Super Summer Set of Historical Shorts

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Taking it, Alice turned the weapon over in her hand as if considering. “But you said you would protect me.”

  “I did.”

  “Then you shall carry out my bidding when we set out on the morrow. And we will not hide our identities. You are a Campbell aiding a Lamont in her search for her grandmother.”

  “And you are a Lamont accepting the assistance of a Campbell.” He held out the palm of his uninjured arm. “Agreed?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she stood proudly assuming the role of clan leader. And then she did something completely unexpected. The bold lass slit open her palm without so much as a flinch. “Hold your hand steady.”

  Quinn did as asked and she cut him as minimally as she’d cut herself. Seizing his palm, she pressed the two wounds together. “We seal this pact with our blood. Should either of us faulter, the other will put him—”

  Quinn clenched his fingers tightly to prove his commitment. “Or her.”

  “Under the knife.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We leave at dawn.”

  With a nod, she turned on her heel and dashed into the rear chamber, closing the door behind.

  Chapter Ten

  Alice watched Quinn drop a crown in the ferryman’s palm in payment for their passage to the Isle of Bute. She had misgivings about traveling with a wounded man and suspected he’d opted to take the ferry because rowing the skiff would hurt his shoulder.

  Ferry or skiff, Alice didn’t care. It was neigh time to find Gran. And the longer the dear woman was away, the more Alice feared something calamitous had happened.

  I never should have left her.

  “You oughtn’t be taking a lass to the isle,” said the ferryman, slipping the coin into his sporran.

  Three men had already boarded. They were MacGregors by the look of them and armed to the teeth.

  “What’s afoot?” asked Quinn.

  “I reckon everyone in the Highlands except you kens. The Lamonts have staged a bloody siege.”

  Alice clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. “No.”

  Quinn grasped her shoulder. “He’s right. You should stay at the cottage.”

  “Did you not hear him? The Lamonts are responsible for the rising.” Gran is with them. I should have known!

  “All the more reason for you to remain safely beside home’s hearth.”

  “Is she sailing or nay?” asked the ferryman. “The others are waiting, m’lord. I’ve no choice but to weigh anchor.”

  Without assistance, Alice boarded the boat. “I answer for myself and I sail.”

  The ferryman released the rope. “Have it as you like, but I’ll not be held accountable for anything that may happen.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Quinn.

  Alice nodded. “The last time I saw Gran, she was embroiled in the midst of the skirmish. And now I ken my clan is at the heart of it, I must go to her.”

  “Your granny seems like the type of woman who’d be leading the siege.”

  “Mayhap she is, though I’ll not assume anything until I see it for myself.”

  Alice strode past the Highlanders and stood at the bow while the boat got underway. Was Gran at the center of the siege? Had she been responsible for Quinn’s wound? What about the daft rose and what significance had it played? And who were the Lamonts holding the fortress? Over the course of her life, she’d met but a handful of her clansmen.

  Before the boat arrived at the pier, a commotion stirred on the shore with men running and shouting.

  Quinn stepped in beside her. “Those are my men. Stay close to me.”

  “I aim to put an end to this madness.”

  “And how do you expect to do that? Don a suit of armor and reenact Joan of Arc?”

  “If I must.”

  “No doubt you’d do it without a flinch.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. But remember no one on the pier kens who you are. I’ll be able to ensure your protection if it remains as such.”

  Alice pursed her lips. She had no intention of concealing her identity any longer than necessary. Gran had hidden her in the cottage for too many years. What was to become of the Lamonts who remained? She looked out over the sea of Campbells and their supporters. With such small numbers, her clansmen behind the curtain walls had little chance of holding the fortress for long.

  A kilted man rode an enormous horse onto the pier—Glenn MacGregor—one of Quinn’s companions. “Damnation, ye are alive, m’lord. I see you’ve brought along some reinforcements as well.”

  Quinn gave the man a snort. “Thought you’d take a holiday, in my absence, did you? With your girth I would have expected you to have the situation in hand by now.”

  “We’ve been busy enough. By my calculations there are no more than forty men holding Rothesay, though they have the ground advantage.”

  Quinn gave Alice a sideways glance. “We’ll end this as peaceably as possible.”

  “Not one death,” she said through gritted teeth. “On either side.”

  The corner of Quinn’s mouth twitched up as he bowed his head. “M’lady.”

  “I am no one’s lady.”

  He mumbled something that made Alice’s stomach leap. Or was the sudden onslaught of butterflies caused by the rocking of the boat? Regardless of what she thought she’d heard, Alice chose to ignore him.

  As soon as the ferryman set the gangplank in place, she followed His Lordship across while he strode straight toward MacGregor. “I need a complete run through of the present state of affairs.”

  MacGregor dismounted and handed his reins to a lad. “A moment first. I saw you hit by musket fire. Thought the worst. What the blazes happened?” He gave Alice a wary once-over. “Is she a witch? A selkie as Eachan said?”

  Dissenting grumbles rose from the crowd. And by the way they were closing in, Alice remained very close to Quinn’s side.

  “Stop with your misplaced suspicions. If it weren’t for the lass, I would have taken another musket ball or worse. She saved my life. Nursed me back to health in but a few days.”

  The heir delivered a convincing argument, but Alice had seen his winces and heard his grunts. No matter what Quinn said, he was still hurting.

  MacGregor frowned. “We thought they’d taken you behind the walls—which is why we haven’t attacked.”

  “Good. No one attacks unless there is no other alternative.”

  “Let’s smoke them out,” said a ruddy Campbell.

  His Lordship jammed his fists onto his hips. “I’d prefer to parley first.”

  “Are you daft?” MacGregor drew his dirk and thrust it toward the castle. “Have you lost your memory whilst you’ve been in fairy land? Those bleeding bastards tried to murder you.”

  Alice shoved Quinn far enough aside to push into the conversation. “I’ll talk to them.”

  “No.” His Lordship sliced his hand through the air, nearly hitting her midriff. “I cannot allow it.”

  She shoved his hand away. “You are not my clan chief and I owe you no fealty. I will speak to them and there’s nay a thing you or your behemoth MacGregor can do about it.”

  The big man scowled. “We can tie her up and lock the lassie in the stables.”

  “Shut it, Glenn,” Quinn took on a commanding stance—one oozing complete authority. “I want everyone to ken right here and now, Miss Alice is not to be trifled with. She saved my life and for that we will treat her with respect.”

  He leaned to her ear and whispered, “If anyone goes in to parley, it will be me.”

  Before she could pose an argument, Quinn eyed his man. “Now, where’s my brother?”

  “He rode for reinforcements…and cannons.”

  “Cannons?” His Lordship asked.

  “We thought the bastards had you inside.”

  Quinn started up the hill toward a cluster of tents. “When do you expect Eachan to return?”

  “No later than the morrow. This afternoon if we’re fortunate.
”

  “Do you have my weapons?”

  “Aye, they’re still in the tent, m’lord.”

  Hanging on every word, Alice followed closely behind. As soon as the top of the keep came into view, she searched the crenels for Gran—or anyone she might recognize. Merciful Father, if the Campbells were planning to bring in cannons, her clansmen would have no chance.

  Chapter Eleven

  Quinn sat at a table in the rear of the alehouse with Alice at his side and the wall at his back where he’d be able to react quickly if anything went awry. “Have they made any demands?”

  Across, MacGregor nursed a pint of ale. “Not a bloody word.”

  “That makes no sense at all. What have they been doing for the past four days, having a ceilidh?”

  “Same as us. The bastards—”

  “Watch your language in the presence of a lady,” Quinn growled.

  The big man shrank a bit, looking like a chided mastiff. “Beg your pardon, miss.” But Glenn quickly regained the classic MacGregor scowl. “We have ladders enough to scale the walls as soon as the cannons arrive. And thus far they’ve done naught but wait and watch. One of our musketeers fires off a shot, and they shoot back.”

  “Anyone injured?”

  “Only you.”

  “They could have killed us all at the gathering.”

  Using her thumb, Alice squashed the candle wax pooling in the center of the table. “But they didn’t.”

  Quinn drank his ale down and pushed the empty tankard toward his friend. “Go fetch us another round, would you?”

  “Fetch your own bloody round.” MacGregor might be full of brawn, but he carried a chip on his shoulder the size of Bass Rock.

  “M’lord,” Quinn added to emphasize their difference in station. He wasn’t about to bend to his friend’s irritability. “I need a word with Miss Alice.”

  “He’s none too happy,” she muttered while Glenn strode away.

  “I wouldn’t be either.”

  She drove her thumbnail beneath the wax. “And he’s itching for the cannons to arrive.”

  Quinn rested his palm on his sword, something he did when he was about to step in harm’s way. “That’s why I’m going inside afore they do.”

  “Then I am as well.”

  “Absolutely not.” He pulled her hand away from the candle and firmly placed it in her lap. “I forbid it.”

  The lass shoved her chair away from the table, her eyes filled with spite and gall. “For-bid?” she asked, drawing out the word as if it were blasphemy.

  “’Tis too dangerous.” Quinn slapped his palm on the table. Mayhap he’d overstepped his bounds, but he would not back down on this. “If I go inside under the flag of parley, they’ll ken I’m willing to listen to their grievances.”

  “Flag of parley? I doubt my kin will trust you.”

  “They’ll trust a man with no weapons. ’Tis the way of honor.” He removed his sword and dirk and clanked them onto the table. “Now tell me true, is your grandmother involved?”

  “Gran saved you. I do not see how she could be aside from trying to prevent more bloodshed.”

  “But she was holding a musket when I was shot.”

  “And then she protected you—safeguarded us both.”

  “And that’s what perplexes me. Why would she do such a thing? Your grandmother is the wife of…” He swiped a hand over his mouth. “You ken. She has more cause to hate me than anyone in all of Scotland.”

  “I’ll tell you true, I’ve thought a great deal about her motives since she spirited us out of the castle, and I cannot make sense of it either. But this I ken in my heart: If Gran had wanted to see you dead, her musket would have had a smoke coming from its barrel and you would be in a shallow grave.” Alice grasped his arm and squeezed. “I must go inside with you.”

  MacGregor returned with three tankards frothing over. Quinn held up his palm, requesting silence. He couldn’t let the lass inside until he knew for certain she’d be safe. “Let me enter first. Once I understand their purpose, I’ll send for you.”

  She pursed her lips. “I do not like it.”

  The big Highlander set the ale on the table. “What do you not like, miss?”

  Quinn wrapped his fingers around a handle. “I’ve decided to walk across the drawbridge of Rothesay Castle alone.”

  “That hairbrained idea again? Have you lost your bleeding mind?” MacGregor planted his beefy hands on the table and leaned in. “They’ve already shot you once.”

  After taking a long drink, Quinn licked the foam from his lips. “I’ve made up my mind and nary a soul can change it.”

  ***

  Once he crossed the bridge alone, the Lamont guards took their time searching Quinn for weapons.

  “I reckon we ought to tie his hands,” said one—a skinny whelp who looked as if lifting a Highland sword would be an effort.

  Quinn held up his palms. “I came across carrying the black flag of parley. Even a Lamont would honor such a request to talk.”

  “He’s right,” said another.

  “Aye?” The lanky one sauntered too near and inclined his lips toward Quinn’s ear. “Not to worry. We’ll have so many muskets ready to fire, if you make one errant move, we’ll fill ye full of lead.”

  Quinn’s shoulder throbbed, reminding him exactly how it felt to be shot. Still, even with his injury, he could strangle the maggot for his insolence. It would be easy to grab the dirk dangling from the man’s belt and plunge it into his belly while using his body to block an attack from the other lout.

  Quinn splayed his fingers. “I’m not here to fight. But when the time comes for battle, I’ll nay forget your pimpled face.”

  The coward raised his fist. “I ought to—”

  “Save your ire,” barked the more reasonable of the two. “Come.”

  They led Quinn to the center of the circular courtyard. He expected to meet their leader, or Alice’s grandmother, or at least someone who was ready to talk. But he was met by two-dozen musketeers training their muskets on him from around the perimeter of the courtyard. For the better part of an hour he stood alone, by the minute growing more certain of his impending death. At last with the screech of medieval hinges, a man wearing a mismatched plaid jacket and kilt marched from the tower like he owned the castle. Shaggy, obviously having gone without a shave for the duration of the siege, the black-haired varlet was flanked by twelve men, six on each side. Evidently, they weren’t taking any chances.

  “I’m Rory Lamont,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Looking the man in the eye, Quinn gave a nod. “I assume you ken my name.”

  “So, the heir has come for a polite conversation, has he?”

  Quinn glanced beyond him. “Where’s the old woman?”

  “She’s lost her nerve.”

  “I need to see her.”

  “Why?” asked Rory. “She’s naught but a female.”

  “She’s the wife of James Lamont. If anyone has a bone to pick with me, it is she.”

  The man clamped his hand atop the pommel of his sword. “I have enough grievances for the lot of us.”

  “I’ll oblige you and listen once I see the woman is unharmed.”

  “Oh, for the love of God, Rory, he’s right!” Alice’s grandmother hastened from the keep, her wrists bound, a gag around her neck.

  The shaggy Highlander frowned. “Fergus, I thought I told you to keep her quiet.”

  In the doorway, a guard spread his palms and shrugged. “You watch over her next time.”

  Rory gestured to Alice’s grandmother with his thumb. “So, you see for yourself Lady Lamont is well. I demand you return the lands stolen from the Lamonts after your kin backstabbed us at Dunoon.”

  The woman’s title caught him unaware for a moment, but it was right. Her husband had been a knight. Presently, titles made no difference. Quinn took note of his odds—not good if things grew bloody. “Apologies, but my father possesses the deed, not I. He has not grante
d me leave to negotiate on his behalf.”

  The man smirked. “Then we’ll hold you hostage until the earl arrives.”

  “You would take a chance on inciting my father’s ire?”

  “I don’t give a fig about your father.”

  “And he mightn’t give a fig about me,” said Quinn, planting the seed of doubt.

  “You lie. All Campbells are liars.”

  Rory motioned to his guardsmen. “Seize him!”

  Quinn ran to the far wall. Using it as a barrier, he turned and threw a fist into the first guard’s jaw while reaching for the man’s dirk. Just as his fingers brushed the hilt, a vicious strike came from behind, jarring his wounded shoulder. Bellowing in pain, he spun to face his attacker. A wooden pole slammed across his neck, dropping him to his knees.

  Two men held Quinn’s arms while a third wrapped a rope around his wrists.

  “Stop this!” Alice shouted, marching in from the hidden gate—blast—their only escape route revealed. How the hell did she escape from MacGregor?

  Chapter Twelve

  “There is another way,” said Gran, pushing Rory and the guards aside.

  The Lamont man scowled and stepped beside her. “I think—”

  “You have bungled this enough.” Gran pulled Alice in front of Quinn. “I’d hoped the rose would have—”

  “Cease this nonsense about the rose.” It was not up to her grandmother to lead their kin. And if Alice didn’t act now, all would be lost…again. Taking charge, she threw up her hands and turned full circle, commanding the attention of every being in the courtyard. “I am Alice MacDonald Lamont, granddaughter of the slain James Henry Lamont. I am your clan chief and you will obey me.”

  She took another turn, slower this time, eyeing every man. “Lord Quinn entered these walls in good faith and we would be as underhanded as the Campbells if we did not honor his request.”

  Gran took a step toward her. “But—”

  “Nay!” Alice stopped her with a determined stare.

  “Hear my supplication, Alice, chieftain of the Lamonts!” Gran shouted so loudly the courtyard turned eerily quiet.

  Alice gave a nod. “Since you have recognized my authority, you may speak.”