Highland Captive

by Alyson McLayne

  “’Twill all work out, love, doona you worry about a thing.” Deirdre looked across at the old woman who had spoken. Her spine was horribly twisted and bent over, and she used two canes to walk in an awkward, labored fashion. Deirdre hurt just looking at her.

  Lifting one of her canes, she tapped her temple with a finger. “I have the sight, aye? When our laird decided to keep you by him, everything changed. It will look dire for a while, but your son and our laird will live to rule Clan MacKinnon for many years to come.

  “Always choose love, Deirdre MacKinnon, and you will ne’er be steered wrong.”

  “Oh, but I’m not a MacKinnon,” Deirdre said, shivers prickling up her spine.

  The old woman nodded. Then she pinched Deirdre’s cheek with shaky fingers, like so many others had done before, and slowly disappeared into the crowd.

  Deirdre stared after her, her hand raised to her tingling cheek. She hoped to catch another glimpse of the poor wretch, but it was like she’d been swallowed up and vanished.

  “Strange words,” someone said beside her.

  She looked over to see a man standing sideways to her, only his profile visible. He wasn’t much older than Gavin, with brown hair that hung straight to his shoulders and a hard-looking face and body. One of Gavin’s warriors, perhaps? She found it strange that he ne’er turned toward her.

  “Aye. And fanciful. Do you know her?”

  “Nay. I’m not a MacKinnon either.”

  She faced him fully now, hoping for a better glimpse, but he angled himself away from her.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m someone who can help you leave, if you want to.”

  Cold invaded her body. “I doona want to! I’m staying with my son, and he’s staying here. He’s a MacKinnon.”

  “Doona get upset Lady MacIntyre. No one’s taking you anywhere against your will. I’m just offering assistance should you need it.”

  She lowered her voice. “Are you a MacIntyre or a MacColl, then? I doona recognize you.”

  “I’m neither, but I’m here on their behalf. Both those clans are concerned for your well-being. You doona belong here.”

  “I belong wherever Ewan is. Now leave, before I start yelling and bring Gavin and all his men down on you.”

  The man didn’t respond. He just stepped behind her and melted into the crowd. She spun to keep him within sight, but amazingly, he too was hidden from view within seconds. She kept scanning the multitude of faces, thinking she might get a glimpse of him so she could identify him later if she needed to, but he’d completely disappeared.

  A chill crept up her spine. What if they intended to take Ewan again? Panic engulfed her, and she looked around wildly for Gavin.

  “Deirdre. Are you alright, lass?”

  She turned, saw Kerr, and hurried toward him. “There was someone here—just a minute ago—he offered to help me leave. What if he takes Ewan?”

  Kerr put down the cup of mead he was drinking and whistled sharply. “Did you recognize him?”

  “Nay, and I didn’t get a good look either. He stayed turned away from me. His hair was brown, cut to his shoulders, and he looked like a warrior.”

  “Was there anything unique about his plaid?”

  “I didn’t notice. But when I asked him if he was a MacIntyre or a MacColl he said neither.” She looked around again. “Where are Gavin and Ewan? What if he means them harm?”

  Kerr wrapped his arm around Deirdre’s shoulder, comforting her even as he used hand signals to communicate with other warriors in the crowd and on the perimeter. “Ewan is already back at the castle with his friend Rhona, the young lass who was so upset. Annag is with them, as well as Rhona’s father, Bruce—whom you met—and several guards. Do you remember Artair? The huge warrior who helped you earlier when you were being crushed between the horses? He’s Rhona’s uncle as well as Gavin’s trusted man. Believe me, no one will get past them to harm the children.”

  “And Gavin?” she asked.

  “Gavin’s a highly trained warrior, and he’ll have at least two men guarding his back. Trust me, he can take care of himself. ’Tis hard to imagine, but even I have a hard time beating him in a fight.” He pointed to his swollen nose. “And he fights dirty when he canna win the honorable way.”

  Deirdre raised a brow. “He fights dirty—you mean like a Highlander?”

  Kerr roared with laughter. “Aye, Cousin. He fights like a Highlander.”

  * * *

  Gavin tucked the wee, wooden watermill in his sporran, a present he’d bought for Ewan to play with the next time they were by a stream. It was an exact miniature of the real thing, and Gavin couldn’t wait to see how it worked—and to show Ewan, of course.

  He’d been looking for something to buy Deirdre as well, but nothing he’d seen so far had been right. For some reason, he’d found himself hemming and hawing over what she might like. Everything he’d been shown seemed either too personal or not personal enough. He’d considered jewelry, but gems were often a gift given to a wife on their wedding day. Like the ones he’d given to Cristel—and then tossed beside her burned body after she’d died from plague.

  The others had been easier. He’d looked through the weaver’s hut and bought a beautiful plaid for Isobel, but it seemed presumptuous to give Deirdre a MacKinnon-woven plaid at this early date. She might want to retain some independence from the MacKinnons or appreciate a design more common in her old clan. He’d then looked for a book, but no one had any for sale. Aye, the written word was difficult to find in the Highlands.

  He’d glanced up at the cathedral, thinking about what she loved about it, and the perfect idea came to him. He just hoped it was still available.

  A few minutes later, he stood in front of a tidy cottage next to an empty chair and some wildflowers growing in pots. He knocked on the door, smiling in anticipation of seeing his old tutor. Shuffling steps sounded within the cottage before the door creaked open. An elderly man stood there, stooped and gnarled, and after squinting up at Gavin for a moment, a smile lit up his face. He grasped Gavin’s hand.

  “Laird MacKinnon! I heard you were back and that you had found your son. I canna tell you how happy that makes me.” The man’s voice wavered with joy, his eyes watering, and he rubbed a shaking hand over his cheeks to wipe the wetness away.

  Gavin’s throat tightened, and he took a moment to settle the emotion before speaking. “Aye, Master Chisholm. I found him. He’s as happy as a rabbit in a field of clover and as bright as the sun. He has a new mother now too, who has loved him as her own the entire time he was gone.”

  “A new mother? Did she take him?”

  “Nay. She doesn’t know what happened to him before he came to her. But he’s her only child, and she’s chosen to come live with us rather than be separated from him. You’ll like her. She’s well educated and has a love of learning. I wish to buy her a gift, but nothing I saw in the village seemed right for her. And I thought maybe…”

  “You thought maybe I would have something for a lass with a love of learning.” He turned and gestured for Gavin to follow him inside. “If you were looking for a book, you willna find one for sale so easily around here. If someone does come through with one, they always know to bring it to me first. I canna read the print anymore, but I still canna resist buying them.” He tapped his head. “I’m turning barmy in my old age.”

  Gavin snorted. “Barmy as an old fox, is my guess. By the time you’re done telling them you canna read anymore, they’ve probably lowered the price by half.”

  His old tutor nodded his head and chuckled. “You may be right.” He led Gavin toward a shelf in the sitting room. “Take your pick. And I’d like to give her one too, my own thanks for the care she took of your lad. Maybe someday she can come by and read it to me.”

  “Thank you, Master Chisholm. She’s a kind lass.
I’m sure she will come for a visit. And I’ll bring Ewan by to see you too. He’ll like the pictures in your book of weapons over the ages. Much to his mother’s chagrin, he has a love of warfare—in the way only the young can have, of course.”

  “Aye. Before their first battle.”

  Gavin nodded, his eyes scanning the books on the shelf. He pulled one out that looked new, and he suspected Master Chisholm hadn’t read it yet. Or rather, couldn’t read it. It would be a kindness to both Master Chisolm and Deirdre if this was the book he chose for her to read to him.

  “This one here. She would be happy to receive this from you,” Gavin said.

  His old tutor took the book and looked at it closely, then smiled. “Aye. I’d be happy for her to have it. And which book do you want to give her?”

  “Not a book, Master Chisholm. I want to give her something mathematical. Ewan’s mother has a love of geometry.”

  Master Chisholm’s brow rose, and his eyes lit up. “Och! I have just the thing!”

  Gavin nodded, a satisfied smile tipping up the corners of his lips. “I knew you would.”

  A soft knock sounded at the door. “’Twill be for you,” Master Chisholm said. He indicated for Gavin to answer it while he shuffled toward his desk and rummaged through the papers on top.

  Gavin strode to the door. Something must have happened—his men knew he wasn’t to be disturbed when he visited here. Clyde stood on the other side, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword that was strapped to his hip.

  “What is it?” Gavin asked, worry for Ewan, and for Deirdre, shooting through him as Clyde entered.

  “Everyone is well, Laird, but we’re conducting a search for a man who approached Lady Deirdre.”

  An icy wind rushed through him, and even though Clyde had said she was well, he still needed to ask. “She wasn’t hurt?”

  “Nay, not at all. She’s with Laird MacAlister on the way back to the castle. But…”

  “But what?” He thought he detected a glimmer of amusement in Clyde’s eyes. A rare occurrence.

  “She refused to get back on the mare or to ride with Laird MacAlister. And Laird MacAlister refused to get her a wagon.”

  “So, what then? They’re just standing there?” He was beginning to sense that a deep well of stubbornness resided within Deirdre. Or “Lady Deirdre,” as he’d heard several of the men call her now. He was happy the clan had taken to her. They could be a closed bunch.

  “The Lady Deirdre is riding the bloody pony, as Laird MacAlister called it. But then Lady Deirdre corrected him and said the pony was named Horsey. So Laird MacAlister started calling it the bloody Horse pony! To which Lady Deirdre said, Doona you know anything about horses, Cousin? A pony is a pony, and a horse is a horse. As much as you may wish it, there is no such thing as a bloody horse pony.

  “And they were still arguing about it when they left the square,” he added.

  Gavin grinned. “I think I will put my coin on Lady Deirdre.” Then his smile faded, and he scowled. “This man you’re looking for, was he a MacKinnon? What did he say to her? Something inappropriate?”

  Clyde’s eyelid twitched, the only sign of his perturbation. “Nay, Laird. ’Twas more serious than that. He was a spy. He offered to help our lady escape.”

  “But…she’s not a prisoner.”

  “Aye, but I suppose our enemies doona know that.”

  Gavin sighed. He knew spies likely existed at Clan MacKinnon, just like the MacKinnons had spies in other clans. And it had been confirmed last year that someone was conspiring against Gregor’s clan and those of his foster sons. Still, for some reason it came as a surprise. A deadly surprise.

  “And no sign of him?” he asked.

  Clyde shook his head. “’Twas no more than a minute or two from when he spoke to the Lady Deirdre to us beginning a standard search. We should have had him, but he just disappeared.”

  “’Tis worrying. Keep me informed,” Gavin said. “Anything else?”

  “Aye. The men returned from their trip to see Lewis MacIntyre. He would not speak to them. They said he packed up immediately and left.”

  Gavin huffed out a frustrated breath. “No surprise there. I should have gone myself.”

  “’Tis naught you can do about it now. I’m sure it willna be long before his father, Laird MacIntyre, and maybe even the Lady Deirdre’s brother descend upon us. I’ve been told they’re on the move. Two or three days at most, I would think.”

  “Do they have men with them?” Gavin asked. The information came from their spies and could be trusted.

  “Not enough to worry us, especially with our allies here. MacIntyre would be addlepated to think he could attack all six of you at once and win. It would take much planning and a traitor in our midst to succeed.”

  Gavin grunted. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Clyde nodded and left the cottage. Gavin shut the door and then turned to face his old tutor, who hovered in the background, waiting. “Have you something to show me, Master Chisholm?”

  “Aye, Laird.” He shuffled forward and handed Gavin a package, his eyes alight.

  Gavin opened the tin box and looked inside—and smiled. “This is perfect. Exactly what I was hoping for.”

  He could hardly wait to give it to her.

  Thirteen

  Deirdre tried to sink gracefully into the chair beside Ewan’s bed, but she ended up falling onto the seat like a drunk. She barely repressed a groan as her thighs and back protested. That bloody horse pony, as Kerr had called it, had been an even more disagreeable ride than the mare. Deirdre might have been closer to the ground, but she’d had no stirrups, and she’d had to hold her toes up or they would have dragged through the grass.

  She would have gotten off and walked, but she’d refused to let Kerr win. She’d insisted on the pony, and she wouldn’t give in. Who knew she would have missed those bloody stirrups so much?

  She scowled. Her cousin’s cursing was rubbing off on her. But she had to admit it felt good.

  “Mama, why are you frowning?” Ewan had pulled the covers up all the way to his chin and lay back against the pillows.

  “Was I? I didn’t realize.”

  “Were you thinking about Uncle Kerr? Aunt Isobel said he was annoying like a wasp and she wanted to swat him. And I know you doona like wasps.”

  Deirdre barely held in a laugh. “Nay, I was thinking about the stirrups on the horse.”

  “Are they annoying too?” Ewan asked.

  “Aye.” Bloody annoying!

  “But they also give you a place to rest your feet and stop you from falling off. Isn’t that right, Deirdre?” Gavin’s voice came from the doorway, and she glanced over…and had to take a moment to catch her breath.

  He’d shaved. And trimmed his hair. And he looked so…braw and bonnie. Aye. Laird Gavin MacKinnon, properly cleaned up, was breathtaking. If Isobel was the beauty of the Highlands, Gavin would be her male equivalent. A Highland Adonis.

  “You’re muttering again,” he said to her. “What are you saying?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks as alarm raced through her. “Naught of consequence!”

  “She said a Highland add on his,” Ewan told him.

  “A Highland add on what?” he asked.

  Ewan shrugged. And yawned.

  Deirdre snorted. Just one of many ridiculous conversations she was sure to have with Ewan and his da…almost like they were a family.

  And she supposed they were, in a way. Certainly, they were that to Ewan—his mama and da. And it was…comforting to share Ewan’s care with someone. No longer having to worry about their home falling apart around them or if they were safe in their ramshackle keep. Obviously, they hadn’t been, seeing how easily Gavin, Kerr, and their men had broken in. And even if Lewis had been home, he couldn’t have protected them.

 
More than that, it was nice to have someone with whom she could share the funny things Ewan said or did. Someone who cared about her son as much as she did. Not to mention the other people she adored who were now part of her life. No matter how batty Isobel might be or how annoying Kerr definitely was, they both made her laugh and groan and scoff and think about things differently. All the while making her feel welcome. And wanted.

  Aye, she felt wanted here.

  Gavin walked forward quietly, looking at Ewan, and she turned to see that her son’s eyes had closed. One arm rested above his head on the pillow and his lips were slightly parted. If he wasn’t asleep yet, he would be in minutes.

  Gavin stopped beside her, and she glanced up to find him watching her. Their eyes locked and held for a moment, and everything within her stilled.

  He lowered himself to the edge of the bed, facing her, and from behind his back, he produced a box. It was wrapped in a soft, yellow cloth and tied with a blue ribbon. “This is for you,” he said quietly, handing it to her.

  She stared down at the box, wondering. What could it be? And why was he giving it to her?

  “It’s so pretty,” she said. “Is it for Ewan?”

  “Nay, Deirdre. I said it was something for you. Open it.”

  Her heart began to race, and her chest squeezed. “You mean…like a…a…”

  “A gift,” he interjected. “Have you ne’er received a present before?” He said it as a jest, a small laugh puffing past his lips before he realized she wasn’t smiling. “Deirdre?” he asked.

  She could hear the incredulity in his voice. She raised her eyes to his, feeling like she might cry. “Nay, I’ve ne’er received a gift just for me before. Other than Ewan, of course. But he wasn’t Lewis’s child to give.”

  “He’s my child to give, and I freely gave him to you. Although I doona like the idea of ‘owning’ Ewan. And I think he chose you as much as you chose him.”

  Now the tears did fall, silent streams down her face. “Thank you,” she whispered. She looked at the present in her hands. It was relatively flat and covered her lap. It had some weight to it and felt like the box might be tin. She grasped the end of the ribbon. “Do I just…” And she pulled a little.