, patting her hand. “I’m feeling my old self again. Payton and I will manage just fine.”

  Sìleas kissed his mother on the cheek and turned to where the three of them were waiting on their horses. “It’s such a fine day,” she said. “We could walk.”

  “We’re riding,” Ian said.

  It was true that the rain was no more than a light mist, which made it a fine day for mid-October in the Highlands. But he wanted the horses in case they needed to make a quick departure.

  When Sìleas started toward Niall’s horse, Ian nudged his forward to block her way. He held out his hand. “Ride with me.”

  For a moment, she looked as if she would refuse, which annoyed him. He reminded himself that she didn’t know yet of his decision. When she finally gave him her hand, he swung her up in front of him. He pulled her tight against him as he kicked his horse into a trot. When he turned to wave good-bye to his mother, she gave him an approving nod.

  He’d make two women happy by his decision to make a true marriage with Sìleas.

  It was hard to
think with the smell of her hair in his nose and her bottom snug between his thighs. But the ride was short, so he forced his thoughts to what he would say to the men when they got there.

  As they neared the church, they had to pass Dunscaith Castle, the seat of their clan chieftain. The castle was made famous by two women, both of whom—if Teàrlag was to be believed—were Duncan’s ancestors. According to the old stories, Dunscaith was built in a single night by a sea witch. It was here, too, that the great Celtic warrior queen, Scáthach, ran her legendary School for Heroes.

  Ian had seen Dunscaith a thousand times before, but today he looked at it for the first time as an attacker. The castle stood on a rock island just offshore, with a gap of twenty feet between it and the main island. If the sheer rock was not enough to deter an attack by sea, the five-foot-thick curtain wall on top of it surely would.

  To get into the castle, an attacker either had to come in by the sea gate on the far side, which was easily blocked, or cross the walled bridge that spanned the gap. If you made it across the bridge, the castle’s defenders could raise the drawbridge at their end of it to stop you. And if you made it past the drawbridge, you still had to fight your way up a walled flight of stairs that was too narrow for two men to go abreast swinging their swords.

  “An easy castle to defend and a hard one to take,” Alex said, echoing Ian’s thoughts.

  “Aye.” As they rode past, Ian narrowed his eyes at the castle’s tower. Was Hugh there now, watching them from his perch?

  It was hard to bear that a greedy, honorless man held the castle where Scáthach had trained her celebrated warriors of old.

  Ian could see that there was already a large gathering of people outside the church, which was no more than a stone’s throw past the bridge to the castle. The church was a humble, whitewashed building, a poor relation to the cathedrals he had seen in France.

  With his thoughts on Hugh and the tasks ahead, Ian realized that he hadn’t spoken a word to Sìleas—but he didn’t have time now.

  “Watch after her,” Ian said to his brother, as he helped her dismount. “I need to talk to the men.”

  As planned, he and Alex moved separately through the gathered men to discover what they thought of Hugh proclaiming himself chieftain. After welcoming him home, a few spoke quietly to Ian about Hugh’s mistreatment of them or their family. One who was not so quiet was Tait MacDonald, a wiry man of thirty.

  “Hugh violated my sister and left her carrying a babe,” Tait said, his eyes burning with hate.

  “I suspect ye don’t wish to wait for Judgment Day to see him punished,” Ian said. “I know I wouldn’t.”

  “Hugh had best watch his back.” Tait sidled closer and added, “A lot of men would support ye if ye put yourself forward for the chieftainship.”

  “I am not of the chieftain’s blood.” Ian was as skilled a warrior as any, and he could lead men in battle. But the best of chieftains needed to be patient schemers as well, and patience was one trait he did not share with his cousin.

  “No, it has to be Connor,” he told Tait. “He’s back, and he’ll be a great chieftain, even better than his father.”

  “Tell Connor I’m with him,” Tait said.

  Ian looked the man over and surmised that Tait’s quickness would more than make up for his short stature in a fight. “He’ll be glad to have ye on his side.”

  It was a start, and others would follow. As the saying went, one cow breaks the fence, and a dozen leap it.

  “The problem is that Connor is still a lad in the men’s memory,” Tait said. “He’s been gone a long time.”

  Tait was right. The men needed to see Connor to judge his mettle as a man. Showing himself openly too soon, however, could get him killed.

  “On the other hand,” Tait said, “the men are outraged that after calling himself chieftain, Hugh sat by while the MacKinnons attacked Knock Castle. And they don’t understand why he hasn’t tried to take it back.”

  The loss of Knock Castle was one more weight in the chain of guilt around Ian’s neck. Even though he hadn’t wanted it, holding Knock Castle had been his duty.

  The morning after his “wedding,” Ian and his chieftain surprised Sìleas’s stepfather with the news of the marriage—and an overwhelming force. As soon as the MacKinnons surrendered the castle, Ian sailed for France, not caring who his chieftain chose to hold the castle in his name. But fury, tinged with shame, burned in his belly now. The clansman who stood in his place as defender of the castle had been killed in the MacKinnon attack.

  As Ian moved through the crowd, he heard again and again the complaint about the loss of Knock Castle.

  “What are ye going to do about your wife’s castle?” more than one man asked him. “We’re ready to fight for it, but we need a chieftain to lead us.”

  Speak of the devil.

  When the men around Ian shifted their gazes and stepped back, he turned to see Hugh Dubh emerge from the castle’s bridge followed by a score of men. Ian exchanged a glance with Alex over the heads of the other men to be sure Alex had seen Hugh. Alex nodded and headed his way.

  Ian caught the priest by the arm. “Father, get the women and children inside the church.”

  The priest turned and saw Hugh and his men. “I’ll get them inside, but I’m warning ye, I’ll have no violence here in the churchyard.”

  “That’s up to Hugh,” Ian said. “All I can promise is that I won’t be starting it.”

  Ian found Sìleas and Niall next. “Go inside now,” he said, putting his hand to the curve of her back to push her along.

  Sìleas glared at the approaching men over her shoulder. “I’m not afraid of Hugh.”

  “Ye should be,” Ian said, gripping her arm hard so she would know he meant it. “Niall, see that she gets inside, then help the priest with the others.”

  Niall and Sìleas both scowled at him, but he didn’t have time to argue.

  “Go now, both of ye.”

  He moved to stand next to Alex just as Hugh and his men entered the churchyard. Hugh’s gaze was fixed on him, which was fine with Ian.

  I am ready to cut your ballocks off, Hugh Dubh.

  Hugh halted a yard in front of him and stood with his legs apart in a wide stance. For a long moment, they took each other’s measure. Hugh was a big, square-faced man who bore a strong resemblance to Connor’s father and Ragnall. As the youngest of his father’s six sons, he couldn’t be much over thirty, though his years at sea made him look older.

  When Connor’s father was made chieftain, Hugh took up pirating. Judging from the colorful stories told about him, Hugh was successful at his trade. Some believed he could call up a sea mist at will, because of the way his boats disappeared after an attack. Others said Hugh had a large stash of gold hidden on the Isle of Uist—and that he fed captured children to the sea dragon that guarded it.

  “I heard the two of ye were back,” Hugh said, resting his hand on the hilt of the long dirk in his belt. “Ye should have come to the castle to pay your respects.”

  “If the men who used to work our land still did,” Ian said, “perhaps I could have spared the time for a wee visit.”

  “The rest of ye stand back,” Hugh said, and lifted his hand. “I need a private word with the prodigal sons here.”

  He waited to speak until the others backed away a few paces.

  “I was merely encouraging your da to pledge his loyalty,” Hugh said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “But now that you’re here, I’ll accept your pledge in his place.”

  Anger pulsed through Ian; his hand itched to reach for the claymore strapped to his back. One good swing and he could rid the clan of this vermin.

  Ian made no effort to keep his voice down. “While my father lives, I’ll no be making decisions for him.” Ye slimy bastard.

  “I hear he’s lost his mind, as well as his leg,” Hugh said. “It’s your duty to step up and take his place as head of your family.”

  “As all the men her
e know,” Ian said in a loud voice, as he swept his arm out to encompass the men gathered around them in the churchyard, “my father fought in many battles with the Lord of the Isles to protect our clan. He merits the respect of his son and his clan.”

  The men responded with nods and grunts of approval.

  “I will not take my father’s place nor give his pledge,” Ian said, glaring at Hugh.

  “And where does your father stand, Alexander Bàn MacDonald?” Hugh asked.

  “If ye have to ask, my guess is he hasn’t given ye his support,” Alex said with a smile that suggested he knew very well his father wouldn’t favor Hugh. “Ye don’t suppose he has reservations about your ability to lead, do ye?”

  The vein in Hugh’s neck pulsed as he flicked his gaze between Alex and Ian.

  “In the end, he’ll bend his knee with all the rest of ye,” Hugh snapped. “Ye can tell Connor the same when ye see him.”

  Ian turned to speak to the men behind him, leaving Alex to cover his back.

  “As the son of Payton, a nephew to our dead chieftain, and a man of this clan,” Ian shouted, “I call for a gathering of the clan to choose our next chieftain, as is our custom.”

  When Ian turned back, Hugh looked as if he would have liked to plant his claymore in his chest, but another round of approving grunts had him thinking better of it.

  “That’s a fine idea,” Hugh said through his teeth. “We can all go into the hall of the castle and do it right now.”

  Hugh’s men, a rough lot from his pirating days, raised their fists and shouted their agreement. For a moment, Ian feared he had lost control of the crowd, but it was soon evident from the silence of the other men that they did not agree with Hugh’s suggestion.

  “Every man is entitled to a voice in the selection of our chieftain,” Tait called out. “Word must be sent to every member of the clan, with a date certain.”

  There was a loud murmur of agreement.

  Hugh could read the crowd as well as Ian. “We’ll confirm my place as chieftain at the Samhain gathering,” he said. “I’ll send word out that I expect every man to come to the castle and make his pledge.”