Often, when more than one red deer was shot, the meat was placed in a pit, slow cooked for days and then shared by the entire clan. Herbs and spices made the otherwise tough meat tender, wine washed it down and the meal was again followed by dancing and singing to the music of the flute player. It was something they all looked forward to and the aroma that filled the air just now made Paisley hungry.
She did not care to even look at the strangers and assumed these were just more of the sort that came to gawk at her. What her father said to send them on their way, she did not know, nor did she care. They would be gone soon enough and that was all that mattered.
Careful to stay hidden, she leaned down, picked a forest flower and stood back up. Then she smelled it, peeked around the tree and caught her breath. The strangers numbered over twenty, a laird and his guard all dressed in matching white shirts with dark blue kilts. Each held his head high, rode his mount with pride and kept his weapons sheathed. Dark blue and white were the colors of the Grahams and when the man in the middle turned his face her way, her eyes lit up. “‘Tis Laird Graham, he has come back!”
“So he has,” said Sawney. The excitement in her voice was not lost on him and he suspected his friend, Thomas, would soon be sadly refused. Oh well, MacGreagor women were allowed to choose their own husbands and as painful as it was for MacGreagor men, that was the way it was.
She watched Chisholm ride all the way into the courtyard, dismount and go inside to greet her father. His return did not mean he preferred her and she was not sure if she should stay hidden, wait for Justin to send for her, or walk back into the glen where Laird Graham might easily find her.
Suddenly, an arm went around Paisley’s waist, a hand clamped over her mouth and her eyes widened in horror. She dropped the flower and looked at Sawney, but he had troubles of his own. A second man had a firm grip on him and held the blade of a dagger to her brother’s throat. She struggled to free her hand enough to pull her dagger, but when the man threatened to kill Sawney, she begrudgingly relaxed.
A second later, her attacker lifted her off the ground, hauled her up the hill and then hurried down the other side. Once they got to a horse, he abruptly let go of her, turned her around, hit her hard under the chin and knocked her out. Then he laid her over the back of the horse, untied the reins, mounted behind her and raced through the trees.
“LADDIE, DO NOT TURN around or I will cut you ear-to-ear,” the husky voice said in Sawney’s ear.
For agonizing seconds, the older, stronger man kept his grip around Sawney’s upper torso pinning his arms to his sides. Sawney could hear Paisley being taken away and had to do something even if it was wrong. He mustered all his strength, quickly put his right foot between his attacker’s and looped it around a leg. Then he pulled hard. The warrior released him to regain his balance, stumbled and then fell on his backside. Sawney drew his sword as he spun around and quickly put the tip of it to the middle of the stranger’s neck.
His eyes filled with rage and he wanted to kill the man. Instead, he put two fingers to his mouth and gave off the long, shrill whistle signaling danger. Not far away, a MacGreagor guard raced to his side and drew his own sword.
“Watch him, a lad took Paisley!”
“Sawney, you are bleeding!” Neasan shouted.
At a dead run, Sawney headed up the hillside and disappeared over the top, but by then, the man and Paisley were gone.
CHAPTER II
JUSTIN WAS LIVID.
While men searched the woods on foot, Justin stood between Ginnion and Sawney with the tip of his sword against the stranger’s throat. “Who has taken her?”
The stranger blinked repeatedly, but he did not answer.
“If you do not tell me I will kill you. Who did this?” Again his demands went unanswered. “You are willing to die? Who do you shield, a brother, a father?” Still, his captive said nothing.
“I will make him talk,” said Ginnion.
Justin finally lowered his sword. “He is no use to us dead. Take him to the stable, set two guards outside and give him no food or water until he answers.”
Justin watched Ginnion grab the man by the shirt, pull him to his feet and then shove him toward the glen. More men on horseback came to take up the search and Justin pointed the way, then he carefully examined Sawney’s cut. Blood still ran down his son’s neck and soaked into his shirt, but the injury did not appear to be deep and Justin was relieved. Still, a wound that did not heal could take a life.
“Father, please let me keep searching for her.”
“The lads will find her. You are injured and I’ll not lose a son and a daughter.” Justin turned his son around and walked with him through the graveyard and across the grasslands to the path.
While the men searched, the women, children and elders gathered in the Glen silently watching, but a worried Sawney ignored them and kept looking back hoping to see the MacGreagor warriors bringing his sister back. It was not to be and in the end, his father took him up the path to the courtyard and the Keep.
Justin opened the door and followed Sawney inside. As he expected, the woman best at sewing wounds waited near the table with her cloths, needle and sinew.
THE CAPTURED MAN WORE a familiar red kilt and it wasn’t hard to figure out the Kennedys had taken her. The Kennedys were known thieves and no one trusted them. Years before, another clan nearly annihilated the Kennedys over the theft of cows, and it had taken the Kennedys a long time to rebuild their numbers. Still, they were not half the strength of the MacGreagors.
For his Paisley, Laird MacGreagor would not hesitate to go to war. A few minutes earlier, he happily greeted Laird Chisholm Graham from the clan to the north, but now he ignored the man completely and waited for the woman to examine Sawney’s neck. He watched her wipe the blood away twice before she assured him the boy did not need stitches.
Justin put his son into the care of his sisters, untied his sword and laid it on the table. Then he took his father’s sword down off the wall and began to tie the strings around his waist. It was the same sword his grandfather, Kevin, used to execute two men and the one that killed Sween, his father’s brother.
Often commented on by strangers who knew nothing about it, it was a very fine sword made of pounded iron, polished and sharpened on both sides to a thin edge. The weight was perfect for Justin’s size and easily wielded from side to side when he used both hands. He hoped never to have to take it off the wall, but for his Paisley, he would gladly put it to good use.
Laird Graham stood in the middle of the room watching the rage grow in his friend‘s eyes. When the alarm sounded, Chisholm raced out the door right behind Justin, heard what had happened first hand and went to look for Paisley himself. Yet he was on foot and it was likely whoever took her had a horse. Then, when a second horse was found tied to a tree, he knew searching on foot was useless. He walked back over the hill and followed Justin and Sawney to the Keep. The only hope now was if the MacGreagors on horseback could pick up the trail in a forest that from the edge of the glen became increasingly dense.
“The MacGreagors and the Grahams have been friends for two generations,” Laird Graham began, “What can we do to help?”
Justin barely heard Chisholm’s words. Instead, he nodded to each of his most trusted men as they entered, four of whom were his brothers-in-law. “Shaw, I leave you in command. See that the women are kept out of the forest and keep my son to his bed for at least two days. His cut is not deep, but it may not heal if he is up and about.”
“Aye,” Shaw answered. He was nearly as big as Justin with the same dark hair and blue eyes, although his face was square and his beard longer than most men preferred.
Ginnion, the commander of the warriors, had never seen Justin so upset. “How many should prepare?”
He didn’t mean to, but Justin turned his glaring blue eyes on his brother-in-law, “How many will it take to kill all the Kennedys?”
Taken aback, Ginnion drew in a long, deep bre
ath and slowly let it out. He too was a very large man with a round face, blond hair and a touch of red in his beard and mustache. Justin MacGreagor was the most fair-minded man he had ever known and his laird’s wrath would need to be tempered. Shaw knew Justin best, but Shaw was staying and Ginnion could only hope he had the wisdom to calm his laird down. “A hundred, perhaps.”
“See to it.” Justin made sure his sword rested correctly on his hip and then ran his fingers through his dark hair. “How soon can we leave?”
“Soon.” Ginnion walked back out the door and was not surprised to find those not still combing the woods standing in the courtyard waiting. Each was a well-trained man with superior fighting skills and the choice of which to take was an easy one.
All over the village, women started to cry for fear of losing husbands, while the chosen warriors armed themselves for battle, kissed wives and children goodbye, and then headed down the glen to collect their horses. Just as Ginnion promised, soon, a hundred men and their Laird started down the glen toward the Kennedy village.
Behind them, Laird Graham got on his horse. He nodded to Shaw and casually led his much smaller band of men down the same path in the middle of the glen. He greatly admired Laird MacGreagor and earlier this day he hoped he and his men would be invited to partake in some of that sweet smelling venison. It was the last thing on his mind now.
A little more than a week ago, he sat next to Paisley at the feast. He wanted her, there was no doubt in his mind, but the MacGreagors allowed women to choose their own husbands and he had no idea how to win her affection. Such a thing was not required of a normal man in Scotland or in England. The man declared, the woman or more likely her laird agreed, and that was an end to it.
Chisholm had been home from the feast only a few days before he began to worry. The rumors of Paisley’s beauty were sure to bring other lairds to see her and if Chisholm did not go back soon, he might be too late. Therefore, he set aside his duties as laird of a vast marketplace and set out to capture her heart the best way he could—providing Justin MacGreagor would let him near his daughter again.
Now she was snatched away and try as he might, he could not imagine who took her. He turned his men up the path that led to the best place to cross the river and tried to think. The Kennedys were not the cleverest of men, perhaps, but they were certainly not stupid enough to take Laird MacGreagor’s daughter. The MacGreagors were very large men with brute strength and none of the clans wanted to fight them.
When one man snatched a woman, he most likely wanted her for his own, but when men in numbers of two or more conspired, there had to be a larger plot. A laird was behind it, he guessed, but which one and why? At last count, there were at least three hundred clans in Scotland with more springing up every month. The Scots were a hearty bunch, often disagreed and just as often went off to find their own land and way of life.
Not as large as Justin, Chisholm was still an imposing figure of a man who had to fight another man two years earlier to gain the position of laird. His clan was nearly the same size as the MacGreagors and they also prided themselves on keeping fit. However, instead of being farmers or herders, most made leather goods and baskets of all shapes and sizes. Clans from all around came to barter and therefore, Chisholm hosted all the lairds, or at least most of them, at one time or another.
He kept his horse at a leisurely pace and his men knew not to interrupt his thoughts. Knowing other lairds personally gave him an advantage and he turned his attention to why someone would take her. Would she be held for ransom? If so, other than a beautiful daughter, what did Justin MacGreagor have that another laird badly wanted? He could think of nothing and when they crossed the river and then took the path to home, he decided to listen far more closely to the gossip. Someone knew something and he intended to find out what.
JUSTIN’S RIDE TO THE Kennedy hold was relentless, but Ginnion and the others managed to keep up. Occasionally, Ginnion glanced at his friend, saw Justin’s jaw tense and then relax. It was the first time he noticed the gray along the sides of Justin’s dark hair. The man was getting old and, he supposed, so was he. The father of five himself, he could imagine what was going through Justin’s mind, and dared not think what he would do in the same circumstance. One thing was for sure, no matter how hard a man tried, he could not fully protect his children.
Ginnion’s most immediate challenge was to keep Justin from killing Laird Kennedy, at least not before they had time to question him. He thought about getting in front of Justin as he should to protect his laird, but that might only irritate him more, so when the path narrowed to single file, he fell in behind. An hour passed and then another before they spotted smoke rising from the Kennedy village hearths.
At last, Justin put up his hand and slowed his warriors, yet he kept going and instead of telling his men to surround the village, he led the horde of well-armed, determined men down the path and into the center of the village.
Not nearly as particular as the MacGreagors, the Kennedy village had carts haphazardly parked halfway on and halfway off paths that had not been cleaned in a while. Milk cows munched on tall grass in front of cottages and chickens plucked at bits of grain that fell out of the cow’s mouths. Some cottages were in need of repair while others appeared to have new thatched roofs. Like all clan holds, the cottages surrounded the courtyard and a one-story keep. People not already outside stepped out of cottage doors to watch the MacGreagors pass.
Alarmed by the thundering sound of so many horses, Laird Kennedy rushed out of his keep and stared at the invaders. “MacGreagor, what is it? What has happened?” Laird Kennedy demanded.
Justin swung down off his horse, drew his sword and walked forward until he was within an arm’s reach of Laird Kennedy. “Give her back!”
“Give who back?”
“You are well aware of who.”
Laird Kennedy was no longer a young man either, and the fury in Justin’s eyes caused him to take a step back and bump into one of the guards standing behind him. “I tell you true, I do not know...”
Justin raised his sword with both hands as if to strike and repeated his demand one more time. “Your lads took my daughter and I want her back. Give her to me or you will be the first to die!”
A much smaller man with red hair and an untrimmed beard, Laird Kennedy took another step out of Justin’s reach and was grateful his guard had moved so he could. “We do not have her. Search if you will, but your daughter is not here. Why do you say we took her?”
Standing next to Justin, it was Ginnion who answered, “We caught one and he wears a Kennedy kilt.”
“Has he a name?” Kennedy asked.
“He will not speak.”
Kennedy turned his attention back to Justin. “Do you think me daft? What cause would I have to take her unless I wished to die a very painful death? I swear to you I sent no lads to do such a deed.” He paused to think for a moment. “However, we are missing two kilts. I suspect you have been tricked, MacGreagor.”
Justin’s glare had not changed and it took time before he finally lowered his sword and looked away. When he looked back he was more placid, but not by much. “We must know for sure, let us search for her.”
Laird Kennedy nodded. Instantly, Justin’s men spread out and began methodically searching all the cottages. None of the people opposed the fierce MacGreagors and as the search began, Laird Kennedy walked to the door of his keep, opened it wide and let Ginnion go inside to look around. The great hall, with adjoining bedchambers and a kitchen, was easily searched. Save for the Laird’s wife and children, no one was there. A few minutes later, Ginnion came back out, looked at Justin and shook his head.
Justin put his sword back in its sheath and started to rub his brow. In all his years, he had never faced anything like this and truly did not know what to do next. Could he search all of Scotland for her? He was willing, but he had a clan to think of and being away from them left him, as well as them, vulnerable.
“Mac
Greagor?”
Justin heard the voice, but couldn’t quite make out what it was saying.
“MacGreagor, drink this. You look like death, not that I blame you, I have daughters of my own,” said Laird Kennedy. He held the goblet out to Justin, watched him take it and down the contents. Then he recovered the goblet and took a deep breath. “One thing the Kennedys do well is spread gossip. Tell us what to say and we will begin it.” He waited, but Justin went back to thoughtfully rubbing his brow.
“We could offer a reward for her recovery,” Ginnion suggested.
“And a price on the head of the one who took her,” Laird Kennedy added.
“Nay,” said Justin seeming to gather his wits at last. “If he is in fear, he may hurt her...if he hasn’t already.”
“You are right, MacGreagor,” said Kennedy. “What sort of reward? A high enough one will spread all over Scotland and everyone will look for her. A woman with white hair cannot be easily hidden.”
Justin’s fury instantly returned, “How do you know of her white hair?”
“Calm yourself, MacGreagor. I saw her last spring when I came to get my dog. Do you not remember?”
Justin ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes, “I have gone daft, finally.”
Ginnion was beginning to breathe a little easier. Most of the men were back and Justin was calming down. “What reward can we offer?”
Justin spread his feet apart and folded his arms. “We have a jeweled chalice made of gold. Will that be enough to entice lads to find her?”
Kennedy raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, I am enticed to go look myself. Come inside, MacGreagor, and rest. If we put our heads together, perhaps we might think who took her. I would very much like to know who wanted you to accuse us.”
Abducted, Book 8 Page 2
